Chapter XVI: Retribution

"Raro antecedentem scelestum Deseruit pede Poena claudo."

It was midday, and the sun was pouring the full power of his noontide beams on the wilderness of reeds and flags which overspread the southern side of the Dismal Swamp, reposing on the treacherous surface of bog, quagmire, and quicksand.

Signs of life there were none, save when the bittern rose from its nest, amidst the long reeds or sedgy grass, or the moor fowl flew over the surface of the inky water, which here and there collected into pools. The feeble hum of insects filled the air, but all else was peace and solitude.

Save that there was a sign of life on the farther side of the Swamp--a solitary figure half concealed by bushes, stood watching on a promontory of firm land, looking anxiously--from his slight elevation over the surface of the fen.

He was an aged man, who had seen some ninety summers; his long beard descended below the girdle which confined his brown tunic at the waist. It was Haga, the father of Ordgar.

"My eyes are not what they were, and I see no sign as yet. Ah, here comes little Siward!"

A boy of some twelve years approached him very silently, as if some serious business was about to be transacted, of such nature as to subdue boyish loquacity.

"Come hither, Siward, my grandchild, and lend me thine eyes and ears, for mine are now dulled by age. Dost thou hear aught?"

"I hear the bittern boom, and the woodpecker tap, but that is all."

"Sit down by my side, and watch with me; the time is at hand."

"Will my father be with them?"

"He will, my child."

"And he will come home safely to us, when all is over?"

"That is as God wills, dear child; his life belongs to his country. Thou mayst pray for him," he added, as he saw tears rise to the eyes of the boy.

"I do," said the child.

They sat awhile in perfect silence, when at last the boy appeared to listen intently.

"Grandfather," he said, "I hear the sound of many feet."

"Art quite sure?"

"Yes, and now I see men advancing from the shade of yonder thicket of beech."

"And I see them too; go and warn Tosti, Sexwulf, Ulf and Frithgift, and be sure that thou keepest out of the fen thyself."

"Only thou wilt bring father back home with thee?"

"By God's help, my child."

At this moment a numerous and warlike band of Normans emerged from the woods, in full view, and paused on the edge of the Swamp.

"Now they come forth to their doom. The Lord hath delivered them into our hands," said Haga.

Foremost amongst them the old man recognised his son Ordgar; his arms were bound, and a cord attached to the thongs which confined them, held by a man-at-arms.

We will transport ourselves to the other side of the Swamp.

Hugo sat there on his steed, in the full panoply of warlike pride, throbbing with the desire of vengeance, and with the hope of recovering his son--whom he was destined never to see again; for justice, although her pace may seem tardy, seldom fails to overtake evildoers, even in this world; and he who, as men thought, had slain others by fire, was destined to perish by the same avenging element.

But no shadow of coming events was there to disturb his equanimity; all seemed to promise the gratification of his fondest wishes, and he was in the highest spirits.

And now he bade them bring Ordgar forward, and the guide--his feet free, but his arms bound--stood before him.

"Thou hast said that thou knowest the road through the Swamp?"

"I do."

"Lead on, then, and beware of treachery; for if there be any doubt, even a doubt, of thy faith, thou diest."

"Fear not; my faith is pledged--it shall be kept."

Pledged, yes: but to whom?

The Normans failed to see the "double entendre" of this reply. Their claim was but the omnipotence of torture.

The thrall led the way to a spot where the earth bore marks of footsteps; here it was evident men had recently entered the maze which stretched before them.

Hugo pressed forward and took the cord himself.

"Now," he said, "Normans, follow me. Lead on, thrall; remember thy farm at Aescendune, and thy forfeit life."

Onward, infatuated as the Egyptians when they passed between the suspended walls of the Red Sea, the band followed their leader into the maze; the path was narrow, the reeds were tall, and soon they towered above the heads of the rash invaders.

High bulrushes, tall flags; thick, sedgy vegetation beneath; the ground, firm enough below at first, soon became quaking and felt strangely elastic under their feet. The marsh was here of great width, and shortly they had advanced a considerable distance from firm ground, and were in the midst of the Swamp.

