Ethel, deeply muffled and disguised, passed through the little postern-gate of the fortress. A word in the ear of the sentinel who paced to and fro before it on guard, secured instant obedience. Ethel's position in the fortress was thoroughly understood by all. Her self-denial, her patience, and her burning patriotism, were well known in this camp of Saxon outlaws. The readiness with which she undertook positions involving fatigue and privation, for the cause, was a constant inspiration to the common people. They watched her come and go with veneration—almost with awe and superstition. They whispered one to another of her strange journeyings by night and day; and many regarded this young chieftainess as a special favourite of the gods. As she glided through the gate in the early morning hours, the sentinel thrust his head forth and watched her swiftly descend the slope, like a ghost in the darkness. When her form was no longer visible, he closed the door, and secured it with bolt and bar.
"Whatever can she be after so early in the morning, and before the day dawns? There's something very uncanny about her, tramping over hill and dale by night and day like any wolfshead, or wicca-hag.[3] I saw the fiery lights in the heavens two hours ago. I wonder what it all means. I almost wish I was safely out in the Bruneswald, where I could hop about like a bird from tree to tree, and where never a Norman could corner one. This being cooped up like a rabbit in a hole I don't relish. I like room to ply my heels. Howsomever, I'll stick, and stand my chance, for the women can't be whisked through the air; and the children, too, they must have a nest." So the sentinel continued his watch, and ruminated on these things.
Meanwhile, Ethel sped with quick step over the rugged limestone hills, flying before the fastly pursuing dawn like a fugitive who dreaded his revealing power. Ever and anon she turned to measure with her eye the distance she had traversed. The shadowy outlines of the fortress she left behind began to take shape in the distance, and she quickened her pace. "I shall soon be beyond the reach of vision," she muttered to herself. "I would not have Oswald know my errand to-day for worlds. My mind is dark, I know not what I do; but my hope dies, and my heart breaks. Perhaps the Norseman's gods may help me, for the Christian's God fails me. 'Tis a dread alternative; but I would know, if I could, what Fate has decreed for me."
For three weary hours she sped over dreary moors and scraggy, precipitous valleys, which were often little better than ravines. Presently she turned into a declivity running between two banked-up, precipitous sides. A little ahead, the two sides curved inwards and came together, and to all appearance this strange gorge came to an end. Ethel marched forward with unfaltering step, evidently straight at the blunt face of the joined limestone rock. But when she reached the extremity, there became visible, what at a very short distance could not be seen, an obscure opening behind a jagged projection of rock. It might be, to all appearance, merely an entrance to a fox's or wolf's den. Into this opening, however, Ethel crept, without halt or questionings of any kind. Presently the narrow entrance became larger, and she stood upright, but continued to descend a rough and precipitous path, until she reached a level piece of ground. Looking up—the place was simply a stupendous slit in the limestone rock, broadening downwards into a considerable area. The trees and shrubs growing at the top interlocked from side to side, and the light came streaming through a network of branches. Desolate and awe-inspiring was the place. At the farther end were two mounds of earth, or tumuli, where the grim priests of Thor and Woden were sleeping the long sleep of death—lives which had been literally burnt out by the fierce fires of fanaticism, and savage asceticism. Ethel paused to look around, but everything was still as death; she shuddered and drew her cloak tighter about her.
"The last time I came to this spot my father brought me. I feel his untamed Norseman blood stir within me. The fierce gods of war and revenge and death his Viking ancestors and he worshipped, I dare to consult to-day. 'Tis a cruel necessity, and jars my woman's instincts—I feel it petrifies my heart with unlovely savagery; but the followers of this Christ have slain my people with a wicked and unsparing slaughter. They differ in no way in their wanton cruelty to Norseman and Dane. Their women, too, with their fair faces, dainty fingers, and courtly manners, have stolen the heart of Oswald, and I am slighted and disdained; nothing in my beauty—and suitors of noble lineage have sought me ere now for my beauty; nothing in my rank—and it is but yesterday that I might have stood amongst the proudest of the land. No; I am a withered leaf, battered, bruised, and trampled upon. My love is unrequited! My misfortunes are compassionated, but that soothes not my wounded spirit, and is but a hateful substitute for the love I crave. Alas! nothing avails me, for I am only a heathen woman and an outcast. So, hard driven by my misfortunes and my wounded love, I will consult the gods of my father. The Norseman's gods may help me perhaps. Yet," said she, pausing for a moment, whilst her breast heaved with strange and powerful emotions which struggled for the mastery within her, "my mother was Christian and Saxon. She was a follower of this Christ. She was gentle, and taught me to pray to Him. I remember it well, though I was but a child. 'Our Father which art in heaven.' Ah, that is wonderfully soothing to me, and not like the prayers I was taught to offer to Thor and Odin. But my mother could not have known this Jesus; for if He was merciful and gentle, why do His blood-thirsty followers delight in treachery and bloodshed. 'Twas a part of my cruel fate that she should die in my infancy, for had she lived I might have learned of her more perfectly. O ye gods!" said she, wringing her hands in agony above her head, and looking up to the vaulted roof with tear-blinded eyes and with agonised entreaty,—"have pity on me in my friendlessness!"
