Chapter X “For My Sake, be Comfortable.”
The bold speech of Ceolwulf produced the most absolute silence. The fire had now become a mere heap of glowing embers, and nothing was distinguishable in the darkness.
As Ceolwulf peered into the blackness where the voices had seemed to come from, he thought he could hear a faint rustle as of some one moving. Again his superstitious fears came over him. He was seized with panic, and turning to make a hasty retreat, he caught his foot in a trailing branch of ivy and came heavily to the ground.
Muttering a terrified and hasty ejaculation, he rose to his feet, and for the moment forgot which way he had come. While turning over in his mind this important question, he heard a hollow voice say:
“Is it really thou, Biggun, or art thou a dream of my weary and fitful brain?”
“Surely, my lord, it is thy voice; but if thou art dead, let me not see thee.”
“I am alive, Biggun, but have not long to live. Come nearer. Put some sticks on the fire before it goes out, that I may see thee, whether thou art my faithful Ceolwulf or not.”
Ceolwulf did as he was told, but with considerable difficulty, for it was no easy matter to find any dry sticks, and had it not been for the help of the old woman, who came out to assist him, he would scarcely have been able to accomplish his object. When the fire burnt up again brightly, Ceolwulf, to his disgust, found that the terrible witch whom he had so dreaded was no other than the poor old slave Deva, the most despised of the female serfs in Ælfhere’s household.
“Why, Deva, woman, how didst thou save thy life when so many better than thou died around the homestead?”
“It is not the lowly blade of grass the storm lays low, but the lofty wheatstalk.”
“True; but who would have thought of thee being the only one left to care for our master? Thou art a better woman, Deva, than I took thee for.”
“Ceolwulf,” said the invisible Ælfhere, “stand not prating there, but come here that I may see thee, and hear tidings of my sons, if they yet live.”
The woman Deva took up a half-burnt brand from the fire, and going before Ceolwulf to light him, pointed to a rude couch made of a few skins.
On this lay a wasted form, the lower limbs swathed in bandages, and a blood-stained cloth around the head. The face was ghastly white, and an unkempt and grizzly beard spread over the chest.
“My lord, my lord, it is thou of a surety; but how art thou changed!” cried Ceolwulf.
“Speak not of that, man; tell me of my boys.”
“They are well, my lord, and one is not far hence.”
“Not a prisoner in the hands of the traitor Arwald? Tell me not that; anything but that!”
“No, my lord, not so bad as that. He is safe among a trusty band of men who have come to win for thee thine own again.”
“Thou bringest me life, Ceolwulf. Oh that I could live to revenge me on that nithing! then I should go to the land of heroes and feast for ever among my ancestors! But tell me more.”
Ceolwulf then narrated the events of the past three weeks, making as light as he could of the wound of Ædric, and praising the manliness and enterprise of Wulfstan.
As Ælfhere listened his eye grew bright and his breathing quick, while at the narration of the assault on Cissanceaster he could not forbear to exclaim, “Well done, brave sword!” “Bravely sped, keen axe!” at each episode of the hard-fought fight.
“That Cædwalla is worthy to succeed to the throne of Cerdic, and I trust he may yet fare well! So those strange men,” alluding to the monks, “were hospitable to thee, were they? And yet they were strangers in blood and language. It is odd how Deva here, instead of handing me over to Arwald, as she might have done, has nursed me and tended me as if I were of her race and had always benefited her; but this is no time for thinking, we must act, Ceolwulf——” Then, suddenly recollecting his crippled condition, he added, despairingly: “Ah, well, I talk of acting, who must lie here while death-blows are dealing. Aye, and must die, too, before I can drink the blood of my enemies.”
“Say not so, my lord; with care and attention, and with the assistance of the bald-headed man I have brought with me, I doubt not we shall have thee well and on thy legs in a few days.”
“No, Ceolwulf, no, my fighting days are done, and I shall soon rest with my fathers. But enough of this. Thou must get thee back to thy men. What thinkest thou of bringing them hither? There is water here. Thou canst make a stout defence of these old walls if thou art attacked. No fire will hurt them now, and it will be a safe hiding-place, if it be thought well to keep concealed.”
“It is well planned, my lord, but I do not yet know the state of feeling among the old servants and people round; however, we cannot go on much longer, for we must have food, and this will do as well as the place where they now are, or better, for aught I know. Shall I bring them here to-night, my lord?”
