Chapter V: Part 5

Ceolwulf descended the steep side of the thickly-wooded hill with the assured step of one who well knew his way, although the increasing gloom of night was fast spreading over hill and dale. After walking about a mile through the dense brushwood, the old Wihtwara emerged upon a smooth slope of grassy down, and even he, sturdy and matter-of-fact old heathen as he was, stopped a moment to look at the beautiful scene before him; not so much struck, however, with its beauty and poetry, as from a desire to take in all he could of the well-known aspect of his native land while yet there was any chance of seeing, and to compare the present appearance of the cottages with what they had been before the fatal onslaught of Arwald and his followers.

At Ceolwulf's feet stretched the close, wind-worn grass of the westerly sloping hill-side, reflecting the rich glow which still suffused the darkling sky. Beyond gleamed the sheen of a wide-stretching marsh, across which the curlews called and the bitterns cried, and in which the reflection of the evening star, setting over the distant top of St. Boniface Down, streamed in flickering light. Across the Marsh a bank of land separated the floods that came from the centre of the island, from the waters of the great deep; for on the other side of this narrow strip of land a wide and magnificent bay spread out its grey depth, till it met the violet of the sky beneath the crimson glow of the departed sun. Rising out of this sea, and forming the western side of the noble bay, loomed a magnificent hill, the base of which lay bathed and hidden in the green-grey mist; but enough of the shape of the promontory could be seen to justify its name of the "Dunnose," by which it is now known. The upper part of the hill stood up in clear outline, presenting a solid, opaque mass of deep purple against the golden background, and descended abruptly towards the north in two steep slopes, or escarpments, to the level of a wide-reaching valley that led up to the centre of the island. On the other side of this valley a line of downs presenting their slope to the western light, stretched in fore-shortened length, till they ended in a wooded hill immediately fronting the place where Ceolwulf stood. The lovely scene gradually changed from the lingering warmth of day to the colder shades of night, and all objects grew rapidly indistinguishable.

"Too late to make out what is left of the house," muttered Ceolwulf, "and as the floods seem to be out, I don't see that I can cross the Yare by the old ford. I shall have to go round by the sands along the dunes."

At that time, and indeed until long after, that part of the island on which Ceolwulf and his companions had been cast was known as Binbrygea or Bembridge Island, as the other end of the Isle of Wight, which was equally separated from the middle part of the island by an inlet of the sea, was called Freshwater Island; and as the internal communication at that early time was very defective, there was no bridge over the Yare, and the inhabitants who wished to pass from Bembridge to the centre of the island had to go round by the sandbanks cast up by the sea along the shore where Sandown now flourishes.

There was a ford at low water over the marshes, but it was very difficult to find, and impassable if there were any extra water in the small river Yare. The homestead where Wulfstan and AEdric were brought up was built at the head of what until a few years ago was Brading Haven, and which at that time was a large and magnificent sheet of water stretching up nearly to where Sandown Railway Station now is. The home and farm buildings stood among some old trees, the ancestors of the present Park of Nunwell, and were sheltered from the north-west and north-east by rising ground and the woods that spread in an uninterrupted forest right through the island to Yarmouth, covering all the north side of the island with a dense growth; the only clearings being about Whitgaresbyrig, now Carisbrooke, and Cerdicsford, now Yarmouth. The few patches of land ploughed up by the Romans had rapidly gone out of cultivation during the wild period of the fifth and sixth centuries, and the sparsely scattered inhabitants lived chiefly on the results of the chase and such dairy produce as their rude methods of farming could raise, and in this part of their domestic economy the Jutish conquerors of the Isle of Wight were much assisted by the more cultivated race whom they conquered, and many of whom they kept as their slaves.

Ceolwulf once more fell into his former long swinging stride, and, turning more to the left, directed his steps towards the shore of the open sea.

After proceeding for about a mile and a half, until he had nearly reached the sea beach, he suddenly turned to the right, and plunging through some thick reeds he came to the edge of the river Yare. There was evidently a ford here, for the reeds were broken and trodden down. Groping his way with his spear, Ceolwulf at last emerged on the bank on the other side.

He had now reached a level tract of land rising gently to the foot of the Downs, which had faced him when he first emerged from the wood; he was still a good couple of miles from the old homestead, but as he was now in a more populous part it behoved him to be rather more cautious in his advance.

A little ahead of him and to his left was a belt of thick, low scrub and brushwood, through which could be seen here and there a whiter patch, looking like the walls of some building; but in the dim light it was difficult to make out anything clearly, excepting that in one place a pile of masonry rose above the bushes, and stood out against the stars in a jagged and broken outline.

Ceolwulf now paused a moment and listened intently for any sound, but all was still; occasionally a dull thud reached his car, caused by the sea breaking on the shingly shore behind him, and the fast dying leaves of an old oak near shivered in the scarcely perceptible breeze, but all else was still as the grave.