Then she sped on with a quick, determined tread. Down each side of this weird retreat there were standing out, like grim, ghostly sentinels in the uncertain light, a long line of runic stones, on which were carved many strange devices; rude figures of uncouth and unearthly animals and reptiles. She had been taught that these strange hieroglyphics and signs had marvellous potency for good or ill. They could cause passionate love, or undying hatred, in the breasts of those over whom their spell was thrown. Indeed, the power of life and death was wielded by them. Strange supernatural agencies and powers were their messengers, and did their bidding. Starting from the rock, or planted here and there, were many of the ominous rowan trees, or witch-wood. The hemlock and the nightshade clustered together, and the nodding cypress dropped sombrely over the runic stones beneath them. Ethel glanced nervously round, but not a living thing was visible; not a sound broke the death-like silence of the place. Quickly gliding beneath the drooping branches of one of the cypress trees, she fell on her knees before the frowning pillar of stone. She had knelt there before by the side of her father, who had remained heathen to the last. But to kneel alone, in this very vestibule of the Place of Darkness, and to pour out her passionate entreaties to powers which she knew were the Powers of Darkness, strange to mercy, and which had but the attributes of fiends; the ordeal was terrible indeed. With feelings tumultuous and frenzied, she apostrophised the weird and forbidding emblem before her.
"O ye gods of my fathers, whether ye be Powers of Light or of Darkness I know not. Pity my ignorance, and my apostasy, for I have turned to this Jesus whom the Christians worship, and He has failed me, and turned my joy into mourning. My father and my brother have been slain by the followers of this Jesus. My home is made desolate, and I flee for life and honour from these Christian fiends. There is one also who might have been my lover, who is bravest amongst the brave, and most chivalrous amongst the chivalrous; who is gentle as a sunbeam, and tender as my own lost mother, yet strong as any tower in the storm. He is lost to me through the subtle arts of their women. My life has become to me but a living torment. Can ye turn again the heart of Oswald to me? 'Tis said ye can turn even hatred into love. I know it is unmaidenly to plead for a love I cannot inspire, but I can bear this burden no longer alone, and I would ye could give me favour in his eyes, or give me a long home in one of these sepulchral mounds."
She started to her feet with a shriek, as a deep voice saluted her from behind,—
"Waes hael, Viking's daughter!"
She hastily turned, and behold there stood before her Olaf, the aged priest of this Vikings' temple, to whom for a couple of generations the heathenism and savagery of the countryside had repaired for ghostly consolation, and into whose ears had been poured the secrets of fierce loves and fiercer hatreds of these descendants of the Norsemen. He had been the grim dispenser of dark and mystic rites and potent spells to weirdly savage and credulous votaries. A strange being surely to claim a place in times so advanced as these! He was a living embodiment and personification of a bygone era, and so totally destitute of all humanising instincts that he might have slid down the ages, glacier-like, from prehistoric times—when men dwelt in caves, and gnawed the flesh from the bones of their prey like wild beasts—without ever having come in contact with the outermost fringe of civilisation; a Viking of the Vikings in savagery and blood. His head was uncovered, and his long and matted grey hair fell over his shoulders. His form was shrunken and racked with rheumatic pains, from his long exposure and unlovely life. Long, deep furrows ploughed his face, and the long, powerful, and uncleanly teeth stood away from the shrunken cheeks, whilst his sunken eyes gleamed like the eyes of some savage beast of prey. He was a visible and concentrated embodiment of the war spirit in its unrelieved and unredeemed essentials. No touch of pen or pencil, however graphic, could depict, in all his hideous grimness, this stranded relic of a bygone age of savage lawlessness and force, who seemed to be but half a dozen removes from the tooth-and-claw methods of wild beasts.
"Ha! ye are come at last, are ye?" he hoarsely croaked. "Ye are come now, when ye find that this strange God, this Christ of whom the Christians speak, has proved to be no God, and cannot save ye! But the gods of your fathers have given ye over to desolation because ye have forsaken them. Ha, ha, ha! I could laugh at ye now! Ye despised the old priest, did ye not? ha, ha, ha!"
As the harsh, grating voice of the priest fell upon her ears, Ethel almost cowered in terror before him. At sight of her terror, the old priest somewhat relented his fierceness.
"Hist to me," said he. "Ye are a Viking's daughter, after all, and come of a stock whose deeds our Sagas tell of, though the Christian taint has mixed too freely with your father's blood. It does my old tired bones good, nevertheless, to see ye come back again to me once more. I have been very lonely and forsaken, for my fellow priests are all lying beneath these mounds. I buried the last myself not a month agone. See! the mound is newly heaped. I shall soon be gone also, and there will be never a priest at hand to give me back into the arms of mother earth, to reveal to ye the dark mysteries of Valhalla, or to call from the land of the dead the Sein-lœca,[4] to speak with you. Viking's daughter, are ye now aweary of following this strange God of the Christians?"
"Alas! I know not what to do, priest! I am as desolate and forsaken as ye are. I would have the heart of Oswald, the Saxon chieftain, turned towards me. If ye have any charm that will give me favour in his eyes, I covet it, priest."
"Ah, but this Oswald is Christian; ye do not well in seeking thus to further dilute the Viking blood that flows in your veins. Is there no hardy Norseman ye can mate with? and I can help ye."
