Chapter VIII: Part 8

They had now got well into the village, and were approaching a long, low, barn-like structure; round the entrance everything was unusually tidy, and some attempt had been made to form a path of shingle and sand, edged with white flints, from the neighbouring beach. In front of this door their guide stopped, AEdric was lifted off the horse-litter by Corman and the other man, and they entered a large room or hall. AEdric had never seen a room like it. The floor was very clean, and a fresh pile of reeds lay near the door, to replace the soiled ones that served as a mat. There was a long table down the middle of the room, and across one end was another table, in the centre of which was a large massive oaken chair; on each side of the table were wooden squares, or trenchers, which served for plates; by the side of these were horn drinking-cups. At the end of the room, opposite the large chair, was a wooden reading-desk, and on this was a splendid manuscript, heavily bound and chained to the desk. AEdric could see that there were some lovely pictures in it, and he longed to examine the volume. He had never seen a book in his life before, and the nearest idea he had ever had of a drawing had been some carvings on a horn which his father very highly prized, and some pictured hangings which were treasured among the family's most valued belongings, and which tradition said had been taken in the sack of the haunted ruins at Braedynge. Father Dicoll and the poor monks had no books; they had no parchment, and no paper. AEdric had heard of writing, but it had always been spoken of with awe, for it was considered to savour somewhat of magic. It was therefore with a solemn feeling, as well as one of curiosity, that he looked at the large mysterious volume. At the side of the room opposite the door, and nearly in the middle on that side, was a bright fire. The logs were piled up on iron bars, and a large square of hard trodden clay served as hearth. The smoke from the fire found its way up and out of the hall by an aperture in the roof immediately above it, but, as it did not always take this way out, there was a strong smell of burnt wood and smoke in the room.

AEdric and Corman were led up to the bench before the fire, and told that the clerks who were with Wilfrid were at service and they were to wait there until it was over. AEdric felt awestruck at the silence, the neatness, the comfort of everything, but especially at the stillness of the place, the hall of his own home having always been full of noisy domestics, familiar and lazy; the remains of the last, and indeed of several previous feasts, were left on the floor, and the whole place habitually reeked of feasting, rude plenty, and dirt. But here was something very different. Order and cleanliness were visible everywhere.

Presently there was a noise of feet outside on the shingle path, and a tall figure entered the room. It was Wilfrid, followed by his two faithful companions, Bernwine and Hildila. Corman at once arose and stood in submissive silence before the great churchman, while AEdric tried to get up, but was arrested by the kind voice of Wilfrid bidding him be seated.

The boy was at once won by the gentle voice and kind smile of the bishop, but was at the same time much in awe of him. Somehow he seemed so very much farther away from him than Father Dicoll had seemed; it was not that he did not greet him in quite as friendly a way, or with even a kinder smile, but the boy had a feeling that he was a much smaller object, and could not possibly be of any interest to Wilfrid. At the same time there came across him all that Dicoll had said about him, and, with the instinct of a boy who is quick to recognise what is put on or assumed in manner, he felt as if Wilfrid's kindness were a matter of policy, and not a matter of the heart. It is not to be supposed that AEdric could have given these reasons for his awe of him, but in very great awe of Wilfrid he certainly was, and what was even more curious, brother Corman seemed equally in awe of the bishop. As not infrequently happens when very ingenuous, candid natures come in contact with deeper, more intricate, more commanding minds, it seemed to strike both that it was Wilfrid's part to be both kind and sweet in manner, while with Corman himself it was his nature to be so.

"My son, thou must be very tired after thy journey," said Wilfrid. "Thy couch is prepared, and supper shall be taken to thee there. I will entrust thee to the care of Father Bernwine, who will make a careful nurse, and see that thou art well cared for. In the morning, if all be well, I will talk with thee. Meanwhile, Good-night, and may the peace of God go with thee."

This was all said with such sweet dignity that AEdric, who would much rather have sat up and did not feel at all sleepy, did not venture to dispute the arrangement, although at home he would undoubtedly have boisterously done so. He was supported out of the room, therefore, by Bernwine, after taking an affectionate leave of Corman, who remained awaiting the bishop's instructions.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*"BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS."*

The next day AEdric awoke early. It took him some time to realise where he was. The dim light of morning came in through a narrow aperture in the walls, and he could only just make out surrounding objects. All was very quiet. He could see that he was in a little room, neatly furnished with a wooden settle or stool, and the wooden bed on which he lay. There was a little wooden cross on the wall by the side of his bed, and some writing underneath it, at which AEdric stared, not quite liking it. He thought it must be writing, for it was rather like some marks on the horn at home, and which he had been told were spells. He wished it was rather lighter, or that some one would come, for he could not tell what the runes might do, they might contain some enchantment, it was better not to look at them. Presently he heard the same solemn sound he had heard last night, it sounded very beautiful as it plaintively pealed through the building, now rising in sustained unison, then sinking in deeper notes, appearing to swell and sink and swell again, appealing in mystical utterance to an invisible but all-powerful Being. When the music ceased, AEdric could hear a continuous sound of human tongues, then one deep musical voice, followed by a solemn melodious blending of all the tones.

