Chapter 8

“THE KING IS DEAD!—LONG LIVE THE KING!”

The unhappy Elfric passed the night in a most unenviable frame of mind. He felt distinctly how utterly he was in the power of Dunstan, and that he could only expect to return home in disgrace; yet there was no real repentance in all this: he had sinned and suffered, but although he dreaded punishment he no longer hated sin.

He scarcely slept at all, and early in the morning he rose to seek an interview with Edwy, when he found that he was a prisoner. One of the hus-carles posted at his door forbade all communication.

Early in the morning the bell sounded for the early service, still he was not released, and later his breakfast was brought to him, after which he heard a heavy step approaching, and Dunstan appeared at the door of the sleeping chamber.

He entered, and gazed at Elfric for a moment without speaking, as if he would read his very heart by his face; it was hardly comfortable.

“Elfric,” he said at last, “do you remember the warning I gave you six months ago?”

“No,” said Elfric, determined, in desperation, to deny everything.

“I fear you are hardly telling me the truth; you must remember it, unhappy boy! Why were you not warned in time? Why did you refuse the advice which might have saved you from all this?”

“Because it was my fate, I suppose.”

“Men make their own fates, and as they make their beds so must they lie upon them; however, I have not come here to reproach you, but to bid you prepare to return home.”

“Home?—so soon?” said Elfric.

“Yes, you must leave tomorrow, when a messenger will be prepared to accompany you, and to explain the cause of your dismissal from court to your father, whom I most sincerely pity; and let me hope that you will find leisure to repent of your grievous sin in the solitude of your native home.”

“Must my father be told everything?”

“I fear he must: you have left us no choice; and it is the better thing, both for him and for you; he will understand better what steps are necessary for your reformation—a reformation, I trust, which will be accomplished in good time, whereat no one will rejoice more than I.”

A pert answer rose to Elfric’s lips, but he dared not give utterance to it; the speaker was too great in his wrath to be defied with impunity.

“Farewell,” said Dunstan, “would that I could say the word with brighter hopes; but should you ever repent of your sin, as I trust you may, it will gladden me to hear of it. I fear you may have done great harm to England in the person of her future king, but God forgive you in that case.”

Elfric felt the injustice of the last accusation; he coloured, and an indignant denial had almost risen to his lips, but he repressed it for Edwy’s sake—faithful, even in his vice, to his friend.

“Am I to consider myself a prisoner? you have posted a sentinel, as if I were a criminal.”

“You must be confined to your apartment, but you may have books and anything else you desire. The prince is forbidden to see you again. Your confinement will only be for one day; tomorrow you will be free enough; let me beg you to use the occasion for calm reflection, and, I hope, penitence.”

Dunstan left the room, and Elfric heard his retreating steps go heavily down the stairs, when a sudden and almost unaccountable feeling came over him—a feeling that he had thrown himself away, and that he was committed to evil, perhaps never to be able to retrace his course, never to all eternity; the retreating steps sounded as if his sentence were passed and the door of mercy shut. He shook off the strange feeling; yet, could he have seen the future which lay undiscovered before him, and which must intervene before he should see that face again, or hear those steps, he might have been unable thus to shake off the nameless dread.

The day wore away, night drew on; he laid himself down and tried to sleep, when he heard voices conversing outside, and recognised Edwy’s tones; immediately after the prince entered.

“What a shame, Elfric,” he said, “to make you a prisoner like this, and to send you away—for they say you are to go tomorrow —you shall not be forgotten if ever I become king, and I don’t think it will be long first. The first thing I shall do will be to send for you; you will come; won’t you?”

“I will be yours for life or death.”

“I knew it, and this is the faithful friend from whom they would separate me; well, we will have this last evening together in peace; old Dunstan has gone out, and Redwald has put a man as your guard who never sees anything he is not wanted to see.”

“What a convenient thing!”

“But you seem very dull; is anything on your mind which I do not know? What did Dunstan say to you?”

