"We are in some danger, father. Hors.e.m.e.n, twelve of them, are galloping along the Foss Way in spite of the storm."

Dunstan left the shelter, which was no longer needed, the rain having ceased, and followed the guide to the summit of the huge mound which marked the fall of some giant bastion of early days. From that position they could see the Foss Way, now about half-a-mile distant in the bright moonlight, and Dunstan's eye at once caught twelve figures--hors.e.m.e.n --sweeping down it like the wind, which brought the sound of their pa.s.sage faintly to the ear.

"Wait," he said, "and see whether they pa.s.s the bypath; in that case we are safe."

The whole party was now on the mound, their persons carefully concealed from the view of the hors.e.m.e.n, while they watched their pa.s.sage with intense anxiety. The enemy reached the bypath; eleven of them pa.s.sed over it, but the twelfth reined his horse suddenly, almost upon its haunches, and pointed to the ground. He had evidently seen the tracks of the fugitives upon the soft turf.

The next moment they all turned their horses into the bypath.

"Follow," said the guide; and they all rushed eagerly down the mound and mounted at once.

"Follow me closely; I think I can save you from them; only lose not a moment."

The guide led them by a wandering path amongst the ruins, where their tracks would leave the least trace, until he pa.s.sed through a gap in the external fortifications on the opposite side. Then he rode rapidly along a descending path in the woods, until the sound of rushing water greeted their ears, and they arrived on the brink of a small river which was swollen by the violent rain, and which dashed along an irregular and stony bed with fearful impetuosity.

There was but one mode of crossing it: a bridge constructed of planks was thrown over, which one horseman might pa.s.s at a time. The whole party rode over in safety, although the crazy old bridge bent terribly beneath the weight of each rider.

But when all were over, the guide motioned to Alfred and Oswy to remain behind for one moment, while the monks proceeded. He threw himself from his horse, and taking the axe which he had slung behind him, commenced hacking away at the bridge. But although the bridge was old, yet it was tough; and although Alfred, and Oswy who was armed with a small battle-axe, a.s.sisted with all their might, the work seemed long.

Before it was completed, they heard the voices of their pursuers calling to each other amongst the ruins. They had evidently lost the track, and were separating to find it.

Crash went one huge plank into the raging torrent, then a second, and but one beam remained, when a horseman emerged from the trees opposite, and by the light of the moon Alfred recognised his brother.

Desperate in the excitement of the chase, Elfric leapt from his horse, and drawing his sword rushed upon the bridge.

Alfred, who felt it tremble, cried:

"Back, Elfric! Back if you value your life!" while at the same moment, true to his duty, without raising his axe or any other attempt at offence, he opposed his own body in pa.s.sive resistance to Elfric's pa.s.sage over the beam.

Elfric knew the voice, and drew back in utter amazement. He had already stepped from the half-severed beam, when he saw it bend, break, and roll, with Alfred, who had advanced to the middle of the bridge, into the torrent beneath, which swept both beam and man away with resistless force.

CHAPTER XIII. THE RETURN OF ALFRED.

The reader is, we trust, somewhat impatient to learn the fate of Alfred of Aescendune, whom we left in so critical a position.

The fall of the bridge was so sudden and unexpected, that he scarcely knew where he was, till he found himself sucked rapidly down stream by the raging waters, when he struck out like a man, and battled for dear life. But the only result seemed to be that he was bruised and battered against the rocks and stones, until, exhausted, he was on the point of succ.u.mbing to his fate, as the current bore him into a calm deep pool, where he sank helplessly, his strength gone. But the guide and his companion Oswy had succeeded in reaching the spot, which was inaccessible from the other side, and plunging at once into the waters, the latter succeeded in bringing the dying youth to land. Dunstan and the other members of the party were soon on the spot; the lay brother was skilled in the art of restoring suspended animation, and they soon had the happiness of beholding Alfred return to consciousness; he raised his head, and gazed about him like one in a dream, not able to realise his position.

"Where am I? What have I been doing?" he exclaimed.

"You are safe, my dear son, and in the hands of friends," replied Dunstan, "although you have had a narrow, narrow escape; we are secure for the present from our foes."

They consulted together in low tones as to their future movements, and the abbot inquired particularly of the guide concerning the fords and bridges.

"There is a ford only a mile or two away, but I expect they will find they cannot cross it."

"Is there no place of refuge near? He is unable to sit his horse."

"There is a cottage close by, kept by a cowherd, who is a good and true man."

"Then lead us to it at once," replied Dunstan.

