Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune<br />A Tale of the Days of Saint Dunstan by A. D. Crake (ebook reader with highlight function txt) 📖

“No; he is afraid, perhaps, to trust his cold heart within the magic of my Elgiva’s sunshine, lest the ice should be melted.”

These had been asides, while all the company were listening to the gleeman; but now Edwy threw himself heart and soul into the current conversation, and all went merry as a marriage peal, until the ceremoniarius—for Edwy loved formality in some things—threw open the folding doors and announced the captain of the hus-carles, and Elfric of Æscendune.

The whole company rose to receive them, and Elfric in particular received a warm welcome; but it was at once seen that there was a marked constraint upon him: his eye was restless and uneasy, and he seemed like one carrying a load at his breast.

In truth, since that fatal night when, as he believed, he had witnessed the death of his brother, he had striven in vain to drown care and to banish remorse: the thought of his aged father deprived of both his sons—the one by death, the other by desertion—would force its way unbidden to his mind. Still, he had determined to throw aside reserve in honour of the occasion, and he made heroic efforts to appear happy and gay.

Redwald was at his ease, as usual in all company, and seemed to cause prodigious laughter as he told his adventures to the younger folk at the bottom of the board. Dark and malign as his demeanour usually was, yet he could affect a light and airy character at times.

“Redwald, my trusty champion,” said Edwy, “this is the first campaign thou hast ever returned from unsuccessful. Tell us, how did Dunstan outwit you?”

“By the aid of the devil, my liege.”

“Doubtless; but we had all hoped for a different result, and that thou wouldst either have left the traitor no eyes in his head, or no head on his shoulders.

“Said I not rightly, my Elgiva?”

The eyes of the fair enemy of the abbot flashed fire, and she exchanged some very significant words with her mother, Ethelgiva, who occupied the next chair.

“Come, my fairy-given xxvi one, you must not be too hard on Redwald, who doubtless did his best—

“How was it, Elfric?”

“The devil was certainly on Dunstan’s side: he and no other could have betrayed our coming, for betrayed it was.”

“How long had he left when you reached the abbey?”

“Only an hour or two; but there was a sound of mocking laughter, doubtless caused by his incantations, which kept us for some hours forcing doors and the like.”

“And you could discover no cause?”

“None whatever; however, we found he had taken the Foss Way for the coast, and followed, and nearly caught him.”

“What prevented you?”

Elfric turned pale as if with great mental emotion, and tried to proceed in vain.

“You are not well,” said Elgiva, anxiously.

“Not quite,” he said; and then, overcoming his feelings by a vigorous effort, while no one save Redwald suspected the true cause, he continued:

“There had been a great storm, and they had broken down the only bridge which existed for miles over a swollen river: we lost hours.”

“And yet, as your messengers told us, you arrived in time to see him leave the coast.”

“The vessel which bore him was still distinctly in sight when we stood on the sands.”

“But had you no means of following?”

“None: it was a lonely fishing village with a small harbour, and his bark was a mere fishing smack, the only one of the place.”

“I trust the sea has swallowed him,” said the king; “but there is a rumour today that he is playing the saint in Flanders with great pomp. Well, only let him show his face in England again, and the devil may pinch my nose with his tongs if I leave him a head on his shoulders: he shall be a sacrifice to your outraged dignity, my Elgiva.”

“And yours, my Edwy.”

Husband and wife were quite agreed on this subject: they had never forgiven Dunstan in the least degree, and, identifying him with religion, had well-nigh abjured it altogether.

The ordinary dishes being now removed, the guests all partook lavishly of wine, and, their heads already heated, yielded entirely to the excitement of the moment. Toast after toast was drunk to the king: he was compared to Apollo for his beauty, and Elgiva to Venus, while the old northern mythology was ransacked also for appellations in honour of the youthful pair.

Adjoining, in the outer hall, the higher domestics had their music and dancing, and the king and queen came to honour the entertainment by their presence. So the happy hours wore away, and at length the company were on the eve of departure, for fatigue was making itself felt, when an ominous blowing of a horn was heard at the outer gate.

A pause, during which the company looked at each other, so strangely had the sound struck them, and yet they knew not why, save that it was an unlikely hour for such an occurrence.

There was one only who knew what the message would probably be —Redwald; and he had kept the secret purposely from the king.

The doors opened, and an usher brought in a messenger who had only been allowed a moment to change a dusty dress, ere he broke into the presence of royalty.

“Speak,” said Edwy, as the messenger bowed before him, and kissed his hand.

“My lord and king—” and the messenger glanced at Elgiva.

“Let him speak, Edwy, my lord. Are we not one? What you can bear, your wife must bear also.”

Thus adjured, the messenger spoke his news.

“Mercia has revolted, and proclaimed Edgar king.”

“The cause alleged?”

“I know not, my lord.”

“I can tell you,” said Redwald; “the banishment of the holy fox, Dunstan, and very shame prevents my adding that—”

“No more,” said Edwy; “I can guess the rest.”

He wished to spare Elgiva.

He walked up and down the hall several times. His festive air had gone.

“And on my wedding day, too,” he said. “Redwald, you knew this.”

“Yes, my lord, but I wished to spare my king upon his wedding day, still I have not spared myself. The necessary steps are taken, your immediate vassals are summoned, and my own men are ready to march; we will sweep these rebels off the field.”

