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King Olaf's Kinsman

by Charles W. Whistler · English · Gutenberg #16196 · 514,168 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: King Olaf's Kinsman

Author: Charles W. Whistler


        
Release date: July 3, 2005 [eBook #16196]
                Most recently updated: December 11, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING OLAF'S KINSMAN ***




Produced by Martin Robb





KING OLAF'S KINSMAN

A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle Against the Danes
in the Days of Ironside and Cnut

by Charles W. Whistler

            Preface.
 Chapter 1: The Coming Of The Vikings.
 Chapter 2: Olaf The King.
 Chapter 3: The Breaking Of London Bridge.
 Chapter 4: Earl Wulfnoth Of Sussex.
 Chapter 5: How Redwald Fared At Penhurst.
 Chapter 6: Sexberga The Thane's Daughter.
 Chapter 7: The Fight At Leavenheath.
 Chapter 8: The White Lady Of Wormingford Mere.
 Chapter 9: The Treachery Of Edric Streone.
Chapter 10: The Flight From London.
Chapter 11: The Taking Of The Queen.
Chapter 12: Among Friends.
Chapter 13: Jealousy.
Chapter 14: The Last Great Battle.
Chapter 15: The Shadow Of Edric Streone.
Chapter 16: By Wormingford Mere.
            Notes.



Preface.


No English chronicler mentions the presence of King Olaf the Saint
in England; but the two churches dedicated to him at either end of
London Bridge, where his greatest deed was wrought, testify to the
gratitude of the London citizens towards the viking chief who
rescued their city from the Danes, and brought back the king of
their own race towards whom their loyalty was so unswerving.

The deeds of King Olaf recorded in this story of his kinsman are
therefore from the Norse "Saga of King Olaf the Holy," and the
various incidents are assigned as nearly as may be to their place
in the sequence of events given from the death of Swein to the
accession of Cnut, in the contemporary Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which
is our most reliable authority for the period.

The place where King Olaf fought his seventh battle, "Ringmereheath
in Ulfkyl's land," is doubtful. To have localized it, therefore, on
a traditional battlefield in Suffolk, where a mound and field names
point to a severe forgotten fight in the line which a southern
invader would take between Colchester and Sudbury, may be
pardonable for the purposes of Redwald's story.

With regard to other historic incidents in the tale, some are from
the Danish "Knytlinga" and "Jomsvikinga" Sagas, which alone give us
the age of Cnut on his accession to the throne, and recount the
interception of Queen Emma by Thorkel's men on her projected
flight. In the ordinary course of history the age of the wise king
is disregarded, and the doings of the three great jarls are
naturally enough credited to him, for after the first few years of
confusion have been passed over, he takes his place as the greatest
of our rulers since Alfred, and his age is forgotten in his
wonderful policy.

The doings of Edric Streone are partly from the hints give by the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and partly from the accounts of later
English writers. But there is no chronicle of either English,
Danish, or Norse origin which does not hold him and his treachery
in the utmost scorn.

The account of the battle of Ashingdon follows the definite local
traditions of the place. The line of the river banks have changed
but little, and Cnut's earthworks still remain at Canewdon. The
first battlefield is yet known, and they still tell how Eadmund was
forced to fight on Ashingdon hill because his way across the ford
was barred by the Danish ships, and how the pursuit of the routed
English ended at Hockley.

Wulfnoth and his famous son Godwine are of course historic. The
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us how the earl was driven into sullen
enmity with Ethelred by Streone's brother, and the Danish Sagas
record Godwine's first introduction by Jarl Ulf to Cnut after the
battle of Sherston.

As for the places mentioned in Redwald's story, the well on Caldbec
hill still has its terrors for the village folk, and the
destruction of the ancient mining village at Penhurst by the Danes
is remembered yet with strange tales of treasure found among its
stone buildings. The Bures folk still speak of the White Lady of
the Mere, and their belief that Boadicea lies under the great mound
is by no means unlikely to be a tradition of her true resting
place.

C. W. WHISTLER

STOCKLAND, Nov. 1896.



Chapter 1: The Coming Of The Vikings.


All along our East Anglian shores men had watched for long, and now
word had come from Ulfkytel, our earl, that the great fleet of
Swein, the Danish king, had been sighted off the Dunwich cliffs,
and once again the fear of the Danes was on our land.

And so it came to pass that I, Redwald, son of Siric, the Thane of
Bures, stood at the gate of our courtyard and watched my father and
our sturdy housecarles and freemen ride away down the hill and
across the winding Stour river to join the great levy at
Colchester. And when I had seen the last flash of arms sparkle from
among the copses beyond the bridge, I had looked on Siric, my
father, for the last time in this world, but no thought rose up in
my mind that this might be so.

Yet if I stand now where I stood on that day, and see by chance the
glimmer of bright arms through green boughs across the river, there
comes to me a rush of sadness that dulls the bright May sunshine
and the sparkle of the rippling water, and fills the soft May-time
wind with sounds of mourning. Now to me it seems that I was thus
sad at the time that is brought back to me. But I was not so. It is
only the weight of long years of remembrance of what should have
been had I known. At that parting I turned back into the hall
downcast, only because my father had thought me not yet strong
enough to ride beside him, and a little angry and hurt moreover,
for I was broad and strong for my sixteen years.

Little thought I that in years to come I should remember all of
that leave taking, even to the least thing that happened; but so it
is. No man may rightly be said to forget aught. All that he has
known and learnt is there, hidden up in his mind to come forth if
there is anything that shall call it again to light.

Now my father lies resting among nameless heroes who died for
England on Nacton Heath--I know not even which of the great mounds
it may be that holds his bones--but he fell before the flight began
when Thurketyl Mirehead played the craven. Neither victor nor
vanquished was he when his end came, but maybe that is the best end
for a warrior after all. Some must fall, and some may live to
boast, and some remain to mourn, but to give life for fatherland in
hottest strife is good. That is what my father would have wished
for himself, and I at least sorrow but for myself and not for him.

Now I have spoken of remembrance, and I will add this word--that
some things in a man's life can never be set aside from his memory.
Waking or sleeping they come back to him. Eight days after that
going of my father came such a time to me, so that every least
thing is clear to me today as then.

I sat plaiting a leash for my hounds on the settle before the fire
in our great hall at Bures, and I remember how the strands of
leather thong fell in my hand; I remember how my mother's spinning
wheel stopped short with a snapping of broken threads; how the
thrall who was feeding the fire stayed with the log in his hands;
how the sleepy men at the lower end of the hall sprang up with
heavy words checked on their lips before the lady's presence; how
the maidens screamed--aye, and how the draught swayed the wall
hangings, and sent a long train of sparks flying from a half-dead
torch, as the great door was thrown open and a man flung himself
into our midst, mud splashed and white faced, with hands that
quivered towards us as he cried hoarsely:

"In haste, mistress--you must fly--the Danes--" and fell like a log
at my mother's feet where she sat on the dais, neither moving nor
speaking more.

It was Grinkel, the leader of our housecarles {1}. His armour
was rent and gashed, and no sword was in the scabbard at his side,
and his helm was gone, and now as he fell a bandage slipped from
his arm, and slowly the red stream from a great wound ran among the
sweet sedges wherewith the floor was strewn.

There came a mist before my eyes, and my heart beat thick and fast
as I saw him; but my mother rose up neither screaming nor growing
faint, though through her mind, as through mine, must have glanced
the knowledge of all that this homecoming of brave Grinkel meant.
She stepped from the high place to the warrior's side and hastily
rebound the wound, telling the maidens meanwhile to bring wine that
she might revive him if he were not already sped.

Then she rose up while the old steward took the wine and tried to
force it between the close-set teeth, and she called the farm
servants to her.

"Make ready all the horses and yoke the oxen to the wains," she
said in a clear voice that would not tremble. "Send the lads to
warn the village folk to fly beyond the river. For Grinkel comes
not in this wise for nought. The Danes are on us."

Now I remember the grim faces of the men as they went, and I
remember the look on the faces of the women as they heard, and in
the midst of us seemed to lie terror itself glaring from the set
eyes of the dead warrior. And of those memories I will say
nought--I would not have them live in the minds of any by day and
night as they lived in mine for many a long year thereafter. Many
were the tales I had heard of the coming of Ingvar's host in the
days of Eadmund our martyred king, who was crowned here at Bures in
our own church, and those tales were terrible. Now the like was on
us, and I saw that what I had heard was not the half.

The old steward rose up now, shaking his head in sorrow. I think he
was too old for fear.

"Grinkel is dead, lady," he said gently, closing the wild eyes as
he spoke, and then throwing a cloak from the wall over him. But my
mother only said, "May he rest in peace. What of the Thane?"

Thereat the steward looked forthright into his lady's face, and
spoke bravely for all around to hear:

"Doubtless the levy is broken for this once, and he bides with Earl
Ulfkytel to gather a new and stronger force. The Thane has sent
Grinkel on, and he has ridden in over-much haste for a wounded man.
He was ever eager."

My mother gave back her old servant's look in silence, and seemed
to assent. Yet I, though I was but a lad of sixteen, could see what
passed in that look of theirs. I knew that surely my father had
fallen, and that need was great for haste.

Then was hurry and hustle in the house as all that was most
valuable was gathered, and I myself could but take my arms from the
wall, and don mail-shirt and helm and sword and seax {2} and
then look on, useless enough, with my thoughts in a whirl all the
time.

Presently out of their tangle came one thing clearly to me, and
that was that there were others whom I loved to be warned, besides
the villagers.

My mother came into the hall again, and stood for a moment like a
carven statue looking at the maidens who wrought at packing what
they might. She had not wept, but in her face was written sorrow
beyond weeping. Yet almost did she weep, when I stood beside her
and spoke, putting my hand on her arm.

"Mother," I said, "I must go to Wormingford and warn them also. My
horse will be ready, and I will return to you."

Then she looked at me, for as I go over these things I know that
this was the first time that I had ever said to her "I must,"
without asking her leave, in aught that I would do. And she
answered me calmly.

"Aye, that is a good thought. They will need help. Bide with them
if need is, and so join us presently on the road. We will fly to
London."

"So far, mother?" I said. "Surely Colchester will be safe."

"I will go to Ethelred the king," she answered. "He has ever been
your father's friend, and will be yours. And I was the queen's
maiden in the old days, and she will welcome me. Now go and bring
Hertha to me."

She turned to her work, and I went out across the courtyard.
Already the wains stood there, the teams of sleepy oxen tossing
their long horns in the glare of torches. The church bell was
clanging the alarm of fire to bring home the men from field or
forest if any were abroad so late, for it was an hour after sunset,
and there was no moon yet.

The gray horse that my father gave me a year agone stood ready
saddled in the stall when I came to the stables. I went and loosed
him, while a groom saw me and ran to help, and as I swung into the
saddle I saw his face marked with new lines across his forehead.

"Do you fly first, master?" he said, with strange meaning in his
voice.

"I go to Wormingford," I answered. "Likely enough, therefore, that
I fly last," and I laughed.

"Aye, let me go, master, let me go," he said. "It is like that the
Danes are on the road."

"Not yet," I said, touched by question and offer alike. "There is
many a mile between here and Ipswich, and I think that to go to
Wormingford is my work, surely."

So I rode away fast, seeing in the valley below me the lights of
the house that I sought. As I had said, the errand was indeed mine.

For at the great house just across the river below the hills lived
the one who should be my wife in the days to come--Hertha, daughter
of Osgod, the Thane of Wormingford. It was now three years since we
had been betrothed with all solemnity in our church, and that had
seemed but fit and right, for we were two children who had played
together since we could run hand in hand. And my mother had been as
a mother also to little Hertha since she was left with only her
father to tend her.

Our house and Osgod's were akin, though not near, for we both
traced our line from Redwald the first Christian king of East
Anglia, whose name I bore. Hertha was two years younger than I.

Now Osgod the Thane had ridden away to the war with my father, and
unless he had returned with Grinkel, Hertha was alone in the house
with her old nurse and the farm servants. Most surely she would
have been at Bures with us but for some spring-time sickness which
was among the village children, and from which my mother sought to
keep her free. It might be that the thane had returned, but it was
in my mind that the manner of Grinkel's coming boded ill to all of
us.

So I rode on quickly down the hill towards the river. I knew not
how near the Danes might be, but I thought little of them, until
suddenly through the dusk I saw a red point of fire flicker and
broaden out into flame on a hilltop eastward, where I knew a beacon
fire was piled against need. And then from every point along the
Stour valley beacon after beacon flashed out in answer, until all
the countryside was full of them; and I hurried on more swiftly
than before.

Our hall stood on the hill crest above church and village, beyond
the reach of creeping river mist and sudden floods, and I rode down
the track that crosses the lower road and so comes to the ford
below Osgod's place on the Essex side of the river. And when I came
to the crossing my horse pricked his ears and snorted, so that I
knew there were horsemen about, and I reined up and waited in the
lane.

I could hear the quick hoofbeats of two steeds, and all the air was
full of the sound of alarm bells, for the evening was very still.

Then up the road from eastward rode two men at an easy gallop, and
my horse's manner told me that a stable mate of his was coming, so
I feared no longer but went into the main road to meet them.

"What news?" I cried, and they halted.

"It is the young master," said one, and I knew the voice of Edred,
our housecarle. And when he was close to me I could see that he was
in almost as evil plight as had been Grinkel his comrade. The other
man I knew not, but he bore a headless spear shaft in his hand, and
Edred's shield had a great gash across it.

"Master, has Grinkel come?" Edred asked me.

"Aye, and is dead. He bade us fly, and could say no more. What of
my father?"

The men looked at one another for a moment, and then Edred said
very sadly:

"Woe is me that I must be the bearer of heavy tidings to you and
the lady your mother. But what is true is true and must be told.
Never has such a battle been fought in East Anglia, and the fortune
of war has gone against us."

The fear that I had read in my mother's eyes fell cold on me at
those words-and I asked again, longing and fearing to know the
worst:

"What of the thane, my father?"

"Master, he fell with the first," Edred answered with a breaking of
his voice. "Nor might we bring him from the place where he fell.
For the Danes swept us from the field at the last like dead leaves
in the wind, and there was nought left us but to fly. Two long
hours we fought first, and then came flight. They say one man began
it. I know not; but it was no man of ours. Now the Danes are
marching hitherwards to Colchester."

"What of Osgod of Wormingford?" I asked.

"He lies beside our lord. There is a ring of slain round them. I
would I were there also," the warrior answered.

"Then were there one less to care for our helpless ones," I said.
"All are preparing for flight at Bures. Come with me to
Wormingford, and we will warn them. There is work to do for us who
are left."

"Aye, master, that is right," he said; "we may fight again and wipe
out this business."

Then the other man, who belonged to Sudbury, five miles beyond us,
bade us farewell, and so rode on with his tale of terror, and Edred
followed me across the ford to Osgod's house, which was but a mile
from where we met. He told me that Grinkel had found a fresh horse
in Stoke village, and so had outstripped him.

Many thralls stood at the gate of Osgod's courtyard as we came
there, and they were staring at the beacon fires around us, and
listening to the wild bells that rang so strangely. There was a
fire blazing now on the green before our own house, and one on the
hill above the Wormingford mere, which men say is haunted.

"I would see your mistress," I said as they came and held my horse.
I had not been to the house for two days, as it chanced.

Then one ran and brought the house steward, and told him.

"I know not if that may be, master," he said; "but I will ask Dame
Gunnhild."

"Has the lady gone to rest?" I said, being surprised at this delay.

"She is not well" the man said; "and the dame has not suffered her
to rise today."

"Then let me have speech with the dame without delay," I said, for
this made me uneasy, seeing what need there was for speedy flight.

The steward went in, and I bade the thralls do all that Edred
ordered them, telling him to see to what was needed for flight and
so I went into the house, and stood by the hall fire waiting for
Gunnhild the nurse.

There is nothing in all that wide hall that I cannot remember
clearly, even to a place where the rushes were ill strewn on the
floor. And the short waiting seemed very long to me.

Then came Gunnhild. She was old, and I feared her, for men said
that she was a witch. But she had been in the house of Osgod the
Thane since he himself was a child, and Hertha loved her, and that
was enough for me. Nor had I any reason to think that the dame had
any but friendly feelings towards myself, though her bright eyes
and tall figure, and most of all what was said of her, feared me,
as I say. Now she came towards me swiftly, and did not wait for me
to speak first.

"What will you at this hour, Redwald?" she said.

"Nought but pressing need bade me come thus," I answered. "The levy
is broken, and the Danes are on the way to Colchester. My mother
flies to London, and you and Hertha must do likewise."

"So your father and hers are slain," she said, looking fixedly at
me, and standing very still.

"How know you that?" I asked sharply, for I had told the steward
nothing.

"By your face, Redwald," she said; "you were but a boy two days
agone, now you have a man's work on your hands, and you will do it.
Who bade you ride here?"

"No one," I said, wondering, "needs must that I should come."

"That is as I thought," she said; "but we cannot fly."

"Why not?"

"Because the sickness that your mother feared is on Hertha, and she
cannot go."

Now I was ready to weep, but that would be of no use.

"Is there danger to her?" I said, and I could not keep my voice
from shaking, for Hertha was all the sister I had, and she in time
would be nearer than that to me.

"None," answered the dame, "save she runs risk of chill. For she
has been fevered for a while."

"Which is most to be feared," said I, "chill, or risk of Danish
cruelty?"

She made no answer, but asked me what were my mother's plans. And
when I said that she would fly to Ethelred the king, the old nurse
laughed strangely to herself.

"Then you go to the very cause of all this trouble," she said.
"Truly the king's name should be 'the Unredy', for rede he has
none. It is his ill counsel that has brought Swein the Dane on us.
We have to pay for the Hock-tide slayings {3}."

"We had no share in that" I said.

"No, because half our folk are Danes, more or less, some of the men
of Ingvar and Guthrum. But Swein will not care for that--they are
all English to him."

"What will you do, then?" I asked, growing half wild that she
should stand there quietly and plan nought.

"These folk will side with Swein presently, when they find that he
is the stronger, and then the old kinship will wake in them, and
the Wessex king will be nought to their minds. Then will be peace
here, for the Danes will sweep on to Mercia and London. Do you go
to Ethelred the Unredy--and I abiding here shall be the safer in
the end, and Hertha with me."

"But peace has not come yet" I said.

"I can hide until it does come," she said. And then, for my face
must have shown all the doubt that I felt, she spoke very kindly to
me. "Trust the old witch who wishes you well, Redwald, my son; she
who has nursed Hertha for so long will care for her till the last;
safe she will be until you return to find her when the foolishness
of Ethelred is paid for."

"Where can you hide?" I asked, and urged her to tell me more, but
she would not do so.

"No man would dream of the hiding place that I shall seek," she
said, "and I will tell it to none. Then will it be the surer."

"I know all this country," I answered. "There is no place."

She smiled faintly, and paused a little, thinking.

"I will tell you this," she said at last. "You go to the king;
well--I go to the queen. That is all you may know. But maybe it
will be enough to guide you someday."

I could not understand what she meant; nor would she tell me more.
Only she said that all would be safe, and that I need fear nothing
either for Hertha or for herself.

"My forbears were safe in that place to which I go," she said; "and
I alone know where it is. When the time comes, Hertha shall tell
you of it but that must wait for the days to be."

"I fear they will be long. Let me see Hertha before I go," I said,
"for I must needs be content."

"How looked she when last you saw her?"

"Well, and bright, and happy," I answered.

"Keep that memory of her therefore," Gunnhild said. "I would not
have you see her in sickness, nor may she be waked without danger.
Tell your mother that surely if she could take Hertha with her it
should be so, but it may not be. She would be harmed by a long
journey."

The old nurse turned and left me as swiftly as she had come. And
now it is in my mind that she went thus lest she should weep. So I
was alone in the hall, and there was no more left for me to do. I
must even let things be as she would. It came into my thought that
she was right about our half-Danish folk, for though they had
fought to keep the newcomers from the land that their fathers had
won, Swein was no foreigner, and they would as soon own him as
Ethelred of Wessex, if he got the upper hand and would give them
peace. Even we Angles never forgot that the race of Ecgberht was
Saxon and not of our own kin altogether. The Dane was as near to us
as the Wessex king, save by old comradeship, and the ties that had
come with years.

So all that Edred and I could do was to bid the steward take his
orders from Gunnhild, and so ride back to Bures along the riverside
track. And when we came there the long train of flying people were
crossing the bridge, and we rode past them one by one, and the
sight of those wain loads of helpless women and children was the
most piteous I had ever seen. Many such another train was I to look
on in the years to come, but none ever wrung my heart as this, for
I knew every face so well. Yet I thought they would be safe, for
the Danes were far off yet, and there was full time to gain the
depths of the forest land on the East Saxon side.

