Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune Part 15

One of them was a tall, dark warrior, whose whole demeanour was that of the professional soldier, whose dress was plain yet rich, and who might easily be guessed to be the commander of the party. He was talking earnestly, but in a subdued tone, to his younger companion, whom he seemed to be labouring to convince of the propriety of some course of action.

Alfred watched them eagerly; the form of the younger--for so he appeared by his slender frame--seemed familiar to him, and when at last they turned their faces and walked towards him, the light of a neighbouring fire showed him the face of his brother Elfric.

"My dream!" he mentally exclaimed.

They were evidently talking about some very important subject, and it was also evident that the objections of the younger, whatever they might be, were becoming rapidly overruled, when, as chance, if it were chance, would have it, they paused in their circuit of the little camp just beneath the tree where Alfred was posted.

"You see," said the elder, "that our course is clear, so definitely clear that we have but to do our duty to the king, while we avenge a thousand little insults we have ourselves received from this insolent monk--such insults as warriors wash out with blood."

"Yet he is a churchman, and it would be called utter sacrilege."

"Sacrilege! is a churchman's blood redder than that of layman, and is he not doomed as a traitor by a judgment as righteous as ever English law p.r.o.nounced! did he not keep Edwy from his throne during the lifetime of the usurper Edred!"

"That was the sentence of the Witan, and you served Edred."

"I did not owe the allegiance of an Englishman to either, being of foreign birth, and so was no traitor; as for the Witan, it is well known Dunstan influenced their decision at the death of the royal Edmund."

"I never heard the a.s.sertion before."

"You have many things still to learn; you are but young as yet. But let it pa.s.s. Does not his conduct to Queen Elgiva merit death!"

"I think it does. But still not without sentence of law."

"That sentence has been in fact p.r.o.nounced, for in such cases as these, where the subject is too powerful for the direct action of the law to reach him, the decision of the king and council must pa.s.s for law, and they have decided that Dunstan must die, and have left the execution of the sentence--to us."

He did not add that the council in question consisted of the giddy young n.o.bles who had surrounded Edwy from the first, aided by a few h.o.a.ry sinners whose lives of plunder and rapine had given them a personal hatred of the Church.

Elfric heaved a sigh, and said:

"If so, I suppose I must obey; but I wish I had not been sent on the expedition."

"It is to test your loyalty."

"Then it shall be proved. I have no personal motives of grat.i.tude towards Dunstan."

"Rather the contrary."

"Rather the contrary, as you say. But what sound was that? Surely something stirred the bush!"

"A rabbit or a hare. You are becoming fanciful and timid. Well, you will remember that tomorrow there must be no timidity, no yielding to what some would call conscience, but wise men the scruples of superst.i.tion.

We shall not reach the monastery till dark, most of the visitors will then have quitted it, and we shall take the old fox in a trap."

"You will not slay him in cold blood!"

"No. I shall bid him follow me to the king, and if he and his resist, as probably they will, then their blood be on their own heads. But surely--"

At that moment a large stone, which Alfred had most inopportunely dislodged, rolled down the bank, and made Elfric, who was in its path, leap aside. Alfred, whose foot had rested upon it, slipped, and for a moment seemed in danger of following the stone, but he had happily time to grasp the tree securely, and by its aid he drew himself back and darted into the wood.

Luckily there was moonlight enough to guide him by the track he had hitherto followed, and he ran forward, dreading nothing so much as to fall into the hands of the friends of his brother, and trusting that he might prevent the execution of the foul deed he had heard meditated. He ran for a long distance before he paused, when he became aware that pursuers were on his track. Luckily his life had been spent so much in the open air that he was capable of great exertion, and could run well.

So he resumed his course, although he knew not where it would lead him, and soon had the pleasure of feeling that he was distancing his pursuers. Yet every time he ran over a piece of smooth turf he fancied he could hear them in his rear, and it was with the greatest feeling of relief that he suddenly emerged from the wood upon the Foss Way, and saw the lights of the hostelry at no great distance below him.

His pursuers did not follow him farther, probably unwilling to betray their presence to the neighbourhood, and perhaps utterly unconscious that the intruder upon their peace was possessed of any dangerous secrets, or other than some rustic woodman belated on his homeward way, who would be unable in any degree to interfere with them or to guess their designs.

But it was not till the ardour of his flight had abated, that Alfred could fully realise that his unhappy brother was committed to a deed of scandalous atrocity, and the discovery was hard for him to bear. The strong impression which his dream had made upon him--an impression that he was to be the means of saving his brother from some great sin-- came upon him now with greater force than ever, and was of great comfort. The ident.i.ty of the scenery he had seen in dreamland with the actual scenery he had gone through, made him feel that he was under the special guidance of Providence.

