Unsegmented source body · Part 3

He was a very affectionate boy, and as he thought over his lost home, and his noble father, almost certainly killed, he could not help crying sadly to himself. If Father Dicoll were by at such times, or came in while the sad fit was on, he would lead the conversation to the delightful assurance of ever-lasting life which those who believed on our Saviour had to console them. And as he talked on these solemn but comforting subjects, AEdric would listen with wondering curiosity, and gradually feel comforted in spite of himself.

"And after all," the worthy monk would say, "what are affections? If we loved our Lord as He loved us, our whole thoughts would be so full of Him, and the desire to do His work, that we should have no room to think of earthly affections, or earthly sufferings."

"Must not I then love my father, or my brother? My mother died before I could remember her, so I could not love her, thou knowest; but I liked old Deva, when she was not cross, which, by the way, she was often enough."

"Certainly, my son, thou shouldest love thy relations; and, indeed, it is difficult enough not to do so," added Father Dicoll, with a sigh, as he thought of his own father and mother, away in the lovely, sunny home, near the beautiful Vale of Avoca, where he had been brought up; and the bright eyes, and winsome smile of his sister. "But what I mean is, we should attain to the heavenly calm which allows us to love all mankind as brothers in the Lord, being sons of God, and heirs of the kingdom of heaven. Sorrowing when our nearest and dearest go, or we go from them; but not sorrowing overmuch, for we know it is but a little time and we shall be with them. Some day I will tell thee the story of my own life, and thou wilt then see how hard it is to die to the world when once thou hast known its evil passions and wild affections. But, thanks be to the Lord who giveth us the victory, even these are overcome by prayer and fasting, and that faith without which all else is profitless.

"Who knows, my son, but that the Almighty, in His mercy, has so ordered matters that thine accident was sent that thou mightest be plucked as a brand from the burning, and in thy boyhood might turn to Him, and, like the blessed Timothy, 'follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness,' and being led by the Spirit to this wilderness, that thou mightest learn to 'flee youthful lusts which war against the soul.' Does the life of one who from youth devotes himself to the Lord seem to thee, with thy roving northern instincts, devoid of adventure? Many, far too many for thy weak strength, are the dangers thou wilt have to encounter. Dost thou enjoy the wild pleasure of a fierce wolf hunt? The devil goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Attack and kill him if thou canst. Wishest thou for weapons in the combat? The King we serve will give thee the best, and such as have never been known to fail; there is the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, the shield of Faith, the helmet of Salvation, and the hawberk of Righteousness. Dost thou wish for a reward for thy toilsome fight? When the day's work is over, and thou art wearied with thy strife, a clarion call will sound, and thou wilt hear a gentle Voice say, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' 'Be thou faithful unto death, and thou shalt receive the crown of life.'"

AEdric used to listen, charmed by the flow of words, as well as by the earnestness of the speaker; for, after all, earnestness and manifest conviction go far more to persuade than many subtle arguments that appeal merely to reason, and are delivered only as the cold syllogisms of a faultless logic. Instinctively the youngest intelligence that deserves such a name feels there is so much that can never be explained, that facts which would stagger a mind accustomed to approach all subjects from the standpoint of human reason are accepted without demur, just as they know the sun gives heat and the countless stars are hung in the firmament; but who can explain the one or know anything about the other?

AEdric loved to hear the wonderful stories out of the Bible, all quite new to him: the glimpses he got of other lands; the marvellous deeds of Samson, of David, and of Gideon; the magnificence of Solomon; the weird awfulness of the wonders of the Red Sea, and that strange land of Ham--all came to him with the interest of novelty, and many times he could not understand what the monks were telling him.

It took him a long time to grasp the beauty of such a sacrifice as that of our Lord; the voluntary offering of Himself to such keen physical and mental suffering for the sake of those who in countless numbers would reject Him, astonished him. He could understand that no man hath greater love than to lay down his life for his _friend_; but it was incomprehensible that he should do so for an _enemy_.

But gradually, as the beauty of forgiveness dawned upon him, he came to see that if one really forgives, there comes with the sense of forgiveness a desire to benefit the forgiven one, and, the crowning triumph of all, to make him feel one in thought and action with Him who forgives. Slowly but surely the "Beauty of Holiness" was entering his soul; and as the monk talked to him of the objects and duties of life, and of how little worth was earthly wealth or station, or pleasure, compared to the eternity of existence, and the necessity of our fitting ourselves for it, AEdric, with the ardour of youthful impressions, longed to consecrate his life to God, and to renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil, in the only really earnest way that seemed possible to the most religious minds of that age--by vowing himself solemnly to God from his youth.

But Dicoll, to whom he one day timidly ventured to talk upon the subject, very wisely told him he must first prove himself; he could not tell yet whether the wish for a holy life were merely the passing sentiment of an imaginative temperament, intensified by the physical exhaustion of a serious wound and acted upon by the beauty of an entirely new set of ideas; for there would be great danger to his lasting happiness if, after solemnly dedicating himself to God, he was then to cast longing looks at the world and sigh after its pleasures and its vanities.

[Illustration: How they talked of many things as they mended a boat at Boseham]

Such thoughts as these were passing through AEdric's mind as he lay on the wolf-skin and watched the boat being mended, or listened to Wulfstan as he chattered to the children, who were helping him carry the cut withies to a place near brother Corman, who was going to show him how to make his boat, or coracle as he called it.

Corman was improving the occasion, as he helped Ceolwulf and Beornwulf to mend the boat, by telling them the story of the making of the ark, in which his hearers were much interested.

"Why, that reminds me of what our gleeman used to tell us of Bergelmir the giant, who, when the sons of Bor slew Ymir, and his blood drowned all the race of Frost Giants, went on board his boat with his wife, and so floated away when everyone else was drowned," said Ceolwulf; "but I have heard of two larger boats than that. One was Skidbladnir, which was built for the gods by the dwarfs, the sons of Ivaldi, and it was so big that it could take all of them on board at once with their war stores and weapons; and it was a very useful boat, for when it was not wanted, Frey, for whom it was made, could fold it up like a piece of cloth and put it in her pocket."

"That must have been a wonderful boat, truly," said Beornwulf, "and must have had many spells and enchantments used over her, doubtless. But what was the other boat thou saidest thou knewest of that was larger than Bergelmir's!"

"I can't say I know much about that boat, but they call it Naglfar, and it is made of dead men's nails; and thus if men's nails are short when they die, the ship will take a long time to be finished, and so I was told we always ought to keep our nails short, for we cannot tell when we may die."

"And that's true enough, Ceolwulf," said Corman, "and the sooner thou ceasest to believe all those old wives' tales the better thou wilt be. 'Cease to do evil, learn to do good;' make preparation with the heart for the hour that all must pass through, and think not of the body, excepting in so far as it may be presented faultless before its Maker, which could never be by our means," added brother Corman.

At this moment Wulfstan ran up with a large bundle of withies, saying, "See here, brother Corman, we have surely got enough now, haven't we?"