Suddenly a sharp whirr rose on the silence, and a sound of heavily flapping wings beat the quiet air as a nightjar started out of the old oak tree to search for his evening meal. Ceolwulf was superstitious, like all his race, and he especially disliked the place where he now found himself.

He well knew what those ruins were, and firmly believed, like all the dwellers round, that the place was haunted. Men had lived there who were as gods compared to the rough, uncultured Jute, and now their dwelling was become a ruin, and desolation brooded over its halls.

Little more than two hundred years ago that house had been a stately mansion, from which civilisation and Christianity spread their soothing influences around, where a cultivated Roman gentleman dwelt with his family of well-regulated servants, slaves in name, but as much attached to their master and mistress as any free servants could be, and perhaps still more so from the knowledge that their treatment was the pure result of the humanity of their master, who, as far as the laws were concerned, could have treated them far otherwise. In the wreck of the Roman empire all the life of an expanding culture was crushed out of Britain, and the old civilisation, religion and government were but as myths dimly told by the rude conquerors to their children. The house whose ruins were faintly delineated in the doubtful light had been a Roman villa of very elegant proportions, and fitted with all the appliances a luxurious civilisation knew well how to adapt to domestic comfort; but since the fatal night of slaughter, fire, and rapine, when the invader had harried the island, and remorselessly put to the sword all the men who were likely to show courage or ability, and had made slaves of the young women, the gaunt and blood-stained ruins had been left desolate, haunted by the memories of past happiness, and the horror of that awfully evil night, to which the superstition of the Jutes added the terror of their weird mythology.

As Ceolwulf, startled as he was for the moment by the flight of the night-jar, begun once more to pursue his way, a shrill cry, like that of a child in pain, only with a sound in it different to that which proceeds from human beings, startled him again.

The cry rose piercingly on the night, and then sank in silence once more.

"It's only an owl, I do believe," muttered Ceolwulf, looking in the direction of the sound. "But who can be stirring there at this time of night?" he added, as a flickering ruddy glare shone on the masonry of a remote part of the ruined Roman villa.

The flame had suddenly sprung up--for Ceolwulf felt sure he must have seen it before if it had been there--and suddenly it was obscured again, only to reappear in another minute. "There's somebody, or something, passing in front of that light," thought Ceolwulf, "and, be it witch or fiend, I must find out who it is before I go any further."

So saying, he cautiously turned towards the light, and at the same time felt for a piece of dried skin he wore suspended round his neck.

"Ah! thanks be to Woden! I have not lost that," he chuckled, "and I rubbed my sword in wolf's grease too, so that they can't throw any magic over that," he added, for the powerful virtues of a dried and split wolf's snout were universally held to be a sure antidote against magic; while wolf's grease was an undoubted protection from the wiles of the evil spirits who haunted desolate places, or were hostile to the human race.

Protected by such lucky possessions, Ceolwulf felt his courage rise, and advanced with resolution.

As he approached nearer, again that shrill and wild screech rose upon the air, and set Ceolwulf's blood curdling, and this time the cry ended in a low, prolonged and shivering sigh above his head.

"It's that owl, stupid!" said Ceolwulf to himself, clutching nervously his precious wolf's snout, but wishing much he had more confidence in what was, without doubt, a sure safeguard.

Stealthily stepping over the damp twigs and briar-covered stones, he got nearer and nearer to the light, but could make out no objects distinctly, and he now found that the light was further off than he had at first thought.

"Perhaps, after all, it is only a marsh fire, and it's no use following that," Ceolwulf growled, as he knocked his shin against a large block of stone lying half concealed among the tangled brushwood.

But, at this moment, as if to contradict him, the flame leaped up with greater brilliancy, and he saw a tall figure pass in front of the flame and disappear in the inky black beyond.

Paying more attention than ever to the inequalities of the ground, and arranging his arms as carefully as he could to prevent the light of the fire falling upon them, and announcing his presence by an unlucky gleam, Ceolwulf crept warily up, fearful lest the slightest sound should betray his approach; while ever and anon the unearthly cry that had previously startled him rang vibrating through the silence.

Keeping well in the shade of every bush and obstacle that intervened between him and the light, he was at last able to creep within a distance sufficient to enable him to make out the objects immediately within range of the fire, and the sight that he saw was not reassuring to one imbued with all the wild magic of the mystic northern legends.

Squatting before the fire, and occasionally attending to an iron pot that hung suspended over it from an iron rod that looked as if it had once been used for other purposes, which was held up by two forked sticks placed far enough off from the fire to prevent their being burnt, was a strange, uncanny-looking figure. Nothing could be seen, intervening immediately as it did between the fire and Ceolwulf, but the coal-black outline of a figure sparsely clad, with a hood over its head, and, as it turned towards one side or the other, showing the outline of a very hooked nose and chin, that, owing to the loss of the creature's teeth, approached the nose so closely as almost to touch it. A few locks of wispy hair hung down over the forehead beneath the hood, and a long and skinny arm from time to time stirred the mixture in the pot, while the other arm seemed to hold together the garment in which the figure was dressed. As Ceolwulf looked intently, fascinated and awe-struck by the sight of this being, whom he could not possibly mistake for anything else than a most undoubted witch, surprised by him in her unholy work, he heard her mutter scraps of sentences from time to time, but could not make out a word she said.