“Elfric,” said the king, “you must be my right hand in the field: you will be ready to invade your native Mercia tomorrow. Think you your own friends are firm?”

“My father, although he has disowned me, would never disown his lawful king; the duty and love he bore to your murdered father would forbid.”

“Well, Redwald, have you known this many hours?”

“I heard it at the frontier town of Mercia, Reading, last night, and took all my measures immediately.”

“Then, can we really depend upon Wessex?”

“I treat so indeed, my lord, else we should be in a very bad way indeed.”

“Well, we must rest now. Elgiva, darling, this is a cold termination to our first anniversary, but your husband’s love shall ever protect you until he be cold in death.

“Goodnight, Elfric, be ready for the morrow.

“Goodnight, Redwald, trustiest warrior who ever served grateful lord.

“Goodnight, gentlemen all.”

And thus the royal party broke up, and thus ended the first anniversary of the ill-starred union.

On the morrow all was haste and confusion in the royal palace. Elgiva departed early for Winchester, which, being farther removed from the frontier, was safer than London from any sudden excursion on the part of the Mercians, and the city was also devoted to the royal family. The citizens of London were directed to provide for the defence of their city, while the royal guards, attended by the immediate vassals of the crown, prepared to march into the heart of the rebellious district.

It is too often supposed that the feudal system was of Norman importation, whereas its very foundation—the act of homage, or of “becoming your man,”—was brought by the Saxons and Angles from their German home. The lord was the protector of the vassal, but the vassal was bound to attend his feudal superior both in peace and war.

So imperative was this obligation, that a vassal who abandoned his lord in the field of battle was liable to the death of a traitor.

Therefore Edwy soon found himself at the head of a compact body of ten thousand men, all bound to stand by him to death. But there was one very disheartening circumstance, which attracted notice. No volunteers joined the little army, although a royal proclamation had promised lands from the territories of the rebels to each successful combatant in the cause of Edwy and Elgiva.

The fear of the Church hung on all, the conviction that the law of both Church and State had been broken by the young king; the universal belief in the sanctity of Dunstan, and in the true patriotism of Odo whom they called “the good;” the thoughtless misgovernment since the wiser counsellors had dispersed—all these things weakened the hearts of the followers of Edwy.

There was therefore but little enthusiasm when the inhabitants saw the soldiers of the king march out by the Watling Street, and the soldiers themselves looked dispirited.

It was early dawn on the second day from the feast that the departure took place. Cynewulf, a valiant Earl of Wessex, was the real commander; nominally, Edwy commanded in person, and Elfric rode out of London by his side. Redwald’s rank would not have entitled him to the chief command.

Passing through the environs of the city, they gained the open country, and marched steadily along the causeway the Romans had so firmly laid, until they reached Verulam or St. Alban’s, where they passed the night. It excited great discontent amongst the inhabitants that Edwy did not visit the shrine of the saint, the glory of their town; and his departure again took place amidst gloomy silence.

They were now about to cross the frontier and enter Mercia, then in many respects an independent state; governed, it might be, by the same monarch and Witan as Wessex, even as Scotland and England are governed by the same sovereign and Parliament, yet retaining like them its own peculiar code of laws in many respects.

And now Mercia had sternly refused to be governed any longer by the “enemy of the Church,” and chose the Etheling, Edgar, to be its king.

Acting with the sanction of Odo, whom he deeply revered, the young Edgar, then only in his fifteenth year, accepted the offer, and the whole force of Mercia was gathering to support him when Edwy crossed the border.

It must not be supposed that either Cynewulf or Redwald expected to conquer the Mercians with ten thousand men. No, their design was simpler: they had learned where Edgar was residing, and that the forces around him were small. One bold stroke might secure his person, and then Edwy might make his own terms. This was the secret of the advice they both gave to the young king.

Redwald had, as we shall see, deep designs of his own to serve also, but they had been locked for years in his own breast, and no servant could seem more trusty and faithful than he did, or act with more energy in his master’s cause.

The forces of Edwy, as we have related, left St. Alban’s on the second morning, and travelled, horse and foot, very rapidly all that day.

Crossing the Icknield Street at Dunstable, where the remains of a huge temple, once sacred to Diana, were visible, they entered Mercia, and soon reached Towcester, a town which had been walled round by King Athelstane; here they found no force prepared to receive them, and the town opened its gates at once.

They tarried here for a day, while they sent scouts and spies in all directions, many of whom never returned. The troops were quartered freely upon the inhabitants, who were evidently very hostile; and, in return, the soldiers of Edwy insulted the women and bullied the men. Every hour some quarrel arose, and generally ended in bloodshed; the citizens being commonly the victims.

Late at night messengers arrived at the royal quarters, bringing information that Edgar was at Alcester, the ancient Alauna, beyond the Avon, and that Osric, the great Earl of Mercia, was with him collecting troops.

A council was held at once, and it was decided to leave the Watling Street and to march for the Avon by cross-country routes. They rested that night amidst the ruins of the ancient Brinavæ, and here another council was held, to deliberate on their future movements, and it was decided to march westward at once, for tidings came that Edgar’s forces were rapidly increasing, and prudence suggested prompt measures. Edwy was becoming very anxious.

The route for the next day was then made out and, with beating heart, Elfric learned that they purposed crossing the river not far from Æscendune.

“Elfric, my friend,” said Edwy, “there will