"Well, yes, I think thou hast, to make a beginning with, anyhow. Thou must have a great deal of patience, or else success will not come. Now lay the longest and stoutest withies on the ground, at about a hand's breadth apart. That's right. A little closer those on the left; you have not got the spaces quite regular. Now peg them all down on the ground in the middle. Aye, that will do. But, Beate Columba! whatever is that noise about?" broke off Corman in astonishment, as a distant roar of men's voices, mingled with the clash of metal, was borne over the forest from the direction of Cissanceaster.

All stopped to listen. The noise and tumult went on for some minutes, and then gradually died away.

"_Quare fremuerunt gentes!_" murmured Father Dicoll.

"What thinkest thou it is, Ceolwulf?" asked Wulfstan.

"That I can't say, rightly speaking, but I should say that there was something going on," oracularly replied Biggun. "But, anyhow, we had better get on with this boat; so, Beornwulf, just help me to lift her a bit more over on her bilge, and then I can drive in these plugs a bit better. There, that will do."

"Look!" said AEdric, "there's brother Malachi coming round the point. I wonder if he's caught many fish?"

"He doesn't come very fast," said Wulfstan.

"How can three logs pushed by a monk get along fast?" said Biggun contemptuously, who, ever since the first time of their meeting, had formed a very poor opinion of brother Malachi. He did not think much of any of the monks, whom he regarded as poor-spirited fellows. He thought Corman had the makings of a good sort of man in him, for he seemed to know a few practical things, but Malachi he looked upon as not being "all there," he appeared so dreamy and abstracted.

However, brother Malachi approached, slowly but surely carried by the tide, which was now rising rapidly. A few fish could be seen lying on the board in front of him, which caused Beornwulf to take much more interest in him.

"There now, Corman, I do believe she's quite fit for sea again," said Biggun, complacently viewing the result of their shipbuilding efforts. "The next thing is to overhaul her gear and see if we can't get that sail to set a bit stiffer."

Certainly the poor old tattered sail did look as if it wanted a little attention as it lay upon the grassy slope. However, Ceolwulf, by dint of hard bargaining induced one of the women who appeared most handy with the needle to patch it up with various scraps of home-spun cloth, and at last it looked as though it really would hold the wind fairly well.

By this time Malachi had come ashore, and all the children had crowded down to the raft to see his catch. He had got a few eels, two or three of a very good size, a few whiting, and one good-sized bass. As soon as the success of his fishing was known, it was obvious how very much he went up in the estimation of the bystanders, even Ceolwulf condescending to say in a patronising way that he really hadn't done badly for a monk.

AEdric was always irritated at old Ceolwulf for his treatment of the good monks, whom he knew to be infinitely cleverer and a very great deal better than poor ignorant old Biggun; and even supposing they had not been, they had so hospitably taken care of them, at the risk of possibly making enemies, when they came to them in the most absolute need and helplessness, that it seemed a very great absence of courtesy, to say the least of it, to show the slightest want of respect to them.

But courteous manners were not a characteristic of the early English settlers, with whom the main idea was the "simple rule, the good old plan, that he shall take who has the power, and he shall keep who can."

However, none of the worthy monks showed the least resentment at Ceolwulf's manner; indeed, AEdric could not tell that they saw it.

In the excitement caused by the arrival of the fish no one had heard the hurried steps of three men who were rapidly approaching, and it was not until Ceolwulf heard himself called by name that he was aware of their presence.

"Why, Athelhune," he cried in astonishment, "what brings thee here? Thou seemest, truly, as though matters were pressing thee somewhat."

The eyes of all were now turned upon the new comers, who certainly did look as though they had come fast. They were fully armed, but their armour bore traces of rough and recent usage. Athelhune's shield was cleft nearly through, his axe was notched and stained, and he was in a violent state of heat. His two companions were in much the same condition, and one was badly wounded, for blood was slowly welling from a deep cut in the neck.

As soon as Corman saw the condition he was in he led him to his hut and staunched the wound, applying healing herbs and a bandage.

"Ceolwulf, we have been surprised in our turn at Cissanceaster by the two eorls, Berchthune and Andhune, who returned suddenly from Kent. We have been driven out of the town, and Caedwalla is once more a wanderer. He sent me to thee because he remembered the expedition thou wast to undertake, and he was afraid thou mightest wait here until thou mightest fall into the hands of the South Saxon eorls. Thou art to start to-night, and I and as many others as we can collect, or the boat will hold, are to go with thee. Thou wilt take the direction of the expedition, as thou knowest the country. The two boys are to go to Wilfrid, with whom they will be safe. Caedwalla does not in the least despair of recovering his rights, and hopes to be able to follow us himself before long."

So said Athelhune, and the astonishing nature of the news produced a profound silence, broken by Father Dicoll saying:

"See, my children, the mutability of earthly affairs. _Vanitas vanitatum,_" saith the Preacher, "_omnia est vanitas_."

"I don't know what that means," said Athelhune. "but if it means I am very hungry, that's quite true. I could eat some of those fish, I think."

*CHAPTER VII.*

*"HO! WATCHMAN; WHAT OF THE NIGHT!"*

"Well, there's plenty to be done, anyway," growled old Biggun, as he gradually took in the full extent of the news Athelhune had brought, "and the worst of it is there's not many of us to do it. Well, well, we shall see. The tide don't cease flowing till a little before dusk; if we can get away somewhere before that we shall have daylight to take us over that bar, and when once we are outside we shall be all right then. Let me see, how's the wind? Why, there is not much, but what little draught of air there is comes from the right quarter. It's about north-east to easterly, I'm thinking, and that's why we heard all that to do at Cissanceaster so clearly."

So saying, the old man, putting a few articles into the boat, went off to join the others, who were all busy cleaning the fish and cooking them on an iron plate placed over the fire, which had been hastily lighted outside Father Dicoll's hut.

There was a great deal to be done before Ceolwulf could start on the expedition, which was a very dangerous one. While he was with Caedwalla he had obtained that prince's consent to the despatching of some of his followers with Ceolwulf to see what had become of AElfhere, and how matters were going on in Wihtea, and if he found that there were many who were discontented with the way Arwald was conducting affairs, Caedwalla promised to come over and help him; and if AElfhere were alive, he would reinstate him in his possessions and authority, or, if he were dead, he would appoint someone to look after matters in his interest, and until AEdric and Wulfstan were old enough to look after themselves. Now that matters had taken this unhappy turn for Caedwalla, Ceolwulf thought it would have been more prudent if he had gone to join the prince and had sent the boys to St. Wilfrid; but he did not like to act contrary to Caedwalla's orders, especially as he depended upon him for supporting them all later on. "After all," he thought, "I can but go across and see how the land lies, and then come back again. The boys will be quite safe meanwhile with Wilfrid, for they will go there, anyhow."

After they had had their dinner, Ceolwulf and Athelhune walked apart and decided what was to be done. The boat would take eight persons easily: could they muster eight? There were only Beornwulf and the other man, whose name was Osborn, for the wounded man was too badly hurt to be of any use; that only made four. "Would any of the people of Boseham go?" said Athelhune. "By the way, I forgot to give thee this gold which Caedwalla bid me give thee. It might be useful to induce some of them to go."

"Well, we can try," said Ceolwulf. "But thou wilt get on better with them than I shall; do thou go and have a talk with a few while I get Beornwulf and Osborn to get down what we want for the undertaking."

