Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. 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) 📖
- Author: A. D. Crake
Book online «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) 📖». Author A. D. Crake
That same night, after the clerks had sung compline in the chapel, and the chamberlain had seen to the safety of the palace, Edwy came quietly to the room of his page, and the two left as on the first occasion. Redwald attended them, and just before the boat left the bank he spoke a word of caution.
“I fear,” he said, in a low tone, “that all is not quite right. That old fox Dunstan is up to some trick; he has not really left town.”
“Perhaps he has a similar appointment tonight,” said Edwy, sarcastically. “I should keep mine though he and all his monks from Glastonbury barred the way.”
They reached the castellated mansion of Ethelgiva in due course, and the programme of the former evening was repeated, save that, if there was any change, the conversation was more licentious, and the wine cup passed more freely.
It was midnight, and one of the company was favouring them with a song of questionable propriety, when a heavy knock was heard at the door. The servants went to answer it, and all the company awaited the issue in suspense.
One of the principal domestics returned with haste, and whispered some words into the ear of Ethelgiva—which seemed to discompose her.
“What can this mean?” she said. “A guard of soldiers demand admittance in the king’s name?”
A louder knocking attested the fact.
“You must admit them, or they will batter the door down. Edwy, Elfric! here, hide yourselves behind that curtain, it veils a deep recess.”
They had scarcely concealed themselves when Dunstan entered, attended by a guard of the royal hus-carles.
“What means this insolence?” said Ethelgiva.
“No insolence is intended, royal lady, nor could be offered to the widow of the Etheling, by me,” replied Dunstan, “but I seek to discharge a sacred trust committed to me. Where are my pupils, the Prince Edwy and his companion?”
“In their beds, at the palace, I should suppose.”
“Nay, be not so perfidious; they are here, lady, and probably within hearing; they must come forth, or I must order the guard to search the house, which I should regret.”
“By whose authority?”
“By that of the king, whose signet is on my hand.”
“They are not here; they left half-an-hour ago.”
“Pardon me, madam, if I observe that we have watched the house for an hour.
“Had not this scene better terminate?” he added, with icy coldness.
At this moment a favourite dog, which Edwy had often petted, and which had entered with the guard, found him out behind the curtain, and in its vociferous joy betrayed the whole secret.
Confusion or smiles sat on every face save that of the imperturbable Dunstan.
“Your dog, madam, is more truthful than its mistress,” he said, bluntly yet quietly; and then, advancing to the recess, he drew aside the curtain and gazed upon the discovered couple.
“Will you kindly return to the palace with me?”
“How dare you, insolent monk, intrude upon the pleasures of your future king?”
“I dare by the orders of the present king, your royal uncle, who has committed the whole matter into my hands; and, Prince Edwy, in the discharge of my duty ‘dare’ is a superfluous word. Will you, as I said before, both follow me, if you are sufficiently masters of yourselves to do so?”
The import of all this was seen at a glance, but there was no course but submission, and Edwy well knew how utterly indefensible his conduct was; so, with crestfallen gait, he and Elfric followed their captor to the river, where was another large boat by the side of their own. They entered it, and returned to the palace stairs much more sober than on previous occasions.
“THE KING IS DEAD!—LONG LIVE THE KING!”
The unhappy Elfric passed the night in a most unenviable frame of mind. He felt distinctly how utterly he was in the power of Dunstan, and that he could only expect to return home in disgrace; yet there was no real repentance in all this: he had sinned and suffered, but although he dreaded punishment he no longer hated sin.
He scarcely slept at all, and early in the morning he rose to seek an interview with Edwy, when he found that he was a prisoner. One of the hus-carles posted at his door forbade all communication.
Early in the morning the bell sounded for the early service, still he was not released, and later his breakfast was brought to him, after which he heard a heavy step approaching, and Dunstan appeared at the door of the sleeping chamber.
He entered, and gazed at Elfric for a moment without speaking, as if he would read his very heart by his face; it was hardly comfortable.
“Elfric,” he said at last, “do you remember the warning I gave you six months ago?”
“No,” said Elfric, determined, in desperation, to deny everything.
“I fear you are hardly telling me the truth; you must remember it, unhappy boy! Why were you not warned in time? Why did you refuse the advice which might have saved you from all this?”
“Because it was my fate, I suppose.”
“Men make their own fates, and as they make their beds so must they lie upon them; however, I have not come here to reproach you, but to bid you prepare to return home.”
“Home?—so soon?” said Elfric.
“Yes, you must leave tomorrow, when a messenger will be prepared to accompany you, and to explain the cause of your dismissal from court to your father, whom I most sincerely pity; and let me hope that you will find leisure to repent of your grievous sin in the solitude of your native home.”
“Must my father be told everything?”
“I fear he must: you have left us no choice; and it is the better thing, both for him and for you; he will understand better what steps are necessary for your reformation—a reformation, I trust, which will be accomplished in good time, whereat no one will rejoice more than I.”
