Chapter XII “The King shall have His Own Again.”
The wild cheering that answered the shouts of Ceolwulf and his party was scarcely over when the old ceorl appeared, accompanied by a number of Ælfhere’s former servants, carrying baskets of provisions and other comforts, from which it was quite evident that there was no further danger to be apprehended from Arwald or his followers; indeed, it was soon known to Athelhune and Ælfhere that all the men of Arwald’s party had been engaged in the late assault, and that there was no immediate risk of Arwald himself coming with a larger band, as the news would not reach him rapidly, seeing that all his men were either killed, wounded, or prisoners, and none of Ælfhere’s men were likely to report the matter. This was good news to Athelhune’s men, who were nearly worn out, and they were very soon engaged in discussing the good cheer.
Some of the choicest of the food was brought to Ælfhere, and although the wounded eorldoman was able to eat but little, yet that little seemed to do him good.
“Oh, father, what a joyful time is this!” cried Wulfstan, with his mouth full of a juicy morsel of pork pasty. “How I do wish Ædric were here! It seems years since I saw him; how he will wish he had had my luck!”
“My son,” said Ælfhere, “the gods have been good to us; we must remember to save of the arms of those robbers to make an offering to Woden. There is one of them taken alive; it will be as well to offer him up, that my ceorls who died when they attacked us that night may have one more foeman to hack in pieces in Valhalla. Mind thou seest to it that he is taken care of. Verily, as he hath made me suffer, so shall he suffer.”
Old Deva was all this time sitting rocking herself backward and forward over the fire she had lighted; near her was sitting her goat. The two seemed to understand each other. She was chanting some doggerel in an unknown tongue, in which the words “Arthur ap Uther Pendragon” seemed to occur very frequently, but nobody paid her any attention.
It had now become quite dark, and the scene was very picturesque; the men had piled up a large fire, and were stretched in various attitudes around it. They had laid the dead bodies of the Wihtwaras in a distant part of the ruins, for all were now dead; those who were mortally wounded having been put out of their sufferings by a merciful cynicism, human life in that rough age being very lightly valued.
The news of Ælfhere’s existence and the arrival of the young Eorl Wulfstan, with old Biggun, had spread over the neighbourhood, and all the populace had turned out, and were thronging round the ruins. Athelhune, who did not know whether they were to be trusted, was at first a little uneasy, and told his men secretly to be on their guard; but Ceolwulf soon reassured him, and he cast off all anxiety, feasting and enjoying himself with the rest.
Song and jest and practical joke rapidly succeeded, and it would have been hard to realise that only about an hour before that same spot had been the scene of a desperate fray, in which at least ten of the revellers had been deadly antagonists; but so it was then, when men were more like children than they are now, when the world has grown older, and the transitions from one frame of mind to another were more rapid and complete, and impressions were less lasting.
As all of Athelhune’s party were very weary, directions were given by Ceolwulf that a trusty band of the ceorls of Ælfhere should guard the ruins that night, while he and a few more returned to the half-burnt homestead at Brædynge. With him dispersed the rest of the crowd, and the ruins once more sank to their usual silence.
The night passed tranquilly enough. When day broke next morning, the sun rose on a sleeping band of men, and they were not aroused from their deep, refreshing sleep until the servants of Ælfhere were busied in preparing the morning meal.
Wulfstan woke with a deep sense of comfort. He was at home, as it were. Round him were the faces of many who had been familiar to him from infancy, and he sniffed up the fresh morning air that blew salt and pure from the sea with the relish of healthy youth.
The ruins bore a new aspect. Fresh rushes had been laid down near and around the little cabin where Ælfhere lay; a large iron vessel was steaming over the fire a little way off, from which the fragrant smell of a well-seasoned stew reached him, and this he appreciated even more than the pure air from the sea.
In different parts of the ruins his companions-in-arms were either still recumbent or were going through a simple toilet. Personal cleanliness was not much in fashion in the seventh century, except when it was likely to conduce to comfort, and not many, therefore, were found indulging in the luxury of a wash in the cold water from the well; but some there were, and of this number was Athelhune.
When all were aroused, breakfast was served. It was pleasant to Wulfstan to see how much better his father seemed this morning, and that Malachi also was going on well. He had had his wound dressed and strapped up again, and this time some linen was substituted for the rough remedies of Athelhune.
After breakfast a council of war was called, near the wounded Ælfhere, and it was debated what should be done next, as it was not likely Arwald would allow the death of his men to go unavenged, and the news was sure to reach him soon. It was also discussed whether it would not be better to move Ælfhere to the homestead again.
