Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Aescendune<br />A Tale of the Days of Saint Dunstan by A. D. Crake (books to read romance .TXT) 📗

“Not till sunset, Elfric; and it wants half an hour yet; see, the sun is still high.”

“I do think it is never going to set; here we have been hunting, hunting all the day, and got nothing for our pains.”

“You forget the hare and the rabbit here.”

“Toss them to the dogs. Here, Bran, you brute, take this hare your masters have been hunting all day, for your dinner;” and as he spoke he tossed the solitary victim of his own prowess in the chase to the huge wolfhound, which made a speedy meal upon the hare, while Alfred threw the rabbit to the other of their two canine companions.

“I would almost as soon have lost this holiday, and spent the time with Father Cuthbert, to be bored by his everlasting talk about our duties, and forced to repeat ‘hic, hæc, hoc,’ till my head ached. What a long homily ii he preached us this morning —and then that long story about the saint.”

“You are out of spirits. Father Cuthbert’s tales are not so bad, after all you seemed to like the legend he told us the other night.”

“Yes, about our ancestor Sebbald and his glorious death; there was something in that tale worth hearing; it stirred the blood—none of your moping saints, that Sebbald.”

“I once heard another legend from Father Cuthbert, about the burning of Croyland Abbey, and how the abbot stood, saying mass at the altar, without flinching or even turning his head, when the Danes, having fired the place, broke into the chapel. Do you not think it wanted more bravery to do that in cold blood than to stand firm in all the excitement of a battle?”

“You are made to be a monk, Alfred, and I daresay, if you get the chance, will be a martyr, and get put in the calendar by-and-by. I suppose they will keep your relics here in the priory church, and you will be St. Alfred of Æscendune; for me, I would sooner die as the old sea kings loved to die, surrounded by heaps of slain, with my sword broken in my hand.”

It was at this moment that their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud crashing of boughs in the adjacent underwood, a rush as of some wild beast, a loud cry in boyish tones—“Help! help! the wolf! the wolf!”

Elfric jumped up in an instant, and rushed forward heedless of danger, followed closely by his younger brother, who was scarcely less eager to render immediate assistance.

The cries for help became more and more piercing, as if some pressing danger menaced the utterer. Elfric, who, in spite of his flippant speech, was by no means destitute of keen sympathies and self devotion, hurried forward, fearless of danger, bounding through thicket and underwood, until, arriving upon a small clearing, the whole scene flashed upon him.

A huge grey wolf, wounded and bleeding, was about to rush for the second time upon a youth in hunting costume, whose broken spear, broken in the first encounter with the beast he had disturbed, seemed to deprive him of all chance of success in the desperate encounter evidently impending. His trembling limbs showed his extreme apprehension, and the sweat stood in huge drops on his forehead; his eyes were fixed upon the beast as if he were fascinated, while the shaft of his spear, presented feebly against the coming onslaught, showed that he had lost his self possession, for he neglected the bow and arrows which were slung at his side—if indeed there was time to use them.

The beast sprang, but as he did so another spear was stoutly presented to meet him, and he literally impaled himself in his eager spring on the weapon of Elfric.

Still, such was his weight that the boy fell backward beneath the mighty rush, and such the tenacity of life that, though desperately wounded, even to death, the beast sought the prostrate lad with teeth and claws, in frantic fury, until a blow from the hunting knife, which Elfric well knew how to use, laid the wolf lifeless at his side.

Breathless, but not severely injured, he rose from the ground covered with blood; his garments torn, his face reddened by exertion, and paused a moment, while he seemed to strive to repress the wild beatings of his heart, which bounded as if it would burst its prison.

But far more exhausted was the other combatant, yet scarcely so much by exertion as by fear, of which he still bore the evident traces. After a few moments he broke the silence, and his words seemed incoherent.

“Where is my horse? the beast threw me—I wish the wolves may get him—I fear you are hurt; not much, I hope; where can those serfs be? Fine vassals, to desert their master in peril. I’ll have them hung. But, by St. Cuthbert, you are all covered with blood.”

“’Tis that of the wolf, then, for I have scarcely a scratch: one of the beast’s claws ripped up my sleeve, and the skin with it; that was all he could do before he felt the cold steel between his ribs.”

“Not a moment too soon, or he would have killed you before we could interfere; why, as you rolled together, I could hardly see which was boy and which was wolf. But where’s my horse? Did you see a white horse rush past you?”

“We heard a rush as of some wild animal.”

