The Ward of King Canute Part 30

The Etheling exclaimed in horror: "My lord! know you whence he got it?"

"You prove a good guesser to know that it was not his crime," the King said dryly. "A little while ago, I found out that he got it from the British woman who is nurse to Elfgiva of Northampton." To this, the new Marshal volunteered no answer whatever, but drew his breath in sharply as though he found himself in deep water; and the King spoke on. "I did not suspect the Lady of Northampton of having evil designs toward me, because--because she is more prosperous in every respect while I am alive; and now that belief is proved true, for I am told for certain that, the day before the British woman gave the boy the liquid, a Danishman gave the British woman an herb to make a drink of." He paused, and his voice became slower and much harder, as though he were curbing his feelings with iron. "Since you have heard the Norman rumor," he said, "it is likely that you have heard also of the discontent among the Danes, who dislike my judgments; but in case you have not, I will tell you that an abundance of them have betaken themselves to a place in the Middles.e.x forest where they live outlaws,--and their leader is Rothgar Lodbroksson."

To motion back a man who was approaching him with a paper, he turned away for a moment; and Sebert was glad of the excuse to avoid meeting his glance. Not until now had he understood what the judgment in his favor had cost the judge, and his heart was suddenly athrob with many emotions. "In no way is it strange that I am hateful to him," he murmured. "But by Saint Mary, _he_ is of the sort that is worth enduring from!"

He inclined his head in devoted attention as the King turned back, lowering his tone to exclude all but the man before him. "Even less than I believe it of Elfgiva of Northampton, do I believe it of Rothgar Lodbroksson, that he would seek my life. But often that happens which one least expects, and it is time that I use forethought for myself. Now I know of no man in the world who is better able to help my case than you."

"I!" the Etheling e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. Suddenly it occurred to him to suspect that his new-sworn vow of obedience was about to be put genuinely to the test, and he drew himself up stiffly, facing the King. But Canute was tracing idle patterns on the carving of his chair-arm.

"Listen, Lord of Ivarsdale," he said quietly. "It is unadvisable for me to stir up further rebellion among the Danes by accusing them of things which it is not certain they have done, and even though I seized upon these women it would not help; while I cannot let the matter continue, since one thing after another, worse and worse, would be caused by it.

The only man who can end it, while keeping quiet, is the one who has the friendship of the only woman among them to whose honor I would risk my life. I mean Randalin, Frode's daughter."

Whether or not he heard Sebert's exclamation, he spoke on as though it had not been uttered. "One thing is, that she knows nothing of a plot; for did she so, she would have warned me had it compelled her to swim the Thames to reach me. But she must be able to tell many tidings that we wish to know, with regard to the use they make of their jewels, and the Danes who visit them, and such matters, which might be got from her without letting her suspect that she is telling news. Now you are the one person who might do this without making any fuss, and it is my will therefore that you go to her as soon as you can. Your excuse shall be that the Abbot has in his keeping some law-parchments which I have the wish to see, but while you are there, I want you to renew your friendship with her and find out these things for me. By obeying me in this, you will give the State help where it is most needed and hard to get." When that was out, he raised his head and met the Etheling's eyes squarely, and it was plain to each of them that the moment had come which must, once and forever, decide their future relations.

It was a long time that the Lord of Ivarsdale stood there, the pride of his rank, and the prejudice of his blood, struggling with his new convictions, his new loyalty. But at last he took his eyes from the King's to bow before him in n.o.ble submission.

"This is not the way of fighting that I am used to, King Canute," he said, "and I will not deny that I had rather you had set me any other task; but neither can I deny that, since you find you have need of my wits rather than of my sword, it is with my wits that it behooves me to serve you. Tell me clearly what is your command, and neither haughtiness nor self-will shall hinder me from fulfilling it."

Chapter XXVIII. When Love Meets Love

Rejoiced at evil Be thou never, But let good give thee pleasure.

Ha'vama'l.

