by A. D. Crake
CHAPTER XII. THE ENIGMA SOLVED.
We owe our readers some apology for having so long trifled withtheir patience concerning the fate of Wilfred, and we trust theyare somewhat anxious to hear how he escaped the flames on thatfatal night when the monastery was burnt.
When good Father Alphege heard that the boy had returned undercaptivity, for whose safety he was so anxious, he sent at onceanother messenger to the good Bishop Geoffrey, imploring his aidfor the orphan.
But the monastery was already watched and neither letter normessenger was ever heard of again.
Imagine the good Father's astonishment when the following night hereceived Wilfred safe and sound from the hands of Hugo, to dopenance.
"Wilfred, my dear boy, tell me all. What has become of the letter Ientrusted you with?"
"It was taken from me in my sleep. Write another; oh father, let mestart again at once!"
"The roads are all beset, my dear child, as I have heard today. Ihave already sent a messenger, but tremble for his safety."
"What can I do to avenge my mother--my dear mother?"
"Wait, my child, only for a little while; God is too just to letsuch crime remain unpunished."
"Why was not his arm outstretched to save? Oh, my father, I shallbecome an infidel if this villain escapes unpunished!"
"Only wait; one day is with Him as a thousand years."
"But I shall not live a thousand years; I must see the day myself."
"Nay, dear child, thou art not thyself; this is wicked. Go into thechurch and pray for the grace of patience."
"I cannot pray--I must act."
"Go and pray, my son. Come to me again in half an hour; I haveinquiries to make which touch thy safety. I would fain know why thebaron sent thee here, since he knoweth all; it would seem the lastthing he would be likely to do."
The good prior soon found by personal observation that themonastery was watched, and had been so since Wilfred entered it,and saw at once that did he start again the lad would never reachhis journey's end, and that suspicion would be thrown upon him andhis brethren.
He did not hesitate long; he had no doubt that Wilfred's life wassomehow threatened, and resolved to secure his safety. He sent fora certain brother Kenelm, a monk in priestly orders, who had longbeen entrusted with a delicate duty.
"How are our poor brethren in the woods, my brother?"
"They are faring well; there is no lack of venison, and their corncrops are ripening for harvest. The land, thou knowest, hath beencultivated for many years."
"It is providential that the Normans have never discovered thatlittle Zoar, which may remain unknown until their tyranny beoverpast; for surely God will not quite forget this poor people,sinners although we have all been."
"The morass grows wider and deeper every year; the course of thebrooks which form it has been quite choked, and their waters buttend to increase the desolation around."
"Couldst thou find thy way there this very night?"
"Surely, if there were need."
"There is great need. The young thane, Wilfred, is in danger--thereis some plot against his life. What it is I know not, but our poorhouse has been watched ever since he has been here. Come to thewindow and look; I have blown out the light; now look--dost thounot see a man under the shade of the beech, near the entrancegate?"
"Verily I do, father."
"And now come with me (leading him along a passage); look throughthis window."
"Yes, there is another. Why do they watch?"
"That the young Wilfred may not escape; they think we shall sendhim off again, as they know I did before."
"How do they know, father?"
"They have read my letter to the bishop."
"Then why have they sent him here? I am quite bewildered."
"That he may be sent again, entrapped, or slain, and failing that,I know not what they will do. But we will outwit them; thou shalttake him this very night to his poor thralls who dwell in theswamp. They will rejoice to see him, and will live or die for him,as seemeth best."
"But since we are watched, how shall we escape?"
"By the river. It is very dark: thou must unmoor the boat and floatdown the stream for a full mile, without noise of oars, then enterthe forest and place the precious boy in safety."
"It shall be done, father."
"And quickly. Here he comes--supper, and then thou must say thycompline on the river: thou wilt go while all the rest are in thechapel, and mayst join us in spirit."
The good prior then went to the church, through the great cloister.The poor lad he loved was praying and weeping.