Now, our people had gone on more quickly than the villagers by
reason of better cattle and more hands to the work, and when we had
passed the foremost of these, the road went up the hill and no man
was upon it. So we went quickly, and then came one on foot towards
the village, and just beyond him were our folk, whom he had passed
or left.

It was good Father Ailwin, our old priest, and I thought that he
sought me, or took back some word to others and I would ride back
for him.

"What is it, Father?" I cried, "I will do your errand."

"Nay, my son, you cannot," he said; "your mother drew me to fly
with her, and my weakness bade me do it for a while. But I may not
leave my place. The Danes are not all heathen as they were in
Eadmund's days, and I think that I am wrong to go. When our folk
come back they must find their priest waiting for them."

Then I strove to turn him again to flight with us, but I could not,
and at last he commanded me to desist and leave him. And so he gave
me his blessing, and I went, being sure that he would be slain, and
weeping therefore, for I loved him well. But I told him of Dame
Gunnhild's words, and begged him to seek her and speak with her,
for she might hide him also for a while if he would not leave the
place altogether.

So we left our home, and that was the last time I set eyes on our
hall at Bures. Then I caught up my mother hard by the dark wood
that is round the great solemn mound that we say is the tomb of
Boadicea, the Icenian queen of the men who fought against Rome. We
call it haunted, and none of us dare set foot in those woods, by
day even.

The beacon fires burnt all round us, and in every farmstead was
terror and hustle as the poor folk trembled to think what they
could mean, and some came now and then and asked my mother what
they should do.

"Bide in your homes till you must needs take to the woods," she
said; and that was wise counsel, and many were glad thereafter that
they took it, for the Danes passed them by.

Now I remember all that happened on our journey to London along the
great Roman road that runs from Colchester thither, but there is
little to tell thereof, for it was safe and we hardly hurried after
the first day. We rested at the house of a thane who was well known
to us on the first evening, and there my mother heard from Edred
all that had befallen. And she bore the heavy tidings well, for she
had already given up any hope that my father still lived. Yet as I
look back I know that she was never the same after that day.

So we came in safety to London, and to the court of Ethelred our
king, and there we were most kindly received, for my father was
well known to the king, and the queen loved my mother for the sake
of old days. They gave us lodging near the great house where the
court was held, and on the third day after we came, we were bidden
to the king's presence.

Then it was that I looked on Ethelred for the first time, and I had
thought that a king should have been more kingly than he. For there
was no command in his face, and he moved quickly and with little
meaning in what he did, being restless in his way. But he put his
hand on my shoulder very kindly, and looked in my face and said:

"One may know that this is the son of Siric, my friend. He is like
what the good thane was in the old days. What shall I do for him,
lady?"

Now, my mother would have answered, but I was not afraid of this
handsome, careless-looking man, and I had my own wishes in the
matter. So I spoke for myself.

"Make me a warrior, lord king. I would fain fight the Danes, and
already I can use sword and spear, and can ride."

Then my mother spoke hastily and almost weeping, being broken down
with all her trouble and the long journey.

"I would have him serve Holy Church rather, in some monastery.
Already he can read and write, my king, for I have had him taught
in hopes that this might be."

Thereat the king shook his head, and walked away to the window for
a minute. Then he came back quickly and said, not looking at my
mother:

"Holy Church will be best served by warriors who will use carnal
arms against Swein's heathen just now. The boy is right--I would
that there were more who had his spirit. We need and shall need
those who love fighting."

Then he said to me:

"Siric your father had a wondrous sword that I used to envy him;
you shall learn to use it."

"Lord king," I answered, "I must learn to win it back from the
Danes, who have it now."

I thought the king changed countenance a little at that, and he bit
his lip.

"We have been well beaten in East Anglia," he said as if to
himself. "Here is truth from this boy at least."

Now, if Ethelred did not know that our men had been so scattered by
the Danes that they could not even ask for truce to recover their
slain, it seemed plain even to me that the king was ill-served in
some way. But I could say nought; and after that he bade us
farewell for the time.

So it came to pass that he gave me a place among the thanes' sons
of his own court and there I was well trained in all that would
make me a good warrior. Soon I had many friends, and best of all I
loved the athelings, Eadmund and Eadward, who soon took notice of
me, the one because I was never weary of weapon play, and the
other, Eadward, who was somewhat younger than I, because of the
learning that our good priest of Bures had taken such pains to
teach me against my will. For above all things Eadmund loved the
craft of the warrior, and Eadward all that belonged to peace.



Chapter 2: Olaf The King.


My mother lived but a few months after that flight of ours; but at
least she knew before she died that Bertha was safe. What the old
nurse had foreseen had come to pass. The half-Danish and Danish
folk of the East Angles owned Swein as king, though not willingly,
and a housecarle from Wormingford made his way to us with word from
Gunnhild that set our minds at rest. Truly our hall and Osgod's had
been burnt by parties from the Danish host, and for a time the
danger was great, for Swein's vengeance for his sister's death was
terrible.

Now the land was poorer, but in peace. Yet Hertha would keep in
hiding till we might see how things went, for the Danes might be
forced back, and when a Danish host retreats it hinders pursuit by
leaving a desert in its wake. Many a long year will it be before
those Danish pathways are lost to sight again. They seem to be
across every shire of our land.

So I lived on in Ethelred's court now in one town and now in
another, as the long struggle bade us shift either to follow or fly
the Danes; and presently the memory both of my mother and Hertha
grew dim, for wartime and new scenes age and harden a youth very
quickly. Soon I might ride at the side of Eadmund the Atheling to
try to stay the march of Swein through England; and many were the
fights I saw with him, until I was the only one left of all the
youths who had been my comrades at first, and Eadmund had won his
name of "Ironside" in bravest hopeless struggle.

I grew to be a close and trusted friend of his, and so at last
amidst the trouble that was all round us in those heavy times the
remembrance of Hertha became but as part of a childhood that was
long gone, and I thought of her but as of the little one with whom
I had played in the old days beside the quiet Stour. There were
none left to remind me of her, for one by one my few Bures men had
fallen, and Edred, who had been my servant at the court, gave his
life for mine in my first battle. Into Swein's East Anglia our
levies never made their way.

What need for me to say aught of those three years of warfare?
Their tale is written in fire over all the fair face of England.
For nothing checked Swein Forkbeard until step by step the Danish
hosts closed on London, and at last even the brave citizens were
forced to yield to him. Then Ethelred our king must needs fly from
his throne, and leave the land to its Danish master.

Yet it was true, as Eadmund the Atheling said, that the Dane was
but master of the land, and not of the English people. Even today
my mind is full of wondering honour for those sullen Saxon levies
of ours who for three years bore defeat after defeat at the hands
of the trained and hardened veterans of the north, uncomplaining
and unbent. What wonder if at last we were wearied out and must
hold our hands for a while?

So now when I was nineteen, and looking and feeling many years
older by reason of the long stress of warfare and trouble, I was at
Rouen, in Normandy, at the court of our queen's brother, Richard
the Duke. To him Ethelred had fled at the last and there, too, were
the queen and the athelings, good Abbot Elfric of Peterborough, and
a few more of the court, besides myself. Ethelred had hoped to gain
some help from the duke; but he could only give us shelter in our
need, for he had even yet to hold the land that Rolf, his
forefather, had won against his neighbours, and could spare us not
one of his warriors.

So in Rouen we waited and watched for some new turn of things that
might give us fresh hopes of regaining our own land. Yet it was a
weary waiting for one knew not what; and Ethelred the king grew
moody and despairing as the days went on, and there seemed to be no
help.

But Eadmund was ever planning for return, and was restless, riding
down to each ship that came into the river to hear what news might
be, until the winter set in, and we must needs wait until
springtime brought the traders again from the English shores.

Only Elfgiva the queen, whom her own people call Emma, was well
content to be in her own land again for a while, though one might
easily see that she sorely grieved for the loss of her state as the
queen of England. And Eadward the Atheling loved to be among the
wondrous buildings of the Norman land, spending long hours with the
learned men, and planning many good things to be wrought in England
when times of peace should come once more. And in these plannings
Elfric the abbot was ever ready to help him, and the more, as I
think, that to hear of their thoughts of return to England, and of
happier times, would cheer our king. For Elfric would never allow
but that we were here for a short while only, saying that England
would yet rise up refreshed, and sweep the Danes into the sea, from
whence they came.

"Else why should I have given all that I have--even five hundred
pounds--for St. Florentine his body (wanting the head, in truth,
but I might not have that), if I were not sure that I should take
it home for the greater glory of St. Peter's church at Medehamstede
{4} presently? Answer me that, lord king, and be not so
downhearted."

This he said one day, being full of his purchase, and I think that
the cheerfulness of the good man helped our king.

"Verily, Redwald, my son," the abbot said to me, "if I get not St.
Florentine home, I think my money is not lost. The king waxes more
hopeful when he sees the shrine waiting to be taken overseas."

Nor could I say for myself that I was not pleased with the stay in
Rouen. For I had never known the fierce joy of victory, and the
rest from the long tale of defeat was good to me. Yet I set myself
to learn all that I could of the splendid weapon craft of the
Norman warriors, for I thought that I should yet need in England
all I could learn. And the new life and scenes pleased me well, for
I was young enough to let the cares of our poor land slip from my
mind for a while.

So the long winter wore away, and at last the season came when we
might look for the first ships of the year, and with them news from
England. Then Eadmund would go to the haven at the mouth of the
great river Seine that runs to Rouen, so that he should be at hand
to hear the first tidings that came. Glad enough was I to go with
him, and we took up our quarters in a great house that belonged to
the duke at the town they call "The Haven," and there waited, ever
watching the long gray sea line for a coming sail.

But none came until the first week in March, when the wind blew
steadily from the northeast, and the sky was clear and bright with
promise of open weather. Then at last we saw eight ships together
heading for the haven, and that sight was more welcome than I can
say.

When they came near we knew that they were no traders, but long
dragon ships, and at first we thought they were Danish vikings; and
the townsmen armed in haste and mustered along the wharves to
prevent their landing, if they came on their wonted errand of
plunder. And eagerly enough did Eadmund and I join them, only
hoping for another blow at our foes, and having no thought in our
minds that the ships we watched were bringing us more hope than we
dared long for.

Next I knew that these ships were like no Danish vessels that I had
ever seen, but were far more handsome, both in build and fittings.
Nor did they fly the terrible raven banner as most Danes were wont.
Then it was not long before the lines of armed townsmen broke up
their ranks and crowded down to the wharves to greet the ships in
all friendliness, for they were Norse, as it would seem, and the
Norse viking is ever welcome in the land that Rolf Ganger, the
viking, won for himself.

So the ships came into the harbour, brave with gilded dragon heads
and sails striped with bright colours, all fresh from their winter
quarters, and Eadmund turned away, for he thought that they would
be Swein's men, of the host of Thorkel the Norseman, his great
captain, and foster father of Cnut his son. For Swein held Norway
as well as Denmark, and many Norsemen followed him. Thorkel's host
was that which slew Elfheah, the good archbishop of Canterbury,
whom his monks called Elphege, but last year.

That, too, was the thought of the seamen to whom I spoke when the
ships were yet distant, and so we went back to the hall heavy and
disappointed. We would not speak to these men, knowing that from
Thorkel's folk we should but hear boasting of Swein's victories.

But presently the steward came into the hall, where we sat silently
listening to the shouts of the men as they berthed the ships, and
he said that the leader of the vikings would see and speak with
Eadmund himself.

"Is he Thorkel, or Thorkel's man?" answered the atheling, "for if
he be, I will not see him."

"No, lord," said the steward, "he is one who has no dealings with
the Danes. He will not tell me his name, but I think that he is a
great man of some kind."

"Not a great man, but thick," said a kindly voice of one who stood
without. "If hatred of Danes will pass me into Eadmund's presence,
I may surely enter."

And then there came into the doorway a man who was worth more than
a second look. Never had I seen one to whom the name of king seemed
to belong so well by right as to this man, whatever his rank might
be. He stood and looked round for a moment, as if the dim light
from the high windows was not enough to show him where we were at
first, and I could not take my eyes from him.

He was not tall, but very square of shoulder and deep of chest,
with mighty arms that were bare, save for their heavy gold
bracelets, below the sleeves of his ring mail, and his hair and
beard were golden red and very long. He wore a silvered helm,
whereon was inlaid a golden cross above a narrow gold circlet that
was round its rim, and his hand rested on the hilt of such a
priceless sword as is told of in the old tales of the heroes. But I
forgot all these things as I looked into his pleasant weatherbeaten
face, and saw the kindly look in the gray eyes that I knew would
flash most terribly in fight. He was twenty-five years old, as I
thought; but therein I was wrong, for he was just my own age,
though looking so much older.

"I am Olaf Haraldsson--Olaf Digri, the Thick, as men call me," he
said. "Some call me king, though I rule but over a few ships, as a
sea king. Which of you thanes is Eadmund the Atheling?"

Then Eadmund rose up from his place, and went towards the king. His
seat had been in shadow, else there had been no need to ask which
was he.

"I have heard of you, King Olaf," he said, "for your deeds are sung
in our land already. And you are most welcome. Have you news from
England?"

So those two grasped each other's hands, and I think there were no
two other such men living at that time. It was good to see them
together.

"Aye," said the king, "I have been in England, and therefore I have
come to find you. Swein is dead, and your chance has come. Let me
help you to win your land again."

That was plain speaking, and for the moment Eadmund held his
breath, and could not speak for sheer surprise and gladness. But I
could not forbear leaping up and shouting, tossing my helm in the
air as I did so, so wondrous was all this to me, and so full of
hope.

At that Olaf laughed, and leaving Eadmund to his thoughts, turned
to me.

"Which of the athelings are you?" he asked. "I have heard of
Eadmund's brothers," and he held out his strong hand to take mine.

"I am but the atheling's comrade--his servant, rather," I said,
growing red as I did so, for I had surely forgotten myself in my
gladness.

"Redwald is no servant, King Olaf," said Eadmund quickly. "He is my
closest comrade here, and has fought well at my side. Thane of
Bures in East Anglia he is--but now the Danes hold his place."

"Why then," said Olaf, "Thoralf's grandson surely?"

"Aye, king," I answered, wondering; "my grandfather was named
Thoralf. He was one of Olaf Tryggvesson's chiefs."

"Then have I found a cousin," laughed the king. "Give me your hand,
kinsman," and he looked me over from head to foot, but very kindly.

I took the king's hand gladly, but somewhat dazed in my mind at
being thus owned. And Olaf saw that I was so, and told me more.

"Asta, my good mother, was this Thoralf's cousin, and we Norsemen
do not lose count of our kin. So I knew well that Thoralf found an
English home and wife when Olaf Tryggvesson was first in England,
and that he was Thane of Bures by some right of his lady. So I
knew, when I heard your name and place, that I had found a kinsman.
And I have so few that I am glad."

Now I knew that this was true, but we had never thought much of
Thoralf, rather priding ourselves on his wife's long descent from
King Redwald. I wished for the first time now that I knew more of
this Norse grandfather of mine.

"Presently we will find Rani, my foster father, who is with the
ships," said Olaf; "he knew Thoralf well. You and I must see much
of one another, cousin."

Then he turned to Eadmund, who was, as it seemed, well pleased that
I had found so good a friend. And he said:

"Forgive me if I have forgotten greater matters for a moment. But I
cannot greet a kinsman coldly, and it is in my mind that Redwald is
a cousin worth finding, if I may judge by the way in which he
hailed my news."

"Truly," said Eadmund, "I am minded to do as he did, now that I
have taken all the wonder of it in. But it seems over good to be
true--Swein dead--and your offered help!"

Then they both laughed, well content, and so Eadmund called the
steward, and wine and meat were set for the king, and they sat down
and talked, as he ate with a sailor's hunger. But I listened not to
their talk, my mind being over full of this good fortune of my own.
I had none left of my own kin, and till today I had been as it were
alone.

Presently, however, I heard an East Anglian name that was dear to
me. Eadmund asked how it was that Swein Forkbeard had died, for
none thought that his end was yet to be thought of as near. Now it
would seem that he had gone suddenly.

"He was at Gainsborough," said Olaf, "and he was about to make his
way south to Eadmund's burg. Whereon men say that to save his town
and shrine the holy martyr, King Eadmund, whom Ingvar slew, thrust
Swein through with an iron lance. Some say that he slew him
otherwise, but all agree as to his slayer. And now I think that
England will rise."

"What of Cnut, Swein's son?" asked Eadmund.

"He is but a boy. What he may be in a few years' time I know not.
With him it will be as with myself. I was given a ship when I was
twelve years old, and thereafter all that my men did goes to my
credit in the mouths of the scalds. Yet my men and I know well that
Rani, my foster father, whom you will soon know, was the real
captain and leader for the first three or four years."

Then said Eadmund:

"Cnut is of no account."

Olaf laughed a little, and answered:

"Cnut's own arm may be of little strength, but his name is on the
lips of every Dane. There are three chiefs who will hold the
kingdom in his name, and they are the men whom you must meet:
Thorkel the High, his foster father; Ulf Sprakalegsson the jarl,
his brother-in-law; and Eirik the jarl, whose brother Homing holds
London even now. Good men and loyal they are, and what they do Cnut
does."

"I have three chiefs in my mind who can match these," said our
atheling. "Olaf the king, and Ulfkytel of East Anglia, and Edric
Streone, my foster father."

Then Olaf looked in the face of Eadmund, as it seemed to me in
surprise, and made no answer.

"Are we not equal then?" asked the atheling.

"I have heard that Edric Streone is on the Danish side," said Olaf.
"Cannot Utred of Northumbria be trusted?"

"Edric has but sought rest, from need," answered Eadmund. "I know
not what else he could do at last. He will join us again as soon as
we land. So also will Utred."

"Then we are equal," said the king, while a cloud seemed to pass
from his face, for Streone led all Mercia, and were he in truth on
our side things would go well. It was no very secret talk among
some of us that Edric the earl had made peace sooner than might
have been, but that angered Eadmund and the king sorely if so much
were even hinted.

"Then you will indeed help us?" said Eadmund, for Olaf had accepted
the place he had named for him as it were.

"I have a debt to England that I can never repay," answered the
king gravely. "She gave us our first teachers in the Christian
faith. And Swein has held Norway, my own land, with the help of the
heathen jarls who are yet there. I fight the fight of the Cross,
therefore, and when I go back to my own land, it will be to sweep
away the last worship of Odin and Thor. But the time has not come
yet," and his eyes shone strangely.

"When it comes I will help you," said Eadmund, "if it may be that I
can do so."

"I know it, and I thank you; but it is my thought that I shall need
no help," said the king, while the look on his face was very
wondrous, so that I had never seen the like. It minded me of the
pictures of St. Stephen that I saw in a great church here with
Abbot Elfric and Eadward. Then he spoke of the spread of the Faith
in Norway, and how that he would be the one who should finish what
Olaf Tryggvesson, his cousin, had begun; and one might see that he
longed for power and kingship only for that work.

Long did those two warriors talk before they turned to lighter
matters, and in the end they planned to ride to Rouen to see the
king himself on the next day. But before night fell there came more
news with another ship that came alone into the haven. And she was
English, bearing messengers from the great witan itself.

These thanes told Eadmund their news, and it was this:

That Cnut had been hailed as king by the Danish host at
Gainsborough, but that the English people begged Ethelred to return
to them, promising that a good force should be ready to meet him on
his landing. Already the London folk had planned a rising there and
in the great towns against the Thingmen, as the Danish paid
garrisons were called, and it was likely that this had by this time
come about.

So at once Eadmund went with these thanes to Rouen, and Olaf would
have me bide with him till word came from the king as to the next
doings.

That was a pleasant time to me, for I grew to love Olaf, and he was
never willing that I should be far from him. Then, too, I heard
many tales of my grandfather Thoralf from Rani, the old viking who
had fought beside him, and had been with Tryggvesson when he was
christened in England. And of all Olaf's men I liked best Ottar the
Black, the scald, who was but five years older than myself, but who
had yet seen much fighting with the king both by land and sea. We
sang much together, for I was willing to learn from him, and he to
teach me.

Now of this singing there is one thing that I will set down, for
the matter comes into my story again.

One day Ottar sang the saga of the sword of Hiorvard; how the
maiden warrior won it from the grave mound of her father, Angantyr,
in spite of terror of the dead hero, and of the unearthly fires.
That was a good saga, and when it was ended old Rani said:

"Thoralf had a sword that was won by his father from a chief's
grave mound in Vendland, It was the most wondrous sword, save only
Olaf's 'Hneitir' yonder, that I have ever seen. Silver and gold was
its hilt, and the blade was wrought in patterns on the steel, and
there were runes in gold close to the hilt. He would call it 'Foe's
Bane', and that in truth was what the sword was."

