Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune Part 36

"Alfred, you must not linger."

"One favour, my lord and king; show mercy to Ragnar, to Redwald, you know not how sad his story has been."

"Leave that to me; he shall have all he deserves;" and Alfred was forced to be content.

At this moment, aroused by the shouts of joy, Ragnar, forgetting even his danger, rushed to the roof. There he saw a crowd surrounding some object of their joy; in the darkness of the night he could not distinguish more, but the cry, "Long live Alfred of Aescendune!" arose spontaneously from the crowd, just as the brothers departed. Faint with toil as he was, his heart beating wildly with apprehension, he rushed to the chamber through smoke and flame, for the tongues of fire were already licking the staircase. He withdrew the bars, he rushed in, the room was empty.

"It is magic, sorcery, witchcraft," he groaned.

But the remembrance of his last words, of his scornful defiance of G.o.d, came back to him, and with it a conviction that he had indeed lifted up his arm against the Holy One. He felt a sickening feeling of horror and despair rush upon him, when loud cries calling him from beneath aroused him.

"We must charge through them; we cannot burn here; we must die fighting sword in hand, it is all that is left."

Not one voice spoke of surrender amongst those fierce warriors, or of seeking mercy.

It was indeed high time, for all efforts to extinguish the flames had proved vain; every part of the castle was on fire; the fiery element streamed from the lower windows, and curled upwards around the towers; it crackled and hissed in its fury, and the atmosphere became unfit to breathe; it was like inhaling flame. Sparks flew about in all directions, dense stifling smoke filled every room. Not a man remained in the hall, when Redwald rushed down the gallery, holding his breath, for the hot air scorched the lungs; when, just as he arrived, the staircase fell with a huge crash, and the flames shot up in his face, igniting hair and beard, and scorching his flesh. He rushed back to the opposite end of the pa.s.sage, only to meet another blast of fire and smoke--for they had ignited the hall in twenty places at once; they had done their work all too well. He rushed to the room he had left, shut the door for a moment's respite from flame and smoke, and then, springing at the window, strove to tear the bars down, but all in vain.

"There must be some egress. How did they escape? How could they escape?"

he cried; and he sought in vain for the exit, for they had closed the door again, and he knew not where to look; in vain he lifted the tapestry, he could not discover the secret; and at last, overpowered by the heat, he sprang again to the window, and drank in deep draughts of fresh cool air to appease the burning feeling in his throat.

Crash! crash! part of the roof had given way, and the whole chamber trembled; then a single tongue of flame shot up through the floor, then another; the door had caught outside. Even in that moment he beheld his men, his faithful followers, madly seeking death from the swords of the foe; they had lowered the drawbridge, and dashed out without a leader.

"Would I were with them!" he cried. "Oh, to die like this!"

"Behold," cried a voice without, "he hath digged and graven a pit, and is fallen himself into the destruction he made for others."

It was Father Swithin, who had observed the face at the window, and who raised the cry which now drew all the enemy to gaze upon him, for they had no longer a foe to destroy.

The flames now filled the room, but still he clung to the window, and thus protracted his torments; his foes, even the stern monk, could but pity him now, so marred and blackened was his visage, so agonised his lineaments; like, as they said, the rude pictures of the lost, where the last judgment was painted on the walls of the churches. Yet he uttered no cry, he had resolved to die bravely; all was lost now. Another moment, and those who watched saw the huge beams which supported the building bend and quiver; then the whole framework collapsed, and with a sound like thunder the roof tumbled in, and the unhappy Ragnar was buried in the ruin; while the flames from his funeral pyre rose to the very heavens, and the smoke blotted the stars from view.

"Even so," said the monk, solemnly, "let Thine enemies perish, O Lord, but let them that love Thee be as the sun, when he goeth forth in his might."

But those were not wanting who could not sympathise with the stern sentiment, remembering better and gentler lessons from the lips of the great Teacher and Master of souls.

