However the period of anarchy had introduced evils which required a stern reformer, and one was found in the person of the abbot Ethelwold, the friend of St. Dunstan, who, in conjunction with him and Oswald, introduced the rule of St. Benedict into Abingdon, Glas...o...b..ry, Ely, and other great houses, which, by its absolute prohibition of monastic idleness, and its wise regulations, caused the religious houses of that period to become the central points of civilisation and learning in the land.

Here, at this famous monastery, we resume Father Cuthbert's Diary.

In festo St. Edmundi.

Again I resume my diary, at the great monastic house of Abingdon, where I have rejoined my brethren. I have already told how, in company with Elfwyn, Father Adhelm and I sought the forest farm where our beloved ones had found refuge from the cruel oppressor. The joy of the women and children to whom their husbands and fathers were thus restored was very touching; all seemed willing to forget the destruction of their homes, since they had been spared to each other, and I, to whom, by my vows, such love is unknown, yet could but feel how holy a thing is family affection.

Alas, there was one family where the bitterness of death had found its way. I cannot describe the touching scene when Elfwyn told the fate of dear Bertric. Well, they will learn by and by to thank G.o.d for him and his example, for we doubt not he died a martyr, although we know not the details, and, unless Alfgar yet lives, shall perhaps never know them.

We held a long consultation upon our future movements. It was wisely decided not to rebuild Aescendune at present, for the place where they now are can be rendered very commodious, and is far more secure against a foe. We do not dare to hope that we have seen the last of our troubles; the Danes are wintering in the Wight, ready for fresh mischief next spring and summer.

We have been able to learn nothing of Alfgar; but we think that Anlaf probably yet lives, and that he has recovered his son; yet we cannot imagine how he escaped on St. Brice's night.

Well, to return. We at once set to work, and erected a church of timber, for the service of G.o.d; and I said ma.s.s in it the first Sunday after our arrival there. It may be supposed it is not a very grand church; but G.o.d looks at the living stones, and reads the heart.

We all had enough to do for the first few days; but within a week one might suppose we had been living there an age. Log huts were erected for the whole population; the old farm house, which is large and strongly built, taking the place of the hall. One must dispense with some comfort now.

My brother sent a portion of his men to rejoin the army, but feels himself justified in entering at once on his winter quarters with the remainder; in fact, since my arrival at Abingdon, the troops have all been dismissed for the winter, and the Danes have, as I said, retired to the Wight.

Then, leaving Father Adhelm in charge of the woodland settlement, I determined to visit my brethren here, where I have been received with all Christian love and hospitality by the abbot and his brethren. Three days my journey lasted. I travelled with only two attendants, serfs of our house; a poor prior burnt out from house and home.

Nov. 21st, 1006.--

This evening I heard heavy steps on the stairs, and methought their tread seemed familiar, as well it might, for no sooner had the door opened than my son Alfgar, for whom we had mourned as dead, or at least dead to us, fell upon my neck and wept.

It was a long time before either of us was composed enough to say much, but when we had a little recovered, the abbot who had brought them to my rooms introduced a tall young man in gleeman's garb, as Edmund the Etheling.

At length we all sat down to supper, but talked so much we could eat little, and I soon learned all the news Alfgar had to tell. His tale is wonderful; he has been indeed delivered from the mouth of the lion, nay, from the jaws of the fierce lion; but I must set down all things in order.

The one thing which delights me most is the way in which his faith has stood the hard hard test to which it has been put.

But my dear nephew Bertric, Saint Bertric we must a.s.suredly call him, oh how it will lighten the grief of his parents and sister to know how gloriously he died for Christ! One could envy him his crown.

And then how delighted Ethelgiva will be to learn not only that Alfgar is alive, but to hear how true and brave he has been.

But when all these congratulations were over, and we had learned all that Alfgar had to tell, there was evidently something on the mind of the prince.

"Alfgar and I have a very important duty to perform," he said.

I waited, and he proceeded.

