Chapter XI: Part 11

"Is this a time to talk of vengeance?" said a voice near Caedwalla. "Rather humble thyself before the strong hand of the Almighty, and give Him thanks that thou art yet in the land of the living, when so many souls have gone unregenerate, unbaptised, to their last account. Man, swear not such awful curses. There may come a time when they will recoil on thine own head."

"Who is this that dares to rebuke Caedwalla?" said the king haughtily.

"A poor servant of the Lord--one Malachi, of Boseham."

AEdric had turned joyfully at the voice, and felt new hope for his brother.

"Oh! brother Malachi, come here; see what has happened to Wulfstan."

"What! AEdric, my son; hast thou come to this sinful and blood-guilty land? And how are Father Dicoll and brother Corman? Verily my heart yearns for news of them."

"Oh, Malachi, I will tell thee all about them while thou art looking at Wulfstan; but do tell me if he is alive?"

Malachi stooped down--he had brought some balsam with him, and a few remedies--and he gently examined the wounded boy. With a very grave face he signed to Ceolwulf to let him feel his pulse, and then said, "Canst thou make a shelter for him here? it will be better to keep him quite quiet if we can."

Ceolwulf nodded assent, and Caedwalla directed some of the sails of the boats to be brought up, and a shelter was soon made.

"Deva will be here soon," said Malachi. "She has got some food with her. We will make some strong broth for him."

Caedwalla, seeing that the boy was in good hands, called Ceolwulf aside, and consulted on what was best to be done. After he had heard the old man's ideas, he gave orders that all the men he had brought with him should encamp where they were till morning, as now the stockade was lost there was no need to risk an advance through the thick woods in the dark. It was clearly ascertained that the women and children and old people belonging to AElfhere were safe, so there was no occasion to weary the men with a march immediately after their voyage.

All through the night Malachi, in spite of his wounded arm, attended ceaselessly on Wulfstan. AEdric had intended keeping awake, but the sea voyage, the excitement, and the novelty of using his leg, had made him very sleepy, and in spite of himself he fell off into a sound sleep. Ceolwulf had been so busy helping Caedwalla that he had not had time to tell AEdric of his father being still alive, and Malachi had not thought of it; in fact, the critical condition of Wulfstan put all other ideas out of their heads. Wulfstan had opened his eyes once, but there was no consciousness in them, and a burning patch of red in each cheek had taken the place of the ghastly pallor of a few hours before.

With dawn, Caedwalla was up; he had brought sufficient food for his men for a couple of days, and therefore was not compelled to action from necessity; and, besides, there were all the supplies of AElfhere's people hidden among the woods; but Caedwalla was nevertheless burning to come to blows with Arwald, and the order was given for all to advance directly breakfast was over. The number of men Caedwalla had brought was over a thousand, and their equipment and appearance left little to be desired. There had been a difficulty in bringing over any horses, but there were five or six brought over for Caedwalla, and his chief eorldomen, and Ceolwulf had despatched during the night some of the boys to bring over as many of AElfhere's horses as they could. He himself had the horse he had captured from the Wihtwara he had killed, when he rescued Wulfstan the evening before.

"My old friend," said Caedwalla, when all was ready, "I must ask thee to ride along with us, and show us the way. I know thou wantest to be with thy young lord, but he is in careful hands, and we cannot get on without thee yet. I promise thee rest enough after we have established our right to rule the Wihtwaras."

Ceolwulf had not thought of being left behind, and was flattered at this public notice of himself before so many warriors, and many of them the chief eorldomen of Wessex. All being now ready, the advance began. Caedwalla had far too much experience of war to be led into any trap as Arwald had been. He sent on a powerful advance guard under the guidance of Ceolwulf, and the keenest and most experienced of his men were ordered to march at some little distance on each flank. In this way, although their progress was slow, their security against any surprise was certain. They had not proceeded far, when the leading footmen came across the body of a man lying on a bank. Turning him over, Ceolwulf found it was Beornwulf, and he was delighted to find that he was only asleep from exhaustion. He at once had him sent into the camp, and directed that every care should be taken of him. Caedwalla was much pleased to see his old follower again, and promised he would not forget him.

The little army advanced to the stockade without any further interruption. Here a dreadful sight presented itself. Arwald had abandoned the place, evidently feeling it necessary to retire to his own district, and call up all the fighting men of the island for the decisive battle that must take place; for he was not the man to allow himself to be killed without a fight. The scene inside the stockade was awful. Accustomed as Caedwalla and his men were to fearful sights, they had never seen so terrific a spectacle as was here, crowded into the narrow limits of that gory enclosure. Ceolwulf noted with grim satisfaction that many of Arwald's men had died; he found Osborn under a pile of slain, and many of AElfhere's old servants had died hard.

