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) 📗

men of sincere piety, and capable of opposing to the wicked an iron will and inflexible resolution, he did not understand the young, and seemed to have forgotten his own youth. Sincerely truthful and straightforward, he hardly knew whether to feel more disgust or surprise at Edwy’s evident unfaithfulness. He little knew that unfaithfulness was only one of his failings, and not the worst.

A few nights after Elfric’s arrival, when the palace gates had been shut for the night, the compline service said, the household guard posted, and the boys had retired to their sleeping apartments, he heard a low knock at his door. He opened it, and Edwy entered.

“Are you disposed for a pleasant evening, Elfric?”

“Such pleasure as there is in sleep.”

“No, I do not mean that. We cannot sleep, like bears in winter, during all the hours which should be given to mirth. I am going out this evening, and I want you to go with me.”

“Going out?”

“Yes. Don’t stand staring there, as if I was talking Latin or something harder; but get your shoes on again—

“No; you had better come down without shoes; it will make less noise.”

“But how can we get out? I have not the least idea where you are going?”

“All in good time. We shall get out easily enough. Are you coming?”

Half fearful, yet not liking to resist the prince, and his curiosity pressing him to solve the secret, Elfric followed Edwy down the stairs to the lower hall, where Redwald was on guard. He seemed to await the lads, for he bowed at once to the prince and proceeded to the outer door, where, at an imperious signal from him, the warder threw the little inner portal open, and the three passed out.

“Is the boat ready?” said Edwy.

“It is; and trusty rowers await you.”

Redwald led the way to the river’s brink, and there pointed out a skiff lying at a short distance from the shore. At a signal, the men who manned it pulled in and received the two youths on board, then pulled at once out into the stream.

“How do you like an evening on the river?” said Edwy.

“It is very beautiful, and the stars are very bright tonight; but where are we going?”

“You will soon find out.”

Finding his royal companion so uncommunicative, Elfric remained silent, trusting that a few minutes would unravel the mystery.

But an hour had passed, during which the boat steadily progressed up stream, before the watermen pulled in for the shore, and a dark building loomed before them in dim shadow.

“Here is the place,” said Edwy. “Be ready, my men, to take us back about midnight, or a little later;” and he threw some pieces of money amongst them.

Passing through a large garden, they arrived at a porch before a stout door garnished with knobs of iron, which might bid defiance to thief or burglar.

“Whose house is this?” asked Elfric.

“Wait; you shall soon see.”

The loud knocking Edwy made at the door soon brought some domestics, who, opening a small wicket, discovered the identity of their principal visitor, and immediately threw open the door.

“Thanks,” said Edwy; “we were almost frozen.”

Passing through a kind of atrium—for the old Roman fashion was still sometimes followed in this particular—the domestics ushered the visitors into a room brilliantly lighted by torches stuck in cressets projecting from the walls, and by huge wax candles upon a table spread for a feast. The light revealed a small but apparently select party, who seemed to await the prince: a lady, who appeared to be the mistress of the mansion; a young girl apparently about the age of Edwy, who, calling her his fair cousin, saluted her fondly; and two or three youths, whose gaudy dress and affected manners were strongly in contrast with the stern simplicity of the times.

After saluting each person with the greatest freedom, Edwy introduced his companion.

“Here is a young novice I have brought to learn the noble art of merrymaking, of wine and wassail. We have both been literally starved at the palace—I should say monastery—of Monk Edred today. It is Friday, and we have been splendidly dining upon salt fish served up on golden salvers. My goodness! the flavour of that precious cod is yet in my mouth. Food for cats, I do assure you, and served up to kings. What did you think of it, Elfric?”

Elfric was ashamed to say that it had not been so very bad after all. Truth to say his conscience was uneasy, for he had been brought up to respect the fasts of the Church, and he saw a trial awaiting him in the luscious dishes before him.

“What does it matter?” the reader may exclaim; “it is not that which goeth into the mouth which defileth a man,” etc.

True, most wise critic, but it is that which goeth out; and if disobedience be not amongst the evils which defile, then Adam did not fall in Paradise when he ate the forbidden fruit. Elfric could not touch flesh on fast days without the instinctive feeling that he was doing wrong, and no one can sin against the conviction of the heart without danger.

The party now seated themselves, and without any grace or further preface the feast began. Servants appeared and served up the most exquisite dishes, of a delicacy almost unknown in England at that day, and poured rich wines into silver goblets. It was evident that wealth abounded in the family they were visiting, and that they had expended it freely for the gratification of Edwy.

Ethelgiva, the lady of the house, was of noble presence, which almost seemed to justify the claim of royal blood which was made for her. Tall and commanding, age had not bent her form, although her locks were already white. Her beauty, which must have been marvellous in her younger days, had attracted the attention of a younger son of the reigning house, and they were married at an early age, secretly, without the sanction of the king.

The fruit of their union was Elgiva, a name destined to fill a place in a sad and painful tragedy; but we are anticipating, and must crave the reader’s pardon.