"None, father! I gave my heart to this valiant Saxon long ago; but alas! a Norman woman has won his love, and when he comes into my presence now, I see that there is always a far-away look in his eye, and I know he is looking in imagination upon the dark-haired Norman he loves more than me. He shuns his couch to keep nightly tryst with her. I have dogged his steps, and watched them in the starlight nights, pacing the battlements of the castle in loving converse, and in loving embrace. He is kind and gentle to me, but there is none of the subtle tones of love so dear to us women when once our heart is won. Men say I am fair; but have ye any charm to make me fair to him? It matters not what men may say, or what the multitude may say. There is but one man in all the world, and if I am not fair to him, why then the sun goes down on all my hopes, and leaves naught behind but the long black shadows of despair! Ah! I fear me, priest, it is in my spirit! There is no charm for him in the passion and frenzy, the fire and restlessness, of my Viking spirit. This voluptuous southern maiden, with her courtly manners and her gentle speech, has touched a chord in his heart which never responds to the Saxon maiden!"
"Girl, ye are no Saxon maiden! ye are a Viking's daughter! I claim ye for the old race that has swept every sea, and made the Viking name a terror to all lands. I will not have ye despise the fierce spirit of your race that lives in ye! Listen. I know a Viking of the old stock, a true descendant of our heroes whose mighty deeds our Sagas tell. He hath a passion for ye deep and fierce, and pure as a Viking's love should be. 'Tis Sigurd of Lakesland, who was here but yestere'en. Let me plight your troth with him, and there shall spring a progeny like unto our forefathers, who will sweep the infamous Norman brood into the sea, and make the cowardly Saxon cower at the feet of the Norseman, as in the days gone by."
"Ye speak, priest, as though a maiden's heart were like a willow bush, to veer about as any idle wind may blow, or so gross a thing that it may be huckstered for a consideration, or be cast as a mere makeweight into the scale of policy. Never dream, priest, that this is a possible remedy; for I have nothing to offer Sigurd or any other. If ye cannot tell me that I shall be Oswald's bride, then I will be wedded to my people, and I will serve my country till death comes to free me."
"A curse on the evil times I have lived to see, girl!" said the priest savagely. "This simpering sentiment is not like the love of a Viking maiden at all! The sturdiest and fiercest warrior was wont to be the choice of our maidens in the old days. What charm would ye have? There is but one charm will serve the Viking cause in love or war. It never failed them, in the past, and will not fail them now if 'tis wielded fearlessly."
"What is this spell—this charm ye speak of? Tell it me at once!" said Ethel eagerly.
The priest slowly withdrew from his bosom a bright-bladed dagger, at sight of which Ethel shuddered and drew back.
The priest scowled, and said angrily, "If ye shrink at this ye are not fit to be a Viking's daughter. This will serve you if ye are resolute, for 'tis easy to get an audience of this Norman that hath bewitched Oswald, and then it were easy to plunge this dagger into her heart; and what then were thy hated rival? Take the blade in thy hand, nor shrink from it; the touch of steel will fire thy heart, and purge away the accursed leaven of effeminacy which is creeping over our Viking race. There is a magic in the touch of cold steel; my fingers tingle as I feel it. It has served the Viking's cause as nothing else could do for a thousand years."
As he spoke he pressed the fearsome weapon into her unwilling hand.
"But how then, priest, when I have taken the life of this innocent lady? Will that bring back the heart of Oswald? Nay, he will loathe me then, and I shall be as a 'daughter of perdition' unto him."
"Idle scruples, daughter!" said the priest, testy and irritable. "Who shall tell him it was your hand did this deed? Be resolute, and fear not; the Vikings' gods will help ye if ye be bold."
"But after I have done this deed, priest, and if Oswald should never know it was I that did this foul, this desperate deed, I can never rid me of the loathsome memory, nor the clinging horror, of blood-guiltiness. What after that? when self-respect, womanhood—nay, when the last shred of my humanity is gone—what would remain that were worth the having? What should I be, and how could I look to mate with his upright and chivalrous nature? What daily horror would be mine! for each look of his unsuspecting eye would damn me! Nay, priest, take back this dagger, for such means as these can never help me. My innocence is my heaven, and I will keep it while I may; for when this is lost, then all is lost. I thought ye might have gentler means."
At this the old priest fairly roared with impotent rage.
"Avast!" he cried. "'Tis this Christ hath done it all! Why do ye come to the Vikings' gods until ye have renounced Him? How can I summon spirits from Valhalla to your help, or send the wicca-hag skirling on the wind to ply her sorceries on Oswald, that his heart may be turned to ye, if ye are Christian?"
Then, dropping into a gentler and more persuasive tone, as he saw Ethel fairly cowering in terror before him, he said,—
"Go, Viking's daughter. Ye know my heart is sore for ye and for my race; but it must be either Odin or Jesus. Go renounce this Christ, and then I can help ye. Nay, nay! keep the dagger, for it hath wondrous virtue in it. It was with this dagger that Thore Hund slew the Christian renegade Olaf Haraldssen on the bloody field of Sticklarstad, and Odin proved himself a mightier than this Christ. It shall be so again, for the Viking race shall be a terror to all lands. Why should ye be fearful and afraid? Why should ye hesitate and shrink at this act of revenge? Surely ye have suffered enough at the hands of this accursed race. How can ye be so scrupulous, when ye think of the vengeance ye owe these Norman tyrants and usurpers for a father and brother slaughtered, for your sadness, and your homelessness? Think of the love this Norman woman hath stolen from ye. Nurse these thoughts, and be courageous, Viking's daughter."