“He is going to write home to my father all particulars. It will make home miserable.”

“Perhaps we may find a remedy for that,” said Edwy, and left the room hastily.

Shortly he returned in company with Redwald.

“Come with us, Elfric,” said the prince “there is no one in the palace to interfere with us. Old Dunstan received a sudden message, and has gone out hastily; we will go and see what he has written.”

Somewhat startled at the audacity of the proposal, Elfric followed the prince, and Redwald accompanied them. After passing through a few passages, they arrived at the cell, or rather study, usually occupied by Dunstan when at court, and entered it, not without a slight feeling of dread, or rather of reluctance.

“Here it is,” said Edwy, and held up a parchment, folded, sealed, and directed to “Ella, Thane of Æscendune.”

“I should like to know what he has written,” said the prince. “Redwald, you understand these things; can you open the letter without breaking the seal?”

“There is no need of that,” replied the captain of the hus-carles, “I can easily seal it again; see, there is the signet, and here the wax.”

So he broke the letter open and extended it to the prince, whose liberal education had given him the faculty of reading the monkish Latin, in which Dunstan wrote, at a glance, and he read aloud:

“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,

“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—

“It grieveth me much, most beloved brother, to be under the necessity of sending your son Elfric home in some little disgrace; but it is, alas a necessity that I should do so, in virtue of the authority our good lord and king, Edred, hath entrusted to me. The lad was bright, and, I think, innocent of aught like deadly sin, when he came to this huge Babel, where the devil seems to lead men even as he will, and he hath fallen here into evil company—nay, into the very company most evil of all in this wicked world, that of designing and shameless women, albeit of noble birth. It hath been made apparent to me that there is great danger to both the prince and your son in any further connection, therefore I return Elfric to your care, sincerely hoping that, by God’s help, you will be enabled to take such measures as will lead to his speedy reformation, for which I devoutly pray. The bearer will give such further information as you may desire.

“Wishing you health, and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,

“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”

Edwy read the letter aloud with many a vindictive comment, and then said to Redwald—“What can be done? Must this letter go?”

“Does your father know the Saint’s handwriting, Elfric?”

“He never heard from him before, I believe.”

“Well, then, I will venture to enclose a different message,” and he sat down at the table, and wrote—“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,

“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—

“It rejoiceth me much, most beloved brother, to send you good tidings of the good behaviour and growth in grace of your son, whom the king hath concluded to send home for the benefit of his health, since London hath in some degree destroyed the ruddy hue of his countenance, and he needeth a change, as his paleness sufficiently declareth.

“The king hath bidden me express his great satisfaction with the lad’s conduct, and the prince mourneth his enforced departure. Wishing you health and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,

“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”

The boys laughed aloud as they read the forgery.

“But about the messenger—will he not tell the truth?”

“Oh, I will see to him, he is not above a bribe, and knows it is his interest to serve his future king, although Dunstan thinks him so trusty.”

All at once the booming of a heavy bell smote their ears.

“It is the bell of St. Paul’s, it tolls for the death of some noble,” said Redwald; “what can it mean? has any member of the royal family been ill?”

They listened to the solemn dirge-like sound as it floated through the air, calling upon all good Christians to pray for the repose of the departed or departing soul. No prayer rose to their lips, and they soon returned to the subject in hand.

“When is the letter to be despatched?”

“Early in the morning the messenger will await you; and now, I should recommend some sleep to prepare for a fatiguing journey.”

Elfric and the prince returned to their chamber, but they did not take Redwald’s hint, and remained talking till just before daybreak, when they were aroused by the hasty step of an armed heel, and Redwald stood before them. His demeanour was very strange; he bent down on one knee, took the hand of Edwy, who resigned it passively to him, kissed it and cried aloud—“God save the king!”

“What can you mean, Redwald?” exclaimed both the youths.