"She is brewing spells, I do believe. Now for whom can she be doing that? If only I could get her on our side it would be bad for Arwald. Hullo! what she's doing now? Soul of Woden! but there's another, and it's got horns!"

This remark was caused by a hairy object, which Ceolwulf had not before noticed, raising a gaunt head from which two long curving horns protruded, and which proceeded to get up on its haunches, and then upon its feet, and presented the outline of a fine goat.

"So she's really raised the soul of him who dwells in Hellheim. I hope he won't tell her I am here," muttered Ceolwulf, clutching more vigorously than ever at his wolf's snout. "I wish I could make out what she is saying. What a height she is! and where's she gone to now? I shall have to move round a bit to see the other side of the fire."

The figure had risen up, and had taken the pot off the hook which suspended it over the fire, and had then disappeared into the darkness on the other side, the goat remaining, turning however in the direction where Ceolwulf was, and beginning to utter the plaintive "hinny" that has procured for its race the name of "Nanny goat."

"I don't like this; I believe it has seen me, and is telling her I am here. Well, if I must come out, I must; but I'll hold on a bit longer yet, and perhaps if it does not look at me I shan't feel so queer." So saying, Ceolwulf moved to one side, and, drawing back, made his way round to the other side of the fire.

It took him, however, some time to grope his way among the thick brushwood and fallen stones, for the darkness was all the greater owing to his having looked so long at the light. At last he reached a loophole in the ruins, and found he was opposite to where he had previously stood.

The ruins in this part were not quite so dilapidated. There yet remained a portion of the roof that had fallen in, but still rested upon such columns as had not been thrown down on that terrible night when fire and sword had done their awful work on the peaceful household. Under this shelter the figure of the being whom he had so suddenly come upon was bending over something--what, Ceolwulf could not see, for the light of the fire, which was now sinking down, only blazed fitfully on the face of the walls, and was not powerful enough to pierce the gloom of the covered portion of the ruins.

"There's somebody else in there, that's certain, for she's talking. If she turns me into a toad for it, I must hear what she's saying," and Ceolwulf wriggled himself through the aperture, and crept stealthily nearer, and then suddenly stopped, horror-struck.

"Why, it's the voice of my dead eorl!" he exclaimed in terror, his hair standing up in fear upon his head, and his knees knocking together. He was so terrified at the thought of seeing his disembodied master, that his first thought was to fly from the spot. But the voice spoke again, feebly and with difficulty:

"Tell my children, if thou ever seest them, to revenge me on the House of Arwald, till not a stock remains from which that evil race could renew its life."

"Hush, my lord!" mumbled the aged voice of the hag whom Ceolwulf had first seen. "If I had harboured thoughts of vengeance, should I have succoured thee? Who did me and mine more grievous wrong than thou and thy fathers?"

"Then, why, in Woden's name, didst thou not leave me to die? I should have done so by this, and thought myself none the worse," answered the faint voice of the invisible speaker.

"That's right," muttered Ceolwulf to himself. "I see they tell us true. The heroes don't become less men down there in Nifleheim."

No other sound came from the deep shadow of the recess, and Ceolwulf began to think he would go on his way, only, in spite of his superstitious terrors, he wished very much to see if he could not get a glimpse of his dead lord, if indeed, there was anything to be seen.

The fire was now dying down, but occasionally flickering up, and casting weird shadows over the ruins, and Ceolwulf was just turning to go, when the voice again spoke:

"Woman, wilt thou give my message to my sons, if ever thou meetest them? I have not long to stay here; promise me."

"My lord, I have done what I could to save thy body, but I will do naught which can imperil thy soul. I will take no message of hatred to thy sons."

"Woman, darest thou refuse me? Dost thou dare to disobey me---- Ah! but the descendant of Cerdic is indeed fallen low when his bond woman scoffs at his command."

"My lord, leave thoughts of vengeance to God, and think of what I have tried to tell thee of death. Ah," murmured the old woman, "if only I could remember more clearly all that my mother used to tell me; but these are weary times indeed, when they only who worship the real, true God are miserable old women. How can any words of mine persuade my master to believe that his gods are false, or to trust to what I know to be truth?"

"Thou hast saved me, then, to live to know I shall be dishonoured? and then, when I knew this, I was to die? Was this thy plan? Woman, thou hast well avenged thy wrongs and those of thy race. By letting AElfhere know that he was to die as a woman in his bed, driven from his home, and unavenged on his enemies, thou hast inflicted on him a misery far worse than death on the battle-field."

"My lord, it was not so. Should I, timid old woman as I am, should I have risked death in every horrid shape merely to satisfy a feeling of which I know nothing? No; I was taught to love my enemies, do good to those that persecute me, and pray for those that despitefully use me."