Under Ceolwulf's directions, all the arms were put into the boat. The shields and linked mail shirts were carefully stowed out of the way of any sea water, and then such pieces of pork and bread as Ceolwulf was able to obtain by hard bargaining from the richer ceorls' wives were put in, and, finally, a tub, or beaker, of water completed the preparations. Everything was put very securely in its place, and every care taken against damage by the movement of the sea.

Meanwhile, Athelhune had induced three fairly stalwart young men to accompany them, promising them some weapons and a small sum of money as a recompense.

It was now nearly high water, and the boat was floating alongside of the quay. She looked in very much better condition than when she arrived, and Wulfstan was helping Biggun to hoist the sail.

"I say, Biggun, where art thou going to?"

"Well, Wulfstan, I am going over to Wihtea."

"Oh! art thou truly? And, of course, I am going too?"

"Why, no, Wulf. Thou seest it is a little dangerous, and there would be no use in thy going. We shan't be long gone; only I know that thou and AEdric would like to know what's going on over there, and so we shall go out with the tide this evening, and return, maybe, the day after to-morrow."

"Oh, Biggun, do let me go! I will be quite good and do all thou tellest me; I promise I will."

"No, Wulf, no; it's no good asking me. There, we've got the sail well set, and the sooner we get off the better. Now, let's see where are our crew? Athelhune, let's have a look at them altogether."

The five men were accordingly called up, and Athelhune briefly told them that Caedwalla, whose generosity they all knew, and whose vengeance also it was as well to avoid, had decided to find out how matters were going on in Wihtea, and for this purpose had determined to send Ceolwulf and himself as eorldomen to explore the east end of the island, and having found out the state of affairs to come back and report to him; that he had chosen those five men for this honourable occupation, and that all would be well remembered and suitably rewarded when Caedwalla's power was firmly established; and the more they contributed to this end the sooner would their own position be secured. There was little or no danger, for which, no doubt, as brave fellows, they would be sorry; for in Ceolwulf they had a first-rate guide, and one who knew every inch of the ground, and was well known by all the inhabitants; he would show them a good harbour, and they were sure of a good welcome.

To this speech Wulfstan listened open-eared, and when it was over he ran up to Ceolwulf and said:

"Thou heardest what he said? He said there was no danger, and that thou wouldest have a sure welcome; well, then, why can't I go? Do let me go, Biggun?"

"No, Wulfstan, I can't! Who is to take care of AEdric?"

"Oh, he won't mind; and, besides, we are to be away such a short time."

"No, no, don't bother me so. Seest thou not how busy I am?" and to avoid further entreat, Ceolwulf walked off to talk to Father Dicoll, whom he found in earnest converse with brother Malachi.

"I trust, Father Dicoll, thou wilt have the boys sent over to Wilfrid if there is any danger from the South Saxon eorls," said Ceolwulf.

"We will do what we can, my son, and I was talking to brother Malachi about it as thou camest up. Our best way will be to let Wilfrid know, and then, no doubt, as he has men, to whom he can say 'come' and they come, and to others 'go' and they go, he will send over and have them taken under safe conduct to his house at Selsea. This we will have done. But there is another matter brother Malachi here wants to speak to thee about. He is urgent with me to let him go with thee to Wihtea; he says he has been urged by the Spirit to carry the Gospel of good tidings to that benighted spot. When I urged him that the Lord had work enough for him here, he said that here were many instruments of God. That there was brother Corman and myself, and Wilfrid and all his clergy; and that he had seen in a vision of the night, like the blessed Paul, a man of Wihtea standing by, and saying, 'Come over and help us.' I told him of the dangers, but I am glad to say that, like a true follower of our Lord, these only made him all the more earnest to be gone----"

"There, Father Dicoll, thou hast said enough; if the poor creature wants to get killed it is not for me to prevent him. Ye have been good and hospitable men to us, and taken care of AEdric and Wulfstan right manfully, and if I can do anything to help thee or thine, I'm only too glad to have the opportunity. Let him come."

Brother Malachi had been listening to all that was said, and going up to Father Dicoll he knelt down and asked his blessing, much to the astonishment of the Saxons, who all began to laugh; and they laughed still more when he rose up and kissed Dicoll and Corman, who returned the salutation, saying as they did so, "_I, frater, in pace et Dominus tecum_."

"These be odd men," said Athelhune, who, not quite so utterly uncultivated as the other Saxons standing by, was yet amused at their singular habits; for to the Teutonic mind outward and practical evidence of affection always appeared effeminate.

Malachi now turned to Eddie and Wulfstan, and took a kind farewell of both of them, especially of AEdric, who returned his affectionate greeting, and struggled hard to restrain his emotion, which he would not for the world have shown before all those men; but he longed for his home and news of his father, and it seemed hard that a stranger could go and he could not. "My son, our home is not here, nor there, but our home is in heaven," whispered Malachi, as AEdric murmured his regret in his ear.

As for Wulfstan, he was very sulky; he was particularly angry to find that a monk was allowed to go and he was not.

"Why, isn't he in the way far more than I am? He doesn't know how to row, and I do; and he can't fight nearly so well as I can. What's the good of him if he can't fight? I call it a shame, AEdric. I used to like old Biggun, but now I hate him. He's got so proud since Cissanceaster, and forgets he was our father's herdsman. I hate him, I do!"

"Hush, Wulfstan, thou oughtest not to be so ungrateful. Thou forgettest he lost everything just as much as we did, and he might have saved it all, by making friends with Arwald. And think how he has taken care of us, and what trouble he took in bringing us over here, and he only fought so well--and thou oughtest to be proud of him for it--in order to get Caedwalla to take an interest in us, and send us some men to help us. What good couldest thou do? and, of course, thou wouldest be very much in the way."

"Oh, AEdric, thou art as bad as the monks! Thou only sayest all this because thou art not able to go too. Thou knowest if thou wert well enough to go thou wouldest only be too ready to talk evil of Ceolwulf. Oh, I hate it all--but I will go! Thou shalt see!" added Wulfstan, with a determined look.

The preparations for departure were nearly all ready; the men were carrying down a few last articles that might be necessary, and Ceolwulf and Athelhune were bidding good-bye to Father Dicoll and brother Corman. Most of the women and children of the place had gathered round, and there was much confusion of noise and bustle. Such an event as the departure of a boat full of eight men all armed, and one an eorldoman and another a distinguished warrior, for so Ceolwulf was now regarded, was too important not to create considerable excitement. Brother Malachi too going! How would the poor monks get on for fish? how would the poor man fare amid those rough men of war?

"Well, good-bye, AEdric; keep up thy spirits till I come back, and get well as quickly as thou canst. Why, where's Wulfstan? I wanted to say good-bye to him; but perhaps I had better not; he'll only bother me over again to take him, and that I won't do. So do thou say that I looked for him, but couldn't see him; that will do quite as well."

So saying, Ceolwulf went down to the boat, and then found that he really had plenty to do, for only the three Boseham men had any idea of rowing. Fortunately, there was a little wind, and by setting one of the Boseham men to pull each oar, and one of the others to push, they were likely in this way to get into the swing of the art.

