CHAPTER VII--THE COMING OF A STRANGER

The party of Saxons who had so opportunely come to the rescue of Egwina proved to be swineherds, returning from their day's work in the forest. Deep into the woodland did they go. At last a light shone through the darkness, and towards it the ceorl who bore Egwina walked rapidly.

With hearty farewells the others left him, and each wended his way to his own home, promising to meet betimes on the morrow. The light came from a rude cottage, and soon the swineherd reached it. He knocked loudly on the door. It was opened quickly, and the shrill voice of a woman exclaimed:

"'Tis time thou wert coming, Denewulf! For a long while hath thy supper been waiting. Cold is it as the home of the Northman. Complain not if it be not to thy taste."

"Nay, Adiva; I will not grumble," returned the Saxon as he entered. "Full well do I know that the hour is later than its wont; but much hath happened to hinder me."

"Holy Cuthbert of blessed memory!" ejaculated the woman. "What have we here?"

Denewulf unfolded the mantle from the girl as he answered:

"I have brought thee a daughter for thy loneliness, Adiva."

"But where gottest thou her?" demanded the dame in astonishment. "I wot that I have not seen so fair a maiden in many a day."

The Saxon laughed.

"Serve us the meat, good mother, and while we sup, I will tell thee all. Sit, maiden."

Egwina sat down upon one of the rude benches, and looked about her. The good woman still muttering in her surprise, bestirred herself about the supper.

The cottage was low and mean. It was made of turf and sticks, and thatched with rushes. The furniture was of the simplest. A broad, low bench back in one corner was covered by a tick or sack filled with straw. A goat's skin was thrown over it. This served for a bed. A loom and distaff were on one side, with great bunches of yarn beside them. The seats were but crude settles of wood. A square table was drawn up near the fire which blazed genially in the centre of the room. The dog immediately stretched himself before it. From the roof were suspended the sides and hams of meat--the bucon or bacon of the Anglo-Saxon--and numerous bunches of herbs. The walls and rafters were blackened by the smoke which escaped through a cover in the roof.

Through the doorway the maiden caught a glimpse of another room. These two were all that the cottage contained. The one they were in served as a bed-room, sitting-room, kitchen, and dining-room, all in one. Simple and homely as it was, there was an air of warmth and comfort in it that stole over her senses gratefully.

Soon the supper smoked on the table, and Adiva pressed her hospitably to sit up, and to partake of it. Broiled eels, swine meat, honey and barley cakes, and the inevitable mead, constituted the repast. Adiva served the meat on spits, and each cut for himself slices with his own knife into trenchers of wood. The mead was drunk from horns which were filled from a tankard.

The color came to the girl's face as she ate and drank, and was warmed by the fire. There were no vessels filled with water for the fingers, nor napkins to dry them on, nor table-cloth on the table, such as were used in the halls of the nobles; but there was kindness and good-will, and a homely hospitality that made amends for what was lacking in accessories. Not a word would the dame allow them to say until hunger was appeased. Then she looked up and said:

"Now, Denewulf, be thou the first to speak and tell how and where thou didst find the maiden. Then shall she tell what happened before."

"Well," said Denewulf quaffing a huge draught of mead, "as I and the others were coming through the wold with our hounds, what should we hear but the sound of music. Wondering much, we wound not our horns but stopped to listen. It ceased, and the howling of wolves smote our ears. Beshrew me, if I thought not that the wiccas were holding a conclave in the forest. Again the music started, and the howls ceased. We wound our horns again for our own comfort, for we wotted not but that the Norns were weaving our fates--"

"Out upon thee, Denewulf," interrupted the dame. "Have done with thy heathenish talk, and tell thy tale more simply."

The Saxon laughed, drank again from his horn, and resumed:

"Then heard we a cry for help. We ran forward with our hounds. May I be bewrayed, but there in a tree was this maiden, who was performing to a whole pack of wolves below. Scold an' thou wilt, Adiva, but methought at first that it was Jamvid and her sons."

Again the wife interrupted him, crossing herself devoutly as she spake.