Caedwalla made use of the ghastly spectacle to arouse his men to fiercer ardour, and then ordered the column to advance. When they emerged on the black and charred common, and the successful stratagem was explained by Ceolwulf to Caedwalla, the king was loud in his praises of the pluck, determination, and skill of the little band of defenders, and vowed that in all his experience he had never heard of or seen a better executed ambush. He was especially struck with the readiness and sagacity of the boys. As they advanced Caedwalla admired the fertility of the island, and the suitability of their choice in retiring into Binbrygge-ea. Crossing the ford, Ceolwulf pointed out the ruined Roman villa among the bushes, and told how nobly Athelhune had defended it against the attack of Arwald's people, and showed Caedwalla where the homestead was. The king declined to visit it now, but sent on a party to find Athelhune's remains, and have them decently laid out, with a view to burying him, as became a West Saxon eorldoman and faithful adherent of his.

As they advanced farther into the island, and the country became more open, Caedwalla directed Ceolwulf to take a force along the ridge of the downs that separated the north side of the island from the south, while he, with one of AElfhere's old servants to act as guide, marched parallel to Ceolwulf, along the valley to the south. Every precaution was taken, and strict injunctions were given that each column was to halt if the other were attacked. Touch was kept up between the flanking and main column by a light band of active young men. In this way the army got as far as where Arreton now is without coming in contact with the enemy. Here Caedwalla gave orders that the two columns should halt, and have their mid-day meal. He himself rode up to the top of the hill and joined Ceolwulf, who pointed out to him, from this natural observatory, all the objects within sight. At his feet the land sloped away towards the north in a gradual descent to the Solent, clothed in dense oak woods, through which meandered three narrow openings of the sea. The one towards the north-west was the most important, and looked a noble inlet as it lay gleaming like silver far down below, embowered in dense oak forest. The creek more to the north-east seemed very narrow at the entrance, but widened out into a splendid sheet of water as it penetrated farther inland. The dense virgin forest surrounded the glassy surface, and there was no trace of life anywhere. Between these two creeks lay a third much smaller one, whose existence was only faintly indicated by a dip in the woods. Towards the east Caedwalla looked over woods, only bounded by the sea, and beyond the sea the coast of the South Saxons, and his own native forests and hills. The view south was more lovely even: at his feet the wide and fertile valley spread out to the magnificent bay, bounded on one side by the gleaming white cliffs of Binbrygge Down, and on the other the dun-coloured headland that rose into the noble down behind it, while toward the south-west hill upon hill, and ridge upon ridge, culminated in the highest hill of all--the broad-backed St. Catherine Down. The valley at his feet was hidden, towards the west, by the continuation of the ridge of downs upon which Caedwalla was standing, but Ceolwulf told him it wound round and passed into another valley, or valleys, which then turned westwards and northwards. This northern valley became the deeply indented creek near the head of which stood the only fortress in the island, the burg or castle of Wihtgar, known as Wihtgaresbyryg.

"Will Arwald make a stand there, thinkest thou?" asked Caedwalla.

"I doubt whether he will not fight in the open first. He has a powerful following with him, and he is not one to fight behind walls if he has any chance of crushing us in the open."

Caedwalla laughed. "He need not talk much of crushing. There won't be much left of him or his men if once I catch them in the open."

"Aye, no doubt thou art a doughty and powerful king, but Arwald will have as many or more than we have, and the Wihtwaras fight well."

"Tush, man! have I ever lost a battle yet?" said Caedwalla, disdainfully; and then he added, "Continue thy march until we unite in the valley in front of Wihtgaresbyryg; we may have to encamp there to-night." So saying, the West Saxon king rode down the hill again, and led his column along the lower ground.

The march was continued without further interruption until about two o'clock. They turned the northern line of Downs, and saw the ridge of the lower hills to the west, on the brow of which loomed up the grey walls of a circular castle--the rude and unscientific fortress of Wihtgar, built perhaps upon the foundations of a Roman castellum, and doubtless with much of the material. Hitherto it had been an accepted fact that whoever was lord of Wihtgaresbyryg was lord also of the Wihtwaras and the Wihtea.

When Ceolwulf's column, descending the steep declivity of the down now known as St. George's Down, joined Caedwalla and the main body below, they advanced together along the lower ground towards Wihtgaresbyryg, until they reached the ford over the marshes, that then formed the head of the long creek now known as the Medina. Here Caedwalla, having secured the ford and passed his troops safely across, halted until he could find out where the enemy were.

In the course of an hour one of his scouts brought back word that Arwald was marching out of Wihtgaresbyryg to give him battle, with a numerous and well-appointed force of horsemen and foot, and would be upon them in the course of half an hour or so.

This was joyful news to Caedwalla. His eyes sparkled and his figure became more upright, as he gave orders for his men to fall into battle order, and prepare for the decisive contest.

"Remember Athelhune and Osborn, and the stockade on Yavershute! Remember all your former victories--Edilwalch and the South Saxons, and the eorldoman Berchthune. The dragon of Wessex is spreading his wings for victory. Before night-fall, my eorls and my free Saxons, let us plant the standard of our nation on the tower of Wihtgar. Lands and possessions shall reward the victors, and ye all see what a smiling and fertile land it is. Standard bearer, advance the banner! My nobles, handle your weapons, and, O God of Battles, whom Wilfrid serves! if victory crowns our arms, I vow to become a servant of Thine. Let Woden and Thor fight for Arwald. Caedwalla will fight with the help of Christ."

