Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Part 24

"Who has arranged the guards and chosen the sites for the beacons?"

"Edric, of course, as general of the forces under the king."

I could say no more--it was useless--but I felt very sick at heart. After the noon meat I left the palace, and found my brother ready to depart for home. His interview had been the counterpart of mine. Neither had he succeeded in convincing the sheriff that there was any danger to be apprehended.

Well, all we can do is to prepare ourselves for the worst. I find that no tidings have been sent by any authority to the men of this estate to hold themselves in readiness for sudden alarm. I wonder whether the same remissness prevails elsewhere. No one expects danger. The Danes, they say, never fight in winter.

Advent Sunday, 1006.--

My patient was able to sit up for a short time today, but his weakness is very pitiable to behold, and he dares not leave his room. He inquired very earnestly after Alfgar, and I found great difficulty in persuading him to commit the matter to G.o.d, which is all that we can do; for although the river has been dragged, the country searched, no tidings have yet been obtained, and we can only believe that the poor lad has been secretly murdered and buried, or that he has been sent away out of the country.

"I had a strange dream about him," said Edmund. "I thought that it was midnight of Christmas Eve, and that I was attending ma.s.s, when, just as the words were sung by the choir, 'Pax in terra,' the scene suddenly changed, and I stood in the dark on the chalk hills which overlook the Solent; by my side was a beacon ready laid for firing. I thought next I saw the Solent covered with the warships of the Danes, who were advancing towards the English sh.o.r.e, and that I tried to fire the beacon, but all in vain, for the wood was wet through, and would not burn.

"Then I had a strange sense of woe and desolation, for my country was in danger, and I could not even warn her. All at once I heard steps rushing towards me, and Alfgar appeared bearing a lighted torch. He thrust it into the pile, and it fired at once. Other beacon fires answered it, and the country was aroused. Then I awoke."

Sat.u.r.day, December 5th, 1006.--

The week has again been spent mainly at Clifton. The prince is better, but only able to rise a few hours each day, and I fear a relapse would be fatal.

On Wednesday I visited Abingdon, and had a long conference with the abbot about the neglected warning Edmund had given; but he seemed to think that the beacon fires and the guards placed near the sea coast secure us sufficiently. Like all the world, he thinks that the Etheling has exaggerated the danger.

I have written a full account of all things to my brother at Aescendune. Father Adhelm is still there ministering to the flock.

Sat.u.r.day, December 12th, 1006.--

The week has pa.s.sed monotonously enough. The Etheling is now able to leave his room, but the stormy weather, with its torrents of rain, makes it impossible for him to leave the house. The river has overflowed its banks; all the country around is like a lake. We console him by telling him that all has been done which is possible, both to warn the people and learn the fate of Alfgar. He tries to look contented, but if he knew how little has really been done, and that that little has been in Edric's hands, he would not be so contented.

Sat.u.r.day, December 19th, 1006.--

A very severe frost has set in this week, and there has been much snow; the whole country is decked in her winter braveries for Christmas. O that it may pa.s.s in peace, as the birthday of the Prince of Peace should pa.s.s!

I intend to spend it at Clifton, after which I shall return to my flock at Aescendune.

Edmund has been out today, but the sharp air hurt his lungs, which have been grievously inflamed, and he was forced to return early.

He has been so patient for one of his temperament, so grateful for attention shown him, one would hardly think the lion could be such a lamb. He intends to receive the Blessed Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ on Christmas day in the little church of St. Michael here, and then he will leave for London in the course of the week.

We have heard nothing of Alfgar--we fear there is no hope; but the prince clings to it, and says his dream will come true, and that Alfgar has yet a great work to do.

Christmas Eve, 1006.--

O happy happy Christmastide! All griefs seem hushed and all joys sanctified by the blessed mystery of the Incarnation. O that Mary's blessed Son, the Prince of Peace, may indeed bring us peace on earth, and good will towards men!

The weather is beautiful. The stars shine as brightly tonight as if they were the lights about His throne; the very earth has decked herself in her clear and spotless robe of snow in His honour. As for the dear ones who were with us last Christmas--Bertric, Alfgar (for I fear he is gone where I hope he keeps a happier Christmas)--they have left the heart less lonely, for if we miss them on earth they seem to attract us to heaven, which is yet more like home when we think of the loved and the lost who await us there.