"Wilfred," said the prior, "dost thou feel better now? Hast thoupoured out thy soul before thy Heavenly Father?"
"Better? yes, a little better now, father."
"Come with me to the refectory."
They left the church.
"Now eat a good meal."
"I cannot eat--it chokes me, father."
"Thou must, my dear son; it is a duty, for thou must travel fartonight."
"Thank God."
"But it is not to Oxford, my son; thou wouldst not outlive thenight. It is that very journey they want thee to essay."
"Why?"
"That they may slay thee by the way."
"I may have my father's sword, which hangs over his tomb, may Inot?"
"Silly boy, what could one do against a score? Nay, thou must goand hide for the present in the forest--thou rememberest 'Elfwyn'sGrange'?"
"Where my great grandfather hid from the Danes? Yes, many a timehave I gone there to shoot wild fowl, while my poor father wasalive."
"And thou knowest the buildings in the midst of the firm ground?"
"Well."
"Thou hast never told thy Norman companions about them?"
"Never! they one and all think the morass a mere desert, acontinuous swamp."
"So much the better, my dear son, for more than half the poor folkwho have deserted the village are there, and Father Kenelm willtake thee to them, for he knoweth the way, ministering to themweekly as he does."
"But why may I not stay here?"
"I dare not keep thee, dear child; I fear some plot against thylife; nay, the morass is the only safe place for thee till we cancommunicate with the bishop, who has once befriended thee and maydo so again."
"Oh father, let it not be long!"
"That is in God's hands; abide patiently and wait thou on the Lord,and He shall make thy path plain. Now eat; I will not say one wordmore till thou art full."
Poor Wilfred did his best, and ate the last meal he was ever to eatunder that fated roof. The good fathers never suspected the realdesign of their remorseless enemy.
The supper over, beneath those beams which were soon to fallblazing upon their fated inmates, the lad bid a last farewell tothe good prior, to whom he had transferred the affection he oncefelt for his dear parents. He fell on his shoulder, he wept,embraced, and parted. The good prior wept, too. They never metagain.
"Take care of the precious lad, Father Kenelm; remember thou hastthe hope of Aescendune with thee."
They entered the little "punt" very quietly. The night was warm,but fortunately obscure. They unmoored, and dropped down the streamin perfect silence, listening to the bell as it tolled forcompline.
At length they reached the place the prior had indicated. They leftthe boat, and entered the forest in safety, utterly undiscovered--here,only Father Kenelm's accurate knowledge of the place could have availedthem in the darkness.
In three hours they had traversed ten woodland miles, and drew nearthe quagmires. The path became fearfully intricate, and Wilfred wasstartled by the marsh fires, while Father Kenelm began to pray forthe poor souls--he somehow supposed them to be, or to represent,poor silly wandering souls--the while the night owl sang a dismalchorus to his ditty. They followed a devious winding road--in andout--with much care, the father holding Wilfred's hand all thetime, until they emerged and found themselves ascending between twosteep
banks. It was a narrow valley, through which a brook pouredits waters into the desolation beneath.
At the summit they stopped and rested for a few minutes. It wasnot, as may be imagined, very high; but beneath lay the wholeextent of the Dismal Swamp. It was after midnight.
"What can that brightness in the sky portend, my child? There mustbe some dreadful fire; and, alas! it looks as if in theneighbourhood of Aescendune!"
"I hope it is the castle."
The poor monk was very much alarmed; he feared it might be themonastery, and the reader knows he was right.
Now the heavens were lit up with intense brightness, now it fadedagain. It was long before they left the summit and the view of thereddened sky.
"May it not be the northern lights?"
"Nay, my son, it is south of us, and they never look quite likethis. I fear me mischief is abroad, and shall not be happy till Iget me home again tomorrow."
Poor Father Kenelm, the woods were now his sole home.
At length, as the brightness disappeared, they continued along thebrook, until they reached a wide extent of flat meadow groundtraversed by the stream, separated by low hills from the morass.
