Wulfric the Weapon Thane by Charles W. Whistler (ebook reader online .TXT) 📖

I heard in the wood, as the searchers called to each other, drew closer together, crying:

"Where are you?"

"Here--here!"

And then was a sort of outcry, and a silence, and I hoped that maybe they had found what they sought. So I rose up and went slowly and limpingly to the place where they seemed to be.

I met them in a green glade. And foremost came the two monks, bearing between them a cloak, wherein was surely that we looked for, and after them came my dog and Raud, and then the rest. And when they saw me they cried softly to me:

"Master, we have found the head of our king."

So they laid open the cloak before me, and I knelt and looked. And there was indeed the head of Eadmund, seeming whole and fresh as when I had last seen him; and his looks were very peaceful, for on his face was still that smile with which he had greeted death at Raud's hands.

Then, seeing that, the rough Dane was fain to turn away and lean arms and face against a tree trunk, weeping as weeps a child that will not be comforted.

After a little I asked how they had found the head. And one of the villagers, speaking low and holding his cap in his hands as though in the church, answered me.

"When I came to a certain thicket, I heard a crying, as it were, and I turned aside and looked, and at first was sorely afraid, for yon great wolf held the head between his paws, whining over it as in grief. Then I called to the rest, and they came, running, and were afraid also till the good fathers came, to whom the wolf was gentle, suffering them to take that which he guarded. And lo! he follows us even now, as would a dog!"

So the man spoke, not having seen such a dog as mine before, for till more came with the host there were none like him in our land. I told him that it was but my own dog; yet for all that, I know that this tale of a wolf passed for the truth over all the land as it flew from mouth to mouth, so that soon I myself heard from one who knew me not very strange stories of that finding of ours.

Yet would that tale hardly be stranger than was the truth, that not one of the wild creatures, either beast or bird, had harmed our king's sacred head. And how it should be so preserved in that place I cannot tell, but I say what I saw. Yet his body was not so preserved in the place where we had hidden it.

These things are beyond me, nor can I tell all the thoughts that came into my mind as I looked into the face of the king whom I had loved, and who loved me.

Now would we take our treasure, as we must needs think it, to Hoxne, and the monks were about to lift it again. But Raud came forward very solemnly, begging that he might be allowed to bear it, "Because he would make what amends he might."

And I signed to the monks to suffer him to do so, and he took it. None else but I knew what part he had had with the other Danes in this matter, and the monks did but think him grieving for what his comrades had done.

So he bore it to Hoxne village, and we passed the place where the church had been. There, amid the blackened ruins of the walls and roof, stood the font of stone, fire reddened and chipped, yet with the cross graven on its eastward face plain to be seen. And to that place Raud led us, none staying him, yet all wondering.

When he came there he strode over the burnt timber until he came to the font, and there, under the graven cross, he set down his burden very gently, and stood up, looking in my face, and saying:

"Here will I leave the worship of Odin and cleave to that faith for which Eadmund the King died, and for which you, Wulfric, were willing to die both in Jutland and here by Eadmund's side. Will any forbid me?"

Then I knew that the man was in such earnest, that none, save he perilled his own soul, might hold him back, and I took his hand and spoke to the elder monk, saying:

"I will answer for this man, father, as to his will. If he knows enough of our faith, I pray you baptize him straightway."

There was rain water in the font, sparkling and clear, and without any delay or doubt the good man came forward and stood thereby, while I yet held Raud's hand as his godfather.

"What know you of our faith, my son?" said the monk in his gentle voice.

Now of his own accord Raud faced to the eastward, and clasping his hands before him, spoke the words of the Creed, slowly and haltingly maybe, but with knowledge thereof, and all that little company, standing hushed until he ended, answered "Amen" with one voice.

Then again, untaught by us he turned to the west, where the sun was even now sinking, and lifting his right hand very solemnly he put away from him the false gods of his forefathers, and the golden sunlight made his face very glorious, as I thought.

"It is well, my son," said the old monk.

So he was baptized, and I gave him the new name of Cyneward {xxii}, for the memory of Eadmund the King and what he did for him in saving him from torture as best he might. And surely he was the first fruit of the martyrdom of him whose head he had borne.

