The more substantial viands were removed, generous wines from warmer climes were introduced, but there was no need of a harper or of minstrels, save Edmund himself, or of legends and tales to those whose lives had passed amidst scenes of excitement. They were such as make history for future generations.
"How the wind howls without tonight!" observed Edmund; "it makes one value the blessing of a quiet home and a cheerful fireside. How often, Alfgar, have you and I lain on such nights under the shelter of a canvas tent, or even of a bush."
"Often, indeed, my liege; but those days are gone, perhaps for ever."
"They had their joys, nevertheless. There is something in a life of adventure which warms the blood and makes time pass swiftly; my goodwife and I sometimes tire of each other's company, as I expect Ethelgiva and you will in time."
"Never!" said Alfgar, so fervently that there was a general smile.
"Well, time will show; meanwhile, how is the new hall at Aescendune getting on, Elfwyn?"
"It will be ready by next spring; then the young people must make it their home. Our home in the woods has proved a shelter to us through such troublous days that Hilda and I are loath to leave it. But, meanwhile, they must live with us."
"And how about the priory?"
"It will be ready before the hall."
"That is well," observed the bishop, "and as it should be-- God's house first, and then man's."
"Well, Hermann," said Edmund, addressing his young friend, whose career in arms he had closely watched since the attack upon the hall at Clifton, "how do you like the prospect of a long peace?"
"A peaceful life has its delights," replied Hermann, "but war has also its charms."
"Well, thou hast passed unscathed through five great battles, or at least without any serious wound; but remember all are not so fortunate, and many a poor cripple sighs over Penn, Sherston, Brentford, Otford, or Assingdun."
"The excitement of war blinds one to the risk."
"So it should, or there would be no war at all. What does my father the bishop think of the matter?"
"That wars are necessary evils, only justifiable when fighting, as you, my lord, have done, for home and altar, but they are no true children of the Prince of Peace who delight in bloodshed and strife."
Edmund pondered.
"And yet I fear I must plead guilty of delighting in a gallant charge. It stirs the blood, till it flows like fire in the veins. The feeling is glorious."
"Yet not one to be encouraged, save when it enables one to perform necessary deeds of daring for some worthy object, such as holy Scripture praises in the heroes of old."
The conversation now became general. Elfwyn and Herstan talked of the old days of Dunstan; Alfgar and Hermann of the events of the recent war; the good bishop and Father Cuthbert on ecclesiastical topics; the ladies upon some question of dresses and embroidery for the approaching festivity, which seemed to interest them deeply, when an attendant entered, and approaching the king, whispered a message in his ear.
"What! in this house? I will not have it. He knows how hateful his very presence must be."
"Your sister, the Princess Elgitha?"
"Well, I will see her. No, I will not."
"It is too late, Edmund. You must see me," said a sweet voice, and a lady, attired in mourning weeds, stood beside him. "It is but seven months, Edmund, since we lost our father. Shall his children rend and devour each other?"
"I do not want to rend and devour. I am no cannibal; but, Elgitha, your wicked husband--"
"Stay, Edmund, do not slander the husband before his wife."
"This is a business! What am I to say? I cannot dissemble, and pretend to love him, were he ten times my brother-in-law."
"Nor can I ask it," said a deep voice behind, and Edric stood before Edmund, his eyes cast down, his hands meekly clasped. "Edmund, I have often deeply injured you, and betrayed your confidence."
"You have indeed."
"But now I repent me of my wickedness. It burdens me so heavily that, but for your sister, I would retire into a monastery, and there end my days."
"It would be the best thing you could do."
"It would indeed."
This conference had taken place at the end of the great hall, which was a very spacious chamber, and the speakers were separated by a screen from the company.
"Edmund," cried his sister, "I see what you will do. You will make me a widow; for Edric cannot live if you refuse him forgiveness. Night after night he tosses on his uneasy bed, and wishes that it were day. Surely, Edmund, you have need of forgiveness yourself, yet you refuse to forgive."
"You preach like a bishop, but--"
"Well, you have a real bishop here. Call him, and let him judge between us."
Edmund mechanically obeyed, and he called Father Cuthbert also, in whose judgment he had great faith.
"What am I to do?" he said. "My country's wounds, inflicted by this man, yet bleed. Am I to give him the hand of friendship?"
"I do not deserve it," said Edric, meekly.
"My lord," said the bishop, gravely, "man may not refuse forgiveness to his fellow worm; but, Edric, hast thou truly repented of thy sin before God and his Church?"
"I have indeed. I have fasted in sackcloth and ashes, I have eaten the bread of affliction."
"Where?"
"In my sad retreat, my castle in Mercia."
"But some public reparation is due. Art thou willing to accept such penance as the Church, in consideration of thy perjuries, thy murders, which man may not avenge, since treaties protect thee-- but which God will surely remember, if thou repent not--to accept such penance, I say, as the Church shall impose?"
"I submit myself to your judgment, most reverend father."
"It shall be duly considered and delivered to thee; and in consideration of that fact, I think, my lord, you cannot, as a Christian man, refuse to be reconciled."
"O Edmund, my brother, be merciful!" said Elgitha.
"I yield," said Edmund, "but not tonight," he said, as Edric stretched out his hand, reddened by many a dark deed of murder; "tomorrow, before God's altar. I shall be at St. Frideswide's at the early mass."
And he returned to the company.
A cloud was evidently on his spirits that night, which did not wear off the rest of the evening. The party separated at what would now be called an early hour. The bishop and Father Cuthbert lodged at the monastic house of Osney; Elfwyn, his wife and child, as also Herstan, with his little party, were accommodated in the mansion.
The chamber occupied by the king was a long roomy place, containing a single bedstead of carved wood, surmounted by the usual distinctive canopy, from which tapestried hangings depended, and upon which scriptural subjects were woven; the furniture of the room partook of the usual meagreness of the times. The entrance was through a small antechamber, wherein, on a humbler bedstead, Alfgar slept. Both rooms were hung with tapestry, which concealed rough walls, such as a builder would blush to own as his handiwork in these luxurious days.
Before retiring to rest, Edmund turned with much affection to his attendant.
"Alfgar, I have promised to forgive our enemy."
"Edric Streorn?"
Alfgar added no more.
"Couldst thou forgive him?"
"I would try."
"His hand is red with blood. Think of Sigeferth, of Morcar, of Elfhelm, nay, of a hundred others; then think not how he has plotted against my life, but how he made my own father hate and disown me; while he, the pampered favourite, swayed all the councils and betrayed the land. O Alfgar! couldst thou forgive him?"
"He plotted against my life and my honour, too," said Alfgar, "and strove to deprive me of both; yet I am too happy now to harbour revenge."
