CHAPTER XXV--HILDA AGAIN

The brother of Gunnehilde, Anlaf the black, had been one of the servitors of Guthrum. The king had parceled out among those of his retainers who had chosen to remain with him the lands and manors of East Anglia. Many of the wild and courageous spirits, rebelling at the restraints of a peaceful life, had retired from the coasts of Britain, seeking other fields of adventure and prowess. To these also the fact that Guthrum and many of his jarls had embraced Christianity proved galling, and so many were the manors and broad the fields assigned to those who remained. The Saxon inhabitants either submitted to their rule, and became subjects of the Danish king, or else retired into Wessex or southern Mercia.

To Thetford, the capital and largest city of East Anglia, was Egwina taken. Large and extensive forests surrounded the town. Just in the edge of the woods was an open glade in which was the house where dwelt Anlaf the black. In the near distance could be seen the royal vill of Guthrum or Athelstan.

The family consisted of but two members. Anlaf himself and his wife. They received the maiden with hospitality and reverence, for Egwina found that even here the greatness predicted for her by Gunnehilde had its effect. The wife of Anlaf would not permit her to assist her in her household duties, and the maiden soon found that, deprived of all employment, time began to hang heavily upon her hands.

Chafing at her idleness, she began to wander in the woodland near the house, observing the caution that had been given her of not straying too far away for fear of the wolves or bears with which the forest was filled. One afternoon, she had walked somewhat farther than usual, and, feeling the need of rest, flung herself down upon the sward under the spreading branches of an oak tree. She had lain so but a short while when she heard voices.

Out from among the trees there came the figures of two persons: a young man, very fair, and to all appearances a Saxon, and a girl, a Dane. Egwina sat up and surveyed the two with some curiosity which was reciprocated by the man and the girl, for they stopped and looked at her with surprise.

"Come, Siegbert," said the Danish girl, "let us advance and see who the maiden is." She started forward as she spoke, and the young man, called Siegbert, supported her form carefully.

Egwina rose, and awaited their coming, rejoicing in the fact that she was at last going to meet with some young folk near her own age.

"Why, it is the skald maiden!" exclaimed the Danish girl, as she drew near to the Saxon maiden.

"Hilda, daughter of Guthrum!" exclaimed Egwina in turn.

"Yes; it is Hilda. What dost thou here?" cried the king's daughter. "I thought that thou wert skald maiden to King Alfred? Thou wert with him when he entered the camp at Westbury."

"True," answered Egwina, briefly. "Gleemaidens as well as gleemen are in many places. To-day they serve one lord; to-morrow they chant the praises of another."

"Sit we down," commanded the Danish girl imperiously. "Much doth it tire me to stand, and I would talk with thee."

The young man spread a mantle upon the sward, and Hilda sank down upon it. Egwina resumed her seat, looking at the Saxon attendant as she did so. Well worthy of attention was he.

He carried himself nobly; his form was strong, muscular, and symmetrically developed. His face was marvelously beautiful, but the eyes caught and held the gaze. Deep blue were they, and full of unfathomable sorrow, yet full also of that strength which is self-conscious of power. His bearing toward the Danish maiden was tender in the extreme.

He bore her pettishness and imperiousness not as a slave, but indulgently as one bears the caprices of a loved child. Again and again Egwina found her glance wandering to his face, and she caught herself listening to his voice as he spoke to Hilda, with a strange throb of the heart.

"Lean against me, Hilda," he was saying. "Then thou wilt not be so tired."

"It is better," admitted Hilda, leaning contentedly against his broad chest. "Now tell me, maiden. Art thou wandering through Danelagh, or what dost thou here?"

"Nay; I wander no more," answered Egwina. "Here in East Anglia do I abide for a time only. I wot not when I shall go hence, but methinks it will not be long. Hast thou trouble again with thy knee?"

"No; didst thou not know that thy King Alfred did cure me? No longer do I suffer from my knee, but hot and sharp is the pain here," and she laid her hand on her breast. "I would that I knew more of that Cuthbert of whom the king told me. And he was afflicted even as I with the lameness of the knee. Prithee, maiden, dost thou know aught of him?"