“Aye, Ceolwulf, do so, and that quickly, for I fain would see my little son before I die. And thou hadst best do it before dawn too, that no prying eyes may see thy march.”
“I will, my lord; but had not Deva best allow the fire to go out, or, at least, to bank it up, lest any other stray passer should be attracted by it, as I was?”
“There’s none dare venture near,” said Deva, contemptuously; and then added bitterly: “The memory of their evil deeds haunts this place, and the sons of those who murdered the innocents shudder for the iniquity of their fathers without knowing wherefore.”
“I go, then, my lord; and when thou hearest the cry of the curlew repeated four times, know it will be the signal of our approach, and let Deva, there, light a brand, that we may see where to enter.”
So saying, Ceolwulf disappeared in the darkness, and Deva prepared to attend to the fire, banking it up to burn some time, but so as not to give much light.
It did not take the hardy old Jute long to reach the encampment of his allies. They had already got things into order, and, under the practised hand and eye of Athelhune, a fairly defensive breastwork of timber surrounded the little clearing.
Four men also were posted as sentries, and Ceolwulf was challenged by a rough voice before he could get nearer than two hundred yards of the camp, and so well did the man understand his duty that he did this without himself giving any clue to his whereabouts, having concealed himself in the brushwood, so as to command the only natural approach.
“’Tis a friend, man—Ceolwulf; let me pass.”
On hearing and recognising his voice, the sentry emerged from his ambush.
“Is all well?” said Ceolwulf.
“Aye, aye, there’s naught stirring; but we are all grievous hungry,” grumbled the man.
“Thou shalt have food enough soon,” and Ceolwulf strode past to the encampment. Here he found all, excepting another man on guard at the entrance, were sound asleep. Wulfstan was lying near Malachi, and Stuff was sleeping near a burly Boseham man, who had taken the precaution to tie a thong tightly to the boy’s hands, and allowing sufficient play for the boy to turn over, had made the other end fast to his own wrist.
Ceolwulf went up to Athelhune, and, shaking him vigorously, soon woke him up.
“What is it, man? Canst not let me have a quiet night for once?” growled the still sleepy chieftain.
“Thou shalt sleep fast enough presently, and with better chance of food and safety than here, but thou must rouse up now. There’s work to be done first, and good news to cheer thee besides. The Eorldoman Ælfhere is still alive.”
“Truly?”
“True as I stand here. I have seen him and talked with him.”
“That ought to help us much with the country side. When they know their lord is alive and is at the head of a trusty band, they will gather thick round him.”
“Aye, that they will; but we will talk of this presently. We must move our camp at once before dawn to where he is.”
In a few moments all was stir and confusion. The sentries were still left at their posts to keep watch, while the others quickly packed up such things as they had brought. When all was ready, the men were arranged in line, the sentinels were called in, and Ceolwulf put himself at the head. The column then filed off into the path, and without further adventure reached the ford which Ceolwulf had crossed. Here they halted, while Ceolwulf took three men with him and reconnoitered as far as the outskirts of the ruins. Stopping here himself, he sent the men back, telling two of them to halt at equal distances from himself and the main body, while the third man was to act as guide.
Having given these directions, he imitated the cry of the curlew four times, at the preconcerted intervals of time.
As Ceolwulf stood awaiting the lighting of the fire-brand that should have answered his signal, he heard a twig broken a few yards from where he was standing, and, peering through the gloom, he fancied he descried a figure move off into a denser part of the thicket.
While he was hesitating whether to follow it or not the flashing of the torch diverted his attention, and the speedy arrival of the main body made it necessary to see to their guidance into the ruins. However, thinking it of very great importance that their movements should not be observed, and feeling tolerably sure that there was someone concealed there, he directed four of the young men to go through the bush, and, either pursue, capture, or kill, any one who might be there.
He then guided the others towards the entrance to the ruins, a proceeding made all the easier by the light of the torch.
Ceolwulf had not yet told Wulfstan of the discovery he had made, fearing the boy, in the wild delight of the surprise, should do some foolish thing, and break the silence so necessary to their movements. He now, however, took him aside, and, telling him he had something of very great importance to confide, impressed upon him at the same time the necessity of absolute quiet. When he saw that the boy was quite ready to give his submission to what should be required of him, he told the joyful news.
Wulfstan for a moment was almost beside himself with joy, but a look from Ceolwulf restrained him, and he managed to master his transports.