Bright and cheerful indeed was the fair Elgiva at this moment. Her beauty was remarkable even in a land so famed for the beauty of its daughters; and the ill-advised Edwy may be pitied, if not altogether pardoned, for his infatuation, for infatuation it was in a day when the near tie of blood between them precluded the possibility of lawful matrimony, save at the expense of a dispensation never likely to be conceded, since the temperament of men like Odo, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and of Dunstan, was opposed to any relaxation of the law in the case of the great when such relaxation was unattainable by the poor and lowly.

To return to our subject:

The feast proceeded with great animation. At first Elfric hesitated when the meat was placed before him, but he withered, in his weakness, before the mocking smile of Edwy, and the sarcasm which played upon the lips of the rest of the company, who perceived his hesitation. So he yielded, and, shaking off all restraint, ate heartily.

Dish followed dish, and the wine cup circulated with great freedom. Excited as he was, Elfric could but remark the loose tone of the conversation. Subjects were freely discussed which had never found admittance either in the palace of King Edred or at Æscendune, and which, indeed, caused him to look up with surprise, remembering in whose presence he sat.

But, as is often the case in an age where opinion is severely repressed in its outward expression, and amongst those compelled against their will to observe silence on such subjects on ordinary occasions, all restraint seemed abandoned at the table of Ethelgiva. It was not that the language was coarse, but whether the conversation turned upon the restraints of the clergy, or the court, or upon the fashionable frivolities of the day—for there were frivolities and fashions even in that primitive age—there was a freedom of expression bordering upon profanity or licentiousness.

Edred was mocked as an old babbler; Dunstan was sometimes a fool, sometimes a hypocrite, sometimes even a sorcerer, although this was said sneeringly; the clergy were divided into fools and knaves; the claims of the Church—that is of Christianity—derided, and the principle freely avowed—“Enjoy life while you can, for you know not what may come after.”

Excited by the wine he had drunk, Elfric became as wild in his talk as the other young men, and as the intoxicating drink mounted to his brain, seemed to think that he had just learnt how to enjoy life.

The ladies retired at last, and Edwy followed them. Elfric was on the point of rising too, but a hint from his companions restrained him. The wine cup still circulated, the conversation, now unrestrained, initiated the boy into many an evil secret he had never known earlier; and so the hours passed on, till Edwy, himself much flushed, came in and said that it was time to depart, for midnight had long been tolled from the distant towers of London.

He smiled as he saw by Elfric’s bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait, as he rose, upsetting his seat, that his companion was something less master of himself than usual; he felt, it need hardly be said, no remorse, but rather regarded the whole thing as what might now be termed “a jolly lark.”

“Shall you require bearers, or can you walk to the boat? I do not wonder you are ill, you have eaten too much fish today; it is a shame to make the knees weak through fasting in this style.”

“I—I—am all right now.”

“You will be better in the air.”

So, bidding a farewell of somewhat doubtful character to his entertainers, Elfric was assisted to the boat. The air did not revive him, he felt wretchedly feverish and giddy, and could hardly tell how he reached the river.

Reach it, however, he did, and the strong arms of the watermen impelled the boat rapidly down the tide, until it reached the stairs near the palace.

Here Redwald was in waiting, and assisted them to land.

“You are very late, or rather early,” he said.

“Yes,” said Edwy, “but it has been a jolly evening, only poor Elfric has been ill, having of course weakened himself by fasting.”

Redwald smiled such a scornful smile, and muttered some words to himself. Yet it did not seem as if he were altogether displeased at the state in which he saw Elfric. It may be added that Edwy was but little better.

“You must keep silent,” said Redwald; “I believe the king and Dunstan are hearing matins in the chapel: it is the festival of some saint or other, who went to the gridiron in olden days.”

The outer gate of the palace was cautiously opened, and, taking off their shoes, the youths ascended the stairs which led to their apartments as lightly as possible.

“Send the leech Sigebert to us in the morning—he must report Elfric unwell—for he will hardly get up to hear Dunstan mumble mass.”

“Perhaps your royal highness had better rest also.”

“And bring suspicion upon us both? No,” said Edwy, “one will be enough to report ill at once; Dunstan is an old fox.”

Poor Elfric could hardly get to bed, and, almost for the first time since infancy, he laid himself down without one prayer. Edwy left him in the dark, and there he lay, his head throbbing, and a burning thirst seeming to consume him.

Long before morning he was very sick, and when the bell was sounded for the early mass it need hardly be said that he was unable to rise.

Sigebert the physician, who, like Redwald, was in the confidence of the future king, Edwy, came in to see him, and asked what was the matter.

“I am very sick and ill,” gasped Elfric.

“I suppose you have taken something that disagreed with you—too much fish perhaps.” (with a smile).

“No—no—I do not—”

“I understand,” said the leech; “you will soon be better; meanwhile, I will account for your absence at chapel. Here, take this medicine; you will find it relieve you.”

And he gave Elfric a mixture which assuaged his burning thirst, and bathed his forehead with some powerful essence which refreshed him greatly, whereupon the leech departed.

Only an hour later, and Edred, hearing from the physician of Elfric’s sudden illness, came in to see the boy, whose bright cheerful face and merry disposition had greatly attracted him. This was hardest of all for Elfric to bear; he had to evade the kind questions of the king, and to hear expressions of sympathy which he felt he did not deserve.

More than once he felt inclined to tell all, but the fear of the prince restrained him, and also a sense of what