"Only that he was an holy and an austere man; the bishop of Lindisfarne," replied Egwina. "Many miracles have been wrought by his tomb, and many did he perform himself."

"Oh, that I might visit his tomb!" exclaimed the Danish girl, fervently. "I wish not to die yet. I am so young, so young!" She burst into a passion of weeping.

Siegbert drew her to him, and gently stroked her hair.

"But are there no leeches, no remedies?" cried Egwina, her heart full of sympathy for the girl.

"Everything hath been tried," said Siegbert, and again Egwina felt that strange throbbing of the heart as he spake. "Everything; but Hilda thinketh that nothing will cure her save a visit to the tomb of Cuthbert."

"Then why doth she not go?" asked Egwina. "Could she not be taken there?"

"No, maiden." The Saxon's voice was grave. "When the Danes spread over the country, destroying the monasteries, Cuthbert's remains were taken up and carried away by the monks when they fled. Now, none know where they be."

"I feel sure that King Alfred will know," cried Egwina. "He hath rebuilt the monasteries, and oh! I know that he will know."

"Thinkest thou so?" cried Hilda with eagerness. "I will tell my father and he will send to the king."

She sat up, and seemed much better and stronger for the hope that was infused into her.

"Hadst thou not better return now, Hilda?" asked Siegbert. "Thou hast stayed out long enow for one day."

"Nay, I would talk more with the maiden," returned Hilda. "So soon as I return will I get my father to send bode to King Alfred to ask of him where lie the bones of Cuthbert. Maiden, believest thou in runes of the volva?"

Egwina shook her head.

"The runes tell me of speedy death," said Hilda.

"But, Hilda, thou wert baptized with thy father," chid Egwina. "Thou canst not now believe in runes, or any of the seid of the volva."

"Do not the Saxons?" inquired Hilda. "I have heard that even they who hold belief in Christianity consult the Morthwyrtha by fount and elm and scin-laeca."

Egwina winced, but answered bravely: "Too true, Hilda. Many of our people do so deal with such pagan ideas, but it is forbidden by priest and our most holy religion. I have heard it said that some worship still the old gods, despite word of king or monk."

"But why forsook they the olden gods?" cried the Danish girl. "I like not the Saxon God. In what is He better than Odin? Whom can ye give us in place of our beautiful Baldur the glorious? 'Worship the Saxon God,' is the command that hath gone forth from my father, and the people obey because he hath said; but still do they cling to Odin, and Thor, and Baldur. Once as we worship, so did ye. Why did ye change?"

"Hast thou not heard how the good Pope Gregory sent the priests to Britain?" asked Egwina.

"No; tell me," and Hilda, leaned back comfortably against Siegbert. "If I am to worship in this new religion I wish to know of it; but little do I care for aught of it save Cuthbert."

"Wottest thou not that often men of our island have been sold as serfs into other countries?" asked Egwina.

"Yes; as it hath been with ye in that respect, so hath it been with us."

"Well, at one time in the city of Rome there were some men from our island to be sold as serfs. While they stood in the market place, Pope Gregory of blessed memory was passing by. He was a simple priest then, but afterward became pope. Being attracted by the exceeding fairness of the men, he stopped.

"'From what country come ye?' he asked. They replied that they were 'Angles.' 'Angles! Ye should be angels! Are ye Christians,' said the holy man, 'or heathens?' 'Certainly not Christians,' said they, 'for no one hath opened our ears.' Then the holy man, lifting up his eyes, replied, 'What man, when there are stones at hand, layeth a foundation with reeds?' They answered, 'No man of prudence.' 'Ye have well said,' said he, and straightway did he take them to his own house and instruct them in the divine oracles, and arrange with them that he should go into their country to carry the holy religion.

"When the people heard of it they made a great outcry, for he was a holy man, much noted for good works and well-beloved. So the pope would not let him go, and it became his hope that some day the gospel should be taken into our land. When he became pope, he at once sent St. Augustine, a holy man, with a multitude of priests, and thus did they change our forefathers into Christians."

"What said they?" inquired the Danish girl. "How could they turn them from the old gods? Methinks that I should like to know what was said."