“Oh, Ceolwulf, where is he?” whispered the boy. “Can’t I see him? is he very ill?”
“Thou shalt see him, Wulf; but he is very ill, and thou must not trouble him with questions.”
“Ceolwulf, hast thou brought my boy?” called the voice of Ælfhere.
At the sound of his father’s voice Wulfstan started away from Ceolwulf, and in a moment was at the side of the couch. Pressing his father’s feeble, hot hands, he whispered, “Father, father, I am so glad! I never thought I should see thee again. Oh, poor father, how thou must have suffered! Ah! that nithing Arwald, he shall pay for this.”
“That’s right, my own Wulf, there spake the blood of the free Jute. I shall die now happier, knowing that I leave behind me one who will one day grow up a worthy upholder of the honour of Cerdic,” said Ælfhere, fondly caressing his son’s curly head.
A deep sigh close by startled Wulfstan.
“Why, father, who is here? didst thou hear that sigh?”
“It’s only old Deva, my son; she has been good to me, and thou must do all thou canst to make her more comfortable when thou gainest possession of the homestead.”
“Why does she sigh like that? father, is she ill, too?”
“No, but she is a woman, and a slave, and has poor, dastardly thoughts. She would not have us avenge our wrongs; what thinkest thou of that?” and Ælfhere laughed a scoffing laugh.
“Why, father, that’s what brother Malachi says too.”
And he was going to tell his father all about that curious man, when Ceolwulf came up, bringing Athelhune with him, and then they all three talked over the fortifying of the ruins and their plans for getting provisions.
These topics did not please Wulfstan, who very soon dropped off to sleep by the side of his father. Deva brought a stone, and, covering it with a portion of one of the skins off the couch, placed it under his head for a pillow, and so left him, after throwing over him another covering.
The rest of the band had now settled down for the night, sentries, as before, being placed at proper posts, and all was once more silent.
Before Ceolwulf prepared to take his well-earned rest for the short period of the night that yet remained, he inquired whether the four men whom he had sent to follow up the figure he had seen in the bushes had returned. Greatly to his dissatisfaction he heard that they had come back, but had discovered no signs of anyone.
“We shall hear more of that to-morrow, I doubt not,” growled the old man, as he lay down to rest not far from his master, Ælfhere.
The next day was some little way advanced before the men were astir, Wulfstan, as usual, being the first to awake.
He could scarcely believe he was not still dreaming when he saw his wounded father lying on the couch beside him; however, recollections of the past night soon brought back a sense of reality, and he gazed at the worn and ghastly face of his father with tears of pity and sympathy.
One by one the others woke up, until at last the whole party was up and about. Such of the food as was left from the previous day was now divided equally, but it was not enough to satisfy the hunger of these vigorous men, and all agreed that something must be done to obtain a fresh supply.
Ceolwulf and Athelhune decided that the first thing to do was to put the ruins in a state of defence, and for this purpose all hands were set to work at once. The hewn stones that faced the rough rubble of the walls were piled up as skilfully as they were able to arrange it, and the space to be defended was much contracted; but they took care to enclose the well within their walls.
Cutting down some of the brushwood which grew close against the ruins, they made a rude shelter with the boughs, and wattled it with hazel. Into this cabin they carried the Eorldoman Ælfhere, whose wounds had been examined by Malachi, and pronounced very serious; indeed, it was a marvel he had lived so long, for the battle-axe of the Jutes and Saxons did not leave much life in a foeman when once it was driven home. In Ælfhere’s case, however, the blow had been partially turned aside by the eorldoman’s own axe. When Athelhune, who now that the conduct of the expedition was completed had taken command in right of his rank as eorldoman and chief officer of Cædwalla, saw that the defences could be completed without much more labour, he consulted with Ceolwulf about the necessity of sending out a party to forage. There was no question about the absolute need of getting food, only it was a matter of great importance not to alienate the sympathy of Ælfhere’s ceorls or labourers; but as nearly all the cattle and crops, of which there was very slight store, belonged to Ælfhere, and were now in the hands of Arwald’s eorldoman who was left in the occupation of the house at Brædynge, there was less chance of their taking anything that belonged to any one else. At this early time in the Saxon settlements the free rovers, who had come under the leadership of their own elected chiefs, were still very free and independent, and the difference between the eorls and the ceorls was much less marked than it was in the later Saxon time, when in the days of Æthelred the life of a ceorl was valued at a third of the “were,” or money value of a thane, and a sixth of that of a royal thane: but in the seventh century, and in the unsettled state of the lawless parts of the South Saxon and West Saxon kingdoms, the right of each eorldoman depended very much upon his might, and the title to property, both real and personal, rested chiefly upon the power of defending what each man possessed by his own strong arm and good sword, supported by such adherents as affection or interest attached to him.