I knew only too well that that sword became my father's in his
turn, and now it was lost to me.

"My father fell with sword 'Foe's Bane' in his hand," I said sadly.
"Yet I know that the name was not belied ere he did so."

"Then the Danes have it," said Rani, "and it will come back to
you."

I remembered that Ethelred himself had spoken of the sword, and how
I had made his face fall when he heard that it was lost. Nor had I
been long at court before I heard words from one thane or another
that seemed to say that Edric Streone had made light of our defeat,
for some reasons of his own.

"I must win it back," I said.

"If there is aught in old sayings," answered Ottar, "the sword will
draw its holder to face you, unless he won it in fair fight hand to
hand."

Thereat Olaf laughed, and no more was said. But in years to come
there were told strange tales of the longing, as it were, of his
own sword 'Hneitir' to be back at its master's side.

So the time went quickly for me, but to Olaf the waiting seemed
long before Eadmund rode back from Rouen. And with him came those
thanes and his half-brother Eadward, but Ethelred himself was not
with them. He would not go to England, fearing treachery as it
seemed; but Eadward was to go over and meet the witan and speak
with them. Yet the thanes said that without the king no force would
move.

"Why does he not go?" said Olaf impatiently. "Here is time lost
when a sudden blow would win all."

"Because he is Ethelred the Unredy," answered Eadmund shortly, for
he was very angry at the delay.

Then was another waiting, but Eadward was very wise though he was
so young, being but twelve years old at this time, and he had
Elfric the abbot with him, and at last word came from him that all
was going well. Then Ethelred made up his mind and listened to
Olaf's counsel.

"Strike at London," he said. "We know that the citizens are ever
loyal."

They had risen, as it seemed, and had slain many of the thingmen,
and Heming, Thorkel's brother, himself. That had but brought on
them hardships and a stronger garrison, while Ethelred wavered and
would not come.

At last Ethelred gathered what few men would follow him from
Normandy and sailed to go to Southampton, and so to Winchester.
Richard the Duke gave him a few ships and men enough to man them.
Then Olaf, as it was planned, would sail up the Thames in such time
as to meet the king's land force at London on a certain day, and
thus take the city by a double attack. And Olaf asked that I might
sail with him.

That Eadmund gladly agreed to, saying that we should meet on London
Bridge shortly, and so I saw him set out full of hope, and then
waited with Olaf for the short time that he would yet stay before
sailing. He would not reach the Thames too early lest London should
be held in too great force for us, and it was his plan that we
should sail up the great river too suddenly for any new Danish
force to be gathered.

Now on the evening before we sailed Olaf the king was restless, and
silent beyond his wont at the feasting before departure, and he
seemed to take little pleasure even in the songs of Ottar the
scald, though the men praised them loudly. I thought it likely that
some foreboding was on him, and that is no good sign before a
fight.

So presently I spoke to Rani, asking him if aught ailed the king.
Whereat he answered, smiling:

"Nought ails him but longing to be sword to sword with these old
foes of ours. This is his way, ever. If he were gay as Biorn the
marshal yonder I might wonder at him maybe."

But presently Olaf rose up and bade Rani take his place, saying
that he would go down to the ships to see that all was well. And
then he beckoned me to follow him, and we went down the long hall
together. It would seem that this was no new thing that he should
leave the feast there, for the little hush that fell as we passed
the long tables lasted no long time, and the men seemed not
surprised. Indeed King Olaf had little love for sitting over the
ale cup, and no man was more careful to see to all things about his
ships and men than he.

The great doors closed after us, and we stood in the white
moonlight for a moment. The air was cold and sharp after the warmth
of the crowded hall. Down in the harbour the water was quiet
enough, but outside a fair breeze was blowing from the southwest.

"The wind will hold, and will serve us well," said Olaf. "Who of
all the Danish hosts will deem that such a wind is bringing fire
and sword on them from across the sea?"

Then he folded his cloak round him and we went down to the harbour,
where the long line of ships lay side by side along the wharf with
their bows shoreward. The great dragon stem heads towered over us,
shining strangely in the moonlight, and the gentle send of the
waves into the harbour made them sway and creak as though they were
coming to life.

"The dragons are restless as I," he said looking up at them.

"Tomorrow, hungry ones--tomorrow--then shall you and I be set free
to meet wind and wave and foe again."

Then one of the men on watch began to sing, and his song was an old
sea stave that had a swing and roll in its rough tune that was like
the broken surge of sea water, even while it was timed to the fall
of oar blades into the surf. One may not say how old those songs
are that the seamen sing.

"That is the dragon's answer," said the king to me. "Sing, Redwald,
and take your part."

So when the man came to the part where all should join, I took up
the song with him, and then many others of the men joined in--some
five or six in each ship.

"That is good," said Olaf, laughing softly. "Here are men whose
hearts are light."

The man who sang first came now and looked over the high bows of
the ship, and his figure was black against the moonlight.

"Ho, master scald!" he cried in his great voice, "now shall you
sing the rest. You have put me out of conceit with my own singing.
Why are you not at the feast, where I would be if I were not tied
here!"

"He is keeping the dragons awake," laughed the king. "Nor do I
think that even a feast would take you from the ship just as the
tide is on the turn."

"Maybe not, lord king," answered the man, lifting his hand in
salute. "But the dragons will be wakeful enough--never fear for
them."

So the king answered back cheerily, and other men came and
listened, and so at last he turned away, leaving the men who loved
him pleased and the happier for his coming thus.

Now I thought that we should have gone back to the hall; but Olaf
walked away from the town, going along the shore. The tide was just
out, and the flow would soon begin. Soon we lost sight of the last
lights from the houses, and still he went on, and I followed him,
not speaking, for I knew not what plans he was making.

At last we came to a place to which I had not been before, and it
was lonely enough. The forest came down to the beach, and the land
was low and sheltered between the hills. There the king stayed,
sitting down on a fallen tree and resting his chin on his hand, as
he looked out over the water with grave eyes that seemed to see far
beyond the tossing waves.

I rested beside him, and there we bided silent for an hour or more.
There was only the sound of the wind in the storm-twisted trees
behind us, and of the waves as they broke along the edge of the
bare sands, where a few waking sea birds ran and piped unseen by
us. Almost had I slept with those well-known sounds in my ears.

Then suddenly the king lifted his head, and spoke one word to me:

"Listen," he said.

I roused, but all that I could hear at first were the sounds that I
had forgotten--the song of the wind in the trees, the rush of the
breakers, and the cry of the sea birds across the sands.

Then my heart began to beat wildly, for out of these sounds, or
among them, began to come clearly, and yet more clearly the sound
of the tread of many armed feet--the passing of a mighty host--and
with that the thunder of the war song, and the cry of those who
bade farewell. And these sounds passed over us and around us, going
seawards; then they died away out towards the north, and were gone.

Yet still the king listened, and again came the tramp of the armed
thousands, and the war song, and the voices of parting, and they
passed, and came, and passed yet once more.

Then after the third time there was nought but the sound of wind
and wave and sea fowl, and I drew closer to Olaf and asked him:

"What is this that we hear?"

"Wait," he said, and pointed seaward.

Then I looked, and I saw all the northern sky glow red as glows the
light of a burning town on the low clouds when the host that has
fired it looks back on its work. And plain and clear in the silver
moonlight against the crimson sky sat the wraith of a king, throned
on the sand at the very water's edge, and round him stood shadowy
nobles, looking seaward.

And even as I saw it the first wave of the rising tide sent its
edge of foam shorewards, and it surged around the kingly feet and
sapped the base of the throne, and the stately wraith turned and
looked upon the nobles, and was gone.

Then faded the red light from the sky, and the waves washed over
the place where the throne and court had been, and Olaf rose up and
looked in my face. Nor was there fear of what he had seen and heard
written in his quiet look.

"What is this, my king?" I said, trembling with the fear that comes
of things beyond our ken.

"It is the fate of England that is falling on her," he said
quietly.

"Read it me, for I fear what I have heard and seen," I said.

"We have heard the going of mighty hosts to England, and we have
heard the sound of farewell. But we have heard no shout of victory,
or wailing for defeat. Little therefore will be gained or lost by
this sailing of ours. Yet all is surely lost if we sail not."

Then he ceased, but he had not yet spoken of what we saw, and I
waited for his words. Yet still he stood silent, and looked out
over the sea, until I was fain to ask him what the vision meant.

"Surely it was the wraith of a son of Swein that we saw," he said;
"but it will be long years ere Cnut bears that likeness, for that
was of a man full grown and mighty."

Now the reading of this was beyond me, for I have no skill in these
matters, as had Olaf. And he said nought for a little while, but
seemed to ponder over it.

"Now I know," said he at last. "What we have seen is the outcome of
the going of the hosts to England. There shall be a Danish kingdom
built upon sand. Cnut shall reign, but his throne shall fall. The
wave of English love for England's kings of her own race cannot be
stayed."

Then I was downcast, for hope that the Danes would be driven from
the land had filled all my mind, and I said:

"Surely the vision may mean that we shall sweep away the Danish
rule as the waves sapped the throne and swept over its place."

"Aye, may it be so," answered Olaf. "Often one may read these
visions best even as their bodings come to pass. Let us go back.
This is a lonesome place, and strange fancies weigh down a man's
mind when all he may hear is the wind singing to the surges. Maybe
these are but dreams. What matters it if Cnut reigns over the old
Danelagh as Guthrum reigned, if Ethelred is overlord? It will be
again as in Alfred's days, and once more an English king over the
English folk, when Cnut is gone."

So he turned, and led the way back towards the town, and when we
saw the lights close at hand, he bade me say nought of this to any
man.

"We have seen strange things, cousin," he said, taking my arm, "and
they will be better untold. You and I may see their meaning
hereafter, and maybe shall have a share in their working out. Now
let us sleep, and dream only of seeing England again tomorrow."



Chapter 3: The Breaking Of London Bridge.


There was a fair wind for us into the Thames mouth, and all seemed
to be going well. But when we came off the Medway it seemed that
there was to be fighting, for our way was blocked by a fleet and
that stronger than ours.

Now as the longships were cleared for the weapon play, Olaf
wondered how the Danes should have had word of our coming, for it
was plain that this fleet of ten ships was waiting for us. Yet we
had kept well away from the forelands, lest we should make it too
plain where we were going.

Then one ship left the rest and came swiftly towards us, under
oars. And when the ship drew near, we saw that she bore the banner
of Ethelred himself.

So the fair plans that had been made had come to naught, and when
Olaf understood this his face grew dark with anger, and he said:

"Almost would I leave this foolish king to go his own way without
help of mine. But I have promised Eadmund, and I must keep my word.
Henceforward I shall know what I must look for."

Little, therefore, had Olaf to say to Ethelred when they met, nor
would he go on board the English ship, but Ethelred must come to
him. Eadmund was at his father's side, and his face was very
wrathful, for he felt even as did Olaf.

"London is ours already," Ethelred said. "Wherefore I would join
you."

"London by this time may be in other hands," answered Olaf; "but we
shall see when we get there. Now must there be no more time lost
but we must make all speed up the river, tarrying nowhere."

So we sailed on. When we came to Greenwich there were no Danes
there, nor any Danish ships. I went ashore in a boat, and asked the
men I saw what was become of them. And they told me that Thorkel's
fleet had sailed northward on Swein's death, and that the thingmen
whom he had left in the place had gone to London.

"That is as I thought," said Olaf. "Now there will be more trouble
in driving them out than there has been in letting them in."

When we came at last in sight of London Bridge I knew that Olaf was
right, for since the Danes had gained the city they had not been
idle. They had built a great fort on the Southwark side of the
river, girt with a wide moat, and all the stronger that the walls
thus surrounded were partly of timber and stone. The road from
across London Bridge runs through this fort, so that one might by
no means pass over it until the place was won. And at the other end
of the bridge the old Roman walls of London itself were far too
strong for our force to take by storm.

But the strangest thing to me was to see what they had done to the
great timber bridge itself, for they had made that also into a
fortress. The old railing along the roadway was gone, and in its
place were breast-high bulwarks of strong timber, and on each span
of the bridge was a high wooden tower whose upper works overhung
the water, looking downstream, as if they feared assault from the
river itself.

We came up to the Pool on a good flood-tide, and as we dropped
anchor there we saw all this, and, moreover, that the place was
held by the Danes in force. The red cloaks of Cnut's thingmen were
on bridge and walls and fort alike, and no few of them in either
stronghold. There was work before us if we would win the place for
our king.

Before any word had come to Olaf of what should be done, Eadmund
had gone ashore with all his warriors, and had fallen on the
Southwark earthwork. It was Olaf's first thought to follow him, but
he held back.

"Let him go," he said. "Maybe he will like best to win his own city
without my help at the first onset. Yet unless that fort is weaker
than it looks, his attack will be of no use. For, see--all the
Danes from the bridge are going to help."

So it was, and from the deck of Olaf's ship I looked on at the
fight for half an hour. At one time I thought that we had won the
place, for our men charged valiantly through the moat and up the
steep sides of the earthworks.

There waited for them the Danish axes, and an axeman behind a wall
is equal to two men below him.

I longed to be beside Eadmund, whom I could see now and then, and
ever where the fighting was fiercest; but Olaf bade me be patient.
There would be fighting enough for me presently, he said.

"You will see that we shall have to take the bridge, and so cut the
Danish force in two. Then from the bridge we have but to fight our
way either into the fort or into the town."

Presently our men gave back. The earthworks were too strong for
them. Then I asked again that I might go.

"If you must fall, it shall be at my side, cousin," said Olaf,
laying his hand on my arm. "Eadmund does not need you."

For now he and his men were coming back to the ships, having won
nought but knowledge of the strength of the fort. The Danes would
not leave their walls to follow the retreating English, though
Eadmund halted just beyond bow shot, and waited as if to challenge
them to fight in the open.

Now by this time the tide was almost full, and the stream of the
flood was slackening. And it seemed as if one might easily scale
the bulwarks of the great low-timbered bridge from the foredeck of
a ship. Ethelred saw that, and as soon as his men were on board
again the word was passed that attack on the bridge should be made
by every vessel that could reach it.

As it fell out, we of Olaf's eight ships lay below the rest, and
must have passed them to reach the bridge. All we might do,
therefore, was to close up to the sterns of the vessels that were
leading, and wait to send our men across their decks when the time
came. That pleased not Olaf at first, for he thought that his turn
had come; but in the end it was well for us.

Now the ships slipped their cables, and drifted up to the bridge
steadily, with a few oars going aft to guide them, and as they came
the Danes crowded above them, manning their towers and lining the
whole long length with savage faces and gleaming weapons. They
howled at us as we drew near, and as the bows of the leading ships
almost touched the piles, they hove grappling irons into them from
above, holding them fast. Whereat Eadmund thanked them for saving
trouble, while the arrows fell round him like hail.

But in a moment that word of his was changed, for now fell from
towers and bulwarks a fearsome rain of heavy darts and javelins,
and the men fell back from the crowded fore decks to seek safety
aft until the store of weapons was spent. Truly, there must have
been sheaves of throwing weapons piled ready on the roadway of the
bridge.

Then Eadmund's voice cried:

"Steady, men--this cannot last!"

And even as they heard him the warriors swarmed back across the
corpse-cumbered decks, and began to climb up the piles, for the
tide held the ships strongly against the bridge. Yet when the ships
were there the height of the bridge above them was far greater than
it had seemed from a distance. Now their fore decks were under the
towers, for the upper works of these overhung the water.

Then the Danish war horns blew, and the men raised a great shout,
and down from those towers and from openings in the bridge rained
and thundered great ragged blocks of stone--masses rent from the
old Roman city walls--and into the ships they crashed, and there
rose a terrible cry from our men, for no ship that was ever built
could stand so fierce a storm as this.

Two good ships swayed and sank, and their men climbed on bridge and
piling, or leapt into the stream to reach the ships that yet were
afloat. Then the storm stayed for lack of rocks within reach, as it
would seem, for I saw men hoisting more into the towers as fast as
crane and windlass would serve them.

Now fell the javelins again, and still the grappling irons held the
ships, though the oars were manned. Then dared a man in each ship
to do the bravest deed of that day. Through rain of falling
javelins each ran forward, axe in hand, and cut the grappling lines
as our Norsemen cheered them in wild praise. Yet I know that not
one of those men lived to see that his deed had saved the ships,
for our oars were out and swiftly we towed them away to safety.

Aye, but I saw one tall Dane on the bridge strive to hold the hands
of his fellows that he might save at least the brave man in the
ship below him. And that should be told of him, for such a deed is
that of a true warrior.

All this I watched in dismay, for it seemed to me that we could in
no way take the town. As for Olaf, he said nought; and when we had
come to anchor again he sat on the steersman's bench, looking at
the bridge and saying no word to any of us. The Danes were crowding
the bridge and jeering at us, as one might well see.

Then Rani came aft and sat on the rail by me.

"Well," he said, "how like you this business?"

"Ill enough," I answered. "What can be done?"

He nodded towards Olaf, smiling grimly.

"I know of nothing; but if your king lets him go his own way he
will find out some plan. Know you what he did when the Swedes
blocked us into a lake some years ago?"

"I have not heard," I said.

"Why, seeing that we might not go out by the way in which we came,
Olaf made us dig a new channel, and we went out by that, laughing.
We all had to dig for our lives, grumbling, but we got away."

Now Olaf looked up and saw us, and his face was bright again.

"I am going to see Ethelred," he said, "for I think that I can take
the bridge."

A boat shot alongside even as he spoke, and a thane came to bid
Olaf to a council of the leaders on Ethelred's ship. So Olaf went
with him, and was long away. The tide was almost low, and darkness
had fallen before he came back in high spirits.

"Ethelred was sorely downcast, even to weeping," he told us, "and
so had almost given up hope of taking London. He thought of sailing
away and landing elsewhere. Then I said that I would take the
bridge tomorrow if I had help in what I needed tonight."

Then he looked round on us, and what he saw in our faces made him
laugh a little.

"It seems to me that you are over fearful of stone throwing after
the Danish sort," he said. "Had I not a plan that will save our
heads and the ship's timbers alike, I would not go. I am not the
man to risk both for nought. We will build roofs over the fore
decks and try again."

Then Rani growled:

"How are we to climb out from under your roofs so as to get upon
the bridge? We have already seen that ladders are needed for that
also."

"Nay," said Olaf, "we will bring the bridge down to us," and so he
went forward laughing to find his shipwrights.

So all that night long we wrought as he bade us, and Ethelred's men
came with spars and timber from houses they pulled down ashore, and
when morning broke we had on each ship the framework of a strong,
high-pitched roof that covered the vessels from stem to midships or
more, and stretched out beyond the gunwales on either board.

Then the men who wrought ashore brought us boatloads of strong
hurdles and the sides and roofs of the wattled huts of the
Southwark thralls, and with them all our wooden shelters were
covered so strongly that, if they might not altogether stand the
weight of the greatest stones, these roofs would break their fall
and save the ships.

When all this was finished, King Olaf told us what his plan was. We
were not to try to storm the bridge, but were to break it.

"See," he said, "all night long the wagons that brought more stones
have been rumbling and rattling into the middle of the bridge, and
every Dane thereon will crowd into the centre to see the breaking
of King Olaf's ships, and their weight will help us. We will go so
far under the bridge that we may make fast our cables to the piles,
and then will row hard down the falling tide at its swiftest.
Whereupon the laugh will be on our side instead of with the Danes,
as yesterday."

After that he bade us all sleep, for we had some long hours to wait
for the falling tide when all was done. And we did so, after a good
meal, as well as we could, while the wains yet brought stones, and
arrows and darts in sheaves to the bridge. But forward in our ships
the men were coiling the great cables that should, we hoped, bring
the bridge and stones alike down harmlessly to us.

It was plain that the Danes knew what the roofs over the ships were
for, since all the while that we wrought we could see them pointing
and laughing one to another in scorn, from where we lay, not much
beyond arrow shot below them. But not one of all the men on the
bridge could have guessed what our real plan might be. Only we who
looked at the ancient bridge from the water, and marked how frail
and decaying some of the piles that upheld its narrow spans were,
knew how likely it was that Olaf's plan would succeed. The wide
roadway seemed to them to be strong enough for the wooden towers
and the many tons of stones they had burdened it with; but now that
Olaf had showed us, we saw that it was none so safe, so we waited
in good spirits.

The tide reached its height and as the ships swung idly to their
cables on the slack, the Danes thronged the bridge, thinking,
doubtless, that we should attack when they were within reach, as
yesterday.

