Chapter XVI “Blessed are the Peacemakers.”
The next day Ædric awoke early. It took him some time to realise where he was. The dim light of morning came in through a narrow aperture in the walls, and he could only just make out surrounding objects. All was very quiet. He could see that he was in a little room, neatly furnished with a wooden settle or stool, and the wooden bed on which he lay. There was a little wooden cross on the wall by the side of his bed, and some writing underneath it, at which Ædric stared, not quite liking it. He thought it must be writing, for it was rather like some marks on the horn at home, and which he had been told were spells. He wished it was rather lighter, or that some one would come, for he could not tell what the runes might do, they might contain some enchantment, it was better not to look at them. Presently he heard the same solemn sound he had heard last night, it sounded very beautiful as it plaintively pealed through the building, now rising in sustained unison, then sinking in deeper notes, appearing to swell and sink and swell again, appealing in mystical utterance to an invisible but all-powerful Being. When the music ceased, Ædric could hear a continuous sound of human tongues, then one deep musical voice, followed by a solemn melodious blending of all the tones.
Soon after, he heard the noise of steps at his room, over the entrance of which a curtain hung, and in another moment Corman entered, much to the boy’s relief.
“Oh! how glad I am to see thee, Corman, I feared thou hadst gone away.”
“I should not have gone without seeing thee first, Ædric; how hast thou slept?”
“Very well. I feel much better, I believe I shall be able to walk without any help, to-morrow, if I am allowed to practise a little to-day—but what was that sound? what have they been doing? I never heard anything like it.”
“That was the morning service, or matins, and I have just come from it. But thou hadst better get up now, and I will help thee into the Refectory, where we are all going to have breakfast.”
When Corman and Ædric entered the large room or hall, into which they had first come the evening before, they found the room nearly full. Wilfrid was at the head of the table, on each side of him were Bernwine and Hildila, while all down the long table were a few monks, some lay domestics, and several boys, who all looked curiously at Ædric. One of the monks led Corman and Ædric to their vacant places, and then grace was said by another monk at the lower end of the table, after which all sat down, and the same monk who had said grace, began to read out of the beautiful book that had so attracted Ædric’s attention the night before.
The breakfast consisted of a portion of fish to each person, and a portion of oatmeal porridge made with water. There was water to drink, but at Wilfrid’s table there was a jug of milk, of which, however, the Bishop only took very sparingly, but he sent it down to Ædric, and another monk who seemed delicate, bidding them take it for their bodily comfort.
The fish had been caught by Wilfrid himself, who had taught the ignorant South Saxons how to supply themselves with this wholesome food, and, like many men remarkable for their intellectual gifts, he was especially pleased with the success of his skill in the gentle craft.
No word was spoken during the meal, all listened attentively to the reading of the monk. He was reading from “The Dialogues” of Pope Gregory the Great, but Ædric naturally did not understand a word, as it was all in Latin; when Corman afterwards told him the marvellous tales that the monk had read, he wished much that he could have understood it, and longed more than ever to look at the pictures, and made up his mind he would like to learn to read. When all had finished, the reader closed the book and said grace, after which he sat down and had his own breakfast, while the rest dispersed. It appeared that each man had his allotted task; some went to the outhouses whither the platters and other appliances of the breakfast table were taken, and were there washed up; one of the lay brothers winding up a bucket of water from the well hard by, and heating it in a copper. Others went to a tool-house, and taking their hoes and mattocks went out to the garden on the south side of the little settlement. The choir boys were taken off to the church and were there taught general knowledge, as well as music, by Bernwine. Hildila took two or three monks with him and they carefully practised writing under his instruction.
Wilfrid beckoned to Corman to bring Ædric up to him.
The boy felt very shy when he saw the clear piercing grey eyes of the celebrated Bishop searching him through and through. For in Wilfrid’s face there was that presence of a will, which is always so marked in men who have been great in the world, and this will makes its presence felt without a word being spoken, as the needle, when magnetised, is powerless to resist the attraction of the mysterious pole.
“My son, brother Corman has told me all about thee. He tells me how patient thou hast been under suffering, and how thou hast been brought to wish to lead a better life. Thank God for thy pain, for by it thou hast been enabled to learn the way of salvation, and mayst be intended for a blessed purpose, even the awakening of thy people from the dark night of Paganism to the glorious light of the Gospel.”