Soon after, he heard the noise of steps at his room, over the entrance of which a curtain hung, and in another moment Corman entered, much to the boy's relief.

"Oh! how glad I am to see thee, Corman, I feared thou hadst gone away."

"I should not have gone without seeing thee first, AEdric; how hast thou slept?"

"Very well. I feel much better, I believe I shall be able to walk without any help, to-morrow, if I am allowed to practise a little to-day--but what was that sound? what have they been doing? I never heard anything like it."

"That was the morning service, or matins, and I have just come from it. But thou hadst better get up now, and I will help thee into the Refectory, where we are all going to have breakfast."

When Corman and AEdric entered the large room or hall, into which they had first come the evening before, they found the room nearly full. Wilfrid was at the head of the table, on each side of him were Bernwine and Hildila, while all down the long table were a few monks, some lay domestics, and several boys, who all looked curiously at AEdric. One of the monks led Corman and AEdric to their vacant places, and then grace was said by another monk at the lower end of the table, after which all sat down, and the same monk who had said grace, began to read out of the beautiful book that had so attracted AEdric's attention the night before.

The breakfast consisted of a portion of fish to each person, and a portion of oatmeal porridge made with water. There was water to drink, but at Wilfrid's table there was a jug of milk, of which, however, the Bishop only took very sparingly, but he sent it down to AEdric, and another monk who seemed delicate, bidding them take it for their bodily comfort.

The fish had been caught by Wilfrid himself, who had taught the ignorant South Saxons how to supply themselves with this wholesome food, and, like many men remarkable for their intellectual gifts, he was especially pleased with the success of his skill in the gentle craft.

No word was spoken during the meal, all listened attentively to the reading of the monk. He was reading from "The Dialogues" of Pope Gregory the Great, but AEdric naturally did not understand a word, as it was all in Latin; when Corman afterwards told him the marvellous tales that the monk had read, he wished much that he could have understood it, and longed more than ever to look at the pictures, and made up his mind he would like to learn to read. When all had finished, the reader closed the book and said grace, after which he sat down and had his own breakfast, while the rest dispersed. It appeared that each man had his allotted task; some went to the outhouses whither the platters and other appliances of the breakfast table were taken, and were there washed up; one of the lay brothers winding up a bucket of water from the well hard by, and heating it in a copper. Others went to a tool-house, and taking their hoes and mattocks went out to the garden on the south side of the little settlement. The choir boys were taken off to the church and were there taught general knowledge, as well as music, by Bernwine. Hildila took two or three monks with him and they carefully practised writing under his instruction.

Wilfrid beckoned to Corman to bring AEdric up to him.

The boy felt very shy when he saw the clear piercing grey eyes of the celebrated Bishop searching him through and through. For in Wilfrid's face there was that presence of a will, which is always so marked in men who have been great in the world, and this will makes its presence felt without a word being spoken, as the needle, when magnetised, is powerless to resist the attraction of the mysterious pole.

"My son, brother Corman has told me all about thee. He tells me how patient thou hast been under suffering, and how thou hast been brought to wish to lead a better life. Thank God for thy pain, for by it thou hast been enabled to learn the way of salvation, and mayst be intended for a blessed purpose, even the awakening of thy people from the dark night of Paganism to the glorious light of the Gospel."

AEdric looked timidly at Wilfrid: he did not know what to say, he could not talk to him as he had done to Father Dicoll and brother Corman. He felt he could only learn by hearing, not by questioning, which, to a boy, is so much the preferable way, but which, unless carefully directed, leads many times to a desultory and fruitless end.