The hum of their voices came down to us, and as the time went by,
and the ebb tide set in, the hum strengthened into a long roar of
voices, that broke out into a yelling laugh now and then, as some
word of scorn went round. For they thought our Norsemen were
afraid.

But they could not see beneath the penthouse roofs, where the men,
three at each oar, were armed and ready. Nor could they see the
gangs of twelve men told off to the cables on each foredeck. Six of
these were to pass the cables round the piles and make fast while
the other six were to stand by with shields ready, in case the
roofs were broken. But even then it should not take long to do all
we needed, and some of the roof would be left surely at the worst.

Four only of the ships were to touch the bridge, one at each of the
four midmost pilings. The other four were made fast, stern to stern
of the leading ships, so that their weight of oar play might be
used to the full in the long pull to come, and two ships would haul
at each set of piles where the weight was heaviest upon the bridge.

So we waited until the tide was at its fiercest ebb. The water
rushed through the narrow waterways of the bridge in a broken
torrent streaked with foam that swirled far down the stream towards
us; so the time having come, Olaf gave the word. His own ship was
one of the two in the middle, and Rani was in command of the other.

Then in a moment the oars flashed out, and the moorings were
slipped; a shout went up from the bridge, and then the Danes were
silent, wondering. The foam flew from our bows, and as we dashed up
the stream the Danish war cry broke out again, while from end to
end of the bridge the weapons flashed and sparkled.

Now the arrows rattled on the penthouse roofs, and one or two
glanced from Olaf's armour and mine, and from the shields which
Ottar and I held before him. For we were alone with him at the
helm. He was steering his ship himself, as was Rani, and hardly
would he suffer us to be beside him to shield him. But we would
have it thus in the end.

At last we were almost on the bridge, and Olaf smiled and watched
the ships to right and left of us--the oar blades were bending as
the men struggled with clenched teeth against the fierce current
that flew past us foaming.

Then the Danish grapnels were cast, as yesterday. The shadow of the
bridge fell black upon us--the line of Danish faces were above our
bows--and then down crashed the great stones from above, and I saw
Olaf's lips tighten and set as he saw their work. Yet though the
good ship quivered and reeled under the shock, the penthouse roofs
were strong and steep, and but one great stone tore a hole for
itself, crushing two men beneath it; but the rest bounded into the
water, splintering an oar blade or two as they went. And all the
while the arrows rained round us, and the javelins strove to pierce
the roofs.

Then was a shout from forward of the ship, and Olaf's eyes
brightened as he raised his hand. Instantly the rowers stayed, and
the ships drifted away from the bridge more swiftly than they had
come, while the Danish grappling irons ripped and tore along the
roofs uselessly. There was no firm hold for them.

That made the Danes think that we were driven off, and their yells
began afresh.

Then came a quick word from Olaf, and the oars took the water to
ease the sharp check as the length of the cables was reached, while
the ship astern of us swung to her tow line. The king glanced to
right and left of him, and saw that the other three ships had fared
as well as we, and that they too were dropping down from the
bridge.

How the Danes roared and howled with joy, thinking that we were all
in full retreat! Yet, as the last ship tightened her cable, I saw
the jerk shake one of them from his perch on the bridge bulwarks
and send him headlong into the water.

Olaf saw it, and raised his hand and shouted. And with one accord
the oars of the eight great ships smote the water, and bent, and
tore the waves into foam--and London Bridge was broken!

The memory of that sight will never pass from my mind or from the
mind of any man of us who saw all that the lifted hand and shout of
Olaf the king brought about.

There was a slow groaning of timbers and a cracking, and then a
dead silence. Then the silence was broken by a wild yell of terror
from the swarming Danes, and ere they could fly from the crowded
towers and roadway where the bridge was steepest, the whole length
of three spans bent and swayed towards us, and a wide gap sprang
open across the roadway. Into that gap crumbled a great stone-laden
tower, and men like bees from a shaken swarm. And then those three
spans seemed to melt away with a great rush and roar, and howl of
men in mortal terror--and down the freed tide swept our ships,
dragging after them the timbers that the cables yet held.

Then into the Southwark fortress went Eadmund and his men like
fire, while from the London side of the river came the roar of a
fight, as the citizens fell on the Danes who were fleeing terror
smitten from the weakened spans that were left of London Bridge.

Then Olaf swung our ships to either bank, and past us went in
confusion, on the rush of pent-up water, the great timbers and
piles of the bridge, as it broke up piece by piece in the current.
The men on Ethelred's ships had all they could do to save their
vessels from being stove in by the heavier woodwork when it was
swept down among them.

That danger passed; and now was our turn come to join in the
fighting, for there were none to prevent us from getting the ships
up to the bridge. And so we scaled from our decks the bulwarks that
had been so terrible, and fell on the Danes in the rear as Eadmund
in Southwark and the citizens in London took them in the front. It
must have been that few Danes were left on either bank, for the
fighting lasted no long time, and when we had done with these men
from off the bridge there was no other attack.

So, before the evening came we knew that London was once more in
the hands of Ethelred, and the bells were ringing to welcome back
an English king to English land. For Olaf had brought him home.

There was high feasting in London town that night, and Ethelred
deemed that England was already won. Nor was there any honour too
great for him to show to the man who had wrought this for him.

But what Olaf said was this:

"To win London is much--though, indeed, it should never have been
thus lost--but London is not England. There will be more fighting
yet, if Cnut is a worthy son of Swein Forkbeard."

Now, in after years men made light of this breaking of London
Bridge, and the reason is not far to seek. For, first of all,
Cnut's folk, when they had the upper hand, liked not to hear
thereof. And then the citizens would speak little among themselves
of their thraldom to the Danes, and much of their welcome to
Ethelred and their own share in the business when the bridge had
been broken. And lastly, it was wrought by an outlander. Truly no
Englishman, whether of Saxon or Danish kin, grudges praise to a
stranger when he has won it well, but Olaf had few to speak for him
after he had gone hence. But I have told what I saw, and think that
it should not be forgotten, for it was a great deed. Men sing the
song that Ottar the scald wrote thereon in Olaf's Norway, and I
think that they will sing it for many an age to come.

We have forgotten that song; but the first time he sang it was at
the great feast in the wide hall of the London merchants' guild
that night, and sorely did the few Danish lords, who sat as
captives among us unwillingly enough, scowl as they listened. But
our folk held their breath lest they should lose aught of either
voice or words of the singer, for they had never heard his like
before, and this is part of what he sang {5}:

"Bold in the battle
Bravest in sword play!
Thou wert the breaker
Of London's broad bridge.
Wild waxed the warfare
When thou gold wonnest
Where the shields splintered
'Neath the stones' crashing--
When the war byrnies broke
Beaten beneath them.

"Thine was the strong arm
That Ethelred sought for;
Back to his lost land
Thou the king leddest.
Then was the war storm
Waged when thou earnest
Safe to his high seat
Leading that king's son,
Throned by thy help
On the throne of his fathers."

He ended, and our warriors rose and cheered both hero and singer,
and when the noise ceased Ethelred gave Ottar his own bracelet; but
to Olaf he gave his hand, and there in the presence of all the
company thanked him for what he had wrought, giving more praise to
him than Ottar had sung.

Then sang the English gleemen of the deeds of Eadmund the Atheling,
and all were well pleased. Now those songs have bided in our minds
while Ottar's song is forgotten, and maybe that is but natural. But
Olaf was my kinsman and very dear to me, and I am jealous for his
fame.



Chapter 4: Earl Wulfnoth Of Sussex.


Cnut the new Danish king was at Gainsborough with all the force
that had followed Swein his father, and he had made a pact with the
Lindsey folk, who were Danes of the old settlement, and of landings
long before the time of Ingvar, that they should fight for him and
find provision and horses for his host.

So it seemed most likely that the next thing would be that he would
march on us, and Ethelred gathered all the forces to him here in
London that he could, against his coming. At once the English
thanes came in, and even Sigeferth and Morcar, the powerful lords
of the old Danish seven boroughs in Mercia, brought their men to
his help, and that was almost more than could have been hoped. Then
too came Edric Streone, the great Earl of Mercia, Eadmund's uncle
by marriage and his foster father, praying for and gaining full
forgiveness for having seemed to side with Swein, as he said. With
these was Ulfkytel, our East Anglian earl, and many more, while
word came from Utred of Northumbria that he would not hold back.

So it was not long before Ethelred and Eadmund rode away north
towards Gainsborough at the head of as good a force as they had
ever led, in order to be beforehand with the Danes, who as yet had
made no move. It seemed as though they feared this new rising of
all England against them, although all Swein's men who had been
victors before were there with their new king.

But Olaf, who knew more of Denmark and what might happen there than
we, said that Cnut waited for news from thence. It might be that
some trouble would arise at home, for seldom did a king come to his
throne there without fighting against upstarts who would take it.

"So he holds his force in readiness in the Humber to fall on either
Denmark or England. If things go ill at home, he will go over sea
first, and return here. But if all is well, we shall have fighting
enough presently."

Now when the court of Ethelred had gathered again, it was not long
before he grew more cold in his way with Olaf, and one might easily
see that this grew more so with the coming of Edric Streone. So
that when the march to Lindsey was spoken of, Olaf thought well to
stay in the Thames with the ships, and when Eadmund asked him to
come north with the levies he said:

"It seems to me that there are jealousies already among your thanes
concerning me, and I will not be the cause of any divisions among
your folk. Yet I would help you, and here is what I can do. I will
see that no landing is made on these southern shores while you are
northward, for if you beat Cnut he will take ship and come to Essex
or Kent; or maybe even into the Thames again. Give me authority to
command here until you return, and I think I can be of more use
than if I went with you."

So that was what was done in the end, and Olaf was named as captain
of the ships and of any southern host that he might be able to
raise, and Olaf asked that I might stay with him.

That our atheling granted gladly, telling me that it was for no
lack of wish on his part to have me at his side, as ever of late,
but that I should take a better place with the king my kinsman than
among the crowd of thanes who were round Ethelred. Then he took his
own sword from his side and gave it me.

"Farewell therefore for a while, Redwald, my comrade," he said when
he went away. "You have helped me to tide over many heavy hours
that would have pressed sorely on me but for your cheerfulness.
When peace comes you shall have your Anglian home again, with more
added to its manors for the sake of past days and good service."

That was much for the atheling to say, and heartily did I thank
him. Yet I had grown to love Olaf my kinsman better than any other
man, and I was glad to be with him, away from the court jealousies
and strivings for place. There was little of that in Olaf's fleet,
where all were old comrades, and had each long ago found the place
that he could best fill.

So the levies marched on Gainsborough, and Olaf bided in the Thames
and gathered ships and men till we had a fair fleet and a good
force. Then came the news that Cnut and all his host had taken ship
and fled from England without waiting to strike a blow at Ethelred,
and our folk thought that this was victory for us. But Olaf rode
down to the ships in haste, and took them down to Erith, while his
land levies followed on the Kentish shore. For he thought it likely
that Cnut did but leave Ethelred and his armies in Lindsey while he
would land here unopposed.

Then came a fisher's boat with word that Cnut's great fleet was
putting into Sandwich, but before we had planned to throw our force
between him and London came the strange news that again he had left
Kent and had sailed northwards.

We sailed then to Sandwich to learn what we might, sending two
swift ships to watch if Cnut put into the Essex creeks. But at
Sandwich we found the thanes whom Swein had held as hostages left,
cruelly maimed in hand and face, with the message from Cnut that he
would return.

"He may return," said Olaf, "but if all goes well he will find
England ready for him. There is some trouble in Denmark or he would
not leave us thus."

So now all that seemed to be on hand was to bring back the towns
that were yet held by the Danish garrisons, the thingmen, to their
rightful king, and to gather a fleet that would watch the coast
against the return of Cnut. These things seemed not so hard, and
our land would surely soon be secure.

Then began to creep into my mind a longing to be back in my own
place again at Bures, to see the river and woods that I loved, and
to take up the old quiet life that was half forgotten, but none the
less sweet to remember after all this war and wearing trouble. But
of all England, after Lindsey, East Anglia was the greatest Danish
stronghold for those old reasons that I have spoken of, and it was
likely that there would be more fighting there before Ethelred was
owned than anywhere else. So I could not go back yet, but must wait
for Earl Ulfkytel and his levies, who would surely make short work
of the Danes there when their turn came. After that my lands would
be my own again, and then--What wonder, after three years and more
of warfare and the hard life of a warrior who had no home but in a
court which was a camp--after exile in a strange land--with my
new-found kinship with Olaf the viking--that what should be then
had gone from my mind? Will any blame the warrior who did but
remember his playfellow as part of a long-ago dream of lost peace,
if he had forgotten what tie bound him to her? When I and little
Hertha were betrothed it had been nought to us but a pleasant show
wherein we had taken foremost parts--and across the gap of years of
trouble so it seemed to me still whenever I recalled it. I
remembered my confirmation at the good bishop's hands more plainly
than that, for well I knew what I took on me at that time.

But the knowledge of what our betrothal meant would have grown up
in our hearts had peace lasted. There had been none to mind me of
it, or of her, and warfare fills up the whole mind of a man. I was
brought up amid the scenes of camp and march and battle just at
that time when a boy's mind is ready to be filled with aught, and,
as he learns, the past slips away, for his real life has begun.

And these were strange days through which I had been. We grew old
quickly amid all the cruel trouble of the hopeless fighting. As
David, the holy king, grew from boy to man suddenly in his days,
which seem so like ours when one hears them read of in Holy Writ,
so it had been with Olaf--with Eadmund and Eadward his brother--so
it would be with Cnut, and so it was with myself. I have often
spoken with men who were rightly held as veteran warriors, and who
yet had seen less warfare in ten years than we saw in those three.
It was endless--unceasing--I would have none go through the like. I
know not now how we bore it.

So I had forgotten Hertha, whether there is blame to me or not. But
now, as I say, with the sudden slackening of warfare came to me the
longing for rest. I would fain find my home again and my playmate,
and all else that belonged to the past. But before I could do so
there was work to be done, and I was content to look forward and
wait.

Now I might make a long story of the doings of Olaf the king during
this summer. Ottar the scald has much to sing of what we wrought.
For we went through the fair land of Kent with our Norsemen and the
new levies, and brought back all the folk to Ethelred. It was no
hard task, for the poor people thought that Cnut had deceived them
by his flight; and they were ground down by the heavy payments the
Danes had levied on them. Only at Canterbury, inside whose walls
the Danish thingmen gathered in desperation, had we any trouble,
and we must needs lay siege to the place. But in the end Olaf and I
knelt in the ancient church of St. Martin and gave thanks for
victory. We had avenged the death of the martyred archbishop,
Elfheah.

Ethelred ravaged all Lindsey after Cnut was gone. It was a foolish
and cruel deed, and he left men there who hated his name more than
even the name of Swein, to whom they had bowed since they must.
Then he sat down at Oxford as if all were done, while to have
marched peacefully, but with a high hand, through the old Danelagh
would have made the land sure to him. Olaf did so in Kent, and when
we left it, we left a loyal people who would rise against Cnut for
Ethelred if the Danes should indeed return. And Lindsey would as
surely rise for Cnut against us.

But Olaf, though he blamed our king for this, in all singleness of
purpose went on with the task that he had undertaken. And now the
next thing was to gather a fleet.

"If we could win Wulfnoth of Sussex to help his king, we have a
fleet ready made," he said. "Let us sail to his place and speak
with him."

That was true, and the ships that Wulfnoth had were the king's by
right. They were the last of the fleet that England had had but
five years ago--and her mightiest.

Now it happened that I was to see much of this Earl Wulfnoth before
we had done with him, so I will say at once how he came to have the
king's ships, and how it was that we must ask his help for
Ethelred--or rather why he had not given it freely.

It was the fault of Brihtric, Edric Streone's brother, who had some
private grudge against him, and would ruin him if possible. So he
accused Wulfnoth of treachery to Ethelred, and that being the thing
that the king always dreaded from day to day--seeing maybe that he
was not free from blame in that matter himself--so prevailed that
the earl was outlawed. Whereon he fled to the fleet, and sailed
away with all the ships that would follow him.

Then Brihtric chased him with the rest, and met with storm and
shipwreck on the rugged southern coasts. And through the storm fell
on him Wulfnoth, and beat him and scattered or took the ships the
storm had spared. Brihtric left the rest to their own devices, and
the shipmen brought them back into the Thames. There the Danes took
them presently, and that was the end of England's fleet.

But Wulfnoth turned viking; and would have nought to do with
Ethelred after that. His Sussex earldom was beyond reach of attack
through the great Andred's-weald forests that keep its northern
borders, and he could keep the sea line. So Ethelred left him
alone, and Swein would not disturb him. But his help was worth
winning, and Olaf thought that he might do it.

So we sailed to Lymne, and then to Winchelsea, and there we heard
that the earl and some of his ships were at his great stronghold of
Pevensea, which lay not far westward along the coast. And we came
there in the second week of September, when the time was near that
the ships should be laid up in their winter quarters.

As we came off the mouth of the shallow tidal haven that runs
behind the great castle, whose old Roman walls seem strong as ever,
a boat from the shore came off very boldly to speak with us. But we
could see the sparkle of arms as some ships were manned in all
haste lest we were no friendly comers.

The leader of the boat's crew was a handsome boy of about fifteen,
well armed and fearless, and he stepped on board Olaf's ship
without mistrust when the king hailed him.

"Who are you, and what would you on these shores?" he asked before
we had spoken.

Olaf laughed pleasantly in his quiet way, and answered:

"I must know who asks me before I say aught."

"Maybe that is fair," said the boy. "I am Godwine, son of Wulfnoth
the earl."

"Then you have right to ask," answered our king. "I am Olaf
Haraldsson. I am a viking, and come in peace to see and speak with
your father."

The boy stared at the king in wonder for a moment.

"Are you truly Olaf the Thick, who broke London Bridge?" he asked.

"Well, I had some hand in it," answered Olaf laughing, "for I told
the men when to pull, and when they pulled, the bridge came down.
They did it and I looked on."

Then young Godwine laughed also, and bade the king welcome most
heartily, adding:

"You must tell me all about the bridge breaking presently."

"Nay; but Redwald my cousin, or Ottar my scald here will tell you
more than I may."

"Redwald is an Anglian name," said Godwine, taking my hand. "Are
you English therefore?"

"Aye, young sir, from East Anglian Bures, in Suffolk," I answered.

"Are you Edric Streone's man then?" he said, dropping my hand
suddenly and half stepping back.

"I am not," I said pretty stoutly, for I was angry with Streone's
way with Olaf--and with other ways of his. "Ulfkytel is our earl."

"Aye, I have heard of him as an honest man," Godwine said.

"Come ashore, King Olaf, and you other thanes, and there will be
good cheer for you."

"Can you steer us into the haven, young sir?" asked Rani, who stood
by smiling to himself. "We must have the ships inside the island
while the tide serves."

"Aye, that I can," said the boy eagerly; "I take my own ship in and
out without troubling any other to help."

And with that he took hold of Rani's arm and showed him mark after
mark, giving him depth of water and the like, while we listened and
watched his face.

Presently Olaf said:

"Take command of my ship, Godwine, and lead the rest."

"You will take the risk, lord king," he answered laughing.

"Aye, and will hold you blameless if she takes the ground before
she is beached."

Now there was no doubt that Godwine was used to command, and was
confident in himself, for he made no more ado, but took charge, and
bade Rani signal the rest to follow, while he went to the helm
himself.

Then said Olaf to me while the boy was intent on his work: "Here is
one who will be a great man in England some day, and I think before
long."

And I had thought the same; for Earl Wulfnoth's son would rank high
for the sake of his birth, and it seemed that he was fitted to take
the great place that might be his.

So Godwine beached the ships well, in the lee of the island on
which the great castle stands when the tide is high, and we went
ashore. The castle gates were well guarded in our honour, for
Godwine had sent the boat back with word who we were.

There greeted us Earl Wulfnoth himself in the courtyard of his
great house. One went inside the castle walls to find almost a
village of buildings, all of timber, that had grown up round the
hall that stood in the midst, and that had its courtyard and
stockading, as had our own house on the open hill at Bures. I think
there was no stronger place than this castle of Pevensea in all
Sussex, if anywhere on the southern coasts.

Now it were long to say how Wulfnoth the earl welcomed King Olaf,
but it was after a kingly sort, for he was king in all but name in
his earldom, shut off as it is from the rest of England by the deep
forests. But he feasted us for two days before he would speak a
word with Olaf as to what he had come to ask him, saying that it
was enough for him to see the bridge breaker and the taker of
Canterbury town, and to do him honour. For Olaf's fame had gone
widely through all England.