A pert answer rose to Elfric’s lips, but he dared not give utterance to it; the speaker was too great in his wrath to be defied with impunity.
“Farewell,” said Dunstan, “would that I could say the word with brighter hopes; but should you ever repent of your sin, as I trust you may, it will gladden me to hear of it. I fear you may have done great harm to England in the person of her future king, but God forgive you in that case.”
Elfric felt the injustice of the last accusation; he coloured, and an indignant denial had almost risen to his lips, but he repressed it for Edwy’s sake—faithful, even in his vice, to his friend.
“Am I to consider myself a prisoner? you have posted a sentinel, as if I were a criminal.”
“You must be confined to your apartment, but you may have books and anything else you desire. The prince is forbidden to see you again. Your confinement will only be for one day; tomorrow you will be free enough; let me beg you to use the occasion for calm reflection, and, I hope, penitence.”
Dunstan left the room, and Elfric heard his retreating steps go heavily down the stairs, when a sudden and almost unaccountable feeling came over him—a feeling that he had thrown himself away, and that he was committed to evil, perhaps never to be able to retrace his course, never to all eternity; the retreating steps sounded as if his sentence were passed and the door of mercy shut. He shook off the strange feeling; yet, could he have seen the future which lay undiscovered before him, and which must intervene before he should see that face again, or hear those steps, he might have been unable thus to shake off the nameless dread.
The day wore away, night drew on; he laid himself down and tried to sleep, when he heard voices conversing outside, and recognised Edwy’s tones; immediately after the prince entered.
“What a shame, Elfric,” he said, “to make you a prisoner like this, and to send you away—for they say you are to go tomorrow —you shall not be forgotten if ever I become king, and I don’t think it will be long first. The first thing I shall do will be to send for you; you will come; won’t you?”
“I will be yours for life or death.”
“I knew it, and this is the faithful friend from whom they would separate me; well, we will have this last evening together in peace; old Dunstan has gone out, and Redwald has put a man as your guard who never sees anything he is not wanted to see.”
“What a convenient thing!”
“But you seem very dull; is anything on your mind which I do not know? What did Dunstan say to you?”
“He is going to write home to my father all particulars. It will make home miserable.”
“Perhaps we may find a remedy for that,” said Edwy, and left the room hastily.
Shortly he returned in company with Redwald.
“Come with us, Elfric,” said the prince “there is no one in the palace to interfere with us. Old Dunstan received a sudden message, and has gone out hastily; we will go and see what he has written.”
Somewhat startled at the audacity of the proposal, Elfric followed the prince, and Redwald accompanied them. After passing through a few passages, they arrived at the cell, or rather study, usually occupied by Dunstan when at court, and entered it, not without a slight feeling of dread, or rather of reluctance.
“Here it is,” said Edwy, and held up a parchment, folded, sealed, and directed to “Ella, Thane of Æscendune.”
“I should like to know what he has written,” said the prince. “Redwald, you understand these things; can you open the letter without breaking the seal?”
“There is no need of that,” replied the captain of the hus-carles, “I can easily seal it again; see, there is the signet, and here the wax.”
So he broke the letter open and extended it to the prince, whose liberal education had given him the faculty of reading the monkish Latin, in which Dunstan wrote, at a glance, and he read aloud:
“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
“It grieveth me much, most beloved brother, to be under the necessity of sending your son Elfric home in some little disgrace; but it is, alas a necessity that I should do so, in virtue of the authority our good lord and king, Edred, hath entrusted to me. The lad was bright, and, I think, innocent of aught like deadly sin, when he came to this huge Babel, where the devil seems to lead men even as he will, and he hath fallen here into evil company—nay, into the very company most evil of all in this wicked world, that of designing and shameless women, albeit of noble birth. It hath been made apparent to me that there is great danger to both the prince and your son in any further connection, therefore I return Elfric to your care, sincerely hoping that, by God’s help, you will be enabled to take such measures as will lead to his speedy reformation, for which I devoutly pray. The bearer will give such further information as you may desire.
“Wishing you health, and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,
“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
Edwy read the letter aloud with many a vindictive comment, and then said to Redwald—“What can be done? Must this letter go?”
“Does your father know the Saint’s handwriting, Elfric?”
“He never heard from him before, I believe.”
“Well, then, I will venture to enclose a different message,” and he sat down at the table, and wrote—“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
“It rejoiceth me much, most beloved brother, to send you good tidings of the good behaviour and growth in grace of your son, whom the king hath concluded to send home for the benefit of his health, since London hath in some degree destroyed the ruddy hue of his countenance, and he needeth a change, as his paleness sufficiently declareth.
“The king hath bidden me express his great satisfaction with the lad’s conduct, and the prince mourneth his enforced departure. Wishing you health and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,
“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
The boys laughed aloud as they read the forgery.
“But about the messenger—will he not tell the truth?”
“Oh, I will see to him, he is not above a bribe, and knows it is his interest to serve his future king, although Dunstan thinks him so trusty.”
All at once the booming of a heavy bell smote their ears.
“It
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