Ædric looked timidly at Wilfrid: he did not know what to say, he could not talk to him as he had done to Father Dicoll and brother Corman. He felt he could only learn by hearing, not by questioning, which, to a boy, is so much the preferable way, but which, unless carefully directed, leads many times to a desultory and fruitless end.
Wilfrid went on, seeing that the boy was listening: “Thou wilt be able to learn many things here. When thou art thoroughly taught in all that is necessary, thou shalt be baptised; and when thou hast quite recovered, thou canst return to thine own land and teach thine own people. For what more beautiful or holy object canst thou have in life than the hope of meeting those who have been brought to eternal life by thy means? Think what a blessed thing it would be if the Almighty should employ thee as His messenger. And be not daunted, my son, by the scoffs and jeers of the world; rather count them as so much glorious proof that thou art doing God’s will. What saith our Lord: ‘Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you. Rejoice and be exceeding glad for great is your reward in heaven.’ Think not, my son, either that the reward is far off: all good men have reckoned that the sufferings of this present life are as nothing compared with the joys or sufferings of eternity. Think, for it is perfectly true, the short period of thy life here will make or mar thine everlasting life. Thou canst not grasp the word ‘ever-lasting,’ neither can I. But now thou lookest forward to change; each day, each hour has some hope in it. Then, there will be no change, not in the sense in which we understand change; and if we have hopes, for no man knoweth what is beyond, unless, perchance he has seen it in dim visions of the night, like that soldier thou didst hear of whom the holy Gregory knew—but I forgot, thou dost not yet understand Latin—they are hopes that will not affect our weal or woe, for it is by this life we shall be judged. And all men now believe that the times are at hand when God shall come to judge His people. What said the holy Gregory, now nearly a hundred years ago: ‘But a short time, and the earth and the heavens will burn, and among the blazing elements, amid angels and archangels, and thrones and dominions, and principalities and powers, the terrible Judge will appear!’ The times are very evil; around us are wars, and rumours of war; famine and pestilence have been stalking throughout the land; kingdom rises against kingdom; and who shall say that the time of our visitation draweth not nigh. Who then, my son, would count the sufferings of this present time as compared with the joys that shall be hereafter? Work then, my son, pray, mortify thy flesh, wrestle against the desires of the body, not forgetting that while we do only our duty, we cannot merit anything of ourselves, but can only be saved through the all-abounding grace of our Saviour. Of these things thou wilt learn more from the instruction of Bernwine, and may the blessing of the Almighty rest upon thee. If thou art in any difficulties, or doubts, or earthly sorrows, come to me, though of these I trust thou wilt soon be free, for the first step in the Divine life is to think naught of earthly affection and lusts, for what said the holy Fulgentius1: ‘Youth can easily bear any burden when once it has learnt to despise human affections.’ I trust, in a short time, to hear well of thee from thy instructor, and that the lessons thou art learning are likely to bear fruit. But remember docility is the chief quality. Thou must pray for the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which most becomes a follower of our Lord, for, truly, Solomon says: ‘My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of his correction.’”
After this little discourse, Wilfrid arose, and saying that he would send Bernwine to them in a little time, left the refectory.
“He seems much better than I had expected,” said Ædric to Corman, “but I don’t think I could ever talk to him as I did to Father Dicoll. He seems as though he knew too much.”
“I daresay thou wilt find Bernwine easier to talk to, although Father Dicoll could not have talked to you in a kinder way, or told you anything better. It is not with children Wilfrid would show anything that Father Dicoll or I should disapprove. He is far too wise and good a man to let children see that there are controversies among Christians, and I sometimes think we have done wrong in letting thee know that we differ on some points from the Bishop. If we have erred, may the Lord forgive us; but, truly, the heart of man is desperately deceitful and wicked, and the Evil one is always on the watch to catch one tripping. But here comes Bernwine. Now, I hope thou wilt remember all Father Dicoll and I have tried to teach thee.”
As Corman spoke, Bernwine entered the refectory. The ecclesiastic who now appeared, had not contrasted favourably in appearance as he sat next Wilfrid. He was strongly built, stout, and florid in complexion; but his bright, black eyes twinkled with a kindly expression when he spoke, and the corners of his mouth had an occasional twitch, which added to the humorous way he had in talking.