Returning to the inn he sought Father Cuthbert, and found him somewhat uneasy at his long absence, and to him he communicated all that he had seen and heard.

The good father was a man of sound sense but of much affection, and at first he could not credit that the boy he had loved so well, Elfric of Aescendune, should have grown to be the a.s.sociate of murderers, for such only could either he or Alfred style the agents of Edwy's wrath.

But, once fully convinced, he was equal to the emergency.

"We will not start at once, we should but break down on the road, and defeat our own object. We must rest quietly, and sleep soundly if possible, and start with the earliest dawn. We shall reach Glas...o...b..ry by midday, and be able to warn the holy abbot of his danger in good time."

So Alfred was forced to curb his impatience and to try to sleep soundly.

Father Cuthbert soon gave good a.s.surance that he was asleep; but the noisy manner in which the a.s.surance was given banished sleep from the eyelids of his anxious pupil. At length he yielded to weariness both of mind and body, and the overwrought brain was still.

He was but little refreshed when he heard Father Cuthbert's morning salutation, "_Benedicamus Domino_," and could hardly stammer out the customary reply, "_Deo gratias_."

Every one rose early in those days, and the timely departure of the party from Aescendune excited no special comment. Hundreds of pilgrims were on the road, and Alfred expressed his conviction that there would be force enough at Glas...o...b..ry to protect Dunstan, to which Father Cuthbert replied--"If he would accept such protection."

On former days their journey had been frequently impeded by broken bridges and dangerous fords; but as they drew near Glas...o...b..ry the presence of a mighty civilising power became manifest. The fields were well tilled, for the possessions for miles around the abbey were let to tenant farmers by the monks, who had first reclaimed them from the wilderness. The farm houses and the abodes of the poor were better constructed, and the streams were all bridged over, while the old Roman road was kept in tolerable repair.

A short distance before they reached the city, the pilgrims, who were a s.p.a.ce in advance of the party, came in sight of the towers of the monastery, whereupon they all paused for one moment, and raised the solemn strain then but recently composed--

I.

Founded on the Rock of Ages, Salem, city of the blest, Built of living stones most precious, Vision of eternal rest, Angel hands, in love attending, Thee in bridal robes invest.

II.

Down from G.o.d all new descending Thee our joyful eyes behold, Like a bride adorned for spousals, Decked with radiant wealth untold; All thy streets and walls are fashioned, All are bright with purest gold!

III.

Gates of pearl, for ever open, Welcome there the loved, the lost; Ransomed by their Saviour's merits; This the price their freedom cost: City of eternal refuge, Haven of the tempest-tost.

IV.

Fierce the blow, and firm the pressure, Which hath polished thus each stone: Well the Mastermind hath fitted To his chosen place each one.

When the Architect takes reck'ning, He will count the work His Own.

V.

Glory be to G.o.d, the Father; Glory to th' Eternal Son; Glory to the Blessed Spirit: One in Three, and Three in One.

Glory, honour, might, dominion, While eternal ages run.

Amen.[xx]

The grand strains seemed to bring a.s.surance of Divine aid to Alfred, and he could but imitate Father Cuthbert, who lifted up his stentorian voice and thundered out in chorus, as they drew near the pilgrims.

Here they left the Foss Way for the side road leading to the monastery, now only a short distance from them.

CHAPTER XI. THE FLIGHT OF DUNSTAN.

It was the day of St. Alban, the protomartyr of England, and the saint was greatly honoured at Glas...o...b..ry, where, as we have seen, Dunstan was in residence, and, as a natural consequence, every department of the monastic life was quickened by his presence. The abbey was full of monks who had professed the Benedictine rule, and having but recently been rebuilt, it possessed many improvements hardly yet introduced into English architecture in general. The greater part of the building was of stone, and it was not, in its general features, unlike some of the older colleges at Oxford or Cambridge, although the order of the architecture was, of course, exclusively that of the Saxon period, characterised by the heavy and ma.s.sive, yet imposing, circular arch.

But upon the church or abbey chapel all the skill of the architect had been concentrated, and it seemed worthy alike of its founder and of its object. Seen upon the morning in question, when the bright summer sun filled every corner with gladsome light, just as the long procession of white-robed priests, and monks in their sombre garb, with their hoods thrown back, were entering for high ma.s.s, and the choral psalm arose, it was peculiarly imposing.