Now Godwine would ever talk with me, for I could tell him of Olaf,
and also of the long war, and of the Norman court, so that we
became great friends. But he had no liking for Ethelred, which was
not wonderful, seeing that Wulfnoth his father had not a good word
to say for him.

At last, when Olaf told him plainly of the needs of England and of
her king, and of what he feared of the return of Cnut, Earl
Wulfnoth answered:

"Had you come to ask me to go a-viking with yourself, gladly would
I have joined with or followed you. Godwine my son has yet some
things to learn which a Norseman could teach him, and it would have
been well. But Ethelred holds me as a traitor; and while Edric
Streone is at his side I will not have aught to do with him. I will
drive any Dane out of my land, and that is all. Neither Ethelred
nor Cnut is aught to me. I and my son are earls of Sussex."

Then he rose up from his high seat and strode out of the hall,
bidding us follow him. He led us to the eastern gate, and climbed
to the broad top of the ramparts.

"See yonder," he said, and pointed eastward across the river and
marsh. "There is the hill where our standard has been raised time
after time since OElla and Cissa drove in flight the Welsh who had
raised theirs in the same place before us. There will I raise it
again against Cnut or Streone or any other of his men."

"Edric Streone is with King Ethelred," said Olaf; "he is not Cnut's
man."

"He has been Swein's man; and if it suits him will be Cnut's. I
will not alter my saying of him."

"Ethelred believes in him," answered Olaf, "and Eadmund the
Atheling believes in him as in himself."

"So much the worse for them," said the earl; "you will see if I am
not right. I know Edric Streone over well, and he knows it, and
hates me."

"Come, therefore, and take Ethelred out of his hands," Olaf said.

"Not I. Let him inlaw me again first. I will not go and ask pardon
for what I have not done."

And after that the earl would say no more on the matter, waxing
wroth if Olaf would try to persuade him. So it seemed that our
journey was lost; and Olaf began to be anxious to return to the
Thames, where our ships should go into winter quarters. But the
wind held in the east, and kept us for a while.

Wulfnoth was not sorry for this, for it was full harvest time, and
he sent his housecarles out to his other manors to gather it, so
that he had few folk about him. Godwine went with them to a place
on the downs called Chancton, where was a great house of the earl.
We parted unwillingly; but we might sail at any time if the wind
shifted, and the earl would have him go.

"When you have done with fighting for Ethelred the Unredy," said
the boy to me, "bring Olaf back here, and you and I, friend
Redwald, will go a-viking with him. He says he wants to go to
Jerusalem Land some day--and that would be a good cruise."

Now the day after the housecarles left Pevensea, there befell a
matter which would have brought them back hastily had we not been
in the haven. There was always a beacon fire ready to recall them,
and they watched for it even as they wrought in the upland fields,
or if they were among the woods. Turn by turn one would climb to a
place whence it could be seen, for one may never know what need
shall be on our English shores, and I was to learn that need for
arms might be in a forest-girt land also, from foes at home.

Olaf and I were in the ships. The wind was unsteady, and it seemed
that a shift was coming with that night's new moon, and we were
preparing for sailing. And from our decks we saw a little train of
people crossing the difficult path from the mainland to the island
that folk can only use when the tide is low, and then only if they
know it well or have a guide to lead them. They say that once the
path was always under water, but that the land grows slowly, and
that at some time the island will be joined to the low hills that
are nearest to it on the northwest.

We went back almost as these folk came into the castle garth by the
western gate, and met them in the courtyard. Then it was plain that
there was trouble on hand, for the leader of the party was a thane
whom I knew by sight, as he had been called to our feasting when
first we came, and he had brought with him two ladies, who came in
no sort of state; and, moreover, there were one or two wounded men
among the twenty rough housecarles who followed them, and bore such
burdens of household stuff as had been taken by us when we fled
from Bures.

I had seen the like too often to mistake these signs, and I said to
Olaf:

"Here is fighting on hand, my king."

And then before he answered, came Wulfnoth out of the great door
and hurried up to the party, doffing his velvet cap as he saw the
ladies.

"Ho, friend Relf," he said, "what is amiss?"

"Outlaws, earl," said the thane, "and in strong force."

"This is the pest of my life," answered the earl angrily, "for no
sooner are our men gone harvesting than these forest knaves begin
to give trouble.

"When were you last burnt out, Relf of Penhurst?" and he laughed in
an angry way that had no mirth in it.

"Four years agone--after our trouble with Brihtric," answered the
thane. "They have not been so bold since then; and the small fights
I have had with them have not been so fierce that I must fetch you
from Bosham to my help."

"Evil times make them bold," said the earl. "How many are there in
this band?"

"Enough to sack the Penhurst miners' village," the thane said. "Men
say that there are Danes among them; and I know that there are men
who are well armed beyond the wont of outlaws and forest dwellers."

Then Wulfnoth called to us:

"See here, King Olaf, this is your fault; you have driven the Danes
out of Kent into our forests, and now we have trouble enough on our
hands."

"Then, Earl Wulfnoth," answered Olaf, "my men and I will fight them
here again."

But when we drew near I was fain to look on one of the two ladies
who still sat on their horses waiting for the earl's pleasure. One
was Relf the thane's wife, and the other his daughter; and it was
in my mind that I had never seen so beautiful a maiden as this was.
It seemed to me that I could willingly give my life in battle
against those who had harmed her home, if she might know that I did
so.

But the thane was telling Olaf that there must be some three
hundred of the outlaws and others.

"I had forty-two men yesterday, and I have but twenty with me now,"
said he.

"Then you fought?" asked Wulfnoth.

"Aye," answered the thane shortly, for it was plain enough that he
had done so.

"Have they burnt your house?"

"Not when I left. They are mostly strangers to the land, and they
bide where there is ale and plunder, in the old Penhurst village at
the valley's head."

"Then," said Olaf, "let us march at once and save the thane's
hall."

"That is well said," answered the earl, rubbing his hands with
glee. "We will make a full end; there will be no more trouble for
many a year to come."

Then he bethought him of the two ladies, and he called his steward
and bade him take them in. At which, when they would dismount, I
went to help the maiden, and was pleased that she thanked me for
the little trouble, looking at me shyly. I think that I had not
heard a more pleasant voice than hers, or so it seemed to me at the
time. She went into the house with her mother, and I was left with
a remembrance of her words that bided with me; and I called myself
foolish for thinking twice of the meeting.

Then the earl and Olaf and Relf began to speak of the best way in
which to deal with these plunderers; and as I looked at the stout
fair-haired thane it seemed to me that things must have been bad if
he had had to fly.

It would seem that his place was some ten miles from Pevensea,
lying at the head of a forest valley, down which was a string of
the old hammer ponds that the Romans made when they worked the
iron. And the village, or town as he called it, was in the next
valley, at the head of the little river Ashbourne, whose waters
joined the river which makes the haven of Pevensea. The town was
very old, and had a few earthworks round it, though the place
whereon it stood was strong by nature. The iron workers in the old
Roman days had first built there, and they knew how to choose their
ground. Thence, too, the Romans would float their boatloads of iron
down to the port of Anderida, as they called Pevensea; and there
were yet old stone buildings that had been raised by them.

So if these outlaws chose to hold the place, it was likely that we
should have some fighting, though this would not be quite after the
manner of forest dwellers, unless it were true that Danes were
among them.

"Whether there is any fight in them or not," said Wulfnoth, "I will
have the place surrounded, and let not one get away."

"That is early morning work," Olaf answered. "How many of my men
will you have?"

"It depends on what manner of men they are," said the earl. "All I
know of them yet is that they are good trenchermen."

That pleased not Olaf altogether, for there seemed to be a little
slight in the words--as though he had come to the earl to be fed
only. And he made a sign to me that I knew well; and I thought to
myself that Wulfnoth of Sussex was likely to wish that he had seen
our warriors in their war gear before.

Olaf paid no heed to me as I went quickly down to the ships. The
men were lying about and watching the sky, for it was changing. But
at one word from me there was no more listlessness; and Rani called
them to quarters. I would that in the English levies there was the
order and quickness that was in Olaf's ships. Yet these men had
been with him for years, and were not like our hastily-gathered
villagers.

So in ten minutes or less they were armed and ready for aught; and
Rani and I led them up to the castle, leaving the ship guard set,
as if we were making a landing in earnest on an enemy's shore.
Eight hundred strong we were, and foremost marched the men of
Olaf's ship, each one of whom wore ring mail of the best and a good
helm, and carried both sword and axe and round shield.

Wulfnoth stood with his back to the gate as we entered with the
leading files. But when he heard the tramp and ring of warriors in
their mail, he started and turned round sharply. I saw his face
flush red, and I saw Olaf's smile, and Relf's face of wonder. And
then the earl broke out--angrily enough--for his castle was, as it
were, taken by Olaf.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"You wished to see my men, lord earl," said Olaf. "I sent for them
therefore. King Ethelred, for whom they fight just now, was pleased
with them."

Then the earl saw that Olaf tried one last plan by which to make
him side with the king. Maybe he thought that this chance had been
waited for, but it was not so. Therefore he choked down his anger
that we should come unbidden into his fortress, and laughed
harshly.

"Well for me, King Olaf, that you come in peace, as it seems. One
may see that these men are no untried war smiths."

"There is no man in my own crew who has not seen four battles with
me," answered Olaf. "Some have seen more. The rest of the men have
each seen two fights of mine."

"I would that I had somewhat on hand that was worthy to be counted
as another battle of yours, instead of a hunting of these forest
wolves," answered Wulfnoth, seeming to grow less angry. "Supposing
that you and I were to fight for the crown of England for
ourselves--either of us has as much right thereto as Cnut."

"The Danes hold that England has paid scatt {6} to their king
as overlord, and that is proof of right for Cnut, as they say,"
answered Olaf.

"They say!" growled Wulfnoth fiercely. "King and witan and people
have been fools enough to buy peace with gold and not with edged
steel. But that has been ransom, not tribute. When a warrior is
made prisoner and held to ransom, is the man who takes the gold to
set him free his master, therefore, ever after? Scatt, forsooth! I
have a mind to go and teach the pack of fools whom Streone leads by
the nose and calls a witan, that there is one man left in England
who is strong enough to make them pay scatt to himself!"

Then Olaf said, very quietly:

"Why not put an end to Danegeld once for all by helping me drive
out the last Dane from England? We should be strong enough as
things are now.

"For Streone and his tools to reap the benefit? Not I," said the
earl. "Come, we have forgotten our own business."

Now it seemed to me that Wulfnoth was eager to get our men back to
the ships outside of the walls again, for there is no doubt that
had Olaf chosen to take the place for Ethelred it was already done.
But such thought of treachery to his host could never be in Olaf's
mind, and it was the last time that he tried to win the earl over.

So Wulfnoth went quickly down the ranks and noted all things as a
chief such as he will. But now and then he waxed moody, and growled
in his thick beard, "Scatt, forsooth!"

So presently he asked Olaf to bring two ship's crews--about
eight-score men in all--against the outlaws. Fifty of his own
housecarles would go, and Relf's twenty. And they were to be ready
two hours before dawn, as he meant to surprise the outlaws in the
village at the first light.

Then he praised the men, and had ale brought out for them, and so
recovered his good temper, and at last he said to Olaf with a great
laugh:

"Verily you may go away and boast that you are the first man who
has brought his armed followers inside Pevensea walls without
leave, since the days when OElla and Cissa forced the Welsh to let
them in. Now I wot that Ethelred has a friend who must be reckoned
with."

"Nay, but you would see the men," said Olaf.

"Aye, and I have seen them," answered the earl grimly.

When we sat down in the hall that night I was next to the maiden
Sexberga, Relf's daughter, at the high table. She was very
different from the great ladies of the court, who were all that I
knew. I tried to assure her that her home would be safe, and I
promised her many things in order to see her smile, and to please
her.

Yet when I went down to the ships presently, for none of us slept
within Wulfnoth's walls, I was glad that there was no light of
burning houses over Penhurst woods, as yet.



Chapter 5: How Redwald Fared At Penhurst.


It was very dark when we marched from Pevensea. We followed the
earl's men, and save for remembering the muddy torchlit causeway to
firm ground from the castle, and after that dim hill and dale
passed in turn, and a long causeway and bridge that spanned the
mouth of a narrow valley that opened into the great Pevensea level,
I knew not much of what country we went through. After passing that
causeway we came into forest land, going along a track for awhile,
and then turning inland across rolling hills till we began to go
down again. And as the first streaks of dawn began to show above
the woods, the word was passed for silence, and then that we should
lie down and rest in the fern on the edge of a steep slope below
which shone the faint gleam of water.

Then came Wulfnoth and spoke to Olaf, and said that he and his men
would go beyond the village so as to take the outlaws from the
rear. He would send a man to us who would show us all that was
needed.

After that we lay and waited, and as the sun rose and the light
grew stronger, I thought that I had never seen a more beautiful
place.

We were above a little cliff of red rock that went down to the
valley of the Ashbourne brook. And all the valley from side to side
was full of the morning mists so that it seemed one lake, while the
woods were bright with the change of the leaf, from green to red
and gold--oak and beech and chestnut and hazel each with its own
colour, and all beautiful. The blue downs rose far away to our left
across the ridges of the forest land, and inland the Andred's-weald
stretched, rising hill above hill as far as one might see, timber
covered. There were trees between us and the village that we
sought; but above its place rose a dun cloud of smoke from some
houses fired that night by those who held it, and that was the one
thing that spoiled the beauty of all that I saw.

Now Olaf and I spoke of all this, whispering together, for we were
close to the village, and already we had heard voices from thence
as men woke. For Olaf was ever touched by the sight of a fair land
lying before him. And while he spoke, a man seemed to rise out of a
cleft of the rocks below us, and climbed up to us, and bowed before
us, saying that he was to guide us.

He was a great man, clad in leather from head to foot, and carrying
a sledgehammer over his shoulder. That and a billhook stuck in his
belt were his only weapons.

"I am Spray the smith," he said, in a low voice. "The earl is
ready, and the thane also. The knaves are all drunken with our ale,
and we may fall on them at once."

"Have they no watch kept?" asked Olaf wondering.

"None, master."

"Are there Danes with them?"

"Aye; half are Danes. But I met one of them last night and spoke to
him peacefully, being stronger than he, and I said that vikings had
come to Pevensea, and that the earl was minding them. So they fear
no one."

Then came a herdsman's call from the woods beyond the village, and
the smith said:

"That is the thane. Fall on, master, and fear nought."

Whereat I laughed, and the men sprang up. The smith led us for a
hundred paces through the beech trees and then across the brook,
and the steep slope up to the village was before us. There was a
little, ancient earthwork of no account round the place, but if
there had been a stockade on it, it was gone.

Then came a roar of yells and shouts from the far side, and we knew
that the work had begun, and ran up the hillside. Then fled a man
in chain mail out of the place, leaping over the earthworks
straight at us, unknowing.

Spray the smith swung his hammer, not heeding at all the sword in
the man's hands. Sword and helm alike shivered under the blow, and
the man rolled over and over down the hillside.

"That is the first Dane I ever slew," said Spray to me as we topped
the ridge.

Then we were in the village and among a crowd of wild-looking,
half-armed forest men, who fled and yelled, and smote and cried for
quarter in a strange and ghastly medley. There was no order, and
seemingly no leader among them, and an end was soon made. Before I
had struck down two men they scattered and fled for hiding, and we
followed them. Wulfnoth would have no mercy shown to these wretches
who would harry the peaceful villagers--their own kin. They would
but band together again.

Now I did a foolish thing which might have cost me my life. For two
outlaws ran into one of the old stone buildings of which I had
heard, and I followed them. As I crossed the threshold I stayed for
a moment, for the place seemed very dark inside, and I could not
see them. But I was plain enough to them, of course, and before I
could see that a blow was coming one smote me heavily on the helm
and I fell forward, while they leapt out over my body into the open
again. Then I seemed to slip, and fell into nothingness as my
senses left me.

Presently I came round, nor could I tell how long I had been alone,
I heard far off shouts that were dull and muffled as if coming
through walls, and then as my brain cleared, I saw that I was in
what seemed to be a dungeon like those that Earl Wulfnoth had under
Pevensea. All round me were walls, and the light came in from a
round hole above me.

When I saw that I knew that I had indeed fallen into this place,
and my sword, too, lay on the floor where it had flown from my hand
as I did so. It was lucky that I had not fallen on it.

Now the shouts died away, and I thought that our men were chasing
the last of the outlaws into the woods. When the silence fell, I
waxed lonely, and began to wonder if I had been forgotten. But Olaf
would miss me presently, and would surely return to the village
before long. So I would be patient, and at least try to find a way
out of this trap into which I had come so strangely.

But there was no way out unless a ladder or rope were lowered to
me. The roof of the place was rounded and arched above me, and the
hole was in its centre so that I could not reach it. Maybe the
place was ten feet across and ten feet high under the hole, and it
minded me of the snake pit into which Gunnar the hero was thrown,
as Ottar the scald sang. Only here were no snakes, and the air was
thick and musty, but dry enough. I could see the beams of the house
roof above the hole.

Then I thought that if I could prise some stones from the old walls
I might pile them up until I reached the edge of the hole with my
hands, when it would be easy to draw myself up, though maybe not
without taking off my armour. But when I tried the joints of the
masonry with the point of my seax, I did but blunt the weapon, for
the mortar was harder than the stone, which was the red sandstone
of the cliff where we had rested.

So I forbore and sat down, leaning my aching head against the cool
wall, to wait for Olaf's return. There would be time to shout when
I heard voices again, and it was not good to make much noise in
that place after the blow of a club that had set my ears ringing
already.

Then I fell to thinking of Sexberga, and those thoughts were
pleasant enough. And idly I began to sharpen my seax again on a
great square stone that was handy in the wall as I sat, but it was
very soft, and crumbled away under the steel without doing it much
good.

Now, when one is waiting and thinking, one will play with an idle
pastime for the sake of keeping one's hands amused as it were, and
so I went on working the long slit in the stone, which the blade
was making, deeper and deeper. The sand trickled from it in a
stream, and then all of a sudden I became aware that I had pierced
through the stone into a hole behind, and I bent over to see how
this could be.

The stone was not more than an inch or two thick, and there was
certainly a hollow which it closed, and when I saw that I broke and
worked away more of it until I could get my hand in. Then I found
that I could feel nothing, for the place was deep. So I made the
hole bigger yet, and put my arm in. Then I found the back and one
side of a stone-cased chest in the wall, as it were, of which the
stone I had bored was the door, though this was to all appearance
like several other of the larger blocks that the place was built
of.

When I reached downwards my hand could just touch what felt like
rotten canvas, and at that I began to work again at the hole. The
stone was too strong to break, though it seemed thin, and I was so
intent on this, that the voices I had longed to hear made me start.

"He was hereabouts, master, when I last saw him," said one whom I
thought was Spray the smith.

"I will hang you up if he is lost," said Wulfnoth's voice.

Then I sprang up and shouted, and the vault rang painfully in my
ears. It was Olaf who called back to me.

"Ho, Redwald where are you?"

"Under the house, in a pit," I answered, standing under the
opening.

Then someone came tramping above me, and the next moment Spray's
leather-hosed leg came through the hole, and he nearly joined me.
Thereat others laughed, and he climbed up quickly enough, for it
was an ill feeling to be hanging over an unknown depth.

"Lower me down a rope," I said, as I saw his face peering into the
place with some others.

There seemed to be a ladder handy, for the next minute its end came
down, and at once I picked up my sword and climbed out. Olaf stood
in the doorway now with Relf.

"It is easy to see how my cousin got into that place," he said to
Relf, pointing to my helm, which was sorely dinted.

The big thane looked and laughed.

"That is what felled him. But I knew not of this pit," he said,
looking past me into the house where Spray and the men stood round
the hole.

Then the smith said:

"Nor did I, master. But this has been found by the forest men--here
are their tools."

And when we looked, all the floor of the house was broken up, and
the stone paving was piled in corners, and a pick or two lay on
them with a spade and crowbar.

"They have been digging for treasure," said Relf, "and that has
kept them from my house. There are always tales of gold hidden in
these old places. I have seen that they have done the like
elsewhere in the village."

"Aye," said Spray, "they have heard some of our tales, and they
have dug where we would not, for it spoils a house, and the wife's
temper also, to meddle with the good stone floor."

Now it seemed to me that here was a likelihood that there was truth
in the old tales, and that I had lit on the lost hiding place of
which some memory yet remained even from the days when OElla's men
took the town from the iron workers five hundred years and more
ago, when the might of Rome had passed.

"There is somewhat that I have found in this place," I said. "Come
and see what it is."