“Well, my son, and so thou hast come to the island of the seals, hast thou? truly an amphibious kind of place at the best of times; but when it blows a gale, it is really hard to see where the dry land is. The sea flies over us in such sheets that I verily believe there won’t be much island for the seals, or anyone else soon. And how dost thou feel after thy day on the plank bed, in the midst of the mud?”
Ædric was amused at the priest’s garrulity, and said that he felt very nearly well.
“That’s right, that’s right. Thou wilt soon be able to walk to matins, complines, and vespers; and we’ll give thee a job in the garden that will just suit thee.”
“But mayn’t I learn to read, and hear stories out of that splendid book?”
“All in good time, my son, and each in its place; doubtless, thou hast learnt many stories all the time thou hast been nursed by our kind brother Corman here.”
“We have done all we could to awaken in him a lively faith in our holy religion,” said Corman.
“I doubt it not, my brother, and the good seed will bear happy fruit some day. And so thou comest from Wihtea? Well, now, I have looked at that island many a time, for we can see it quite plainly from the shore, and wondered who lived there. I come from a very different part; my home was in Bernicia, on the borders of Deira. Thou rememberest Gregory’s pun—De ira Dei? No; of course thou dost not—how shouldest thou. Thou never learnedst Latin. Ah! but we will teach thee; dost thou know anything at all?”
“Yes, I know many things. I can row, I can hit a mark with my bow and arrow at sixty paces, and I can ride.”
“Ah, all excellent accomplishments, I don’t doubt; I could do most of them myself at thy age; but that was not what I meant. Canst thou say any prayers? Dost thou know thy letters? Hast thou ever had the Bible read to thee?”
“I can say ‘Our Father,’ in Latin as well as English. I do not know any letters. Father Dicoll had no books, and so he could not teach me to read; but he tried to teach me my letters, when I lay outside the hut, by scratching them on the sand; but as there were stones in the way, I couldn’t always make them out. But he used to say long pieces of tales from the Bible. He told me often about David, and that big giant: about a great ship that took in all the animals, and about a magician whom the lions would not eat.”
“I see thou hast profited by thy stay at Boseham. We must see that thou dost not lose what thou hast learnt, and, perhaps, we may even add something to it. Now, the first thing is to explain to thee how thou wilt pass thy time here. Thou canst not yet do as the others do, for thou canst not move about freely; but I will tell a boy to take care of thee, and always help thee to move when there is need, and to be a companion to thee; his name is Sigfryd, and he is the son of the South Saxon Eorldoman Tosti. He will like to help thee, for he has been taught that ‘whosoever will be great, let him be as a servant,’ and again, that we should ‘bear each other’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.’ For the present, then, thou wilt get up at seven and come to matins, then thou wilt spend an hour learning to read: then thou wilt have breakfast. After that, Father Hildila will teach thee the holy life, and Bible history. Then at noon, thou wilt try and take a little exercise, with Sigfryd’s aid; which over, thou wilt come to me, with the other boys, and learn the meaning of the prayers and daily services, and practice responses and chaunting, according to the method of the sainted Gregory. After that, the bell will sound for service; thou wilt then go back to thy cell and meditate on all thou hast learnt, remembering to ask me such questions as have occurred to thee—— But Beate Martine! what is all this racket and noise about?” broke off Father Bernwine, as a confused din of shouts, and cries, and struggling, resounded outside, mingled with the tolling of the bell which summoned all the community to assemble in the hardly-finished stone church.
Bernwine and Corman instantly ran to the door, and were nearly knocked down by a crowd of men; some armed, some without arms, rushing into the room.
“Holy Benedict!” exclaimed Father Bernwine; “but who are ye, and what do ye want here? breaking in upon our pious meditation, with no more compunction than a wild hog into a garden of cucumbers. What means it all?”
One of the intruders, more collected than the rest, answered:
“Be not wroth, holy Father; to implore pity, shelter and protection, we have come. We have no wish to do thee injury, and will go where thou mayest appoint, if only thou wilt save our lives.”
“Surely, man; but who threatens thy life? What means this noise and tumult outside? Let me get out to find Wilfrid; he may be slain in all this confusion, for aught I know.”