"Wilt never forget thy foster mother's superstitions, man? Marry, thou art more Dane than Saxon now! What would the priest say to thy heathenism?"

"Be not wroth, Adiva," laughed Denewulf. "Thou wottest that at heart I am as good a Christian as thyself. I trow the Dane would think so."

"Well-a-day, have done with thy witless talk and go on with thy tale," cried the wife impatiently.

"Whether she were Jamvid or no," went on the swineherd, "we set upon the brutes with our clubs, and such as did not take to their heels are left out under the tree. Then the maiden descended, and we found that she was not the hag of the Iron Wood, but a Saxon girl fleeing from the Dane."

"From the Dane?" ejaculated the dame. "Poor lamb! would the Dane bother such as ye? Tell me of it."

Thus adjured, Egwina in turn told her story, beginning with the desire of herself and grandfather to place themselves under the protection of Alfred, and continuing until the time that Denewulf had found her in the tree playing to the wolves.

"Dear heart!" burst from the motherly woman hurrying round to the girl. "I'll warrant thou art tired and spent. To think of a girl going through all that! But thou art safe here."

"Why, will not the Danes come here?" queried Egwina in amaze.

"They cannot, child. None but Saxons can penetrate into these wolds and fens," spoke up the swineherd quickly. "And not even Saxons if they be not accustomed to it. I and others of my kind can go through the fastnesses as easily as thou canst follow a path; because we wot of them, but the Northmen would become weary and wander aimlessly about, unwitting whither to go until they would perish in the forest."

"It glads my heart to hear it," breathed the maiden. "I want no more to see them. They are so fearful! None do they spare, neither youth nor age. I would, oh, I would that the king were here. Then would he be safe from them."

Denewulf and Adiva both laughed long and loud.

"The king!" cried the swineherd when he could check his merriment. "The king? Quotha! I should like well to see the king in the hut of a swineherd. I must tell that to the others to-morrow." Again he gave vent to a peal of laughter.

"Out upon thee, man! Seest thou not that thou dost tease the maiden?" chid the wife.

"Nay; I wonder not at his mirth," said the maiden gently. "'Twould be a rare sight, I wot, if the king would dwell here; yet I would that he were here. I like not to think of him slain or in the hands of the Dane. My grandfather said the land depended upon Alfred."

"It may be," returned Denewulf. "Come Saxon or Dane, it matters not here. But I would also that the king were here, for I would see him. Never have I seen a king. Hast thou?"

"Once," said Egwina, "when I was seven, grandfather and I were in Sherborne when King Ethelred passed through. Methought that he was handsome and noble in appearance, but granther said that I was too young to know much about it, that the atheling, Alfred, was handsomer by far and that the land would be better when he was king; not only for his talents, but also because our holy father, the pope, had crowned him king in Rome."

"Well! Drink hael to the king's coming," and the swineherd tossed off another horn of mead.

At this moment footsteps were heard outside, the hound arose from his place before the fire with a low growl. There came a loud knock at the door.

"Who goes there?" cried the Saxon striding to the entrance, fitting an arrow to his bow as he did so.

"A wanderer in search of food and shelter. Open as ye be Saxons."

"The king has come," laughed Denewulf, turning round with a broad wink at them. "Your best mead, Adiva."

Then throwing wide the door, he called heartily, for the Saxons were very hospitable:

"Enter, wanderer! Thou art welcome to such as we have. Enter and find rest for thy weariness, and food for thy hunger."

Into the room there came a man whose manner was so commanding and his form so stately that he might in truth be king. He was tall, and his long hair of ruddy auburn fell in ringlets from under his bonnet on his shoulders. When the firelight fell upon it, it shone like burnished gold. His eyes were blue, very bright and penetrating in their glance. His countenance fair and at present pale from fatigue. His brow was high, noble, and thoughtful. In short, his mien was so august, his port so noble that Adiva and Egwina both gazed upon him with awe.

Not so Denewulf. The simple-hearted Saxon found something in the stranger that answered to himself, for he smiled graciously upon him, and seated him near the fire.

"Sit here, stranger, and warm thyself while the wife prepares the meat for thee. Sorry am I that thou didst not come sooner, for the meat was hot, and it would have pleased us well to have had thy company."