"Well, I meet him at St. Frideswide's tomorrow, and we shall be formally reconciled in the presence of the bishop and his clergy, wherewith I trust he will be content, and not trouble me too often with his presence."
"Where is he staying now?"
"I hardly know; but after the reconciliation I must admit him as my guest, for my sister is with him, if he chooses to stay; but I hope that will not be the case."
"His ill-omened presence would cast a gloom upon St. Andrew's day."
"It would indeed; it shall be avoided if possible. And now let us commend ourselves to the Lord, who died that we might be forgiven. 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.'"
And they slept.
On the morrow before the altar of St. Frideswide, the king and Edric had their places in the choir.
One very touching ceremony, handed down from early times, was still observed in England--the "kiss of peace," occurring at some period before the close of the canon of the mass, when all the members of the cathedral chapter, or of the choir, as the case might be, solemnly saluted each other.
And for this reason Edmund and Edric had been placed next each other. So when this most solemn moment arrived, they looked each other full in the face, and gave and received the sign of Christian brotherhood.
After this they both communicated.
When the holy rite was ended, Edmund invited Edric and Elgitha to become his guests.
Edric knew the old palace well. He had occupied it one well-remembered season, during which, in that very banqueting hall where we have introduced our readers, Sigeferth and Morcar, the earls of the seven burghs, were treacherously murdered at the banquet after Edric had previously made them heavy with wine.
There was the usual gathering that evening. Did Edric remember the place, and the bloody event which only he and one other present connected with the spot?--for Edmund had been far away, and the matter had been hushed up, as far as was possible, by all the power and influence Ethelred could exert in his favourite's cause, or rather his own, for he, the royal villain, shared the ill-gotten spoil.
If he did remember it, he took care not to show it that night. He was as calm and self-possessed as a man could be--as a smiling sea under the summer sky--smiling so that the heedless voyager knows not what hideous trophies or past storms the smiling depths conceal.
So was it with this treacherous penitent.
His presence, however, somewhat chilled the conversation, and they broke up early; the more so as it was a vigil, the vigil of St. Andrew, and men strictly observed the law of the Church on such subjects in those days.
When he bade Edmund goodnight, Edric said:
"You cannot tell how true a peace has found its home in my breast since our reconciliation, which I feel I owe greatly to the intercession of your patron St. Edmund, to whose tomb I made a pilgrimage, where I besought this one grace--our reconciliation."
Edmund thought of the holy thorn; but Edric continued:
"And you will be glad to hear that the bishop has decided upon my penance. It is to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Land."
"I am heartily glad to hear it," said Edmund, speaking the very truth, although he did try to forgive as he hoped to be forgiven.
And they separated.
Meanwhile happiness and expectation were high in the breasts of the happy lovers, Alfgar and Ethelgiva. The morrow was to unite them. The ladies sat up nearly all night making the wedding robes complete, and richly adorning them--Hilda, Bertha, and Ethelgiva, with many skilful handmaidens.
They had almost finished their task, and were about to separate, when St. Frideswide's bell tolled the first hour of the morning (one o'clock).
"We are very late," said the lady Hilda, as well she might, for our ancestors generally retired early, as they rose early; and they bade each other goodnight.
"Happy, happy Ethelgiva!" said the mother as she kissed her darling, not without a maternal sigh, for she felt as if she were losing her only child, who had for so many a year been the light of their woodland home--her only child, who had filled not simply her own place in their affections, but as far as she might the place of the loved Bertric.
But the kiss was suspended. The whole party stood silent and breathless; for a loud and bitter cry, as of one in extreme anguish, broke upon the silence of the night.
Ethelgiva uttered but one word as she bounded towards the staircase, for she knew the voice:
"Alfgar!"
Alfgar never saw his beloved lord enter his chamber with a look of greater weariness than he bore that night.
"It has been a hard fight, old friend," said the familiar king, "but we have conquered; for my part, I would far sooner have stood out against him, battle-axe in hand, than have met this struggle, could I have foreseen it beforehand; but now I have given him the kiss of peace, peace it must be; he has no more to dread from me."
"Nor you from him, I trust."
"I must trust so, or I should not feel I had really forgiven, and I cannot give my hand where my heart is not; but yet it was such a fight. 'Tis easy to stand in the deadly gap and keep the foe from a beleaguered citadel: men praise the deed, and there is a feeling of conscious pride which sustains one, but the truly great deeds are those which no chronicler records. It requires more bravery to forgive sometimes than to avenge."
"I can well believe that, my lord."
"Well, if my path has been beset with foes, so has it with friends. Such love as yours, Alfgar, I say as yours has been!-- well, few kings share such affections."
"My lord, you first loved me; at least you saved me from a fearful death."
"And you have warded off death from me again and again in the battlefield; nay, deny it not, nor say it was merely your duty, men do not always do such duty."
"My lord, you praise me more than I can feel I deserve."
"Not more than I feel you deserve, and yet were not this your last night as my companion, were not tomorrow's ceremony to separate us, perhaps for ever, I do not think I should thus overwhelm your modesty.
"You blush like a girl," said he, laughingly.
He lingered some time, and seemed loath to undress. At last he said:
"Have you seen the messenger Canute sent me?"
"Yes; I entertained him at the buttery as you requested."
"Well, he came with a proposal from Canute that we should join in building and endowing a church at Assingdun, where a priest may ever say mass for the souls of our dead, whether English or Dane. Of course I have accepted the offer, but Canute added another and more mysterious message."
"And what was that?"
"'Beware,' he said, 'of Edric; his apparent desire of reconciliation cannot be trusted;' and he added that Edric was like a certain person who wanted to become a monk when he was sick."
"I fear he speaks the truth."
"But I cannot act upon his advice; it is too late now. I have striven to do what I thought, and the bishop said, in his Master's name, was my duty--well, I have my reward in the approbation of my conscience. Goodnight, Alfgar, goodnight; I shall sleep soundly tonight; I hope some day I may lay me down for my last long sleep as peacefully."
Alfgar followed his example, and, commending himself to God, slept.
About half-an-hour after midnight Alfgar awoke with a strange impression upon his mind that some one was in the room. It was very dark and stormy, and the wind, finding its way through crevices in the ill-built house, would account for many noises, but there was something stirring which was not the wind, and the impression was strong on his waking senses that between him and the window, which was opposite his bed, a figure had passed.
Not fully trusting impressions produced at such a moment, yet with a heavy vague sense of evil weighing him down like a nightmare, Alfgar lay and listened.
At length he heard a sound which might have been produced by falling rain percolating through the roof, drop, drop upon the floor, but it was strange, for there was no sound of rain outside at that moment.
At length a cold draught made him turn his head, and he dimly saw Edmund's door open and disclose the window within the room, then shut slowly again.
