Unsegmented source body · Part 2

The others were now nearly satisfied, and little of the boar remained, which, fortunately for the happiness of the party, was a full grown animal, and in very good condition. As the men leant back with dreamy faces, and meditatively gave themselves up to the joys of tranquil digestion, there came a desire for amusement, and it occurred to the younger and more mischievous among them to think of the reproach cast by Biggun on the young man he had called a "Weala," which was regarded as an insult by the conquering Saxons.

"I say, Beornwulf, I wouldn't be called a Weala by that old red beard," said one, throwing a bone at the young man he addressed, which alighted on his hand just as he was putting a choice morsel into his mouth, and knocked the piece of flesh out of his hand on to the ground.

A loud and general burst of laughter greeted this practical joke, which did not add to the young man's good humour, and he, being of a fiery disposition, and so the very fittest subject for a practical joker, rose up in a rage and hurled the bone back at his aggressor, who, being prepared for it, ducked his head, and it passed harmlessly over him.

"There, Beorney, don't get angry. If thou wantest to fight, fight the old man there, and then, after he has thrashed thee, thou canst come and fight us. We shan't be afraid of thee then, but thou'rt too strong a man now, and aimest too straight."

"What is all this about, boys?" said the older man, who had been comfortably stretched on his back with Ceolwulf and Wulfstan on each side of him, placidly enjoying the pleasant reminiscences of that estimable boar. "What's all this about? Why can't ye enjoy the blessings the gods give ye without wanting to make a disturbance?"

"Beornwulf here wants to fight that old red beard we caught in the bushes, who called him a Weala."

"Well, and Beornwulf called him a wooden head first, so I think they are quits."

"Let them fight, Athelhune. We've nothing to amuse us, and they might just as well have a round."

"Why, what's the good, boys? We want all our strength for to-night's work, and he might be here any moment. Ye see the sun is sinking fast."

"Then they can leave off when he comes."

Athelhune, who really did not much care one way or the other, made no answer, and this being taken as a consent, the young men, now that they had roused Beornwulf, set to work to get old Ceolwulf excited, who had gone tranquilly off to sleep.

They proceeded therefore to pitch a chop bone neatly on to his nose, and when he started up full of bewilderment at the unexpected shock, another bone, adroitly thrown, though not very hard, struck him on the mouth. Boiling with rage, old Biggun got up and glared round for his assailant.

"Here he is, old man; here's the Weala that did it!" cried several voices, pushing Beornwulf forward.

"Thou didst, thou nithing thou? I'll teach thee to insult a free born Wihtwara!" cried old Ceolwulf, whose blood was now thoroughly up.

"There, Beornwulf, he has called thee a nithing. Nothing but blood can wipe out that," called out the others, delighted at the success of their stratagem.

Ceolwulf was going at once to strike the young man with his boar-spear, but two or three young men knocked up the point, and told him he must wait until they had made a ring, and he must have the same arms as his antagonist.

They proceeded, therefore, to cut wands of hazel and fix them round in a circle, leaving ample room in the middle for the two combatants, and then they explained to Ceolwulf that whosoever drew first blood or drove his opponent out of the ring was to be considered conqueror. They then gave Ceolwulf the choice of several battle-axes, and allowed him to have a helmet like Beornwulf and a shield, and then they led the two combatants into the ring.

All had now risen from their recumbent position, and were showing much interest in the approaching fray. Opinion was divided as to which of the two was likely to win. Most inclined to Beornwulf, who was younger far and likely to be much more active. The older men, however, augured well from Ceolwulf's size and experience that victory might declare for him.

Wearing their shields on their left arms, and holding their battle-axes in their right, the two men eyed each other steadily, and in order to rouse them to greater animosity, several young men called out: "Remember, Beorney, he called thee a Weala." "And worse than that, he called thee a nithing," added others.

While to provoke Ceolwulf they called out: "He called thee a wooden head, and threw bones in thy face."

Poor little Wulfstan looked on with anxious eyes. He did not much fear for Ceolwulf, in whom he had always had unbounded confidence, but the thought would occur to him that were anything to happen to their old servant what would become of himself and AEdric? He was their only friend left in the whole world now. So he thought, and looked on, angry-eyed and wistful.

And now the fight began. Beornwulf stepped up close to Ceolwulf and made a feint at his right arm, which Ceolwulf parried with his axe, and caught the next blow, aimed with all the young man's might at his head, with his round shield. The force of the blow split the shield and exposed the arm, so that all thought the old man was wounded, but Ceolwulf at the moment that the blow descended, struck slanting at the exposed right side of his opponent, and cut through his leathern jerkin, causing a crimson stream to flow down his armour.

"A hit! a hit!" they all cried, and then, forgetting their own rules in their excitement, they called out to Beornwulf to revenge himself. But Ceolwulf parried every blow, and called out that the victory was his. He was very anxious the combat should have a speedy termination, for he did not wish to kill his opponent, foreseeing that if he did his position and that of Wulfstan would be rendered much more unpleasant, and he naturally had no wish to be killed himself. While all were excited at the contest a voice suddenly called out, "Why, men, what is all this to do? Haven't ye work enough in hand to-night that ye must needs be splitting each other's heads now?"

All turned round astonished, and a universal cry of "Caedwalla!" told Wulfstan that his handsome friend of the morning was among them.

*CHAPTER IV.*

*THE SURPRISE.*

The arrival of Caedwalla put an end to the combat, to the great joy of Wulfstan, who ran up to Ceolwulf with eager congratulations.

"I knew that fellow couldn't do thee any harm, Biggun; he didn't know thee as well as I do, or he wouldn't have dared to stand up to thee; but I am glad thou gavest it him as thou didst."

"Aye, Wulf, they will respect us all the more after this. I thought I should give him a good trouncing," said Ceolwulf complacently.

"Why, whom have we here?" cried Caedwalla, now for the first time seeing Ceolwulf and Wulfstan. "Why, it's the old greybeard I met this morning, and the stout little son of AElfhere! And what art thou doing here?"

The whole of the circumstances were quickly narrated to him, and, patting Wulfstan on the head, he told him he should make him one of his Huscarles, or body-guard, which delighted the boy much. He reproved Beornwulf for being so quarrelsome, and advised old Ceolwulf not to call people "nithings" again, or worse would come of it. As it had turned out he had drawn Beornwulf's blood first, and therefore, according to the laws of the Holmgang, or duel, Beornwulf ought to pay the fine of the conquered; but, considering how great a provocation Ceolwulf had given, he should decide that the two were now quits, and there the matter had better end. "And now, my men, we must be up and doing. I have learnt that the greater part of Edilwalch's men have gone with the two eorldomen to Kent, and the king is spending the night at Cissanceaster; we are now about six miles off, and it will take us till near midnight to get there and arrange our plans. Beornwulf, as thou art wounded, thou hadst best take this boy back to his brother at Boseham, and take care of him until I come.