*CHAPTER XXII.*

*"NOW, BY MY FAITH, LORDS, 'TWAS A GLORIOUS DAY."*

Caedwalla decided not to await the enemy, but to advance at once to meet him. He himself led the van, which was composed of his choicest troops, and he ordered old Ceolwulf to keep with him, as a mark of especial honour. The scout who had brought the news of Arwald's advance acted as guide, and in a short time the two rival forces came in sight of each other. Caedwalla saw that Arwald would have the advantage of position if he were allowed to attack from the higher ground where he was. He therefore ordered his men not to march directly for the enemy, but to leave them on their left and march as if with the intention of getting in between them and Wihtgaresbyryg. By this manoeuvre Arwald had to descend from his superior position, and the onus of attacking remained with him.

In those rude times there was not much attempt at marshalling the fighting men. The leaders brought their men on to the ground and put them as near to each other as possible, and then stout arm and keen steel had to decide the rest. Each chieftain acted as the bravest soldier, and his duty was to run the greatest risk.

In the present instance, there seemed a sort of tacit deferring of the awful struggle that must take place. When Caedwalla had obtained the equality of position he wanted, he halted, and drew up his men in a semblance of martial array; and in this respect he had a manifest advantage over his antagonist, for he and his men were well known to each other. Many of the West Saxon eorls had fought in numberless fights on the borders of Wales, and against Wulfhere of Mercia, the son of Penda. They were, therefore, used to discipline, and were likely to keep cool in the hottest of the fray; while Arwald's men had never seen a set battle, and many of them had scarcely ever fought before. But their numbers and strength seemed quite to counterbalance this disadvantage, and Caedwalla saw at a glance the Wihtwaras were not to be despised. Arwald had wrought his men's courage up to a desperate pitch by telling them that Caedwalla would deprive them of all their possessions, and, unless they won the battle, no man's life or property was safe.

Caedwalla's eyes sparkled with excitement, but he was otherwise very calm, and no observer would have known that he was inwardly burning with eagerness to begin the battle, and avenge the death of his dearest friend. He rode along in front of his men, mounted on his white horse, cheerily saying an encouraging word here, or passing a light jest there, and congratulating everyone on the immediate prospect of realizing all their hopes.

The forces of Arwald had now approached to within two hundred yards, and the combatants could see each other well. There was nothing between them, and the battle might begin at any moment.

Caedwalla had turned his horse's head towards the enemy, and was quietly glancing along their line. In front of him was Arwald, looking more brutal than ever. The cut over his eye, which he had received from Wulfstan's sling, was swollen and inflamed, so much so that one eye was nearly obscured. His red, bloated face, and coarse features, combined with his huge and corpulent person, mounted on a powerful, vicious-looking black horse, offered a striking contrast to the refined, intellectual, determined face of Caedwalla. bronzed with exposure, and looking a splendid, dashing soldier, as well as prudent, clear-headed king: a perfect type of the old Heretoga, or leader in war, chosen by the free acclamations of his fellow tribesmen for his brilliant qualities, and not necessarily because of any hereditary claim; the pure type of an earthly ruler, if only such could be elected without corruption and for worthy motives.

Caedwalla sat his horse tranquilly, and critically scanned Arwald with a contemptuous glance that made that fat chieftain furious. He was just going to give the order to his men to charge, when Caedwalla raised his battle-axe, and instantly the whole of the West Saxon army rushed straight for the Wihtwaras.

For the next few minutes there was the awful work of destruction, hideous sounds and confused sights, axes flashing, arms rising and falling, passionate shouts, groans, and wild cries. In the midst of the battle could be seen the golden dragon of Wessex, and ever and anon the clear, ringing stentorian voice of the king, cheerily and happily cleaving a way through the struggling mass. Such battles must have been all alike, and the monotony of the death fight could seldom be relieved. The victory must go to the side who had most "last," or endurance, in it; for the idea of running away while strength remained scarcely could occur to men taught from earliest childhood that no fate in this world or the next could await any man worse than the fate of the coward. But sheer brutal strength, or capacity for fighting with the largest number of wounds, must then, as now, have been very materially modified by the moral influences of will and determination. And in this way the personal qualities of a leader were certain to affect his followers. The energy, moral as well as physical, of Caedwalla, infused itself into his men, and each man fought with a certainty of winning. Gradually the coherent mass of striking, thrusting, wrestling humanity gave way, and the scene became changed into groups of individual combatants.

The battlefield was strewn with dead and dying. Caedwalla's standard bearer was down, but the banner was still waved above the foremost ranks, and the golden crest of Wessex was foremost in the fight.

Arwald's army was being pushed back, no man looked to see where, but as the foe retreated Caedwalla pressed on. The Wihtwaras were thrust away from Wihtgaresbyryg, and were slowly retiring towards the high hills behind them. Fighting every foot of ground at first, they gradually hastened their retreat until at last it became a rout.

All round deeds of "derring-do" were being performed, and Caedwalla cheered his men on to the pursuit with words of praise and encouragement. The king was followed by the main part of his army, and pressed hard upon the retreating Wihtwaras.

"Unless we kill Arwald, we have done nought," shouted Caedwalla, urging on his horse to fresh exertions.

