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) 📖

“A member of the family!”

“Yes. Is there any one present who remembers the unhappy brother of our late lamented lord—Oswald, the son of Offa?”

“Yes,” said the old chamberlain, “I remember him well; and I see now what you mean.”

“Is not the expression of the face identical? Are they not the same features, as one might say?”

“Yet Redwald is much darker.”

“Because his mother was Danish, and he has inherited some of her peculiarities, that is all.”

“Still,” said the steward, “every one supposed that the unhappy Oswald perished at sea with his son. Never shall I forget the grief of the old thane Offa, when inquiring for the son, he learned that he had gone with the father to his death. He would have adopted him.”

“And do we not,” added a Benedictine, “say a mass daily at St. Wilfred’s altar for the souls of Oswald and his son Ragnar?”

“Oswald may be dead; Ragnar yet lives in Redwald. The name alone is changed.”

“But where are the proofs? We cannot wholly trust an imaginary resemblance.”

“It is not imaginary; and these are the proofs in question. The night after the murder” (all looked at each other as if a sudden inspiration struck them), “as I was going to the chapel from the lady Edith’s apartments, I passed through a passage little used, but leading past the chamber allotted to Redwald, and only separated by a thin wainscoting. I was startled as I passed it by the sound of a pacing to and fro; an incessant pacing; and I heard the inmate of the room soliloquising with himself as in a state of frenzied feeling. I caught only broken words but again and again I heard ‘Avenged;’ and once ‘Father you are avenged;’ and once ‘Little do they know who is their guest;’ once ‘It is a good beginning,’ and such like ejaculations. I remained a long time, because, as you will all see, the murderer stood revealed.”

“Then why did you not tell us before?” exclaimed all, almost in a breath.

“Because it would have been of no avail. Had there been the least chance of calling him to account, I should, you may be sure, have proclaimed his guilt. But early in the morning fresh forces began to arrive to his aid. My only endeavour was to get the lady Edith and her remaining children safe from the castle; and it was only by dissembling my feelings, by talking face to face with the man of blood, by pretending to trust him, that I could succeed. Had he not thought us all perfectly satisfied, he would never have left the hall to go foraging in person; and now all would be well, but for this sad, sad chance, which has placed the poor lad Elfric in his power.”

“But,” said Alfred, “this makes the case worse than ever. Poor Elfric! they will kill him. Oh, can this be Ragnar?”

The Benedictines expressed themselves convinced, because the supposition explained the present circumstances so clearly, and accounted for that hitherto unaccountable circumstance—the murder. The steward and chamberlain both fancied they recognised the family likeness; and so the solution at which Father Cuthbert had arrived was accepted by all.

The question was now what course to adopt, for the night was fast wearing away.

“Two things are to be done,” said Father Cuthbert. “The first is to secure the safety of the lady Edith and her children from any sudden attack from the castle, to which effect I propose holding all the vassals in arms; and, in case of any force leaving the hall, I purpose giving the lady Edith and her daughter instant sanctuary in the priory, while the vassals gather round its precincts; for, I fear me, this Ragnar is a heathen, and would but little respect the house of God.”

“Could we not attack the hall and release Elfric? Think of Elfric,” said Alfred.

“It would be madness; Redwald has more than a hundred and fifty men of war within it. The place is full; we could not attack with the least chance of success. No: the second thing I meant to propose was this, that we should send an instant message to King Edgar, who is near at hand, and explain the whole circumstances to him. He has many causes of enmity against Redwald, and would probably come to our aid at once, as the safety of his realm would require him to do eventually.”

“Let me be the messenger; he will surely listen to the pleadings of a brother for a brother.”

“I had so designed,” said Father Cuthbert; “and in order that no chance may be thrown away, I will adventure myself in the lion’s den, and threaten with the penalties of excommunication this vindictive Redwald or Ragnar.”

“No, father; you will never come out alive. No, no!” said they all.

The last proposal was universally discouraged. Redwald had already special cause of enmity against Father Cuthbert, who had robbed him of part of his destined prey; and it was ultimately settled that Father Swithin, another of the order, should be charged with the mission, with the power to make conciliatory offers, or to act on the other course as he should see fit; in short, to use all his wit for Elfric.

Alfred did not delay a moment unnecessarily, but in the dawning light set forward to seek Edgar, of whom he had no definite information, but who was believed to linger in the neighbourhood of the battlefield, holding council with earls and thanes as to the further steps to be taken, and receiving the submission of the whole Mercian, East Anglian, and Northumbrian nobility.

Therefore, mounted upon a good steed, and accompanied by Oswy, he rapidly traversed the country over which his brother had been so painfully borne; slowly, however, in places, for here and there large tracts of swamp obstructed the way, and in other places the thickets were dense and impervious; even where the country was cultivated the unpaved roads were rough and hazardous for riders.

It was past the hour of nones, the ninth hour of the day, when the riders reached the battlefield, which still bore frightful traces of the recent combat; reddened with blood, which had left its dark traces on large patches of the ground, and encumbered with the bodies of horses and men which had not yet found sepulture, although bands of theows from the neighbouring estates were busily engaged in the necessary toil, excavating huge pits, and placing the dead—no longer rivals—reverently and decently in their last long home. Several wolves could be discerned, hanging about under the skirts of the forest, but not daring to come out into the plain while the day lasted and the men were about; whole flocks of ravenous birds flew about the scene, now settling down on the spots where the strife had been hottest, now soaring away when disturbed in their sickening feast.

