Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune Part 38

"No more of this, Elgiva; you shall not go, I swear it! come weal or woe. Are we not man and wife? Have we not ever been faithful to each other?"

"But this dreadful Church, my Edwy, which crushes men's affections and rules their intellects with a giant's strength more fearful than the fabled hammer of Thor. It crushed the sweet mythology of old, with all that ministered to love, and subst.i.tuted the shaveling, the nun, the monk; it has no sympathy with poor hearts like ours; it is remorseless, as though it never knew pity or fear. You must yield, my Edwy! we must yield!"

"I cannot," he said; "we will fly the throne together."

"But where would you go? this Church is everywhere; who would receive an excommunicate man?"

"I cannot help it, Elgiva; say no more, it maddens me. Talk of our early days, before this dark shadow fell upon us."

She took up her harp, as if, like David, she could thereby soothe the perturbed spirit; but its sweet sounds woke no answer in his breast, and so the night came upon them--night upon the earth, night upon their souls.

Early in the morning she rose, strong in a woman's affection, while Edwy yet slept, and hastily arrayed herself; she looked around at her poor household G.o.ds, at the harp, at the many tokens of his love.

"It is for him!" she said. She imprinted her last kiss on his sleeping forehead, she gazed upon him with fond, fond love; love had been her all, her heaven: and then she opened the door noiselessly.

Athelwold waited without.

"Well done, n.o.ble girl!" he said; "thou keepest thy word right faithfully."

She strove to speak, but could not; her pale bloodless lips would not frame the words. Silently they descended the stairs; the dawn reddened the sky; a horse with a lady's equipments waited without, and a guide.

The old thane slipped a purse of gold into her hands.

"You will need it," he said. "Where are you going? you have not told us."

"It is better none should know," she said; "I will decide my route when without the city."

They never heard of her again.[x.x.xii]

When Edwy awoke and found her gone he was at first frantic, and sent messengers in all directions to bring her back; but when one after another came back unsuccessful, he accepted the heroic sacrifice and submitted.

Wess.e.x, therefore, remained faithful to him, at least for a time, but Mercia was utterly lost; and Edgar was recognised as the lawful king north of the Thames, by all parties; friends and foes, even by Edwy himself.

CHAPTER XXV. "FOR EVER WITH THE LORD."

Many months had pa.s.sed away since the destruction of the hall of Aescendune and the death of the unhappy Ragnar, and the spring of 958 had well-nigh ended. During the interval, a long and hard winter had grievously tried the shattered const.i.tution of Elfric. He had recovered from the fever and the effects of his wound in a few weeks, yet only partially recovered, for the severe shock had permanently injured his once strong health, and ominous symptoms showed themselves early in the winter. His breathing became oppressed, he complained of pains in the chest, and seemed to suffer after any exertion.

These symptoms continued to increase in gravity, until his friends were reluctantly compelled to recognise the symptoms of that insidious disease, so often fatal in our English climate, which we now call consumption.

It was long before they would admit as much; but when they saw how acutely he suffered in the cold frosts; how he, who had once been foremost in every manly exercise, was compelled to forego the hunt, and to allow his brother to traverse the woods and enjoy the pleasures of the chase without him; how he sought the fireside and shivered at the least draught; how a dry painful cough continually shook his frame, they could no longer disguise the fact that his days on earth might be very soon ended.

There was one fact which astonished them. Although he had returned with avidity to all the devotional habits in which he had been trained, yet he always expressed himself unfit to receive the Holy Communion, and delayed to make that formal confession of his sins, which the religious habits of the age imposed on every penitent.

Once or twice his fond mother, anxious for his spiritual welfare, pressed this duty upon him; and Alfred, whom he loved, as well he might, most dearly, urged the same thing, yet he always evaded the subject, or, when pressed, replied that he fully meant to do so; in short, it was a matter of daily preparation, but he could not come to be shriven yet.

When the winter at last yielded, and the bright spring sun spoke of the resurrection, when Lent was over, they hoped at least to see him make his Easter communion, and their evident anxiety upon the subject at last brought from him the avowal of the motives which actuated his conduct.

It was Easter Eve, and Alfred had enticed him out to enjoy the balmy air of a bright April afternoon. Close by the path they took, the hall was rapidly rising to more than its former beauty, for not only had the theows and ceorls all shown great alacrity in the work, but all the neighbouring thanes had lent their aid.

"It will be more beautiful than ever," said Alfred, "but not quite so homelike. Still, when you come of age, Elfric, it will be a happy home for you."

"It will never be my home, Alfred."