He could control his apprehensions no longer, and rose gently from his bed, so as not to warn the foe, on the one hand, should one be present, or if, as he strove to believe, all was fancy, not to awake Edmund. No one was in his own little room, that he felt rather than saw in a moment; but some one might be in Edmund's, and he passed through the door, which he remembered, with a shudder, was shut firmly when Edmund said "goodnight." At that instant he heard a low click, as of a spring lock, but very faintly; hesitating no longer, he passed into the monarch's room, and advanced to the bedside.
"My lord!" he gently whispered, but there was no answer; he spoke again in vain.
Just then he felt his naked feet come into contact with some wet substance, slightly glutinous, on the floor, and shuddered at the contact. All trembling, he put his hand to the pillow, and drew it back; it was wet with the same fluid, which his reason and experience told him was blood. He could hardly refrain from crying for help, but first sought a light. The process of procuring light then from flint, steel, and tinder was very slow, and it was some minutes before he had a taper lighted, when its beams disclosed to his horror-stricken sight Edmund, weltering in his blood; a dagger had been driven suddenly and swiftly to his heart, and he had died apparently without a struggle. The weapon yet remained {xviii}.
Here his affliction and grief overpowered him; he threw himself upon the body from which he had withdrawn the weapon; he kissed the now cold lips; he cried, half distracted, "O Edmund, my lord, speak!"
Alas! those lips were never to speak again while time lasted. At length the first deep emotion passed away, and left the unhappy Alfgar comparatively master of himself, whereupon he left the chamber, and cried aloud for help.
It was his cry which the ladies heard in their distant bower.
The piercing cry, "Help! Edmund, the king, is slain!" roused the household--Elfwyn, Herstan, Hermann, the ladies, agitated beyond measure; the household guard; and, last of all, Edric.
They beheld Alfgar in his night dress, all bloody, holding a dagger in his hand, and with his face blanched to a death-like paleness, uttering cry upon cry.
"Help! Edmund, the king, is slain!"
They (the men) rushed to the chamber, and, passing through Alfgar's little room, beheld, by the light of many torches, Edmund bathed in his own blood, which still dripped with monotonous but terrible sound on the floor.
Edric entered, and with woe, real or affected (no one could tell), painted in his face, approached the body; and Elfwyn and Herstan beheld, or thought they beheld, a prodigy: they thought they saw the eyes open, and regard Edric, and that they saw the blood well up in the wound. But doubtless this was fancy.
"One thing we all must do," said Edric; "we must all help to find the murderer. The first step to that effect will be to note all present appearances. First, where is the weapon?"
"Here," said Alfgar, extending it.
"Why, Alfgar, it is your own dagger," said Elfwyn; "one which he gave you himself."
Alfgar uttered a plaintive and pitiful cry.
Edric possessed himself of the blood-stained weapon.
"Alfgar," said he, "you must have slept soundly. Tell us what you heard and saw."
He briefly related the particulars with which the reader is acquainted.
"But how could they enter? Was your door unfastened?"
"No; it was bolted on the inside, even as I left it last night."
"Bolted on the inside! then they must have entered through the window," said Edric, noting the words.
"Impossible," said both the thanes; "they are barred, both of them--heavily barred."
"We can no longer assist our departed lord save by our prayers," said Edric. "God be thanked, he died friends with me. I shall value the remembrance of that kiss cf peace in St. Frideswide's so long as I live. And now I, once his foe, but his friend and avenger now, devote myself to hunt the murderer. So help me God!"
"So help me God!"
"So help me God!" said all present, one after the other.
"We are then of one heart and soul, and no tie of kindred, no friendship, shall bar our common action. And now we must rouse the reeve and burgesses; the gates of the city must be closed, that none escape. I will send members of the guard to do this, and when they have assembled we will all take counsel together."
"O Alfgar," whispered Elfwyn, "how came your dagger there?"
"I know not. I feel as one distracted," said the faithful and loving Alfgar, who had lost by this fell stroke a most faithful friend, with the warmest heart which had ever beaten beneath a monarch's breast.
Oh, how the thought of the conversation last night came back to him now--the warning of Canute, the loving words of affection which had been spoken to him by those lips now cold in death!
All the imperfections of his character now faded away; he seemed so brave, yet so loving, so invincible in combat, yet so gentle and forgiving, as he had shown in forgiving even--even--even-- said Alfgar to his own wounded bleeding heart--even in forgiving his murderer. For in his eyes it was Edric, and none but Edric, who had done this deed.
But a terrible suspicion of a very opposite nature was rapidly assuming sway in other men's minds.
A council met before daybreak--the reeve or mayor, the chief burgesses, two or three thanes then in the town, the officers of the royal guard, Elfwyn, Herstan, and Edric. After a few preliminaries Edric rose and spake as follows:
"We have met together under the most awful responsibility which could fall upon subjects. Edmund, our king, has been murdered, and by whom we know not."
All were silent.
"I grieve to say," he continued, "that there is but one upon whom our suspicions can now fall with any shadow of probability-- one who is now absent, for I thought it well not to summon him to this council; and before naming him, I must recall to you, Elfwyn, and to you, Herstan, the solemn oath we have all three taken to disregard all appeals of natural affection, and to ascertain the truth, God being our helper."
"We have."
"We have," said they with bursting hearts, for they foresaw what accusation Edric was about to bring.
"I grieve, then, to say," he continued, "that this natural affection must be bitterly tried, for there is but one to whom my words can apply. Meanwhile, I will put a few questions. With whose dagger was the deed committed?"
"Alfgar's," replied those who had been there the previous night.
"Whose chamber commanded the only entrance to the royal chamber?"
"Alfgar's."
"Who incautiously, as if forgetting himself, stated that he found the door bolted on the inside?"
"Alfgar."
"But the motive--the motive? The poor fellow loved him as he loved his own father."
"I cannot explain that difficulty, but I can suggest one motive which may already have suggested itself to several. But let me ask of what nation is Alfgar?"
"A Dane; but an Englishman by long habit."
"I can answer for that," said Elfwyn.
"Once a Dane always a Dane. Now a secret messenger arrived from Canute yesterday, and had a long private interview with Alfgar. In short, I dare not say all I know or suspect, for there can be little doubt who will reign in England now."
All were silent.
At length Edric continued, "none can deny that we have grounds for our suspicions."
"Yes, I do deny it," said Elfwyn, "the more so when I remember who makes the accusation."
"You do well to reproach me; I deserve it, I confess, and more than deserve it. Yes, I was Edmund's enemy once; but perhaps you remember yesterday and the early mass at St. Frideswide's."
"We do, we do," cried all but Elfwyn and Herstan; but they were utterly outvoted, and the order was given to the captain of the hus-carles to arrest Alfgar.
