"What did they say, Hinguar?--not any blood?"

"No, but plenty of plunder."

"That is not enough, we want revenge. Odin and Thor will not know their children; our spears should not be bright."

"They must have been forewarned; Eric said that they had taken away a great many things."

"Why could we not trace them?"

"Because there is no time; we are too far from the army and fleet; we must return immediately, before the country takes the alarm; remember we are only fifty."

"Yes, but mounted upon the best horses, and the first warriors of our family; we may take some plunder, and send a few Englishmen to Niffelheim, before we get back; Anlaf would not let us stay to touch anything as we came."

"No; all his desire was to get to this Aescendune."

"Then the lad whom we made into a target is the only victim, while our kinsfolk's blood, shed near here, cries for vengeance."

"He died bravely."

"Yes, that is a Christian's kind of courage."

"Well, perhaps some day they will learn to fight, and then --"

"Their songs tell them of an Alfred who defeated our best warriors."

"That was long ago; if you go back far enough these English were sea kings before they were spoiled by becoming Christians."

"Hush; I think I hear steps."

"Who comes?" cried one of the guards, challenging a newcomer.

"I, Anlaf, your chief."

And the father of Alfgar appeared on the scene.

Of average height, Anlaf possessed vast muscular powers; his sinews stood out like tight cords, and his frame, although robust, was yet such that there seemed no useless flesh about him. His hair was a deep grizzled red, as also his beard, and his eyes were of the same tinge, his nose somewhat aquiline, and his whole features, weatherworn as they were, were those of one born to command, while they lacked the sheer brutality of expression so conspicuous in some of his subordinates.

Ho addressed a few words to the guards, and they led him to Alfgar.

"Cut him loose," he said.

They did so.

He looked mournfully yet sternly on the youth, who himself trembled all over with emotion.

"Alfgar," he said, "do I indeed see my son?"

"You do, my father."

"Follow me; nay, you are wounded--lean on my arm."

Alfgar's thigh had, it will be remembered, been pierced by an arrow, but the wound was not deep, and with his father's a.s.sistance he could proceed. He knew where Anlaf led. At length they came upon a deserted clearing, and there he paused until Alfgar, who could scarcely keep up, stood by his side.

Before them the moonbeams fell upon a dark charred ma.s.s of ruins in the centre of the s.p.a.ce.

"This is the spot where father and son should meet again," said Anlaf and he embraced his son.

CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND SON.

"Here, my son," said the old warrior, as he pointed out the blackened ruins, "here stood our home, where now the screech owl haunts, and the wolf has its den. There, where the broken shaft yet remains, was the chamber in which thou first sawest the light, and wherein thy mother died there, where snake and toad have their home, was the great hall. Surely the moonbeams fall more peacefully on the spot now all has been avenged, and the halls of the murderers have fallen in their turn. But how didst thou escape?"

"The folk of Aescendune saved me, father."

"But how; from the burning pile?"

"Nay. I had spent the previous day with them, and returned home only in time to find the place in flames. The enemy seized me, and would have slain me, but Elfwyn and his brother, Father Cuthbert, delivered me; and now thou hast slain their Bertric, and burnt both hall and priory."

"Think not that I owe them grat.i.tude for aught they have done. They tampered with thy faith, I now apprehend, even before the night of St. Brice, and perhaps drew from thee the knowledge which enabled them to surprise so large a party in my house. But all this was to make thee abandon the G.o.ds of thy fathers, and to inflict the worst injury they could upon a warrior. I trust they have failed!"

"Father, I am a Christian!"

"Say not that again, boy, if thou would not have me kill thee."

"I can but say it, father. In all that touches not my faith and duty as a Christian, I am bound to love, honour, and obey you. But our religion forbids me to nourish revenge."

"Of what religion, pray, were they who would have slain thy father on St. Brice's night?"

Alfgar hung his head.

"When Christians practise themselves what they teach, then we will heed their pretensions, but not till then. Their religion is but a cloak for their cowardice, and they put it aside as a man throws away a useless garment when they have the chance of slaying their foes without danger."

"There are good and bad Christians, father."

"Commend me to the bad ones then. Do not speak to me of a religion which makes men cowards and slaves. These English were warriors once, till the Pope and his bishops converted them, and now what are they? cruel and treacherous as ever, only without the courage of men."

Alfgar felt the injustice of all this, and with the example of Bertric in his mind, he cared nor for the accusation of cowardice.

"Here, then, my boy, on this spot where thou wert once cradled, renounce all these Christian follies and superst.i.tions, and thou shalt go back with me to the camp of King Sweyn, where thou shalt be received as the descendant of warrior kings, and shalt forget that thou, the falcon, wert ever the inmate of the dovecote."

There was a time when this temptation would have been almost irresistible, but that time was over, and after one earnest prayer for strength from above, Alfgar replied.

"My father, if you claim my obedience, I must even go with you to your people, but it will be to my death. I have said I am a Christian."

"And dost thou think I have found thee--thee, my only son-- to part with thee again so easily? nay, thou art and shalt be mine, and, if not mine, then thou shalt be the grave's; for either thou shalt live as thy ancestors have lived, a warrior and a hero, or the earth shall cover thee and my disgrace together."