He had also to explain the use of the ropes; but this did not take long, only AEdric was convulsed with laughter at the sail coming down quite suddenly on Ceolwulf's head, as he was showing one of the men how to make fast the sheet or rope which pulls in the sail. In order to see if the man quite knew where it was and what he ought to do, he had told him to let the rope go, with the result that the sail came down with a run. The man had already confused it with the main-halyard or rope that pulled the sail--which was a lug-sail--up to the top of the mast.

As nearly all the men were in the boat, the sudden descent of the sail caused considerable confusion, and some angry exclamations; however, at last all was ready, and Ceolwulf, who was getting impatient to be off, gave the order to cast her off from her moorings, and taking an oar, put it into a deep notch in the boat's stern, and prepared to steer her.

The children all began to shout. AEdric waved his hand. Father Dicoll and brother Corman stood by him, and called a farewell to brother Malachi, who stood near the mast in the bow of the boat. Athelhune stood near Ceolwulf, and the others rowed as they were placed. The boat glided gently away, and long soft ripples from her stern caused all the shadows of the trees and the clouds to tremble in wavering patterns as they rolled to the shore.

[Illustration: How Dicoll and AEdric saw ye boat depart]

"There, they are off," said Father Dicoll to AEdric; "and may the blessing of the Almighty go with brother Malachi, for he goeth as a lamb among wolves. My soul yearneth for his safety."

"Doesn't the boat look pretty as she sails away?" said brother Corman.

"Ah! it reminds me of our sails in the old days at home, when we used to go out on the lough to fish."

It was a pretty scene: the sun was slowly sinking in the west, a grey mist rose over the western horizon, hiding the slushy banks and sedges of the shore; the red light of the sun came in a long flood up the creek, against it the black sail and dark heads of the men stood out in contrast.

"They go up a path of blood," sighed Dicoll. "May it be an omen of a path that leads to glory."

Behind, the clouds were working up in great black masses, that stretched across from north-west to south-east, and the breeze became colder.

The tide had begun to turn, and the boat was disappearing round a distant bend in the creek.

"There! they are gone, and it's time we went to vespers. Let us carry in AEdric, and make ready for the night. It looks black away to the east and north. I trust we are not going to have snow."

"I wonder where Wulfstan is," said Corman. "I didn't see him when the boat went off, and I should have thought he would have been the last to look at them."

"I expect he has gone off after some more withies," said AEdric.

"Well, I daresay he will come in when he's tired; but boys ought to learn discipline while they are young, for it is a harder matter afterwards," said Father Dicoll.

Meanwhile the boat was getting on very well; the novices in the art of rowing were quickly becoming used to the swing and management of the oar; so much so, that Ceolwulf had told the Boseham men to rest and leave the others to go on, as their services might be wanted later. Only one man had caught a crab, and being swung by the violence of the shock against poor brother Malachi, coming in painful contact with the monk's body, causing him to ejaculate with more than usual fervour, "_Ah! quare tristis es venter meus! et quare conturbas me?_" Beyond this little catastrophe, which, by the way, did not increase the good feeling of the man who had caused the monk's discomfort for his victim--for he did not understand the meaning of his ejaculations, and mistook them for condemnatory remarks--nothing else occurred.

A little more breeze had now got up, not sufficient, however, to create any ripple on the water, but just enough to keep the sail full.

They were fast approaching the entrance, and could hear the dull thud of the sea as it broke on the shingle outside.

"We shall have light enough, brother Malachi, I doubt not, to pass out by?" called Ceolwulf.

"The Lord helping us, we shall not run aground," answered Malachi.

The sail was beginning to do its work famously, and Ceolwulf bid the men put their oars in, and suggested to Athelhune that some food would be a good thing. Accordingly, search was made in the boat, when suddenly a man called out:

"Why, in the name of Asgard, whom have we here?"

All looked round, and there, under a skin that sheltered the provisions in the bow of the boat, was Wulfstan.

"Ah! Biggun," the boy shouted, "I told thee I should come, and thou canst not put me out now."

Ceolwulf saw it was no use being angry; so, giving the boy a sharp rating for not doing what he was told, he made up his mind to the inevitable.

And now the sun disappeared behind the low bank of what is at present known as Hayling Island, and the breeze came up fresher behind them.

"It's getting cold," said Athelhune. "We shall have snow, I fear----"

"We shan't be long getting over with this breeze, however. It's dead aft and a smooth sea," replied Ceolwulf.

The boat was just beginning to feel the motion of the sea, and was passing between the narrow entrance where Ceolwulf and the boys had struck when coming in for the first time.

"Look out for the sail as she comes over!" shouted Biggun, as the boat was altering its course to thread the intricate channel.

"There! I knew somebody's cap would be knocked off," added the old man, as Beornwulf's cap was carried over into the sea by the sail.

"Now, look alive, and shift over the sheet, someone. No! not that rope. Here, someone with a head upon his shoulders--that's right, Wulfstan, thou understandest it, and can teach them something."

This was an admission on the part of Ceolwulf which Wulfstan did not allow to pass over without notice.

"Ah, Biggun, thou findest that out now; it's lucky for ye all I shipped myself aboard. Thou seest, Biggun, thou dost not know what's for thine own good."

To this remark Biggun only grunted.

It was now getting too dark to make out objects more than a hundred yards off, and it required a watchful eye in the bows to see where the waves were breaking. The tide was rushing out through the narrow entrance with a swirl and an eddy that caused many small white crested waves, which it was necessary to distinguish from the real breakers on the sand banks. Brother Malachi was standing in the bows keeping a sharp look-out with one of the Boseham men, and Ceolwulf was steering, the rest were having some food.

"Here comes a long wave; keep her head up to it," called the Boseham man, as a long wall of water rose out of the darkness and seemed to stand right up above the bows of the boat; but Ceolwulf put her head at it, and she rose gently over and plunged down on the other side, while the wave rolled on and thundered behind them on the shore.

"There, we are clear of all banks now, and have nothing but the open sea before us," called Malachi, as he sat down under the lee of the boat's gunwale.

"Thou hadst better come aft, brother Malachi," called Wulfstan, who, now that he had accomplished his object, was glad the good monk was coming too; he always felt comfortable when the kind monk was near, because he never scolded him, or laughed at him, but quietly pointed out where he was wrong very patiently.

Darkness had by this time become complete, and there was nothing for Ceolwulf to steer by except a vague kind of instinct that told him to keep the sail as full as it was when they last saw land; he had then put the head of the boat pointing directly for the spot he wished to make for, and he argued that if he did not draw the wind either too much on her starboard beam, or, on the other hand, let it jibe the sail over, he must make land where he wanted in about three hours' time. He had not calculated that it was possible for the wind to shift.

The men were curling themselves up to go to sleep, and Malachi was murmuring some words to himself.

"What sayest thou, brother Malachi?" asked Wulfstan.

"I was asking the Almighty to preserve us through the dangers of the night, Wulfstan."

"But there are no dangers."

"There are always dangers on the sea."

"Not if thou takest care and keepest a good look-out."

"But thou mayest not know thy way, storms may rise, the boat may spring a leak, or she may strike on a rock."