Bid the monks treat him well, or, by Freja, I will skin the shavelings; but they are good men," he added, "and will do that without my bidding. And as to thee, old man, thou hadst best take Beornwulf's place, and make good the damage thou hast done. And now, men, fall in. Athelhune, you will take command of the rear, I will lead the advance, and do thou, old man, take Beornwulf's arms and give him thine to take back to Boseham; after to-night I trust thou wilt have some of thine own, or else that there will be no want of any. Remember all of ye that in worsting Edilwalch we are winning a victory for Wessex, and each victory for Wessex is a step towards my rightful crown. Ye have feasted on the flesh of the wild boar which Woden has put before ye as an omen of victory; remember the sagas, and how he who dies in battle will feast for ever on Saehrimnir the Eternal, and quaff mead from the never-dying Heidrun, and shall for ever and for ever hack his enemies in pieces. Who would not rather go there than live here? But to obtain honour there we must kill our enemies here, and the more we kill, the greater our joy hereafter. Up, men, and earn an undying name!"

Excited by this speech, and eager for the fray, each warrior clashed his axe against his shield, and the wild din caused the birds, that were going to roost, to fly screaming out of the branches, and scared the beasts of the forest in their distant lair.

"See, the wild ravens there, Woden's wild birds of air, Call us to Nastrond's fare, Call us to battle!"

shouted a warrior, whose eyes glowed with the joy of approaching fight.

"Hark to the wolves' wild cry, Baying towards the sky, Knowing the prey is nigh, Hearing death's rattle!"

cried another answering, tossing his battle-axe high in the air, and catching it again; for every warrior who wished to be distinguished affected a talent for verse, and all leaders who desired fame surrounded themselves with "Skalds," or gleemen, as they were called, who should proclaim their doughty deeds.

Wulfstan longed to go with the expedition, but Caedwalla would not hear of it, and he was sent off with Beornwulf, both sulky at their dismissal, but Beornwulf especially enraged, and vowing vengeance on Ceolwulf when he got the chance.

"Never mind, Beorney, thou canst practice fighting with the monks, they won't hurt thee," shouted some of the young men.

"And thou canst throw stones at the seals, they won't run away," called another, as they went off laughing; while Beornwulf, grinding his teeth with rage, and having no retort ready, disappeared with Wulfstan in the direction of Boseham.

The others directed their march through the forest towards Cissanceaster, proceeding at a rapid pace; all noise had now ceased, and each man settled down to his step with the air of men accustomed to long expeditions, and who all knew their business thoroughly. Ceolwulf wished much his master AElfhere had had a few dozen men like these the night before, and he hoped if he could only induce Caedwalla to take up the cause of his young lords, that they might recover their lands and revenge themselves on Arwald; he had seen therefore Wulfstan go off with Beornwulf less reluctantly than he otherwise would have done.

The sun had set, and the mists of the forest rendered it a difficult matter to see their way, but Caedwalla led them on without pausing or appearing to be once in doubt as to which way to go. After they had gone on in almost absolute silence for about a couple of miles they came to a circular clearing in the forest; in the centre of this clearing was a large stone, and Caedwalla went up to it, and, raising his battle-axe aloft, chanted the following verses:--

"To Woden, great god, I vow Victims to slay enow If he to us allow Victory to-night.

Here in the forest glade, Under the oaks' dark shade, On my keen axe's blade, Oaths do I plight.

By the last earthly pang Men felt as high priests sang When the wild death-cry rang Speeding souls' flight.

Grant us to win the fight! Grant us death's fires to light! Favour the cause of right! Woden, all bright!"

Again the dull clang of the axes striking against the shields gave token of the warriors' assent, and, once more putting himself at the head of his men, Caedwalla pursued his march in silence. That grim stone in the solemn forest ring had seen many a horrid sacrifice, and had been stained with the blood of many victims long before the Saxons or the Romans came into the Island; and if any places could be haunted that surely ought to have been, considering the horrors that had taken place there, the cruel and detestable custom of offering human sacrifices being common to Teuton and Celt alike.

And now it was clear, from the extreme care the advance guard took not to make any noise, that they were approaching the object of their expedition. After a few minutes more the column halted, and Caedwalla directed the band to divide into four equal companies. He then ordered three of them to march round the dim cluster of houses, or cottages rather, which were scarcely distinguishable in a clearing of the forest, which had been getting less dense for the last mile or two. Caedwalla ordered Athelhune to take command of the company that had farthest to go, and bid them raise the battle-cry, and clash their axes and shields together as soon as they were ready for the attack. At this signal all were to fall on and slay whom they met. Caedwalla reserved for himself the right of attacking Edilwalch, and directed that such prisoners as should be taken should be brought to the altar of sacrifice, and there be offered up to Woden and the shades of their ancestors.

Silently in the darkness of the night the men disappeared, and Caedwalla led his party cautiously and in single file closer to the village. As they got nearer Ceolwulf could make out that the work before them was rather more formidable than a mere night surprise on a cluster of undefended houses. Before him was a wall about twelve feet high and a ditch outside the wall. Supposing none were on the wall to oppose them it would not be a serious obstacle to active and resolute men; but should there be a determined foe behind it, the assault would be a serious affair. Caedwalla ordered a young man to creep as close up to the wall as he could, and then, if all were favourable, to climb up it and reconnoitre the place. Ceolwulf could see that there was a gate a little further to the right of where they were, but he concluded that this would probably be guarded, and that was why Caedwalla had not selected it for attack.

Stealthily the figure descended the bank of the ditch; they could just hear the sloshing sound made by his feet as he got into the mud, then a slight splashing, sounding to those listening very loud, then silence, which was suddenly broken by a wild, unearthly cry, causing them all to start, and they could hear the young man slip down, and then the splashing sounds were repeated, and soon after he appeared.

"Well, what was it?" impatiently asked Caedwalla.

"A witch!" said the young man, shuddering. "I saw her eyes of fire glaring at me, and I heard her spit--listen!"

Again the strange cry rang out, ending in a kind of sputtering snarl.

"Why, man, it's only a cat! Art afraid of a cat? Here, Eadwin, I can trust to thee; go thou and see if any one is on the other side."

But these young men, all as brave as lions in fight, firmly believed in supernatural powers, and nothing terrified them more than the idea of witches and demons; and when they heard that their comrade had seen a great witch, all covered with fur and a long streaming broomstick wrapped round with bristles flourishing above her head, and glaring, fiery eyes staring right at him and uttering fearful cries, which they had all heard, not one was daring enough to go.

"Out upon ye, men, for a pack of spiritless hinds!" cried Caedwalla, disdainfully. "I shall have to go myself; but, mind, as soon as ye hear me call, or the signal from Athelhune is given, up with ye, witches or no witches, or ye will go to Nifleheim quicker than ye like."

He was just starting to go on the perilous work when he felt his arm held, and the voice of Ceolwulf arrested him.

"Atheling, I will go, I have no fear of witches; I have a wolf's snout hung round my neck, and no witch can hurt me, be her charms never so powerful."

"Well, old man, thou teachest these boys a lesson; a stranger and an old man, thou darest what my carles, young and bound to me by every tie, dare not. When I am king of Wessex, as I shall be, I will not forget thee. Here's my hand on it."

