Chapter XXV Father Cuthbert’s Diary
Christmastide 1017
Ten years ago, this very day, God in His mercy delivered us from the raging Danes at Cliffton, on Tamesis, and now He hath delivered us again out of the hands of the raging lion, even of Edric Streorn, and we are all spared to keep our Christmas in peace in the woods of Aescendune.
It is probably the last I shall keep in this place, for the hall and priory are fast rising from their ruins, and we shall soon return to our old home, from which we have been banished ten years and more. It will be sweet to be there once more, serving the Lord in peace, with none daring to make us afraid.
Here we are, all of us who are near and dear by the ties of blood, in this woodland Zoar, which hath indeed been a Zoar in the late troublous years, utterly untouched, which again we regard as a proof that Anlaf does not live, for he could have found us out had his revenge led him to do so when Sweyn was in Mercia. Neither has he appeared to claim his own estate, which he might easily regain now a Dane is king.
Alfgar and Ethelgiva are now speedily to be united. Theirs is to be the first marriage solemnised in the new minster church by my unworthy hands. To see them now, one would think they had forgotten all the past peril. The old people do not mean to abandon their woodland abode; they love it all too well, and call it the Happy Valley. But they say that a good road, now the times are safer, shall be made to the old site, where we are again rearing hall and priory.
There is now quite a colony here, nearly 300 people. The church is very commodious, and every day, for the whole period of these late dreadful wars, mass has been said therein for our suffering brethren “contra Paganos.” Thank God that he hath at length heard our prayers; our late foes are no longer Pagans but Christians, and are as eager to build up as they were to cast down; in fact, several of them have offered their zealous aid in the rebuilding of our priory.
We had such a happy Christmas evening. We sat by the fire, and Alfgar was made to relate the whole story again of his escape with Edmund from Carisbrooke, of his imprisonment by Edric in the Synodune woods, of the attack and defence of Clifton. We had all heard it before, but still we wanted to hear it again, just to contrast present peace and joy with the danger and trials of those days, and to make them sweeter by the contrast. Truly our Christmas worship had need to be praise and thanksgiving, not only for the great mystery the church commemorates, but also for present mercies so freely bestowed upon us all.
Second Sunday after Easter, 1017.—
We have just received intelligence that Canute has been solemnly crowned at St. Paul’s Church, in London, by Archbishop Lyfing. He called a council of the whole kingdom previously, to which both my brother and I were summoned, but I cared not to attend. Elfwyn, however, went, and wanted Alfgar to go, but he begged hard to be excused, I imagine for two reasons. First of all, he laments Edmund too deeply to welcome his former enemy as his successor; and secondly, he does not care to leave Ethelgiva again.
Well, Elfwyn tells us that when all were present—bishops, ealdormen, thanes, and the noblest of the people—Canute solemnly proposed that they should accept him as their king, giving them to understand that, by a tacit understanding with Edmund, it had been agreed that the kingdom should not be permanently divided, but that the survivor should inherit and govern the whole realm.
The wise men replied that, since Edmund’s children were too young to govern, they could not desire a better monarch than Canute; they committed the little ones to his care, and acknowledged him as king of all England.
And on the morrow Archbishop Lyfing, who had so shortly before crowned Edmund, placed the emblem of regal dignity on the head of Canute in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
I hear Edric Streorn is confirmed in the earldom of Mercia. I still fear that man.
Sunday after Ascension, 1017.—
On this happy Sunday it has pleased God to restore us to our home once more. The priory is rebuilt in more than its former beauty, and the hall beside it stands conspicuous in its splendour. They have not changed the appearance much, for it was the especial wish of every one concerned that it should remind one of old associations as much as possible.
The good bishop of Dorchester, the abbot of Abingdon, and many others of my friends amongst the brethren there, the neighbouring clergy and thanes, all met together to dedicate the new house to God. High mass was solemnly sung in the minster church, and the whole building was hallowed with psalm and prayer to God; after which followed a temperate banquet.
The bishop was very kind and loving, and spoke most affectionately to our poor people on the subject of their past trials; especially he commended their new lord, Alfgar, to their allegiance, saying that in all his deep trials he had shown himself a most perfect Christian, doing his duty both to God and man.
Monday.—
The abbot and brethren from Abingdon are gone back, and we poor happy brethren have entered again upon our regular duties. Ah me! what a gap time has made in our ranks. Of the twenty brethren who were driven out by the Danes eleven years ago, only twelve yet live, and eight brethren from Abingdon supply the place of the others. God be praised that Father Adhelm yet lives! He has been my right hand in so many perils and trials.
It is so delightful to be at home once more. Surely never were monks happier. My heart swells when each morning we sing the three last joyful psalms at lauds.