Wilfrid went on, seeing that the boy was listening: "Thou wilt be able to learn many things here. When thou art thoroughly taught in all that is necessary, thou shalt be baptised; and when thou hast quite recovered, thou canst return to thine own land and teach thine own people. For what more beautiful or holy object canst thou have in life than the hope of meeting those who have been brought to eternal life by thy means? Think what a blessed thing it would be if the Almighty should employ thee as His messenger. And be not daunted, my son, by the scoffs and jeers of the world; rather count them as so much glorious proof that thou art doing God's will. What saith our Lord: 'Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you. Rejoice and be exceeding glad for great is your reward in heaven.' Think not, my son, either that the reward is far off: all good men have reckoned that the sufferings of this present life are as nothing compared with the joys or sufferings of eternity. Think, for it is perfectly true, the short period of thy life here will make or mar thine everlasting life. Thou canst not grasp the word 'ever-lasting,' neither can I. But now thou lookest forward to change; each day, each hour has some hope in it. Then, there will be no change, not in the sense in which we understand change; and if we have hopes, for no man knoweth what is beyond, unless, perchance he has seen it in dim visions of the night, like that soldier thou didst hear of whom the holy Gregory knew--but I forgot, thou dost not yet understand Latin--they are hopes that will not affect our weal or woe, for it is by this life we shall be judged. And all men now believe that the times are at hand when God shall come to judge His people. What said the holy Gregory, now nearly a hundred years ago: 'But a short time, and the earth and the heavens will burn, and among the blazing elements, amid angels and archangels, and thrones and dominions, and principalities and powers, the terrible Judge will appear!' The times are very evil; around us are wars, and rumours of war; famine and pestilence have been stalking throughout the land; kingdom rises against kingdom; and who shall say that the time of our visitation draweth not nigh. Who then, my son, would count the sufferings of this present time as compared with the joys that shall be hereafter? Work then, my son, pray, mortify thy flesh, wrestle against the desires of the body, not forgetting that while we do only our duty, we cannot merit anything of ourselves, but can only be saved through the all-abounding grace of our Saviour. Of these things thou wilt learn more from the instruction of Bernwine, and may the blessing of the Almighty rest upon thee. If thou art in any difficulties, or doubts, or earthly sorrows, come to me, though of these I trust thou wilt soon be free, for the first step in the Divine life is to think naught of earthly affection and lusts, for what said the holy Fulgentius[1]: 'Youth can easily bear any burden when once it has learnt to despise human affections.' I trust, in a short time, to hear well of thee from thy instructor, and that the lessons thou art learning are likely to bear fruit. But remember docility is the chief quality. Thou must pray for the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which most becomes a follower of our Lord, for, truly, Solomon says: 'My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of his correction.'"

[1] I have not ventured to convey literally the harsh expressions of St. Fulgentius, nor in this chapter or elsewhere have I attempted to render the severity of the early monastic ideas. In a rude age, and with the perpetual recurrence of awful crimes, severe measures and pitiless conclusions were necessary--but in a work intended for the young, it is better not to represent the full force of religious thought in the 7th century.

After this little discourse, Wilfrid arose, and saying that he would send Bernwine to them in a little time, left the refectory.

"He seems much better than I had expected," said AEdric to Corman, "but I don't think I could ever talk to him as I did to Father Dicoll. He seems as though he knew too much."

"I daresay thou wilt find Bernwine easier to talk to, although Father Dicoll could not have talked to you in a kinder way, or told you anything better. It is not with children Wilfrid would show anything that Father Dicoll or I should disapprove. He is far too wise and good a man to let children see that there are controversies among Christians, and I sometimes think we have done wrong in letting thee know that we differ on some points from the Bishop. If we have erred, may the Lord forgive us; but, truly, the heart of man is desperately deceitful and wicked, and the Evil one is always on the watch to catch one tripping. But here comes Bernwine. Now, I hope thou wilt remember all Father Dicoll and I have tried to teach thee."

As Corman spoke, Bernwine entered the refectory. The ecclesiastic who now appeared, had not contrasted favourably in appearance as he sat next Wilfrid. He was strongly built, stout, and florid in complexion; but his bright, black eyes twinkled with a kindly expression when he spoke, and the corners of his mouth had an occasional twitch, which added to the humorous way he had in talking.

"Well, my son, and so thou hast come to the island of the seals, hast thou? truly an amphibious kind of place at the best of times; but when it blows a gale, it is really hard to see where the dry land is. The sea flies over us in such sheets that I verily believe there won't be much island for the seals, or anyone else soon. And how dost thou feel after thy day on the plank bed, in the midst of the mud?"

AEdric was amused at the priest's garrulity, and said that he felt very nearly well.

"That's right, that's right. Thou wilt soon be able to walk to matins, complines, and vespers; and we'll give thee a job in the garden that will just suit thee."

"But mayn't I learn to read, and hear stories out of that splendid book?"

"All in good time, my son, and each in its place; doubtless, thou hast learnt many stories all the time thou hast been nursed by our kind brother Corman here."

"We have done all we could to awaken in him a lively faith in our holy religion," said Corman.

"I doubt it not, my brother, and the good seed will bear happy fruit some day. And so thou comest from Wihtea? Well, now, I have looked at that island many a time, for we can see it quite plainly from the shore, and wondered who lived there. I come from a very different part; my home was in Bernicia, on the borders of Deira. Thou rememberest Gregory's pun--_De ira Dei_? No; of course thou dost not--how shouldest thou. Thou never learnedst Latin. Ah! but we will teach thee; dost thou know anything at all?"

"Yes, I know many things. I can row, I can hit a mark with my bow and arrow at sixty paces, and I can ride."

"Ah, all excellent accomplishments, I don't doubt; I could do most of them myself at thy age; but that was not what I meant. Canst thou say any prayers? Dost thou know thy letters? Hast thou ever had the Bible read to thee?"

"I can say 'Our Father,' in Latin as well as English. I do not know any letters. Father Dicoll had no books, and so he could not teach me to read; but he tried to teach me my letters, when I lay outside the hut, by scratching them on the sand; but as there were stones in the way, I couldn't always make them out. But he used to say long pieces of tales from the Bible. He told me often about David, and that big giant: about a great ship that took in all the animals, and about a magician whom the lions would not eat."