We sing a midnight ma.s.s in an hour in the little church, another tomorrow at dawn, a third in the full daylight. All the good people here will communicate, and the evening will be given up to such merrymaking as is befitting amongst Christians. All the ceorls and serfs will be at the Hall, and the prince will share the entertainment. Herstan and Bertha have been very busy preparing for it, as also their children, Hermann, Ostryth, and Aelfleda.

But I must go and a.s.sist in decking the church for the midnight festivity.

CHAPTER XVI. THE FEAST OF CHRISTMAS.

Alfgar had completely lost the reckoning of times and days since his imprisonment, but he felt that weeks must have pa.s.sed away, and that the critical period foretold by Edmund must be near, so he listened anxiously for any intelligence from the world without.

At last the weather became very cold, and being without a fire, his sufferings were great, until his ferocious gaoler, finding him quite stiffened, brought up a brazier of coals, which saved his prisoner's life, while it filled the room with smoke, which could only escape by the crevices in walls and roof, for to open a window would have been as bad as to dispense with the fire, such was the state of the outer air.

It was what we call an old-fashioned Christmas, in all its glory and severity--a thing easy enough to bear, nay to enjoy, when men have warm fires and plenty of food, but hard enough to endure where these are absent.

At last Alfgar could but conclude it was Christmastide, for Higbald was joined by two comrades, and they sang and rioted below in a way which showed that they had got plenty of intoxicating drink, and were making free with it.

In the evening of the day Higbald brought him up his supper, staggering as he did so, and with it he brought in a bowl of hot mead.

"Drink," he said, "and drown care. It is Yuletide, and drink thou must and shalt."

Alfgar drank moderately, for sooth to say it was invigorating and welcome that cold day, but Higbald finished the bowl then and there, and then staggering down, drew the outer bolt in such a way that it missed the staple, which fact he was too drunk to perceive.

Alfgar watched the action with eager eyes. It was the first time there had been even a chance of escape.

Meanwhile the evening sped by; and the noisy crew below quarrelled and sang, drank and shouted, while the bright moonlight --brighter as it was reflected from the snow of that December night--stole over the scene.

Not till then did Alfgar pa.s.s silently through the open door, and listen at the head of the staircase. Before him was the outer door, the key in the lock. The question was--Could he reach it un.o.bserved by men or mastiff?

Liberty was worth the attempt. He descended the stairs softly. At the bottom he looked around. The door was fastened which led into the large hall where the gaolers were drinking. He advanced to the outer portal, when he heard the growl of the dog from behind the inner door.

The moment was critical. Evidently his masters did not comprehend the action of the too faithful brute, for they cursed and swore at it. Even then it growled, and the drunken fools-- drunken they must have been indeed--threw some heavy missile at it, which caused it to yelp and cease its growling.

Just then something flashed in the ray of moonlight which stole in through an aperture over the door.

It was a sharp double-edged sword.

He grasped it with eagerness. It was now a case of liberty or death. He knew how to wield it full well.

Stealthily he turned the key and the door stood open. Still his captors sang, and he caught the words:

"When we cannot get blood we can drink the red wine, The Sea King sang in his might; For it maddens the brain, it gives strength to the arm, And kindles the soul in the fight."

Now he was on the outer side of the door, and he shut it, and then locked it and tossed the key into the snow.

But which way was he to go? He could not make out the locality, but it was evident that the hill rose above him, and he knew that from its summit he could discern the bearings of places, so he resolved to ascend.

It was now about nine at night, an hour when our ancestors generally retired to rest. All Alfgar's desire and hope--O how joyful a hope!--was to see from the hill the bearings of Clifton, and to descend, with all the speed in his power, towards it. He might arrive before they had retired to rest. So he ran eagerly forward. The moon was bright, and the snow reflected so much light that locomotion was easy.

And now he became conscious that there was a strange gleam along the snow on his left hand--a strange red gleam, which grew stronger and stronger as he advanced. It seemed above and below-- to redden the skies, the frozen treetops with their glittering snow wreaths, and the smooth surface beneath alike.

Redder and redder as he ascended, until he suddenly emerged upon the open hill. Before him were earthworks, which had been thrown up in olden wars, before Englishman or Dane had trodden these coasts. He scrambled into a deep hollow filled with snow, then out again, and up to the summit, when he saw the cause of the illumination.

Before him the whole country to the southeast seemed in flames. Village after village gave forth its baleful light; and even while he gazed the fiery flood burst forth in spots. .h.i.therto dark. He stood as one transfixed, until the wind brought with it a strange and fearful cry, as if the exultation of fiends were mingled with the despairing cry of perishing human beings.