Cautiously old Ceolwulf went down into the ditch, and again the sounds of his progress seemed dangerously loud, then silence, broken by the wild din of shouting and the clash of arms which suddenly arose.

"There it is," cried Caedwalla, rushing forward, followed by the men behind him. "Strike for the golden dragon! Strike for the house of Cerdic! The Valkyrior claim their own! Tyr scents the battle." Shouting wildly such war cries, the band plunged into the ditch, splashed through it, and dashed at the wall. Old Ceolwulf had by this time got to the top, and, kneeling down, he helped Caedwalla up. The two sprang boldly down into the open space inside scattering a party of cats[1] that rushed screaming, with their tails in the air, towards the nearest houses. Caedwalla instantly seized the omen, and shouted:

"See how the witches fly, Scared by our battle-cry, Follow to do or die, Follow Caedwalla!"

[1] These domestic cats were most probably the descendants of some which had accompanied the Roman colonists. The native wild cat is untamable.

And now an answering cry arose within the town. Lights flashed here and there, and all seemed confusion. Shouts of defiance could be heard on all sides, showing that the attack was completely successful as far as simultaneousness of action went. The difficulty was to avoid attacking each other. Caedwalla made for the nearest house, and, smashing in the door with his axe, cut down the first man that came to meet him. The terrified women and children rushed out by a back door, and Caedwalla instantly called for some straw to be brought him, and, lighting it from the fire that was burning on the hearth, soon set the cottage in a blaze. The flames spread from one building to another, and the affrighted inhabitants rushed out into the street screaming in terror. The followers of Caedwalla cut down all the men that offered any resistance, but pursued their way to the palace of the king. Edilwalch was now aware of what was happening, and having hastily armed himself, accompanied by a few devoted adherents, rushed out to meet his assailants.

The other bands had not yet made their appearance, and the position of Caedwalla was rather critical. His little party only numbered fourteen in all, and although the flames of the burning houses, which were all made of wood and thatched, allowed him to see where to direct his attack, yet they at the same time served to expose the fewness of his numbers. Edilwalch was no coward. He was fully alive to the importance of crushing this handful of men before the others, whose battle-cries could be heard drawing nearer and nearer, could join their companions; and, leaving a few men to guard the palace--which was no more than a rather larger house than the other cottages, and thatched like them--he shouted his battle-cry, and attacked Caedwalla's party. Nominally Edilwalch was a Christian, having been christened at the request of Wulfhere of Mercia, and had received the Isle of Wight as a reward for his conversion. His battle-cry, therefore, should have been different to that of Caedwalla, but in his excitement he forgot his new faith, and invoked the Teutonic deities to his aid.

The first to encounter Edilwalch was Eadwine, who was anxious to show his leader that if he was afraid of witches he was not afraid of men. But the voice of Caedwalla shouted to him to remember his orders, and Eadwine turned aside to attack a stout eorldoman who fought by the side of Edilwalch. Down came his axe at the headpiece of his foe, who parried it with his shield, and struck furiously back at Eadwine. The blow was given with such good will that it shore away his shield above the elbow, and broke the arm which held it. Plying his axe vigorously with his right arm, Eadwine gave the eorldoman a cut across the cheek, but directly afterwards was knocked down by a terrific blow on his helmet. Striding across his fallen antagonist, the eorldoman cut at Caedwalla, who was engaged in vigorous fight with Edilwalch, already wounded and giving ground; but Ceolwulf caught the blow with his axe, shivering the handle and sending the splinters flying, one of which pierced the eorldoman in the eye, and caused him to stagger back with the pain.

But he was not destined to feel pain long, for another crashing blow of Ceolwulf's axe avenged the fall of Eadwine, and tumbled the South Saxon to the ground. The fighting had now become general, and the din of weapon striking weapon, the crash of falling buildings, the crackling of the flames as they leaped high in air, the fierce shouts of the combatants or the deep groans of the dying, made a wild and fearful uproar that produced a mad intoxication in the fighting mass. High above all rang the stentorian voice of Caedwalla as he plied his blows, now right, now left, at the devoted body-guard of Edilwalch, who was badly wounded, and was being led off to his palace. The small party who fought round Caedwalla, inspirited by his wild chant and furious blows, pressed on after the retreating king, and each of their axes seemed endowed with ceaseless life. Several had fallen on both sides, and fearful were the wounds made by these two-edged axes; but now the affrighted townspeople--if the inhabitants of Cissanceaster deserved the name at that time--seeing the small numbers of their assailants, came to the assistance of their king, whom they did not much love, but in whose success they saw at least safety for themselves and their families.

Caedwalla--who, in the midst of all this wild turmoil and in spite of his personal part in the fight, never lost the presence of mind essential to a leader--saw that unless he slew Edilwalch before the people rallied, he would lose the whole object of the expedition, pressed harder and harder upon those who opposed him, till at last, with a spring, he dashed upon the group who were leading the king away. With hair streaming behind him, his helmet battered, but the heron's plume still erect, his eyes gleaming with wild excitement, his armour stained with blood, and his shield in pieces, Caedwalla rushed upon the king. One flash, one groan, and his competitor was no more. Right through the axe of the faithful guard who tried to parry the blow the triumphant weapon of Caedwalla sank into the brain of Edilwalch, and the king of the South Saxons was numbered with AElla, Cissa and his ancestors. But not unavenged shall he die, for wildly the henchmen turn upon the slayer, and three axes gleam in the air together. Ill would it have fared with the son of Ceawlin had not watchful eyes and stout hands been by: axe meets axe, and blow answers blow, and the death of all the immediate supporters of Edilwalch assures Caedwalla the victory.

But where are the other bands? Where is Athelhune? Where are the house-carles? Where is Caedwalla's brother Wulf?

"Quick, Caedwalla, retreat while yet there is time," shouted Ceolwulf, who saw the ominously increasing crowds of hostile faces pressing up behind them. Their own numbers were very few. Three were lying on the ground either dead or dying; two more were so desperately wounded that they could hardly offer any resistance, and reeled as they stood round Caedwalla, and only two or three had escaped without a wound.

But the chieftain's eye instantly took in the situation, and without a moment's hesitation he ordered all to advance on the palace. He could hear the cry of Athelhune, and at last saw by a movement among the crowd that the other bands were coming up.

With a rush, therefore, they sprang towards the palace gate. The defenders were few, for in the excitement of the fight round their king the men had disregarded Edilwalch's orders, and had come out to join the fray.

Daunted by the fierce onslaught, they fled into the interior, and Caedwalla's men rushed in, closely followed by a yelling mass of infuriated townspeople. But two of Caedwalla's men kept these at bay until the doors were shut.

The position now was somewhat curious. Edilwalch was killed, and Caedwalla occupied his palace--at least some part of it--and was himself besieged in his enemy's stronghold; but in the rear of his assailants he could hear his own men pressing up, and he had little doubt of the victory in the end.

But now Caedwalla was to feel the effects of that element he had invoked to his own aid. A stifling smoke rolling through the rooms where he and his party had taken refuge told them that the house was on fire, and the shrieks of terrified women behind them showed how far it had spread, and how useless it was to seek for shelter by going further into the house.