Wondering, Olaf and Wulfnoth climbed down the ladder after me, and
Relf did but stay to find a torch before he followed us. Then I
showed them the stone and the hollow behind it, and the earl called
for the crowbar that was left by the outlaws, and with a stroke or
two easily broke out the rest of the stone, and the glare of the
torch shone into the place that it had so long sealed.

It was a chamber in the wall, and maybe a yard square each way. The
stone had not filled all its width or depth of mouth, but was, as
it were, a sealed door to be broken and replaced by another. Then
we could see that the canvas I had thought that I had felt was
indeed the loose folds of the tied mouths of bags that were neatly
arranged at the bottom of this stone-built chest. And the canvas
that I had reached and pulled at had easily parted, and through the
rent showed the dull gleam of gold coin as the torchlight flared
upon it.

The light shone too on letters scratched on the soft stone of the
back of the chamber. I could read them, but Wulfnoth pointed to
them, saying:

"Here may be a curse written on him who touches. I will have our
priest read that which is there if he can."

Then I laughed, and said that it was no curse, but the name of some
Roman who made the place, for all that was there was:

CLAVD. MARTINVS. ARTIF. FEC.

"Which means that a workman named Martin was proud of his work, and
left his name there," I said when I had read it.

"And was slain, doubtless, lest he should betray the secret," said
Wulfnoth.

And he put his hand out to take one of the bags from the place,
feeling round the rotten canvas to get a fair grip of the mass of
coin.

Then he drew back his hand with a cry that came strangely from his
stern lips, for it sounded like alarm, and he stepped back.

"As I live," he said, "somewhat cold moved beneath my fingers in
there."

Even as he spoke something crawled slowly on to the bag that was
broken and sat on the red gold that was hidden no longer. There it
stayed, staring at the torchlight--a great wizened toad, whose eyes
were like the gold which it seemed to guard. And we stared at it,
for not one of us dared touch it, nor could we say aught.

It is ill to waste breath in wondering how the creature got into
this long-closed place or how it lived. But when I have told of
this, many a time have I heard stories of toads that have been
found in stranger places--even in solid-seeming rock. But however
it came there--and one may think of many ways--it scared us. It
seemed a thing not natural.

"It is the evil spirit that guards the treasure," whispered Relf to
Olaf, edging toward the ladder.

"Fetch Anselm the priest, and let him exorcise this," said the
earl. "It is some witchcraft of the heathen Romans."

"Were I in Finmark I would say that this was a 'sending' {7},"
Olaf said, "but we are in Christian England, and this is but a
toad."

Now I said nothing, but I wished the beast away, for I would see
the treasure I had found. Then the earl bethought himself.

"Maybe it is but a toad," he said. "I will cast it out."

And with that he went to do so, but liked it not, and drew back
again.

"Toad or worse," I said then, "I mind not their cold skin, and will
see what it is."

So I took hold of the beast, and it swelled itself out as I did so,
and croaked a little. That was the worst it did; but I will say
this, that the sound almost made me drop it. But I cast it behind
me into the shadow, and then put both hands into the chamber and
took out one of the bags.

It was full of gold coin, as was that which had been torn open, and
as were all the rest--ten of them--when we looked. And the coins
were older than we could tell, being stamped with strange figures
that bore some likeness to horses whose limbs fell apart, and a
strange face on the other side. Many had letters on them, and these
were mostly--CVNO.

"They are coins of the Welsh folk whom we conquered," said
Wulfnoth. "I have seen the like before. They made them at Selsea,
and we find many there on the shore after storms."

Now I think that we had found the hiding place of the tribute money
that should be sent to Rome when some ship came thence or from
beyond the Channel to fetch it, or maybe it was some iron master's
hoarded payment for the good Sussex iron that they smelted in these
valleys in the Roman days. More likely it was the first, for men
would know that it had never been sent away. None can tell how the
places of these hoards are lost, but times of war have strange
chances. Then folk do but hand down the knowledge that, somewhere,
the treasure is yet hidden {8}.

"Good booty had OElla and Cissa our forbears, but they have left
some for us," said Earl Wulfnoth.

"Here is gold enough to buy a good fleet for Ethelred," said Olaf
thoughtfully.

"Gold enough for you and me to win England for ourselves withal,"
said the earl in a low voice. "You take the Danelagh, and I the
rest, and we will keep Ethelred for a puppet overlord."

"If Cnut wins there will be time enough to think of that," answered
Olaf coldly. "Eadmund is my friend."

"Not Ethelred?" said Wulfnoth eagerly.

"I fight for him," answered Olaf.

"Well, well. I did but speak my own wish," said the earl. "You and
I will not be agreed on this matter."

Then he turned to Relf, and began to give him some directions about
a horse whereon to load the treasure. And Olaf and I went back up
the ladder, leaving them, for the vault grew close and hot, and
this was their business. The earl would take it back to Pevensea,
where it would be safe. Word would go round quickly enough
concerning the find, and of what value it was. Nor would that grow
less in the telling, though none of us had ever seen so much gold
together before.

I suppose that I had been in the place for two hours or more, and
the morning sky had changed strangely since the fight began. The
sun was hidden with a great mass of heavy clouds that were driving
up fast from the southwest, although the woods around us were still
and motionless in the hot, heavy air. The smoke that still rose
from the burnt houses went up straight as a pine tree.

Olaf looked up at the sky, and seemed anxious.

"There is a gale brewing," he said. "I am glad Rani is with the
ships."

Then he walked away to a spur of the hill that looked down the
valley towards the sea. We could see all the tidal water, and
almost to Pevensea, and there came a long murmur of the sea on the
pebble beach, even to where we stood, so hushed were all things.
Surely there was a heavy sea setting in to make so loud a noise as
that. And all the hills and marshes seemed close at hand, so clear
was the air.

Then came to us Olaf's ship master, and he was uneasy also.

"Tide is at its highest tonight," he said, "and if the wind gets up
from the southwest, as seems likely, it will be higher yet than
usual. See how the clouds whirl over us."

Then the king went back to the building and called to Wulfnoth, who
came up the ladder asking what was amiss, for he heard that Olaf's
voice was urgent.

"Here is a gale coming," the king said, "and we must be back with
the ships."

Wulfnoth came out into the open and looked round.

"Aye; and tide will be high at the causeway. These spring tides run
wildly at this time of year," he said. "We must be going."

Then was no more delay, but the horns blew the recall, and the men
came in. We had lost none, but I do not think that many outlaws
were left.

They brought a farm horse, with baskets slung across its back in
the Sussex manner, and into them the gold was put. I looked down
into the vault as the men left it, and saw that Relf was there, and
that they had tried every great stone in the walls in search of
another chamber, but that there had not been one. And when he came
up I was about to draw up the ladder after him, and looked down for
the last time.

There at the ladder's foot sat the elvish toad, and it seemed to me
that it looked pitifully up at the light. How many years might it
have been without sunlight or touch of dew or cool green leaves
that it had loved? And I was fain to climb down and take it up in
my hand and set it free on the grass outside the house, where a
dock spread its broad leaves. It crawled under them in haste, and I
saw it no more. Then I found that Spray the smith was watching me,
and he said a strange thing.

"That is a good deed, master," he said. "I think that you shall
never be in prison."

"May I never be so," I answered, wondering.

"I am a forest-bred man," he said, "and I love all beasts," and
then he turned away, and went to the men who were waiting for the
earl's word.

And when all was ready Relf came to me and said that he would go to
his own place with his men, and that he would ask me to take word
to his wife and daughter that all was safe at home. The outlaws had
been too busy in the town to seek further for plunder, or had not
cared to do so at once. So he went, as we started, and I was
pleased with the chance of having speech with Sexberga.

Now there was a moaning overhead as we went through the woods along
the ridge above the valley, and hot breaths of air began to play in
our faces. The clouds raced above us more swiftly, and black masses
of scud drifted yet faster below them from across the hard black
backs of the downs to the westward. There was something strange in
the feeling of the weather that seemed to betoken more than a storm
of wind and rain, and we were silent and oppressed as we marched.

Now we came to the crest of the hill where the track goes down to
the level of the river and marshes and to the causeway, which we
crossed in the early morning. I could see now how narrow the outlet
of the river was between the hills where it joined the main tidal
waters, and the causeway was low, and both it and the bridge were
very ancient. They call it Boreham Bridge, and it is a place that I
shall not forget.

When we were halfway down the steep hill suddenly the first blast
of the gale smote us in the face, and that with a roar and howl and
rush that drowned all other sounds. The branches flew from the
trees along the hillside, and more than one great trunk gave way at
last to that onset. Then all along the coastline grew and widened a
white line of flying spindrift that hid the distant gray walls of
Pevensea on its low island, and shone like snow against the black
dun-edged cloud that came up from out of the sea.

"Hurry, men," shouted Wulfnoth, "or the bridge will be down! Look
at the tide!"

And that was racing up inland, already foaming through the wooden
arches that spanned its course. I had heard that the tide reached
this place a full hour after it began to flow at Pevensea, and even
now it was thus, two hours before it should have been at its
highest there.

Wulfnoth's men led, and then came the earl, riding beside Spray and
the horse which bore the treasure. Olaf was riding just behind
them, and I marched with our crew not ten paces after him. So we
went down the hill, and so we stepped on the causeway, and came to
the first timbers of the bridge. And hardly had I stepped on them
than there came a great shout from the men behind us, while one
seized my arm and pointed seaward across the marshes.

There came rushing across the level--blending channel and land into
one sea as it passed--a vast white roller, great as any wave which
breaks upon the shore, and its length was lost behind the hill
before us, and far away to our left. So swiftly did it come that it
seemed that none of us might gain the hill before it whelmed us and
causeway and bridge alike.

Earl Wulfnoth grasped the bridle of the pack horse, and the man
Spray lashed it, shouting aloud to us to hasten. And Olaf turned in
his saddle and saw me, and reined up until I grasped his stirrup
leather, and ran on beside him. And our men broke and ran, some
following us, and some going back to the hill whence we came. And
all the while the great white billow was thundering nearer, and my
head reeled with its noise and terror till I knew not what I was
doing, and let go my hold of Olaf's stirrup.

Then it broke over bridge and causeway, and through its roar I
heard yells, and the crash of broken timber, before I lost all
knowledge of aught but that I was lost in that mighty wave, and was
being whirled like a straw before it, where it would take me.

I struck out wildly as if to swim--but of what avail was that
against the weight of rushing water? I seemed to be rolled over and
against broken timber and reeds and stones--and once my hand
touched a man, for I felt it grate over the scales of armour--and
my ears were full of roarings and strange sounds, and I thought
that I was surely lost.

Then a strong grip was on me, and the water flew past me, and
hurled things at me, for I no longer went with it. My feet touched
ground, and other hands held me, and then I was ashore, and spent
almost nigh to death. Well for me it was that in the old days by
the Stour river I had loved to swim and dive in the deep pool
behind the island, for I had learned to save my breath. Had I not
done so, the choking of the great wave had surely ended my days.

It was Olaf who had saved me. Almost had we won to the high ground
when I had let go his stirrup leather, and then the shoreward edge
of the wave had caught me. But he had faced its fury as he saw me
borne away, and had snatched me from it as it tossed me near the
bank again. Now he bent over me, trying to catch the sound of my
voice through the roar of the storm and the rush of the flood below
us. But I could not speak to him though I would, and it was not all
drowning that ailed me, for the blow which had felled me in the
fight was even now beginning to do its work. Else had I clung to
him all along, and had been safe as he was. For he won to shore ten
yards beyond its reach as the wave came.

Now I know that Olaf and our men carried me into a place under the
lee of a hill, and bided there till the gale blew over. There was a
sharp pain as of a piercing weapon in my side as they did so, and
after that I knew not much of being carried on to the house of
Relf, the Thane of Penhurst, along a forest road where travelling
was no easier for the fallen trees that lay across it. And after I
was there I knew nothing. The blow I had had took its effect on me,
and I had several ribs broken by some timber that smote me amid the
tossing of the great wave of the flood.

Many are the tales that men all round the coasts will tell of the
great sea flood that came on Michaelmas even. For it ran far into
the land where no tide had run before, and many towns were
destroyed by it, and many people were drowned. It will be long
before the scathe it wrought will be forgotten. Many of the earl's
ships were broken, even where they lay behind the island, and two
of ours were lost--carried across the level where no ship had ever
swum before. And eight of our men had been swept from the causeway
and drowned. Two lie yet under the wreck of bridge and causeway, or
in the Ashbourne valley amid wrack and ruin of field and forest
that the flood left behind it.

But these things I learnt afterwards. Now I was like to die, and
Olaf bided at my side and minded nought else, as men said.



Chapter 6: Sexberga The Thane's Daughter.


Days came and went by while I lay helpless. Olaf the king at last
must needs leave me, and take the ships back to the Thames, there
to watch against Cnut's return, in which he, almost alone in
England, believed. But he would not sail before he knew that I
would recover, and he left me in the kind hands of Anselm, the old
Norman priest, who was well skilled in leech craft, and of Relf the
Thane and his wife. So I need say nought of the long days of
weakness after danger was gone, for there are few men who have not
known what they are like, and well for them if they have had such
tending as these good folk gave to me.

Yet it was not till November had half gone that I was able to ride
hunting again at last, and to go out with Relf in the crisp frosts
of early winter through the great woods of the Andred's-weald in
search of wolf and boar, or when the mists hung round the gray
copses, and the turf in the glades was soft, and scent was high, to
follow the deer that harboured in the deep shaws. We were seldom
without their spoils as we came homeward, and how good it was to
feel my strength coming back to me as I rode--to find the grip on a
spear shaft hardening, and the bow hand growing steadier against a
longer pull on the tough string. And Relf rejoiced with me to see
this, for he deemed that he owed me the more care because my hurt
had been gained in fighting for him and his home. Honest and rough,
with a warm heart was this forest thane, and we grew to be fast
friends.

Now when I was helpless, Wulfnoth the earl and Godwine would often
ride from Pevensea to learn how I fared. For Wulfnoth and Godwine
alike loved Olaf the king, and Godwine thought of me as his own
friend among the vikings of our fleet. But presently Godwine went
away to Bosham, where the earl's ships were mostly laid up, to see
to the housing of his vessels for the winter, and when I grew
strong it was rather my place to go to Pevensea and wait on
Wulfnoth, if I would see him. I think the earl came to Penhurst
more often also, because he would dig for more treasure in all the
old ruins in the town. But he found no more, as one might well
suppose, for it was but a chance that our find had escaped the
searching of the first Saxon comers. Yet I saw him now and then,
and ever would he rail at Ethelred the king, who sat still and left
the Danish thingmen in possession of the eastern strongholds even
yet.

Now one day the thane and I rode together with hawk and hound
eastward from Penhurst along the spur of a hill that runs thence
for many a long mile, falling southward on one side towards the sea
and lower hills between, and northward looking inland over
forest-covered hill and valley. And we went onward until we came to
the village that men call Senlac, where the long hill ridge ends
and sinks sharply into the valley of the little river Asten, and
there we thought that a heron or mallard would lie in the reedy
meadows below the place.

But up the course of the stream came another party, and when we
neared it, we saw that it was the earl himself with but a few
followers, and he too was riding with hawk on wrist, and hounds in
leash behind him, though it did not seem as if he had loosed
either.

"Ho, Relf, good morrow. What sport?" he said.

"Little enough, lord earl, as yet," the thane said.

"Do you and friend Redwald come with me, and I will show you
somewhat before you go home," the earl answered.

So we must go with him, willingly enough, for he was a great
hunter, and very skilful in woodcraft.

Now we went back through the village and up the hill again on the
same track by which we had just come, and when we were almost at
the top of the rise, the earl bade the men wait while we three rode
on. So they stayed, and we followed him, not at all knowing what he
would do.

Then we came to a track leading to the right as we rode, and he
took that way. It led to a place of which I had heard, for it had
no good name among the people, but I thought that he would not go
thither. Nevertheless he held straight on, and came to the place in
the hillside that was feared. And it was very beautiful, for thence
one looks out over the valley to the hills beyond, with the long
line of the sea away to the right, and to the left the valleys that
slope down to the inlet where Winchelsea stands, far off to the
eastward. There is a well which they say is haunted, though by what
I know not, save that men speak of ghostly hands that seize them as
they pass, if pass they must, at night. Hardly was there a track to
the place, though the water that comes from the rocky spring is so
wondrously pure and cold that they call the place Caldbec {9}
Hill. And there by the side of the spring was a little turf-built
hut, hardly to be known from the shelving bank against which it
leant, and to that the earl led us.

"Now," he said, "tie the horses somewhere, and we will go and speak
with the Wise Woman."

At that Relf was not pleased, as it seemed, for he did not
dismount.

"Come not if you fear her," said Wulfnoth; "bide with the horses if
you will, while I and Olaf's cousin go in. Maybe there will be a
message that he must take to his kinsman."

"I have nought to seek from the old dame," said Relf, "nor is there
aught that I fear from her. I give her venison betimes, as is
fitting. I will bide with the horses."

Wulfnoth said no more to him, and turned sharply to me. "You give
her no venison--maybe you fear her therefore!" he said in a
scornful way enough.

"I fear her no more than Relf," I answered, "but, like him, I will
not seek her without reason."

"Maybe there is reason for you to hear what she tells me," the earl
said. "I will have you come."

He seemed in no wise angry, but rather wishful that I should be
with him, and so I got off my horse and went. But it crossed my
mind that Wulfnoth the earl liked not to be alone, and suddenly I
remembered the way in which two of our Bures franklins had spoken
to each other when they would see Dame Gunnhild, Hertha's nurse. It
was just in this same wise.

There was a blue reek of oak-wood smoke across the doorway of the
hut, and at first the tears came into my eyes with its biting, and
I could see nothing as the earl drew me inside. We had to stoop low
as we crossed the threshold, and then the air was clearer at the
back of the hut, which was far larger than one would think, seeing
that its front did but cover the mouth of a cave that was in the
sandstone rock. I heard the water of the cold spring rattling and
bubbling somewhere close at hand.

There was a long seat hewn from the rock at the very back of the
place and to one side, and Wulfnoth drew me down beside him upon
it, and there we sat silent, waiting for I knew not what. A great
yellow cat came and rubbed itself, tail in air, against my legs,
and I stroked it, and it purred pleasantly.

Then I became aware that over against us across the fire sat the
most terrible-looking old witch that I had ever seen or dreamed of,
elbows on knees and chin on hand, staring at us. And when I saw her
I forgot the cat, and could not take my eyes off her.

So for long enough we sat, and she turned her bright eyes from one
of us to the other, letting them rest steadily on each in turn. And
at last she spoke.

"What do Earl Wulfnoth and Redwald the thane seek?"

"Read me what is in the time to come. What shall be the outcome of
this strife for England?" the earl said plainly, but in a low
voice.

"Time to come is longer than I can read," said the old woman, never
stirring or taking her eyes from the earl. "I can only see into a
few years, and I cannot always say what I know of them."

Then she turned her gaze on me, and stretched out her hand and
pointed at me. But her eyes looked past me, as it seemed.

"River and mere and mound," she said in a strangely soft
voice--"those, and the ways of the old time of Guthrum, in the town
that saw Eadmund the king. That is what is written for the weird of
Redwald the thane."

Now at that I was fairly terrified, for it was plain that this old
woman, who had never set eves on me before, had knowledge more than
mortal. But if she had gone so far, I would have her go yet
further. Black terror had been before the days of Guthrum grew
peaceful, and I swallowed my fear of her and asked:

"What of Guthrum's days?"

"Danish laws in the Danish Anglia," she said, "and the peace that
comes after the sword and the torch."

"Fire and sword we have had," I said. "Danish laws have ever been
ours. But Ethelred shall be king."

"Ethelred is king," she answered; "but I speak of time to come."

Then Wulfnoth broke in:

"What is this that you speak of, dame? Tell me if I shall bear fire
and sword into Ethelred's land, and give it the peace that shall be
thereafter."

Then she turned her look away from us, and stared across the fire
and out of the doorway.

"Not with you, nor with your son, but with your son's son shall
fire and sword come into this land of ours," she said.

"Godwine's son!"

"Aye--Harold Godwinesson, who is unborn. Look through the smoke,
lords, across the valley, and see if you can learn aught."

Then I stared out through the blue reek, and the earl looked.

"You do but play with me--I see nought!" he cried, half starting up
in anger.

But I minded him not.

Many a fight have I seen--but that which I saw from Caldbec Hill
through the smoke of the fire is more than I may say. No fight that
I have seen was as that--it was most terrible. Surely, if ever such
a fight shall in truth rage across the quiet Senlac stream and up
the green hillside, the fate of more than a king shall hang
thereon. Surely I saw such a strife as makes or ends a nation.