It is settled that Alfgar and Ethelgiva are to be married on the Monday after the Whitsun octave. O happy pair! O ter felices et nimium beati! I only hope they will not love earth too well.
Octave of the Ascension.—
Today we have had a special messenger from Canute, who is in the neighbourhood, to express his royal intention to grace the approaching marriage with his presence. It will indeed be an honour. Ah! but if Edmund could be there.
Whitsunday.—
I hardly know how to express my intense surprise and joy. Alfgar’s father has returned—a Christian.
While all the people were assembling for mass this morning, an aged man, clad in palmer’s weeds, evidently worn by toil and travel, came from the bridge over the river, which has been rebuilt, towards the minster church, and entering, knelt down wrapt in devotion. Many remarked his quaint attire; his face, once stern, now softened by grace; his hair, once black as the raven’s wing, now white as snow; his dark eyes gleaming beneath thick white eyebrows. I fear he caused many wandering thoughts, and he would have caused yet more, could they have known that they beheld the penitent destroyer of the old hall and priory.
Now I preached, not knowing at the time who was amongst my hearers, from the words of Isaiah, “For thy waste and desolate places, and the land of thy destruction, shall even now be too narrow, by reason of the inhabitants, and they that swallowed thee up shall be far away. The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears. The place is too strait for me; give place to me, that I may dwell.”
Oh, how touching the words seemed; for our waste and desolate places are indeed peopled with joy and gladness, and many must have thought of dear Bertric, our martyr boy, when they heard those words, “the children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other.” They seemed a divine prophecy of joy and gladness unto us.
And so I preached after this manner, and as I did so I saw the stranger was deeply moved, and marvelled who he could be, that he entered so deeply into so personal a sermon, which treated of a peculiar joy which a stranger intermeddleth not with.
Now after the mass was ended, we came forth from the church, and Alfgar, with Ethelgiva, walked down the path to the Lychgate, when Alfgar’s eyes fell upon the stranger, whereupon, to our astonishment, he started, then stepped forward, fell on his knees, and cried, with a choked voice, “Father, your blessing!”
At first we thought it was reverence, somewhat exaggerated, to a pilgrim, but when the aged man cried aloud, “The God of Abraham bless thee, even thee, O my son!” and the tears streamed down the furrows of his aged cheeks, we knew it must be something more than this, and so it proved.
It was none other than Anlaf—Anlaf who had disappeared from all the knowledge of friend or foe for ten years!
We all received him, especially my brother Elfwyn, with great joy—for we shared Alfgar’s happiness—and we led him into the house, where we tendered him all the offices of hospitality.
It was by degrees that we learned his story. He was really converted to Christianity by the example of his son, whose words produced a far deeper effect upon him than either he or Alfgar suspected at the time.
And when he saw that son prefer a cruel death to apostasy, his heart was moved—deeply moved, so that he pondered over all he had heard from him and from a once loved wife, whose words had seemed lost, but whose prayers perhaps watered them into growth after she was dead and gone. So he left the army without telling any one whither he went, and sought instruction from a Christian.
And he found a Christian priest hidden in the woods, where he administered the word and sacraments to a starving few, but secretly, for fear of the Danes; and from him he learned the truth and was baptized.
Then, feeling himself unhappy in this distracted land— separated from the English by blood, from the Danes by religion— he determined to go on pilgrimage.
Once in the Holy Land, he had to undergo much contumely from the pagan Saracens, who, to the disgrace of Christendom, defile the Holy City by their presence, and maltreat the blessed pilgrims; but he had learned to glory in humiliation. At last he retired to the woods on the sources of the Jordan, weary of earth, and there he joined an aged hermit, with whom he lived for two years, and when the hermit died he took his place, and dwelt as an ascetic, ministering, however, to the necessities of pilgrims who journeyed that way to the Holy Land.
From some of these pilgrims he learned, at length, that English and Danes were united in peace, and a great desire of revisiting England and searching out his son seized upon him. On the road he heard that Edmund was dead and Canute reigned alone, and so he came hither at once, and has arrived, God so willing it, in time to see his son married to the heiress of Aescendune.
We have provided him lodgings in the priory. The new hall is not to be dwelt in till the night when the happy pair enter it and make it their home.
Alfgar’s cup of joy is full.
Monday after the Whitsun Octave.—
At last it is over. The weary waiting of ten years is ended. Alfgar and Ethelgiva are man and wife.
Canute gave away the bride in person. Elfwyn, Hilda, Herstan, Bertha, and Hermann, with his sisters—indeed all the kindred of the bride were there. Of the kindred of the bridegroom but one, so far as we know, is living—his father Anlaf. It has been a warlike race, and nearly all the members of the family have found a warrior’s grave.