"How can she spring a leak if she has just been mended? and how can she strike on a rock when she is ever so far from shore? I believe thou art frightened, brother Malachi; but there's no need, there is nothing to be afraid of. Come and sit by me; I will take care of thee."

The rushing, gurgling sound under the bows of the boat showed she was going through the water very fast. As they got further out from the land, the sea got up rather more, and from time to time the boat gave wild rushes ahead, and then sank down in the trough of the waves, only to rise again, lifting her stern up and careering madly forward until her head rose in the air, and the wave curled over in front. It took all Ceolwulf's steering with the oar to keep her from broaching-to, as it is called when the boat in running before the breeze turns broadside to the wind on the top of a rolling wave, a situation which, it is needless to say, is a very dangerous one.

"Why, the spray is coming in astern, Ceolwulf."

"No, it's not the sea, it's snow, and it's coming on thick, I'm thinking."

"Wilt thou be able to make out the land?" said Athelhune.

"We are not there yet," growled Ceolwulf, who was not in a very good humour, for he was getting cold, and was beginning to be a little doubtful of their whereabouts.

They had now sailed for about two hours, and they ought to be getting near land; it was very thick, however, and the snow was coming on faster than ever. The sea was getting much heavier, and from time to time Ceolwulf had the greatest difficulty in keeping his oar in the notch.

Wulfstan had coiled himself up, and had now gone to sleep. The others were mostly asleep or dozing, but Malachi and Athelhune felt the uncertainty of their position, and shared Ceolwulf's anxiety.

"We ought to be near land now, ought we not?" asked Malachi.

"We are not far off, I'm thinking," said Ceolwulf. "Lend me a hand with this oar, Athelhune," he added, as a more than ordinarily large wave rose up astern, and sent the boat staggering along with a wild lurch and headlong plunge that took the wind out of the sail, and called for all Ceolwulf's knowledge of steering. He and Athelhune, however, managed it cleverly, and the sea passed under the boat with a seething rush, raising her head high in air.

"The difficulty is in this snow, we can't see breakers ahead," grumbled Ceolwulf. "Go forward, Malachi, and keep a sharp look-out. Sing out the moment thou seest any land."

Malachi did as he was told, and peered anxiously into the grey veil ahead; but he could see nothing, only tumbling waves rising and falling, leaping up like grey shadows, and disappearing in the misty gloom.

Suddenly Malachi felt the boat give a violent lurch, followed by a dizzy rush, and he found himself in water nearly up to his waist. What was it? What had happened?

The oar had broken, and the boat had come round into the trough of the sea, and was in imminent danger of being rolled over or swamped.

All were now aroused, for most were lying in the water, which half filled the boat. However, Ceolwulf had seized another oar the moment the catastrophe happened, and with great quickness had brought her round to the course she was running, and then directed the men to bail the water out.

Once more they rushed wildly on; while poor brother Malachi, murmuring "_De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine_," drenched to the skin, gazed out into the darkness.

For the next quarter of an hour or so nothing disturbed the monotony of the rushing waters, the creaking mast, the occasionally flapping sail as the boat sank into the trough of the sea, or the whistling of the wind; everything in the boat was getting covered with a white pall, and the discomfort of all was great.

Suddenly Malachi shouted out:

"Land! land! right ahead. I see----"

But his words were lost in a wild crash, that hurled Ceolwulf and Athelhune into the bottom of the boat, and pitched poor Malachi head over heels overboard.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*NOTHING VENTURE, NOTHING HAVE.*

The shock that produced the catastrophe which hurled brother Malachi overboard was caused by the boat striking on a reef of rocks, which lay some little distance out from the land, and, in the blinding snow and darkness, was utterly invisible, although as each wave receded the rocks were uncovered for a few minutes, only to be washed from end to end as a new wave dashed over them.

The boat was lifted by the first wave right on to the top of the reef, and consequently when the reflux of the wave took place, she fell over on her side, and remained exactly as she would have done on a hard beach. The next wave, however, broke right into her, and filled her from end to end, besides smashing the mast and knocking a hole in her as she came down with a tremendous thump. All the men had now jumped overboard, and, under the direction of Ceolwulf, who took in the situation at a glance, scrambled over the rocks before another large wave came, and found on the other side that there was a shallow, sandy pool, where the water came up to their waists, but where they were protected from the extreme violence of the waves by the reef of rocks outside. Ceolwulf had taken the precaution to keep hold of the rope, or warp, which was used for mooring the boat, and, shouting to the others to hold on to this, he watched for another large wave, then, bidding the others haul altogether, they dragged the boat over the rocks into the part where they were, and where they would be able to get the cargo out of the boat before she should break up, which she must inevitably do if the tide were rising.

In the darkness and confusion nobody had thought of seeing whether anyone was missing, but now that all immediate danger was over Ceolwulf began to think he had not seen Malachi.

"Malachi! Malachi!" he shouted, "where art thou?"

A very feeble answer came from behind them:

"Here, Ceolwulf, here."

"Art hurt, man?"

"_Miserere mei_, but I have no whole soundness in my body, all my bones are out of joint, and the floods have gone over my soul."

"Where art thou?"

"I am on dry ground--at least, if that may be called dry which is all wet with snow--but where I am, I know not."

"He's all right," said Ceolwulf, who was holding the rope with one hand and Wulfstan with the other. "He's got ashore, and the sooner we get there the better, it is only a little way off."

"Hadn't we better get our arms out of the boat first? she may be smashed all to pieces before we can get back to her again," suggested Athelhune.

"Right, quite right," answered Ceolwulf. "Let every one take as much as he can carry ashore with him, and follow me." So saying, taking Wulfstan's hand, he waded ashore to where the voice of brother Malachi guided them. The others followed, carrying the armour, shields, spears, and other weapons.

When they were all ashore, they found they were on a steep shingle beach with a low cliff behind, as far as they could make out in the darkness. Malachi was seated, shivering with cold, on a boulder of rock, and Wulfstan ran up to him, and slapping him on the back, said:

"Hullo! brother Malachi, I am very glad thou art not drowned."

"Oh, don't do that! I am very glad too, but don't touch me, I ache all over. Oh!" groaned brother Malachi, shivering, so that his teeth chattered in his head.

"Well, run about then, and thou wilt soon get warm."

But the poor monk was too cold and dispirited for that, and only sat still and shivered. It certainly was a dreary outlook, as far as anything could be seen. A group of half-drowned men, a patch of snow-covered beach, the dim outline of foaming waves, and all else indistinguishable blackness.

"How much longer have we got to wait for daylight thinkest thou?" asked Athelhune.

"It is not midnight yet," answered Ceolwulf gloomily.

"Dost thou know where we are?"

"On the Foreland, I doubt, and we've narrowly missed going out to sea down the channel; but I can't rightly say where we are until I have gone a bit further in-shore."

"We had better all of us get into some shelter if we can. We can't pull the boat up, and turn her over and get under her, can we?"

"No, we haven't got strength enough for that. We had better get up this cliff, and go inland; we shan't find the wind so keen then."

They all, therefore, clambered over the shingle, and, scrambling up the low cliff, found themselves among a thick growth of brushwood.