Ethel slowly climbed from the weird retreat, where for generations these savage priests of Thor and Odin had exercised a dread and mystic sway over the descendants of the Norsemen conquerors, who in past times had swooped down on Northumbria, peopling it with rough and hardy warriors; and still the barbarous rites and crude beliefs held extensive sway, in spite of the leavening influences of the Saxons' Christ. Ethel had entered this nature's temple with dim hopes that by some exercise of supernatural powers the heart of Oswald might be influenced so as to turn to her; and if not this, that she might know the worst. Alas! the sad heart and the wounded love had met with no amelioration of its sadness and despair; but the dormant passion and frenzy which ran in her Viking blood had been stirred in its lethargy into a madness of revenge, the extent and power of which she had never felt before.
"What is to be the end of this?" she said to herself, as she sped over the wild hills. "Either I must conquer or be crushed. There is no middle course; either it is hell or heaven. I cannot cast off or change my love; that is given unreservedly and beyond recall. This Viking, Sigurd, is a warrior true as steel, and his love is as sincere and true. But what of that? To wed him were a suggestion most gross, and impossible as gross. How could I crouch beside the ingle of an untamed Viking husband, and in all unloveliness mother a rude progeny, and blur out, in the grossness and savagery of it, the vision of better things, and of the nobler love I have seen? Question. Shall I tamely submit to the usurpation of a love that might have been mine, but of which I have been despoiled by a Norman woman? Or shall I fling to the winds my Christian trammels and scruples, and, Viking-like, take the Viking's remedy?" and she drew forth from her bosom the unlovely and murderous weapon the priest had given her. "The priest said this was my only remedy. 'Tis a grim alternative. But why should I suffer this for a love too readily given? I never told my heart to dote on Oswald. 'Twas a wild freak of affection I could not bridle; and I cannot undo it now, so that change is impossible. It was without effort of mine, also, that he has filled my eye so fully that I cannot see another. Shall I tamely suffer this eclipse at the hands of this southern woman? This priest tells me what a Viking woman would do, and surely, if foul wrongs call for fierce revenge, then I should not timidly shrink from this avenging act. Madness and despair nerve my arm and steel my heart, and I will act as a Viking woman would act!"
But just at that moment, as the fierce spirit of revenge assumed the mastery, there flitted before her mental vision a scene of long ago, when, as a child, she knelt at her mother's knee, and heard the wondrous story of the Redeemer's mercifulness and love for his enemies. The revulsion of feeling was instant and overpowering. Stretching her clenched hands heavenwards, she shrieked, in an agony of prayer, "Jesu, God of mercy, help!"
Overwrought nature could bear no more, and she sank in insensibility to the ground, her fair countenance convulsed with agony. Speedily, however, the shadows of despair gave place to a placid smile of sweet content. Again she was a child, and her mother's form was bending over her, but wondrously ennobled and beautified; and she spoke words of comfort and of hope. "Daughter, be of good courage, and remember the words of the Master that I taught you: 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest'; 'Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.'" Then, with a smile angelic in its sweetness, the heavenly vision faded away.
Slowly Ethel staggered to her feet, for her physical strength was exhausted; but the look of blank despair had passed away, and her countenance was transfigured until it shone like the countenance of a saint of God. And drawing the dagger from her bosom she hurled it over a precipice, shuddering as she did so. Then she slowly turned her footsteps towards the fortress on the hill.
Sigurd, after the rebuff he had received at the hands of Oswald, sped him on his way to Scotland, aflame with a wrath which was about equally divided between Oswald and the Normans. He was accompanied by some half-dozen of his followers. And there, at the court of Malcolm of Scotland, he laid before the Prince Atheling his scheme for the recovery of the kingdom.
Now, Prince Edgar was a weak, voluptuous prince, who spent his days in dissipation, and surrounded by foreign parasites; but he was universally acknowledged to be the legitimate heir to the throne of England. Every one who knew him intimately had little hope of his ever winning it by force of arms, or of his worthily filling it, if it should ever be wrested from the grasp of the astute William. The Conqueror well knew the weakness of this princeling, and with consummate policy he kept him well supplied with money, knowing that if he had the means to gratify his vicious and effeminate disposition, he would not be easily moved to undertake any dangerous or arduous enterprise.
But the Atheling, like all weak and vacillating natures, could be false or fickle to his master William at very short notice. He was capable also, in a vain and feeble sort of way, of grasping at the English sceptre, for no better or nobler motive than the desire to gratify his childish vanity, and to further indulge his voluptuous and sensual habits.
There was nothing in common between the fierce and fiery descendant of the Vikings, Sigurd, and this weathercock of princely descent. Sigurd was as valorous and uncompromising as the Atheling was ease-loving and cowardly. Still, it was quite easy for this enthusiast to infuse into the Prince's mind most exaggerated ideas of the rally of the Saxons under Oswald, and to lead him to believe that the prospect of regaining the throne of England was easy of achievement. He also managed to fan into a flame the petty jealousies of which the prince was capable, by representing to him that Oswald was intent on asserting his own claims to the kingdom.
It was a matter of profound surprise to us, and not a little consternation also, when scarcely a month had elapsed from the date of Sigurd's expulsion from the camp, to find that Saxon runners everywhere throughout the kingdom were conveying the Prince's summons to all Saxon leaders, outlaws, and ecclesiastics, together with a certain number of freemen, and churls, who, according to Saxon laws, had the right to attend these parliaments, or witans, of the nation. The witan was summoned to meet in Lakesland, one of the wildest and most inaccessible parts of Northumbria. Oswald and I were summoned, and a number of those who owned Oswald's chieftainship.