I performed the ceremony, assisted by all the brethren in the choral portions of the mass and the order of the marriage service. Ethelgiva was pale and composed although she shed a few natural tears, but wiped them soon. Alfgar was simple and unaffected, as he always is. All he does is so naturally done. Like Nathaniel, he is a man without guile.
The church was crowded. All the retainers and all the neighbours were present, and when the bride and bridegroom left the sacred building, they saluted them with cheers which made the welkin ring.
Then the whole party adjourned to the hall, which was crowded to the fullest extent. And for the poorer guests, who could not find admittance, tables were spread in the open air, beneath the shade of spreading trees, for the day was lovely even for June.
Canute remained throughout the entertainment, and, by his unaffected condescension and his cheerful sympathy, won the hearts of all. His general demeanour tends to efface his foreign descent from the mind. Yet we sighed for Edmund, for which even Canute would pardon us. He should have presided at the board.
When the night was far advanced the whole party broke up and retired to rest, after a day calculated to efface the recollection of many a hardship past.
For my part, when I returned to the priory, I mused for a long time on the dark paths through which our Lord has conducted us to this happy day. I thought of the period of Alfgar’s conversion and baptism, of St. Brice’s night, for which England has paid so heavy a penance, now, we trust, happily over. And while I thus thought, my musings led me to the tomb of Bertric, whose sacred relics, as those of a martyr, now lie interred beneath our high altar, and I wondered whether his blessed spirit could sympathise in our earthly joy. Yes; I doubt it not; and that he witnesses it from above. Through suffering to joy has been our lot; through suffering to glory his.
Tuesday.—
The king left this morning. His engagements are too numerous to permit him to give much space to recreation. Before he left he summoned Alfgar, Anlaf, and Elfwyn, to a conference in the library —for they have a library as of old in the hall—and then he told Alfgar that he had talked with Anlaf who wished to convey the manorial rights of his former patrimony, and all its revenues, to his son, and to join our brotherhood, and that he desired him to witness the deed. Now, all the former charters of Aescendune were destroyed in the old hall, and the king had caused a new one to be drawn up, supplying all the defects caused by the loss of the earlier documents; conferring and securing, by royal charter, all the lands of Aescendune, and those formerly appertaining to Anlaf, upon Alfgar, and his successors for ever, not, as he said, as a deed of gift, but as a charter securing and defining their rights and liberties, for him and his successors, to all future generations; and adding all the waste land of the adjacent forest, formerly holden of the crown, to their domains, with right of all temporal jurisdiction, and with the title of Earl, which title is common in the northern and more Danish districts, more so than ealdorman, which obtains in the south.
“Thus much,” said he, “I know my brother Edmund would have done for you, and in his place it has fallen to my lot.
“Would,” he added, “I could be all to you which Edmund would have been had he lived; that, perhaps, is not possible; but I know, Alfgar,” he added, “how to esteem faithfulness, even when it has been sometimes exercised at my expense, for one once a rival, now only thought of as a brother.”
Then he turned to Anlaf.
“Old companion in arms,” he said, “this makes up for Carisbrooke; well, Alfgar, hadst thou yielded then, thou hadst not been here now. Thy father and I owe thee something for the example thou didst set us.”
And then he turned to Elfwyn and wished him joy of his son.
After that he came to the priory and prayed awhile in front of the altar; his devotions ended, he came to my cell and made me a startling offer of a bishopric in Denmark, saying he thought there was much work to be done for God there, and he thought Englishmen would do it best; and thus, he added, after their Master’s example, return good for evil xx.
But an old oak such as I am cannot be uprooted, and perhaps it is a carnal feeling, but I fear my earthly affections bind me here while life lasts, so, thanking him warmly for the distinction implied in the offer, I respectfully but firmly declined it.
And so the king and his retinue left Aescendune. Elfwyn and Hilda return in a few days to their happy valley; men have been at work for weeks making a good road there from the hall, and the journey will only occupy two or three hours to a good walker.
Herstan and his family leave for their home on the Thames (which has been rebuilt, together with the little church of St. Michael) tomorrow. Anlaf takes his vows as a novice next Sunday, his novitiate will be as short as the rules of our order allow; we shall all then welcome him as a brother.
Soon our days will flow tranquilly on. May God mercifully continue peace in our days.
“Stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us.”
Christmas, 1017.—
Strange news greet our festival. Edric Streorn has gone suddenly, unhouselled, unanointed, unabsolved, to his great account. Hermann, who is now an officer in the royal hus-carles, has arrived from court, and from him we have learnt all particulars.
Edric was alone with the king in a chamber overlooking the Thames. Hermann was on duty without, with some of the guard, when he heard voices within in hot contention.