"I see thou hast profited by thy stay at Boseham. We must see that thou dost not lose what thou hast learnt, and, perhaps, we may even add something to it. Now, the first thing is to explain to thee how thou wilt pass thy time here. Thou canst not yet do as the others do, for thou canst not move about freely; but I will tell a boy to take care of thee, and always help thee to move when there is need, and to be a companion to thee; his name is Sigfryd, and he is the son of the South Saxon Eorldoman Tosti. He will like to help thee, for he has been taught that 'whosoever will be great, let him be as a servant,' and again, that we should 'bear each other's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.' For the present, then, thou wilt get up at seven and come to matins, then thou wilt spend an hour learning to read: then thou wilt have breakfast. After that, Father Hildila will teach thee the holy life, and Bible history. Then at noon, thou wilt try and take a little exercise, with Sigfryd's aid; which over, thou wilt come to me, with the other boys, and learn the meaning of the prayers and daily services, and practice responses and chaunting, according to the method of the sainted Gregory. After that, the bell will sound for service; thou wilt then go back to thy cell and meditate on all thou hast learnt, remembering to ask me such questions as have occurred to thee---- But Beate Martine! what is all this racket and noise about?" broke off Father Bernwine, as a confused din of shouts, and cries, and struggling, resounded outside, mingled with the tolling of the bell which summoned all the community to assemble in the hardly-finished stone church.

Bernwine and Corman instantly ran to the door, and were nearly knocked down by a crowd of men; some armed, some without arms, rushing into the room.

"Holy Benedict!" exclaimed Father Bernwine; "but who are ye, and what do ye want here? breaking in upon our pious meditation, with no more compunction than a wild hog into a garden of cucumbers. What means it all?"

One of the intruders, more collected than the rest, answered:

"Be not wroth, holy Father; to implore pity, shelter and protection, we have come. We have no wish to do thee injury, and will go where thou mayest appoint, if only thou wilt save our lives."

"Surely, man; but who threatens thy life? What means this noise and tumult outside? Let me get out to find Wilfrid; he may be slain in all this confusion, for aught I know."

All the while the bell kept tolling, and the burly form of Bernwine forced a way through the crowding mass. Outside there was even worse tumult. Men on horseback were galloping about--a few, who seemed not quite to have lost all self-control, were forming themselves into some sort of order, and under the guidance of a few mounted eorls, were marching off to take up a position on the road leading to Cissanceaster. Bernwine could see that a great many were grievously wounded, and many had fallen to the ground either from exhaustion, or from the dreadful nature of their wounds. Hastily forcing his way to the door of the church, which was thronged with fugitives, the priest elbowed his way through the crowd, and entering the sacred building, he found Wilfrid robed in his full episcopal vestments, the rest of the community drawn up in processional order, and Hildila carrying the cross of the Arch-episcopal see of York, before Wilfrid.

"What means all this tumult, _quare fremuerunt gentes_, holy Bishop," said the panting Bernwine.

"It is the rout of the Eorldoman Berchthune and Andhune by Caedwalla, whom they rashly strove to oppose. We must perform the noblest duty of a Christian shepherd, and guard the flock from the edge of the sword. That is why I ordered the bell to call us all together, that we may all go forth to turn away the wrath of the victor."

All being now ready, the choir led by the melodious voice of the chaunter, AEdbert, raised the Psalm, "_Eripe me de inimicis meis, Deus meus, et ab insurgentibus in me, libera me_," and slowly defiled through the thronging mass of fugitives.

As the procession, so entirely novel to the uncultured South Saxons, made its way across the open space between the church and the rest of the buildings of the little community, the panic-stricken crowd seemed to recover something like self-control, and many of the men followed or accompanied the procession. Wilfrid had given orders that they were to proceed slowly along the road towards Cissanceaster, in the hope that he would fall in with Caedwalla, and prevent any further fighting; for he had learnt that one of the South Saxon eorldoman still kept up a hopeless struggle, while it was reported that Berchthune was slain. With great difficulty, and at a very slow pace, the white-robed choir, the grey frocked monks, and the gorgeously vested Wilfrid, stemmed the still hurrying bodies of fugitives that drifted away from the rout ahead. Nearer and nearer came the shouts of the combatants, the flash of an axe, or the gleam of a spear, showed where blows were being given, and the clang of metal striking metal rang like an army of rivetters engaged in their noisy toil. Many of the rallied South Saxons were ready to rush forward to renew the fight, but the voice of Wilfrid restrained them, and in obedience to a sense of awe, which his presence always excited in their superstitious and ignorant minds, the men restrained their ardour, and waited to see what would happen.