"Dear Hilda," and Egwina looked distressed, "I would that there was some one that thou couldst question aside from me. I know so little; I only know that I believe. I would that King Alfred were here! He could tell thee all that thou askest."

"But dost thou not know somewhat of what passed between them?" asked the girl impatiently. "Methinks that were my people to change so, I would know wherefore it was done. Bethink thee! Dost thou not remember something of it?"

"Methinks," said the Saxon maid, musingly, "that I have heard that which passed between them, but, Hilda, I cannot tell thee what it was. It hath been custom so long for our people to be Christian that they no longer question the whyfore."

"I can tell thee, Hilda," spake Siegbert, in his deep musical voice. "The king and his thegns were debating the old and the new religions in the witan, when a thegn arose and said: 'Thou dost remember, it may be, O king, that which sometimes happens in winter, when thou art seated at table with gesiths and thegns. Thy fire is lighted and thy hall warmed, and without is rain and snow and storm. Then comes a swallow flying across the hall. He enters by one door and leaves by another. The brief moment while he is within is pleasant to him; he feels not rain nor cheerless winter weather; but the moment is brief--the bird flies away in the twinkling of an eye, and he passes from winter to winter. Such, methinks, is the life of man on earth, compared with the uncertain time beyond. It appears for a while, but what is the time which comes after--the time which was before? We know not. If, then, this new doctrine may teach us somewhat of greater certainty, it were well that we should regard it.'"

"Why, Siegbert," exclaimed Hilda, "I knew not that thou didst know aught of it."

"Dost thou forget that once I was in a monastery?" asked Siegbert.

"True, I did forget. How comes it that thou hast not told me before?" questioned Hilda.

"Never have I heard thee speak as thou hast spoken to-day," answered the young man. "Willingly would I have told thee of it."

"'Tis true," declared the Danish girl, after a short interval of silence, during which time she seemed to be thinking. "We are like the swallow. Here for such a brief time and then out into the shadow of death. Whither? We know not; unless, indeed, it be true that Hela, the death goddess, awaits us in Niflheim. Oh, would that I were not woman! Would that I were warrior; that Odin, Alfadur, might send the Valkyrie to wing me to Valhalla, where all is bright and beautiful. I wish not to go to Hela!"

"Thou shalt not." Siegbert spoke soothingly and with so much of positiveness that Hilda forgot her tears and raised her head inquiringly.

"What meanest thou, Siegbert?"

"Thou shalt not go to that dread abode, for none such exists," said the young man. "Let me tell thee, Hilda, of the beautiful heaven of the Christian faith."

With solemn sweetness he told of the heavenly city, where there is no night, where pain nor death enters not, and of the gentle Christ so pitiful of weakness and suffering. Egwina listened entranced. The young man's earnestness impressed her, and she felt her own imperfections as she had never done before.

"I am tired," said Hilda, at length. "Take me home, Siegbert, and there thou shalt tell me more of this Christ of thine. He is like Baldur in his beauty and goodness. If thy heaven is as thou sayest, then methinks I wish it, for one need not be warrior to enter it."

Lifting her up carefully in his arms, Siegbert turned to go, but Hilda stopped him.

"Come to me to-morrow, maiden," said she to Egwina. "Wilt thou not? Siegbert shall come to fetch thee if thou wilt. I would hear thee sing again. Wondrous skill hadst thou with the harp."

"I have none now," responded Egwina, slowly, "but I will come an' thou wishest it."

"I do wish it. I have harp of mine own which thou canst use. Then I will send Siegbert for thee."

She sank back in the strong arms of the Saxon, who strode off as if the burden he bore were naught for his strength. Egwina stood for a long time on the knoll where they had left her.

"Why doth my heart beat at sound of his voice or look of his eye?" she mused. "Something doth draw me to him. I would, oh, I would that he were sibbe to me. Never before have I so longed for one to be near to me as I do him. Oh, would that he were of my kith! But God doeth all things well, and it may be that I am bereft of kin that I may the more readily give myself to the service of Heaven."

With an involuntary sigh, she turned her steps in the direction of the abode of Anlaf.