"He has pa.s.sed into the Hands of his G.o.d, there let us leave him," said Father Cuthbert, who had just arrived at the moment. "It is not for us to judge a soul which has pa.s.sed to the judgment seat, and is beyond the sentence of men."

Meanwhile, they had borne Elfric first to the priory, for they judged it not well that he should yet be brought to his mother; they feared the sudden shock. Many of the good monks had studied medicine, for they were in fact the healers both of soul and body throughout the district, and they attended him with a.s.siduous care. They put him to bed, they gave him cordials which soon produced quiet sleep, and watched by him for many hours.

It was not till the day had far advanced that he awoke, greatly refreshed, and saw Father Cuthbert and Alfred standing by him. They had allayed the fever, bound up the wound, which was not in itself dangerous, and he looked more like himself than one could have imagined possible.

And now they thought they might venture to summon the lady Edith; and Alfred broke the intelligence to her, for she knew not the events of the night.

"Mother," he said; "we have news of Elfric, both bad and good, to tell you."

"He lives then," she said; "he lives!"

"Yes, lives, and is near; but he was wounded badly in the battle."

"I must go to him," she said, and arose, forgetting all possible obstacles in a mother's love.

"He is near at hand, in the priory; you will find him much changed, but they say he will do well."

She shook like an aspen leaf, and threw her garments around her with nervous earnestness.

"Come, mother, take my arm."

"O Alfred, may I not come, too?" said little Edgitha.

"Yes, you may come too;" and they left the house.

Elfric heard them approach, and sat up in his bed, Father Cuthbert supporting him with his arm; while another visitor, Edgar himself, stood at the head of the bed, but retired to give place to the mother, as if he felt no stranger could then intrude, when the widow clasped her prodigal to her loving breast.

CHAPTER XXIV. SOW THE WIND, AND REAP THE WHIRLWIND.

When Alfred rebuilt the city of Winchester, after it had been burned by the Danes, he erected a royal palace, which became a favourite retreat of his successors.

Here the unhappy Edwy retired after his defeat, to find consolation in the company of Elgiva. Indeed he needed it. Northumbria had followed the example of Mercia, and acknowledged Edgar, and he had no dominions left north of the Thames, while it was rumoured that worse news might follow.

In an inner chamber of the palace, and remote from intrusion, sat the king and his chosen advisers. It was early in the year 958, a spring day when the sun shone brightly and all things spoke of the coming summer-- the songs of the birds, the opening buds, the blossoming orchards.

But peace was banished from those who sat in that council chamber. Edwy was strangely disturbed, his face was flushed, and he bore evidence of the most violent agitation.

"It must come to that at last, my king," exclaimed Cynewulf, "or Wess.e.x will follow the example of Mercia."

"Better lose my crown then and become a subject, with a subject's liberty to love."

"A subject could never marry within the prohibited degree," said a grey-headed counsellor.

"We have messengers from all parts of Wess.e.x, from Kent, from Ess.e.x, from Suss.e.x, and they all unite in their demand that you should submit to the Church, and put away (forgive me for repeating their words) your concubine."

"Concubine!" said Edwy, and his cheek flushed, "she is my wife and your queen."

"Pardon me, my liege, I did not make the word my own."

"You should not have dared to repeat it."

"If I dare, my lord, it is for your sake, and for our country, which is dear to us all. Not an Englishman will acknowledge that your connection is lawful; from Exeter to Canterbury the cry is the same--'Let him renounce Elgiva, and we will obey him; but we will not serve a king who does not obey the voice of the Church or the laws of the land.'"

"Laws of the land! The king is above the laws."

"Nay, my lord, he is bound to set the first example of obedience, chief in that as in all things; an example to his people. Remember, my lord, your coronation oath taken at Kingston three years ago."

Edwy flushed. "Is this a subject's language?"

"It is the language of one who loves his king too well to flatter him."

At this moment an usher of the court knocked at the door, and obtaining permission to enter, stated that Archbishop Odo had arrived, and demanded admission to the council.