Wilfrid, with the eye of a leader, at once saw that in the heat and confusion of the fight, his little company might easily be swept away; he therefore directed the leading priest to turn to one side and lead the procession to an embankment or little knoll on the way side, large enough to contain all the community. There stationing himself in the most conspicuous position, with his cross held aloft by his cross-bearer, surrounded by his clergy, and flanked by his choir of fair Saxon boys, he calmly awaited the approach of Caedwalla.

The stream of fugitives flowed past him uninterruptedly. At last a struggling band of horsemen, leading among them the fainting form of an old, grey-bearded warrior, his helmet hacked, the hawk's wings gone, one arm hanging down limp and useless, the other aimlessly holding the reins of his horse, came past in wild confusion, hard pressed by a victorious troop of warriors, flushed with victory, and striking mercilessly at the panic-stricken fugitives; brilliantly conspicuous among them was Caedwalla, his eyes flashing, his hair streaming behind him, on his head a steel cap, surmounted with a golden dragon, his steel-ringed hauberk gleaming in the sun. Both hands grasped his two-edged battle-axe, and the reins hung loose on his horse's neck; while the terrible axe flashed, and sank and flashed again, as he hewed his way up to the scarcely resisting band of South Saxons, who still strove to save their wounded eorldoman, the devoted personal following of the chief, who scorned to live if their lord were slain.

As the young king, looking the very impersonation of the god of battles, intoxicated with the strife, came abreast of Wilfrid, the Bishop called aloud in a clear, commanding voice:

"Caedwalla, my lord, put up thy sword now, and give thanks to God, who hath given thee the victory. As for the vanquished, I will answer for it, they shall not trouble thee. Hearken now to the voice of the Lord, who speaketh through me, His unworthy servant, and shed no more innocent blood. Remember, 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, I will repay'; and again, 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.'"

At the first sound of the clarion voice of the Bishop, Caedwalla had reined in his horse, and when he saw the striking group of calm men surrounding the ascetic and commanding figure of the celebrated Bishop, he at once gave orders to stop all further fighting, and turned his horse towards the speaker.

The scene was a very picturesque one. The handsome, bronzed face of the victorious young king, looking every inch a daring soldier, as well as commanding chieftain, mounted on a powerful white horse, whose trappings were adorned with large gold studs, mounting bosses of cairngorm and polished agate stones. Behind him a fierce band of eager warriors, eorls, and chiefs of the West-Saxon kingdom, with here and there the weather-beaten face of some of his own faithful band of outlaws, who had stood by Caedwalla in his desperate fortunes. In front, the tall figure and noble countenance of Wilfrid in his gorgeous robes, standing on the highest part of the little knoll, his cross-bearer holding the golden cross, richly embroidered with crystals and agates; the white surpliced choir mingling with the darker robes of the monks. Above, a cloud-flecked sky, bright and changing, casting flying shadows over the brown land, wind-blown and desolate, while all around were masses of men still flying in wild panic, or falling in death from the effects of their wounds. All these combined to make a striking picture.

Caedwalla, not yet a Christian, and seeing only in Wilfrid a wise man, and one who had seen much of the world, besides being surrounded with a halo of superstition, as the possessor of talismans and charms far above all others in England, was also mindful of the benefits he had lately received from him; with wise policy, therefore, he at once saluted the Bishop, and gave orders to stop all further slaughter.

"My Father," he said, "I am fortunate in my meetings with thee. The last time we met I was a king, and now the next time, behold, I am king again, and this time my title is far above that of a petty prince of the South Saxons, and each time victory had smiled upon my arms."

"Give thanks, therefore, to the God of Hosts, my son, and humble thyself before the mighty hand of God, who bringeth down the lofty from their seat, and raiseth up them that are of low estate. But wilt thou and thy faithful adherents come back with me? Such as our poor community can offer is freely at thy service, and thou canst rest thee after the dangers and fatigues of the past day."

Caedwalla willingly accepted; and the little procession turned towards the settlement, raising the psalm, "_Jubilate Deo, omnis terra, servite Domino in laetitia_," followed by Caedwalla and his retinue. Arrived at the open space before the buildings, Caedwalla gave directions to his chief eorldoman to see that his men were kept well in hand, and to encourage the South Saxons to go to their homes peaceably. Parties were sent out to forage, and one band of warriors was sent back with the most important prisoners to garrison Cissanceaster, and take measures for pacifying the district. Caedwalla then entered the refectory, which had been cleared of all the fugitives, and where hasty preparations for an impromptu feast were being pushed rapidly forward, under the practical eye of Bernwine and Eolla, the cellarer.

The feast that followed was much like previous feasts, excepting that there was more order and ceremony. Caedwalla recognised his young friend AEdric, whom he had first met in the boat with Biggun and Wulfstan, and asked him what news he had of the expedition, and when he heard that no news had come, he looked grave.

The rest of the day passed tranquilly enough. Caedwalla had much to arrange with Wilfrid, and also received much sound advice from the prelate.

