Hereward, the Last of the English by Charles Kingsley (i am reading a book .TXT) 📖

as these ladies’ ransom. Them you do not touch. Back, I say, let me pass!”

And he rushed forward. Winter and the housecarles formed round him and the women, and hurried down the hall, while the savages hurried up the ladder, to quarrel over their spoil.

They were out in the court-yard, and safe for the moment. But whither should he take her?

“To Earl Osbiorn,” said one of the Siwards. But how to find him?

“There is Bishop Christiern!” And the Bishop was caught and stopped.

“This is an evil day’s work, Sir Hereward.”

“Then help to mend it by taking care of these ladies, like a man of God.” And he explained the case.

“You may come safely with me, my poor lambs,” said the Bishop. “I am glad to find something to do fit for a churchman. To me, my housecarles.”

But they were all off plundering.

“We will stand by you and the ladies, and see you safe down to the ships,” said Winter, and so they went off.

Hereward would gladly have gone with them, as Alftruda piteously entreated him. But he heard his name called on every side in angry tones.

“Who wants Hereward?”

“Earl Osbiorn,—here he is.”

“Those scoundrel monks have hidden all the altar furniture. If you wish to save them from being tortured to death, you had best find it.”

Hereward ran with him into the Cathedral. It was a hideous sight; torn books and vestments; broken tabernacle work; foul savages swarming in and out of every dark aisle and cloister, like wolves in search of prey; five or six ruffians aloft upon the rood screen; one tearing the golden crown from the head of the crucifix, another the golden footstool from its feet. [Footnote: The crucifix was probably of the Greek pattern, in which the figure stood upon a flat slab, projecting from the cross.]

As Hereward came up, crucifix and man fell together, crashing upon the pavement, amid shouts of brutal laughter.

He hurried past them, shuddering, into the choir. The altar was bare, the golden pallium which covered it, gone.

“It may be in the crypt below. I suppose the monks keep their relics there,” said Osbiorn.

“No! Not there. Do not touch the relics! Would you have the curse of all the saints? Stay! I know an old hiding-place. It may be there. Up into the steeple with me.”

And in a chamber in the steeple they found the golden pall, and treasures countless and wonderful.

“We had better keep the knowledge of this to ourselves awhile,” said Earl Osbiorn, looking with greedy eyes on a heap of wealth such as he had never beheld before.

“Not we! Hereward is a man of his word, and we will share and share alike.” And he turned and went down the narrow winding stair.

Earl Osbiorn gave one look at his turned back; an evil spirit of covetousness came over him; and he smote Hereward full and strong upon the hind-head.

The sword turned upon the magic helm, and the sparks flashed out bright and wide.

Earl Osbiorn shrunk back, appalled and trembling.

“Aha!” said Hereward without looking round. “I never thought there would be loose stones in the roof. Here! Up here, Vikings, Berserker, and sea-cocks all! Here, Jutlanders, Jomsburgers, Letts, Finns, witches’ sons and devils’ sons all! Here!” cried he, while Osbiorn profited by that moment to thrust an especially brilliant jewel into his boot. “Here is gold, here is the dwarfs work! Come up and take your Polotaswarf! You would not get a richer out of the Kaiser’s treasury. Here, wolves and ravens, eat gold, drink gold, roll in gold, and know that Hereward is a man of his word, and pays his soldiers’ wages royally!”

They rushed up the narrow stair, trampling each other to death, and thrust Hereward and the Earl, choking, into a corner. The room was so full for a few moments, that some died in it. Hereward and Osbiorn, protected by their strong armor, forced their way to the narrow window, and breathed through it, looking out upon the sea of flame below.

“That was an unlucky blow,” said Hereward, “that fell upon my head.”

“Very unlucky. I saw it coming, but had no time to warn you. Why do you hold my wrist?”

“Men’s daggers are apt to get loose at such times as these.”

“What do you mean?” and Earl Osbiorn went from him, and into the now thinning press. Soon only a few remained, to search, by the glare of the flames, for what their fellows might have overlooked.

“Now the play is played out,” said Hereward, “we may as well go down, and to our ships.”

Some drunken ruffians would have burnt the church for mere mischief. But Osbiorn, as well as Hereward, stopped that. And gradually they got the men down to the ships; some drunk, some struggling under plunder; some cursing and quarrelling because nothing had fallen to their lot. It was a hideous scene; but one to which Hereward, as well as Osbiorn, was too well accustomed to see aught in it save an hour’s inevitable trouble in getting the men on board.

The monks had all fled. Only Leofwin the Long was left, and he lay sick in the infirmary. Whether he was burned therein, or saved by Hereward’s men, is not told.

And so was the Golden Borough sacked and burnt. Now then, whither?

The Danes were to go to Ely and join the army there. Hereward would march on to Stamford; secure that town if he could; then to Huntingdon, to secure it likewise; and on to Ely afterwards.

“You will not leave me among these savages?” said Alftruda.

“Heaven forbid! You shall come with me as far as Stamford, and then I will set you on your way.”

“My way?” said Alftruda, in a bitter and hopeless tone.

Hereward mounted her on a good horse, and rode beside her, looking—and he well knew it—a very perfect knight. Soon they began to talk. What had brought Alftruda to Peterborough, of all places on earth?

“A woman’s fortune. Because I am rich,—and some say fair,—I am a puppet, and a slave, a prey. I was going back to my,—to Dolfin.”

“Have you been away from him, then?”

“What! Do you not know?”

“How should I know, lady?”

“Yes, most true. How should Hereward know anything about Alftruda? But I will tell you. Maybe you may not care to hear?”

“About you? Anything. I have often longed to know how,—what you were doing.”