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) 📖

of Elfric, how were they to bear him back? The difficulty had to be overcome, and they reflected a moment.

“There is a small boat down at the ferry,” whispered Oswy.

It was all Alfred needed, and he and Oswy at once started for the river. They returned in a few minutes, bearing a light boat, almost like a British coracle, on which they instantly embarked, and a push or two with the pole sent them noiselessly across the moat.

They landed, made fast the boat, and searched in the darkness for the door; it was an old portal, almost disused, for it was only built that there might be a retreat in any such pressing emergency as might easily arise in those unsettled times; the holly bushes in front, and the thick branches of dependent ivy, concealed its existence from any person beyond the moat, and it had not even been seen by the watchful eye of Ragnar.

Alfred, however, had but recently made use of the door, when seeking bunches of holly wherewith to deck the board on the occasion of the feast given to King Edwy, and he had omitted to relock it on his return, an omission which now seemed to him of providential arrangement.

He had, therefore, only to turn the rusty latch as noiselessly as might be, and the door slowly opened. The key was in the lock, on the inside.

Entering cautiously, taking off their heavy shoes and leaving them in the doorway, they ascended a flight of steps which terminated in front of a door which entered the chapel underneath the bell cot, while another flight led upwards to the gallery, from which all the principal chambers on the first floor opened.

Arriving at this upper floor, Alfred listened intently for one moment, and hearing only the sounds of revelry from beneath, he opened the door gently, and saw the passage lie vacant before him.

He passed along it until he came to the door of his father’s chamber, feeling the whole time that his life hung on a mere thread, upon the chance that Ragnar and his warriors might remain out of the way, and that no one might be near to raise the alarm. With nearly two hundred inmates this was but a poor chance, but Alfred could dare all for his brother. He committed himself, therefore, to God’s protection, and went firmly on till he reached the door.

He opened it with trembling eagerness, and the whole scene as we have already described it was before him. Elfric sat up in the bed, uttering the cries which had pierced the outer air. When Alfred entered he did not seem to know him, but saluted him as “Dunstan.” His cries had become too familiar to the present inmates of the hall for this to attract attention. Alfred closed the door.

“It is I, Elfric!—I, your brother Alfred!”

Elfric stared vacantly, then fell back on the pillow: a moment only passed, and then it was evident that an interval of silence had begun, during which the patient only moaned. The noise from those who were feasting in the hall beneath, which communicated with the gallery by a large staircase, was loud and boisterous as ever.

A step was heard approaching.

Alfred took Oswy by the arm, and they both retired behind the tapestry, which concealed a small recess, where garments were usually suspended.

The heavy step entered the room, and its owner was evidently standing beside the bed gazing upon the couch. There he remained stationary for some minutes, and again left the room. It was not till the last sound had died away that Alfred and Oswy ventured to leave their concealment.

The silence still continued, save that it was sometimes broken by the patient’s moans.

“Take and wrap these clothes round him; we must preserve him from the night air;” and they wrapped the blankets around him; then Oswy, who was very strongly built, took the light frame of Elfric in his arms, and they left the room.

One moment of dread suspense—the passage was clear—a minute more would have placed them in safety, when the paroxysm returned upon the unfortunate Elfric.

“Help, Edwy! Redwald, help! Dunstan has seized me, and is bearing me to the fire! I burn! help, I burn!”

Alfred groaned in his agony; the shrieking voice had been uttered just as they passed the staircase leading down to the hall. Up rushed Ragnar, followed by several of his men, and started back in amazement as he beheld Alfred and Oswy with their burden. Alfred drew his sword to dispute the passage, but was overpowered in a moment. Ragnar himself attacked Oswy, who was forced to relinquish his burden. All was lost.

Another moment and Ragnar confronted his prisoners. Elfric had been carried back to his bed. Alfred and Oswy stood before him, their arms bound behind them, in the great hall, while the soldiers retired at a signal a short distance from them.

“What has brought you here?”

“To deliver my brother.”

“To share his fate, you mean. Know you into whose hands you have fallen?”

“Yes; into those of my cousin Ragnar.”