"Woman, I believe thee not. May Wodin's curse alight on thee for a false traitress! I die unavenged I die dishonoured, and thou openly sayest thou wilt bear no message to my sons if thou shouldst meet them."

All this time the ideas of Ceolwulf were undergoing a change. Could it be that his master was really alive? As this thought took possession of his mind, the supernatural terror gradually gave place to one of hope, curiosity, and delight.

"I will stand it no longer, come what will; so here goes," he muttered, and stepping into the open space, among the ruins, he called out resolutely:

"My Lord AElfhere, thou shalt not die unavenged. Thy thrall Ceolwulf has heard thee, and will bear thy words to the young eorls. Whether thou bee'st alive or dead, Ceolwulf vows it on the edge of his sword."

*CHAPTER X.*

*"FOR MY SAKE, BE COMFORTABLE."*

The bold speech of Ceolwulf produced the most absolute silence. The fire had now become a mere heap of glowing embers, and nothing was distinguishable in the darkness.

As Ceolwulf peered into the blackness where the voices had seemed to come from, he thought he could hear a faint rustle as of some one moving. Again his superstitious fears came over him. He was seized with panic, and turning to make a hasty retreat, he caught his foot in a trailing branch of ivy and came heavily to the ground.

Muttering a terrified and hasty ejaculation, he rose to his feet, and for the moment forgot which way he had come. While turning over in his mind this important question, he heard a hollow voice say:

"Is it really thou, Biggun, or art thou a dream of my weary and fitful brain?"

"Surely, my lord, it is thy voice; but if thou art dead, let me not see thee."

"I am alive, Biggun, but have not long to live. Come nearer. Put some sticks on the fire before it goes out, that I may see thee, whether thou art my faithful Ceolwulf or not."

Ceolwulf did as he was told, but with considerable difficulty, for it was no easy matter to find any dry sticks, and had it not been for the help of the old woman, who came out to assist him, he would scarcely have been able to accomplish his object. When the fire burnt up again brightly, Ceolwulf, to his disgust, found that the terrible witch whom he had so dreaded was no other than the poor old slave Deva, the most despised of the female serfs in AElfhere's household.

"Why, Deva, woman, how didst thou save thy life when so many better than thou died around the homestead?"

"It is not the lowly blade of grass the storm lays low, but the lofty wheatstalk."

"True; but who would have thought of thee being the only one left to care for our master? Thou art a better woman, Deva, than I took thee for."

"Ceolwulf," said the invisible AElfhere, "stand not prating there, but come here that I may see thee, and hear tidings of my sons, if they yet live."

The woman Deva took up a half-burnt brand from the fire, and going before Ceolwulf to light him, pointed to a rude couch made of a few skins.

On this lay a wasted form, the lower limbs swathed in bandages, and a blood-stained cloth around the head. The face was ghastly white, and an unkempt and grizzly beard spread over the chest.

"My lord, my lord, it is thou of a surety; but how art thou changed!" cried Ceolwulf.

"Speak not of that, man; tell me of my boys."

"They are well, my lord, and one is not far hence."

"Not a prisoner in the hands of the traitor Arwald? Tell me not that; anything but that!"

"No, my lord, not so bad as that. He is safe among a trusty band of men who have come to win for thee thine own again."

"Thou bringest me life, Ceolwulf. Oh that I could live to revenge me on that nithing! then I should go to the land of heroes and feast for ever among my ancestors! But tell me more."

Ceolwulf then narrated the events of the past three weeks, making as light as he could of the wound of AEdric, and praising the manliness and enterprise of Wulfstan.

As AElfhere listened his eye grew bright and his breathing quick, while at the narration of the assault on Cissanceaster he could not forbear to exclaim, "Well done, brave sword!" "Bravely sped, keen axe!" at each episode of the hard-fought fight.

"That Caedwalla is worthy to succeed to the throne of Cerdic, and I trust he may yet fare well! So those strange men," alluding to the monks, "were hospitable to thee, were they? And yet they were strangers in blood and language. It is odd how Deva here, instead of handing me over to Arwald, as she might have done, has nursed me and tended me as if I were of her race and had always benefited her; but this is no time for thinking, we must act, Ceolwulf----" Then, suddenly recollecting his crippled condition, he added, despairingly: "Ah, well, I talk of acting, who must lie here while death-blows are dealing. Aye, and must die, too, before I can drink the blood of my enemies."

"Say not so, my lord; with care and attention, and with the assistance of the bald-headed man I have brought with me, I doubt not we shall have thee well and on thy legs in a few days."

"No, Ceolwulf, no, my fighting days are done, and I shall soon rest with my fathers. But enough of this. Thou must get thee back to thy men. What thinkest thou of bringing them hither? There is water here. Thou canst make a stout defence of these old walls if thou art attacked. No fire will hurt them now, and it will be a safe hiding-place, if it be thought well to keep concealed."

"It is well planned, my lord, but I do not yet know the state of feeling among the old servants and people round; however, we cannot go on much longer, for we must have food, and this will do as well as the place where they now are, or better, for aught I know. Shall I bring them here to-night, my lord?"