We weighed carefully this matter, and we could not rid ourselves of the apprehension that Sigurd somehow was at the bottom of it, seeing that the bodes who bare these summonses were followers of the Jarl.
Personally, I was much averse to the project, being unable to see what good could come of it, in our present feeble and distracted state. But Oswald considered it desirable that we should obey this summons as loyal Saxons. Accordingly, a company of us, under the leadership of Oswald, started for this rendezvous amid the Lakes. We were compelled to use the utmost secrecy in our movements, and travel by night, as the Normans were still thickly posted throughout the north. It would certainly have been most dangerous to travel by day, even with so small a company as ours. We were practically but two days march from the place of rendezvous. So we started after nightfall on the first day, and, by steadily pressing on, we covered one-half the distance, arriving ere it was daylight at a place of refuge evidently well known to our leader, but which came as a revelation to me, for we came upon a band of Saxons near to an inlet of the sea, which ran into a thickly wooded headland. Here were a company of hardy men, partly fisherman, and partly traders and freebooters, who owned a vessel capable of carrying a considerable cargo; which bare sometimes Saxon refugees to foreign lands, at other times engaged in peaceful trading with distant ports, and had frequently been employed by armed bands of Saxons for the purpose of making swift descents upon their foes in various parts of the kingdom. From this source I found that wines and breadstuffs, as well as munitions of war, had systematically been supplied to the Saxon outlaws. I was told voyages were frequently made, not only to Ireland and Scotland, but even to ports on the Mediterranean sea.
Here we rested for the day, and at nightfall we went aboard this vessel; and, the wind being favourable, in a couple of hours they ran us across the bay of Morcam, landing us in sight of the Westmoreland hills, and certainly saving us more than a twenty miles' trudge. We were now within some eight miles of our destination, and still had the most of the night before us. Our sailor friends were able to tell us, also, that there was no encampment of Normans within many miles of our route; so we continued our march for an hour or two at a steady pace, without the slightest alarm or molestation. At last, our path lay through a narrow pass or defile in the mountains, and we were rapidly drawing near to the rendezvous. We now found it necessary to move with the utmost caution, for the path was rugged and narrow, and there was an eeriness about the place which was suggestive of anything uncanny. Huge boulders frequently confronted us, looming up out of the darkness so suddenly as quite to take my breath away. Oswald and I were a trifle ahead of the others, and were discussing to ourselves as to what could be the purpose of the Prince, in summoning at so unpropitious a time the Saxon witan.
"Does the Prince intend to take up arms, think you, my lord?" said I to Oswald.
"I expect little from the Atheling, Father, of that sort of thing. He is fickle, cowardly, and dissolute into the bargain. He dallied at the court of Malcolm at our last effort at York, until the cause was lost; and he sped him back again, and never stayed to strike a single blow. I am afraid some hare-brained purpose moves him, or some petty ambition which is unworthy of a prince, and which he will not back with any force of character, or any persistence. He will simply provoke a revolt which cannot be successful, whilst at the very first repulse he will vanish, and leave his unhappy followers to the relentless extermination policy of William."
"You have no faith in revolt, I think?"
"None whatever. It is absolutely hopeless. If we had but had a leader at York, brave and skilful as our last King Harold, and one who could have united us, the thing was half assured. But now Saxon graves hold prisoner for ever the flower of our people; and to attempt to offer an organised opposition to the Norman forces—why, it were sheer madness. The only two points in the kingdom where any show of resistance is made, is our own little colony, and in Lincolnshire, where Hereward still precariously holds out."
"But does not the Prince know this, think you? Or is he incapable of grasping the situation?"
"The Prince, I have already intimated, is not a factor worth considering for a moment. I very strongly suspect that Sigurd is at the bottom of this. He, I believe, has stirred the Prince up either to ambition or to jealousy, and I should not wonder if I were arraigned as traitor as a preliminary to some madcap exploit of Sigurd's. Do not be in the least surprised if this gathering ends in dire mischief and disunion."
"What is that?" we both exclaimed in a breath, as we saw the figure of a man dart from behind a huge boulder, and swiftly run along the pass ahead of us.
"I like not that," said Oswald. "He has no friendly motive, I warrant;" and he at once drew his sword, and called Wulfhere. "Your Grace had better take second rank," said he to me. Then, halting a moment till the company drew near, he addressed them.
"Men, have all your weapons ready."
Immediately every swordsman's blade gleamed in the darkness, and every archer's bow was unslung, and an arrow affixed.
"Rear guard!" said he, in an undertone.
"Aye, aye!" responded two gruff voices, which I knew to be Badger's and Bretwul's.
"Beware! and be ready; and keep close up. Now, men, let us move steadily forward."
So we pressed slowly and steadily forward, Oswald and Wulfhere passing no boulder or obstruction without first carefully peering behind it to see if any foe ambushed there. Suddenly there was a halt, the sword of Oswald was uplifted, and I could descry a muffled human figure standing in the centre of the path.
"Who art thou?" said Oswald. "Speak, or I will cleave thee from head to foot."
"Listen!" said the figure. "I am the shadow of a vanishing race. When Saxon hates Saxon and is greedier than greedy hawk for Saxon's blood; and when Saxon loves Norman habits, and makes friends of the hated oppressor; what hope is there of a restoration of the old race! If the Fates have decreed it, well—'tis enough. I only ask for a grave in some lonely spot, where the groans of my people will not disturb my long repose. But beware, Saxons! there are fierce enemies abroad—Saxon, too. Beware! The would-be avenger has a sharp sword, and will not stay his hand. So beware! the swoop of the eagle is swift and strong, and his talons are sharp."