"Now, the best thing we can do, boys, is to cut down enough of this to make a clearing for us to lie down in, and we can pile the cut bushes up to the windward of us, and bring ashore the sail and the skins, and such stores as we've got, and make ourselves as snug as we can until daylight breaks. Here, Athelhune, wilt thou set four of them to work with their axes, while I and the others go back to the old boat who has made her last journey, I fear."

This seemed to all a reasonable proposition, and Athelhune began at once to set the men to work. Although it was very dark, yet, as they had become accustomed to it, it was not really so difficult as it would seem to work in the dimness.

"Hullo! who art thou?" called out Ceolwulf, as he fell over the prostrate body of a man. "Why, it's brother Malachi I do believe, and he's gone to sleep; but that won't do. Here, Wulfstan, come and lead him up the shore. Make him walk; if he goes to sleep he will never wake up again. Hi! Malachi, wake up!"

But Malachi was sound asleep, worn out with cold and wretchedness, and it took a great deal of shaking to rouse him up. When at last he was made to understand where he was, he had scarcely any strength left to walk, and it was with extreme difficulty Wulfstan could get him up the beach and on the top of the cliff; and then Athelhune set him to work to carry the bushes, which the others cut, to the windward side of the clearing they were making.

Ceolwulf and the others now returned with the other things, and they very soon made a tolerable shelter from the wind and snow by stretching the sail and other coverings over stakes driven in the ground, and kept up by the masts and oars, which were rested in the forked end of the upright stakes.

"I suppose we can do nothing more for the old boat?" said Athelhune.

"No, she will have to take her chance. I don't think much will be left of her to-morrow; the tide is rising fast, and the wind doesn't show any signs of going down. It's true she will be sheltered a little by the reef outside, but not much, for there will be a good depth of water over it at high tide."

"Dost thou know where we are now?"

"It's where I thought. We are at the end of the Foreland, and have had a near chance of going out to sea," said Ceolwulf.

"Are there any houses near here?"

"No, not nearer than our old home at the head of the haven; but that was burnt down the night we escaped in the boat--at least so it seemed to me as I looked back."

"Canst count on any one helping us if we show ourselves by daylight?"

"Aye, I can count on some if they've not been killed; but I shall have to go to work cautiously, as we have got no boat now to go back with, unless we can capture another one."

"Well, the best thing we can do will be to lie as snug here as we can, and close together, to keep ourselves warm."

As they were now all fairly well warmed by their exertions in making the tent and clearing the ground, there was not much risk to such hardy men from going to rest, and they all lay down under the shelter of the sails and skins, and were soon sound asleep.

The first to wake next morning was Wulfstan, who got up at once, and without waking any one, or at least disturbing them, he went out on to the cliff to see what could be seen of the place where they were wrecked.

The sun had only just risen. It had ceased snowing for some time apparently, for all signs of it had disappeared, and a glorious sight met his eyes. At his feet lay the old boat, lying broadside on to the steep shingle beach, and a large hole in her showed where she had struck the night before. She did not seem to have been any more damaged, and doubtless the reef, which was just beginning to show as the tide receded, had protected her; for the tides were then at neap or nearly so, and consequently the sea had not risen so high or had as much force as it would have had if the spring tides had then prevailed. Beyond the boat the white breakers were tumbling in creamy foam, tinged with the red and gold of the rising sun, which cast a gleaming path of light from the horizon to the feet of Wulfstan; on each side of this path of glory, the sea was deep greeny-grey, ending in a blue and misty purple under the rising sun; above the transparent depths of the exquisite primrose-coloured sky a few fleecy golden clouds floated in the fathomless blue of the heavens, while a gentle but rather keen breeze brought health and vigour to the lungs of the hardy boy. Far on the horizon, towards the north-east, a distant line of grey hills showed where the great Andredesweald stretched away in the distance.

Sniffing the fresh sea air, the boy ran along the beach, and, turning a point a little way to the south-west of him, came upon a long reef of rocks running far out into the sea, and over which the waves were rushing and tumbling in wild confusion as the tide ebbed into the main channel stream.

Out upon these rocks a solitary heron was looking for his morning meal with outstretched neck, while flocks of oxy birds rose in flickering flight, or settled, with shrill cry, on the luxuriant sea-weed that clothed the rocks with sheeny growth.

As Wulfstan went further on, following the shore as it trended towards the west, a great wall of chalk rose suddenly above the low gravel cliff, and shut out all further view in that direction. Above, the magnificent chalk cliff, that went in sheer descent from a height of some three hundred feet into the blue sea below, crowned with a smooth slope of brown turf, rose in gradual swell to sink again in steeper descent towards the north, while its precipitous sides sloped abruptly to the low ground of the foreland.

"Oh! there's our dear old Binbrigge dune!"[1] cried Wulfstan, who had many a time ridden over those grassy slopes, and been lowered over the cliff to collect the sea-fowls' eggs that were laid in otherwise unapproachable nooks and ledges of the precipice.

[1] Bembridge Down.

The boy had forgotten all the past weeks. He seemed once more at home, and wandered on, forgetful of the shipwreck, the sick brother left on the mainland, and his own burnt home.

He was roused from his dreams by a rustling in the long coarse grass that fringed the low cliff, and directly afterwards a boy's voice called out, in amazement:

"Why, it's the young eorl Wulfstan, I do believe!"

"What, Stuff, is it thou?" cried Wulfstan joyfully, as a thick-set, sturdy, shock-headed young Wihtwara of about Wulfstan's age emerged from the cover of the tall grass.

"Why, where hast thou been, Wulfstan, all this while?"

"Aha, Stuff, I've been a voyage, and I have killed a wild boar, and thou canst not think how well I can fish. Brother Malachi has taught me how to make net, and what's the right sort of bait for pout, and bass, and lots of things."

"Oh, Wulfstan, thou dost not say so! And where's AEdric and old Biggun? But thou hadst better not be seen, or thou wilt be killed, that thou wilt."

"What happened that night when Arwald attacked us?"

"What, don't thee know? That was a fine night, that was. How it did burn just! and weren't there a many head broke! Oh, Loki!"[1]

[1] LOKI.--The Scandinavian God of Mischief. He caused the death of Baldur the Beautiful.

"Who was killed? What became of father?"

"Why, who's that a-standing there on the point yonder? I do believe its old Biggun! and he's calling thee. Thou hadst better run, Wulfstan."

"Thou must come too, and tell us all that has happened."

"I don't know about that," said Stuff, scratching his head, and looking dubiously in the direction of Ceolwulf, of whom he seemed to stand considerably in awe.

"Thou hadst better, Stuff, for if thou dost not I will make thee."

"Thou make me! I'd like to see thee do it. Why, I've----"

But before he could say any more Wulfstan had seized him round both arms, and putting his foot behind Stuff's heels, laid him on the ground in an instant, falling on him at the same time, so that all poor Stuff's breath was knocked out of his body with the concussion.

"There, I told thee thou hadst better do what I bid thee."

But Stuff struggled manfully on the ground, and did all he could to shake or roll Wulfstan off him.

"Ah, wouldst thou? If thou dost not lie still and listen to what I am going to say, I will pommel thee black and blue. Dost thou not know I am thine eorl now? or at least I am till AEdric comes back."

