Part 10 (1/2)

”Father, I can die.”

”Thou dost not fear death then?”

”Thou hast left one behind thee--one who did not fear to die the martyr's death.”

”Dost thou mean Bertric of Aescendune?”

”I do; they slew him, cruelly, although neither he nor his have ever dealt cruelly with thy people.”

”Thy people, why not our people? art thou ashamed of thy kindred?”

”Of their cruelty and treachery.”

Anlaf laughed aloud.

”Cruelty and treachery indeed! and canst thou say that here? who set the example in this place?

”Come boy, come,” he continued, ”I will lead thee to those who shall soon talk or drive all this Christian nonsense out of your young head; meanwhile, do not disgrace yourself and me by attempting to escape.”

Alfgar sighed, and accompanied his father, so inopportunely found, back to the camp.

Arrived there, the word was given at once to mount, and the whole party started on the return journey to the south. Alfgar cast a longing glance behind at the spot where he knew all that was mortal of poor Bertric was left, to be, so far as the Danes cared, the prey of the wolf or the kite; but the young Dane knew well that, if any were yet alive at Aescendune, the hallowed temple of the martyr would not want its due honour.

All his heart was with his English friends; he felt that in going to the Danish camp he was really going to his death, for although within a few years the conversion of the Northmen took place, yet at this period their hatred of Christianity was simply ferocious, and his father belonged to the old heathen conservatives of his day, as did all his kinsfolk.

”O Aescendune, once happy Aescendune!” was the thought, the bitter thought, as each hour placed a larger barrier of s.p.a.ce between Alfgar and his late home; all its happy memories came freshly back upon him, and particularly the thought of Ethelgiva, his betrothed, from whom he was so ruthlessly torn, torn as if he left part of himself behind.

They reached the confines of the forest by daybreak. Before them stretched an open country, where wild heaths alternated with cornfields, and wooded hills were of frequent occurrence upon the landscape.

All at once a signal of caution was given, and the whole party retired again within the cover of the wood, where they could see, for they were on an eminence, the whole district before them without being seen.

A body of fifty English soldiers was pa.s.sing on the road, which lay at the distance of a few hundred yards only, travelling at a considerable speed, as if they antic.i.p.ated the emergency of Aescendune, and hurried to the rescue. Alfgar knew them at once; they were Elfwyn and his troops; oh, if they had but arrived earlier, thought he, and started to see how completely English his sympathies were.

The Danes found it hard to repress their laughter at the thought of the reception which awaited the travellers at home; they had no idea of spoiling it by attacking them, although the numbers were about equal; besides, they had got all the plunder and spoil, and a battle would only endanger the success already obtained. So they lay in cover until the last straggler had disappeared in the direction of Aescendune, and then continued their course, with many a jest at the expense of the English.

Anlaf watched his son; he knew what his feelings were, and his thoughts were bitter as he felt that, could Alfgar have been consulted, he would be in that English band.

That night they arrived on the banks of the Thames, near Reading, the border of Mercia. Their pa.s.sage had been quite unopposed; all the fighting men were in Wess.e.x; and those who had seen the Danish party had fled with terror--they had not stopped long to plunder, but had speared one or two unfortunate victims who fell in their way, a sight which sickened Alfgar.

The following day they continued their march to the southeast, sometimes hiding in woods, for the country was mainly occupied by Ethelred's troops; sometimes pursued by larger bodies of hors.e.m.e.n, but always successful in distancing them, until, at the approach of eventide, they came in sight of the entrenched camp of the northern host. The spot was on the northern borders of the ancient kingdom of Suss.e.x--the land of the Saxon Ella--a spot marvelously favoured by nature, occupying the summit of a low hill, which commanded a wide prospect on all sides, while itself almost impregnable when fortified, as it was, by ditches and mounds, dug in the usual Danish fas.h.i.+on, for the Danes owed much of their success to their skill in fortification.

Beautiful in time of peace was the country around, but its desolation was sufficient to sicken the heart. Blackened ruins lay on every side for miles; nay, they had disfigured the whole day's journey. Scarcely a town or hall, unless strongly fortified, had they seen standing, and this for nearly fifty miles.

Within this fortified enclosure the Northmen had collected abundance of spoil, and there they detained many prisoners, whom they held to ransom, putting them to death with the utmost cruelty if the money were not forthcoming at the stipulated time.

When the party of Anlaf arrived at the northern gate, crossing the summit of the ascent on that side, they found it open and almost unguarded, so slight was the danger from the dispirited English--now too accustomed to the idea of a foe in the heart of the land.

Entering, they beheld a strange scene: huts rudely constructed of the branches of trees, intermingled sparingly with tents, were disposed at regular intervals. In the centre, where the main streets crossed, was the royal tent, with the raven banner floating therefrom; and there, at that moment, was the savage tyrant Sweyn in person.

Sweyn was the son of Harold Bluetooth, who reigned in Denmark fifty years, from A.D. 935-985, and who in his old age became a Christian and strove to convert his subjects. But the ferocious warriors rebelled against him, and were headed by his unnatural son, Sweyn, who, although baptized, renounced Christianity, and fought to restore the bloodstained wors.h.i.+p so congenial to the heart of a sea king. Defeated in battle, the unhappy father fled for his life, and fled in vain, for he was either murdered or died of his wounds.