With that, the strange figure turned and fled along the pass with the speed of a mountain roe.
"That is a strange visitant," I said. "The voice might be the voice of a woman. I almost fancied I had heard it before."
"In any case, it is the voice of a friend. The warning is unmistakable; the enemy to be dreaded is Saxon also," said Oswald.
I began to wish most devoutly that the night were past. My nerves were quite unstrung, and the yelp of a fox, or wolf, in the vicinity, the flap-flap, of the night-owl's wing, or the scurrying footsteps of the rabbits, set me in a violent tremble. Oswald headed the party forward, though I would most gladly have called a halt, and waited for the clay. We quickly found that our troubles were not yet past, for not a quarter of a mile had been traversed since our last visitant, when suddenly, and without warning, we were beset behind and before by armed men, who hurled themselves upon us with the fury of wild beasts. Oswald had only time to raise his shield to save himself from the furious stroke of some powerful enemy. Before I had time to realise it, friend and foe were laying about them with the fury of madmen. No sooner did I grasp the situation than immediately I rushed to the front, though it was at the imminent peril of my life. Lifting up the sacred emblem of my office, I cried,—
"Peace! In God's name, I charge peace!"
At the sight of the blessed cross the assailants recoiled a pace or two.
"Who are you?" I cried. "Saxon or Norman?"
"They are Saxon," said Oswald. "I know well who aimed the blows at my life. 'Tis Sigurd, one professing to be of our nation."
"I am not of thy nation, dastardly renegade, dancing attendance upon Norman wenches, and warring in silken hose."
"If I warred with as little sense and as little skill as thyself, I should soon be as impotent as thou art, and have never a Saxon left me to lead to battle."
"Sigurd," said I, in as authoritative tone as I could command, and still holding up the emblem of peace and goodwill to men, "I charge you, in God's name, that you call off your men, and cease this fratricidal strife."
"What care I, monk," said he fiercely, "for thy God? He is the God of cowards, and not of warriors."
But having breathed out this defiance, he gathered up a wounded comrade who had felt the keenness of Wulfhere's sword, and, without uttering another word, he headed his men for the hills.
"Now, my lord," said I, "what is to be done? This, I fear, is only a precursor of trouble and discord at our witan. I would you were willing even now to beat a retreat, nor take further risks to yourself and men, in so bootless an errand.
"The Prince professedly has summoned me, and I would not draw back until fully assured that mutual council is profitless," said Oswald.
"Let me go forward, my lord, and meet the Prince. I think my sacred office will protect me. If I think good will come of this gathering, I will communicate with you."
"No, Father; no man shall ever say I failed to respond to the call of my Prince, despisable though I believe him to be. Nor will my duty to my race and to my country permit me to stand aloof from this witan, for God knows we have need both of council and of all the wisdom left to us. But, nevertheless, I have no faith in this gathering. The Prince, I doubt me, is an indolent sensualist, and, like all weak-minded men, most easily provoked into jealousy. The ominous figure we have just met is deeply involved in this scheme, I am now sure. A sturdy, valorous man, and a foeman of direst sort, but utterly incapable of moderation. He cherishes a mortal hatred of me, and I now know that I shall take my life in my hand when I enter the council; but that is a risk which gives me no uneasiness. So let us advance, for the light, I see, is breaking over the tops of the mountains, and very soon we shall have the day."
So, nerving ourselves for any contingency, we continued our march. This had now become much pleasanter, and infinitely easier, in consequence of the approach of day.
By-and-by we drew aside into a sheltered dell, in order to partake of our morning meal, which we despatched as hastily as possible, in order that we might reach the rendezvous early. We had not journeyed far, however, before we were accosted by a man, who emerged from behind a heap of stones at the head of the pass, and surveyed us narrowly.
"Saxons?" said he.
"Aye, Saxons all," we replied.
"What say ye?"
"Down with the Normans!" we replied.
"Right," said he. "Down with the Normans!" Then he gave us sundry directions as to the nearest route to the place of meeting. We found this route to be again somewhat difficult; for such a stern, wild country it is difficult to imagine, much more to describe. We again entered a narrow defile between two frowning and rugged hills, and in a little while this defile opened out into a magnificent, amphitheatre-like vale, enclosed with lofty peaks and rugged hills on every hand, whilst below us there lay a magnificent sheet of water in the centre of the valley, with thick woods running around it; the bald and boulder-strewn hills towering high above all, most imposing in their rugged grandeur and might. Underneath them, the valley was most bewitching in the loveliness of its umbrageous woods. As outlets to this beautiful valley, there were but the pass we had descended, and another narrow defile at the foot of the lake, where the water made its exit. Involuntarily we came to halt. Indeed, the prospect before us was at once so wild, and yet so charming, that we could not but stand and gaze, enchanted with the scene.
"Now, Father," said Oswald, "what think you of Lakesland?"
"Well," said I, "lovely as our beloved Craven is, it pales before this magnificent country."
"Yes; and the strength of it! Had Sigurd but a tithe of moderation and self-restraint, there are no Norman forces in this Northumberland that could drive him out."