"There is no help for it, my men--our safety lies in our own hands. With them let us hew us out a path; we cannot fight with fire. I hear the shout of Wulf, my brother, and Athelhune is pressing on. Let us all make ready; the moment I give the word and the door is opened, rush out upon the yelling curs. Are ye all ready? Throw open the gate. Follow me!" and with a fierce shout of fury the eight desperate men sprang upon the mob.

Then once more began the wild cut and thrust. Scarcely one of Caedwalla's men had any of his shield left. Regardless of their own safety, they now only thought of selling their lives as dearly as possible, and each man hewed and stabbed, and struggled, and pushed in the seething, furious crowd. Woe to him who fell! there was no hope of his ever rising again.

All the while the shout of Athelhune's men grew nearer, and the flames of the burning palace waxed hotter and hotter, and the whole place and scene resembled Pandemonium let loose. Shrieking women, with dishevelled hair, stood on the outskirts of the mass, and as they saw their friends fall, seized them by their limbs, and tried to pull them out of the fray. But nearer and nearer came Caedwalla's bands, until, with a wild rush and shout of triumph, they burst through the men who were opposing them, and, cutting through the crowd that thronged about their chieftain, rescued him from his perilous position.

They had not come a moment too soon. Caedwalla's axe was broken; he had received a cut across his arm; not a bit of his shield was left but a small piece to which the thong was attached that served to strap it on: his heron crest was shorn off; and his right arm was stiff and weary with the fight. Ceolwulf was wounded, and not a man but had some hurt, and the heat from the burning palace behind was growing unendurable. At Caedwalla's feet lay the dead body of Edilwalch, and around lay heaped up the bodies of the slain. Truly, the feast for the Valkyrior maidens was enough.

[Illustration: Caedwalla heweth a way out of a burning palace of Edilwalch]

When the men of Cissanceaster saw the companies of Caedwalla now all united, they drew off, and stood sullenly looking at the carnage they had made, or else went off to put out the fires which were blazing around them, or to see that no more houses took fire.

Then Caedwalla, seeing that none had any longer a mind for the fight, stepped forward, and, addressing the inhabitants, said:

"Men of Cissanceaster, and all good South Saxon folk, I came not to war with ye. Ye are all my kith and kin, and I would rule ye as well as my ancestors did; but Edilwalch, who lies here dead, revolted, as ye all know, from the kindly sway of my kinsmen, and joined the enemies of my race and yours, the tyrannous Mercians. Would ye prefer Mercia to Wessex? the wicked Penda[2] and his son, with their many deeds of bloodshed, to the wise Ceawlin and his noble descendants? If ye prefer war, here am I, and my faithful followers; our arms are not yet weary, nor is our soul yet low; let us decide the issue now. If any claim the crown for Edilwalch or his descendants, either I will fight any man single-handed, or we will choose man for man and fight it out, and Woden shall choose the victor. Shall we be friends or foes?"

[2] Penda died in the flight from Winwidfield A. D. 655, but the memory of his power and ruthlessness remained long after him.

A low murmur of applause greeted this speech, and Caedwalla went on:

"If, my friends, ye prefer peace, and think enough hail has fallen to Woden, and the Valkyrior should rest appeased, let us then ratify our friendship and our rule by feasting. Bring us here such food as ye have, and we will sup together, and drink to the brave slain who are now entering Valhalla."

The leading men who were left of the followers of Edilwalch talked apart, and the rest of the people went off to look after their property. Caedwalla seeing no one inclined to answer him, again spoke.

"Come, my men, let us be friends, and bring us what we want, that all may end in peace and pleasure. We care not to await much longer."

One of the oldest of the South Saxons stepped forward, and said that if Caedwalla would give Edilwalch a funeral becoming his rank, and would treat all men as well as Edilwalch had done, they would accept him for their king.

Caedwalla having accepted these conditions all hostilities were laid aside, the new king's followers helped to put the fires out, and, the bodies being carried away and torches brought, preparations were made for feasting the conquerors. The carcasses of some oxen were found ready roasted in the burnt stalls, and beer and milk were brought out from the stores belonging to Edilwalch, and which now belonged to his conqueror; all sat down on rough benches quickly improvised from the ruins of some of the cottages, and tables were made in the same rough-and-ready way.

Soon all was laughter and merriment: gaily the jugs of ale went round, and the half-roasted flesh was devoured with avidity. Coarse jest and practical joke accompanied the feast, and when all were satisfied the warriors slept round the remains of the repast. Only Caedwalla and his two lieutenants, Wulf and Athelhune, retired to a room in the half-burnt palace; a few of the more responsible of their soldiers were left to guard the door in turns, with orders to rouse every one if any cause for alarm should arise.

*CHAPTER V.*

*ST. WILFRID.*

The next morning found Caedwalla and his followers all astir at an early hour. The scene as the sun rose was a busy one. The inhabitants were clearing away the rubbish of their burnt dwellings, an occupation that did not make them look with very favourable eyes on the authors of the destruction; while the armed men of Caedwalla's party were carrying in the dead body of Edilwalch, whose arms and shield were already stripped off him, to become the spoils of his slayer, and were picking up the weapons and arms of the rest of the body-guard and of their own comrades.

Some of the leading inhabitants, anxious to be on good terms with their future king--for most men who could forecast the future augured from his success in the past night, and from the courage and ability he had shown, that it would not be long before he recovered the throne of Wessex, now occupied by his distant relative Centwine--were sending food for the young prince and his followers.

Caedwalla himself, as he came from the palace, was thanking these men, and inviting them to stop and share their own hospitality. The wound he had received was slight, and the arm was bound round with a bandage. His helmet was no longer the small steel cap he wore yesterday, but was one of Edilwalch's that had been discovered in the palace; it was encircled by a small wreath of oak leaves, which one of his followers had made for him in token of his victory. The shirt of mail that he had worn the night before was changed for another and more gorgeous one, the rings of which were gilt. A new battle-axe hung in a gold chain across his left shoulder, and his sword was suspended in a broad leather belt that crossed his right; his muscular arms were bare from the elbows, and two gold bangles adorned each wrist, inscribed with Runic characters. A young and handsome henchman carried a new shield, Wulf and Athelhune were on each side, and Ceolwulf came close behind him.

The moment of his appearance was the signal for all his followers to raise a shout of triumph, clashing their weapons together. Two of the men, who laid claim to being skalds, or poets, and whose business it was to celebrate every great occasion by extempore verse, and who had therefore been racking their brains all the night before to think of what they should say on the spur of the moment, now came forward, and the eldest of the two began in a loud voice to shout the following verses:--

"See as the sun doth rise, Comes he to glad our eyes, Winner of battles' prize! Victor Caedwalla!

Who in the shock of shields, Keen axe or broad sword wields, Fights till his foeman yields More than Caedwalla?

Surely the Norns[1] have said, Through hail of Woden reel, Crowns shall adorn his head, Crowned be Caedwalla!