They had now reached the foot of the down, whose ample slope rose from the valley in wooded clumps up to a height of some five hundred and fifty feet above them. Pursued and pursuers were alike becoming exhausted. Arwald and the few that were left of his personal following kept on their way up the hill. Caedwalla's horse, which had received several severe wounds, was clearly incapable of following much further, and the king got off, resolving to follow on foot. Arwald still bestrode his black horse, but that powerful animal was fast becoming distressed. Seeing that he could not escape from his pursuers, Arwald, who had now reached a grassy knoll, drew up and turned to look at his enemy.

Below him he could see the golden dragon and the broad shoulders of the West Saxon king, the centre of a little band of determined warriors, among whom the weather-beaten face of old Ceolwulf looked hard set and enduring, like a grey lichen-covered rock amid the saplings of the forest.

"By the golden hair of Freya," muttered Arwald "but they shall die as well as we, if die we must. Here, my men, we will wait them; and let each man fight as he never fought before."

So saying, the Wihtwara chieftain dismounted from his tired horse, and prepared for the fight. The scene was a fitting one for the arena on which the sovereignty of the island was to be finally decided between the rival chiefs. It was very near the summit of the lofty down, now known as Newbarn, or Chillerton Down. From the spot where Arwald stood he looked right down the lovely valley of the Medene; eastward and northward, his eye roamed over swelling down and wooded valley, and here and there the silver streak of the distant sea. The lovely scene lay spread out in mellow haze, for the sun was getting low behind the chieftain, and great shadows stretched from his feet far over the valley below; while patches of grey mist were rising here and there over the basins of the Medene and the Yare.

Grimly Arwald looked at the scene, but none of its peaceful beauty struck him. All he thought of was hatred of the man who had dared to come to disturb him in the enjoyment of his tyranny and power, and satisfaction at the thought of how he could take him at disadvantage, breathless as Caedwalla would be when he reached the summit of the knoll, and dazzled with the setting sun level with his eyes.

Arwald mustered about thirty adherents, most of them wounded, and not more than a dozen of whom were able-bodied. The chief of the Wihtwaras himself had not received any serious wounds, seeming to bear a charmed life in the midst of the battle; and owing to this immunity from wounds, he himself, as well as many of his followers, believed that he was not destined to lose his life on the battle-field. Full of these hopes, he waited for his antagonist.

Caedwalla, seeing that his enemy was resolved to await him, and that now there was to be no more retreat, but that here either he or Arwald was to leave his bones for ever, bid his men to take it easily and regain their breath. The West Saxons, therefore, paused a little below the summit of the knoll, and gazed back at the land behind them, where many of their comrades could be seen drawing together and advancing after their king. Many others were visible, lying on the ground; for them no more fighting remained. Of the Wihtwaras no coherent body existed. The victory was evidently complete, and Caedwalla could plainly see that there was no need for him to fight Arwald now. The Wihtwara must fall to superior numbers; he could fly no further, and the desperate nature of his situation was evidently known to himself. Ceolwulf urged waiting for the rest to come up, pointing out the folly of risking such a life as that of Caedwalla, now undoubted king of Wihtea, as of Wessex and the South Saxons.

"Leave this swine to be dealt with by thy faithful ceorls and eorls, my lord. Why risk thy life needlessly? Dost thou think thou must do more to show all men thy valour? Who does not know of Caedwalla?"

"Cease, old man," said Caedwalla. "I know well what is prudent, and what is rash. It becomes not Caedwalla to decline to punish the murderer of Athelhune, and I know my own duty as well as pleasure."

Arwald knew well that the game was up, but he counted on at least killing Caedwalla before the rest of the West Saxons could arrive. He ordered his men, therefore, to pay no attention to any other of the small following of Caedwalla, but to rush simultaneously upon the victorious king.

"What!" shouted Arwald, "is the dainty young chief of the robber-band afraid to meet the axes of warriors? Has he come thus far, and, finding himself face to face with brave men, does he now fear to meet their blows? Why does he not rush forward to avenge all his dead eorls? The axes of Arwald and the Wihtwaras have drunk deep of West Saxon blood."

"All in good time, my friend, all in good time. A king chooses his own season and means of punishment, and thou shalt not be forgotten," answered Caedwalla disdainfully.

All the West Saxons having now recovered their breath, Caedwalla advanced towards Arwald. Ceolwulf had seen the object of the Wihtwara chieftain, and he warned the few men round Caedwalla to look out for a rush.

As soon as the king set foot on the level sward on the summit of the knoll, Arwald and his men made a simultaneous charge upon him, which Caedwalla, on his part, sprang forward to anticipate.

