Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND SON.

  "Here, my son," said the old warrior, as he pointed out the blackenedruins, "here stood our home, where now the screech owl haunts, and thewolf has its den. There, where the broken shaft yet remains, was thechamber in which thou first sawest the light, and wherein thy motherdied there, where snake and toad have their home, was the great hall.Surely the moonbeams fall more peacefully on the spot now all has beenavenged, and the halls of the murderers have fallen in their turn. Buthow didst thou escape?"

  "The folk of Aescendune saved me, father."

  "But how; from the burning pile?"

  "Nay. I had spent the previous day with them, and returned home onlyin time to find the place in flames. The enemy seized me, and wouldhave slain me, but Elfwyn and his brother, Father Cuthbert, deliveredme; and now thou hast slain their Bertric, and burnt both hall andpriory."

  "Think not that I owe them gratitude for aught they have done. Theytampered with thy faith, I now apprehend, even before the night of St.Brice, and perhaps drew from thee the knowledge which enabled them tosurprise so large a party in my house. But all this was to make theeabandon the gods of thy fathers, and to inflict the worst injury theycould upon a warrior. I trust they have failed!"

  "Father, I am a Christian!"

  "Say not that again, boy, if thou would not have me kill thee."

  "I can but say it, father. In all that touches not my faith and dutyas a Christian, I am bound to love, honour, and obey you. But ourreligion forbids me to nourish revenge."

  "Of what religion, pray, were they who would have slain thy father onSt. Brice's night?"

  Alfgar hung his head.

  "When Christians practise themselves what they teach, then we willheed their pretensions, but not till then. Their religion is but acloak for their cowardice, and they put it aside as a man throws awaya useless garment when they have the chance of slaying their foeswithout danger."

  "There are good and bad Christians, father."

  "Commend me to the bad ones then. Do not speak to me of a religionwhich makes men cowards and slaves. These English were warriors once,till the Pope and his bishops converted them, and now what are they?cruel and treacherous as ever, only without the courage of men."

  Alfgar felt the injustice of all this, and with the example of Bertricin his mind, he cared nor for the accusation of cowardice.

  "Here, then, my boy, on this spot where thou wert once cradled,renounce all these Christian follies and superstitions, and thou shaltgo back with me to the camp of King Sweyn, where thou shalt bereceived as the descendant of warrior kings, and shalt forget thatthou, the falcon, wert ever the inmate of the dovecote."

  There was a time when this temptation would have been almostirresistible, but that time was over, and after one earnest prayer forstrength from above, Alfgar replied.

  "My father, if you claim my obedience, I must even go with you to yourpeople, but it will be to my death. I have said I am a Christian."

  "And dost thou think I have found thee--thee, my only son--to partwith thee again so easily? nay, thou art and shalt be mine, and, ifnot mine, then thou shalt be the grave's; for either thou shalt liveas thy ancestors have lived, a warrior and a hero, or the earth shallcover thee and my disgrace together."

  "Father, I can die."

  "Thou dost not fear death then?"

  "Thou hast left one behind thee--one who did not fear to die themartyr's death."

  "Dost thou mean Bertric of Aescendune?"

  "I do; they slew him, cruelly, although neither he nor his have everdealt cruelly with thy people."

  "Thy people, why not our people? art thou ashamed of thy kindred?"

  "Of their cruelty and treachery."

  Anlaf laughed aloud.

  "Cruelty and treachery indeed! and canst thou say that here? who setthe example in this place?

  "Come boy, come," he continued, "I will lead thee to those who shallsoon talk or drive all this Christian nonsense out of your young head;meanwhile, do not disgrace yourself and me by attempting to escape."

  Alfgar sighed, and accompanied his father, so inopportunely found,back to the camp.

  Arrived there, the word was given at once to mount, and the wholeparty started on the return journey to the south. Alfgar cast alonging glance behind at the spot where he knew all that was mortal ofpoor Bertric was left, to be, so far as the Danes cared, the prey ofthe wolf or the kite; but the young Dane knew well that, if any wereyet alive at Aescendune, the hallowed temple of the martyr would notwant its due honour.