Then, O my comrades, raise, To the All-Father praise, Pray for him length of days, Long live Caedwalla!"

[1] The Norns were the Scandinavian equivalent of the Latin Parcae, or Fates, who wove the destinies of men.

At the end of each verse the assembled warriors shouted the refrain with wild excitement, and clashed their arms with frantic glee; and at the last line the frenzy became so great that the other skald had no chance of being heard; for they made a rush for Caedwalla, and, raising him on the shield which they took from his esquire or henchman, they raised him on their shoulders and bore him through the principal street of the town, shouting the last verses over and over again, and every time they reached the line "Long live Caedwalla," their enthusiasm knew no bounds; the population of Cissanceaster were quite carried away with the excitement, which is always infectious, and joined in the chorus. At last they came back to the space in front of the palace, and, order being somewhat restored, they sat down to their breakfast. The other skald was determined not to be deprived of his turn, and had only joined in the excitement of the others with a well-bred and _nonchalant_ air, as much as to say, "It's not bad; but if this can evoke your enthusiasm, wait till you hear my verses, and then see if you can keep the hair on your heads."

But he was not destined to have his innings yet, for, directly after breakfast was finished, Caedwalla rose, and gracefully thanked all for their brave deeds, especially mentioning Ceolwulf, and said that the property of those killed should be shared among the victors, and that he would relinquish to them, in addition, the spoils of the palace, only reserving a fit proportion for the service of the gods. He then added that all the people of Cissanceaster and the neighbourhood might go about their daily avocations as usual; and that they would always find in him a jealous protector of their interests and defender of their honour. He also added that any young men who were desirous of adventure and wished to mend their fortunes might join his Huscarles, or bodyguard, after being duly inspected by his brother Wulf and Athelhune; and he would promise that it should not be long before they enjoyed the bath of blood that Woden so well loved.

Loud shouts greeted this speech, and the skald now rose to electrify the assembly, when he was destined to a fresh interruption.

A movement among the bystanders who were looking on at the banquet and listening to the speeches showed that some one of importance was approaching, and as the crowd gave way a tall and remarkable-looking man, accompanied by two other men, who also differed very considerably from the warriors and country people who crowded the open space in front of the palace, advanced quietly towards the end of the table where Caedwalla sat.

The face of the man who now interrupted the skald, in so provoking a manner would have been remarkable at all times, both from its peculiar power as well as a certain self-asserting kind of sweetness, if we may use the expression, which pervaded the whole countenance. His face was long and thin, and seamed with many furrows; his eyes were deep-set, and were very dark and piercing; a clear-cut and slightly aquiline nose; a thin, firm, and, at the same time, beautifully-formed mouth, sharply defined at each corner by deep lines; a narrow chin, but broad, wrinkled forehead, above which rose a loose and peculiarly-shaped dome-like cap, embroidered in front with a Latin cross, worked elaborately with gold thread. Such was the head of this celebrated man.

His dress was rich for those times, and Ceolwulf certainly had never seen anything like it before. A large, loose, and comfortable hood surmounted a long and handsomely adorned cloak, which was fastened below his neck and across his chest by a large, jewelled buckle, or clasp. This ample cloak reached down almost to his feet, and concealed a white linen robe which he wore beneath, and which was fastened round his waist by a silken cord. His shoes were of scarlet leather, and marked with a black and peculiarly shaped cross. The cloak was made of a gorgeously-coloured purple cloth, and bordered with gold thread. On his hand he wore a large and valuable ring, and some beads, with a cross, hung down from his girdle. A few grey hairs peeped out from under his mitre, made of the same coloured cloth as his cloak.

Such was the celebrated St. Wilfrid, Bishop of York, and now an exile from his see owing to the animosity of the King and Queen of Northumbria.

Such a man in such a community was sure either to command great respect or provoke great animosity. Driven from one kingdom to another, he at last found refuge in the only part of England that was not yet Christian, impelled, perhaps, by a desire to do good to his enemies; for he had been shipwrecked on the coast of Sussex many years before, and had nearly lost his life through the barbarity of the savage inhabitants, whom he now came to win to the fold of the Church; but also, perhaps, because there was really no other safe place for him in England, seeing that the Queen of Mercia was sister to the King of Northumbria, and the Queen of Wessex sister to the Queen of Northumbria, while, for some reason, Theodorus, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Metropolitan, was opposed to him, and had already helped to depose him from the See of York. To a man of Wilfrid's disposition it was better to be loved by Pagans than treated as an equal by Christians. His great fault seems to have been his dislike to all authority, except the authority of the Bishop of Rome. Whenever he found a difficulty at home he appealed to Rome, and this may explain the opposition which he met with from Theodorus, Archbishop of Canterbury.

The early Church in England was very nearly in the position of a missionary establishment in a newly opened up country in our own day. As clergymen sent out from England naturally look to the parent church as their authority for all they do, so the missionaries sent by Gregory the Great looked to Rome for guidance in all points of doubt; and this natural habit the astute churchmen at Rome soon saw how to turn to their own profit, and canons were framed which made it indispensable that every higher functionary in the church should proceed to Rome for the symbol of his authority. When once the simple barbarian, accustomed to the squalor and rude manners of his own country, saw the magnificence of the buildings, the refinement of life, and the order of the Roman ritual existing in the everlasting city, he was soon won to its grandeur, and henceforth believed that whatever was done at Rome ought to be done elsewhere. This force of early habit was not easily lost; indeed, it was only when the corruptions, the pretentions, and the extortions of the Roman curia became unbearable, that men began to consider whether they were not paying too high a price for an antiquated idea, and too great a respect to the doubtful authority of the self-styled successors of St. Peter.

It was this very claim--early recognised even by legal authority, as expressed in Imperial edicts--to be the successors of St. Peter, that gave them so much power; for if it was to St. Peter that our Lord gave the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven, and if He had delegated this power to his successors, it was difficult for the superstitious and simple mind of a barbarian to refuse him obedience when once he had accepted this fact.[2]

[2] For the effect of this argument, as brought forward by St. Wilfrid in his discussion with Colman, before King Oswy, at Streaneshalch (now Witby), A. D. 664, see Bede, book iii., c. 25.

At this period the arrogance of the Roman Pontificate had assumed scarcely any of its objectionable features, and the tone of equality with which St. Columban[3] addressed Boniface IV. upon the subjects in dispute, reminding him of the peaceful intercourse of Anicetus and Polycarp, although they could not agree upon the disputed points, shows that men were not yet crushed into the lifeless mass of religious formality which they subsequently became, until roused by the trumpet call of indignation, sounded by Wickliffe, by Huss, by Savonarola, and by Luther.

[3] St. Columban, founder of the Monastery of Bobbio, in the Apennines, who lived from 543 to 615, must not be confounded with St. Columba, founder of Icolmkill, who was born 521 and died 597.

