CHAPTER VIII--ADIVA GROWS ANGRY

Life in the cottage was simple in the extreme. Each morning Denewulf looked after his nets and traps, and then repaired to the forest where he tended the swine. The stranger exerted himself in the chase and proved to be very proficient in woodcraft and the lore of the forest.

Adiva took Egwina at once into her heart, and taught her all the simple housewifely arts that she knew. The girl soon became an expert in the use of spindle and distaff, and busily did the shuttles fly through the long winter evenings.

"Howsomever did I do without thee, child?" she would say as Egwina flitted about singing at her tasks. "Dark will be the day that thou dost leave me. I pray that it will never come."

One day the girl was in the cottage busily spinning when Wilfred the stranger entered. He threw some fagots on the fire and sitting before it, drew from within the folds of his tunic a little book which he perused intently, as was his wont. The maiden observed him with interest. Presently he turned toward her with a smile.

"Why dost thou watch me so, Egwina?"

"I was wondering what the book contained that thou dost read in it so much," returned the maiden in some confusion.

"It holds much that is full of solace," answered he. "Tell me, Egwina, dost know how to read?"

"To read? No; why should I?" asked the girl in surprise. "Granther knew not how; nor does Denewulf, nor Adiva; nor any of the gentles. In truth, none I have ever known, save thee, have known how. Why should they? There was no need. Granther said that it was only for priests or monks. The gleemen need it not for singing or the harp. The ceorl needs it neither for ploughing, or for sowing, or for tending his herds. And how would it help the gentle in hunting or any of his pastimes? Weaving and embroidery for women, sports and war for men. There is no need of reading."

Wilfred smiled and sighed as he answered: "As thou speakest so do most think. In truth, I misdoubt if there are not priests even of thy way of thinking. Few are they south of the Humber who can translate their daily prayers into English. Yet once in all Gaul could not be found the learning of our land. Alack! that Bede, Alucin, and Aldhelm were not now alive. Yet, perchance, it is better so. Mayhap they would not have flourished had they lived at this time. Dark, dark is the outlook."

He relapsed into a moody silence. Egwina timidly approached him.

"I meant not to offend thee, good Wilfred," she spake, gently.

"Nay, little one; thou hast not offended me. I thought not of thy words, but only of the decay of that learning for which we were once so famed."

"Dost thou think so much of learning?" inquired she. "Prithee show me the book, that I may see what it is that so charms thee."

She took the book, and looked at it intently before handing it back to him.

"I see naught in it," she remarked, with a sigh; "that would hold me for hours as it doth thee. What is its spell? It sings not, neither does it speak, nor is it illuminated."

"But it does speak, Egwina. Listen, and thou shalt hear something that it says: 'Go now, ye brave! where the lofty way of a great example leads you. Why should you, inert, uncover your backs? The earth, when conquered, gives us the stars.'"

"Does it truly say that?" cried Egwina, in delight. "Show me, Wilfred."

Wilfred placed his finger on the page, and said: "Art sure that thou understandest, little one?" The girl nodded her head sagely.

"I cannot just tell it," she said; "but it is like this: should the king do some noble thing his example would incite others to follow where he would lead."

"True, maiden. Thou hast given the thought in mine own mind. Bright art thou, and methinks would prove an apt pupil. Wouldst like for me to teach thee to read, Egwina?"

"Dost think that I could learn, Wilfred?"

"Of a surety. Long years had passed over my head ere I knew. Methinks that it was in my twelfth year that my mother called her children to her, and, showing a pretty book brightly illuminated, said: 'Sons, that one of you who first learns to read in this book, he shall possess it.' 'Shall he really have it for his own, mother?' I said. 'For his very own,' she answered, well pleased at the question. My brothers cared not for it, so full were they of the chase and sports, but I learned the verses contained therein, and she gave it me."

"Is this it?" asked Egwina, with interest.

"Nay; it is at--" Wilfred checked himself, and then resumed. "So thou seest that thou canst learn if a dullard such as I could. Thou hast an apter mind than I. But thou must not care if it prove tedious?"

"I will not care, and I will learn," said Egwina, with determination. "It may be that I shall then know many things of which now I do not dream."

"Thou wilt, thou wilt!" cried Wilfred, in delight. "Forget not, dear child, that 'The earth, when conquered, gives us the stars.'"

"I will not forget," said Egwina, thoughtfully. "How beautiful the idea! I shall never see the stars again that I will not think of it."

And so it came about that each evening thereafter the time was spent by Egwina and Denewulf also in learning to read. Adiva would have none of it for herself, and muttered grumblingly that it was nonsense, and of no use to any but priests.