The stranger smiled a sweet, grave smile as he answered:

"It matters not if the meat be cold. Trouble not thyself, good dame. He who hath fasted since yesterday will not find fault though the food lack heat."

"Dear heart!" exclaimed the dame bustling about. "And hast thou taken nought since yesterday? Marry, but it must be piping hot for thee, man. Thou shalt have a good supper."

In a short time the stranger sat down to the table and partook of the repast. Egwina could not but notice the difference in his manner of eating and that of their hosts, who, kind people though they were, still lacked refinement. When the stranger's hunger was appeased, Denewulf filled a horn from the tankard, and passing it to him, said:

"Drink hael, man! 'Twill warm thee, and chill blows the wind in the forest."

"Wass hael," responded the guest, courteously including Egwina and the wife in the health. "To ye both, good dame and gentle maiden, and to thee also, ceorl, for thy kindness," and he quaffed the horn. When Denewulf would have replenished the cup, he shook his head.

"Nay," he said. "I care not for more."

"Then," said the swineherd, "tell of thyself, and how thou art alone in the weald. Didst lose thy way? I trow that thou didst, for few there be who dwell not among the fens that can find the way out when once within its depths."

"Is it so impenetrable?" inquired the stranger.

"So much so," replied the swineherd with a chuckle, "that if the whole Danish army were lost in its fastnesses, they would die before finding their way out; unless some Saxon were niddering enow to show it."

"Then I would that the Danes were within its depths," ejaculated the stranger with fervor. "Vain have been the efforts of the Saxons to resist them, and it would be a happy ending of the matter."

"Thou fleest, then, from the Dane?" queried Adiva.

"Yes; they are ravaging the whole of Wessex."

"Good stranger, knowest aught of the king?" cried Egwina. "I hope that he is safe."

"I trow that he is," returned the stranger, smiling sweetly at her.

"She was wishing that the king were here with us when thou didst knock at the door," chuckled Denewulf.

"Why fearest thou for the king? Dost know him?"

"No; but if the king be safe then is there hope for the land. Doth he not carry the hearts of the people with him?"

"I trow not, maiden. Hadst thou seen him as I saw him last, thou wouldst know that he did not. Forsaken and alone, Alfred hath gone none knows whither."

"Oh!" exclaimed the girl, the tears coming to her eyes, "sayest thou so? The king forsaken! How could they leave him, so noble, so good is he! Is not their allegiance his? Methinks that were I a man naught but death could make me unleal to the king. As it is, I am but a girl and can do naught but pray for him every day that he be kept safe, and that the people will rally around him again."

"Do so, child! Thy pure prayers may accomplish that which the king hath not the power to do. If all Saxons were like thee the Dane would seek another land to ravage."

"The maiden hath cause to pray for the king," broke in the dame, who had remained silent as long as she could.

"What cause hath she?"

"Well--but what shall I call thee?" demanded Adiva.

"Call me Wilfred."

"Well, Wilfred, I will tell thee her tale, and then Denewulf shall tell thee how he found the child." And the good dame related the maiden's story. Then Denewulf told again of the wolves, and Egwina listened blushingly to their praises.

"Of brave heart art thou, maiden," said Wilfred with compassion in his look and voice. "Brave was thy grandfather in his death. 'Twas such that a Saxon might be proud of. 'Tis pity that the king knew not of it."

"My grandfather would like best to know that the king were safe," returned Egwina.

"And what art thou called, child?" asked Adiva.

"Egwina."

"Egwina, and I shall call thee 'the fair' also," said the dame.

"And I, Jamvid, mother of wolf sons," laughed the swineherd; "for so I found her."

"And I, noble heart," said Wilfred. "With maidens like thee to grow into wives and mothers, the land could survive the ravaging of a thousand Guthrums."

Egwina flushed rosy red with pleasure.

Then cried Denewulf, "Let us to bed, good people! With the breaking of morn must I to the forest."

The men drew their coats around them and lay down by the fire on the floor, while the dame and the maiden reposed on the tick of straw.