About dusk a monk came in, and reported that the sky all above Wihtea seemed on fire, and flames could plainly be seen arising from the hills at the east end of the island, and all men were marvelling what it could be. Caedwalla and Wilfrid hastened out to look, and when they got to the door, a wonderful sight met their eyes, a vast blaze was going up to the sky, and lurid smoke was spreading over the heavens. As they were looking, there was a commotion in the crowd, and a wounded and reeling warrior half staggered, was half supported, to where Caedwalla and Wilfrid were standing.

"_Beate Augustine!_" cried Wilfrid, "What more destruction has happened?"

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*"IN THE LOST BATTLE, BORNE DOWN BY THE FLYING."*

The night after the old eorldoman, AElfhere, had been brought back to his homestead at Braedynge, passed away peacefully enough. The outposts were relieved at the proper times, and no movement of any kind was detected from the direction of Wihtgarsbyrig. The next morning Wulfstan woke up, and it took him some few moments to realise that he had ever been away from home, all the past week's adventures appearing like a dream. He was on his own bed in his own room, which he shared with AEdric, and the absence of his brother first brought back the reality of past events. Soon afterwards, the voice of old Biggun outside roused him from his dozing reverie. He sprang out of bed, hastily performed his simple toilet, and went quickly into the dining hall. There a not unusual sight met his eyes, for after every festival the dining hall formed the sleeping-place of those who had succumbed to their too-convivial propensities, and there had been no exception in last night's entertainment. Stepping across the prostrate Wihtwaras, Wulfstan sprang into the open air, rejoiced to see around him all the well-known home life. Although a great slaughter had fallen upon the poultry, who had suffered from a double attack, for Arwald's people had not stinted themselves, and yesterday they had every reason to regret the restoration of their lawful lord, there yet remained a promising brood. The lowing of some cows from a shed near, showed that all the animals were not killed. Crossing over to the shed, the boy found an old friend of his, the cowherd, Stuff's father, milking the cows.

"Why, Wulfstan, how thou beest grown, and they tells me thou hast done lots of things; but these have been sad times. The work I have had to please those villains Arwald left here! But they tell me thou hast killed one of them. Only think of that, now!"

"Oh, that was nothing. But dost thou know I saved old Biggun's life? He never told thee, I know."

After drinking a horn full of milk, the boy rushed off to explore his former favourite haunts, and did not return until the loud blast of a horn announced some important event. When he got back, he found the morning meal was nearly over in the great hall. Athelhune and Wulf were still sitting at the table, and Ceolwulf was listening to the report of one of the ceorls, who dwelt a few miles away on the AEscing Down[1] side of Braedynge. Ceolwulf's face looked grave, and after he had heard all the man had to say, he turned to Athelhune, and muttered a few words to him, upon which a consultation in a low voice was carried on by the two chieftains and the old man.

[1] Ashy Down.

AElfhere was lying on a couch in a sheltered part of the hall, and brother Malachi was sitting up by his side with his arm in a sling. Wulfstan went up at once to his father, and was pleased to find that he still continued to gain strength, and rejoiced that brother Malachi was fast recovering from the hardships and wounds he had suffered. He then set to work to make up for the missing breakfast, and paid no further attention to anybody until this serious duty was satisfactorily performed.

Before he had finished, Ceolwulf left the hall, accompanied by Athelhune, while Wulf sat gazing vacantly before him, and caressing a large wolfhound, who was resting his head on his knee. Presently the prince got up, and, stretching himself, strolled out of the room, saying as he did so to the wounded AElfhere, that he was just going to see how things were passing outside.

The news that had arrived was very serious. Arwald was on the march, with nearly the whole force of the Western Wihtwaras, to crush the little party that had so boldly effected a lodgement on Binbrygge-ea.

Ceolwulf had at once hastily sent out to fetch in all the following AElfhere could count on. The bravest had unfortunately fallen fighting round their lord in the first assault and capture of the homestead, but a good number could still be reckoned on who would be likely to give a report of themselves in an encounter with the enemy. But the force that was on the march against them was treble, nearly quadruple, the number they could hope to oppose to them. Arwald fully realised the importance of crushing this little band of enemies before Caedwalla arrived in the island. And he had received sure information that he did intend to arrive and re-assert the dominion of Wessex as soon as ever he had settled with his opponents among the South Saxons.

No time therefore was to be lost if AElfhere's men hoped to save their lives. The question which most seriously presented itself was whether they would abandon the old homestead, and retire to the ruins again, or retreat still further to the stockade Athelhune had made the evening after their shipwreck, on the summit of the wooded hill under Binbrygge down.

Ceolwulf and Athelhune were in favour of this plan, but Wulf liked the comfort of the old house and the abundance of good cheer which he saw around him; he was naturally reckless and preferred a positive, although precarious comfort, to a certainty of discomfort and a doubtful safety.

