"I did not refer to later occasions, when we have met on the battlefield, but to a far earlier one. Need I recall it? Surely there are some moments in one's life never to be forgotten."

"There are indeed, my lord. Pardon my confusion. You refer to a scene in Carisbrooke."

"Yes. When I asked you, 'What is this Christianity?' you had not much time given you to answer me then, but your deliberate choice of a bitter death, in preference to abandoning it, showed me there was somewhat deeper in it than I had imagined. Alfgar, there are seeds lightly sown which bear fruit hereafter, and your words were of such a character--so that I, your future monarch, owe you already a debt of grat.i.tude, and I had come hither to fulfil it when you saved me the task by appealing to the ordeal. I for one had full faith in the justice of G.o.d. But had you not so appealed, I should have stepped in between Edric and his victim."

"You did not then, my lord, believe in my guilt?"

"Not for one moment. The lad who defied my unhappy father in the frantic fury of his power--the warrior I had seen fighting by the side of his king--the faithful attendant of many years?--Nay, it was monstrous; who could believe it?"

"Many, alas! found it possible to believe it, my lord. But who has been the murderer? You will not permit your brother's blood to fall on the earth unavenged."

"Wait. Be patient. G.o.d, in whom you trust, will direct the bolt in His own time. Edmund's blood will not be unavenged. And now, farewell! Remember, if you have lost one royal friend, you have found another."

And Alfgar left the presence.

The next day the whole party from Aescendune returned home. Oxenford was too full of bitter memories now. One grief of Alfgar was this--he had not been able to stand by Edmund's grave.

CHAPTER XXV. FATHER CUTHBERT'S DIARY.

CHRISTMASTIDE 1017.

Ten years ago, this very day, G.o.d in His mercy delivered us from the raging Danes at Cliffton, on Tamesis, and now He hath delivered us again out of the hands of the raging lion, even of Edric Streorn, and we are all spared to keep our Christmas in peace in the woods of Aescendune.

It is probably the last I shall keep in this place, for the hall and priory are fast rising from their ruins, and we shall soon return to our old home, from which we have been banished ten years and more. It will be sweet to be there once more, serving the Lord in peace, with none daring to make us afraid.

Here we are, all of us who are near and dear by the ties of blood, in this woodland Zoar, which hath indeed been a Zoar in the late troublous years, utterly untouched, which again we regard as a proof that Anlaf does not live, for he could have found us out had his revenge led him to do so when Sweyn was in Mercia. Neither has he appeared to claim his own estate, which he might easily regain now a Dane is king.

Alfgar and Ethelgiva are now speedily to be united. Theirs is to be the first marriage solemnised in the new minster church by my unworthy hands. To see them now, one would think they had forgotten all the past peril. The old people do not mean to abandon their woodland abode; they love it all too well, and call it the Happy Valley. But they say that a good road, now the times are safer, shall be made to the old site, where we are again rearing hall and priory.

There is now quite a colony here, nearly 300 people. The church is very commodious, and every day, for the whole period of these late dreadful wars, ma.s.s has been said therein for our suffering brethren "contra Paganos." Thank G.o.d that he hath at length heard our prayers; our late foes are no longer Pagans but Christians, and are as eager to build up as they were to cast down; in fact, several of them have offered their zealous aid in the rebuilding of our priory.

We had such a happy Christmas evening. We sat by the fire, and Alfgar was made to relate the whole story again of his escape with Edmund from Carisbrooke, of his imprisonment by Edric in the Synodune woods, of the attack and defence of Clifton. We had all heard it before, but still we wanted to hear it again, just to contrast present peace and joy with the danger and trials of those days, and to make them sweeter by the contrast. Truly our Christmas worship had need to be praise and thanksgiving, not only for the great mystery the church commemorates, but also for present mercies so freely bestowed upon us all.

Second Sunday after Easter, 1017.--

We have just received intelligence that Canute has been solemnly crowned at St. Paul's Church, in London, by Archbishop Lyfing. He called a council of the whole kingdom previously, to which both my brother and I were summoned, but I cared not to attend. Elfwyn, however, went, and wanted Alfgar to go, but he begged hard to be excused, I imagine for two reasons. First of all, he laments Edmund too deeply to welcome his former enemy as his successor; and secondly, he does not care to leave Ethelgiva again.

Well, Elfwyn tells us that when all were present--bishops, ealdormen, thanes, and the n.o.blest of the people--Canute solemnly proposed that they should accept him as their king, giving them to understand that, by a tacit understanding with Edmund, it had been agreed that the kingdom should not be permanently divided, but that the survivor should inherit and govern the whole realm.

The wise men replied that, since Edmund's children were too young to govern, they could not desire a better monarch than Canute; they committed the little ones to his care, and acknowledged him as king of all England.

And on the morrow Archbishop Lyfing, who had so shortly before crowned Edmund, placed the emblem of regal dignity on the head of Canute in St. Paul's Cathedral.

I hear Edric Streorn is confirmed in the earldom of Mercia. I still fear that man.

Sunday after Ascension, 1017.--

On this happy Sunday it has pleased G.o.d to restore us to our home once more. The priory is rebuilt in more than its former beauty, and the hall beside it stands conspicuous in its splendour. They have not changed the appearance much, for it was the especial wish of every one concerned that it should remind one of old a.s.sociations as much as possible.