Wilfrid had been early captivated by the glamour of the Roman name. With an intense love of art, religion, and discipline, he had been flattered and caressed at the fountain-head of all. Returning to his native land, he had received the admiration due to his character for holiness; and a churchman who had been held in such favour by the foreign bishops seemed to all the most suitable to fill an English see. Accordingly he was elected Bishop of York; but, convinced as he was that the Irish or Scottish missionaries who had converted Northumbria were stubborn sectaries, he refused to be ordained by them, and, crossing to France, received a perfect ovation from the bishops there, who saw in him a determined asserter of the rights of Rome. Returning, he was shipwrecked on the Sussex shore, and at length reaching his own land, he found his see occupied by one of the Scottish missionaries, the holy Ceadda; and he retired to a monastery until called from it by Theodore, who annulled the appointment of Ceadda, and invested Wilfrid with the see of York, while Ceadda was consoled by the see of Lichfield.

The grandeur of Wilfrid's ideas is shown in his magnificent buildings and the pomp of his ceremonial. It is true, it is an enemy that accuses him of the splendour of his dress and the number of his attendants, "adorned as they were with royal robes and weapons"; but the accusation seems accepted by the men of his own time, and certainly Archbishop Theodore is found subsequently among his opponents. Once more he went to Rome, and returning with a Papal decree confirming his election to York, he was thrown into prison, and only escaped through the superstition of his persecutress, Queen Ercemburga, of Northumbria. And now he had taken refuge in heathen Sussex, where all his virtues were displayed and little of his faults. His personal life appears to have been blameless, and his labours for the conversion and material well-being of the heathen most unremitting. To find this great Church dignitary, the forerunner of Dunstan, of Becket, and of Wolsey, teaching the miserable natives to fish, himself going out with them and letting down the nets with his own hands, contrasts refreshingly with his polemical disputes with Colman and the Scottish monks, or his later apology before the Synod of AEastanfeld, from whose decisions he once more appealed to Rome.

As a missionary bishop--freeing his slaves, cultivating and improving the land, teaching useful arts, and social order, and all the time winning souls to God--he stands as an admirable type, and as such the thinking laymen of his own times admired and loved him. No man received such prodigal grants of land. Edilwalch gave him all the Isle of Selsea, and Caedwalla would have given him all the Isle of Wight, had he not refused to accept more than the fourth part of it; truly, he might be called the Bishop of the Isles!

As Wilfrid approached Caedwalla, the latter rose to receive him; for although Caedwalla was a heathen, yet he was far too politic not to recognise the great importance of securing the support of such a man as Wilfrid. Not only was there the moral support of his great reputation for sanctity which would react upon Caedwalla, but there was the direct assistance to be got from Wilfrid as a landowner, and the wielder of supernatural powers, which had already proved superior to the magic of the local priests or sorcerers--a fact known to all in those parts at the time of his shipwreck; for while a sorcerer was singing incantations for the success of the attack of the wreckers, and Wilfrid was praying for deliverance from them, a stone had killed the sorcerer, but Wilfrid's ship had floated off, and he had sailed away in safety.

"Welcome, noble Wilfrid, welcome to our feast--make room there for the Holy Bishop and his wise men," cried Caedwalla, and places were instantly vacated, not without a sort of superstitious dread of contact with such distinguished and powerful beings.

"My son, the Lord has been merciful to thee, and I pray that thou mayest be guided aright; it is a great duty thou hast taken upon thee, and thou wilt need much wisdom, but mayest thou be led to the Wisdom from on high without which earthly wisdom is but dross."

"I thank thee, father, for all thy kind wishes, and doubtless since I can have more open intercourse with thee now, I shall learn many things I know not; but to what am I to attribute the honour of a visit so soon? for I can hardly venture to think that it was to grace my first banquet as successor to Edilwalch that the all-learned Wilfrid has come."

"Thou art right, my son, I came not to rejoice that Edilwalch is dead. He has gone to God, and must give an account of his works; whether they be good or whether they be evil, peace be with him. I come not to condemn or to approve; he did me good, and received the cross of Christ; how far the faith entered into his heart I know not--if his faith was to be shown by his works, I fear not far; but in that he is dead, I trust he is dead in the Lord. I came to ask for his body, that I may bear it off for Christian burial."

"My father, happy am I that I can so readily and happily grant thy first request to me as prince of this land. May it be a fair omen of our future relations. I will see that it is duly performed, and the body carried whithersoever thou mayest appoint."

"I thank thee, my son. I felt sure I should find in thee a generous foe and a noble heart; such soil ought to be watered by the fount of the spirit of the Almighty. But my presence longer now would only hinder the merriment of these young men, and thou must have need of much rest, after thy fatigues of the past night."

"Not so, my father; many cares I have, it is true, but I shall feel them much lightened if I might have thy powerful and wise advice. If, therefore, thou couldest spare the time, I would fain talk with thee in private. And the young men can in the meanwhile amuse themselves."

"Such aid as I can give, which I feel thou prizest more than at its just worth, is freely thine, my son. What is done cannot be undone, and if thy right to the crown was better than that of Edilwalch--about which I am not capable of forming an opinion, seeing I am only a stranger and a sojourner in the land--the God of battles will uphold thy right; but if I can in any way help to make this land happy, such services as I can offer are thine. And I would, my son, that thou wouldest give heed to my words, and learn of Him who was meek and lowly in heart, that thou mightest find rest for thy soul."

"At present, my father, I have not leisure to go into such deep questions, but when all is at peace here, then I trust I may be favoured with thy instruction. Shall we go into the palace?"

The bishop assenting, he and Caedwalla, accompanied by the other two churchmen, retired from the banquet, and their departure was the signal for the free flow of merriment. The skald eyed the departing Wilfrid with a fiery eye, but satisfaction got the better of his revengeful feelings; for now the long-wished-for time had come, and he knew he should win endless praise. Rising therefore to his feet, he rapped loudly on the boards that formed the temporary table, and having procured silence, he began, in an affected, sing-song voice, to chant the following verses:--

"What said the God of war He who lost arm in maw, Wolf's maw that bit him sore, Tyr the stouted-hearted? What thought the mighty Thor When he from Asgard saw How we did yell and roar, When we----"

but he was not destined to meet with the success he deserved, for the last word was lost in a most unmelodious braying set up by a donkey near. Whether it were that he was attracted by the similarity of the tones and words of the skald to his own discordant language, or whether he simply wished to express his approval, history knoweth not; the fact remains, however, that the donkey continued to bray "He-haw, He-haw," in a most pertinacious and obstinate way, and the skald, at last losing all patience, hurled his axe, with a wild malediction on the whole race of donkeys, at the misguided brute's head; but the axe unfortunately missed the donkey, and buried itself in a muddy ditch, near which the donkey was standing. This abortive attempt at revenge was greeted by loud laughter, and one of the young men, jumping up, said he didn't see why he shouldn't try his hand at verses, since the donkey and the skald had been having their innings.

"Once I knew a fine skald And he sang a lay, But a donkey near stall'd, Beat him with his bray. Now which is greater poet-- The skald or donkey, tell? When the first began the song The latter sang as well.