It was finally decided that this should be done, and it was also thought the restoration of the eorldoman to his home should be made as important as possible; for as Arwald was sure to hear of the matter very soon, it would be as well to let him know that the love of Ælfhere’s ceorls was still with their lawful lord, the descendant of the first chieftain that led the free band of roving Jutes to conquer the land for themselves and their descendants.
Messengers, therefore, were sent out to all the country round, and all the ceorls and their thralls were invited to assist at the ceremony of bringing home the eorldoman. It was also widely disseminated that Cædwalla had sent a large force to assist Ælfhere, and to restore the Wihtwaras and Wihtea to the domination of Wessex, a part of which kingdom it had originally formed, until Wulfhere, the son of Penda, had quite recently handed it over to Edilwalch, king of the South Saxons; who, however, had never done more than appoint Arwald as his deputy, with instructions to depress such of the Wihtwaras as still preserved any attachment to Wessex.
It was quite evident to Athelhune and Ælfhere that Arwald would not allow these proceedings to pass off unmolested; or, if he did not feel himself able to attack them at once, he would undoubtedly do so in the course of a few days, when he had collected enough men for the purpose; but they hoped that the ceorls and thralls would be all wrought up to enthusiasm by the unexpected return of their own eorldoman, and would be able to make a stubborn and effectual resistance.
To the surprise of all, Ælfhere seemed much better this morning: whether it were that the treatment of Malachi had really done any good, or that the excitement of the evening before, combined with the delightful satisfaction of having been saved by his own son, and seeing his enemies slain, had roused him from his despondent torpor, and so produced this good effect. But, from whichever cause it arose, there could be no doubt of the fact—he was decidedly better. His wounds looked more healthy, and he was much more cheerful.
The ruins of the Roman villa—for whatever Deva might think about her ancestors having built it, there was no doubt it was built by the Romans or Romanised Britons—were about two miles distant from the house of Ælfhere. Ceolwulf had given directions to have the house made as comfortable as possible, and all traces of its occupation by Arwald’s followers were carefully obliterated. Care also was taken that there should be a large supply of food; for no Saxon or English ceremony could be considered complete at which a large amount of good cheer was not consumed; and the usual result of a very splendid festival was the half starving of the poorer population for some weeks afterwards; but as it also had another effect, namely, the producing of a good many quarrels, which generally terminated fatally, the number of mouths to be filled subsequently was somewhat reduced.
When all was properly prepared, which was not until the afternoon, a litter was made for Ælfhere, and another for Malachi, who was now treated with greater respect, while old Deva was also placed in an important position; then Athelhune and Ceolwulf marshalled the procession. The advance was led by Ceolwulf, attended by all the old servants of Ælfhere carrying such hastily contrived banners as could be obtained for the occasion, and armed with axe and spear. Then came a crowd of thralls; a great many ceorls followed, all armed also; and immediately behind them came the litter of Malachi, followed by that of Ælfhere, by whose side walked Wulfstan and Deva, and attended by one or two of his own servants carrying refreshments. Behind the eorldoman came Athelhune, followed by Beornwulf and Osborn, and the four Boseham men, their arms all bright, and their accoutrements in proper order. This was the end of the organised procession, but a crowd of men, women, and children came thronging behind, shouting, talking, and gesticulating.
At the head of the whole procession marched a harper; there had not been time to get more than one. He was attended by a band of children, who sang desperately out of tune, and with a very hazy notion of the words, a song of welcome, and waved branches of oak leaves and holly, while some had bedecked themselves with the red berries of the wild iris, and sprigs of “Holm” or “butcher’s broom.”
The procession wound round the foot of the downs skirting the marshes, and then ascended a gentle rise, until, turning to the left among the tall trees, the old homestead suddenly appeared.
It was a long, low-built, thatched house, with no pretentions to architectural effect. One end was in ruins, and the gaunt, half-charred rafters produced a feeling of desolation, which was somewhat relieved by piles of straw lying ready to repair the damaged roof, while new timbers were in process of being sawn up in a pit close by; behind the house could be seen the higher roof of the barn, and other farm buildings, and the blue smoke curling up amid the brown trees gave a look of comfort very pleasing to Ælfhere and Wulfstan.
A few servants stood outside the house ready to receive their lord, and tables were set under the trees near, upon which a lavish amount of steaming joints, huge jugs of ale, and gigantic loaves were spread, and it was quite evident from the longing looks cast in this direction that unless the ceremonies were soon over the procession would dissolve of its own accord.