All the while the bell kept tolling, and the burly form of Bernwine forced a way through the crowding mass. Outside there was even worse tumult. Men on horseback were galloping about—a few, who seemed not quite to have lost all self-control, were forming themselves into some sort of order, and under the guidance of a few mounted eorls, were marching off to take up a position on the road leading to Cissanceaster. Bernwine could see that a great many were grievously wounded, and many had fallen to the ground either from exhaustion, or from the dreadful nature of their wounds. Hastily forcing his way to the door of the church, which was thronged with fugitives, the priest elbowed his way through the crowd, and entering the sacred building, he found Wilfrid robed in his full episcopal vestments, the rest of the community drawn up in processional order, and Hildila carrying the cross of the Arch-episcopal see of York, before Wilfrid.
“What means all this tumult, quare fremuerunt gentes, holy Bishop,” said the panting Bernwine.
“It is the rout of the Eorldoman Berchthune and Andhune by Cædwalla, whom they rashly strove to oppose. We must perform the noblest duty of a Christian shepherd, and guard the flock from the edge of the sword. That is why I ordered the bell to call us all together, that we may all go forth to turn away the wrath of the victor.”
All being now ready, the choir led by the melodious voice of the chaunter, Ædbert, raised the Psalm, “Eripe me de inimicis meis, Deus meus, et ab insurgentibus in me, libera me,” and slowly defiled through the thronging mass of fugitives.
As the procession, so entirely novel to the uncultured South Saxons, made its way across the open space between the church and the rest of the buildings of the little community, the panic-stricken crowd seemed to recover something like self-control, and many of the men followed or accompanied the procession. Wilfrid had given orders that they were to proceed slowly along the road towards Cissanceaster, in the hope that he would fall in with Cædwalla, and prevent any further fighting; for he had learnt that one of the South Saxon eorldoman still kept up a hopeless struggle, while it was reported that Berchthune was slain. With great difficulty, and at a very slow pace, the white-robed choir, the grey frocked monks, and the gorgeously vested Wilfrid, stemmed the still hurrying bodies of fugitives that drifted away from the rout ahead. Nearer and nearer came the shouts of the combatants, the flash of an axe, or the gleam of a spear, showed where blows were being given, and the clang of metal striking metal rang like an army of rivetters engaged in their noisy toil. Many of the rallied South Saxons were ready to rush forward to renew the fight, but the voice of Wilfrid restrained them, and in obedience to a sense of awe, which his presence always excited in their superstitious and ignorant minds, the men restrained their ardour, and waited to see what would happen.
Wilfrid, with the eye of a leader, at once saw that in the heat and confusion of the fight, his little company might easily be swept away; he therefore directed the leading priest to turn to one side and lead the procession to an embankment or little knoll on the way side, large enough to contain all the community. There stationing himself in the most conspicuous position, with his cross held aloft by his cross-bearer, surrounded by his clergy, and flanked by his choir of fair Saxon boys, he calmly awaited the approach of Cædwalla.
The stream of fugitives flowed past him uninterruptedly. At last a struggling band of horsemen, leading among them the fainting form of an old, grey-bearded warrior, his helmet hacked, the hawk’s wings gone, one arm hanging down limp and useless, the other aimlessly holding the reins of his horse, came past in wild confusion, hard pressed by a victorious troop of warriors, flushed with victory, and striking mercilessly at the panic-stricken fugitives; brilliantly conspicuous among them was Cædwalla, his eyes flashing, his hair streaming behind him, on his head a steel cap, surmounted with a golden dragon, his steel-ringed hauberk gleaming in the sun. Both hands grasped his two-edged battle-axe, and the reins hung loose on his horse’s neck; while the terrible axe flashed, and sank and flashed again, as he hewed his way up to the scarcely resisting band of South Saxons, who still strove to save their wounded eorldoman, the devoted personal following of the chief, who scorned to live if their lord were slain.
As the young king, looking the very impersonation of the god of battles, intoxicated with the strife, came abreast of Wilfrid, the Bishop called aloud in a clear, commanding voice:
“Cædwalla, my lord, put up thy sword now, and give thanks to God, who hath given thee the victory. As for the vanquished, I will answer for it, they shall not trouble thee. Hearken now to the voice of the Lord, who speaketh through me, His unworthy servant, and shed no more innocent blood. Remember, ‘Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, I will repay’; and again, ‘Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.’”
