The Last of the Vikings Part 40

"If this Saxon can be depended upon, it will do good doubtless, sire.

His Norman wife, too, should influence him aright."

"So think I, Fitz-Osborne. Call De Montfort and the Saxon."

On the entrance of the pair, William said,--

"De Montfort, thy conduct has been most irregular, but, I condone it on conditions, which I will name presently." "Saxon," said he, addressing Oswald, "I congratulate thee on winning one of our most accomplished Norman maidens. I am further, upon a consideration of the whole matter, disposed to trust thee; and upon thy taking the oath of fealty, I will confer upon thee lands ample for thy needs. De Montfort, I create thee Earl of Northumberland; upon thee and thy Saxon son-in-law, I lay my charges for the welfare of that province. If ye do well, well will come of it; but I will have you beware, for if I find you unfaithful, I will root you out of the land, root and branch." So saying, with an imperious wave of his hand he dismissed them from his presence.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS.

"An old man broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity!"

Shakespeare.

One chill December morning, as certain lay brothers of the monastery of Crowland were engaged gathering f.a.ggots in the woods to feed the fires of the Abbey, they came across a strange-looking figure, sitting on a fallen tree and leaning heavily against another. His cheeks were blanched like the snow, and his long red hair and beard was falling unkempt and matted over his shoulders and chest. He seemed sadly worn and helpless, with strength utterly exhausted; but beneath his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows his eyes glowed with a strange, unnatural light. Beside him sat a half-starved hound whining piteously, and licking the cold and emaciated fingers of his master. The churls gazed upon the stranger in abject terror, thinking him to be some satyr or spirit of the wood, who would surely work them ill; but as the figure beckoned them feebly to approach nearer, with much trembling and irresolution they drew near enough to hear his voice.

"Can you tell me if I am near the monastery of Crowland?" said he feebly.

"You are not many bowshots from thence," they replied.

"Can you tell me whether Ethel the Saxon, daughter of Beowulf, dwells there?"

"Torfrida, wife of Hereward, and G.o.diva, wife of Leofric, are here; and there is a younger one called Ethel, with the flaxen hair. She is a holy woman, much given to penances and fasting, and she is very good to the poor; is it her you seek?"

"I have come a long way to seek this Ethel, and I am sorely wounded and very faint. Could ye, for love or charity, carry me in your bullock cart, for I have no further strength, and must perish shortly if ye leave me here."

So, a.s.sured by the evident helplessness of this strange being, the churls came a little nearer, and asked him some further questions concerning his strange quest. Eventually, they unloaded their rude cart of its burden of wood; then they hastily pulled some tall gra.s.s, and sc.r.a.ped together some dead leaves. Of these they made a rough sort of bed to ease the jolting of the rude cart over the rough ground. With much difficulty they lifted the stranger in, for he was of burly build, though sorely wasted. Then, slowly and tediously, through the windings of the forest, they returned to the Abbey. Nourishments and cordials were administered to him, his untended wounds were washed and dressed, and he was put to bed.

"Ye are very kind to me, but have ye not a maiden called Ethel here? Let me but speak with Ethel, daughter of the Saxon thane, Beowulf," pleaded the stranger.

"Be patient, stranger," said Torfrida, who bent tenderly over him, moistening his parched lips. "Ethel is on an errand of mercy to the sick poor."

"Ah! ye know not how I love this Ethel--things might have been different if Ethel had not left me."

As soon as Ethel returned from her mission, she was informed that a wounded stranger had come from far in quest of her. Immediately she hastened to the bedside of the sick one, wondering, and tremulous with agitation, and with many strange misgivings of heart.

It was as she feared--there lay Sigurd in pain and great weakness, his broad frame shattered and wasted almost to skin and bone. It was palpable also, that the fierce, restless spirit was hopelessly and rapidly consuming the small remnant of vitality still spared to him. His eyes were deeply sunken, and shining with unnatural light, telling but too plainly that another grim and unwelcome visitor was lurking near, and that no human skill could long keep _him_ at bay.

Ethel sat down beside him in her convent habit. What a transformation was here! Sigurd uttered a deep groan when he set eyes on her. The long flaxen locks, once the crown and glory of her youth, were cut short, and the remnant hidden by her hood. The blue eyes, so tender and expressive, and the fine, regular features were still there. The soft, fair skin was a shade paler, and the short time which had elapsed had palpably aged her, or else it was the cloister habit which made her seem so much older. One thin hand was immediately grasped by the worn and attenuated fingers of Sigurd, as he looked up most reverently into her face. This fair Saxon had long been to him _St. Ethel_, and her form was enshrined in his heart. He proceeded to question her in serious tones.