The old woman laughed.

"What has Redwald seen?" she asked mockingly.

The earl glanced at me, and so plainly was it written in my face
that I had seen somewhat awesome, that he gazed at me in amaze.

And I rose up and said:

"Let me go hence--I will see no more."

And I was staggering to the doorway; but Wulfnoth grasped my arm
and stayed me, saying:

"Bide here and say what you have seen--if it is aught."

"Ask me not, earl," I answered.

Then the dame spoke in her slow, soft voice.

"What banner saw you? Say that much, Redwald."

"The banner that flies from Pevensea walls--the banner that bears a
fighting warrior for its sign."

"Ha!" said Wulfnoth; "was it well or ill with that banner?"

"I know not how it went; I saw but a battle--yonder," and I pointed
to where, across the haze of smoke, valley and stream and hill
stretched before me, and thought that surely the fight still raged
as I had seen it--wave after wave of mail-clad horsemen charging
uphill to where, ringed in by English warriors, Saxon and Anglian
and Danish shoulder to shoulder, the banner of the Sussex earls
stood--while from the air above it rained the long arrows thick as
driving hail.

One thing I knew well, and that was that the warriors who charged
wore the war gear of the dukes of Rouen--the Normans. How should
they come here? and who should weld our English races into one thus
to withstand so new a foe from across the sea?

"So--a battle?" said Wulfnoth. "That is the first fancy that a
boy's brain will weave. Battles enough shall my banner see. No need
of you, witch as you are, to tell me that!"

"Maybe not," answered the old woman. "Why, then, Earl Wulfnoth,
come here to ask me to tell you things you know?" and she turned
away towards the fire again as if uncaring.

Then the earl changed his tone, saying:

"Nay, good dame, but I would know if I shall take up arms at all at
this time, and what shall befall if I must do so."

"I tell you, earl, that you have not any share in the wars that
shall be seen. And let Godwine your son bide with his sheep--so
shall he find his place."

Then the earl flushed red with anger and waited to hear no more,
but flung out of the house, muttering hard words on the dame and on
his own foolishness in seeking her.

Then the great cat sprang on my knee, and clung to me with its
strong claws as I would set it down to follow him. And as it stayed
me, the old dame spoke to me, and there was nought to fear in
either her face or voice.

"Ask me somewhat, Redwald."

I wondered, but I dared not refuse. So I said:

"How shall fare King Olaf?"

"For him a kingdom, and more than a kingdom. For him fame, and
better than fame. For him a name that shall never die."

"That is a wondrous weird," I said. "Tell me now of Eadmund
Atheling;" for some strange power that the old woman had seemed to
draw me to ask of her what I would most know.

"For Eadmund of Wessex? For him the shadow of Edric Streone over
all his brave life."

"What then of Cnut, the Dane King?"

"Honour and peace, and the goodwill of all men."

"Not mine," I said.

"Yours also, Redwald--for England's sake and his own."

But I could not believe her at that time.

Now the angry voice of Wulfnoth called me from outside the place,
and the dame said "Go," smiling at me and holding out her hand.

"No more can I tell you, Redwald. But I have this to say of you,
that you have pleased me in asking nought concerning yourself."

"I would know nought beforehand," I said, speaking old thoughts of
my own plainly. "It is enough to hope ever for good that may not
come, and to live with one's life unclouded by fear of the evil
that must needs be."

The dame smiled again, very sadly, as it seemed to me. "It is well
said. Now I will tell you this, that over your life is the shadow
of no greater evil than what every man must meet. Farewell."

So she spoke her last words to me, and sat down by the fire again.
And it is in my thoughts that she wept, but I know not.

Outside stood the earl, staring over the Senlac valley eastward.

"This were a good place for a battle, after all," he said, as to
himself. Then he heard me and turned.

"Well, what more has the old witch told you?" he said, trying to
speak carelessly, though one might see that he longed to hear more.

As we went towards the horses, I told him, therefore, of what had
been said of Eadmund and Cnut. And as he heard he grew thoughtful.

"Now," he said, slowly and half to himself, "if the shadow of that
villain Streone is on Eadmund as on me, I will not strike for
myself--as yet; and Cnut shall win other men's praise before I give
him mine or go to him unsought."

"Eadmund needs a friend, lord earl," I said, mindful of Olaf's
errand, yet hardly daring to say more seeing that he had failed.

"If there were no Ethelred--" said the earl, and stopped.

He said no more then until we were nearly within hearing of Relf.
Then he turned and faced me, taking my hand and staying me.

"I would that Olaf and you were my friends," he said, "for you both
speak out for those whom you love or serve. See here, Redwald, when
you are tired of the ways of Ethelred's crew, come to me again, and
we will plan together. And tell Olaf the same. I shall bide quiet,
keeping my Sussex against all comers, until I think a time has
come. And then, maybe, the old banner will go forward. I would have
you with me then."

So it seemed that I had found a friend, though a strange one, and I
thanked the earl, and promised him as he wished, for it bound me
only to what I thought would surely never come to pass.

After that we went on to Relf, and rode to where we had left the
men. Then the earl left us, making his way to his ships that lay at
Bulverhythe, where some were in winter quarters. The great sea
flood had changed the Pevensea haven strangely, and he mistrusted
it.

I told Relf all these things, but he cared not much for aught but
his free life in the Penhurst woodlands, where he had no foes or
fear of foes left, now that the outlaws were done with.

"Well, if there must be fighting under the earl at some time," he
said, "I am glad that you may be with us."

And he cared to ask no more about it from that day, nor do I think
that he ever gave these matters, which were so heavy to me, a
thought, being always light hearted. And now as we rode on
silently, and I deemed that his mind was full of bodings, as was
mine, he roused me from the memory of what I had seen and heard by
saying, with a laugh:

"Saw you the old dame's cat?"

"Aye," I answered carelessly; "a great one, and a friendly beast
enough."

"Was it so? Then I will warrant that the old witch was in a sorely
bad temper," he said, laughing again.

"What makes you think that?" I asked, not caring if he answered.

"Why, our folk say that the temper of cat and witch are ever
opposite. So when they go to ask aught of the old lady, they wait
outside till they see how the cat--which is, no doubt, her familiar
spirit--behaves. Then if the beast is wild and savage, they know
that its mistress will be in good temper and they may go in. But if
the cat is friendly, they may as well go home, else will they be
like to get harder words than they would care to hear."

Then I laughed also, and said that there seemed nought strange in
the ways of the great cat, but that it behaved as if used to being
noticed kindly.

"That is certain," said Relf. "It is not well to offend either
mistress or beast. But surely she was ill tempered?"

"There was nothing ill natured in her doing or sayings at all," I
said. "The earl angered her a little, but that passed."

"Maybe that was enough to put her familiar into a good temper,"
said Relf, and was satisfied that the common saying was true.

Then I minded a small black cat that belonged to our leech at Bures
in the old days. It would let none come near it but its master. Yet
I have many times seen it perched on the shoulder of the town
witch, and she hated the leech sorely.

So I fell to thinking of the old home and ways, soon, as I thought,
to be taken up again. But at the same time there stole into my mind
the feeling that I had grown to love this place.

Then with flap of heavy wings and croak of alarm flew up a great
heron from a marshy pool, and in a moment all was forgotten as I
unhooded my hawk--one that Olaf had given me from the Danish spoils
at Canterbury. Then the rush of the long-winged falcon, and the cry
of the heron, and the giddy climbing of both into the gray November
sky as they strove for the highest flight, was all that I cared
for, and we shook our reins and cantered after the birds as they
drifted down the wind, soaring too high to breast it.

And when the heron was taken the dark thoughts were gone, and we
rode back to Penhurst gaily, speaking no word of war or coming
trouble, but of flight of hawk and wile of quarry, and the like
pleasant things.

After this I saw no more of Earl Wulfnoth, and the winter set in
with heavy snow and frosts, so that before long one might hardly
stir into the woods, where the drifts were over heavy in the deep
shaws to be very safe to a stranger. But we had some good days when
word came that the foresters had harboured an old boar in a
sheltered place. And to attack the fearless beast when he is thus
penned and at bay amid snow walls, is warriors' sport indeed.

But while the snow fell whirling in the cold blasts from the sea
round the great low-roofed hall I must needs bide within, and so I
saw more of the maiden Sexberga than before, as she sat at her
wheel with the lady, her mother, and the maidens of the house at
the upper end of the hall, while the men wrought at their indoor
work of mending and making horse gear and tool handles and the
like, below the fire that burnt in the centre.

And so it had been like enough that soon I should have bound my
heart to this pleasant place with ties that would have been hard to
break, but for some words that came about by chance. For there had
begun to spring up in my mind a great liking for the words and ways
of Sexberga, who had been pleasant in my eyes from the very first
time that I had seen her and her mother in Earl Wulfnoth's
courtyard.

And I think that there is no wonder in this, for these ladies were
ever most kind to me, and long were the days since I had spoken
with any in such a home as this. Nor, as I have said, should I be
blamed for forgetting old days at Bures in this wise.

Now, soon after Christmas, when there came one of those days when
men must needs keep under cover, I sat by the fire trimming arrows,
and presently it chanced that the lady and I were alone in the
hall, for the maidens were preparing the supper elsewhere, and the
housecarles had not yet come in from cattle yard and sheep pens.
And we talked quietly of this and that, as her wheel hummed and
clicked cheerfully the while, and at last some word of mine led her
to say:

"I have heard little of your own folk, Redwald. I do not know even
their names."

"After my father was slain, I had none left but my mother," I said.
"We are distant kinsfolk of Ulfkytel, our earl, but we have no near
kin."

"Was your mother's name Hertha?" she said, naturally enough, for I
had never named her, always speaking, as one will, of her as my
mother only.

I looked up wondering, for I could not think how she knew that
name, or indeed any other than that of Siric, my father, and maybe
Thorgeir, my grandfather, for Olaf had told them at first, when
they took charge of me, to what family I had belonged, and how I
was akin to him.

"That was not my mother's name," I answered. "It was that of a
playfellow of mine. How could you know it?"

"One will go back in thought and word to old times when one is
sick," the lady said, smiling. "This was a name often on your lips
as I sat by you in your sickness. It was ever 'Mother' and
'Hertha'. Olaf said that you had no sisters, or I should have
thought you called to one of them, maybe."

Then I remembered at last; and for a little while I sat silent, and
my heart was sorely troubled. And the trouble was because my
growing thought of Sexberga taught me, all in a flash as it were,
when the remembrance of Hertha was brought thus clearly back to me,
what tie bound me to Bures and to this more than playmate of mine.
In truth, I think that had it not been for this, until I had been
back in Bures again I should not have recalled it.

Now I was glad that I had said nought that might have made my
liking for the maiden plain to her, and so things would be the
easier. Yet for a few moments the thought of saying nought of the
old betrothal came to me--of letting it remain forgotten. And then
that seemed to me to be unworthy of a true man. It was done, and
might not be undone by my will alone. I would even speak plainly of
the matter; and at least I had not gone so far in any way that the
lady could blame me for silence. So I hardened my heart--for indeed
the trouble seemed great--and spoke quickly.

"Hertha was nearer to me than sister, for we were betrothed when I
was but thirteen and she eleven."

I think the trouble in my voice was plain, for the lady deemed that
there was some to be told.

"Where is she now?" she asked. "I hope that no harm came to her
when the evil Danes overran your land."

"I know not where she may be, dear lady," I said. "We know that she
was in safety after the first peril passed. Now our land is in
Danish hands, and I have no news from thence for four years."

"There are many places here where one might hide well enough," she
said thoughtfully. "I suppose her people could find the like in
your country. But it would be a dull life enough."

Then I told her of Gunnhild the nurse and her wisdom, and said that
none knew the land around Bures better than she, while she had
friends everywhere.

"Then you may find your Hertha yet," the lady said at last; and as
she spoke Sexberga, of whom my mind was full, came into the hall.

"You speak sadly together," she said, looking from one to the
other, and noting that her mother's wheel was idle.

"It is no happy tale that our friend has told me," the lady said,
and so told her all that she had learned from me.

Then Sexberga clasped her hands together, and said:

"Shall I ever forget the time when we fled to Pevensea before the
outlaws? And to think of that terror--if it had lasted for days and
weeks--and months maybe, as it would for your Hertha. Could you in
no way seek her, Redwald?"

She knew nothing of the ways of wartime and of the troubles which
must come to men who are weapon bearers, and I tried to tell her
how I could by no means have sought Hertha, and how, had that been
possible, and had I found her, I could hardly have brought her even
to London in safety. I told her of good Bishop Elfheah and his
death, and many more things, and yet she said:

"I think you have been over long in seeking her. And she has been
in hiding for four years past!"

Now that was hardly fair, but what could she think else? Yet in my
mind was the certainty now that I might have had no easy task to
win this kindly maiden, who so little cared that I was bound
elsewhere. Now I will not say that that altogether pleased me, for
no man likes to learn that a fair maiden who is pleasant to his
eyes has no like feeling for himself; which is nought but vanity
after all. So when I turned this over in my mind I knew that I
ought to be glad that she cared nothing, for so was the less
trouble in the end, and I found also that what a man ought to be is
not the same always as what a man is.

So I made no answer, and Sexberga went on:

"Now must you seek her as soon as you can, for that is your part as
a good warrior--a good knight, as Father Anselm will say when he
hears thereof."

"Surely I shall go back this spring with our earl," I said. "Then
shall I find her, for she and her nurse will come back from their
hiding when peace is sure."

"Aye; and you will not know her!" said Sexberga, clapping her hands
and laughing. "She is a woman grown, as I am, by this time!"

Then was gone my little playfellow, and in her place, in my
thoughts, must stand a maiden with eyes of sad reproach that must
be ever on me. And maybe in her heart would be fear of me, and of
what I had become, as she was bound to me.

And now Sexberga began to weave fancies of how I should meet this
long-lost bride of mine, and I could make no answer to her playful
railing, for I saw more clearly than she. And her mother knew that
this must be so, and sent her away on some household errand, and I
was glad.

Then she laid her hand on mine, and spoke very kindly to me.

"I fear, Redwald, that there is a strange trial coming for you; but
I think that you will face it rightly. It is likely that you will
hardly know Hertha when you see her; yet you are betrothed to her,
and that is a thing that cannot be forgotten."

"She will not know me at all," I said.

"Women are keen sighted," the lady answered; "but it is more than
likely that she will not."

Then said I:

"What if she has no love for me?"

"Or you of her? But I think that in her hiding she has thought of
you ever, and well will it be for you if you come not short of her
dream of you. But you have thought of her not at all."

"Blame me not, lady," I said humbly enough, though I thought I
deserved blame more than she knew.

"I cannot," she answered, and then a half smile crossed her fair
face; "nor should I have thought it wonderful if some other maiden
had taken her place in your heart. But that would have been ill for
three people in the end."

I sat silent, and maybe I was glad that the glow of the fire was
ruddy on my face, for it seemed that she had seen somewhat of my
thoughts of late.

"Now you must find Hertha," she went on, "and then if either of you
will be released, I think that Holy Church will not be hard on you,
nor keep you bound to each other, for things have turned out ill
for such a betrothal."

"This is a hard case," I said, "for supposing that one longs for
release and the other does not?"

"Why, you cannot be so much as lovers yet!" she said, laughing
suddenly. "Here we speak as if a child's thoughts were aught. Now
comes into my mind such a plan as is in the old stories. You shall
seek Hertha as Olaf's kinsman only--as a kinsman who seeks for you,
maybe, not letting her know who you are. Then may you try to win
her love, if you will--or if you cannot love her, you may so work
on her mind that she will not love you, and then all is easy. For
if she will not love you when you would win her, you will not hold
her bound."

"Surely not," I said. "This seems a good plan, if only it may be
carried out. But it depends on whether Hertha knows me again."

"Or the old nurse, Gunnhild," she answered. "If she lives yet, you
must take her into the plan."

So this seemed to me to be a matter easily managed, as I thought
thereof, and I was content. And after we had talked a while longer,
planning thus, I said:

"Now I must go back to Olaf as soon as I can. The winter is wearing
away."

"Aye; the good king will be missing you," she said.

I was not ready to say more, for I meant a great deal by my words,
as might be supposed. And the lady knew it, as I think, for
presently she said:

"I wonder that you spoke not of Hertha before."

"There need be no wonder, lady," I answered. "I have lived but in
the constant thought of war, until I must needs be quiet here. But
for this, I should still have forgotten her."

"That is true; but you must remember her now," she said, looking
quaintly at me.

"I will remember, lady," I answered, kissing her hand; and she
smiled on me and was content.

Truly that one who teaches a man that he is worthy of trust is his
best teacher of honour, and the name of the lady of Penhurst is
ever dear to me.

So it came to pass that I had nought wherewith to blame myself in
the days to come, and I taught myself to look on Sexberga as a
pleasant friend only, though it was hard at first, to say the
truth. And I think that her talk of Hertha, and her jesting at my
unknown bride, as she would call her, helped me, for it kept me
mindful.

Then at last came a messenger from Wulfnoth to bid me ride to see
him at Pevensea, and I went, wondering what new turn of things was
on hand. But when I reached the castle, I saw a ship that I knew
lying in the haven--one of Olaf's own. For Ottar the scald had come
to seek me with the first sign of open weather, bringing also many
gifts of Danish spoil for Relf and his household, and many words of
thanks also.

So in two days' time I parted from Relf and his people, not without
sorrow. Nor could I say all that I would to them of my thoughts of
what I owed them for their care.

Then Wulfnoth and Godwine gave me twenty pieces of the gold from
the treasure, and bade me return ere long.

"And I think that you will come back presently with an itching to
get home a sword stroke at one whom I care not to name lest I break
out," said the earl grimly.

"At Streone?" said I, being light of heart.

"Aye; curses on him!" answered Wulfnoth, and turned away with a
scowl of wrath.

Now Ottar had been to Penhurst with me, and we had come thence
together to the ships. And when the old walls of the great castle
were lost to sight as the vessel plunged eastward, he said:

"Relf's daughter is a fair maiden, friend Redwald. It is in my mind
that she will long to see you back again."

"Not so," I answered; "she is but friendly."

"But she had much ado not to weep when you parted just now, and I
saw her run home from the gate over quickly. These be signs," he
said sagely, being a scald, and therefore wise in his own conceit
about such matters.

Maybe I was glad to think that the maiden did care that I went,
were it ever so little, though I would not believe that it was so.

So I came back into the Thames to Olaf, and glad was he to see me
once more, and that I was in no wise the worse now for my hurts.
And in his company it soon came to pass that I longed not at all
for Penhurst, though at first it seemed to me that I should have
little pleasure in life away from Sexberga. By and by I could laugh
at myself for that thought, but I have never seen cause to be sorry
therefor. There is no shame to a man that his mind has turned
towards a maiden whom he knows that he could trust and reverence.



Chapter 7: The Fight At Leavenheath.


March and April went by, and Olaf had gathered good fleet enough in
the Thames. But there was no word of Cnut's return, though the
dread thereof hung heavy over all the land, in such wise that no
man could plan what he would do without the thought rising up,
"Unless the Dane comes," seeing that each day might bring news of
him.

No man knows now what that terror and uncertainty was like--to have
ever in one's heart the fear of that awful host that seemed to
sweep from end to end of the land before a levy could be gathered
to meet it.

There had been time to gather a levy now against the coming of
Cnut, but naught had been done. Sick at heart and impatient was
Olaf, for England's rulers would not take care for her safety.

Then came word of a great council to be held at Oxford, and we
hoped much from that; but two days after it had been held there
came to us, angry and desponding, Ulfkytel, our East Anglian earl,
and told us how things had gone as ill as they might. Few words
enough are needed to tell it, but none can know what harm was
wrought thereby. Whereof Olaf says that a good leader will act
first, and call his council afterwards.

All the best of England were there, not only Saxon thanes of
Wessex, but also loyal Danes of the old settlement, and had the
king spoken his will plainly, all would have been well. For of the
Danish nobles, Utred of Northumbria and the two earls of the old
seven boroughs, Sigeferth and Morcar, were at one with our earl and
Eadmund for gathering a great levy, and keeping it together by
marching through the Danelagh, and calling on the Danish thingmen,
in the towns they yet held, to surrender.

That plan was good, and would have been carried out; but Edric
Streone rose up and reminded Ethelred of how the march through
Lindsey had done more harm than good.

"Cnut will not return," he said, "and messages to these Danish
garrisons with promise of peace if they surrender will be enough.
But if we fall on them, they will grow desperate, and will send for
Cnut to help them. If we win them to peace, Cnut cannot come back."