At the first sound of the clarion voice of the Bishop, Cædwalla had reined in his horse, and when he saw the striking group of calm men surrounding the ascetic and commanding figure of the celebrated Bishop, he at once gave orders to stop all further fighting, and turned his horse towards the speaker.
The scene was a very picturesque one. The handsome, bronzed face of the victorious young king, looking every inch a daring soldier, as well as commanding chieftain, mounted on a powerful white horse, whose trappings were adorned with large gold studs, mounting bosses of cairngorm and polished agate stones. Behind him a fierce band of eager warriors, eorls, and chiefs of the West-Saxon kingdom, with here and there the weather-beaten face of some of his own faithful band of outlaws, who had stood by Cædwalla in his desperate fortunes. In front, the tall figure and noble countenance of Wilfrid in his gorgeous robes, standing on the highest part of the little knoll, his cross-bearer holding the golden cross, richly embroidered with crystals and agates; the white surpliced choir mingling with the darker robes of the monks. Above, a cloud-flecked sky, bright and changing, casting flying shadows over the brown land, wind-blown and desolate, while all around were masses of men still flying in wild panic, or falling in death from the effects of their wounds. All these combined to make a striking picture.
Cædwalla, not yet a Christian, and seeing only in Wilfrid a wise man, and one who had seen much of the world, besides being surrounded with a halo of superstition, as the possessor of talismans and charms far above all others in England, was also mindful of the benefits he had lately received from him; with wise policy, therefore, he at once saluted the Bishop, and gave orders to stop all further slaughter.
“My Father,” he said, “I am fortunate in my meetings with thee. The last time we met I was a king, and now the next time, behold, I am king again, and this time my title is far above that of a petty prince of the South Saxons, and each time victory had smiled upon my arms.”
“Give thanks, therefore, to the God of Hosts, my son, and humble thyself before the mighty hand of God, who bringeth down the lofty from their seat, and raiseth up them that are of low estate. But wilt thou and thy faithful adherents come back with me? Such as our poor community can offer is freely at thy service, and thou canst rest thee after the dangers and fatigues of the past day.”
Cædwalla willingly accepted; and the little procession turned towards the settlement, raising the psalm, “Jubilate Deo, omnis terra, servite Domino in laetitia,” followed by Cædwalla and his retinue. Arrived at the open space before the buildings, Cædwalla gave directions to his chief eorldoman to see that his men were kept well in hand, and to encourage the South Saxons to go to their homes peaceably. Parties were sent out to forage, and one band of warriors was sent back with the most important prisoners to garrison Cissanceaster, and take measures for pacifying the district. Cædwalla then entered the refectory, which had been cleared of all the fugitives, and where hasty preparations for an impromptu feast were being pushed rapidly forward, under the practical eye of Bernwine and Eolla, the cellarer.
The feast that followed was much like previous feasts, excepting that there was more order and ceremony. Cædwalla recognised his young friend Ædric, whom he had first met in the boat with Biggun and Wulfstan, and asked him what news he had of the expedition, and when he heard that no news had come, he looked grave.
The rest of the day passed tranquilly enough. Cædwalla had much to arrange with Wilfrid, and also received much sound advice from the prelate.
About dusk a monk came in, and reported that the sky all above Wihtea seemed on fire, and flames could plainly be seen arising from the hills at the east end of the island, and all men were marvelling what it could be. Cædwalla and Wilfrid hastened out to look, and when they got to the door, a wonderful sight met their eyes, a vast blaze was going up to the sky, and lurid smoke was spreading over the heavens. As they were looking, there was a commotion in the crowd, and a wounded and reeling warrior half staggered, was half supported, to where Cædwalla and Wilfrid were standing.
“Beate Augustine!” cried Wilfrid, “What more destruction has happened?”
Notes
1 I have not ventured to convey literally the harsh expressions of St. Fulgentius, nor in this chapter or elsewhere have I attempted to render the severity of the early monastic ideas. In a rude age, and with the perpetual recurrence of awful crimes, severe measures and pitiless conclusions were necessary—but in a work intended for the young, it is better not to represent the full force of religious thought in the 7th century.