Arwald, trusting to his huge strength and ponderous weight, struck with his battle-axe straight at Caedwalla's head, and the West Saxon king received the full force of the terrific blow on his already half-severed shield. The axe cut through the iron studs and ornaments that still kept the shield together, and buried itself sideways in Caedwalla's left arm. But Caedwalla's right arm was not idle. Striking with all his force at the same moment that he parried the blow of the Wihtwara, he cut through the steel hawberk, the under shirt of leather, and deep into the flesh of Arwald between the ribs over the heart; for Arwald was so determined to destroy his adversary that he took no thought of guarding himself. Before Arwald could recover from the overbalance of his own thundering blow, Caedwalla had struck again, and this time he aimed at the bare arms of the Wihtwara. So fiercely did he strike that the whole muscles and flesh of the upper arm were shorn off clean to the bone, and Arwald knew he could never fight again. The blood flowed down in torrents, but his rage still burnt fiercely. Wielding his axe in the other hand, he struck straight for Caedwalla's face, and the king had no use in his other arm to ward the blow. He parried it with his axe, but not sufficiently to prevent the axe glancing off and inflicting a deep gash in his neck. But Arwald had struck his last blow, for Caedwalla, swinging his axe over his head, brought it down with fearful force on the helmet of his antagonist. Right through the iron helmet it went, and deep into the skull, and there so wedged itself between the bones that Caedwalla could not draw it out, and the huge Wihtwara chieftain rolled over to the ground dead.

But Caedwalla would also have been dead before now had it not been for the trusty Ceolwulf. The adherents of Arwald, true to their orders, and reckless of their own lives, had crowded round Caedwalla, and struck at the same time as Arwald. Two fierce blows aimed at the king were caught on Ceolwulf's shield, which was not so much damaged as Caedwalla's. A third was parried by the old man's axe, while a fourth the noble old warrior received in his own body, which he interposed between his lord and the death blow. The Wihtwara's axe caught Biggun on the chest, and would have penetrated to the lung but for the soundness of the mail shirt he wore. As it was, the stout old man swung his axe round upon his foe who had given him the wound, and split his helmet and head, felling him to the ground. The other attendants of Caedwalla had not been idle. The blows intended for the king were intercepted, and in many cases the Wihtwaras were killed without offering the least resistance to their slayers, so intent were they in trying to kill the rival of Arwald, and thus fell an easy prey to their antagonists. The fall of their chieftain, however, caused them to turn much more desperately on the West Saxons, and fierce blows were showered on all sides; but the result could not be doubtful for a moment. After a few plunging blows, wild struggles, and fierce imprecations, all resistance ceased, and Wihtea was won to Caedwalla.

But that noble king was scarcely able to receive the congratulations of his supporters. He strove to remain standing, but the scene swam before his eyes; he forced himself to speak, but the words would not form themselves on his lips, and he would have fallen heavily on the ground had not two or three of his attendants run to support him. They laid him gently on the grass and stanched his wounds: both cuts were fortunately clean ones, and a simple bandage round the arm prevented much loss of blood there; but the cut in the neck was more serious. Ceolwulf was sitting near, a grim and satisfied expression on his weather-beaten face. The blood was oozing from the wound in his chest, but he was doing nothing to stop the bleeding. His eyes were fixed on Caedwalla's pale face, and he was muttering some grumbling remarks to himself. The little grassy platform high up on the hillside, so lately the scene of desperate, relentless strife, was now covered with dead or dying men, and the few survivors were too worn out to do more. They sat or reclined on the sward, waiting for the rest of their comrades to come up. The sun had now set, and the cold breeze of evening blew keen on that elevated spot.

Presently a West Saxon eorldoman rode up, attended by a few footmen, and gazed at the silent group. Seeing Caedwalla, he dismounted, and hastily went up to him, fearing the worst, but was reassured by the men who sat beside him.

"We must carry him down from here," said the eorl. "Get you as many young withies or hazel boughs from the copse down yonder," he added, turning to the men who had come with him, "and make a litter for your king."

Then he mounted his horse, rode to the brow of the hill, where the now numerous band of survivors were clearly seen in the valley below, raised his axe, on which he had put the helmet of Arwald, high above his head, and shouted, in a voice that rang over the silence of the hills:

"Long live Caedwalla, king of Wessex, Sussex, and Wihtea!"

Directly after a ringing cheer could be heard in the valley, and even the exhausted warriors on the summit joined in the shout of triumph. Again and again the cheers rang out, and rapidly the news spread over the island.

The men with the litter now returned, and carefully Caedwalla was lifted upon it. The movement caused him to open his eyes, and they happened to fall upon Ceolwulf. The king feebly beckoned him to his side, and, as the old man slowly and stiffly came up to him, the wounded king said: "Ceolwulf, old man, I owe my life to thee. Ask me what thou likest, and thou shalt have it."

But Ceolwulf made no reply. He merely shook his head slowly, and went on grumbling to himself.

Caedwalla was carried down the hill, and, as it was now too dark to go much further, the eorldoman who had taken charge of the little army gave directions that the king should be carried to a cottage near, and the rest of the men were to encamp around. With prudent foresight, another eorldoman had gone on with a party of men to make the country people bring them in provisions, and the victors were supplied with necessary food after their hard day's work.

The wounded men were cared for, and proper guards were set to keep watch during the night. Nothing, however, happened to disturb their rest.

The next morning the hardy West Saxons were all astir at an early hour, and parties were sent out to collect the arms and accoutrements of the dead, and to compel some of the inhabitants to help bury those who had fallen.

Arwald and those who died upon the grassy knoll of Chillerton Down were buried in five barrows, or tumuli, close to where they fell, but Arwald was honoured by having one all to himself.