Thereat Sigeferth of Stamford spoke hotly, minding Streone that the
harm was done in Lindsey by pillage and burning wrought among
peaceful folk, who were thus made enemies to the king. The thingmen
would submit quietly if they knew they must; but if they were left,
they would send word to Cnut that there was no force to oppose him.

But the words of Streone prevailed as ever, and the council broke
up, and the nobles fell to feasting, while this foolish message was
sent to Swein's veterans in their towns.

Then Sigeferth and Morcar made no secret of their belief that
Streone was playing into Cnut's hands for reasons of his own.
Wherefore Streone sent for them in friendly wise, as if to recall
his words, and they went, and came from his house alive no more.
Then their men went to avenge their lords' deaths, and were driven
into St. Frideswide's church, and that was burnt over their heads.

"Now the seven boroughs will welcome Cnut," said Ulfkytel, "and
Lindsey looks for him; so he has a clear road into the heart of
England."

Then I saw that Streone surely wrought for Cnut, else was he a more
foolish man than was thought, for all held him as the most skilful
at statecraft in England.

Then said Ulfkytel:

"Utred has gone to mind his own land, and I have come to ask you to
help me in East Anglia."

And in the end it came to pass that Olaf gave his new fleet into
the hands of the London thanes, for Ethelred seemed to care nought
for it, and took his own ships only, and we sailed first of all to
Maldon. Little trouble was there, for the Danes who held the place
submitted, being too few to fight us, and we gave their arms to the
citizens, and mounted all of our men whom we could, and so left the
ships and marched towards Colchester, along the great road that I
had last passed as a fugitive in the years that seemed to me so
long ago.

It was strange to me as we went, and the mist of time seemed to
pass away, so that all began to be as plain to my mind as if that
flight had been but yesterday. There was nothing of the wayside
happening that I could not remember well.

But all the roadside was changed, for the cottages were gone, and
the farmsteads stood no longer in the clearings. I know not what
tales of terror I might have heard concerning the burnings of these
homes. Where the thralls' huts had been were but patches of nettles
and docks hiding heaps of ashes, and the farmhouses were charred
ruins. And we saw now and then a man, skin clad and wretched,
seeking shelter in the woods in all haste as we sighted him. But I
had no need to ask aught--I knew only too well what manner of tales
might be told here, as everywhere in Swein's track.

As we drew nearer Colchester, and the village folk began to learn
who we were, and so would gather with gifts for the good-natured
Norsemen who came to release them from the tyranny of the thingmen,
now and then a face that I knew would start, as it were, upon me
from among a little crowd. But none knew me, nor were they likely
to do so. Hardly could I think myself the same as the careless boy
who had watched his father ride away to the war. Indeed, I know
that I changed less in the ten years that came after this than in
the four that had gone by since that day. For in those four years I
had become the hardened warrior of many defeats and but this one
victory.

Now when we reached Coggeshall village, word came to us that the
Danes were gathering in force in Colchester, and that they expected
Olaf to besiege them there.

"I will waste no time under Colchester walls," he said, "but will
strike inland a little; then they will come out and give us battle
in the open to stay our march."

By this time the loyal freemen of Essex had gathered to Ulfkytel in
good force, and Olaf thought it would be well that he should march
along the road that leads from Coggeshall to Dunmow and take that
town, which is strong, so that the Danish forces should not join
against us.

Therefore he left us, and would go northwards from Dunmow, taking
the towns from thence to Thetford and Norwich, and he should go to
Ipswich and maybe to Dunwich after this. So would all East Anglia
submit. And all went well with Ulfkytel until the time came when he
must turn back in haste, as I must tell presently.

Now, after he was gone, Olaf thought that it would be well to cross
the Colne and Stour rivers, and so cut off the Sudbury Danes from
Colchester if it might be done.

"Then there is no better place than my own," said I, "for the road
on either side of the Stour can be guarded at Bures, and I know all
the country well."

That pleased Olaf, and he said that we would take up some strong
position there, and so wait to draw the Danes into the open, where
he thought that one battle would do all for us.

Thus I came hack to the home that I loved and longed to see again.
And when we came in the early morning to the place where the great
mound of the Icenian queen towers above its woods I know not how my
heart was stirred. I cannot say the things that I felt, and Olaf
said:

"Let us ride on alone and see your place."

Then we came swiftly to the crest of the hill, and I could see all
that was mine by right. But it was a piteous sight for me, and my
rage and sorrow made me silent as I looked.

The stockading that had been so good was broken and useless, and
the church was in blackened ruins, standing among the houses where
black gaps among them also showed that the Danes had been at work
and that none had had heart to rebuild. Black were the ruins of my
home on the hill above the village, and across the mere woods one
burnt gable of Hertha's home stood alone above the hill shoulder to
show where Osgod had dwelt in the hollow of the hills beside the
ford.

Then we rode across the bridge and into the street unchallenged,
for all the poor folk had fled from before us thinking that we were
some fresh foes. Very strange the deserted place looked to me as I
sat on my horse on the familiar green, and saw the river gleam
across the gap where the church had been, and missed the houses
that I had known so well.

"Call aloud, Redwald," said Olaf. "It may be that your name will
bring some from their hiding."

So I called, and the empty street echoed back the words:

"Ho, friends! I am Redwald, your thane. Will none come to greet
me?"

There was no answer, and Olaf lifted up his clear voice:

"Ho, Ethelred's men! here is help against the Danes."

Then from under the staging by the riverside where the boats land
their cargo, crept two men and came towards us slowly. And one was
that thrall of mine who would have gone to Wormingford for me on
the night when we fled. His silver collar of thraldom was gone, for
the Danes had taken it, and his face bore marks of long hardship,
but I knew him instantly. So I called him by name, and he stared at
me fixedly for a moment, and then cried aloud and ran to me and
fell to kissing my hand and weeping with joy at my return. Nor
could I get a word from him at first.

Then more of the people came from one place or another, timidly at
first, but growing bold as they saw these two men without fear of
us, and by the time that Olaf's warriors came over the bridge there
were not a few folk standing round us and looking on. One by one I
knew their faces, though years of pain had marked them sorely. But
none knew me at first, though doubtless they would do so if I
called to them as I had called to Brand the thrall.

Now was busy setting of watches and ordering of outposts, and Olaf
went with me to the top of our hill and there set a strong post of
our men, for there could be no better place for a camp either for
rest or defence, and the people told him that every Dane in the
countryside had gone to Colchester, where they thought to be
attacked.

Now Brand the thrall had followed us to the hilltop, and while I
sat and looked at the ruins of my home he left me and spoke to a
group of countrymen who looked on at the warriors. There was one
among this group whose face drew me, for I seemed to think that I
ought to know him, though I could not say who he was. He looked
like a poor franklin in his rough brown jerkin and leather-gartered
hose, and broad hat, and he bore no weapon but a short seax in his
belt, and a quarterstaff, and there was nought about him to claim
notice. But I was watching for old friends of mine with a full
heart, and scanned the face of each one that came near.

Then it seemed that the others spoke to this man with a sort of
reverence, and presently one bared his head before him. Thereat I
knew who he was, and my heart leapt with joy, for it was good
Father Ailwin, our priest, who had gone back to his death as we had
thought.

Then I made haste and went to him, dismounting before him.

"Father," I said, "have you forgotten Redwald, your pupil?"

He took my hand in silence, being too much moved to speak, and
signed the sign of the cross towards me in token of blessing. I
bowed my head, and rejoiced that he was yet living.

Then Olaf called me, and I said:

"When the warriors have dispersed, come to the house on the green
that was Gurth's. The king and I shall be there. We have much to
say to one another, father."

So I had to leave him at that time, for now Olaf would take eight
score of our men in haste to Sudbury, which is but five miles away,
and call on the townsfolk to rise for Ethelred and drive out any
Danes who were left there.

We went away quickly, and took all our mounted men, for we could
hear of no Danish force afield yet. It is likely that word of our
force had gone from Maldon, losing nothing on the way.

We rode to Sudbury gates and called on the townspeople to open
their gates. Then was some tumult and fighting inside the town, but
they opened to us, and we rode in. There were some slain men in the
street, for what Danes had been there had resisted the surrender to
so small a force.

But the Sudbury folk rejoiced to see us, and hailed Ethelred as
king very gladly. Then Olaf bade them raise what men they could and
join him at Bures on the morrow with the first light. Thereat the
old sheriff of Sudbury, whom I knew well, promised that we should
have all the men whom he could raise.

"Nor will they be your worst fighters, King Olaf," he said, "for we
have many wrongs to avenge."

It was late evening when we went back. And in the road where it
winds between the river and the hill before one comes into Bures
street waited Rani and some men with news. The Danes had come from
Colchester, and already their watch fires were burning along the
heath some four miles to eastward of us. It had fallen out, as Olaf
wished, that they would try to bar our way into Suffolk, and we
should have work to hand on the morrow.

Now men had gone with some thralls who could take them safely near
the host, to spy what they could of the number and the plans of the
Danes.

So it came to pass that I went no more into the village that night,
but slept by a fire that burnt where our own hearthstone had been,
amid the ruins of my home. And that was a sad homecoming enough.
Moreover, in the first hours of the night a wonderful thing
happened which seemed to be of ill omen, and was so strange that
maybe few will believe it.

There was a bit of broken wall near the fire, and I laid me down in
my cloak under its shelter, setting the sword that Eadmund had
given me against it close to my head, so that I could reach it
instantly if need were. After a while I slept, for the day had been
very long and I was weary, else would sad thoughts have kept me
waking. And presently there was a rumble and snapping that woke me
up in a dream of falling ruin, and the man who lay next to me cried
out and dragged me roughly aside.

The broken wall had fallen, crumbling with the heat of the fire, I
suppose, and had almost slain me. But I was not touched, though the
sword was broken. And when Ottar the scald heard of it he was
troubled, not knowing what this might betoken. But Olaf thought
little of it.

"It means that axe is better than sword for this fight," he said,
for he had armed me like himself after the Norse manner, than which
is none better or more handsome. He had given me a byrnie {10}
of the best ring mail, and a helm gold-inlaid as became a king's
kinsman, and axe and shield like his own. He and his men alone of
all Norsemen in those days bore the cross on both helm and shield.
Nor would Olaf have any unchristened man in all his host. Many a
stout warrior did he turn away because he was not and would not be
a Christian, for many Danes were yet heathen, and most Norway men.

Some of the men who had gone out to see the Danish force came back
soon after midnight, and they said that there would seem to be
close on a thousand of them in all.

After that we knew that a hard fight was before us, and the king
bade us sleep and take what rest we might. Then, very early, came
men to say that the Sudbury folk had come, and Olaf and I went down
to the village to meet them. Close on two hundred men had come with
Prat, the son of the sheriff of Sudbury, at their head, and they
were not to be despised, for they were sturdy spearmen, and many
had mail, though the most wore the stout leathern jerkin that will
turn a sword cut well enough.

And Prat asked that they should have the first place in the fight,
seeing that they fought for their own land.

"That is the place of my own ship's crew," said Olaf, "nor will
they be denied it. Now shall you fight under Redwald, your own
thane, and he will have the next place to me."

That pleased both them and me well, and after that Olaf sent me on
as advance guard, for we knew the country.

We were nine hundred strong in all, and when I took my men to the
hilltop I met a man who said that the Danes mustered some fifteen
hundred strong. There were Anglian Danes there besides thingmen.
But Olaf had said that we would fight two to one if necessary, and
so I held on; he would send after me if he would make any change in
his plans when he heard this. It was well that we had settled with
the Sudbury force already or we should have had them to deal with
besides.

We left Bures hill and went down the steep valley beyond it, and I
thought that the Danes might wait for us in the wood that is on the
opposite slope. But there were none, and we came out on the open
ground that stretches away in a fairly level upland for many a mile
northward and eastward before us. There I waited, for we needed no
advance guard beyond these last woodlands. One could see to the dip
that is by Leavenheath, and there the Danes would be. And indeed
across the open rode a few men in that direction, and I knew that
they were scouts who would take the news of our coming; but they
were too far away to be stopped even had I wished to do so. Olaf
would not be led far from Bures and the river, but would have the
foe come to him.

So we stayed just beyond the cover, and the bustards ran across the
heath as we roused them, and the larks sprung up and sang overhead,
and the blackbirds called their alarm notes in the copse behind us,
and the men talked of these things and pointed at the rabbits that
sat up to look at us before they fled, as if there were no fighting
at hand; for indeed I think that one notes all these well-known
things more plainly when one's mind is strung up and over watchful,
as it will be before somewhat great that is looked for.

Then came Olaf at the head of his men, and as he came I saw the
first sparkle of armour across the heath under the sun, for the
Danes were in array, and were coming up to the level ground over
which we looked.

And when Olaf saw that his face grew bright with the joy of battle
in a good cause, and his hand went to his sword while he looked
quickly round for the place that he would choose. Nor was he long
in choosing, for he led us but a furlong from the cover's edge, and
there drew us up in a half circle, with the hollow towards the
cover and our horsemen on the flanks, so that the greater force
could not outflank us, while we had the wood in our rear. So if one
half of the curved line was forced back it would but drive us
closer together, back to back, and at the worst we could not be
followed into the cover except by scattered men who would be of no
account.

Now the strongest part of our curved line was in the centre, and
there stood Olaf's mailed shipmen, and behind them my English
spearmen. That place they liked not at first, till the king told
them carefully what he would have them do at the first charge of
horsemen for which he looked, for now it was plain that many of the
Danes were mounted.

Olaf and I stood between his men and mine, leaving our horses in
the cover, for a viking leader will ever fight on foot. Rani was on
the right wing, and Biorn the marshal on the left; and Ottar the
scald bore Olaf's banner beside the king. There were six of the
best warriors of the crew before Olaf as his shield wall, and six
of the best English warriors had been named by Prat to act in the
same way for me. Olaf had given me a good plain sword in place of
that which I broke, but I took a spear now, ashen shafted and
strong, in the English way, that I might be armed as were my men,
and I think that pleased them.

The Danes came on fast, and they had not been miscounted. They were
full half as many again as we, and they were drawn up in line with
their horsemen on the wings as we were, so that at first I thought
we should fight man to man, both horse and foot, along the whole
front.

Now they came almost within bow shot, and there they halted and
closed up, leaning on their weapons, while a great man, tall and
black bearded, and clad in black chain mail, rode out before them
and came towards us with his right hand held up in token of parley.

Olaf went out from the line to meet him, and when they were close
together a great hush fell on the two hosts to hear what was said.

"Are you the leader of this host?" the Dane said.

"Aye. Who are you?" answered Olaf.

"I am Egil Thorarinsson, of Colchester," he answered. "And whoever
you may be, I call on you to yield to Cnut, King of Denmark and
England, and Norway also."

"Maybe he is king of neither," Olaf answered quietly. "I am Olaf
Haraldsson, and I am here to see if he shall be King of England. So
I call on you to submit peaceably to Ethelred, leaving Cnut to take
his own land if he can."

"We are Cnut's men and Danes," answered Egil, "and from your speech
and name it would seem that you are no Englishman. Now if you are
Olaf the Thick, own your own king Cnut, and leave this Ethelred the
Unredy to his own foolishness."

"I am one of those Norsemen who hold that Cnut is no king of ours,
and therefore I fight him wherever I can. But if you will own
Ethelred there shall be peace from him, and you will but do what
the Danes of Guthrum's host did in the old days--hold the land you
have won from an English overlord."

"A fine overlord, forsooth," said the Dane; "maybe one would think
of it had he been a second Alfred--but Ethelred the Unredy! Not so,
King Olaf. Will you own Cnut, or must we make you?"

"It seems that we shall not agree until we have fought out this
question," said Olaf, laughing a little.

The Dane laughed back.

"Aye, I suppose not. I would that you had a few more men. But that
is a hard lot in the centre."

And so he looked down our line with an unmoved face, and turned his
horse and rode slowly back to his own men. Olaf came back to us
with a confident look enough.

"There is a man worth fighting," he said to me; "he is foster
brother of Thorkel the High, who leads young Cnut, and he seems an
honest warrior enough."

Then all at once his face hardened, and he spoke in the sharp tone
of command:

"Get your spearmen forward--the horsemen are coming first."

And I saw even before he spoke that this was so, for they were
closing in across their line from the wings, and forming up for an
attack that they maybe thought would break the grim ranks of Olaf's
crew who were the strength of our centre.

So I gave the word, and my spearmen came quickly forward through
the viking line, and there stood two deep, setting the butt ends of
their spears firmly in the ground at their feet, and lowering the
points to meet the horses breast high. Olaf bade the front rank
kneel on one knee and take both hands to the spear shaft, and then
the thick hedge of glittering points was double. I had never seen
this plan before, but it was what Olaf had bidden us do if there
was a charge of horsemen. And I stood in the second rank with Prat
beside me, and behind me were the men of Olaf's shield wall. I took
my axe in my right hand instead of the sword, for the heavier
weapon seemed best against what was coming.

Now were the foes ready, even as the spearmen knelt, and a chief
rode out before them and gave the word to charge, and with a great
roar they answered him, spurring their horses and flying down on
us. The arrow shafts rattled on the bow staves as Olaf's vikings
made ready, and I cried to my spearmen to stand steady, for it
seemed as if that thundering charge must sweep the crouching lines
like chaff before it. And as it came we were silent, and no spear
wavered in all the long hedge to right and left of me.

They were but fifty paces from us; and then with hiss and rattle as
of the first gust of a storm in dry branches the arrows flew among
them, smiting man and horse alike, and down went full half of the
foremost line, while over the fallen leapt and plunged those behind
them unchecked, and were upon us sword in air; and the tough spear
shafts bent and cracked, and a great shout went up, and over the
shoulders of my men flashed the viking axes, falling on horses and
dismounted men, and the Danish riders recoiled from the steadfast
spearmen whose line they could not break though they had gapped it
here and there, while the arrows and javelins flew among them
unceasingly.

They drew back disordered, and then from the wings charged our
horsemen and broke them, chasing them back towards their own men in
disorder, while my stolid spearmen closed up again shoulder to
shoulder, and the level hedge of spear points was ready again. But
now they shone no longer, for they were dulled with the crimson
token of their work.

Then the Danish ranks opened, and their horsemen passed through to
the rear, and at once our men wheeled back to their posts on the
wings, shouting in the faces of the Danes as they galloped past
their lines. Then was the ground open between the forces again, but
now it was cumbered with fallen men and horses, and below our spear
points was a ghastly barrier of those who had dared to rush on
them, for spear had begun and axe had finished the work.

"Well done, spearmen!" Olaf cried to us, "now is our turn."

And at his word his vikings took our place, and we were content.
For we had borne the first shock of the battle after all, and had
earned praise. Moreover the whole line cheered us as we fell back
into the second line.

"Now comes the real fighting," said Olaf to me; "stay by my side,
cousin, and you and I will see some sword play together."

So I stood on the left hand, and Ottar was on his right with the
standard, and Prat of Sudbury was next to me. The viking line was
two deep before us, and Olaf's shieldmen and mine were between us
and the rear rank, and my spearmen leant on their weapons behind us
again. But it took us less time to fall into place thus than it has
taken to say how we stood.

And hardly were we steady again before the whole Danish line broke
out into their war song and advanced. Then the song became a hoarse
roar, and their line lapped round to compass our bowed front, and
man to man they flung themselves on us as the storm of darts and
arrows crossed from side to side between us. Then rang the war
chime, the clang of steel on steel loud over Leavenheath, and there
came into my heart again the longing to wipe out the memory of old
defeats, and I gripped my axe and shield and waited for my turn to
come.

There was a little time while I might see all that happened, and at
the first rush I saw Biorn's men give back a pace--no more--and win
their place again. I saw our horsemen watching for a chance to
charge in on the Danish flank, and I saw the Danish riders wheeling
to meet them. Then I must keep my eyes for what was before me, for
men were falling. Then Ottar began to sing, and his voice rose over
the cries of battle, and rang in tune with the sword strokes as it
seemed to me, and with his singing came to me, as to many, the
longing to do great deeds and to fall if I might but be sung thus.

Then I saw a Dane fell one of the vikings, and leap at the men of
Olaf's shield wall, and an axe flashed and he went down. The
fighting was coming nearer to me, and I watched and waited, and I
knew that I had never seen so stern a fight as this, for before me
Olaf's veterans fought against Swein's--the trained thingmen who
held the towns. And neither side had ever known defeat, and it
seemed to me that surely we must fight till all were slain, for
these were men who would not yield.

Then was a gap in the ranks before me for a moment, and through it
glanced like light a long spear with a hook that caught the edge of
Prat's red shield and tore it aside; and I smote it and cut the
shaft in twain, so that it was but wood that darted against Prat's
mail, and h

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