Alfgar, desolate and almost distracted, not heeding that he was not summoned to the council, as he might so naturally have expected to be, wandered mechanically about the palace until the bell summoned him to the early mass. The bishop was the celebrant, for Father Cuthbert was to have officiated at the celebration of the marriage of his son in the faith. The solemn pealing of the bell for the mass at the hour of daybreak fell upon Alfgar's ears, and he turned almost mechanically to the cathedral, yet with vague desire to communicate all his griefs and troubles to a higher power than that of man, and to seek aid from a diviner source.
He entered, knelt in a mental attitude easier to imagine than describe, but felt some heavenly dew fall upon his bleeding wounds; he left without waiting to speak to any one at the conclusion of the service, and was crossing the quadrangle to the palace which occupied a portion of the site of modern Christ Church, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder.
He turned and saw the captain of the guard; two or three of his officers were beside him.
"It is my painful duty to arrest you and make you my prisoner."
"On what charge?" said the astonished Alfgar.
"The murder of the king."
The news of the murder of Edmund spread far and wide, and awakened deep sorrow and indignation, not only amongst his friends and subjects, but even amongst his former enemies, the Danes, now rapidly yielding to the civilising and softening influences of Christianity, following therein the notable example of their king, Canute, who was everywhere restoring the churches and monasteries he and his had destroyed, and saying, with no faltering voice, albeit, perhaps, with a very inadequate realisation of all the words implied, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."
Ealdorman and thane came flocking into Oxenford from all the neighbouring districts of Wessex and Mercia. The body of the lamented monarch was laid in state in St. Frideswide's; there wax tapers shed a hallowed light on the sternly composed features of him who had been the bulwark of England; and there choking sobs and bitter sighs every hour rent the air, and bore witness to a nation's grief. And there, two heartbroken ladies, a mother and a daughter, came often to pray, not only for the soul of the departed king, but also for the discovery of his murderers and the clearing of the innocent, for neither Hilda nor Ethelgiva for one moment doubted the spotless innocence of Alfgar.
They were refused admittance to the cell wherein he was confined by Edric, who had assumed the direction of all things, and whose claim, such is the force of impudence, seemed to be tacitly allowed by the thanes and ealdormen of Wessex.
But Elfwyn and Herstan could hardly be denied permission to visit him, owing to their positions, and they both did so. They found him in a chamber occupying the whole of the higher floor of a tower of the castle, which served as a prison for the city and neighbourhood, rudely but massively built. One solitary and deep window admitted a little air and light, but the height rendered all escape hopeless, even had the victim wished to escape, which he did not.
"Alfgar, my son!" said Elfwyn, finding the poor prisoner did not speak, "do you not know us?"
"Indeed I do; but do you believe me guilty, nay, even capable of --"
He could add no more, but they saw that if they doubted they would hear no more from him--that he scorned self-defence.
"Guilty!--no, God forbid! we alone in the council asserted your complete innocence."
"I thank you; you have taken away the bitterness of death--and Ethelgiva?"
"Would die for her conviction of your truth."
"Thank God!" he said fervently, his face brightening at once; tears, indeed, rolled down his cheeks, but they seemed rather of gratitude than grief.
"We wanted to see, my son, whether you could aid us in discovering the real assassin--whether you can in any way account for his possession of your dagger, for your door being still, as you asserted, fast inside."
"I knew it made against me, but I couldn't lie, it was fast inside."
"Then how could the foe have gained admittance?"
"I could not discover that, but I think there must have been some secret door. Edric had perhaps lived in the Place before; he once resided in Oxenford."
"He did, and in that very house," said Herstan. "I was here at the time when he assassinated Sigeferth and Morcar in the banqueting hall."
"That may supply a clue, I know no other possible one."
"But how, then, did he get your dagger?"
"I think our wine was drugged the night before, or I should not have slept so soundly. I remember with what difficulty I seemed to throw off a kind of nightmare which oppressed me, and to come to myself."
"Then I will get a carpenter and search the wainscoting; and I will see whether I can learn anything about the wine," said Elfwyn.
"Do so cautiously, my father, very cautiously, for if Edric suspects you are on his track, he will plot against your life too, and Ethelgiva will have no protector.
"Oh, this was to have been my wedding day, my wedding day!" and he clasped his hands in agony; then the thought of his master-- his slain lord--returned, and he cried, "O Edmund! my master, my dear master, so good, so gentle, yet so brave; who else could slay him? what fiend else than Edric, the murderer Edric? That they should think I, or any one else than Edric, could have done such a deed, such an evil deed!"
Elfwyn and Herstan both left the scene, the more convinced of Alfgar's innocence, but yet the more puzzled to convey their impression to others.
Meanwhile the arrangements for Edmund's burial were made. It was decided, according to the wish he had more than once expressed, that he should rest beneath the shadow of a shrine he had loved well; and on the second day after his death the mournful procession left Oxenford for Glastonbury, followed by the tears and prayers of the citizens. There, after a long and toilsome winter journey, the funeral cortege arrived, and was joined by his wife Elgitha, his sons Edmund and Edward. They laid him to rest by the side of his grandfather, Edgar "the Magnanimous," whose days of peace and prosperity all England loved to remember. There, amidst the people of Wessex who had rallied so often to his war cry, all that was mortal of the Ironside reposed.
Meanwhile the crafty Edric, who excused himself from attendance on the solemnities, tarried at Oxenford, and with him tarried also Elfwyn, Herstan, and the other friends of the unfortunate prisoner, to secure, as they were able, that justice should be rendered him.
A special court of justice was speedily organised, wherein Edric presided as ealdorman of Mercia, for Oxenford properly was a Mercian city, although, lying on the debateable land, it was frequently claimed by Wessex as the border land changed its boundaries.
The court was composed of wise and aged men, ealdormen, thanes, and burgesses had places, and the bishop of Dorchester sat by Edric as assessor.
The court was opened, and the vacant places in the room were occupied at once by the crowd who were fortunate enough to gain entrance. The general feeling was strong against the prisoner, the more so because he had been loved and trusted by Edmund, so that ingratitude added to the magnitude of his crime in their eyes.
But amongst those who stood nearest to the place he must occupy were his betrothed, her mother, Bertha, and young Hermann, who had already got into several quarrels through his fierce espousing of the cause of the accused.
He entered at last under a guard, calm and dignified, in spite of his suffering. He met the gaze of the multitude without flinching, and his general demeanour impressed many in his favour. Compurgators, or men to swear that they believed him innocent, a kind of evidence fully recognised by the Saxon law, were not wanting; but they consisted chiefly of his old companions in arms and his friends from Aescendune. In a lighter accusation, his innocence might have been established by this primitive mode of evidence, but the case was too serious; the accusation being one of the murder of a king.