Then when all was done he took up his burden again, softly and reverently, saying:

"Life I took, and life has been given me. This is not the old way of life for life, but it is better."

So he gave back the head to the monks, and they, wondering at him, but greatly rejoicing, took it, and stood awhile pondering where we might safely bestow it.

Then came one of the villagers, telling of a stone-walled chamber that had been a well in days long gone by, hard by the church porch. That we found after some labour, moving much ruin from over it, and therein we placed the bones and head of our king, covering it again until better days should come. And I, thinking of my riches in the hands of Ingild, promised that when it might be done I would see to raising the church afresh, to be over the ashes of the king.

So our little company parted, and Cyneward, who had been Raud, and I went back with the elder monk and the farm folk to our place, going slowly in the warm twilight, with our hearts at rest, and full of the wonders we had seen that day.

Only one thing would the monk and I ask Cyneward, for we wondered how he had learned our faith so well. And that he answered gladly.

"Ever as Wulfric and I escaped from the vengeance of Ingvar towards Hedeby I wondered that one should be strong enough to defy the Asir and their godar for the sake of the new faith. So I sat in the church of Ansgar among the other heathen and heard somewhat. And again in London of late, where Guthrum will have no man harmed for his religion, I have listened and learnt more. So when I needed them, the words were ready. Now, therefore, both in life and death, Wulfric, my master, I thank you."

But I was silent, knowing how much greater a part in this I might have had. For I thought that, but for the need of proving my faith or denying it, I should have surely been as a heathen among heathen in those days in Jutland. Yet Beorn asked me to pray for him, and that I had done, and it had kept me mindful when I had else forgotten.

So began the work Humbert the Bishop foretold before he died, and that monk of his who saved his own life at Humbert's bidding for the work, saw it, and rejoiced.

After this, in a week's time, Cyneward and I took horse and rode away to London, for the dame's son came back to me, having found Ingild, bringing me messages from him, and also from Egfrid and many more. And all was well. At that time I could not reward as I would those good people who had thus cared for me, but I would send presents when I might. Yet they said they needed naught from me but to see me again at some time, which I promised, as well for my own love of them as for their asking.

We went unharmed and unquestioned, for all the land was at peace. Truly there were new-made huts where farmsteads had been, and at the town gates were Danish axemen instead of our spearmen as of old. Yet already in the hayfields Dane and Anglian wrought together, and the townsmen stood on Colchester Hill beside the Danish warriors, listening while gleeman and scald sang in rivalry to please both.

Little of change was there in London town, save again the scarlet-cloaked Danish guards and watchmen. Few enough of these there were, and indeed the host left but small parties in the towns behind them in our land. Yet those few could hold the country in peace, because men knew that at their back was the might of Ingvar's awful host, which came on a land unawares, marching more swiftly than rumour could fly before it, so that not one might know where the next blow would fall until suddenly the war beacons of flaming villages flared up, and it was too late to do aught but fly.

Yet in our land was none to fight for. No king had we to follow the martyr. Ethelred had left us alone, and already in the hearts of men grew up the thought that the strong hand of the Dane meant peace.

In the house of good old Ingild, my second father, as he would have me hold him, was rest at last. And there I found all whom I held dear gathered to meet me on the night when I came, for they had fled by ship, as they had hoped, and had reached London safely.


CHAPTER XV. THE MESSAGE OF HALFDEN THE KING.

Now when I had been in London for a fortnight, Cyneward, whom Ingild would by no means suffer to live elsewhere than in his house with me, went to Guthrum as was his duty, and told him that I had come. Whereupon he sent to me, asking again that I would speak with him.

On that I took counsel with Ingild and Egfrid, and the thane his father, and they thought it well that I should do so.

"This Dane," said the thane, "is lord of East Anglia by the might of the strong hand, and it seems to us that we might have a worse ruler. At any rate we shall have peace, and no more trouble with Danes while he is here. As for Ethelred, he is no more to us. Even if he overcomes the Danes in the end, it is not likely that we will own Wessex overlords again unless we must."