Caedwalla had recovered consciousness for a short time in the early morning, and had given orders that Wihtgaresbyryg was to be occupied without delay, and all the able-bodied men throughout the island were to be slain as an atonement for the death of Athelhune and the other West Saxons.

It was evident he did not much realise the teaching of Christianity as yet, and the fierce spirit of his ancestors still burnt within him, unchecked by any softening influence.

Arwald had sent his two young sons away from the island as soon as he had received news of the probable invasion of Caedwalla, and they were in hiding near Stoneham, or as Bede calls it, ad Lapidem, a little village or manor to the north of Southampton. Caedwalla had given orders, in accordance with his vow, to kill all of the race of Arwald, and he expressly directed that search should be made for all his descendants and relatives; but these terrible orders could not be executed immediately, for much had yet to be done.

Ceolwulf was despatched to Binbrygge-ea with directions to see that AElfhere and his sons were restored to their lands and possessions; and he was also charged with seeing that a force of men were levied to assist Caedwalla in getting in supplies and helping to crush the western and southern part of the island. The boats were to be sent round from Braedynge Haven to the north of the island, and one boat was to be sent over to Selsea, to report the success of the expedition, and to bring over Wilfrid, if he would come. The rest of the little army, now thoroughly recruited, although sadly diminished in numbers, marched on Wihtgaresbyryg, expecting to meet with a stubborn resistance; but Arwald had led out all the fighting men with him, and owing to the skilful way in which Caedwalla had thrust himself in between Arwald and the fortress, none of the routed force had been able to escape to it.

When, therefore, the West Saxon host appeared before its walls, they found the gates thrown open, and they had no more fighting to do. Caedwalla was carried to Arwald's house, and all men throughout the island knew that the power had passed from the nominee of Mercia to the kingdom of the house of Cerdic.

The eorldomen, who managed affairs during the illness of Caedwalla, acted with determination and relentless cruelty. The wretched Wihtwaras were hunted down and ruthlessly slain in strict fulfilment of the orders of Caedwalla.

But the king of the West Saxons himself lay ill, and mostly unconscious for the greater part of the next few days, and at last his faithful followers began to despair of his life, and all men longed for Wilfrid to come.

Ceolwulf had returned to Braedynge, and there, after having done all he was ordered to do, and arranged for the return of AElfhere, had succumbed to the wound he had received, and which he had neglected. For some days he lay between life and death, but the faithful brother Malachi and AEdric nursed him well, and he and Wulfstan were laid in the same room for convenience of attendance. AElfhere, the eorldoman, had been making great progress towards recovery, but it was observed that, as he grew stronger, he seemed to be less vengeful. The self-devotion of brother Malachi, who had saved his life at the risk of his own, and the unexpected and unaccountable solicitude of old Deva, had caused him to think over matters seriously; and he could not help being struck by the fact that there were noble actions, as brave as any performed in fighting, which arose from some hidden spring of conduct.

The fugitive tenants and small freeholders who looked to the eorldoman for protection had all returned to their homes, and things round Binbrygge-ea and Braedynge looked much as they did before the late exciting events.

The stockade was visited, and the dead all buried, care being taken to honour the defenders with a specially large tumulus high up over Binbrygge Down.

Malachi longed for news of Father Dicoll and brother Corman. He had heard of the adventure on the mud from AEdric, and was horror-stricken at the account he gave of what he had last seen of Father Dicoll, but was cheered by hearing that AEdric had since heard how Father Dicoll was taken into one of the cottages, and had been carefully attended to, and was probably by now quite well again.

AEdric had been told of his father's existence the day after he arrived. At first he could hardly believe the news, so joyful did it seem; but when he fully realised it, he only waited to know exactly where he was concealed, and then went off as fast as his lame leg would let him, in spite of all remonstrances, to find his father.

Fortunately he was met by one of his old servants, who was leading back a cow that had strayed away from the rest of the cattle, and thus he was able to have a ride; for the old cowherd, seeing how lame his young master was, lifted him up, and set him on the broad back of the patient beast, and he soon reached the secluded dell overlooking the sea under the great white cliff where his father was lying hid. The boy stole down softly to the side of the little wattled shelter that had been made for the wounded eorldoman, down close to the shore under a high pinnacle of red, sandy cliff, which here forms a striking contrast with the dazzling white of the lofty chalk precipice on the westward side of the tiny bay. The little cabin was difficult to find; it lay in a retired chine, and was carefully hollowed out of the soft sand under the over-arching shelter of thick bramble bushes and tall ferns. The perpetual sound of the breaking sea at the foot of the cliffs deadened any sound of voices.

AEdric approached quite close to the entrance: all was silent; he peeped in. There lay his father, pale and worn, his eyes closed; he appeared to be dying. AEdric stole in on tip-toe. His father moved; his eyes opened.

"Father!" said AEdric. The wounded eorl looked round.

"What, Wulfstan, my boy, is it thou? How goes the battle?"

"Father, it isn't Wulfstan: it is I--AEdric."

"What, AEdric! my son! Am I dreaming. How did'st thou get here?" and the father stretched out his hand for his son to come nearer.

"Why, it is AEdric, my own son--my boy! my boy! I thank the gods thou art returned to me. There, bless thee, my son; sit down and tell me all that has happened to thee."