Before the time of the Confessor, the West Minster was little more than the Monastery chapel, in which the presence of the parish folk, if not forbidden, was still in no way encouraged. To-day, when the Lord of Ivarsdale came unnoticed into the dim light while the last strains of the vesper service were rising, there were no more than a score of worshippers scattered through the north aisle,--a handful of women, wives of the Abbot's military tenants, a trader bound for the land beyond the ford, a couple of yeomen and a hollow-eyed pilgrim, drifting with the current of his unsteady mind. After a searching glance around him, the Etheling took up his station in the shelter of a pillar.

"Little danger--or hope--is there than I can miss her," he told himself, "if she is indeed here, as the page said. Yet of all the unlikely places to seek her!" he smiled faintly as the figure in elfin green flitted through his mind. As well look for a wood-nymph at confession--unless indeed, Elfgiva had taken her there against her will--But that was scarcely likely, he remembered immediately afterwards, since an English-woman who had entered into a civil marriage with a Dane would be little apt to frequent an English church. "Doubtless she makes of it a meeting place with her newest lover," he concluded. And the anger the thought gave him, and a sense of the helplessness of his own position, was so great that he could not remain quiet under it but was tortured into moving restlessly to and fro in the shadow.

Tender as the gloaming of a summer day was the shade in the great nave, with the ever-burning candles to remind one of the eternal stars. Now their quivering light called into life, for one brief moment, the golden dove that hung above the altar; now it touched with dazzling brightness the precious service on the holy table itself; again it was veiled by drifting incense as by heaven's clouds. From the throats of the hidden choir, the last note swelled rich and full, to roll out over the pillared aisles in a wave of vibrant sound and pa.s.s away in a sigh of ineffable sweetness under the rafters.

As he bowed his head in the holy hush that followed, the hush of souls before a wordless bene-diction, some of Sebert's bitterness gave way to a great compa.s.sion. What were we all, when all was told, but wrong-doers and mourners? Why should one hold anger against another? In pity for himself and the whole world, his heart ached within him, as a rustling of gowns and a shuffling of feet told that the worshippers had risen from their knees and were coming toward him. He raised his bowed head sadly, fearfully.

First came the merchant, tugging at his long beard as he advanced,--though whether his meditations were the leavings of the mood that had held him or a reaching forward into the busy future, none could tell. Him, Sebert's eye dismissed with a listless glance. Behind the trader came the yeomen, one of them yawning and stretching noisily, the other energetically pulling up his belt as one tightens the loosened girth on a horse that has had an interval of rest. The young n.o.ble's glance leaped them completely in its haste to reach those who followed,--the knot of women, fluttering and rustling and preening like a flock of birds. But the bird he sought was not of their number. He stared blindly at the pilgrim as the wanderer shuffled past, muttering and beating his breast. Only one figure followed the penitent, and if that should not be she! Even though he felt that it could not be--even though he hoped it was not--hoping and fearing, dreading and longing, his eyes advanced to meet the last of the worshippers.

Only one figure, but all at once it was as though the whole world were before him!

Coming slowly toward him out of the soft twilight, with eyes downcast and hands folded nun-like before her, the daughter of Frode did not look out of place amid blue wreaths of incense and starry altar tapers. Even her robes were in keeping, gold-weighted as they were, for hood and gown and fur-bordered mantle were of the deepest heliotrope, that color which bears the majesty of sorrow while yet it holds within it the rose-tint of gladness. Beneath its tender shadow the dusk of her hair became deeper, and her face, robbed by winter of its brownness, took on the delicacy of a cameo. Ah, what a face it was now, since pain had deepened its sweetness and patience had purified its ardor! The radiance of a newly-wakened soul was like a halo around it.

Standing there gazing at her, a wonderful change came over the Lord of Ivarsdale. Neither then nor ever after could he understand how it happened, but, all at once, the barrier that circ.u.mstances had raised against her fell like the city walls before the trumpet blast, until not one stone was left standing upon another. Without knowing how or why,--looking at her, he believed in her; and his manner, which a moment before had been constrained and hesitating, became easeful with perfect confidence. Without knowing how or why he knew it, he knew that she had never squandered her love on the Jotun, neither had she come here to meet any Dane of the host. He knew her for his dream-love, sweet and true and fine; and he stepped out of the shadow and knelt before her, raising the hem of her cloak to his lips.