Ceolwulf therefore briefly welcomed his master home, to which Ælfhere as briefly replied, and then have directions that all should at once sit down and begin upon the feast, and he hoped that all would eat plenty and thoroughly enjoy themselves.
A loud cheer answered these few words, and instantly all was confusion. Ælfhere had told Ceolwulf to see that Wulfstan paid especial attention to Athelhune and his men, to whom seats of honour were assigned at the head of the principal table.
The feast passed off like all the feasts of those days: an enormous amount of food was consumed, a little wit went a very long way, and no one seemed much inclined to move. After the eating was over one or two loud voices seemed to show that some amount of quarrelling was going on, but Athelhune and Ceolwulf had determined that none of this should take place, and so order was well kept.
Had Arwald attacked them directly after the festivities he would have found an easy prey; but, fortunately for Ælfhere and his supporters, the news did not reach Arwald until late that day, and he was not in a position to move at once to the attack.
While the feast was at its height a boy rushed in and shouted that a boat was coming up the haven, and no one knew who it could be. Questioned by Ceolwulf, he said that the boat was not a large one but that there were several men on board, and from the sun shining on something bright, he thought they were well armed. Ceolwulf immediately sent a trusty man to find out what the boat was, and bring him word again.
Just as the festivities were ending this man returned, accompanied by four men in linked shirts of mail, and fully armed. On seeing them Athelhune leapt to his feet, and shouted:
“Welcome, noble Wulf. Thou comest at a happy time. Mayest thou bring us good tidings of our king.”
“I do, indeed, bring thee good tidings, Athelhune,” cried Wulf, or, as he is called in some histories Mollo. “King Centwine of Wessex is dead, and on his death-bed he named our Cædwalla his successor and directed the eorldomen of Wessex to go to find him, and bring him back as their king. This they did, and I left Cædwalla surrounded by the power of Wessex, recognised as their lawful lord, and successor to the line of Cerdic.”
“This is indeed good news,” said Athelhune, and then turning to the assembled crowd he called out:
“Men of Wihtea, our lawful overlord has got back his kingdom; let us all thank the gods for this good news, and raise three cheers for Cædwalla.”
Instantly all caps were off, all the crowd of revellers were on their feet, and three deafening cheers burst from the lungs of the mob.
The news was really important, for now the tables were likely to be turned upon Arwald, and instead of his venturing to attack them, they would be able to attack him. As the news became known in Wihtea all men would return to their allegiance to Wessex, and it would fare very ill with Arwald. However, as the allegiance of the Wihtwaras had hitherto been more nominal than real, there was not any certainty that they would welcome any actual interference on the part of Cædwalla; for, like all islanders, they were very jealous of any external control. But it was a great object for the rival chiefs of the island to use the moral influence of the name of a powerful authority on the mainland; and, as it was everywhere known that Ælfhere had supported the authority of Wessex, while Arwald had represented Edilwalch and Mercia, it was easily understood that since Edilwalch was dead, and his slayer had succeeded to the throne of Cerdic, Ælfhere was likely to be more powerful than Arwald.
The arrival too of Cædwalla’s own brother, Wulf, accompanied by three such stalwart-looking warriors, brought a very material support, as well as a moral one, to the cause of Ælfhere, and the feasting, which was nearly over, was renewed with more joyous ardour.
Wulfstan did the honours bravely, but presently got tired of all the noise and feasting, and very nearly fell asleep two or three times. At last, Athelhune suggested to Ceolwulf that the poor boy should be sent in to his father, to tell him the news.
When Wulfstan entered his father’s room he found that he already knew the good tidings, and was deeply thankful for the turn of fortune, but at the same time, knowing Arwald as well as he did, he was not at all confident that all would go well, for he knew that Cædwalla would not be able to bring him assistance at once, and Arwald was too powerful to give up his pre-eminence in the island without a fight. Being also a skilful as well as brave leader, Ælfhere well knew he would realise the necessity of striking before the ceorls and thralls had recovered from their late crushing defeat, and especially before any reinforcements could reach the island from Cædwalla. Filled with such thoughts, therefore, Ælfhere did not respond to Wulfstan’s joy quite so readily. This was a disappointment to the boy, who was brimful of happiness at the bright prospects that were opening up for them.
“Why, father, thou seemest not nearly so merry as I should have thought thou wouldst have been,” said the boy, in a disappointed tone.