And AEdric sat down, and, taking his father's hand, told him everything. As the old eorldoman heard of the kindness of the monks or baldheaded ones, and the splendour and power of Wilfrid, he murmured over and over again:

"Truly these are great men, and they know more than we. They can bear pain as well as we can, and they can rule without fighting; but I think they miss a good deal by that. But perhaps, after all, there is more to be got without it. I don't know though; if I get better, I will think over this."

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*"THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER."*

A few days after the decisive battle near Chillerton Down, AEdric, who had been sitting with Malachi and the invalids, went out to get some fresh air. He wandered up the hill behind the homestead to a freshly-raised mound on the hill side, looking away towards the Sussex shore, and commanding views of the far distant Andreadesweald. Here Athelhune had been buried, with his arms and battle-axe, like a free Saxon eorldoman, with his face towards the East, looking to the woods and the land where he had fought so well for his friend and king, Caedwalla, in the time of his adversity.

AEdric sat down on the newly-laid turf, and gazed towards Selsea. As he sat he fell into a deep reverie. He thought over all that had passed since that awful night when Arwald surprised their home, and he and Wulfstan and Biggun had had to fly over the water, they knew not where. He thought of the fearful slaughter that had since taken place; the dreadful suffering of the poor people, driven from their homes; the death in battle, in cold blood, and in misery of so many human beings. He saw how poverty, hunger, wretchedness, fell upon every one by the perpetual destruction going on. Caedwalla was nearly dead; Ceolwulf was prostrate; Wulfstan was only just showing signs of recovery; brother Malachi had received a desperate wound; Athelhune and Osborn were dead; and Wulf the Atheling might be dead, too, for all he knew; while his father, AElfhere, as well as himself, would bear their wounds to their graves with them. And yet they and their party were victorious. They had won all the glory, all the land, all the wealth; and this was what their noblest, most cherished ideas pointed to. Could anything be more complete? Arwald was dead; all his bravest warriors were dead too, and all the rest of his supporters were being ruthlessly hunted down and slain. They were drinking to the full the cup of victory. Could anything be more triumphant? What more could heroes do? They had gloriously chopped in pieces their enemies, and were entering into possession of their goods. But meanwhile the people were mostly starving, and the women and children were suffering terribly; but

"Things like that, you know, must be at every famous victory."

And then AEdric thought of the monks--their kindness, their simplicity, their total surrender of themselves for others, their perpetual striving to conquer what, he could not help seeing, might make an individual great according to a slave's idea of greatness, but could only make all others miserable. For what was it the monks strove to overcome? Certainly nothing of anybody else's belongings, but their own passions, their own want of charity, their own worldly desires, their own incomprehension of the love of God; in fact, the world, the flesh, and the devil. And then he thought of the dead man below him, and he remembered all that had been told him of the shortness of this life and the certainty of death, and after death the judgment; and he remembered how terrible it had seemed to him, as Father Dicoll talked, if he should die, and have to enter upon eternity without having tried to follow the Christ-life while here on earth. The words of the Master, Christ, had often been told him, when He said, "Verily, I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to Me; and these shall go away into ever-lasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal." Truly, death was very near; would it not be better to give up everything for the love of God? What could the world offer to him that for the brief space of this life could make up for the loss of life eternal? The truth of the question he had so often heard from brother Corman came back to him--What would it profit him if he gained the whole world and lost his own soul? or what could he give in exchange for his soul?

As AEdric thought over all these things, his eyes were fixed upon a distant speck beyond the entrance to Braedynge Haven. It was a boat, and was coming fast before the north-east breeze. For some few minutes he dreamily watched it. He saw it enter the narrow mouth of the harbour, and wondered who could be in it. The men on board evidently knew the channel. As the boat drew nearer his interest increased. "Who could it be?" And then it flashed across him that it must be Wilfrid. He jumped up with excitement, waited a minute to make certain, and then ran down as fast as he could, burst into the room where Malachi was, and shouted out the news.

All was bustle in the homestead. AElfhere was anxious to receive the great man properly, and all the servants were sent here and there, and the cackling among the fowls told of slaughter going on there. Some of the servants were sent down with AEdric to receive the bishop.

It was as AEdric had guessed: the boat ran ashore, near the hard; the servants hastily put out boards on a trestle for the bishop to land, and presently Wilfrid, Hildila, and Bernwine disembarked on the shore.

The greeting between AEdric and the bishop was cordial, and Bernwine patted him on the head, with a pleasant smile, saying, "I told thee I wanted to see this island of thine, and here I am." The party then went up to the homestead, AEdric pointing out objects of interest as they went. The Wihtwaras were much impressed with Wilfrid's appearance, and the respect their young eorl paid him, as well as from the report of the magic charms he had with him, and which were relics he had brought from Rome.

AElfhere welcomed his guests courteously, and the rest of the day passed in pleasant talk. Malachi asked eagerly after Father Dicoll and Corman, and was delighted to hear that both were well, the former having quite recovered from his wound, and that they sent him affectionate greetings. A messenger was despatched at once to announce the arrival of the bishop, and ask for instructions.