Ceolwulf was convinced that all would be lost if they remained at Braedynge. He knew the certain destruction that would await them, and urged that their only hope was to take up such a position as should enable them to hold out until Caedwalla could come or send them reinforcements; and they would send at once to tell him of their situation. Strongly stockaded as they would be at their old post, with the creek at their feet, dense woods behind and around them, and many defensible positions between them and the place where they had left the old boat; there they could fight with every advantage to themselves, and disadvantage to Arwald. To these arguments all that the Atheling Wulf replied, was by saying they were good men enough to fight any number of beggarly Wihtwaras, and he didn't see why he should stir out of comfortable quarters for anyone. The matter was at last referred to AElfhere, who at once decided they must give up all hopes of defending the homestead, and must retire to the knoll above the Yare, locally known as Yaver wood. At this decision the Atheling Wulf was much dissatisfied, but there was no good disputing it, for he had only brought two men with him, and Athelhune quite agreed with AElfhere.

All was now confusion. The neighbouring ceorls and thralls were rapidly coming in, and with them came such of their worldly goods as they could carry. Their wives and families accompanied them, and the dismay was universal when it was known that the homestead was to be abandoned, and all would have to cross to Binbrygge-ea, or be left at the mercy of Arwald. And what that mercy would be after this rising against his authority, all knew; and none were anxious to experience. Many would have liked to go back to their homes, but the thought that their lot would not be much better, deterred them; indeed it might be very much worse, for Arwald would be sure to plunder them although he might spare their lives, while in the event of AElfhere being able to hold out until Caedwalla arrived, and victory then smiling upon their arms, as was not unlikely, a terrible punishment would await them at the hands of their justly enraged lord. Moved by such considerations, the crowd of armed ceorls with their households, and such belongings as they had brought, prepared to cross the ford over the Yare as the tide was now low, and make the best of their way to the wild fastnesses of Binbrygge-ea.

Athelhune and Ceolwulf showed much judgment in the direction and management of this heterogeneous mass, and Wulfstan, to his great joy, was allowed to act as a kind of aide-de-camp to Ceolwulf. The fighting men were sifted out, and formed up with the Boseham and West Saxon warriors. These numbered not more than seven men altogether, without counting Athelhune, Ceolwulf and the Atheling Wulf, each of whom, however, counted as hosts in themselves, for they were thoroughly experienced, toughened warriors. Including all the fighting men available, there was a respectable force of more than a hundred men. This body, on the whole well armed with shields, axes, spears, and swords, while some few possessed bows and arrows, was placed under the command of Wulf the Atheling, out of compliment to his rank, and were not to march until later in the day. Wulfstan was still more delighted at being told to get all the boys together and make them collect all the stones they could find, the sharper the flints the better; many of the boys possessed slings, and like boys of all ages in the lower order, were excellent shots at bringing down rabbits, or birds sitting. Ceolwulf had counted on this assistance to annoy the enemy on their advancing to attack the stockade. Ceolwulf himself had undertaken, with the aid of the most infirm and oldest of AElfhere's servants, to go on with the crowd of ceorls and thralls who could be spared from the first fighting line under Wulf, and superintend the crossing of the ford, and then enlarge and perfect the stockade. The chieftains had carefully counted their time, and had arranged to have their forces concentrated on the Yaver hill before sunset. They reckoned that Arwald would not reach the homestead at Braedynge before the middle or end of the afternoon, that his men would be wearied with their march, and that, if they discovered where they had retreated, they would not attempt to cross the ford at high water, or care to stir at all for the matter of that, as all their food would either have to be brought with them, or they must go without, for it was carefully provided that every article of food, alive or dead, should be cleared out of the neighbourhood, and safely stored in the stockade, or else behind the protection of that little fortress, which commanded the only approach to the woods and commons beyond, between Binbrygge down and the Foreland, and which would serve as pasturage for the cattle. Thus Binbrygge-ea would form a little fortified settlement surrounded by the sea on nearly every side, and accessible only by the ford at low water, or else by the sandy beach which kept the sea from encroaching on the Yare; which stream must be in any case crossed before getting into the peninsula at all. Athelhune had undertaken the command of the outposts, whom it was most necessary to keep to their work properly; and it was arranged that as soon as his men caught sight of Arwald's column advancing, they should either make a pretended attack on the advanced body, and so drive them in on the main column, if the nature of the ground or Arwald's forces gave any opportunity of this being done without loss to Athelhune's men, or they should retire at once to the heavy troops under Wulf, and then the whole would retreat across the Yare in good order, and unseen by the enemy, who would find the old homestead totally deserted, and would most likely suspect some stratagem.

Everything was now perfectly arranged. The long line of straggling countrymen, with their wives, children, and cattle, had been slowly winding down to the ford across the Yare, for some time past, and were seen here and there among the bushes on the other side in their ascent to the woods behind Yaver hill. It was now a little past noon; there were many picturesque groups still left, however, seated around the homestead. Mothers looking after their little ones, and resting after the long walk they had already had before setting out again. AElfhere and Malachi had been carried on litters down to the ford, and were already some way on the other side, and Ceolwulf had set all the able-bodied men who had reached the stockade, to fell more trees, clear the ground all round as far as possible, and enlarge the accommodation. It was not intended that the women and children should stop here. They were to go on with the less able-bodied men, and the cattle, and take shelter in a secluded dell under the Binbrygge down not more than a mile away, but in the midst of dense brushwood, and in a spot known only to the local inhabitants.