But Stuff only struggled all the harder, for he was a sturdy young Wihtwara and very obstinate, until at last Wulfstan had to put his threat into execution, and began to beat the breath out of his unruly antagonist.

The contest was speedily ended by the arrival of Ceolwulf, who, seeing the struggle, and not understanding the cause, strode hastily up to the spot, fearing lest some harm should happen to his young lord.

"Hullo! what's all this about?" he exclaimed, as he saw that he need not have been uneasy about Wulfstan, who was evidently master of the situation. "Whom have we got here?"

"It's Stuff, Biggun; he didn't want to come to thee, and I said I would make him. He doesn't understand that I'm his master now."

"Do thou leave him to me, Wulfstan; it isn't for the like of thee to be rolling on the ground with such as he. He won't get away now, I'll make sure."

Wulfstan accordingly allowed the youngster to rise, and Ceolwulf said sharply to him:

"Down on thy knees, and beg the young eorl's pardon for having dared to be insolent to him, or it will be the worse for thee."

Stuff did as he was bid sullenly enough, saying as he did so:

"He didn't know as how he was his eorl now, there had been such changes."

"Don't talk to me of changes," said Ceolwulf. "He who has once been born a thrall is always a thrall to his eorl until he frees him, and that thou wilt not be in a hurry."

"Never mind, Stuff, thou shalt not be hurt, if thou art only wise and behavest properly. Of course, thou didst not know, that's all."

"Now come along with us, we can't be standing here where anyone might see us. Do thou come and tell us all that's been going on since we've been away," said Ceolwulf.

The three went off in the direction of the wreck, where, on their arrival, they found all astir.

"Is there any water about here fit to drink, Ceolwulf, thinkest thou?" called Athelhune.

"Aye, that there is, and very good water, too," cried Wulfstan. "Come with me, Beornwulf, and I will show thee where the spring is."

"Go with the young eorl, Beornwulf and Osborn, and take a bucket or two if thou hast them," said Athelhune.

They very soon found the spring, which was not far off along the shore, but the opposite way to that which Wulfstan had taken before. Amid some dead seaweed, blown up above high water mark, and a few large stones covered with moss and lichen and sheltering a few ferns, a clear spring of water welled up in unpolluted purity, and, trickling over the stones, lost itself immediately in the loose shingle of the shore. A spring that might elsewhere have been the source of some large stream, but here, cut off at once in its earliest infancy, joined the sea without longer life than a few short feet of furrowed stone--a fitting subject for a moralist or divine; but, as neither Wulfstan nor his companions were in the least degree disposed to either character, they drew as much water as they wanted, and returned to the others.

Ceolwulf had elicited from the reluctant Stuff a short account of all that had taken place after the destruction of AElfhere's houses and farm-buildings. It appeared that Arwald had left a trusty adherent of his to look after the district, and to set the thralls to work to pursue their usual avocations as if nothing had happened, only all the produce was to be considered as Arwald's property.

Ceolwulf could not find out anything about his master, AElfhere. As far as he could make out, nobody had found his body after he was seen to fall in the midst of the fight; but Stuff said everyone declared he must be dead, as he was seen to receive a terrible wound in the head from an axe, and "there was them as said Arwald had carried off his body."

When asked whether he thought the people were discontented with the man whom Arwald had placed over the thralls, Stuff said he thought nobody liked him; but they were all afraid of him, as there were some fighting men left to support his authority.

"How many are there?"

"I don't rightly know the proper number, but I think there are not more than eight or nine."

"Dost thou think, if we drove them off or killed them, the rest of the people would fight for their young eorls, AEdric and Wulfstan?"

"Aye, that I do. Thou knowest us all well enough for that, Biggun."

This answer being considered satisfactory, it was agreed it would be best to keep the boy with them all day. That they would try and get the boat up out of the reach of the sea and cover her up as well as possible in order to prevent her being seen by anyone; that then, at nightfall, they would march, under Ceolwulf's guidance, to a knoll, covered with thick brushwood and trees; that they would make their head-quarters at this place; and if Ceolwulf, after seeing a few of the old servants and herdsmen of AElfhere should judge that they really could offer an effectual resistance to an attack from Arwald, that they would then make an onslaught on the ruined house and farm buildings, and drive off the party Arwald had placed there, and that they would then send over to Caedwalla and ask him to come to take possession of the island.

In accordance with this determination, immediately after their simple meal the men all set to work, under Ceolwulf's instructions, to pull the boat up the beach, a matter very much more easy to accomplish now that they had taken everything out of her, and could see what they were about. They cut down a couple of straight and slight young ash trees, and dividing them into three lengths each, they soon had the old boat up high and dry under the low cliff, hauling her up on the ash rollers. Ceolwulf then made a careful examination of the hole in the boat, and was pleased to see that it would not take very much time to put a couple of new planks in, and she would then be capable of at least making one voyage across to Boseham in fine weather.

Having accomplished this part of their work, the men were set to clean the armour and weapons, and put what food was left in the buckets, and get all ready for their expedition a little before nightfall.

Brother Malachi had quite recovered his usual spirits, and had become an object of much interest and astonishment to Stuff, who had never seen a man like him. He longed to ask Wulfstan all about him, but was rather shy of talking to the young eorl now that he had so clearly established his rightful position, and he was also struck by the respect the others paid him.

The day passed away without particular incident. About an hour before dusk Ceolwulf directed all to fall in, and, telling Stuff to keep near him, led the way to their intended stronghold. Their route lay through dense brushwood, but Ceolwulf soon struck into a narrow track where walking was more easy, but in which they were obliged to proceed in single file.

After going in this way about a mile, they descended a very steep declivity, and came out upon an open meadow. And then the strangers perceived that they were on the border of a large land-locked piece of water, to which, standing where they were, they could see no inlet from the sea.

The tide was up, and the expanse of silver water stretching up to the foot of a high down at its western end, and washing a steeply-wooded shore opposite, had all the appearance of a magnificent lake or splendid harbour, offering a very different scene to what it would be in five hours' time, when, instead of a silver mirror in which the hills and woods and autumn sky were pictured, a tiny stream would sluggishly meander between brown slush and slimy mud.

Crossing this meadow, the party plunged once more into the dense wood, and ascending a slight rise, dipped again to the level of the sea; but the wood was so thick they could see nothing on either hand or ahead, and had still to walk in single file.

Again the path rose steeply in front, and they seemed to be mounting a considerable acclivity. Climbing higher and higher, Ceolwulf left the beaten track, and turned aside through the low growth of oak and ash that seemed unable to attain to any size, and were gnarled and twisted into all sorts of fantastic shapes.

Scrambling over some moss-covered boulders, Ceolwulf stopped, and said:

"Here, men, we will make our camp; there is a spring down the steep slope on that side, and by felling a few trees, we can make a very fair shelter for ourselves, as well as a stockade against any sudden attack."

The place, certainly, was well chosen. There was a small open space on the top of the hill, but no view could be obtained from this as the trees grew thick all round. It was, however, sufficiently obvious that the sides of the hill were very steep, and a handful of men could hold their own for some time, especially with the aid of a few fallen trees to form a breastwork.

