Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Part 4

"Listen!" said Father Adhelm, the subprior.

It was unnecessary. Borne upon the wind, a loud noise, as of men who shout for mastery, met our ears, followed or intermingled with cries for help or mercy--so we fancied at least.

While we stood rooted by horror to the spot, a bright light arose, which rapidly increased, as a conflagration well might in such a wind, and soon the whole horizon was illuminated. I knew but one homestead in that direction--the fortified house of Anlaf.

I thought of the poor boy, with thankfulness that we had restrained him from returning home. He is saved, at least, thought I, as a brand from the burning.

The other brethren joined us, and after a short consultation, we determined to go to the scene in a body, to mitigate the rage of the people, and save life where we could.

So, putting our cowls over our heads, we sallied forth into the black night--black and dark save where the light of the fire illumined the horizon, and even cast a faint ray upon our own path. We were not used to journeys in such weather, and I am afraid we made very slow progress, but it was not for want of good will. The fire grew brighter and brighter as we proceeded, and the shouts louder and louder. We knew that Anlaf had a party of his countrymen, all of them obnoxious to the English, and could easily understand that they had collected themselves together for their own destruction. Yet, when we looked around, we perceived by the blood-red reflection in the skies at other points, that the same ruthless task was being carried out in many a distant spot, as well as close at hand.

Reaching the bank of the river, we directed our course along its banks until the dark forest closed in upon us, and rapid progress became difficult. The trees were all rocking wildly in the wind, and here and there a severed branch fell down before us. Occasionally a gust of rain and hail descended. The path was wet and slippery. Poor Father Adhelm groaned aloud. He had the podagra, (or gout), and ought not to have ventured forth; but zeal would not let him rest.

"Verily our path is hedged about with thorns. It is hard to kick against the p.r.i.c.ks," said the chamberlain.

"It is G.o.d's work," said I, "and we may not falter."

Yet I felt my own heart weak.

But for the red light, which shone even through the shade of the forest, we could not have pursued our path. But plainer and plainer the wind brought the fierce shouts of the a.s.sailants to our ears, until, emerging from a dark belt of underwood, the whole horror of the scene burst upon us.

Before us, at the distance of a few hundred yards, defended by a mound and a ditch, rose the irregular and fortified dwelling of Anlaf. It was wrapped in flames from top to bas.e.m.e.nt, and even as we looked one of the towers gave way, and fell upon the hall beneath, with hideous din, in headlong ruin.

Around the blazing pile stood some two or three hundred men, who completely encircled it, and who had doubtless prevented the escape of the inmates. We were evidently too late; the pa.s.sive att.i.tude of the a.s.sailants showed that their b.l.o.o.d.y work was done.

We learned afterwards that the domestics, who were English serfs, had betrayed the place to the foe, while the Danish lords were revelling in the great hall, and half drunk with wine. Surprised at the banquet, they fell an easy prey, and were slaughtered almost without resistance, after which the house was plundered of everything worth carrying away, and then set on fire in every part. Further details we could not gather. All was over when we arrived.

Full of indignation, I and my brethren advanced straight upon the group surrounding the sheriff, the crafty and cruel Edric Streorn, and in the name of G.o.d denounced the cruelty and sin of which they had been guilty.

"Sir monk," was the reply, "are you traitor to your king that you thus league yourself with his deadly enemies? All that is done this night is done by his order."

"G.o.d will avenge the deed," said I. "Ye have not fought like men, but crept on like serpents, and slain those who, trusting to the faith of Christians, dwelt blindly in our midst. And now, what can we say? How can we hope to win our foes to G.o.d and Christ when we set at naught his precepts and despise his example?"

"Sir monk, I have not time to listen to a homily; keep it for next Sunday, when I will try to attend. For the present--"

Here he was interrupted by a loud cry which arose near us.

"The wolf cub! the wolf cub! Slay him, and the work is complete."

The cry, "Slay him! slay him!" was taken up by a dozen voices, when I recognised Alfgar, who by some means had learned the danger of his kinsfolk, and had come to share their fate.

"Save him, sheriff!" I cried; "save him! He is a Christian. His mother was English."

And I rushed forward myself, and saw that the poor lad had already been brought on his knees by more than one fell stroke.

I held up the crucifix, which hung at my girdle, on high; I threw my arm over his head, and abjured them under the name of Christ, and as they feared the curse of the Church, to forbear. My brethren all aided me.

Sullenly they dropped their weapons, and the sheriff, coming forward, seconded me, although in a very contemptuous manner.

"Let him have the lad for his share of the night's work," he said.

And so G.o.d gave me the poor lad's life.

I had scarcely time to lay him on a sloping bank, where the light which shone so luridly from his burning home might fall upon him, when my brother Elfwyn appeared on the scene with a score of his men.

He recognised us by our habits, and came and looked with me at the orphan as he lay on the bank. The boy had received no serious wound, but was exhausted, as much I thought by the violence of his emotions as by his injuries. He was wet through; his clothes were torn with brambles, for he had followed a straight path through six miles of tangled forest, from Aescendune.

They had unfortunately given him a bed in a chamber which looked towards his home: he had chanced to wake, had looked from the window, seen the flames, and had started thither at once, swimming the moat when he could not cross the drawbridge--suspecting, doubtless, that he was surrounded by treachery.

I had already poured a rich cordial down his throat, and he was coming to himself, my brother aiding me, when the sheriff, grand in his robe and chain of office, came up.

"Good day, or rather night, to you, Thane of Aescendune," said he to Elfwyn; "we have had a fair night's work, and destroyed a big wasp's nest; have you come for your share in the spoil?"

"I only ask permission to preserve life; your work has been of an opposite nature."

"Yes, we have been obedient to our king, and avenged him this night of his enemies, who are also, I should have thought, the enemies of the Church."

"G.o.d will not bless midnight murder," said I.

"Murder! it is not murder to slay heathen Danes; had they been Christians it would, of course, have been a different thing."

"He hath made of one blood all the nations of the earth," I replied.

"The good prior wishes me to talk theology. Unfortunately I have much work to do; you will hear tidings soon of other Danish holds than this. The land may rejoice, freed from her oppressors, and they who blame our work will praise its results."

"That remains to be seen," we both replied.

We had, meanwhile, placed Alfgar, now partially recovered, on a palfrey; and, supported by my brother and me, one on each side, we led him homewards. Arrived at the castle, we gave him to the care of Osred, the domestic physician. He looked at the patient, and p.r.o.nounced a favourable opinion, saying that with time and care all would be well. But his left arm was broken, and he had received a slight blow on the head. Fever was the leech's chief apprehension; if he could keep that off, he said he doubted not all would be well.

St. Andrew's Day.--

Our patient has lain some time in a state of delirium, whereat no one could wonder. In his ravings he was incessantly acting over the scenes through which he had pa.s.sed during the dreadful night which followed St. Brice's Day. But, thanks to a good const.i.tution, today he has taken a favourable turn, and seems likely to recover from a blow which would have hopelessly shattered a frailer frame.

I was seated by his couch when he seemed to awake out of sleep, and I saw his bright dark eyes fixed inquiringly on me.

"Where am I?" he inquired.

"In the Hall of Aescendune; you have been very ill here."

"Indeed! I have had such dreadful dreams!--but were they all dreams?"

"Your mind has been wandering for days, my dear son. You must not talk too much."

He was silent, but evidently pondered more.

December 25, Christmas Day, 1003. {iv}--

All the household has given itself up to joy and gladness; even poor Alfgar, who has been released today from the confinement of his chamber, has entered into the general joy, although ever and anon relapsing into sadness.