It was now getting on for two hours past noon. Athelhune had gone off with his band of skirmishers to try and get news of the enemy; not knowing the country himself he was compelled to have recourse to the aid of one of AElfhere's servants for guidance. It would have been better if Ceolwulf had undertaken this service, but the pride of Athelhune would not allow him to superintend mere manual labour, however important, and so he was assigned the post of honour next to that of the Atheling Wulf.

Athelhune's guide led him up the route or track that passed behind the homestead, and crossing the ridge of AEscing down dipped again towards the central valley of the island. From this high ground the Wessex chieftain commanded a wide extending view; at his feet lay the wooded dell and half-ruined roofs of AElfhere's homestead, beyond was the valley of the Yare, and the silver track of the stream as it meandered among the mud wastes of Braedynge haven to meet the incoming tide that would so soon convert the dreary swamp into a lovely lake. The little boat--a mere spot--in which Wulf, the Atheling, had come the day before, was lying high and dry near a shingle hard; across the Yare the long line of country people could be seen trailing like a long snake from the homestead below, till it was lost in the woods on the other side. The promontory or peninsula of Binbrygge, stood out in the midst of the sea, except where the long back of the magnificent down intercepted the horizon towards the south-east; far away, in the east, over the distant sea, could be seen a few dots edging the horizon. At that very moment among those dots which were the wind-blown trees of Selsea, Wilfrid and Caedwalla were discussing the invasion of Wihtea, and AEdric was wondering what had become of Wulfstan. The clear cloud-flecked sky looked down on a weary world. Wars and rumours of wars, and a people suffering much.

Suddenly one of Athelhune's men pointed to a spot far down below, on the southern side of the hill; a cloud of dust was driving before the south-westerly breeze; instantly Athelhune knew it must be the enemy; waiting one moment to take in the situation, he saw how perilous was their position. Not knowing the country, he had been ignorant that there was another road by which Arwald might come, and the guide, with the stolidity of a dull-witted Wihtwara, had never told him. The advancing cloud of dust was on a level with Athelhune, and he saw that it would be a race who should reach the homestead first. Mortified at the failure of his reconnaissance, and the imminent danger all would necessarily incur, he promptly made up his mind. Sending off the fastest runner of his men to tell the Atheling Wulf, Athelhune determined to descend the hill diagonally, and attempt a diversion in flank before the enemy should be aware of his proximity. Hastily calling to his men, he started at a rapid pace down the hill. There was not much more than half a mile between himself and the enemy, and he directed all his efforts to getting, if possible, to a clump of bushes which lay directly in the march of the advancing column. He hoped to be able to reach this unperceived, and then, by a well-timed rush, to throw the enemy into confusion, after which his men would all hasten back as fast as possible to join the Atheling Wulf. Full of this hope he urged his men to greater speed, and they were fortunately concealed from their foes by the cloud of dust which was carried towards them by the breeze.

Athelhune had with him about twenty men, all Wihtwaras, active men enough, but not well armed. However, he trusted more to their sudden rush, and unexpected appearance, for gaining his object, than to any real execution they could inflict on Arwald's men.

They had now reached the clump of gorse and thorns, where Athelhune rapidly explained what he intended to do, and impressed upon them the absolute necessity of the rush being simultaneous, determined, and rapid, and pointed out to the men that in this way only could their lives be saved. There was no time for more, already through the dusty veil the glint of spears and flash of armour could be seen, and a serried troop of horsemen came directly towards the clump of gorse behind which the little band was crouching. Athelhune could see that the advancing force was a strong one, the leading horsemen were all well armed, powerful men, and were evidently the most important eorldomen and chief ceorls in the island; the descendants of Whitgar, Stuffa, and their followers, who nearly two hundred years before had come to Cerdicsford, the modern Yarmouth, to help Cerdic. Among them rode Arwald himself, a powerful, thickset man, with bushy black beard, and coarse features, burly in form, and brutal in expression. He was clad in a loose mail shirt, his muscular arms were bare, and on his thick bushy hair he wore an iron helmet, adorned with the large wings of a heron. Behind him was slung a spear; at his saddle hung a huge two-edged axe, and a straight sword was suspended at his left hip by a chain across his right shoulder. He was laughing loudly at some jest of his own, and all were evidently in high spirits. Behind him was a body of some four hundred men, but all were not well armed, and very few were mounted.

Nearer and nearer the column advanced, in the confidence of their strength; and despising the numbers of their opponents, no scouts had been sent out, and all were marching at ease, and as if in a friendly country.

The leading files had passed the clump. Athelhune could hear Arwald saying, "By the golden hair of Freya, but we won't spare a man, woman, or child, this time."

Then Athelhune gave the signal quietly to his men.