"Aye, Ceolwulf, do so, and that quickly, for I fain would see my little son before I die. And thou hadst best do it before dawn too, that no prying eyes may see thy march."

"I will, my lord; but had not Deva best allow the fire to go out, or, at least, to bank it up, lest any other stray passer should be attracted by it, as I was?"

"There's none dare venture near," said Deva, contemptuously; and then added bitterly: "The memory of their evil deeds haunts this place, and the sons of those who murdered the innocents shudder for the iniquity of their fathers without knowing wherefore."

"I go, then, my lord; and when thou hearest the cry of the curlew repeated four times, know it will be the signal of our approach, and let Deva, there, light a brand, that we may see where to enter."

So saying, Ceolwulf disappeared in the darkness, and Deva prepared to attend to the fire, banking it up to burn some time, but so as not to give much light.

It did not take the hardy old Jute long to reach the encampment of his allies. They had already got things into order, and, under the practised hand and eye of Athelhune, a fairly defensive breastwork of timber surrounded the little clearing.

Four men also were posted as sentries, and Ceolwulf was challenged by a rough voice before he could get nearer than two hundred yards of the camp, and so well did the man understand his duty that he did this without himself giving any clue to his whereabouts, having concealed himself in the brushwood, so as to command the only natural approach.

"'Tis a friend, man--Ceolwulf; let me pass."

On hearing and recognising his voice, the sentry emerged from his ambush.

"Is all well?" said Ceolwulf.

"Aye, aye, there's naught stirring; but we are all grievous hungry," grumbled the man.

"Thou shalt have food enough soon," and Ceolwulf strode past to the encampment. Here he found all, excepting another man on guard at the entrance, were sound asleep. Wulfstan was lying near Malachi, and Stuff was sleeping near a burly Boseham man, who had taken the precaution to tie a thong tightly to the boy's hands, and allowing sufficient play for the boy to turn over, had made the other end fast to his own wrist.

Ceolwulf went up to Athelhune, and, shaking him vigorously, soon woke him up.

"What is it, man? Canst not let me have a quiet night for once?" growled the still sleepy chieftain.

"Thou shalt sleep fast enough presently, and with better chance of food and safety than here, but thou must rouse up now. There's work to be done first, and good news to cheer thee besides. The Eorldoman AElfhere is still alive."

"Truly?"

"True as I stand here. I have seen him and talked with him."

"That ought to help us much with the country side. When they know their lord is alive and is at the head of a trusty band, they will gather thick round him."

"Aye, that they will; but we will talk of this presently. We must move our camp at once before dawn to where he is."

In a few moments all was stir and confusion. The sentries were still left at their posts to keep watch, while the others quickly packed up such things as they had brought. When all was ready, the men were arranged in line, the sentinels were called in, and Ceolwulf put himself at the head. The column then filed off into the path, and without further adventure reached the ford which Ceolwulf had crossed. Here they halted, while Ceolwulf took three men with him and reconnoitered as far as the outskirts of the ruins. Stopping here himself, he sent the men back, telling two of them to halt at equal distances from himself and the main body, while the third man was to act as guide.

Having given these directions, he imitated the cry of the curlew four times, at the preconcerted intervals of time.

As Ceolwulf stood awaiting the lighting of the fire-brand that should have answered his signal, he heard a twig broken a few yards from where he was standing, and, peering through the gloom, he fancied he descried a figure move off into a denser part of the thicket.

While he was hesitating whether to follow it or not the flashing of the torch diverted his attention, and the speedy arrival of the main body made it necessary to see to their guidance into the ruins. However, thinking it of very great importance that their movements should not be observed, and feeling tolerably sure that there was someone concealed there, he directed four of the young men to go through the bush, and, either pursue, capture, or kill, any one who might be there.

He then guided the others towards the entrance to the ruins, a proceeding made all the easier by the light of the torch.

Ceolwulf had not yet told Wulfstan of the discovery he had made, fearing the boy, in the wild delight of the surprise, should do some foolish thing, and break the silence so necessary to their movements. He now, however, took him aside, and, telling him he had something of very great importance to confide, impressed upon him at the same time the necessity of absolute quiet. When he saw that the boy was quite ready to give his submission to what should be required of him, he told the joyful news.

Wulfstan for a moment was almost beside himself with joy, but a look from Ceolwulf restrained him, and he managed to master his transports.

"Oh, Ceolwulf, where is he?" whispered the boy. "Can't I see him? is he very ill?"

"Thou shalt see him, Wulf; but he is very ill, and thou must not trouble him with questions."

"Ceolwulf, hast thou brought my boy?" called the voice of AElfhere.

At the sound of his father's voice Wulfstan started away from Ceolwulf, and in a moment was at the side of the couch. Pressing his father's feeble, hot hands, he whispered, "Father, father, I am so glad! I never thought I should see thee again. Oh, poor father, how thou must have suffered! Ah! that nithing Arwald, he shall pay for this."