Loud applause followed this doggerel outburst, which had, at least, the merit of being impromptu, which is more than could be said for the skald's untimely production. The skald, however, was very angry, and shouted to the young man to sit down, for he had not finished; but the latter was now also fired with poetical ardour; he had no idea of his latent talent until he found how well his doggerel was received, and attributing this to the success of his wit, and not to the amusement caused by the discomfiture of his rival, he felt he had as much right to be heard as the skald, and having once got on his feet he felt all the delight of a young orator who has made a successful _debut_, and, unfortunately for himself, does not know when to sit down. He refused, therefore, to give way, and proceeded to string some epithets together more forcible than elegant, the poetry of which chiefly consisted in vigorous metaphor, but whose charms were completely lost on the skald, who thundered back rhymes of a more classical kind, but breathing none the less bitter scorn for this miserable upstart who dared to pollute the pure regions of poesy, and contaminate the rich drink of Woden with his ditch-water doggerel. The wordy war waxed fast and furious, and the other competitor for poetical honours, the donkey, added to it from time to time by giving vent to a self-asserting bray, which for the moment silenced the other two completely.

"Look here," shouted Athelhune, "I am getting tired of this; if ye can't settle it to your satisfaction this way I'll show ye another and a better method; ye have bothered us long enough. It is only fair ye should afford us some fun now; catch that donkey one of ye, he's the author of all this. Now drive a stake into the centre of that clear place there, and do ye, old skald and young skald, come out here."

All were now eager to know what Athelhune was going to do, and the two men were inclined to refuse to come out; but the jeers of the others, who accused them of cowardice, at last overcame their disinclinations, and they both came up to Athelhune.

"Give me a couple of bandages," he cried; and when these were soon brought from a neighbouring cottage, he proceeded to tie the bandages tightly round their eyes, thus blindfolding them; he was not able to do this, however, without assuring them that no harm would happen to them. When they were completely blindfolded they were led up to the stake, and each was fastened to it by one ankle with a strong cord about ten yards long. The donkey was also made fast in the same way, and its two hind legs were hobbled. When all these arrangements were completed, two stout sticks were given to the rival poets, and they were told to punish the donkey for its utterly uncalled for interruption. The one who kept on beating longest was to have the right of finishing his improvisation.[4]

[4] This blindfolded encounter was suggested by the account of a contest that took place in Paris, in 1425, between four blindfolded men. Indeed, all through the middle ages such contests were very frequent, horse-play being greatly admired at all times.

A large crowd had by this time assembled, and Caedwalla's followers had all risen from their feast and stood round, and with the sporting instincts of their race were backing the three competitors: for the donkey was to have his share in the contest, and he had been muzzled to prevent his taking an unfair advantage of his vocal powers.

"Is all ready?" called Athelhune. "Then in the name of Woden begin." At this order the two poets cautiously approached the spot where they supposed the donkey was.

The younger man, whose name was Oswald, was not so anxious to hit the donkey as to get a blow at the skald, for this he knew would amuse the bystanders; so after he had gone a few paces he stopped and listened, in order to judge where the others were. The skald, who was a prudent fellow, fearing he might come upon the donkey, and so fall over it, or get tripped over its rope, put his stick in the manner of a feeler in front of him, and came gently groping his way towards the animal. This latter, after a series of violent plunges and kicks, when he found himself first made fast, had since stood perfectly still, gazing upon the crowd in a stupid way, and was suddenly roused from his reverie by feeling the skald's stick poke him in the ribs. Giving a squeal of surprise he jumped to one side, and in so doing came violently against Oswald, who, not expecting this, was instantly thrown down. The skald, thinking the donkey was where he had poked it, rained a storm of blows upon the empty air, and as there was no object for his blows to fall upon, he overbalanced himself, and fell forward on his face.

[Illustration: How ye Skald, ye Yokel, and Ye Jackass strove for a prize of poesie]

Loud shouts of "The donkey for ever; give it him, Ikey!" rose from the crowd, who were convulsed with laughter at the ludicrous scene. Oswald had now picked himself up, and hearing a scuffling near him, supposed it was the donkey, and belaboured the spot where the noise came from with hearty good will. A roar of rage greeted this manoeuvre, for Oswald's stick fell on the miserable skald, who, burning with mortified pride and desire for revenge, rolled over out of reach of the stick, which Oswald continued to ply, unconscious that his victim had gone, until he was suddenly propelled violently forward by the donkey's heels, which caught him behind.

Vowing revenge upon the author of their misfortunes and smarting with pain, the two luckless poets rose to their feet and groped about for the donkey, which was lazily rubbing its head against the post. Oswald was the first to find out where it was, and raising his stick in the air, brought it down with tremendous force on the poor animal. Squealing at the blow, the donkey gave a violent plunge forward and pulled the stick out of the ground, and instantly upset both the competitors; for their legs were made fast to it, and the sudden and unexpected jerk threw both to the ground. Such was the terror of the animal that it dragged the poor skalds among the crowd, overturning many of the bystanders, and throwing the whole place into a perfect uproar. The captured skalds, dragged in the train of their victor, clutched at the legs of the nearest bystanders, and thus brought them down too, who, in their turn, caught at whatever was nearest to them, until at last the excessive strain upon the rope fortunately caused it to break, and the donkey went off with the honours of war.

The uproar and confusion caused by this event brought Caedwalla hastily from the palace, fearing that some cause of difference had arisen between his men and the townspeople. It was, therefore, with relief he saw the real state of the case; but, in order to prevent merriment from degenerating into strife, he directed Wulf and Athelhune to call the men together for the purpose of distributing the spoils they had won. At Wilfrid's suggestion also, he set the idle hands among the townspeople to clear away the wreck of the palace and to commence rebuilding it, promising all who would take part in this work remuneration in proportion to their services; for Wilfrid, foreseeing the advantage it would be to the cause of Christianity to gain over this young and noble nature, for whom there was every prospect of a bright future, had told him that if he were in want of ready means to fit him for his position, he would advance him the necessary funds, thus preventing the extortion which would otherwise follow if Caedwalla had to take it by violence, and the unpopularity which would consequently ensue. He well knew that the warmhearted youth would never forget this assistance.

When order had been once more restored, Caedwalla gave directions to have the funeral of Edilwalch conducted with suitable splendour, and a procession set out in the afternoon to carry the body to the stone church that was now rising in Selsea under the direction and from the plans of Wilfrid, whose taste for building had already been exhibited in the churches of Hexham and Ripon.

*CHAPTER VI.*

*EXTREMES MEET.*

A few days after the events narrated in the last chapter, Ceolwulf, or, as AEdric and Wulfstan loved to call him, Biggun, having obtained leave from Caedwalla, with whom he had become a great favourite, to return to look after his young "eorls," was engaged in overhauling the boat that had brought them to Boseham, and which had been the means of introducing them to such stirring events.

With the inhabitants of the little settlement, Ceolwulf had become an important personage. Caedwalla had for some time rendered his name respected; for being at the head of a formidable band of outlaws, all intrepid and well-disciplined men, accustomed to act together, and sure to revenge an injury suffered by any one of their number, the population on each side of the Andredesweald were very careful not to give any cause for offence to so troublesome an enemy. Caedwalla, with the true policy of all outlawed aspirants to regal dignity in semi-organised societies, had carefully directed his followers to molest only the immediate adherents of Edilwalch or Centwine, and as far as possible to treat the other inhabitants bordering on the forest with courtesy. Any man, therefore, who was in favour with Caedwalla was sure of a certain amount of respect from the people in the immediate vicinity of the Andredesweald.