And here the path became more and more difficult. Sometimes only one could pass at once; nor could they see distinctly where they were going. The sun, too, which might have guided them as to the direction of their march, was temporarily clouded.

"Dog," said Hugo to the captive guide, "if thou misleadest us thou shalt die."

"A man can die but once."

"Thou art a bold villain," said the baron, raising his sword.

"Slay me, and who will guide thee through the marsh?"

"True; do thy duty and fear nought."

"I will do my duty."

All this passed while they were slowly advancing, and the strange part of it was this, that they did not seem to get to the end of their toil. Little did they suspect that they were wandering in a path which knew no end, save the bottom of the quagmire.

And now the marks of the feet, which had hitherto appeared plain before Hugo as he rode, were seen no more; nor could the baron tell the precise spot when they faded from sight; they had become fainter and fainter, and then had vanished.

"Dog, where are the footmarks? thou art wandering from the road."

"We shall soon find them again."

"Are we nearly over the Swamp?"

"Thou wilt see firm land soon."

The baron grasped the cord tightly.

Onward they wandered, and still naught but rushes and flags, sedges and dried reeds, met their gaze, until a promontory of firm ground--a rock of deep red sandstone--rose from the mire, above their heads--distant, it might be, a bow shot.

The baron uttered a sigh of relief, when his horse stumbled; the poor brute strove to recover his footing, and sank deeper into the treacherous quicksand. Over went the Baron, over his horse's head.

Ordgar snatched at the cord; it escaped Hugo's grasp; the guide was amidst the reeds, and in one moment he had made his escape; the reeds parted, waved again, higher than the head of the fugitive, and the baron saw him no more; only a mocking laugh arose to augment the rage of the baffled tyrant.

But that rage was speedily changed to terror, for, as the baron rose, his feet sank beneath him, and he felt as if some unseen hand had grasped them in the tenacity of the quicksand, just as a faint cloud of smoke rolled by overhead.

Meanwhile the men in the rear were pressing on, and the foremost advanced to help their leader and his struggling steed; but all who did so were soon in the mire in like fashion, sinking deeper with each struggle.

Oh, how awful that sucking, clasping feeling beneath the surface of the earth, that gradual sinking out of sight--a process lasting perhaps for hours. But hours were not given to Baron Hugo; for at this moment the awful cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" was heard on all sides, and a loud mocking shout of laughter from hundreds of unseen enemies, now safe on the firm ground beyond the Swamp, was the answer.

A cloud of thick smoke rolled over the reeds, and cries of distress and anguish arose yet more loudly.

"Death to the incendiary! let him who burnt the monks of St. Wilfred die by fire himself as is meet!"

The latter cry arose from the borders of the Swamp, hidden from sight by thick eddying billows of smoke.

A flashing sheet of flame, then another--clouds of thick smoke rolling above--the crackling of flame, devouring the dry herbage--stifling heat, yet more unendurable each moment--suffocation impending as the air became thicker and denser.

Held by the quicksand, and sinking deeper and deeper--only raised above the ground from the middle of the body; so Hugo awaited his just fate--and felt it just.

"Oh for an hour to repent! oh for a priest! My sins have found me out."

A sudden gust of wind opened a passage through the smoke, and revealed in the lurid light of the flames--Wilfred of Aescendune!

For a moment the baron thought himself dead, and at the judgment seat; then as he saw his supposed victim standing in safety, afar off on the high rock, and pointing out the scene, with awe yet exultation on his youthful face, he grasped, as in a moment, the whole secret of the forces which had been arrayed against him, and tasted an agony bitterer than that of death.

"All is lost," he cried.

His courage now gave way; he proffered fabulous rewards to any who would save him; but none could help; nay, all were in like distress. His brain reeled--the flames approached--nearer--nearer.

It was an awful scene. The marsh was a raging furnace. The exulting cries of the English mingled with the groans of their suffering foes. Pity there was none--the remembrance of the burnt priory had extinguished that sweet virtue.

Ah! who shall tell of the terrible hatred, the thirst of blood, which war--begotten of man's fellest passions--had created in the hearts of the oppressed? Who would not pray for peace on earth, good will towards men {xv}?