“We are not yet out of the wood,” answered Ælfhere. “If we can resist the attack which Arwald is sure to make on us, either to-morrow, or the next day, or can hold our own until Cædwalla sends us reinforcements, all will be well.”
“But, father, see how well we fought last night, and then there were only four of us, now there are ever so many. Thou hast not seen the Atheling Wulf who has just come; he is nearly as splendid as Cædwalla himself, and that is as much as saying he is like a god. Thou never sawest anyone so handsome or brave; and thou oughtest to hear old Biggun tell how he took Cissanceaster. Thou dost not really think we are not able to beat any of that villain Arwald’s lot, dost thou?”
“Well, Wulfy, we’ve done very well, and Athelhune and the Atheling will no doubt guard against a surprise, but there will be hard knocks, and the Wihtwaras fight well.”
“But we are Wihtwaras too, father.”
“True, my son, but we are not as many as those whom Arwald will bring—but it is no good discouraging the lad,” muttered Ælfhere to himself, “Like enough, being wounded and in sore pain, I look on the dark side, and the boy is right. Well, Wulfy, I have no doubt we shall do well enough, but I should like to see this same prince before night comes on; and Ceolwulf must see that proper guards are set, and all things made ready in case Arwald should come.”
“Shall I bid Biggun come, father?”
“Aye, do, my boy, if he can be spared from the feast.”
The boy left the room, and speedily gave his father’s message to Ceolwulf, who immediately told Athelhune that the eorldoman would like to see the Atheling Wulf.
But Wulf the Atheling was very unlike his brother Cædwalla; he had been spoilt as a child, and was wilful, inconsiderate, and self-indulgent: the only quality he and his brother had in common was great personal courage. As, therefore, he was enjoying himself at the banquet, he declined to accede to Ælfhere’s request, saying that he would come the next morning, when there was nothing better to do.
Ceolwulf was much displeased at this answer, but there was no help for it; so, asking Athelhune to do the honours in his absence, he accompanied his young master to the wounded eorldoman.
“Ceolwulf,” said Ælfhere, “the news is indeed good, but let us not lose the wine now the cup is at our lips. You know Arwald, and that he is not likely to let the power he has got in this island slip through his fingers without fighting for it; and we have had too bitter experience already of what comes from keeping a careless watch. I trust, therefore, that thou wilt take every care for the night, and learn the earliest news thou canst of what is going on round Wihtgarsbyryg.”
“Aye, that will I,” answered old Biggun. “We had enough broken heads the last time to make those who were able to keep their brains in their skulls then, do all they can to keep them there now. I’ve sent Leofa and the boy Stuff to get as much news as they can, and to tell anything that comes into his head about us. The boy Stuff is a good boy at putting a man on a wrong trail; he has a way of looking stupid-like, and not seeming to understand, and then answering with a question that gets more out than he tells.”
“When they come back, mind thou tellest me. How hast thou placed the outposts?”
“Oh, well enough! if they are not too drunk, that is,” said Ceolwulf, scratching his head doubtfully. “Leastways, I shall have to go round myself, I doubt not; but they are all placed where they ought to be, and if they allow themselves to be knocked on the head they ought at least to give a squeak first; but there, they’ve drunk a sight of ale, they have, and perhaps if they get killed they’ll only think they are dreaming, and forget to make any noise about it.”
“Well, Ceolwulf, I shall trust to thee. I don’t myself think there is much danger of attack before morning, and they will be all right by that time. What dost thou think of this Atheling Wulf?”
“Humph! He can fight well enough when he likes, but fighting isn’t everything; he can’t obey, and he has got no doggedness in him. However, the more we have the better, and Athelhune is here to keep him in order a bit, that’s one comfort. Hark to that hubbub! If I don’t go there’ll be a fight before long.”
And so it seemed, for angry voices could plainly be heard, and Ælfhere bid Ceolwulf go at once to restore order. When Ceolwulf returned to the festivities, he found that one of the Boseham men, excited by the ale, was loudly boasting of the superiority of the South Saxons to the Wihtwaras, and an excited Wihtwara was as clamorously proclaiming their superiority to the South Saxons; while Wulf, to amuse himself, was promoting the rivalry by timely words. Fortunately Ceolwulf returned just in time to prevent blows, and, with Athelhune’s help, order was once more restored.
As it was now getting very dark, a move began to be made by most of the ceorls to their homes, and in a short time the old homestead was comparatively deserted.
Wulf, Athelhune, and their companions, were sheltered in the house and barns for the night, and Ceolwulf and some of the most faithful of the servants took it in turns to keep watch during the hours of darkness.