As it was now getting dark, no time was to be lost in making their preparations for spending the night. While these operations were going on, Ceolwulf said he would go down into the valley, and find out how matters really were in the vicinity of their old home. So saying, and equipping himself in his hawberk, and with all his offensive weapons, he disappeared among the trees on his way down the hill.

*CHAPTER IX.*

*"I CAN CALL SPIRITS FROM THE VASTY DEEP."*

Ceolwulf descended the steep side of the thickly-wooded hill with the assured step of one who well knew his way, although the increasing gloom of night was fast spreading over hill and dale. After walking about a mile through the dense brushwood, the old Wihtwara emerged upon a smooth slope of grassy down, and even he, sturdy and matter-of-fact old heathen as he was, stopped a moment to look at the beautiful scene before him; not so much struck, however, with its beauty and poetry, as from a desire to take in all he could of the well-known aspect of his native land while yet there was any chance of seeing, and to compare the present appearance of the cottages with what they had been before the fatal onslaught of Arwald and his followers.

At Ceolwulf's feet stretched the close, wind-worn grass of the westerly sloping hill-side, reflecting the rich glow which still suffused the darkling sky. Beyond gleamed the sheen of a wide-stretching marsh, across which the curlews called and the bitterns cried, and in which the reflection of the evening star, setting over the distant top of St. Boniface Down, streamed in flickering light. Across the Marsh a bank of land separated the floods that came from the centre of the island, from the waters of the great deep; for on the other side of this narrow strip of land a wide and magnificent bay spread out its grey depth, till it met the violet of the sky beneath the crimson glow of the departed sun. Rising out of this sea, and forming the western side of the noble bay, loomed a magnificent hill, the base of which lay bathed and hidden in the green-grey mist; but enough of the shape of the promontory could be seen to justify its name of the "Dunnose," by which it is now known. The upper part of the hill stood up in clear outline, presenting a solid, opaque mass of deep purple against the golden background, and descended abruptly towards the north in two steep slopes, or escarpments, to the level of a wide-reaching valley that led up to the centre of the island. On the other side of this valley a line of downs presenting their slope to the western light, stretched in fore-shortened length, till they ended in a wooded hill immediately fronting the place where Ceolwulf stood. The lovely scene gradually changed from the lingering warmth of day to the colder shades of night, and all objects grew rapidly indistinguishable.

"Too late to make out what is left of the house," muttered Ceolwulf, "and as the floods seem to be out, I don't see that I can cross the Yare by the old ford. I shall have to go round by the sands along the dunes."

At that time, and indeed until long after, that part of the island on which Ceolwulf and his companions had been cast was known as Binbrygea or Bembridge Island, as the other end of the Isle of Wight, which was equally separated from the middle part of the island by an inlet of the sea, was called Freshwater Island; and as the internal communication at that early time was very defective, there was no bridge over the Yare, and the inhabitants who wished to pass from Bembridge to the centre of the island had to go round by the sandbanks cast up by the sea along the shore where Sandown now flourishes.

There was a ford at low water over the marshes, but it was very difficult to find, and impassable if there were any extra water in the small river Yare. The homestead where Wulfstan and AEdric were brought up was built at the head of what until a few years ago was Brading Haven, and which at that time was a large and magnificent sheet of water stretching up nearly to where Sandown Railway Station now is. The home and farm buildings stood among some old trees, the ancestors of the present Park of Nunwell, and were sheltered from the north-west and north-east by rising ground and the woods that spread in an uninterrupted forest right through the island to Yarmouth, covering all the north side of the island with a dense growth; the only clearings being about Whitgaresbyrig, now Carisbrooke, and Cerdicsford, now Yarmouth. The few patches of land ploughed up by the Romans had rapidly gone out of cultivation during the wild period of the fifth and sixth centuries, and the sparsely scattered inhabitants lived chiefly on the results of the chase and such dairy produce as their rude methods of farming could raise, and in this part of their domestic economy the Jutish conquerors of the Isle of Wight were much assisted by the more cultivated race whom they conquered, and many of whom they kept as their slaves.

Ceolwulf once more fell into his former long swinging stride, and, turning more to the left, directed his steps towards the shore of the open sea.

After proceeding for about a mile and a half, until he had nearly reached the sea beach, he suddenly turned to the right, and plunging through some thick reeds he came to the edge of the river Yare. There was evidently a ford here, for the reeds were broken and trodden down. Groping his way with his spear, Ceolwulf at last emerged on the bank on the other side.

He had now reached a level tract of land rising gently to the foot of the Downs, which had faced him when he first emerged from the wood; he was still a good couple of miles from the old homestead, but as he was now in a more populous part it behoved him to be rather more cautious in his advance.

A little ahead of him and to his left was a belt of thick, low scrub and brushwood, through which could be seen here and there a whiter patch, looking like the walls of some building; but in the dim light it was difficult to make out anything clearly, excepting that in one place a pile of masonry rose above the bushes, and stood out against the stars in a jagged and broken outline.

Ceolwulf now paused a moment and listened intently for any sound, but all was still; occasionally a dull thud reached his car, caused by the sea breaking on the shingly shore behind him, and the fast dying leaves of an old oak near shivered in the scarcely perceptible breeze, but all else was still as the grave.

Suddenly a sharp whirr rose on the silence, and a sound of heavily flapping wings beat the quiet air as a nightjar started out of the old oak tree to search for his evening meal. Ceolwulf was superstitious, like all his race, and he especially disliked the place where he now found himself.

He well knew what those ruins were, and firmly believed, like all the dwellers round, that the place was haunted. Men had lived there who were as gods compared to the rough, uncultured Jute, and now their dwelling was become a ruin, and desolation brooded over its halls.

Little more than two hundred years ago that house had been a stately mansion, from which civilisation and Christianity spread their soothing influences around, where a cultivated Roman gentleman dwelt with his family of well-regulated servants, slaves in name, but as much attached to their master and mistress as any free servants could be, and perhaps still more so from the knowledge that their treatment was the pure result of the humanity of their master, who, as far as the laws were concerned, could have treated them far otherwise. In the wreck of the Roman empire all the life of an expanding culture was crushed out of Britain, and the old civilisation, religion and government were but as myths dimly told by the rude conquerors to their children. The house whose ruins were faintly delineated in the doubtful light had been a Roman villa of very elegant proportions, and fitted with all the appliances a luxurious civilisation knew well how to adapt to domestic comfort; but since the fatal night of slaughter, fire, and rapine, when the invader had harried the island, and remorselessly put to the sword all the men who were likely to show courage or ability, and had made slaves of the young women, the gaunt and blood-stained ruins had been left desolate, haunted by the memories of past happiness, and the horror of that awfully evil night, to which the superstition of the Jutes added the terror of their weird mythology.

As Ceolwulf, startled as he was for the moment by the flight of the night-jar, begun once more to pursue his way, a shrill cry, like that of a child in pain, only with a sound in it different to that which proceeds from human beings, startled him again.

The cry rose piercingly on the night, and then sank in silence once more.

"It's only an owl, I do believe," muttered Ceolwulf, looking in the direction of the sound. "But who can be stirring there at this time of night?" he added, as a flickering ruddy glare shone on the masonry of a remote part of the ruined Roman villa.