The reputation which Ceolwulf had won on the night of the surprise of Cissanceaster had already spread round the district, and the poor thralls of Boseham, as well as the few ceorls or yeomen of the neighbourhood, were eager to stand well with one who was likely to be influential when Caedwalla established his power more firmly.

Beornwulf's wound was nearly healed, but he was still somewhat sullen with Ceolwulf, and had not entirely given up the idea of taking revenge on him when he was quite strong again. The conversation of the worthy monks was not at all interesting to him, and, except when they went out fishing, or told him stories from the Old Testament of the fights of the Israelites and the Canaanites, life was very dull; and he was all the more disgusted with Ceolwulf because it was owing to him that he had been deprived of his share in the booty and the glory of the night attack upon Cissanceaster, and he was now for the twentieth time grumbling over this grievance. However, there was a novelty about a boat that caused him to forget his wrongs for a short time. Born in the neighbourhood of Deorham[1], he had never seen the sea, excepting a distant glimpse of the Bristol Channel, until, joining the band of discontented and landless men under Caedwalla, he had made occasional visits to the seashore near Selsea, or to the land of the Meanwaras.

Curiously enough, the art of boat or shipbuilding appears to have fallen into disuse very soon after the arrival of the first Angle and Saxon invaders, arising, no doubt, from the fact that, as they had plenty to do in conquering the Britons, the sons of the first conquerors never learnt how to build boats, and very rapidly changed from a seafaring to a partly agricultural, partly warlike people. One great merit of the early monks was that they did all they could to improve the condition of the people. They taught them gardening, building, fishing, and agriculture, as well as imbuing them with the softening and intellectual light of the Gospel, and by their gentle ways and purity of life they shed a halo of refinement round them, whose brightness, from the contrast it afforded with that dark and gross age, can scarcely be too highly estimated.

[1] Now Derham, in Gloucestershire, where Ceawlin, the west Saxon king, slew three British princes, "Commeail, Condidan and Fariemeiol."

"Biggun, why dost thou put so many places for oars?" asked Wulfstan.

"Because she's a heavy boat to row."

"Art thou going out in her then? And if thou art, who are going with thee?"

"Maybe I am and maybe I am not, Wulf."

"Thou never wilt go without my going too, Biggun?"

"That is as may be," cautiously replied old Ceolwulf.

"Why, Biggun, what's the matter with thee this morning? Thou'rt as difficult to make out as old Mother Deva was on a washing morning. Ah! I should like to see old Deva again. What thinkest thou has become of her?"

"That I cannot say; but I don't suppose that Arwald would do her any harm--leastways if she kept a civil tongue in her head. No, not that way, Beornwulf, thou art fixing that "knee" the wrong way up, seest thou?" added Ceolwulf, testily, as Beornwulf, who really was not to blame, seeing he had never seen a boat before this one in his life, was fixing a three-cornered piece of wood which was intended to strengthen the gunwale, or side of the boat, by being nailed both to it, and also to the thwart or seat. Not understanding the object of it, he was about to nail it on flat with the seat instead of on end and edgeways. Brother Corman was assisting also, and gave a very intelligent hand and eye to the work.

AEdric was lying on the bank above, stretched on a board covered with a wolf skin, and brother Malachi and Father Dicoll were looking on; as usual, a few children were playing around, and one or two untidy-looking women were sitting at the doors of their cottages spinning flax and talking gossip. The tide was nearly low, and a flock of oxy birds were settled on the mud-banks, occasionally rising and wheeling round in flickering flight, uttering their shrill cry, only to settle a few yards farther on; while a solemn heron sat motionless on the edge of the water, and from time to time stretched out its long neck and dipped its beak in the sludge; some wild ducks were skimming the surface of the glassy water, and the distant cry of the curlew and the bittern dreamily piped across the creek.

At times a dull and heavy thud, followed by a distant roar, boomed upon the silence as the ground swell of the sea outside rolled upon the shallow beach telling of some far-off storm away down channel.

In that sequestered nook and sheltered creek all was still save for the birds and the children, the chatter of the women, or the occasional remarks of the men.

It was a lovely autumn day, and the warmth of the sun was considerable on that southerly sloping bank. The golden shadows of the oak trees were mirrored in the glass-like water, and the distorted shadow of the heron came wavering across the channel in the eddies caused by its own beak. No sound could be heard from the far-reaching forest behind. There all was silent, mysterious, and profound.

There is no mystery so profound as the depth of a vast forest. The occasional rustle of a leaf flickering to the ground, the absolute silence, the dim glories of the misty blue vistas, athwart which a ray of sunlight falls upon some gnarled and twisted branch. That which is seen as well as that which is not seen alike serve to enhance the awe.

"There is one thing the Saxons can't do," said brother Corman, as he neatly fitted a new plank into the bilge of the boat, which had become leaky and was cracked from her heavy bumping on the Pole sand at the entrance to the harbour.

"What's that?" said Beornwulf.

"Why, they can't make those light fishing boats which the Wealas, as thou callest them, make. What sayest thou to a boat that one can fish from with ease, then paddle ashore, and on getting out can put upon one's back and carry home?"

"Oh, I wish I had a boat like that!" cried Wulfstan; "how are they made so light? What are they made of?"

"Thou couldest make one if thou mindest to, Wulf; only patience is needful."

"Could I? Dost really think I could? Then I could go out fishing without asking any one!" cried Wulfstan, delighted, who already in his imagination saw endless lines of fish coming ashore. "When shall we make it, Corman?"

"The first thing to do is to cut down a great many withies, then wattle them into the form of a large basket, and then thou must get a large skin, dress it well with fat, and stretch it all over the basket-work. Thou must make the basket rather longer than it is wide, and more pointed at one end. Then put a stick across the middle, and thou canst either sit in the bottom of the boat and lean back against this stick, or thou mayst sit upon the stick itself; and then if thou needst to carry the boat, thou must put thy head inside the basket, between the stick and the inside, and rest the stick against the chest. In this way it can be carried some distance without feeling much weight."

"That does sound well; let's begin making it at once; there are some withy trees, come along, Corman," cried Wulfstan, rushing off.

But brother Corman shouted after him that he had plenty to do, and when he had cut as many of the longest withies as he could carry, he had better come back with them and then go and get some more. However, several of the children of the village, with whom Wulfstan had become a great favourite, rushed off after him, and a great cutting down of withies instantly took place.

AEdric, who was watching all the proceedings with an amused and interested eye, uttered a sigh of regret that he could not go with the others, whose merry babble harmonised with the still melody of the other peaceful sounds. AEdric had been learning a good many things during the many hours he lay upon his couch; the kind monks seldom left him alone, unless he were asleep, and he was gradually beginning to understand the beauty of a life that cared nothing for itself, but gave up its whole existence for others.