"That's right, my own Wulf, there spake the blood of the free Jute. I shall die now happier, knowing that I leave behind me one who will one day grow up a worthy upholder of the honour of Cerdic," said AElfhere, fondly caressing his son's curly head.

A deep sigh close by startled Wulfstan.

"Why, father, who is here? didst thou hear that sigh?"

"It's only old Deva, my son; she has been good to me, and thou must do all thou canst to make her more comfortable when thou gainest possession of the homestead."

"Why does she sigh like that? father, is she ill, too?"

"No, but she is a woman, and a slave, and has poor, dastardly thoughts. She would not have us avenge our wrongs; what thinkest thou of that?" and AElfhere laughed a scoffing laugh.

"Why, father, that's what brother Malachi says too."

And he was going to tell his father all about that curious man, when Ceolwulf came up, bringing Athelhune with him, and then they all three talked over the fortifying of the ruins and their plans for getting provisions.

These topics did not please Wulfstan, who very soon dropped off to sleep by the side of his father. Deva brought a stone, and, covering it with a portion of one of the skins off the couch, placed it under his head for a pillow, and so left him, after throwing over him another covering.

The rest of the band had now settled down for the night, sentries, as before, being placed at proper posts, and all was once more silent.

Before Ceolwulf prepared to take his well-earned rest for the short period of the night that yet remained, he inquired whether the four men whom he had sent to follow up the figure he had seen in the bushes had returned. Greatly to his dissatisfaction he heard that they had come back, but had discovered no signs of anyone.

"We shall hear more of that to-morrow, I doubt not," growled the old man, as he lay down to rest not far from his master, AElfhere.

The next day was some little way advanced before the men were astir, Wulfstan, as usual, being the first to awake.

He could scarcely believe he was not still dreaming when he saw his wounded father lying on the couch beside him; however, recollections of the past night soon brought back a sense of reality, and he gazed at the worn and ghastly face of his father with tears of pity and sympathy.

One by one the others woke up, until at last the whole party was up and about. Such of the food as was left from the previous day was now divided equally, but it was not enough to satisfy the hunger of these vigorous men, and all agreed that something must be done to obtain a fresh supply.

Ceolwulf and Athelhune decided that the first thing to do was to put the ruins in a state of defence, and for this purpose all hands were set to work at once. The hewn stones that faced the rough rubble of the walls were piled up as skilfully as they were able to arrange it, and the space to be defended was much contracted; but they took care to enclose the well within their walls.

Cutting down some of the brushwood which grew close against the ruins, they made a rude shelter with the boughs, and wattled it with hazel. Into this cabin they carried the Eorldoman AElfhere, whose wounds had been examined by Malachi, and pronounced very serious; indeed, it was a marvel he had lived so long, for the battle-axe of the Jutes and Saxons did not leave much life in a foeman when once it was driven home. In AElfhere's case, however, the blow had been partially turned aside by the eorldoman's own axe. When Athelhune, who now that the conduct of the expedition was completed had taken command in right of his rank as eorldoman and chief officer of Caedwalla, saw that the defences could be completed without much more labour, he consulted with Ceolwulf about the necessity of sending out a party to forage. There was no question about the absolute need of getting food, only it was a matter of great importance not to alienate the sympathy of AElfhere's ceorls or labourers; but as nearly all the cattle and crops, of which there was very slight store, belonged to AElfhere, and were now in the hands of Arwald's eorldoman who was left in the occupation of the house at Braedynge, there was less chance of their taking anything that belonged to any one else. At this early time in the Saxon settlements the free rovers, who had come under the leadership of their own elected chiefs, were still very free and independent, and the difference between the eorls and the ceorls was much less marked than it was in the later Saxon time, when in the days of AEthelred the life of a ceorl was valued at a third of the "were," or money value of a thane, and a sixth of that of a royal thane: but in the seventh century, and in the unsettled state of the lawless parts of the South Saxon and West Saxon kingdoms, the right of each eorldoman depended very much upon his might, and the title to property, both real and personal, rested chiefly upon the power of defending what each man possessed by his own strong arm and good sword, supported by such adherents as affection or interest attached to him.

It was therefore decided that at nightfall Ceolwulf should take out two of the most enterprising men, and carry off what he could from the barns around the old house of AElfhere. The men who were told off for this service were directed to rest. The others went on with the completion of the defences.

After Malachi had attended to the wounded and seemingly dying eorldoman, he began to examine the ruins of the building in which he found himself.

The whole place was littered with _debris_, broken pottery, fallen columns, decaying rafters that had once supported the roof, and tiles. The work of clearing away a space round the well had disclosed several curious short columns made of tiles all very close together, but the spaces had been hastily filled again to render the standing room all the firmer. During the progress of raising the walls the men had uncovered here and there fragments of coloured designs, which they would have liked to explore further, but Athelhune was anxious to get the defences in a fitting state to stand an assault before nightfall, and all examination of them was at that time put off.