The good bishop of Dorchester, the abbot of Abingdon, and many others of my friends amongst the brethren there, the neighbouring clergy and thanes, all met together to dedicate the new house to G.o.d. High ma.s.s was solemnly sung in the minster church, and the whole building was hallowed with psalm and prayer to G.o.d; after which followed a temperate banquet.

The bishop was very kind and loving, and spoke most affectionately to our poor people on the subject of their past trials; especially he commended their new lord, Alfgar, to their allegiance, saying that in all his deep trials he had shown himself a most perfect Christian, doing his duty both to G.o.d and man.

Monday.--

The abbot and brethren from Abingdon are gone back, and we poor happy brethren have entered again upon our regular duties. Ah me! what a gap time has made in our ranks. Of the twenty brethren who were driven out by the Danes eleven years ago, only twelve yet live, and eight brethren from Abingdon supply the place of the others. G.o.d be praised that Father Adhelm yet lives! He has been my right hand in so many perils and trials.

It is so delightful to be at home once more. Surely never were monks happier. My heart swells when each morning we sing the three last joyful psalms at lauds.

It is settled that Alfgar and Ethelgiva are to be married on the Monday after the Whitsun octave. O happy pair! O ter felices et nimium beati! I only hope they will not love earth too well.

Octave of the Ascension.--

Today we have had a special messenger from Canute, who is in the neighbourhood, to express his royal intention to grace the approaching marriage with his presence. It will indeed be an honour. Ah! but if Edmund could be there.

Whitsunday.--

I hardly know how to express my intense surprise and joy. Alfgar's father has returned--a Christian.

While all the people were a.s.sembling for ma.s.s this morning, an aged man, clad in palmer's weeds, evidently worn by toil and travel, came from the bridge over the river, which has been rebuilt, towards the minster church, and entering, knelt down wrapt in devotion. Many remarked his quaint attire; his face, once stern, now softened by grace; his hair, once black as the raven's wing, now white as snow; his dark eyes gleaming beneath thick white eyebrows. I fear he caused many wandering thoughts, and he would have caused yet more, could they have known that they beheld the penitent destroyer of the old hall and priory.

Now I preached, not knowing at the time who was amongst my hearers, from the words of Isaiah, "For thy waste and desolate places, and the land of thy destruction, shall even now be too narrow, by reason of the inhabitants, and they that swallowed thee up shall be far away. The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears. The place is too strait for me; give place to me, that I may dwell."

Oh, how touching the words seemed; for our waste and desolate places are indeed peopled with joy and gladness, and many must have thought of dear Bertric, our martyr boy, when they heard those words, "the children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other." They seemed a divine prophecy of joy and gladness unto us.

And so I preached after this manner, and as I did so I saw the stranger was deeply moved, and marvelled who he could be, that he entered so deeply into so personal a sermon, which treated of a peculiar joy which a stranger intermeddleth not with.

Now after the ma.s.s was ended, we came forth from the church, and Alfgar, with Ethelgiva, walked down the path to the Lychgate, when Alfgar's eyes fell upon the stranger, whereupon, to our astonishment, he started, then stepped forward, fell on his knees, and cried, with a choked voice, "Father, your blessing!"

At first we thought it was reverence, somewhat exaggerated, to a pilgrim, but when the aged man cried aloud, "The G.o.d of Abraham bless thee, even thee, O my son!" and the tears streamed down the furrows of his aged cheeks, we knew it must be something more than this, and so it proved.

It was none other than Anlaf--Anlaf who had disappeared from all the knowledge of friend or foe for ten years!

We all received him, especially my brother Elfwyn, with great joy--for we shared Alfgar's happiness--and we led him into the house, where we tendered him all the offices of hospitality.

It was by degrees that we learned his story. He was really converted to Christianity by the example of his son, whose words produced a far deeper effect upon him than either he or Alfgar suspected at the time.

And when he saw that son prefer a cruel death to apostasy, his heart was moved--deeply moved, so that he pondered over all he had heard from him and from a once loved wife, whose words had seemed lost, but whose prayers perhaps watered them into growth after she was dead and gone. So he left the army without telling any one whither he went, and sought instruction from a Christian.

And he found a Christian priest hidden in the woods, where he administered the word and sacraments to a starving few, but secretly, for fear of the Danes; and from him he learned the truth and was baptized.

Then, feeling himself unhappy in this distracted land-- separated from the English by blood, from the Danes by religion-- he determined to go on pilgrimage.

Once in the Holy Land, he had to undergo much contumely from the pagan Saracens, who, to the disgrace of Christendom, defile the Holy City by their presence, and maltreat the blessed pilgrims; but he had learned to glory in humiliation. At last he retired to the woods on the sources of the Jordan, weary of earth, and there he joined an aged hermit, with whom he lived for two years, and when the hermit died he took his place, and dwelt as an ascetic, ministering, however, to the necessities of pilgrims who journeyed that way to the Holy Land.

From some of these pilgrims he learned, at length, that English and Danes were united in peace, and a great desire of revisiting England and searching out his son seized upon him. On the road he heard that Edmund was dead and Canute reigned alone, and so he came hither at once, and has arrived, G.o.d so willing it, in time to see his son married to the heiress of Aescendune.