Part 44 (2/2)

Silently Thormod gave the tiller into my hands, and went to the flag halliards. Thrice he dipped Halfden's flag in salute, but Ingvar made no sign, and so he faded from our sight, and after that we spoke no more of him. But Osritha wept a little, for she had loved him even while she dreaded him, and now she should see him no more.

Very quietly pa.s.sed the voyage, though the light wind was against us, and we were long on the way, for we were too short handed to row, and must beat to windward over every mile of our course. Yet I think of the long days and moonlit evenings on the deck of Halfden's s.h.i.+p with naught but keenest pleasure, for there I watched the life and colour come back into Osritha's face, and strove to make the voyage light to her in every way. And I had found my heart's desire, and was happy.

Then at last one night we crossed the bar of our own haven, and the boats came out to meet us, boarding us with rough voices of hearty welcome; and from her awning crept Osritha, standing beside me as I took the s.h.i.+p in, and seeing the black outline of hill and church and hall across the quiet moonlit water. And when the red light from wharf and open house doors danced in long lines on the ripples towards us, and voices hailed our s.h.i.+p from sh.o.r.e, and our men answered back in cheery wise, she drew nearer me, saying:

”Is this home, Wulfric?”

”Aye,” I answered. ”Your home and mine, Osritha--and peace.”

Now have I little more to say, for I have told what I set out to tell--how Lodbrok the Dane came from over seas, and what befell thereafter. For now came to us at Reedham long years of peace that nothing troubled. And those years, since Osritha and I were wedded at Reedham very soon after we came home, have flown very quickly.

Yet there came to us echoes of war from far-off Wess.e.x, as man after man crept back to Anglia from the great host where Guthrum and Hubba warred with Alfred the king. And tired and worn out with countless battles, these men settled down with us in peace to till the land they had helped to lay waste and win. Hard it was to see the farms pa.s.s to alien owners at first, but I will not say that England has altogether lost, for these Danes are surely becoming English in all love of our land; and they have brought us new strength, with the old freedom of our forefathers, which some of us had nigh forgotten.

Now today I know that all the land is at peace, for Alfred is victor, and Guthrum is Athelstan the Christian king of Eastern England; and I for one will own him unasked, for he has governed well, and English is our overlord.

But Hubba is dead in far-off Devon, slain as he landed as Halfden had landed, to hem Wess.e.x in between Guthrum and himself, and his dream of taking the Wess.e.x kingdom is over. And the Raven banner that my Osritha made flaps its magic wings no more, for it hangs in Alfred's peaceful hall, a trophy of Saxon valour.

Thormod, my comrade, lies in his mound in wild Strathclyde, slain fighting beside Halfden my brother, the king of Northumbria. Him I have seen once or twice, and ever does he look for peace that he may sail to Reedham and bide with us for a while. Well loved is Halfden, and he is English in every thought.

Many of our old viking crew are here with me, for they would fain find land in our country, and I gave them the deserted coast lands that lie to our northward, round the great broads. Good lands they are, and in giving them I harmed none. Filby and Ormesby and Rollesby they have called their new homesteads, giving them Danish names.

Now as to our own folk. My mother is gone, but first she stood for Osritha at the font, naming her again with the name by which I learnt to love her, for I would not have it changed.

Gone also has good old Ingild; but before he went he and I were able without fear of hindrance to build a little church of squared oaken timbers at Hoxne, for the heathen wors.h.i.+p died quickly from among our Danes. On that church, Cyneward, who was Raud, and is our well-loved steward, wrought lovingly with his own hands side by side with the good monk who baptized him. And he has carved a wondrous oaken shrine for the remains of our martyred king, whereon lies the bracelet that Ingvar sent in token that Eadmund had conquered him who was his slayer.

How fared Ingvar I know not, for soon the incoming tide of Danes slackened, and I heard no news of him; and, as he said, never did he set foot on English sh.o.r.es again.

Egfrid and Eadgyth are happy in their place at Hoxne, and on them at least has fallen no shadow of misfortune from that which came of their pa.s.sing over the Bridge of the Golden Spurs--the Golden Bridge as our folk call it now.

Yet it needed no words of Ingvar's to keep the memory of that day's work alive in the minds of our people. Never so long as the Gold Brook flows beneath that bridge will a bridal pa.s.s churchwards over its span, for there, but for such a crossing, Eadmund the king might have bided safely till Ingvar the Dane had pa.s.sed and gone.

Little use is there in grieving over what might have been, but this I know, that in days to come forgotten will be Ingvar, and English will have become his mighty host, but in every English heart will live the name of Eadmund, who died for faith and country.

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