Well, we resumed our march by rounding the head of the lake by a difficult and tangled forest path. This done, we continued our journey down the opposite side of the valley and along the side of the lake, until eventually we were taken in hand by one of a group of men, evidently set for the purpose, and by him we were conducted to a yeoman's dwelling, embowered in trees of massive girth on all sides. The habitation was similar to the rough but substantial dwellings we were all familiar with. There were some considerable outbuildings and an enclosure carefully fenced round by a lofty wall, and evidently intended for the protection of the sheep and cattle at night, during the winter months; for the wolves were wont to pack, sometimes in considerable numbers, and become very daring and vicious, when the pinch of hunger was upon them.
As soon as we entered this enclosure, we found there was assembled already a goodly company of men of various grades, all of them armed to the teeth. Many of them were evidently Saxons who had held considerable positions in the land prior to the coming of the Normans, though now evidently much broken. The scared and suspicious looks with which they scrutinised every new-comer, told plainly that they were much used to treachery, and familiar with double-dealing. There were also numbers who were clearly men of war. The look of defiance on their countenances, and the well-stocked quivers over their shoulders, told plainly they were chiefs of the bold outlaws who lived by the might of their trusty swords, and their long bows. No one could misunderstand their fierce and daring attitude.
There were some also who, by their armour, had evidently learned something of the methods of war pursued by the Normans. Indeed, as we have said, before the coming of William, large numbers of the Normans had thronged the court of the pious Edward, and Saxon noblemen in goodly numbers had practised the joust at tournaments, adopting Norman weapons, affecting a budding errantry, and talking Norman French. There was here also a goodly number of the humbler ranks; for, according to old Saxon law, not only freemen, but even villeins and churls had the right of representatives at the witanagemot, or council. Oswald immediately joined himself to a company of these men of knightly appearance, many of whom he knew, having fought side by side with them at York.
Sigurd I quickly espied, standing with another group of the old stock, rude, unlettered, and primitive in habit and dress. I could easily see, without seeming to notice or observe them narrowly, that these men viewed with no favourable eye what they were wont to call the pranking of Norman manners and dress on the part of Oswald and the others I have spoken of. It was plainly to be seen, also, that Sigurd had done something to inflame their minds against Oswald, for they eyed him savagely and suspiciously.
I proceeded, however, at once to the house place, to make my obedience to Prince Edgar, who, with certain of his personal friends, awaited the assembling of the members of the witan. The Prince was dressed in a rich velvet dress, with elaborate fringing of silk, and for a head-dress the hat and feather worn by Norman courtiers. He was also accompanied by a Norman favourite, a most truculent parasite, of a vain and dissipated appearance, and, as I thought, a very unsuitable companion for a prince who preferred claims to the Saxon throne.
Elaborate arrangements had evidently been made for display, and for the comfort and luxury of the Prince. He was accompanied by his cook, his valet, and several serving-men; whilst he had, with infinite trouble to the servants, brought with him wines, and delicacies, and dainties, which were to me no good augury, and which, do as I would, I could not but despise in one who made pretence of so desperate an enterprise as the overthrow of the Norman rule in England. For, view it as we might, a most desperate enterprise it most surely was.
At the appointed hour for the council to begin, a chair was brought out of doors, and placed in such a position that its occupant could command a view of the whole company. Over this chair a richly-embroidered cover was thrown, and the Prince immediately took possession of it; whilst the Norman favourite came behind, and ostentatiously placed a crown upon his head. This burlesque of royalty was expected to produce a shout of loyal enthusiasm from the assembled company; but, with the exception of his own followers, not a whisper of applause greeted it, though the marks of derision on the countenances of many of the Saxons were open and undisguised.
Now, as the senior ecclesiastic present, it became my lot to read what the Prince was pleased to call the "Royal Proclamation," calling this meeting of the witan, which being done, the Prince next addressed the company. In pompous and affected tones he said,—
"Reverend fathers, valiant knights and liegemen, I have called together my faithful witan to consider the state of our unhappy country, and what may best be done for the recovery of my rights as the lawful King of England. To this end I seek your advice; and not only so, but I further lay my commands upon you, as my faithful subjects, liegemen, and vassals, to help me in this enterprise. To this end I would further insist that it is necessary that you should lay aside all purposes of individual self-assertion, and join yourselves and your forces to the general movement. Now, whilst speaking on this head, I may say, with shame and regret, it has been reported to me that sundry knights, of whom I expected better things, are not true to our cause, but are acting without regard to the claims of myself as the lawful King of England, and are setting up a separate authority; warring according to methods not sanctioned by me or my faithful witan. I hear there are those who are willing to forfeit their allegiance to me, and, for their own personal ends, going even so far as to seek a servile alliance with our foes, to the betrayal of the Saxon cause. Now let it be known to you that I claim the undivided allegiance of all Saxons, and that I purpose with rigour to punish all traitors to my cause and to my kingdom. I have been too long slighted and set at naught by my lieges and vassals, and I would know what of it? There are loyal men and true in your ranks, I know, who despise and hate such factious conduct as much as I do myself; and I call upon all who can bear testimony to this flagrant disloyalty on the part of certain of my subjects, to stand forth and declare it at this council, for I purpose with utmost rigour to punish all factionists and traitors who are cringingly seeking alliances with the Norman foe."