"Most gentle lady, will you give a beggar alms?" he said with tender lightness.

The sound of his voice was like a stone cast into still water. The rapt peace of her look was broken into an eddy of conflicting emotions.

Amazement was there and a swift joy, which gave way almost before it could be named to something approaching dread, and that in turn yielded place to wide-eyed wonder. With her hands clasped tightly over her breast, she stood looking down at him.

"My lord?" she faltered.

As one who spreads out his store, he held out his palms toward her.

"Randalin, I have sought you to add to the payment of my debt the one thing that in my blindness I held back,--I have come to add my true love to the rest I lay before you."

As a flower toward the sun, she seemed to sway toward him, then drew back, her sweet mouth trembling softly. "I--I want not your pity," she said brokenly. Still kneeling before her, he possessed himself of her hands and drew them down to his lips.

"Is it thus, on his knee, that one offers pity?" he said. Holding the hands fast, he rose and stood before her. "Heart beloved of my heart, you were merciless to read the truth before. Look again, and take care that you read me as fairly now."

Despite his gentleness, there was a strength in his exaltation which would not be resisted. Turning shrinkingly, she looked into his eyes.

In the gray-blue depths of her own he saw the shimmer of a dawning light, as when the evening star first breaks through a June sky, and gradually the star-splendor spread over her face, until it touched her parted lips.

"You--love me--" she breathed, but her voice no longer made it a question.

Still gazing into his eyes, she let him draw her closer and closer, till he had gathered her to his breast.

Chapter XXIX. The Ring of The Coiled Snake

He is happy Who for himself obtains Fame and kind words; Less sure is that Which a man must have In another's breast.

Ha'vama'l.

The murmur of the rain that was falling gently on the roses of the Abbey garden stole in through the open windows of Elfgiva's bower and blended softly with the music of Candida's lyre. Poring over the dingy scrolls spread out on the table before her, the Lady of Northampton yawned until she was moved to throw herself back among her cushions with a gesture of graceful surrender.

"It seems that the Saints are going to take pity on me and shorten one of these endless days with a nap. Nurse, have a care for these scrolls.

And if it happen that the King's Marshal comes--Randalin! Where is Randalin?"

Beyond Leonorine's embroidery frame and the stool where Candida bent over her lyre, the length of the room away, a figure in iris-blue turned from the window by which it stood.

"Here, lady. What is your need?"

To place the speaker Elfgiva raised her head slightly, laughing as she let it sink back. "Watching for him already, and the sun but little past noon? For shame, moppet! Come here."

"So please you, I was watching the rain on the roses," Randalin excused herself with a blush as she came forward.

A merry chorus mocked her: "Is it to watch the roses that you have put on the gown which matches your eyes, you sly one?"... "And the lilies in your hair, sweet? Is it to shelter them from the rain that you wear them?"... "Fie, Tata! Can you not fib yet without changing color?"

But Elfgiva raised an impatient hand. "Peace, chatterers!" she commanded; and drawing the girl to her, she spoke low and earnestly in her ear.

Randalin looked up in surprise. "You will not see him, lady? Not though he bring news of the doings in the Palace?"

"Heaven's mercy!" Elfgiva shrugged with a touch of scorn. "What abundance of news he has found to bring since the day he fell in with you at even-song!" Then she consented to smile faintly as she settled her head among the cushions. "I would rather sleep, child. Comfort him as best you can,--only not so well that you forget that which I enjoined you. If he fail us, I cannot tell what we shall do,--now that the second scullion has been so foolish as to get himself killed in some way. Where bear you the ring?"

The girl touched the spot where the gold chain that encircled her neck crept into the breast of her gown. The lady shook her head.