Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune Part 25

"So do I."

"And now I have my forebodings that I shall never hear my father's forgiveness; and, Edwy, if I die without it, I believe my spirit cannot rest; I shall haunt the spot till the day of doom."

"This is all moonshine, Elfric. You have not been such a bad fellow after all; if you go wrong, what will happen to the greater part of those amongst us who may die tomorrow? When you once get into the fight, and your blood gets warm, you will be all right; it is only the first battle that gives one all these fancies."

"No; it is not that. I am of a race of warriors, and I do not suppose one of that race ever felt like this in his first battle. I have often looked forward to mine with joy, but now my mind is full of gloomy forebodings: I feel as if some terrible danger, not that of the fight, were hanging over me and mine, and as if I should never meet those I did love once, either in this world or the next."

"The next! all we know about that comes from the priestly pratings. I think, of the two heavens, Valhalla,[xxviii] with its hunting or fighting by day, its feasting by night, would suit me best. I don't know why we should think ourselves wiser than our ancestors; they were most likely right about the matter, if there be another world at all."

"I cannot disbelieve, if you can," replied poor Elfric, "I have tried to, but I can't. Well, I daresay I shall know all about it by this time tomorrow."

"Pshaw! let tomorrow take care of itself; 'tis our first fight, Elfric, and we will have no cowardly forebodings; we shall live to laugh at them all. What shall we do with Edgar, if we get him tomorrow? I suppose one must not shed a brother's blood, even if he be a rebel?"

"Certainly not; no, no."

"Perhaps it will be shed for me, and a lucky thrust with sword or lance may end all our trouble, and leave me sole king; but won't the holy fox Dunstan grieve if his pet, his favourite, gets hurt? Come, cheer up, Elfric, my boy; dismiss dull care, and be yourself again!"

Elfric tried very hard to do so, and again partly succeeded. They had extended their walk all round the limits of the camp. It was a beautiful starlit night: there was a new moon, which was just going down, and an uncertain light hung about the field which was to be the scene of the conflict. It was one of those bright nights when the very aspect of nature suggests thoughts of the Eternal and the Infinite; when the most untutored being, gazing up into the deep blue void, finds his mind struggle vainly to grasp the hidden secrets those depths conceal; when the soul seems to claim her birthright, and dreams of an existence boundless, illimitable, as the starry wastes around. Such were, perhaps, the ideas which animated the philosophers of the old heathen world when they placed their departed heroes amongst the constellations; such, perhaps, the thoughts which led the dying apostate Julian to bid his followers weep no more for a prince about to be numbered with the stars.

Thoughts of peace would those radiant orbs have spoken, under any other circ.u.mstances, to the ardent youth as he gazed upon them; but now they oppressed him with the consciousness that he was at enmity with the mighty Unknown, that he was in danger, such danger as he could not comprehend; not that which comes from the lance point or the sword blade, but danger which fills the soul with the consciousness of its existence, yet is impalpable, not having revealed itself, only its presence.

"Goodnight, Elfric," said Edwy, as they reached the camp on their return; "goodnight. I hope you will be in better spirits in the morning."

Edwy retired within the folds which concealed the entrance to his own tent. Close by was the tent appointed for Elfric, who acted as his page; and the latter entered also, and sat down on a camp stool.

His bed did not seem to invite him; he sat on the seat, his face buried in his hands; then he suddenly rose, threw himself on his knees, only for a moment, rose up again:

"I can't, I can't pray; if my fate be death, then come death and welcome the worst. There will at least be nothing hidden then, nothing behind the scenes. I will not be a coward."

The phrase was not yet written--"Conscience makes cowards of us all;"

yet how true the principle then as now--true before Troy's renown had birth, true in these days of modern civilisation.

He could not sleep peacefully, although he laid himself down; his hands moved in the air, as if to drive off some unseen enemy, as if the danger whose presence was impalpable to the waking mind revealed itself in sleep.

"No, no" he muttered; "let the blow fall on me, on me, on me alone!"

then he rose as if he would defend some third person from the attack of an enemy, and the word "Father" once or twice escaped his lips; yet he was only dreaming.

"Father!" again he cried, in the accents of warning, as if some imminent danger menaced the loved one.

He awoke, stared about, hardly recognising where he was.

"What can I have been dreaming about?" he cried; "what can it all mean?

I thought I was at Aescendune;" and he strove vainly to recall the scenes of his dream.

The tread of the pa.s.sing guard was the only sound which broke the stillness of the camp.

"I cannot sleep," said Elfric, and walked forth.