“Then you know what mercy to expect.”

“I came prepared to share my brother’s fate.”

“And you shall share it. It must be the hand of fate which has placed you both in my power, me, the representative of the rightful lord of Æscendune, dispossessed by your father, and being myself the legitimate heir.”

“We do not dispute your title; give my brother his life and liberty, and take all; we have never injured you.”

“All would be nothing without vengeance; you appeal in vain to me. Did I wish to spare you I could not; an oath, a fearful oath, binds me, taken to one from whom I derived life, one whose death was far more agonising and lingering than yours shall be.”

“Let us at least die together.”

“Do you scorn the company of your thrall in death?”

“God forbid!

“Oswy, you have given your life for us; we die in company. God protect my poor mother, my poor childless mother! She will be alone!”

“You shall die together as you desire.”

He addressed a few words in an unknown tongue to his men; his face was now pale as death, his lips compressed as of one who has taken a desperate resolution.

“Retire to your brother’s chamber again. You will not compel me to use force?”

They retired up the stairs; Ragnar followed, two or three of his men at a respectful distance from him.

They re-entered the chamber; Ragnar followed and stood before them.

“I will grant you all that is in my power; you shall all die together, and you may tend your brother to the last.”

“What shall be the manner of our death?” asked Alfred, who was very calm, fearfully calm.

“You will soon discover; my hand shall not be upon you, or red with your blood. Believe me, I am, like you, the victim of stern necessity, although I am the avenger, you the victims.”

“You cannot thus deceive yourself, or shake off the guilt of murder; our father’s blood is upon you. You will answer for this, for him and for us, at the judgment seat.”

“I am willing to do so, if there be a judgment seat whereat to answer. I had a father, too, who was condemned to a lingering death, by thirst, hunger, and madness; I witnessed his agonies; I swore to avenge them. You appeal to the memory of your father, who has perished a victim to avenging justice; I appeal to that of mine. If there be a God, let Him deliver you, and perhaps I will believe in Him. Farewell for ever!”

He closed the door, and, with the aid of his men, securely fastened it on the outside, so that no strength from within could open it; he descended to the hall.

“Warriors,” he said, “the moment I predicted has come; I have received a warning that the usurper Edgar already marches against us; tomorrow, at the latest, he will be here; before he arrives we shall be halfway to Wessex. Let every one secure his baggage and his plunder, and let the horses be all got ready for a forced march. We have eaten the last feast that shall ever be eaten in these halls.”

A few moments of bustle and confusion followed, and before half-an-hour had expired all was ready, and the men-at-arms from without announced that every horse—their own and those of the thane, to carry their booty, the plunder of the castle—awaited them without.

“Then,” said he, “listen, my men, to the final orders. Fire the castle, every portion of it; fire the stables, the barns, the outbuildings. We will leave a pile of blackened embers for Edgar when he comes; the halls where the princely Edwy has feasted shall never be his, or entertain him as a guest.”

A loud shout signified the alacrity with which his followers bent themselves to the task; torches flashed in all directions, and in a few moments the flames began to do their destroying work.

An officer addressed Ragnar—“There are three thralls locked up in an outbuilding, shall we leave them to burn?”

“Nay; why should we grudge them their miserable lives; they have done us no harm.”

At that moment a loud cry of dire alarm was heard, the trampling of an immense body of horse followed—a rush into the hall already filled with smoke—loud outcries and shrieks from without.

“What is the matter?” cried Ragnar.

“The Mercians are upon us! the Mercians are upon us!”

Ragnar rushed to the gateway, and a sight met his startled eyes he was little prepared to behold.

The clouds had been driven away by a fierce wind, the moon was shining brightly, and revealed a mighty host surrounding the hall on every side. Every horse before the gateway was driven away or seized, every man who had not saved himself by instant retreat had been slain by the advancing host; without orders the majority of his men had repassed the moat, and had already raised the drawbridge against the foe, not without the greatest difficulty.

“Extinguish the fires which you have raised; let each man fight fire—then we will fight the Mercians.”

It was high time to fight fire, rather it was too late.