The charge was duly read; and to the accusation he replied, "Not guilty!" with a fervour and firmness which caused men to look up.
The chamberlain was first examined.
"Were you present when the late king retired to rest?"
"I was."
"Who shared his chamber?"
"The prisoner slept in an antechamber."
"Was there a fastening to the outer door of the antechamber?"
"Yes; a strong bolt."
"Could it be opened from the exterior?"
"It could not."
"Was there any other entrance to the royal apartments?"
"None."
The dagger was produced, and Elfwyn was examined.
"Do you recognise the weapon?"
"I do; it was Alfgar's."
"How do you recognise it?"
"It was richly carved about the handle. The letter E is stamped upon it, with a crown."
"Whence did the prisoner obtain it?"
"The king gave it him." (Sensation.)
"Did you see it on the night of the murder?"
"I did."
"Under what circumstances?"
"The accused held it dripping with blood in his hands, and said he found it sticking in the corpse."
Other witnesses were also called to prove these facts.
The accused was then heard in his own defence, and he repeated with great simplicity and candour the circumstances so well known to our readers; and concluded:
"I can say no more. None who knew the love he bore me, and that I bore him, could suspect me."
The bishop here spoke.
"It is my office," said he, "by the canons of King Athelstane, to assist secular judges in purging away accusations, therefore I will ask the accused a few questions."
"Had you any cause of suspicion against any other person-- anything to point out the doer of this evil deed?"
"All men loved him save one."
"And who was that one?"
"He sits to judge me."
"Nay," cried the bishop, "we all beheld the reconciliation in St. Frideswide's church."
"The king himself was warned not to trust to the reconciliation."
"By whom?"
"His brother sovereign."
"Canute?"
And here Edric perceptibly changed colour.
"Even so."
"Your proofs," said the bishop--"nay, my lord Edric, trust your reputation to the justice of God and the court."
"The messenger from Canute, who came here on the vigil of St. Andrew."
"Where is he?"
"He has returned to Canute," said Elfwyn.
"Aught else?"
"Only I would bid you remember that the ealdorman Edric sought in like manner reconciliation with Elfhelm of Shrewsbury, and all men know what followed."
Here Edric interrupted--"I do not sit here to be judged, but to judge. These accusations cannot be heard."
"There is a judgment seat above where you will not be able to make that plea," said the prisoner solemnly.
"Alfgar," said the bishop, "this counter-accusation cannot be received; have you aught else to urge?"
"None. I commit my cause to God."
The court retired.
The pause was long and painful. It afterwards transpired that the bishop pleaded in Alfgar's favour, while Herstan ably seconded him; but all was in vain. Edric's eloquence, and the strong circumstantial evidence against the prisoner, carried the day, and the ealdorman even proposed that execution should be speedy, "lest," he whispered, "Canute should interfere to screen his instrument."
It was a dangerous game, but he thought the services he had rendered the Danish cause enabled him to play it safely.
They returned. All men saw the verdict in their faces. Edric spoke with great solemnity.
"We find the prisoner guilty."
There was a dead pause.
"I appeal to the judgment of God. I demand the ordeal cf fire," said Alfgar {xix}.
"It cannot be denied," said the bishop, who had anticipated the appeal. "I myself will see to the preliminaries; and it may take place tomorrow morning in St. Frideswide's church."
Edric and his sympathisers would fain have denied the claim, but they could not resist the bishop, backed as he was by the popular voice, for the cry, "The ordeal! yes, the ordeal!" was taken up at once by the populace.
While he was hesitating, his brother Goda appeared amongst the crowd.
"Canute," he whispered, "draws nigh Oxenford. He has heard what is going on."
Edric trembled, but soon recovered himself. However, it was not a time to deny justice.
The following morning the church of St. Frideswide was crowded at the early mass. All the friends of the accused were there, and Edric with all his party. The holy service was about to commence, when the crowd at the church door moved aside; a passage was speedily made though the crowd, and three or four ecclesiastics, one habited as a royal chaplain, escorted a stranger, to whom all paid instinctive reverence, yet hardly knowing why, for he was only clad in the ordinary robes worn by noblemen amongst the English.
He was led to the choir, and placed where Edmund had knelt by Edric's side some days previously. Edric saw him, and exchanged glances, after which the ealdorman looked uneasy.
On the other side knelt the prisoner, with Elfwyn and Herstan on either side, and his colour heightened. Well it might. He had last seen that figure when he fought by Edmund's side at Penn. But it was not that meeting. Words spoken ten years before came back to him with marvellous force:
"Tell me what is the secret of this Christianity?"
And Alfgar knew that Canute had found that secret at last.
"Why was he here? Did he come as his friend or foe?"
The mass was over. Alfgar had followed the whole ceremony with rapt attention, for it was in God alone that he could now put his confidence.
Then a furnace was placed in the church, containing nine bars of iron of red heat, and the fire was blown till the bars, quivering with heat, glittered in the sight. The bishop approached, and said the appointed prayers, that God would detect the innocence or guilt of the prisoner by their means, and reveal the truth known only to Him.
Then a lane was formed up the church, and the friends of Alfgar kept one side, while those of Edric kept the other, after which the bars of iron were laid down about two feet apart.
The bishop approached.
"Are ye all fasting with prayer?" he inquired.
The friends of accused and accuser from either side replied:
"We are."
"Humble yourselves, and pray to God to reveal the truth," said he, and sprinkled them with holy water, after which the book of the Gospels was passed all round to be kissed.
"Pray that God may reveal the truth," said he again.
"We do so pray."
Then Alfgar, who felt full of divine confidence, took his place at the end nearest the porch. He was given the book of the Gospels.
"Swear thy innocence upon the holy Gospels," said the bishop.
"I do swear that I am innocent of the crime they lay to my charge;" and he kissed the book; then holy water was sprinkled upon his feet, and given him to drink.
The decisive moment approached. He looked round, he saw Ethelgiva, her eyes full of tears, her lips moving in prayer.
All fear departed from him.
The bishop blindfolded him.
"My son, trust in God, and in His strength go forward," he whispered.
Alfgar could see nought now. A line of red string was stretched from the bishop's hand to that of a priest at the other extremity, to guide him. Canute advanced, took the end from the priest's hand and held it.
Alfgar started one step. The first iron is passed safely--two, the second cleared. The excitement is intense. Three cleared-- four, five. Ah, he nears the sixth! No, he misses it!--seven, eight--one more--nine! SAVED BY GOD!
Ethelgiva fainted. A deep sound of applause, not even suppressed by the character of the place. Elfwyn received his adopted son in his arms:
"Saved, saved!" he cried.
"Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory!" replied Alfgar.