"There has been grievous treachery in our ranks. Edric Streorn has sold us to the Danes."

"I feared as much," said I, sadly.

"I learned it at Carisbrooke, and am now on my way to Dorchester, where my royal father has arrived, or will arrive tomorrow. I should have gone there at once, but Alfgar learned you were here, and would come. Besides, we need your help to fit us for appearing at court."

And, in truth, their habiliments were not very royal.

Well, Abingdon is a town of great resources, wherein all things meet may be found.

"We will to the tradesmen tomorrow," I said, "and fit you for the presence."

"I have yet heavier news to unfold," Edmund added, very seriously. "The Danes purpose a winter campaign in the heart of the land, hoping to take us unawares."

"Now the saints forbid!" said I.

"Even so; but they are not all with us. St. Brice is against us."

I sighed, and so did they. The very remembrance of that day is sickening.

"We have heard," said the abbot, "that the king will arrive tomorrow at Dorchester; we will send you thither in the morning. Meanwhile, my sons, you do not eat and drink as I would have you. Remember you need to sustain exhausted nature."

That was indeed true. They had travelled fast, and had fasted by the way, of necessity.

"Well, Alfgar, we will tomorrow to the king," said Edmund, after they had eaten and drunken; "he must surely listen to us now."

"He appears to love this wicked Edric," said the abbot sorrowfully.

"Far better than his own flesh and blood," replied Edmund.

"My son," said the abbot, "rest here this night in our poor house; tomorrow we will find you both horses and fitting apparel, and ye shall go meetly to the king, who is the guest of the bishop."

"I shall not be sorry, father, to see the inside of my chamber," said the young prince; for he is yet young, although so wise and valiant--not more than a year or two older than Alfgar.

The compline bell rang.

"I will go with you to thank G.o.d first for our deliverance, and to pay my vows to Him," said Edmund; "then to bed."

After compline, Edmund went from the chapel to bed. Alfgar would not retire. He came to my cell; there he talked with me for a full hour. His affection moves me greatly. He has evidently found a real friend in Prince Edmund, who has delivered him from a cruel death, and who wants to attach him permanently to his service. Meanwhile Alfgar is all haste to return to Aescendune and Ethelgiva, before any further steps are taken.

Sat.u.r.day, Nov. 22d, 1006.--

After we had arrayed the Etheling and Alfgar this morning, I decided to accompany them on their road to Dorchester, for it happened that I had arranged to say ma.s.s and preach tomorrow at the little church of St. Michael at Clifton, the residence of my sister Bertha and her husband Herstan. It lies on a cliff over the Thames, on the way to the cathedral city, whence its name, "the town on the cliff."

So we started, the Etheling, Alfgar, and I, after the chapter ma.s.s at nine. We crossed the fine timber bridge over the Isis, then kept the causeway over the marshes, till, crossing an arm of the main stream, we ascended a hill and pa.s.sed through the open country.

On the north the country is richly wooded. There lies the chase of Neweham, abounding in deer, with a few wolves yet lingering in its recesses, and forming sport for the ceorls.

In the neighbourhood of a great monastery the roads are always good, and waggons can travel easily and smoothly from Abingdon to Dorchester. So, being well mounted, we were only the best part of an hour in reaching Clifton.

The river here makes a sudden bend to the east, after running for some time almost due north, and at the bend the steep cliff rises whereon the little church and my brother Herstan's hall is built, with a few cottages below and around occupied by his theows.

We went first to the church and offered our devotions. From the elevated ground whereon it stands, the cathedral of Dorchester and the Synodune hills formed conspicuous objects.

Then we turned to the hall, and met a reception such as warmed the heart. When we had refreshed ourselves, I had to tell Bertha all the strange events which have recently happened at Aescendune; of the destruction of her old home, but of the well being of all her friends; yes, of all, for we know that he has won the martyr's crown.

Some natural tears she dropped; but I think she soon came to see all things in their right light, as we try to do.