Alfred had by this time recognised his position, and he implored Dunstan not to endanger his own safety for his sake; but the abbot paid no attention. They reached the cottage just as the day was dawning, and the east was bright with rosy light. It was such a place as the great king, after whom Alfred was named, had found refuge in when pressed by the Danes. It was poor, but neat and clean beyond the usual degree; and when the wants of their early visitors were known, and Dunstan was recognised, the utmost zeal was displayed in his cause.

All that could be done for Alfred was done at once, but he was manifestly too shaken and bruised to be able to travel; and, giving him his fatherly blessing, Dunstan was compelled by the guide to hurry on, leaving him in the care of Oswy.

They had not, however, great fear of their pursuers, for their own horses were comparatively fresh after the rest in the ruined city, and those of their foes would be necessarily fatigued, after the rapid ride along the Foss Way, and their exertions to pa.s.s the stream.

So it was not with great uneasiness, well mounted as they were, that, gaining the road, they beheld their pursuers in the distance, who, on their part, beholding their intended victims afar off, hastened to spur their horses on.

It was useless: the pursued had the advantage, and after the gallop of a mile or two, it became evident they were in no especial danger, although it must be remembered that a false step or slip, or any accident, would have been fatal.

"I should not mind racing them down the Foss to the Sea Town," [xxv]

said the guide; "but if the abbot has no objection, I should prefer leaving them to pursue the road, while we take a cross-country route, which I have often travelled; it is a very good one."

"By all means," said Dunstan, "and then we may slacken this furious pace."

They were quite out of sight of their pursuers when, coming upon a track of dry stony ground, they suddenly left the road, and crossing a wild heath, put a copse between them and the enemy, who did not this time discover for miles the absence of the footprints, for the soil was very dry and hard, the storm not having pa.s.sed that way, and the foe were intent upon hard riding.

So they gained a long start, and eventually reached a hill, from which they obtained their first view of the sea. It was eventide, and the western sun, sinking towards the promontories beyond the distant Exe, reddened the waters with his glowing light. Dunstan and his brethren thanked G.o.d.

"We have come to the setting sun," said they, "and at eventide have seen light; let us thank Him Who hath preserved us."

But the guide, who knew what relentless pursuers were yet behind, would allow them no rest. In another hour they reached a small fishing village on the coast, where a solitary bark was kept. The owner was just about to put out for an evening's fishing, but at the earnest request of his visitors, backed by much gold, he consented to take them over to the opposite coast.

"The weather promises to be very clear and fine," he said; "and we may sail across without any danger."

It was indeed a lovely night; they stepped on board, the anchor was loosed, the sail set, and with the wind behind, they stood rapidly out to sea. They were quite silent, each immersed in his own thoughts. At last they heard the sound of hors.e.m.e.n galloping on the fast-receding sh.o.r.e, and looking back, they saw twelve riders reach the beach, and pause, looking wistfully out to sea.

"Our soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is broken, and we are delivered," said Dunstan.

"Our help standeth in the name of the Lord, Who hath made heaven and earth," replied Father Guthlac.

Meanwhile, Alfred rapidly gained strength. Happily no bones were broken, he was only sadly bruised. The next day he expressed his earnest wish to return home, but his host would not permit him, saying he should have to answer to Dunstan some day for his guest.

The time pa.s.sed monotonously enough that second day, yet not unpleasantly: there were a thousand things to observe in the woods and marshes around, full of animal life.

Early in the morning, a sweet fresh morning, the cowherd drove his cattle forth to graze, where he knew the pastures were sweetest, and Alfred would willingly have gone, too, but they told him he must rest.

So he took his breakfast of hot milk and bread, with oat cakes baked on the hearth, and waited patiently till the warmth of the day tempted him out, under the care of Oswy, to watch the distant herd, to drink of the clear spring or recline under some huge spreading beech, while the breeze made sweet melodies in his ears, and lulled him pleasantly to sleep.

At midday they returned to the customary dinner, which was not of such inferior quality as one would now expect to find in such a place, contrasting strongly with the fare on the tables of the rich: then there was far more equality in the food of rich and poor, and Alfred had no cause to complain of the cowherd's table.

Then he sauntered forth again with Oswy, and strove to amuse himself with the book of nature; till just at eventide, as he was longing earnestly that he could know the fate of his fugitive friends, they heard the sound of a horse at full trot, and soon the guide appeared in sight.

Alfred rose up eagerly.

"Are they safe?" he cried.

"Yes, quite safe; they had got a mile out to sea when their pursuers got to the beach; I saw it all, hidden in a woody hill above."