When the first congratulations were over, and Alfgar had somewhat recovered from the excitement of the shock, and from the congratulations which were heaped upon him upon all sides, he was told that Canute awaited him in the audience chamber, and at once repaired to the presence of his future king with less emotion than may be imagined; for he was worn out by sensation, and becoming callous to impressions.
He was formally introduced by the officer in waiting, and the king at once dismissed that functionary.
"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, we have met before," observed the monarch.
"We have, my lord."
"I did not refer to later occasions, when we have met on the battlefield, but to a far earlier one. Need I recall it? Surely there are some moments in one's life never to be forgotten."
"There are indeed, my lord. Pardon my confusion. You refer to a scene in Carisbrooke."
"Yes. When I asked you, 'What is this Christianity?' you had not much time given you to answer me then, but your deliberate choice of a bitter death, in preference to abandoning it, showed me there was somewhat deeper in it than I had imagined. Alfgar, there are seeds lightly sown which bear fruit hereafter, and your words were of such a character--so that I, your future monarch, owe you already a debt of gratitude, and I had come hither to fulfil it when you saved me the task by appealing to the ordeal. I for one had full faith in the justice of God. But had you not so appealed, I should have stepped in between Edric and his victim."
"You did not then, my lord, believe in my guilt?"
"Not for one moment. The lad who defied my unhappy father in the frantic fury of his power--the warrior I had seen fighting by the side of his king--the faithful attendant of many years?--Nay, it was monstrous; who could believe it?"
"Many, alas! found it possible to believe it, my lord. But who has been the murderer? You will not permit your brother's blood to fall on the earth unavenged."
"Wait. Be patient. God, in whom you trust, will direct the bolt in His own time. Edmund's blood will not be unavenged. And now, farewell! Remember, if you have lost one royal friend, you have found another."
And Alfgar left the presence.
The next day the whole party from Aescendune returned home. Oxenford was too full of bitter memories now. One grief of Alfgar was this--he had not been able to stand by Edmund's grave.
CHRISTMASTIDE 1017.
Ten years ago, this very day, God in His mercy delivered us from the raging Danes at Cliffton, on Tamesis, and now He hath delivered us again out of the hands of the raging lion, even of Edric Streorn, and we are all spared to keep our Christmas in peace in the woods of Aescendune.
It is probably the last I shall keep in this place, for the hall and priory are fast rising from their ruins, and we shall soon return to our old home, from which we have been banished ten years and more. It will be sweet to be there once more, serving the Lord in peace, with none daring to make us afraid.
Here we are, all of us who are near and dear by the ties of blood, in this woodland Zoar, which hath indeed been a Zoar in the late troublous years, utterly untouched, which again we regard as a proof that Anlaf does not live, for he could have found us out had his revenge led him to do so when Sweyn was in Mercia. Neither has he appeared to claim his own estate, which he might easily regain now a Dane is king.
Alfgar and Ethelgiva are now speedily to be united. Theirs is to be the first marriage solemnised in the new minster church by my unworthy hands. To see them now, one would think they had forgotten all the past peril. The old people do not mean to abandon their woodland abode; they love it all too well, and call it the Happy Valley. But they say that a good road, now the times are safer, shall be made to the old site, where we are again rearing hall and priory.
There is now quite a colony here, nearly 300 people. The church is very commodious, and every day, for the whole period of these late dreadful wars, mass has been said therein for our suffering brethren "contra Paganos." Thank God that he hath at length heard our prayers; our late foes are no longer Pagans but Christians, and are as eager to build up as they were to cast down; in fact, several of them have offered their zealous aid in the rebuilding of our priory.
We had such a happy Christmas evening. We sat by the fire, and Alfgar was made to relate the whole story again of his escape with Edmund from Carisbrooke, of his imprisonment by Edric in the Synodune woods, of the attack and defence of Clifton. We had all heard it before, but still we wanted to hear it again, just to contrast present peace and joy with the danger and trials of those days, and to make them sweeter by the contrast. Truly our Christmas worship had need to be praise and thanksgiving, not only for the great mystery the church commemorates, but also for present mercies so freely bestowed upon us all.
Second Sunday after Easter, 1017.--
We have just received intelligence that Canute has been solemnly crowned at St. Paul's Church, in London, by Archbishop Lyfing. He called a council of the whole kingdom previously, to which both my brother and I were summoned, but I cared not to attend. Elfwyn, however, went, and wanted Alfgar to go, but he begged hard to be excused, I imagine for two reasons. First of all, he laments Edmund too deeply to welcome his former enemy as his successor; and secondly, he does not care to leave Ethelgiva again.
Well, Elfwyn tells us that when all were present--bishops, ealdormen, thanes, and the noblest of the people--Canute solemnly proposed that they should accept him as their king, giving them to understand that, by a tacit understanding with Edmund, it had been agreed that the kingdom should not be permanently divided, but that the survivor should inherit and govern the whole realm.
The wise men replied that, since Edmund's children were too young to govern, they could not desire a better monarch than Canute; they committed the little ones to his care, and acknowledged him as king of all England.
And on the morrow Archbishop Lyfing, who had so shortly before crowned Edmund, placed the emblem of regal dignity on the head of Canute in St. Paul's Cathedral.
I hear Edric Streorn is confirmed in the earldom of Mercia. I still fear that man.
Sunday after Ascension, 1017.--
On this happy Sunday it has pleased God to restore us to our home once more. The priory is rebuilt in more than its former beauty, and the hall beside it stands conspicuous in its splendour. They have not changed the appearance much, for it was the especial wish of every one concerned that it should remind one of old associations as much as possible.
The good bishop of Dorchester, the abbot of Abingdon, and many others of my friends amongst the brethren there, the neighbouring clergy and thanes, all met together to dedicate the new house to God. High mass was solemnly sung in the minster church, and the whole building was hallowed with psalm and prayer to God; after which followed a temperate banquet.
The bishop was very kind and loving, and spoke most affectionately to our poor people on the subject of their past trials; especially he commended their new lord, Alfgar, to their allegiance, saying that in all his deep trials he had shown himself a most perfect Christian, doing his duty both to God and man.
Monday.--
The abbot and brethren from Abingdon are gone back, and we poor happy brethren have entered again upon our regular duties. Ah me! what a gap time has made in our ranks. Of the twenty brethren who were driven out by the Danes eleven years ago, only twelve yet live, and eight brethren from Abingdon supply the place of the others. God be praised that Father Adhelm yet lives! He has been my right hand in so many perils and trials.
It is so delightful to be at home once more. Surely never were monks happier. My heart swells when each morning we sing the three last joyful psalms at lauds.
It is settled that Alfgar and Ethelgiva are to be married on the Monday after the Whitsun octave. O happy pair! O ter felices et nimium beati! I only hope they will not love earth too well.