Malachi, however, being looked upon as a rather feeble idiot, was allowed to do what he liked, and he had now uncovered a picture such as he had never seen before, at least not in that style and size.

Such art productions as he had ever seen consisted in a few pictures in an illuminated manuscript which belonged to a monastery in his native Ireland or Ierne: among them was one representing our Lord under the symbol of the Good Shepherd. The pictures were the work of a Byzantine artist, and traces of classical influence were naturally seen in the designs and their treatment. He was, therefore, at once struck by the similarity of the large figure playing on some musical instrument, surrounded by animals, to the illumination of the Good Shepherd. His delight, which was very great, was caused not only by the novelty and beauty of the discovery, but because he concluded that there must have been Christians here--a somewhat rash conclusion to come to on such a slight foundation.

While he was removing still more of the rubbish, he was aroused from his absorption by an aged voice near him saying:

"Ah, many's the time I have looked at that picture, and thought of them that did it."

"What! woman, thou knowest who did this?" cried Malachi in astonishment, looking at the aged form of the old woman.

Without immediately answering him, Deva looked at him for some time, and then slowly said:

"And who be ye? Thou art not a Saxon; thy speech is different, and thy clothes are different, and thou lookest not like a blood-thirsty fellow such as they are. What are ye?"

"I am a poor servant of our Lord, come into these parts to see if I cannot do the Lord's work among the heathen."

"The Lord!--the Lord's work!--the heathen!" repeated the old woman as one in a daze. "'Tis long, long since I heard these words. I doubt if there's any left in all these parts who know even what such words mean. Man, what art thou? I mean whence comest thou? What race art thou of?"

Malachi briefly explained that he was an Irish monk come to preach among the heathen Saxons, and on questioning her, in turn, was overjoyed to find that she still had preserved a dim memory of the truths of Christianity, obscured by the mists of six generations of bondage, and unassisted by any contact with other Christians. On being questioned closely, however, she acknowledged she had heard that there was still a holy man left, who was said to live in a cave in the face of a high cliff overlooking the sea. Tradition said he had learnt what he knew from a succession of holy men who had retired there when the island was taken by the Jutes under Whitgar and Stuffa.

The two were now joined by Wulfstan, who had always been very frightened of poor old Deva, whom he looked upon as a witch; but now that he had seen so much of the world he felt it would not do to have these ideas any longer. As there was now nothing more to be done but wait patiently for Ceolwulf to return with the party that had gone out after the food, he asked Malachi to tell him a story; but Malachi, who wanted to learn more about these ruins, suggested that Deva should tell them all she knew.

The poor old woman was in a talking mood. She looked upon the arrival of Malachi as an answer to her complaint of the night before, and she somehow felt that she was not so lonely. Here was a man who had the same ideas as herself, and knew far more than she did of the real, true faith, and one who, like the Master she dimly served, was ready to lay down his life for the good of others.

The wish of her heart was going to be realised; she would learn more about the Lord before she died. Being in this happy frame of mind, she was willing to do what was wanted of her, and said she would try and recollect things told her by her mother and grandmother.

Wulfstan stretched himself on the pavement to listen, while Malachi sat with hands folded and an intelligent interest on his ascetic features.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*"MEMORIES OF LONG AGO."*

"It's very difficult to remember things clearly," said old Deva, meditatively. "There's mother now, and what she said, and then grandmother, and how many did she say there were before her, all slaves like me? It was granny's grandmother that was made the first slave, and she was born a princess--at least, so grannie said; but perhaps she didn't know," and the poor old woman sank into a reverie, from which brother Malachi roused her by saying gently:

"But who lived in these ruins, mother? Canst thou tell us who they were that built these buildings, and made this beautiful pavement?"

"Aye, that I can; they were my own forefathers--at least, some of them were. Those must have been lovely days, when the land was tilled in peace, each man worshipped God as He ought to be worshipped, and there was plenty and goodwill throughout the length and breadth of the land.... But those days will never come again! There's naught but ravaging, and murdering, and starving, and no one left to tell us the way of salvation. And, thank the Lord, I shall soon depart, and there's none left after me to mourn her weary life out as I have mourned mine."

"Dost really mean to say, Deva, that thou art the daughter of a princess?" said Wulfstan, wonderingly.

"Aye, that I am, for all my rags, and my old age, and my ugliness---- No! not daughter--what am I talking about?--but descended from one, just as thy father is always saying he is descended from Cerdic. And now I come to think about it, I must be a good two lives nearer to my princess than thy father to his Cerdic, for I am old enough to be AElfhere's grandmother. My ancestress was the daughter of Natanleod, and he ruled all this land before thy Saxons or Jutes came here."

"Natanleod," said Malachi, repeating the name as if he had heard it before, but could not quite recollect where. "There were some people who came to a place near my home who told me of a great prince or king who, when the Angles first came over to Britain, had fought a great fight against them; but, as it was a long time ago, they could not remember much about it, but I think his name sounded like Natanleod. I know they said he was a Christian, and they thought he was killed in a battle; and now I come to think of it, they mentioned the very name Cerdic, who thou sayest was AElfhere's ancestor, as the name of the heathen who was attacking him."