It was therefore decided that at nightfall Ceolwulf should take out two of the most enterprising men, and carry off what he could from the barns around the old house of Ælfhere. The men who were told off for this service were directed to rest. The others went on with the completion of the defences.
After Malachi had attended to the wounded and seemingly dying eorldoman, he began to examine the ruins of the building in which he found himself.
The whole place was littered with débris, broken pottery, fallen columns, decaying rafters that had once supported the roof, and tiles. The work of clearing away a space round the well had disclosed several curious short columns made of tiles all very close together, but the spaces had been hastily filled again to render the standing room all the firmer. During the progress of raising the walls the men had uncovered here and there fragments of coloured designs, which they would have liked to explore further, but Athelhune was anxious to get the defences in a fitting state to stand an assault before nightfall, and all examination of them was at that time put off.
Malachi, however, being looked upon as a rather feeble idiot, was allowed to do what he liked, and he had now uncovered a picture such as he had never seen before, at least not in that style and size.
Such art productions as he had ever seen consisted in a few pictures in an illuminated manuscript which belonged to a monastery in his native Ireland or Ierne: among them was one representing our Lord under the symbol of the Good Shepherd. The pictures were the work of a Byzantine artist, and traces of classical influence were naturally seen in the designs and their treatment. He was, therefore, at once struck by the similarity of the large figure playing on some musical instrument, surrounded by animals, to the illumination of the Good Shepherd. His delight, which was very great, was caused not only by the novelty and beauty of the discovery, but because he concluded that there must have been Christians here—a somewhat rash conclusion to come to on such a slight foundation.
While he was removing still more of the rubbish, he was aroused from his absorption by an aged voice near him saying:
“Ah, many’s the time I have looked at that picture, and thought of them that did it.”
“What! woman, thou knowest who did this?” cried Malachi in astonishment, looking at the aged form of the old woman.
Without immediately answering him, Deva looked at him for some time, and then slowly said:
“And who be ye? Thou art not a Saxon; thy speech is different, and thy clothes are different, and thou lookest not like a blood-thirsty fellow such as they are. What are ye?”
“I am a poor servant of our Lord, come into these parts to see if I cannot do the Lord’s work among the heathen.”
“The Lord!—the Lord’s work!—the heathen!” repeated the old woman as one in a daze. “’Tis long, long since I heard these words. I doubt if there’s any left in all these parts who know even what such words mean. Man, what art thou? I mean whence comest thou? What race art thou of?”
Malachi briefly explained that he was an Irish monk come to preach among the heathen Saxons, and on questioning her, in turn, was overjoyed to find that she still had preserved a dim memory of the truths of Christianity, obscured by the mists of six generations of bondage, and unassisted by any contact with other Christians. On being questioned closely, however, she acknowledged she had heard that there was still a holy man left, who was said to live in a cave in the face of a high cliff overlooking the sea. Tradition said he had learnt what he knew from a succession of holy men who had retired there when the island was taken by the Jutes under Whitgar and Stuffa.
The two were now joined by Wulfstan, who had always been very frightened of poor old Deva, whom he looked upon as a witch; but now that he had seen so much of the world he felt it would not do to have these ideas any longer. As there was now nothing more to be done but wait patiently for Ceolwulf to return with the party that had gone out after the food, he asked Malachi to tell him a story; but Malachi, who wanted to learn more about these ruins, suggested that Deva should tell them all she knew.
The poor old woman was in a talking mood. She looked upon the arrival of Malachi as an answer to her complaint of the night before, and she somehow felt that she was not so lonely. Here was a man who had the same ideas as herself, and knew far more than she did of the real, true faith, and one who, like the Master she dimly served, was ready to lay down his life for the good of others.
The wish of her heart was going to be realised; she would learn more about the Lord before she died. Being in this happy frame of mind, she was willing to do what was wanted of her, and said she would try and recollect things told her by her mother and grandmother.
Wulfstan stretched himself on the pavement to listen, while Malachi sat with hands folded and an intelligent interest on his ascetic features.