“You will grant me no favour, not even the life of this traitor, who, I tell you, is conspiring against you, and desires to place Edwy, the Etheling, Edmund’s brother, on the throne in your place.”
“Your proof lies, I suppose, in the hatred you have always borne him,” was the king’s reply.
Hermann could not help hearing, they spoke so loudly, but the next words enchained his attention.
“I tell thee the name ‘Alfgar’ is first and foremost amongst the signatures of the men who have conspired to cast thee from the throne.”
“Then I conclude you placed it there; tush, man, I know thee of old!”
“Why should you suspect this? was not he Edmund’s faithful friend, worshipping him as a god, and would he not do all he could for his brother?”
“I thought you held him guilty of Edmund’s murder.”
“That was only because I wished to remove two enemies from your path instead of one you will not remove one from mine; lo! I forsook Edmund my king for thy sake, and for thy sake I slew him, and thus thou rewardest me.”
Then Canute waxed furious, and he shouted, “Guard! guard!”
Hermann rushed in; and amongst others Eric, the Earl of Northumbria.
“What, wretch! murderer! apostate blasphemer of the saints! didst thou murder Edmund, my brother Edmund, who was dear to me as Jonathan to David, seeing we were bound to each other by an oath! Thou didst stretch thy hand against the Lord’s anointed, and thou shalt die the death.
“Cut him down! cut him down, Eric! cut him down, Hermann.”
Eric stepped forward in an instant, and with his huge battle-axe cleft the unhappy traitor, who had fallen to his knees to obtain mercy, from the head to the shoulders.
“Throw the carcase out of window,” cried the furious king; “let the fishes have the carrion. Never shall he find a grave, the vile regicide; and that he should think I would reward his guilt! Nay, I have served him as David did the Amalekite.”
Eric and Hermann, between them, raised the corpse, and flung it, all bleeding and disfigured, into the Thames, the tide just running out beneath the walls.
I ought to write, “So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord!” But the awful doom of his unrepentant soul saddens me, much as he has hated me and mine.
Lent, 1018.—
A strange discovery has been made which interests us all greatly. At the time of Alfgar’s trial at Oxford, Herstan fancied there must be a secret staircase communicating with Edmund’s room, but sought it in vain. Now that Edric has avowed the deed, Hermann has obtained the king’s permission to make a thorough search all through the house, and in the thickness of the huge stone chimney a secret staircase has been found, with a door opening through the thickness of the wall and panelling into the room in which Edmund slept, as well as another door opening into the banqueting hall, where Sigeferth and Morcar were murdered. It is all clear as day now. Edric must have entered the royal chamber from the banqueting hall in the dead of the night, and thus, when no human eye beheld, have accomplished his evil deed. Ah, well! he could not escape the eye of Him who has said “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.”
Eastertide, 1018—
A son is born to Alfgar and Ethelgiva; and today, Low Sunday, they presented their babe to Him who said, “Suffer little children to come unto me.” They have named him Edmund. The grandparents, both well and happy, were present; and the proud and happy father’s eyes sparkled with joy over his little Edmund, glistening from the baptismal font. It fell to my happy lot thus to enrol the dear child amongst the lambs of Christ’s fold. God grant him length of days here, and endless length of days beyond the skies when time shall be no more!
Here we close our extracts from Father Cuthbert’s Diary; but; before taking leave of him, we are sure our readers would like to hear a few more words about his future fortunes, and those of the house of Aescendune.
Better king than Canute, saving only the great Alfred, and perhaps Edgar, had never sat on the English throne. Under his auspices a change became visible throughout the whole country: villages again gladdened the blackened wastes; minsters and churches were rebuilt, whose broad, square Saxon towers yet hand down the memory of our ancestors. Agriculture revived; golden corn covered the bloodstained scenes of warfare; men lived once more in peace under the shadow of their homes, none daring to make them afraid. Peace, with its hallowed associations, gladdened England for fifty long years {xxi}.
Anlaf was the first of the group we have introduced to our readers to leave this transitory world for a better one. He died a few years after the accession of Canute. Father Cuthbert survived him many years, and died honoured and lamented in the last year of the great king.
His brother Elfwyn, and the lady Hilda, full of years, having outlived the natural span of man’s appointed years, followed him shortly—not till they had seen their grandchildren, a numerous and hopeful progeny, grow up around them, and so perpetuate their race upon earth.
And for Alfgar and Ethelgiva, they lived to see a their children’s children, and peace upon Israel, surviving until the close of the reign of Edward the Confessor, the son of Ethelred and Emma. Their days were days of peace, in strange contrast to their youthful years.
“Peace! and no more from out her brazen portals
The blast of war’s great organ shakes the skies;
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy harmonies of peace arise.”
—Longfellow.
The End