The night was waning, and in the east a red glow was creeping upwards; the stars were, however, still brilliant. Opposite, at the distance of less than a mile, the reflection of the camp fires, now low, revealed the presence of the enemy; before him the mist slowly arose in white thin smoke-like wreaths, from the gra.s.s whereon many should soon sleep their last sleep, now in unconsciousness of their fate.

"I wonder where I shall lie?" thought Elfric, as if it were certain he would fall.

He felt cooler now, as the hour drew near; he watched the red light creeping upward, and saw the light clouds above catch the glow, until the birds began their songs, the glorious...o...b..arose to gild the coming strife, and the shrill trumpet in the camp was answered by the distant notes in the camp of the foe, like an echo afar off.

CHAPTER XVII. THE SLEEP OF PEACE.

The first day after the departure of the king from Aescendune pa.s.sed rapidly away. The soldiers who had remained behind with Redwald were quiet and orderly in their demeanour, and even, in obedience to secret orders, attended the evensong at the minster church, as if moved thereto by devotion, although the curious spectator might easily discover the unaccustomed character of their service, by the difficulty with which they followed the prayers, and the uneasy impatience with which they listened to a lengthened exposition of a portion of the Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels from Father Cuthbert.

The old thane and all his family were very anxious, it may be readily believed, for the earliest news from the field of battle, for battle every one agreed was impending; and, to gratify their natural curiosity.

Redwald sent out quick and alert members of his troop, to act as messengers, and bear speedy news from the scene of action.

The night set in clear and bright, as we have already seen; and while poor Elfric was wandering about uneasily beneath that brilliant sky, the same stars looked down peacefully upon his home, where all slept sweetly under the fostering care, as they would have said, of their guardian angels.

The morn broke brightly, and with every promise of a fine harvest day.

The labourers were speedily again in the fields; the cattle wandered under the herdsman's care to their distant pastures; the subdued tinkling of the sheep bells met the ear, and the other subdued sounds which soothe the air on a summer's day; and so the hours fled by, and no one would have dreamed that, not twenty miles away, man met man in the fierce and deadly struggle of war.

When the reapers a.s.sembled for their midday meal, they discussed the merits of the quarrel, and nearly all those who had been brought under the eye of "Edwy the Fair" were eager in pleading his cause, and trying to find some extenuation of his misdeeds in the matter of the illegal marriage, for such it was, from the mildest point of view; and scarcely a voice was raised on the opposite side, until Ella drew near the scene of conversation, and observed that "while G.o.d forbid they should judge the matter harshly, yet law was law, and right was right, and a beautiful face or winsome look could not change it."

Strolling near the field, seemingly absorbed in thought, walked Redwald, and seeing the reapers, he came towards them.

"A picture of peaceful enjoyment," he quietly said. "How often have I wished I could but lay down sword and lance to take more innocent weapons in hand, and to spend my declining days 'mid scenes like these."

"Indeed!" said Ella. "It is generally thought that men whose trade is war love their calling."

"Yes; sometimes the fierce din of battle seems a pastime fit for the G.o.ds, but the banquet is apt to cloy."

"Have you followed your profession for many years?"

"Since I was a mere child; even my boyhood was pa.s.sed amid the din of arms."

There were very few professional soldiers in that day, and they were much dreaded. An Englishman was always ready to take up arms when lawfully called by his feudal superior, or when home or civil rights were in danger, but he generally laid them down and returned to his fields with joy; hence the rustics looked upon a man like Redwald with much undisguised curiosity.

"Think you we shall soon hear from the contending parties?" asked Alfred, who was, as usual, in attendance upon his father.

"Perhaps by nightfall; one of my men has just returned to tell me that the king's progress was stopped by an entrenched camp of the rebels, and that they expected to fight at early dawn."

The news was unexpected, and every one felt his heart beat more quickly.

"I have a messenger already on the spot, and so soon as the royal forces have gained the victory he will speed hither as fast as four legs can bring him; we shall probably hear by eventide."

It is needless to say how every one panted for the decisive news. Ella and Alfred soon returned to the castle, and Redwald took his horse, and rode out, as he said, to meet the messenger.

The hours seemed to pa.s.s more slowly; the sun drew near the west, the shadows lengthened; and Ella, with the lady Edith, Alfred, Edgitha, and all the members of the little society, could hardly bend their minds to any occupation, mental or physical. Elfric was ever in their thoughts.

"O Ella!" said his wife, "this suspense is very hard to bear; I long to hear about our boy."

The mother's heart was bound up in him, as if there were no other life in danger that day; Edwy or Edgar, it was little to her in comparison with her longing for her first-born son.