In the centre of the valley, if such it may be called, the brookdivided, enclosing about an acre of ground, ere its streams metagain, hurrying down to the morass. Deep and rapid as it was, itscourse had been but short; a copious spring burst from the groundnot half a mile above, whence streams issuing different ways helpedto form the slimy waste which girt in this little island of firmland.
There, in the ground enclosed by the divided stream, was the homeonce inhabited by the ancestors of our young hero. The monk knockedloudly at the door--no watch was kept--the marsh was theirprotection.
The dogs began to bark, and one or two which were loose came up,half disposed to make war upon the travellers, but they soonrecognised the monk. Lights were seen, the doors opened, two orthree sunburnt faces appeared in the doorway.
"Sexwulf, I bring you a guest; look at him--dost thou know him?"
"It is our young lord!"
Late though it was, the whole household was soon in uproar--thewelcome was grand--and it was all the good father could do toprevent their arousing the whole village, to hear the joyful newsthat their young lord--rescued from Norman tyranny, which had eventhreatened his life--was there, relying on their protection, andthat they, esteemed by the world as outlaws, were his chosenguardians. They felt indeed, now, that they were not outlaws, butpatriots fighting against successful tyrants--the foes of theircountry; even as the brave Hereward (so they had heard) wasfighting in the Camp of Refuge, amongst the fens of East Anglia.
And for Wilfred, the representative of a house which had ruled themfor centuries, the son of their lamented lord, who had died sobravely at Senlac, they would one and all, if necessary, lay downtheir lives.
On the morrow, at eventide, Father Kenelm returned from Aescendune,horror struck, and brought the news of the burning of the abbey andthe lamentable fate of his brethren.
There was not an Englishman whose heart was not moved withindignation and pity, nor one who failed to lay the burden of thedeed where our readers have long since, we doubt not, laid it--onthe head of Hugo.
Hence those terrible reprisals our pages have recorded--hence nomercy was shown to the merciless; and the war between the baron andhis revolted dependants became one of extermination.
Every day brought accessions to their number; they were incommunication with similar centres of disaffection in all parts ofthe midlands; and they confidently hoped for the day when theNormans should be expelled, and England be England again.
So Wilfred regarded his banishment in the forest as a temporary oneat the best, and no longer looked for the aid of Normans, lay orecclesiastical, to avenge his mother's wrongs and his own; he wouldvindicate them by the strong hand.
He was now eighteen years of age, practised in all manly sports andwarlike exercises, braced by daily use to support fatigue in mindand body, and every day rendered him more qualified to be theleader of his own people in the desperate warfare which lay betweenthem and their rights.
He shared their hardships, fared as they did, exposed himself asfar as they would permit him to every peril, and was modest enough(unlike his Norman rival) to be guided by the advice of his elders,the wisest of his late father's retainers.
One fault--and one the youthful reader will, we fear, look verylightly upon--was gaining upon him--a deep and deadly hatred toeverything Norman. It was even rumoured that, like Hannibal of old,he had vowed an undying hostility to the foes of his country andhis house; if so, our pages will show how he kept his word.
In this feeling Father Kenelm, who now ministered wholly to thespiritual necessities of the dwellers in the Dismal Swamp, strovefeebly to restrain him; but Wilfred was rapidly outgrowing allrestraint, and perhaps the good father, who after all was human,and the sole survivor of a happy and united brotherhood, did notfeel very deeply shocked by the hatred manifested to the destroyersof his brethren.
Yet he pleaded for Pierre de Morlaix on the eventful night recordedin our last chapter; but the cruel death of Eadwin at the hands ofthe invaders rendered his prayers useless. The whole feeling of thelittle community was with Wilfred in the matter; besides, theywanted no prisoners, and dared not set one free to disclose thesecret of their refuge.
But we must resume the thread of our story, for our readers aredoubtless profoundly interested in the fate of Etienne, the rivalheir, and we must apologise for having kept them so long insuspense.