“Wild enough. I was riding through the glade, and my attendants were on in front, when we stumbled on this wolf, crouched under that thicket. The horse started so violently that it threw me almost upon the monster you have killed.”

Here the speaker paused, and blew impatient blasts upon a horn which had been slung round his neck. They were soon answered, and some attendants, dressed in semi-hunting costume, made their appearance with haste and confusion, which showed their apprehensions.

“Guthred! Eadmer! Why did you get so far away from me? I might have been killed. Look at this monstrous wolf; why, its teeth are dreadful. It broke my spear, and would have had me down, but for this—this youth.

“I forgot, I haven’t asked to whom I am indebted. Aren’t you two brothers?”

“Our father is the Thane of Æscendune. His hall is not far from here. Will you not go home with us? We have plenty of room for you and yours.”

“To be sure I will. Æscendune? I have heard the name: I can’t remember where. Have you horses?”

“No; we were hunting on foot, and expecting to let fly our shafts at some deer. May I ask, in return, the name of our guest?”

Before the youth could answer, one of the attendants strode forward, and with an air of importance replied, “You are about to receive the honour of a visit from the future lord of Britain, Prince Edwy.”

“Keep your lips closed till I give you leave to open them, Guthred. You may leave me to announce myself.

“I shall be only too glad to go with you both; and these two huntsmen deserve to be left in the forest to the mercy of your wolves.”

Somewhat startled to find that they had saved the future Basileus or King of Britain—the hope of the royal line of Cerdic —the brothers led their guest through the darkening forest until the distant light of a clearing appeared in the west, and they emerged from the shadow of the trees upon the brow of a gentle hill.

Below them lay the castle (if such it should be called) of their father the Thane of Æscendune. Utterly unlike the castellated buildings which, at a later period, formed the dwellings of the proud Norman nobility, it was a low irregular building, the lower parts of which were of stone, and the upper portions, when there was a second story, of thick timber from the forest.

A river, from which the evening mist was slowly rising, lay beyond, and supplied water to a moat which surrounded the edifice, for in those troublous times few country dwellings lacked such necessary protection. The memory of the Danish invasions was too recent; the marauders of either nation still lurked in the far recesses of the forest, and plundered the Saxon inhabitant or the Danish settler indiscriminately, as occasion served.

On the inner side of the moat a strong palisade of timber completed the defence. One portal, opening upon a drawbridge, formed the sole apparent means of ingress or egress.

Passing the drawbridge unquestioned, the boys entered the courtyard, around which the chief apartments were grouped. Before them a flight of stone steps led to the great hall where all the members of the community took their meals in common, and where, around the great fire, they wiled away the slow hours of a winter evening.

On each side of the great hall stood the bowers, as the small dormitories were called, furnished very simply for the use of the higher domestics with small round tables, common stools, and beds in recesses like boxes or cupboards. Such were commonly the only sleeping chambers, but at Æscendune, as generally in the halls of the rich, a wide staircase conducted to a gallery above, from each side of which opened sleeping and sitting apartments allotted to the use of the family. It was only in the houses of the wealthy that such an upper floor was found.

On the right hand, as they entered the courtyard, stood the private chapel of the household, where mass was said by the chaplain, to whom allusion has been already made, as the first duty of the day, and where each night generally saw the household again assembled for compline or evening prayers.iii On the left hand were domestic offices.

Upon the steps of his hall stood Ella, the Thane of Æscendune, the representative of a long line of warlike ancestors, who had occupied the soil since the Saxon conquest of Mercia.

He was clad in a woollen tunic reaching to the knee, over which a cloak fastened by a clasp of gold was loosely thrown; and his feet were clad in black pointed boots, while strips of painted leather were wound over red stockings from the knee to the ankle.

“You are late, my sons,” he said, “and I perceive you have brought us a visitor. He is welcome.”

“Father,” said Elfric, in a voice somewhat expressive of awe, “it is Prince Edwy!”

The thane had in his earlier days been at court, and had known the murdered Edmund, the royal father of his guest, intimately. It was not without emotion, therefore, that he welcomed the son to his home, and saluted him with that manly yet reverential homage their relative positions required of him.

“Welcome, thrice welcome, my prince,” he said, “to these humble halls.” He added, with some emotion, “I could think the royal Edmund stood before me, as I knew him while yet myself a youth.”

The domestics, who had assembled, gazed upon their visitor with country curiosity, yet were not wanting in rude but expressive courtesy; and soon he was conducted to the best chamber the house afforded, where change of raiment and every comfort within the reach of his host was provided, while the cooks were charged to make sumptuous additions to the approaching supper.