AElfhere was pleased, as well as all his household, at the gentle manners and interesting conversation of Wilfrid and his attendant priests, and the evening passed away in pleasant intercourse. The stories Wilfrid had to tell of foreign lands, and the wonders of Rome, astonished every one. There was nothing he could not talk about; and when he asked permission, before retiring to rest, to have a little service in the hall, AElfhere willingly gave his consent, and was much impressed with the earnestness, as well as ceremony, of the Christian ministers. There had never been seen anything like it, and all the household retired to rest awestruck and interested.

The next morning the messenger returned from Caedwalla, desiring that Wilfrid should come to him at once. The bishop, therefore, took an affectionate leave of his hospitable entertainer, and went off to Wihtgaresbyryg, leaving Bernwine behind to instruct and convert AElfhere, already thoroughly predisposed to accept Christianity, through the example of Malachi and old Deva, to whom the late intercourse with Malachi had been a great happiness.

AEdric accompanied Wilfrid and Hildila, and when they arrived at the castle of Wihtgar they found there was some important discussion going on. When they entered the courtyard they found a few men loitering about, all armed and fully equipped for some expedition, and the eorl in command was just bidding them to fall in, as a tall, noble-looking man came out of the house where Caedwalla was lying. His face wore a sad look, and he walked past Wilfrid and his party without appearing to see them. He was dressed in monastic garb, and his head was bare, showing the tonsure cut in the orthodox western fashion.

Wilfrid inquired who he was, but no one knew. As soon as he had joined the eorldoman, the armed men defiled through the gate, and went down the hill towards the Medene, where the mast of a boat could be seen over the woods that lay between the creek and the castle; for the new port had not yet risen at the head of the estuary.

As soon as it was announced to Caedwalla that Wilfrid had come, he gave orders that he should be at once admitted, and the bishop was ushered into his presence.

The wounded king was lying on a couch, looking pale and worn. The wound in his arm had healed, but the severe cut in his neck had proved a difficult matter, as Caedwalla was impatient of control, and chafed at his enforced inaction. At the entrance of the bishop he tried to rise, and was only induced to lie down again by the urgent remonstrances of Wilfrid.

"Thou seest, bishop, thou and I can never meet without my having gained a victory. Truly, the more often I meet thee, the better I shall be pleased."

"I trust, my son, thou wilt have no more enemies to fight. The Lord has been merciful to thee, and saved thee in the midst of great dangers. I hope thou wilt be spared to perform a good work among the people He has committed to thy charge."

"I hope so too," answered Caedwalla coldly. "But I call to mind thy telling me how a great heretoga and chieftain led his people into a promised land, and slew every man, woman, and child of its former inhabitants, and thou saidest he was a man approved of by thy God. I have tried to do the same. There will not soon be any of these Wihtwaras left. I trust I shall receive thy blessing for the thorough way I have tried to imitate that eorldoman Joshua, as thou calledst him."

Wilfrid sighed. Like many other Christian missionaries he wished he had not so impressed the savage mind with the conquests and wars of the Israelites,[1] but he prudently answered:

[1] The Bishop of the Goths, Ulphilas, entirely omitted translating the Book of Kings into the Gothic Bible, for he said: "The fierce and warlike spirit of his children required no spur in the matter of war."

"My son, before thou exterminatest, thou hast to prove that thou hast the right to punish. Joshua was the chosen leader of God's own people, appointed to execute God's command upon a desperately wicked nation, given up to every abomination. I do not yet know that thou art trying to introduce the love of Christianity among even thine own people, or that it has been offered to the poor victims thou tellest me thou art slaying. And even supposing thou wert a follower of our Lord, and the Wihtwaras were all pagans, who stubbornly refused to accept the Truth, that would not of itself give thee any title to kill or persecute them. But let me hear how thou art faring?"

"Oh, well enough! I shall be able to mount a horse in a few days, I hope," and then the conversation turned upon various matters, until Wilfrid discovered that the ecclesiastic whom he had met as he entered, was the Abbot Cynebercht of Reodbrygge (now Redbridge), and that he had come on an important mission. As Caedwalla did not seem inclined to talk about him, Wilfrid did not pursue the subject. And the king went on to say that he intended bestowing upon Wilfrid three hundred hides of land in Wihtea, as a proof of his affection for him and in thank-offering for the great successes he had achieved, and which he attributed to the protection and influence of Wilfrid's prayer and the possession of the marvellous charms or reliques he had brought from Rome. The bishop, perhaps from motives of policy, perhaps from real belief, did not attempt to make light of his power; indeed he did all he could to foster this idea and belief in the miraculous efficacy of relics, and his own influence as the minister of God's church here below, hoping that the more the fierce West Saxon king was impressed with his power and sanctity, the more he would be able to guide him in the way he wanted. Wilfrid therefore accepted the donation which amounted to more than a fourth of the whole of Wihtea, but he handed it over to his kinsman, Bernwine, with the understanding that he was to use the wealth arising from it for the purpose of charitable works and the promotion of the Christian faith, but especially in the redemption of captives and slaves. By this noble method the introduction of Christianity was associated with freedom and human sympathy, and all men blessed the humanity of Wilfred.