At this invitation Sigurd stepped from the ranks, and said,—
"Puissant Prince, if it be your will, I have a charge to make against Oswald the Ealdorman, son of Ulfson, who is now present. As he well knows, I have made this charge to his face, that he has built a fortress for himself and all such churls and freemen as are willing to acknowledge his chieftainship. I charge him also with speaking slightingly of your Highness's valour, and your ability to regain your rightful throne. I charge him also with endeavouring to enter into cowardly alliance with the Norman foe—promising, if certain meagre concessions be made to him, he will withhold his followers from rebellion, and all endeavours to resist the Normans. I charge him with attempting to gain a dishonourable alliance with the house of De Montfort. Which several charges I have attempted to make good at the sword's point. And I call upon him now to answer for it with his life, as all traitors and trucemakers should."
"If Oswald the Ealdorman be present, I call upon him to make such answer as best he can against the charges preferred by our valiant and trusty knight, Sigurd the Saxon Dane, who, by his fealty to us and his zeal for the Saxon cause, has won our hearty trust and confidence."
At this summons Oswald stepped forth a pace or two, and, removing his helmet and visor, said, in firm and unfaltering tones,—
"Sire, may I be bold enough to ask if this is the purpose for which valiant knights and lieges have been summoned from far and near?"
"Silence, dog! and answer the charges made against thee! Then we shall consider the weightier matters appertaining to our realm. But we will have an answer to these charges."
"The charges, sire, made against me by the Jarl, are the creation of his own heated brain; and the reason he has brought them hither is because he failed ignobly to make them good with his weapons. I decline altogether to wrangle out with him this petty personal quarrel in presence of this assembly. If we are to consider matters of greater moment, matters which concern our country and the present desperate state of the Saxon cause, then I am prepared to offer my poor services, either in this council or in face of our common foe."
"Well said, Sir Knight!" cried a gruff voice, which belonged to the leader of a party of knights who had entered the enclosure during the foregoing dialogue, and whose seedy and travel-stained garments, and rusty arms and accoutrements, bore ample token of much exposure and much rough usage.
"Sirrah!" shouted the Prince, waxing wroth at the bold front and fearless language of Oswald, "dost thou presume to answer thy King after this fashion? By my halidame, if this continues there will be never a scurvy clown in my kingdom who will not think he may beard his Prince with impunity. But I will know whither all this is tending. I have long had my eye upon that boorish and untamed son of Earl Leofric, whom men call Hereward, who is carrying on warfare in the Fen country—palpably for his own ends and his own glory, for he never so much as acknowledges my sovereignty or sends his dutiful submission to me. Now thou dost presume to imitate the conduct of the braggart Hereward, and must needs collect an army for thy own personal advantage, and not for the glory of thy Prince. Men of my faithful witan, I call upon you to note this, for I have determined I will rid the Saxon cause of all such disloyal traitors."
"'Tis pity, sire," said Oswald, in tones in which anger and contempt were mingled, "that you never thought it worth your while to collect an army for yourself, or at least to place yourself at the head of one collected for you. We would fain see what kind of stuff our Prince is made of. Will you tell this witan, Prince, where you were when so many good lives were lost at York in your cause?"
"Well spoken, sir!" shouted the gruff voice, with even more emphasis than before.
"Dost thou call in question my valour, villain!" roared the Prince. "By our Lady, I'll have no more of thy effrontery, dog! Disarm him, loyal knights!"
Immediately half a dozen of the Saxon leaders sprang forward at the bidding of the Prince; but they quailed before Oswald as they saw the broadsword whipped from its scabbard, and perform a swift circle in the air.
"Here's to thee, with all my heart, Sir Knight! I like thy metal!" said the stranger knight, as he sprang to Oswald's side, brandishing a huge sword; whilst his followers quickly ranged themselves on the same side, ready for the fray.
"Treason! treason!" almost screamed the Prince, in abject terror, starting from his seat and preparing to beat a retreat.
I gently laid my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Have patience, sire. These men mean no harm, only they are not wont to receive such harsh rebukes."
This seemed to reassure him, for, addressing the unknown knight, he said,—
"Who art thou who thus boldly takes sides with this traitor to my cause?"
The stranger made no answer, but slowly removed his headgear. Immediately a score of voices shouted, "The Wake! the Wake! 'Tis Hereward!"
"Yes," said Hereward. "I am the Wake, whom thou hast been cowardly charging with treason. Hark! Dost thou think Hereward is going to peril life and limb, or waste precious lives, to set such a dolt on the throne of England as thou hast proved thyself this day; and on the former occasion, when we met at York, for instance? Marry, no! A niddering who flies for his life at the first approach of danger is not fit to wield a sceptre in these lands. A Prince who fosters faction, and is pettishly jealous of braver men than himself, had better turn monk; a shaven crown would better become thee than the Crown of England."
"By the blessed Virgin, I vow I will humble thy pride, dog, ere I have done with thee! I will not be bullied in my own witan, though thou be a son of Earl Leofric!"
"Ah, well," said Hereward, with a sneer, "thou art of the wrong metal thyself, but if thou hast a knight brave enough to cross a sword on thy behalf, let him stand forth, and I will oblige him with a bout; 'twould be a little diversion in this fool's errand of ours."
"I will champion the Prince, braggart; with a curse on thee for thy base-hearted treachery to thy wife Torfrida!" shouted the brave and choleric Sigurd, rushing forward and brandishing his sword in the face of Hereward.
Instantly there was such a clamour of voices, clash of swords, and dire confusion, in the arena, that I was terrified at this tumult of fierce and angry passions. Oswald and I rushed in between these fierce combatants and called aloud for peace, which with the utmost difficulty we obtained. Seeing the strange state of frenzy in which most present were, I urgently requested that all further discussion should cease for the day.