Octave of the Ascension.--
Today we have had a special messenger from Canute, who is in the neighbourhood, to express his royal intention to grace the approaching marriage with his presence. It will indeed be an honour. Ah! but if Edmund could be there.
Whitsunday.--
I hardly know how to express my intense surprise and joy. Alfgar's father has returned--a Christian.
While all the people were assembling for mass this morning, an aged man, clad in palmer's weeds, evidently worn by toil and travel, came from the bridge over the river, which has been rebuilt, towards the minster church, and entering, knelt down wrapt in devotion. Many remarked his quaint attire; his face, once stern, now softened by grace; his hair, once black as the raven's wing, now white as snow; his dark eyes gleaming beneath thick white eyebrows. I fear he caused many wandering thoughts, and he would have caused yet more, could they have known that they beheld the penitent destroyer of the old hall and priory.
Now I preached, not knowing at the time who was amongst my hearers, from the words of Isaiah, "For thy waste and desolate places, and the land of thy destruction, shall even now be too narrow, by reason of the inhabitants, and they that swallowed thee up shall be far away. The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears. The place is too strait for me; give place to me, that I may dwell."
Oh, how touching the words seemed; for our waste and desolate places are indeed peopled with joy and gladness, and many must have thought of dear Bertric, our martyr boy, when they heard those words, "the children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other." They seemed a divine prophecy of joy and gladness unto us.
And so I preached after this manner, and as I did so I saw the stranger was deeply moved, and marvelled who he could be, that he entered so deeply into so personal a sermon, which treated of a peculiar joy which a stranger intermeddleth not with.
Now after the mass was ended, we came forth from the church, and Alfgar, with Ethelgiva, walked down the path to the Lychgate, when Alfgar's eyes fell upon the stranger, whereupon, to our astonishment, he started, then stepped forward, fell on his knees, and cried, with a choked voice, "Father, your blessing!"
At first we thought it was reverence, somewhat exaggerated, to a pilgrim, but when the aged man cried aloud, "The God of Abraham bless thee, even thee, O my son!" and the tears streamed down the furrows of his aged cheeks, we knew it must be something more than this, and so it proved.
It was none other than Anlaf--Anlaf who had disappeared from all the knowledge of friend or foe for ten years!
We all received him, especially my brother Elfwyn, with great joy--for we shared Alfgar's happiness--and we led him into the house, where we tendered him all the offices of hospitality.
It was by degrees that we learned his story. He was really converted to Christianity by the example of his son, whose words produced a far deeper effect upon him than either he or Alfgar suspected at the time.
And when he saw that son prefer a cruel death to apostasy, his heart was moved--deeply moved, so that he pondered over all he had heard from him and from a once loved wife, whose words had seemed lost, but whose prayers perhaps watered them into growth after she was dead and gone. So he left the army without telling any one whither he went, and sought instruction from a Christian.
And he found a Christian priest hidden in the woods, where he administered the word and sacraments to a starving few, but secretly, for fear of the Danes; and from him he learned the truth and was baptized.
Then, feeling himself unhappy in this distracted land-- separated from the English by blood, from the Danes by religion-- he determined to go on pilgrimage.
Once in the Holy Land, he had to undergo much contumely from the pagan Saracens, who, to the disgrace of Christendom, defile the Holy City by their presence, and maltreat the blessed pilgrims; but he had learned to glory in humiliation. At last he retired to the woods on the sources of the Jordan, weary of earth, and there he joined an aged hermit, with whom he lived for two years, and when the hermit died he took his place, and dwelt as an ascetic, ministering, however, to the necessities of pilgrims who journeyed that way to the Holy Land.
From some of these pilgrims he learned, at length, that English and Danes were united in peace, and a great desire of revisiting England and searching out his son seized upon him. On the road he heard that Edmund was dead and Canute reigned alone, and so he came hither at once, and has arrived, God so willing it, in time to see his son married to the heiress of Aescendune.
We have provided him lodgings in the priory. The new hall is not to be dwelt in till the night when the happy pair enter it and make it their home.
Alfgar's cup of joy is full.
Monday after the Whitsun Octave.--
At last it is over. The weary waiting of ten years is ended. Alfgar and Ethelgiva are man and wife.
Canute gave away the bride in person. Elfwyn, Hilda, Herstan, Bertha, and Hermann, with his sisters--indeed all the kindred of the bride were there. Of the kindred of the bridegroom but one, so far as we know, is living--his father Anlaf. It has been a warlike race, and nearly all the members of the family have found a warrior's grave.
I performed the ceremony, assisted by all the brethren in the choral portions of the mass and the order of the marriage service. Ethelgiva was pale and composed although she shed a few natural tears, but wiped them soon. Alfgar was simple and unaffected, as he always is. All he does is so naturally done. Like Nathaniel, he is a man without guile.
The church was crowded. All the retainers and all the neighbours were present, and when the bride and bridegroom left the sacred building, they saluted them with cheers which made the welkin ring.
Then the whole party adjourned to the hall, which was crowded to the fullest extent. And for the poorer guests, who could not find admittance, tables were spread in the open air, beneath the shade of spreading trees, for the day was lovely even for June.
Canute remained throughout the entertainment, and, by his unaffected condescension and his cheerful sympathy, won the hearts of all. His general demeanour tends to efface his foreign descent from the mind. Yet we sighed for Edmund, for which even Canute would pardon us. He should have presided at the board.
When the night was far advanced the whole party broke up and retired to rest, after a day calculated to efface the recollection of many a hardship past.
For my part, when I returned to the priory, I mused for a long time on the dark paths through which our Lord has conducted us to this happy day. I thought of the period of Alfgar's conversion and baptism, of St. Brice's night, for which England has paid so heavy a penance, now, we trust, happily over. And while I thus thought, my musings led me to the tomb of Bertric, whose sacred relics, as those of a martyr, now lie interred beneath our high altar, and I wondered whether his blessed spirit could sympathise in our earthly joy. Yes; I doubt it not; and that he witnesses it from above. Through suffering to joy has been our lot; through suffering to glory his.
Tuesday.--
The king left this morning. His engagements are too numerous to permit him to give much space to recreation. Before he left he summoned Alfgar, Anlaf, and Elfwyn, to a conference in the library --for they have a library as of old in the hall--and then he told Alfgar that he had talked with Anlaf who wished to convey the manorial rights of his former patrimony, and all its revenues, to his son, and to join our brotherhood, and that he desired him to witness the deed. Now, all the former charters of Aescendune were destroyed in the old hall, and the king had caused a new one to be drawn up, supplying all the defects caused by the loss of the earlier documents; conferring and securing, by royal charter, all the lands of Aescendune, and those formerly appertaining to Anlaf, upon Alfgar, and his successors for ever, not, as he said, as a deed of gift, but as a charter securing and defining their rights and liberties, for him and his successors, to all future generations; and adding all the waste land of the adjacent forest, formerly holden of the crown, to their domains, with right of all temporal jurisdiction, and with the title of Earl, which title is common in the northern and more Danish districts, more so than ealdorman, which obtains in the south.
