We emerged cautiously from our cover, and soon stood where, a few days before, the priory had risen, beautiful before G.o.d; it was but a huge pile of blackened timber and stone; and even more conspicuous above all other ruins, by the black smoke it still sent forth, was that which had been the hall.

While we stood and pondered, Wiglaf suddenly started.

"I hear the tramp of men," he said.

Then I listened, and distinctly heard the footfall of men and horses. We paused; it drew nearer. We were on the point of taking to the woods again, when I thought I caught the sound of the word of command in the English tongue, and the voice seemed familiar.

We advanced still cautiously amongst the ruins, until we saw fifty or sixty hors.e.m.e.n cross the wooden bridge which the Danes had left uninjured, and advance with horror-stricken faces.

They were my brother and his men.

I recognised Elfwyn amongst them. I rushed up to him, and our tears mingled together.

"They are safe, are safe," I cried.

"Thank G.o.d!" broke from many an overcharged heart.

"But where are they? where are they?"

"Safe at the forest farm, protected by brake and mora.s.s; and now tell me, how came you here?"

Tidings arrived at headquarters that a small party of Danes were making an incursion into Mercia, riding as rapidly as they could, and I obtained Edric Streorn's leave to pursue them, with great difficulty I can tell you, and he would only allow me then to take fifty men.

"He affected to disbelieve the intelligence, and said sarcastically that the safety of Wess.e.x could not be neglected for Aescendune. The Northmen would never hurt a place which had so distinguished itself on St. Brice's day."

Here he sighed heavily.

"Elfwyn," I said, "my brother, we must not be ungrateful to G.o.d. Here are ruins indeed, but they cover no dead bodies; all have escaped."

"No, Cuthbert, not all."

I was silent, for I thought of Bertric.

"We have buried him, Cuthbert, in G.o.d's peace, in the place he hallowed by his blood."

I saw the tears stream down his manly cheeks. My voice grew so hoa.r.s.e, somehow, that I could not ask a question.

"I will tell you all we have seen by and by, not now. I could not bear it;" and he covered his face with his hands.

"How did he die?" I stammered at last.

"Like St. Edmund."

I asked no more, but I hope the martyr will forgive me the tears I shed. I know I ought to rejoice that he has gained his crown, but I cannot yet. I shall be able some day.

"How could they find the path through the woods, Cuthbert?" asked my brother; "how did they know the fords?"

The same question had occurred to me.

Then the words of the churl Beorn, who had been taken prisoner, as the messenger had told us, came fresh to my mind.

"Elfwyn," said I, "do you remember Beorn?"

He looked earnestly at me.

"Did he not say that his captors asked particularly about Aescendune, and that the name of Anlaf was mentioned, and inquiries made concerning Alfgar?"

"He did."

"It is the curse of St. Brice's night."

"Fallen upon the innocent."

"Leave it to G.o.d," said I.

"I will try; let us go to my people."

And we arose and took the path through the woods, sorrowing for the news we must carry, and still uncertain about the fate of Alfgar.

CHAPTER IX. THE CAMP OF THE DANES.

It was the noontide heat, and two Danish warriors reclined under the shadow of an ancient beech, hard by the entrenched camp of the Danes, a few days after the arrival of Alfgar therein. Their spears lay idly on the gra.s.s, as if there were no foe to dread, and the land were their own; they seemed deeply engrossed in conversation.

"Well, Anlaf, and when is your son going to give up his Christianity?"

"You are in a great hurry, Sidroc."

"Nay, all the camp inquires."

"They must wait."

"How long?"

"I cannot tell," said Anlaf, shifting uneasily about; "he is my only son, the heir of a long line of warrior princes."

"To whom his life is a disgrace."

"Not altogether; he is brave."

"Would be, you mean, were he not a Christian."

"No, he is, or he would not dare cross my path as he does; death, with which I have often threatened him, does not seem to have much terror for him."

"Perhaps he does not know how terrible death can be made. Has he ever heard of the rista oern {vii} (spread eagle)?"