  All his heart was with his English friends; he felt that in going tothe Danish camp he was really going to his death, for although withina few years the conversion of the Northmen took place, yet at thisperiod their hatred of Christianity was simply ferocious, and hisfather belonged to the old heathen conservatives of his day, as didall his kinsfolk.

  "O Aescendune, once happy Aescendune!" was the thought, the bitterthought, as each hour placed a larger barrier of space between Alfgarand his late home; all its happy memories came freshly back upon him,and particularly the thought of Ethelgiva, his betrothed, from whom hewas so ruthlessly torn, torn as if he left part of himself behind.

  They reached the confines of the forest by daybreak. Before themstretched an open country, where wild heaths alternated withcornfields, and wooded hills were of frequent occurrence upon thelandscape.

  All at once a signal of caution was given, and the whole party retiredagain within the cover of the wood, where they could see, for theywere on an eminence, the whole district before them without beingseen.

  A body of fifty English soldiers was passing on the road, which lay atthe distance of a few hundred yards only, travelling at a considerablespeed, as if they anticipated the emergency of Aescendune, and hurriedto the rescue. Alfgar knew them at once; they were Elfwyn and histroops; oh, if they had but arrived earlier, thought he, and startedto see how completely English his sympathies were.

  The Danes found it hard to repress their laughter at the thought ofthe reception which awaited the travellers at home; they had no ideaof spoiling it by attacking them, although the numbers were aboutequal; besides, they had got all the plunder and spoil, and a battlewould only endanger the success already obtained. So they lay in coveruntil the last straggler had disappeared in the direction ofAescendune, and then continued their course, with many a jest at theexpense of the English.

  Anlaf watched his son; he knew what his feelings were, and histhoughts were bitter as he felt that, could Alfgar have beenconsulted, he would be in that English band.

  That night they arrived on the banks of the Thames, near Reading, theborder of Mercia. Their passage had been quite unopposed; all thefighting men were in Wessex; and those who had seen the Danish partyhad fled with terror--they had not stopped long to plunder, but hadspeared one or two unfortunate victims who fell in their way, a sightwhich sickened Alfgar.

  The following day they continued their march to the southeast,sometimes hiding in woods, for the country was mainly occupied byEthelred's troops; sometimes pursued by larger bodies of horsemen, butalways successful in distancing them, until, at the approach ofeventide, they came in sight of the entrenched camp of the northernhost. The spot was on the northern borders of the ancient kingdom ofSussex--the land of the Saxon Ella--a spot marvelously favoured bynature, occupying the summit of a low hill, which commanded a wideprospect on all sides, while itself almost impregnable when fortified,as it was, by ditches and mounds, dug in the usual Danish fashion, forthe Danes owed much of their success to their skill in fortification.

  Beautiful in time of peace was the country around, but its desolationwas sufficient to sicken the heart. Blackened ruins lay on every sidefor miles; nay, they had disfigured the whole day's journey. Scarcelya town or hall, unless strongly fortified, had they seen standing, andthis for nearly fifty miles.

  Within this fortified enclosure the Northmen had collected abundanceof spoil, and there they detained many prisoners, whom
they held toransom, putting them to death with the utmost cruelty if the moneywere not forthcoming at the stipulated time.

  When the party of Anlaf arrived at the northern gate, crossing thesummit of the ascent on that side, they found it open and almostunguarded, so slight was the danger from the dispirited English--nowtoo accustomed to the idea of a foe in the heart of the land.

  Entering, they beheld a strange scene: huts rudely constructed of thebranches of trees, intermingled sparingly with tents, were disposed atregular intervals. In the centre, where the main streets crossed, wasthe royal tent, with the raven banner floating therefrom; and there,at that moment, was the savage tyrant Sweyn in person.

  Sweyn was the son of Harold Bluetooth, who reigned in Denmark fiftyyears, from A.D. 935-985, and who in his old age became a Christianand strove to convert his subjects. But the ferocious warriorsrebelled against him, and were headed by his unnatural son, Sweyn,who, although baptized, renounced Christianity, and fought to restorethe bloodstained worship so congenial to the heart of a sea king.Defeated in battle, the unhappy father fled for his life, and fled invain, for he was either murdered or died of his wounds.