"How odd it would be if you had met some of old Deva's relations!" said Wulfstan.

"Ah, my child, they were scattered far over the earth," said Deva, mournfully. "Some went to a place called Ierne,[1] some to a country over the water called--called--my old memory won't help me now, but it sounded like 'Morick.'"

[1] Ireland.

"Was it Armorica, mother?" said Malachi.

"Why, that was the name, to be sure. Now how didst thou know that? They've called me witch-wife many a time, because they said I knew more than human beings ought to know, but my knowledge is ignorance to what thine is."

"It is nothing so very wonderful, mother. Those same strangers I told thee of often told me where their people went to, and many a time they would have liked to have crossed the sea again to meet those of their kith and kin that were scattered abroad."

"Well, well. And maybe thou hast met with those that really were my blood. Ah, they would not be proud of poor old Deva, the slave daughter of Helva, a slave too. How things do change, to be sure!"

"But, mother," put in Malachi, who thought he saw signs in her of going off into a reverie again, "what about this house? Thou hast not told us yet who built it."

"And how do I know who built it?" said the old woman, testily.

"Why, thou saidest just now thy forefathers built it," said Wulfstan.

"Then if I told him, why does he ask me again?" said Deva, wearily. "I shall go and see how the wounded eorldoman is."

"Don't go yet, Deva," said Malachi. "He was sleeping very well when I came to look at these pavements, and we should hear him if he moved or wanted anything. And so thou art descended from the great Prince Natanleod, art thou! In those days men were indeed cleverer than they are now. There are none living near here who could work like those who made these walls or wrought these pictures. Thou canst not remember what thy grandmother said about the destruction of her grandmother's home?"

"Yes I can, though," said Deva. "Ah! well I can remember her telling me, for she would take me up here on a summer's evening when the young moon was just going down there behind yon hill. These floors were not covered up so much then, and many stones have fallen down since. She would always choose that evening in the month when the moon was like that, and it was getting dark and dusk--a time when all the land is hushed, and young men and maidens like to meet by a lonely hillside or pleasant dell, while the cockchafers buzz and the beetles boom. Because, she said, it was on an evening like that her grandmother had always told her the story, and it was on an evening like that the dreadful deed was done. They came, they came," said the old woman, stretching out her skinny arm and pointing with most dramatic action to a large gap in the ruins towards the land-locked Braedynge Haven, whose shining waters could be seen framed in this very gap, "up there"----

But Deva did not finish her sentence, for both Wulfstan and Malachi, who had followed the old woman's action and gesture, broke in upon her words with a wild and simultaneous cry that rang through the silence of the ruins, like the shrill scream of an affrighted sea-bird, as it suddenly espies the robber of its nest suspended overhead.

There, entering by the same gap through which their ancestors had come to slaughter the ancestors of Deva, was a band of armed men, who, the moment they saw that their approach was known, added to the din and confusion that already prevailed by shouting their battle-cry together, and rushing upon the few men who, with Athelhune, were left to defend the encampment.

Malachi and Wulfstan had, as they shouted "to arms," darted back into the enclosure, nearly fenced in by this time, fortunately, and had with great promptitude begun to pile up the stones that had been left to close in the only means of exit or entrance for the little fortification, when suddenly Wulfstan darted out again, and returned in another minute helping poor old Deva over the rough stones.

"One moment more, and I should have been too late," cried Wulfstan, joyously, as he led the good old woman up to his father's side.

"It's only putting off the fated day, Wulfy, a little longer," said AElfhere, drearily. "But this torture is worse than all that has gone before, for I must lie here and see all who are faithful to me and my little son slain before my eyes, and I unable to move hand or foot, or strike a blow for their safety. Oh! Woden, all-Father, help me!"

It was, indeed, a hopeless prospect. There were, besides Malachi, old Deva, Wulfstan, and the wounded eorldoman, only Athelhune and three men, and the attacking force consisted of at least twelve; but the quick eyes of Wulfstan detected among them five or six faces of men he had known as ceorls on his father's farm, and he shouted out loudly to them by name, calling on them to turn on the false traitors who had done such foul wrong, and to fight for their lord, AElfhere, who was still alive.

It did not seem, however, that his words produced any effect; for the band of men, seeing that their surprise had in part failed owing to the inner line of wall that had been raised, after consulting a moment together, advanced on three sides, with the evident intention of taking the little fort by assault.

At first sight it seemed as though nothing could save the little party inside the hastily contrived defences, and this was evidently the view of their assailants, who rushed on to the attack in all the confidence of an easy victory; but the very extremity of their position supplied the defenders with the courage of despair.

Athelhune, with the quick apprehension of one suited to command, had heard with pleasure Wulfstan's words, and hastily told him to point out to him the men whom he had addressed. Two were advancing on the side where Athelhune and Wulfstan were standing.