"Thus much," said he, "I know my brother Edmund would have done for you, and in his place it has fallen to my lot.
"Would," he added, "I could be all to you which Edmund would have been had he lived; that, perhaps, is not possible; but I know, Alfgar," he added, "how to esteem faithfulness, even when it has been sometimes exercised at my expense, for one once a rival, now only thought of as a brother."
Then he turned to Anlaf.
"Old companion in arms," he said, "this makes up for Carisbrooke; well, Alfgar, hadst thou yielded then, thou hadst not been here now. Thy father and I owe thee something for the example thou didst set us."
And then he turned to Elfwyn and wished him joy of his son.
After that he came to the priory and prayed awhile in front of the altar; his devotions ended, he came to my cell and made me a startling offer of a bishopric in Denmark, saying he thought there was much work to be done for God there, and he thought Englishmen would do it best; and thus, he added, after their Master's example, return good for evil {xx}.
But an old oak such as I am cannot be uprooted, and perhaps it is a carnal feeling, but I fear my earthly affections bind me here while life lasts, so, thanking him warmly for the distinction implied in the offer, I respectfully but firmly declined it.
And so the king and his retinue left Aescendune. Elfwyn and Hilda return in a few days to their happy valley; men have been at work for weeks making a good road there from the hall, and the journey will only occupy two or three hours to a good walker.
Herstan and his family leave for their home on the Thames (which has been rebuilt, together with the little church of St. Michael) tomorrow. Anlaf takes his vows as a novice next Sunday, his novitiate will be as short as the rules of our order allow; we shall all then welcome him as a brother.
Soon our days will flow tranquilly on. May God mercifully continue peace in our days.
"Stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us."
Christmas, 1017.--
Strange news greet our festival. Edric Streorn has gone suddenly, unhouselled, unanointed, unabsolved, to his great account. Hermann, who is now an officer in the royal hus-carles, has arrived from court, and from him we have learnt all particulars.
Edric was alone with the king in a chamber overlooking the Thames. Hermann was on duty without, with some of the guard, when he heard voices within in hot contention.
"You will grant me no favour, not even the life of this traitor, who, I tell you, is conspiring against you, and desires to place Edwy, the Etheling, Edmund's brother, on the throne in your place."
"Your proof lies, I suppose, in the hatred you have always borne him," was the king's reply.
Hermann could not help hearing, they spoke so loudly, but the next words enchained his attention.
"I tell thee the name 'Alfgar' is first and foremost amongst the signatures of the men who have conspired to cast thee from the throne."
"Then I conclude you placed it there; tush, man, I know thee of old!"
"Why should you suspect this? was not he Edmund's faithful friend, worshipping him as a god, and would he not do all he could for his brother?"
"I thought you held him guilty of Edmund's murder."
"That was only because I wished to remove two enemies from your path instead of one you will not remove one from mine; lo! I forsook Edmund my king for thy sake, and for thy sake I slew him, and thus thou rewardest me."
Then Canute waxed furious, and he shouted, "Guard! guard!"
Hermann rushed in; and amongst others Eric, the Earl of Northumbria.
"What, wretch! murderer! apostate blasphemer of the saints! didst thou murder Edmund, my brother Edmund, who was dear to me as Jonathan to David, seeing we were bound to each other by an oath! Thou didst stretch thy hand against the Lord's anointed, and thou shalt die the death.
"Cut him down! cut him down, Eric! cut him down, Hermann."
Eric stepped forward in an instant, and with his huge battle-axe cleft the unhappy traitor, who had fallen to his knees to obtain mercy, from the head to the shoulders.
"Throw the carcase out of window," cried the furious king; "let the fishes have the carrion. Never shall he find a grave, the vile regicide; and that he should think I would reward his guilt! Nay, I have served him as David did the Amalekite."
Eric and Hermann, between them, raised the corpse, and flung it, all bleeding and disfigured, into the Thames, the tide just running out beneath the walls.
I ought to write, "So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord!" But the awful doom of his unrepentant soul saddens me, much as he has hated me and mine.
Lent, 1018.--
A strange discovery has been made which interests us all greatly. At the time of Alfgar's trial at Oxford, Herstan fancied there must be a secret staircase communicating with Edmund's room, but sought it in vain. Now that Edric has avowed the deed, Hermann has obtained the king's permission to make a thorough search all through the house, and in the thickness of the huge stone chimney a secret staircase has been found, with a door opening through the thickness of the wall and panelling into the room in which Edmund slept, as well as another door opening into the banqueting hall, where Sigeferth and Morcar were murdered. It is all clear as day now. Edric must have entered the royal chamber from the banqueting hall in the dead of the night, and thus, when no human eye beheld, have accomplished his evil deed. Ah, well! he could not escape the eye of Him who has said "Vengeance is mine, I will repay."
Eastertide, 1018--
A son is born to Alfgar and Ethelgiva; and today, Low Sunday, they presented their babe to Him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me." They have named him Edmund. The grandparents, both well and happy, were present; and the proud and happy father's eyes sparkled with joy over his little Edmund, glistening from the baptismal font. It fell to my happy lot thus to enrol the dear child amongst the lambs of Christ's fold. God grant him length of days here, and endless length of days beyond the skies when time shall be no more!
. . . . . .
Here we close our extracts from Father Cuthbert's Diary; but; before taking leave of him, we are sure our readers would like to hear a few more words about his future fortunes, and those of the house of Aescendune.
Better king than Canute, saving only the great Alfred, and perhaps Edgar, had never sat on the English throne. Under his auspices a change became visible throughout the whole country: villages again gladdened the blackened wastes; minsters and churches were rebuilt, whose broad, square Saxon towers yet hand down the memory of our ancestors. Agriculture revived; golden corn covered the bloodstained scenes of warfare; men lived once more in peace under the shadow of their homes, none daring to make them afraid. Peace, with its hallowed associations, gladdened England for fifty long years {xxi}.
Anlaf was the first of the group we have introduced to our readers to leave this transitory world for a better one. He died a few years after the accession of Canute. Father Cuthbert survived him many years, and died honoured and lamented in the last year of the great king.
His brother Elfwyn, and the lady Hilda, full of years, having outlived the natural span of man's appointed years, followed him shortly--not till they had seen their grandchildren, a numerous and hopeful progeny, grow up around them, and so perpetuate their race upon earth.