"You must not speak so despondently. The bright springtide will soon restore all your former health and vigour."

"No, Alfred, no; the only home I look for is one where my poor shattered frame will indeed recover its vigour, but it will not be the vigour or beauty of this world. Do you remember the lines Father Cuthbert taught us the other night?

"'Oh, how glorious and resplendent, Fragile body, shalt thou be, When endued with so much beauty, Full of health, and strong and free, Full of vigour, full of pleasure.

That shall last eternally.'

"It will not be of earth, though, my brother."

Alfred was silent; his emotions threatened to overcome him. He could not bear to think that he should lose Elfric, although the conviction was gradually forcing itself upon them all.

"Alfred," continued the patient, "it is of no use deceiving ourselves. I have often thought it hard to leave this beautiful world, for it is beautiful after all, and to leave you who have almost given your life for me, and dear mother, little Edgitha, and Father Cuthbert; but G.o.d's Will must be done, and what He wills must be best for us. No; this bright Easter tide is the last I shall see on earth; but did not Father Cuthbert say that heaven is an eternal Easter?"

So the repentant prodigal spoke, according to the lessons the Church had taught him. Superst.i.tious in many points that Church of our forefathers may have been, yet how much living faith had its home therein will never be fully known till the judgment.

"And when I look at that castle," Elfric continued, "our own hall of Aescendune, rising from its ashes, I picture to myself how you will marry some day and be happy there; how our dear mother will see your children growing up around her knee, and teach them as she taught you and me; how, perhaps, you will name one after me, and there shall be another Elfric, gay and happy as the old one, but, I hope, ten times as good; and you will not let him go to court, I am sure, Alfred."

Alfred did not answer; he could not command his composure.

"And when you all come to the priory church on Sundays, and Father Cuthbert, or whoever shall come after him, sings the ma.s.s, you will remember me and breathe my name in your prayers when they say the memento for the faithful dead; and again, there shall be little children learning their paters and their sweet little prayers, as you and I learned them at our mother's knee: and you will show them my tomb, where I shall rest with dear father, and perhaps my story may be a warning to them. But you must never forget to show them how brotherly love was stronger than death when the old hall was burnt.

"After all," he continued, "our separation won't be long, the longest day comes to an end, and a thousand years are with Him as one day. We shall all be united at last--father, mother, Alfred, Edgitha, Elfric.

Do you not hear the Easter bells?"

They retraced their steps to the priory church for the services of Easter Eve.

"And one thing more, dear Alfred; you think me a strange penitent, that I am long, very long, before I make my confession. You do not know how I sigh for Communion; it is three years since I communicated, nearly four.

But, Alfred, there is one who tried to stop me when I began going downward, downward, and I feel as if I must have his forgiveness before I can communicate, and it is to him I want to make my last confession.

You know whom I mean; he is in England now and near."

"I do indeed."

"Now you know my secret, let us go into church."

Oh, how sweetly those Easter psalms and lessons spoke to Alfred and Elfric that night; how sweetly the tidings of a risen Saviour sounded in their ears. Easter joy was joy indeed. The very heavens seemed brighter that night, the moon--the Paschal moon--seemed to gladden the earth and render it a Paradise, like that happy Eden of old times, before sin entered its holy seclusion.

Easter tide was over, and Ascension drew near, but the sweet month of May had done little to restore health to poor Elfric. He had scarcely ever had a day free from pain. His eye was brighter than ever, but his attenuated face told a sad tale of the decay of the vital power.

From the time that Alfred knew how his brother yearned for Dunstan's forgiveness, and that he would be shriven by none but him, he had sought to accomplish his wish. He heard that Dunstan had returned from abroad, and was about to be consecrated Bishop of Worcester, and to be their own diocesan, and he sought an early opportunity of seeing him.

At last, but not until after Dunstan's consecration, he gained the opportunity, not without much delay; for Dunstan was sometimes in Worcester, sometimes in London, which had thrown off Edwy's authority, and submitted, with all Ess.e.x, to Edgar; sometimes ordaining, sometimes confirming, sometimes a.s.sisting Edgar in the government; and he was, like all other great men, very inaccessible.

At last Alfred learned that he would be in Worcester by a certain day, and he started at once for that city. He arrived there after a tedious journey; the roads were very difficult, and when he reached the city he heard the cathedral bells, and went at once to the high ma.s.s, for it was a festival. There he saw Dunstan as he had seen him before at Glas...o...b..ry, at the altar, amidst all the solemn pomp in which our ancestors robed the sacred office.