"I am well nigh hunted to death, as you see, Ethel--dead beat--dead beat at last. What think ye, Ethel; shall I get well?"

Ethel shook her head.

"I am afraid not in this world, my lord."

He responded with a low groan.

"But I can't be spared now, Ethel; the old cause is desperate now, and sorely in need of me. What will become of my oppressed countrymen, with never a leader to look to?"

"G.o.d alone knows, my lord, but all things are in His hand; and I trust that through this fiery ordeal, and through the long struggle, He will bring profit to the nation. Already signs are manifest that the hatred of William is abating, and Saxons here and there are being received into favour."

"Ah! Saxons being received into favour by the tyrant usurper! Then, I wot the renegade Oswald, and sycophants and timeservers generally, will thrive. My curses on the cowardly brood!"

"Call them not renegade, my lord, neither curse them. Oswald will best serve his countrymen by frankly accepting what was inevitable in any case."

"Nothing was inevitable, if he had but had the mind to stand by his country. We would have followed him anywhere, for there was none of us with a head to command like he had; and he wielded a powerful sword. No other man ever got the better of me in single combat, and I could have worshipped him had he stood by us. 'Twas the Norman woman bewitched him, and I hate him for saving his coward's skin and betraying his country, because a dark-eyed siren and temptress beckoned him."

"My lord, no more of this! He was the wisest amongst us, and saw farthest; and if you and others had been guided by him, there would have been less of Saxon blood shed. I think I see clearly in this revolution the hand of a wiser and a mightier than he--One who has seen fit to cast your Viking hardihood and valour, and stern, severe virtues, and the Saxons' milder traits, along with Norman chivalry and refinement, into the eternal crucible. You and I and ours, it is true, may lose our ident.i.ty; but all that is best will reappear in the ages to come."

"Ye speak in riddles, Ethel. Do ye think the Viking race will lose its ident.i.ty? Never!" said he, with fierce emphasis. "Vikings, who have sailed every sea and conquered everywhere, to be swallowed up by this womanish people--never! This will not do! Get me my sword, Ethel; if I but feel it I shall be strong again."

"The sword is resting in its scabbard, my lord. It has long since drunk in its fill of blood--let it rest for ever."

"Why have ye taken my sword from me, Ethel? I can wield it yet. I tell thee, Ethel"--making a vain effort to raise himself--"there's marrow in the Viking race yet, and we shall sweep the seas again as of old! I will not lie here. Let me to the Bruneswald; I have men left yet, and we'll make a fight for it to the end!"

"My lord, you will never handle sword again. The Viking's cause--the _reign of force_--has received its mortal wound. 'Twill linger probably through centuries of darkness, and amid the twilight of the days still later; for men, benighted men, here and there, will give it a spasmodic and fitful revival; but never more in the ages of the world will the gaunt and hateful reign of force be paramount."

"Ethel! Ethel! Ye embitter my death. What will ye have, girl? Are our G.o.ds dead, think ye? Where are our Sagas? Bethink ye, there is the Viking race beyond the North Sea, and they'll come again; and do ye think these sleek and well-fed Normans will drive them out? The hardy warriors from the mountains and fiords over the fierce sea are coming.

Hist!" he shouted, half delirious, "do ye hear their shouts? Will ye reach me my sword, Ethel? I must be up and meet them!" Then he sank back exhausted once more. "Tut, tut, we deserve this for our folly. What am I doing; going to die in a bed? The sea is the Viking's home. Why did we ever take to land, except for plunder? Accursed ease and effeminacy have undone us. But we'll to the sea again. Wait awhile, Ethel; ye shall see who will be masters."

"Calm yourself, my lord, and think of other things, for time is short.

The Viking's G.o.ds _are_ dead if ye ask me, or what is more true, they never had an existence, and were only the creation of a wild and barbarous fancy."

Sigurd looked at her steadily.

"Oh, ye are a Christian now, Ethel! Ye should not have left the old faith; ye take the heart out of me; ye should have stood by the old faith, then we should have met again in Valhalla, you and I. Ye know not how ye make the Viking's death hard to bear: ye take my staff from me as I ford the stream."

"We shall never meet in Valhalla, my lord! but we may meet again in the kingdom of our G.o.d."

"Not me, Ethel! ye do not mean that I may go to the Christian's heaven--bethink you what I am."

"Yes, you may go, my lord. I am not without hopes that even you may be found there. Certain you shall, if you are willing."

"Will you be there, Ethel?"

"Through the mercy of G.o.d I hope to be there."

"But ye say He is a Prince of Peace?"

"Yes, He is the Prince of Peace."

"Ye know I am a Viking; what could I do in the Christian's heaven?