  Sweyn then became king, restored idolatry, and gratified to the fullthe fell instincts of his savage followers. His great object was nownot merely to plunder, but to conquer England, and all his campaignswere so directed as to reduce province after province. Sussex and Kentwere now wholly powerless; East Anglia was little better; Wessextrembled, for every inlet was a path for the robbers, and the turn ofMercia drew near.

  Sweyn stood at the door of his tent, leaning upon his ponderousbattle-axe; around him were two or three warriors, whose grey hairshad not softened the look of ferocity so plainly stamped upon theirfaces.

  The king was not in armour, but wore a kind of close-fitting tunic,descending to the knees, and leggings leaving the legs bare above theknees. A rich mantle was thrown over the tunic, for it was cold.

  By his side, similarly dressed, stood his son, the hopeful Canute, thefuture King of England, then only in his twelfth year, but alreadyshowing himself a true cub of the old tiger in fierceness and valour,yet not devoid of nobler and gentler virtues, as he afterwards showed.

  "Welcome, Anlaf," cried Sweyn, as he saw the party arrive; "welcome,hast thou enjoyed thy holiday in Mercia?"

  "Bravely, my king, the ravens have tasted flesh."

  "No need to tell me that; thy revenge, then, is accomplished. Hastthou found thy son?"

  "He is with me, my lord, but their saints must have warned the Englishof our approach. We burnt the place but the people were not in it.Their cries would have been music in our ears."

  "Perhaps St. Brice told them you were coming; the English have aveneration for him," said Sweyn, bitterly.

  They both laughed a bitter laugh, for both had suffered by themassacre in the persons of kinsfolks.

  "But is this young springal thy long-lost son? he is like thee, evenas a tame falcon is like, and yet unlike, the free wild bird."

  "He is my son;" and Anlaf introduced Alfgar.

  The youth made his salutations, not ungracefully, yet with an air ofreserve which the king noticed.

  "I thought St. Brice had got him long ago, and feared thou wert on awild-goose chase."

  "It is a long tale to tell now, my liege."

  "Have they Christianised him?" said the king, with a sly look.

  "He will soon lose that," replied Anlaf.

  "Yes," said the king; "we know a way of curing the folly," when, evenas he spoke, a spasm, as of mental agony, passed over him, and heshook like an aspen, but it was gone in a minute.

  Was it the fate of his father which was thus avenged?

  Every one looked aside and pretended not to notice the fact, andAnlaf, having made his homage, retired, leading Alfgar.

  "You see, my son," commenced the old warrior, as he led his recoveredboy to his own quarters, "how useless it would be for you to struggleagainst the tide, such a tide as no swimmer could breast."

  "If he could not swim, it would be easy to drown," said Alfgar, andthere was such a despairing utterance in his tone, that his father waschecked.

  The quarters of Anlaf were in the northwestern angle of the camp; theyconsisted of huts hastily constructed from the material which theneighbouring woods supplied, and one or two tents, the best of which,stolen property, appertained to the chieftain.

  Over a wide extent of desolated land, beautiful in its generaloutline, where the eye could not penetrate to details, looked theprospect. The round gently-swelling Sussex downs rose on the southernhorizon, guarding the sea, while around them were once cultivatedfields which the foe had reaped, while quick streams wound in betweenthe gentle elevations, crowned with wood, and here and there the merespread its lake-like form. The sun was now sinking behind the hugerounded forms of some chalk hills in the west, when the camp becamegradually illuminated by the light of numberless fires, whereat oxenwere roasted whole, and partridges and hares by the dozen, for theDanes were voracious in their appetites.

  In Anlaf's quarters one huge fire blazed for all. Alfgar seemed theonly silent member of the company; the warriors related theirsuccesses, and boasted of their exploits, and the bards sang theirferocious ditties, until all were tired, and the quiet moon lookeddown upon the sleeping camp.

  O the contrast--the calm passionless aspect of the heaven and thehuman pandemonium beneath.