It was the first time Alfred had ever gazed upon a battlefield; and now he saw it stripped of all the romance and glamour which bards had thrown over it, and the sight appalled him.

He drew near a large pit into which the thralls were casting the dead. Many of the bodies presented, as we have already seen, a most ghastly spectacle; and nearly all had begun to decompose. Mentally he thanked God that Elfric, at least, was not there; and he turned aside his head in horror at the sight.

He now inquired of the foreman of the labourers whether he knew where the Etheling Edgar would be.

“You mean King Edgar, for the Mercians will acknowledge no other king. The people of Wessex may keep the enemy of the saints, if they like.”

“King Edgar, I mean. Where is he now?”

“He has been holding a council at Tamworth town, in the old palace of King Offa; and they say all the tributary kings have come there to be his men, and all the great earls.”

“Can you tell me the nearest road to Tamworth?”

“Why, it lies through the forest there, where you see those wolves lurking about. They will begin to be dangerous when the sun goes down, and perhaps some of them would not mind a snap at a horse or even a man, now.”

“We must take our chance;” said Alfred: “life and death hang on our speed,” and he and Oswy rode on.

The wolves were no longer seen. In the summer they generally avoided men, at least during the day, and they were gradually becoming more uncommon at that date. Alfred entertained little fear as he proceeded, until the darkening shadows showed that night was near, and they were still in the heart of the forest, when he began to feel alarmed. The road before them was a good wide woodland path, and easy to follow even in the gathering darkness.

Suddenly their horses started violently, as a loud howl was heard behind, and repeated immediately from different quarters of the forest.

Alfred felt that it was the gathering of the ferocious beasts, which had been attracted from distant forests by the scent of the battlefield, and had thus happened to lie in increased numbers around their path. The howling continued to increase, and their horses sped onward as if mad with fear—it was all they could do to guide them safely.

Nearer and nearer drew the fearful sound; and looking back they beheld the fiery eyes swarming along the road after them. They had begun to abandon hope, when all at once they heard the sound of advancing horsemen in front of them, accompanied by the clank of arms. The wolves heard it too, and with all the cunning cowardice of their race scampered away from their intended prey, just as Alfred and Oswy avoided impaling themselves upon the lances of the coming deliverers.

“Whom have we here, riding at this pace through the woods?” cried out a rough, manly voice.

“The wolves were after the poor fellows,” said another.

“They may speak for themselves,” said the leader, confronting Alfred. “Art thou a Mercian and a friend of King Edgar? Under which king? Speak, or die!”

“I seek King Edgar. My name is Alfred, son of Ella of Æscendune.”

“Who sheltered the men of Wessex, and entertained the impious Edwy in his castle.”

“We had no power to resist had we wished to do so.”

“Which you evidently did not. May a plain soldier ask you now why you seek King Edgar?”

“Because,” said Alfred, “my father has been murdered, and my brother made a prisoner by Redwald, the captain of King Edwy’s hus-carles, who holds our house, and has driven us all out.”

“Your father murdered! Your family expelled! Your brother a prisoner! These are strange news.”

“Why this delay!” cried another speaker, riding up from behind. “The king is impatient to get on. Ride faster.”

“The king!” cried Alfred. “Oh, lead me to him.”

“Who is this,” demanded the second officer, “who demands speech of the royal Edgar?”

“Alfred of Æscendune. He tells us that the infamous Redwald holds the fortified house there, has murdered the thane Ella, and expelled the family, save the brother, whom he holds to ransom.”

“No, not to ransom,” cried Alfred. “It is his life that is threatened. Oh, take me to Edgar!”

“He is close behind, in company with the Ealdorman of Mercia and Siward of Northumbria.”

“Stay behind with him, Biorn, and let us continue our route. You may introduce him to the king, if he will see him.”

The first party—the advance guard—now passed on, and was succeeded almost immediately by the main body, foremost amongst whom rode Prince or rather King Edgar, then only a youth of fifteen years of age. We last beheld him a boy of twelve, at the date of Elfric’s arrival at the court of Edred. By his side rode Siward, Ealdorman of Northumbria.

“Who is this?” cried the latter, as he saw Alfred and his attendant waiting to receive him.

“Alfred of Æscendune, with a petition for aid against Redwald, who has seized his father’s castle.”

“Alfred of Æscendune!” cried Edgar. “Halt, my friends, one moment. Alfred of Æscendune, tell me your story; to me, Edgar, your king.”

Alfred hastened to pour his tale of sorrows into an ear evidently not unsympathising, and when he had concluded Edgar asked —“And tell me what is your request. It shall be granted even to the uttermost.”

“Only that you, my lord, would hasten to our aid and deliver my brother for his poor widowed mother’s sake.”

“We should send a troop against Redwald in any case, but even had our plans been otherwise, know this, Alfred of Æscendune, that he who by his devoted service saved the life, or at least the liberty, of Dunstan, the light of our realm of England, and the favourite of heaven, has a claim to ask any favour Edgar can grant.

“Siward, my father, bid the