When the lesson was over Egwina would sing for them, and the hut would ring with laughter and merriment. Wilfred, the stranger, listened eagerly to the songs, and soon proposed that the maiden should teach them to the others.

"Alack! gladly would I do so, but what are they without a harp?" and Egwina looked sad.

Consternation seized on the little household the next morning after this remark was made to find the stranger gone. Denewulf and Egwina were loud in their lamentations at his departure. Adiva grumbled openly, but secretly missed him as well as they. On the third day thereafter he returned bearing a harp. The cottagers received him with acclamations of joy. He seemed touched by their greetings, but offered no explanation of his absence or where he had obtained the harp.

Egwina wondered much at the instrument, for it was of the finest workmanship. She soon taught him all the songs that she knew, and already was he skilled in the use of the harp.

"Thou dost well," she said, "but I wish that thou couldst have heard granther. Thou shouldst have seen his sweep. There! that is something like," as Wilfred, after some trials, executed it to suit her.

So the time passed until at last the Length month (March) came. One day Egwina went forth to see if she could find some sprout-kele for broth. Enticed by the beauty of the day, she stayed longer than she had intended, and hurried back to the house, for the dame was very busy. As she drew near the cottage she heard the voice of Adiva raised high in anger.

"Drat the man! Never to turn the loaves when thou seest them burning. I'll warrant that thou wilt be ready enow to eat them when they're done."

"I crave thy forgiveness, dame." The tones of Wilfred were contrite and full of humility. "I thought not once of them."

"Couldst thou not smell them when they lay at thy very feet?" demanded the dame.

"Nay; I noted naught," returned the stranger.

"Good mother, be wroth with him no longer," cried Egwina entering. "His mind is full of graver matters than woman's work."

"Graver matters!" echoed Adiva, who was evidently in a bad way. "Graver matters! I wot that they fall not heavily upon him at meal time. 'Tis pity that a body can't leave the house for a minute without a wite's letting the loaves burn."

"Thou speakest truly," said the stranger humbly. "He who eats should also work. That I have not done, but I will mend my ways, good dame."

"There! it may be that I spake too quickly." Adiva was somewhat mollified by his evident contrition. "After all, there's no great harm done, and thou hast truly a good heart. I should have known better than to trouble thee. Thou hast brought us many a fine buck, and marry, that is man's work more than this."

"Natheless, I will be more careful another time," said Wilfred, reseating himself, and all went as before.

Shortly after this, Egwina was much troubled about a strange dream that she had. In some confusion and much distress of mind, for, like every one of the time, she was superstitious, she unfolded it to Adiva.

"Good mother, I fear I know not what, so queer a dream had I."

"Tell it, child. Once I could unravel the meaning of night fancies, but it hath been long since I tried my skill. The young care more for such things. Denewulf looks with awe upon a Morthwytha, but he laughs to scorn a reader of dreams. But dear heart! Here do I let my tongue run on and thou hast not yet spoken thy dream. Say on, child."

"I dreamed," said Egwina, "that I was in a lofty hall. Around me were silken hangings, and the tables and chairs were carved with fine workmanship. Many were my thegns, and they served me from vessels of silver and gold. As I feasted many came and bowed down before me. All at once a great light, that shone glorious as the sun, burst from my body. The eyes of all men were uplifted toward it, and they were dazzled by its radiance."

Adiva raised her hands.

"May the blessed mother preserve us, child! What a wonderful dream."

"Canst thou tell what it doth portend, Adiva?" questioned the maiden eagerly.

"Child, child, I dare not tell thee that which I think; but if thou wilt say naught before the stranger or Denewulf, thou and I will go to Gunnehilde. She is a Dane, Denewulf's foster-mother, and a wicca."

"I like not the fact that she be Dane," and Egwina shrank back a little, for the Northmen held a painful place in her memory.

"Tut, child! She is more Saxon than Dane, though I tell not that to Denewulf. She came with her husband years ago when Egbert, the present king's grandfather, was on the throne. No Christian is she, but a good woman, though she hath been a vala in her own country. Denewulf hath she reared from a lad. Her husband brought him home a Saxon boy of tender years, whose father fell fighting the Welsh and whose mother died soon after. She will tell thee all that thou wishest to know of things to come. I countenance not Denewulf when he speaks of her foretellings, for it is not wisdom to humor a man in aught that savors of heathenism. She reads the runes for me often, though he wots not of it."

"If it be not wrong then, Adiva, and thou thinkest best I will go with thee."

"Then to-morrow will we go," said the dame, and so it was planned.