“Heard you not the passing bell last night? Edred sleeps with his fathers; he died at Frome on St. Clement’s day.”

For a moment they were both silent.

“And Edwy, the great grandson of Alfred, is king of England.”

At first the young prince was deeply shocked at the sudden news of the death of his uncle, to whom, in spite of appearances, he was somewhat attached. He turned pale, and was again silent for some minutes; at last, he gulped down a cup of water, and asked—“But how did Dunstan know?”

“Why, it is a strange tale. Three days ago, at the very hour the king must have died, he says that he saw a bright light, and beheld a vision of angels, who said, ‘Edred hath died in the Lord,’ but he treated it as a dream, and last night a messenger came with the news of the sudden illness of the king, bidding Dunstan hasten to his side. He left everything, and started immediately, but in a few miles met another messenger, bearing the news of the death. He has gone on, but sent the messenger forward to the Bishop of London, who caused the great bell to be tolled.

“We must all die some day,” said Edwy, musingly; “but it is very very sudden.”

“And I trust he has obtained a better kingdom,” added Redwald; “he must, you know, if the monks tell the truth, so why should we weep for him?”

“At least,” said Edwy, looking up, “Elfric need not go home now.”

“No, certainly not, but he had better disappear from court for a time. The lady Ethelgiva might afford him hospitality, or he might stay at the royal palace at Kingston. I will tell the messenger to keep out of the way, and Dunstan may suppose that his orders have been obeyed to the letter.”

“Why should we trouble what he may think or say?”

“Because the Witan has not yet met, and until it has gone through the form, the mere form, of recognising your title, you are not actually king. Dunstan has some influence. Suppose he should use it for Edgar?”

“Edgar, the pale-faced little priestling!”

“All the better for that in Dunstan’s eyes. Nay, be advised, my king; keep all things quiet until the coronation is over, then let Dunstan know who you are and who he is.”

“Indeed I will. He shall have cause to rue his insolent behaviour the other night.”

“Bide your time, my liege; and now the great officers of state require your presence below.”

A few days later a sorrowful procession entered the old city of Winchester, the capital of Wessex, and once a favourite residence of Edred, now to be his last earthly resting place. Much had the citizens loved him; and as the long train defiled into the open space around the old minster—old, even then—the vast assemblage, grouped beneath the trees around the sacred precincts, lifted up their voices and joined in the funeral hymn, while many wept tears of genuine sorrow. It was awe inspiring, that burst of tuneful wailing, as the monks entered the sacred pile, and it made men’s hearts thrill with the sense of the unseen world into which their king had entered, and where, as they believed, their supplications might yet follow him.

There were the chief mourners—Edwy and Edgar—and they followed the royal corpse, the latter greatly afflicted, and shedding genuine tears of sorrow—and the royal household. All the nobility of Wessex, and many of the nobles from Mercia and other provinces, were gathered together, and amidst the solemn silence of the vast crowd, Dunstan performed the last sad and solemn rites with a broken voice; while the archbishop—Odo the Good, as he was frequently called—assisted in the dread solemnity.

It was over; the coffin was lowered to the royal vaults to repose in peace, the incenses had ceased to float dreamily beneath the lofty roof,xi the various lights which had borne part in the ceremony were extinguished, the choral anthem had ceased, for Edred slept with his fathers.

And outside, the future king was welcomed with loud cries of “God save King Edwy, and make him just as Alfred, pious as Edred, and warlike as Athelstane!”

“Long live the heir of Cerdic’s ancient line!”

Thus their cries anticipated the decision of the Witan, and without all was noise and clamour; while within the sacred fane the ashes of him who had so lately ruled England rested in peace by the side of his royal father Edward, the son of Alfred, three of whose sons—Athelstane, Edmund, Edred—had now reigned in succession.

It must not be supposed that Edwy was as yet king by the law of the land. The early English writers all speak of their kings as elected; it was not until the Witan had recognised them, that they were crowned and assumed the royal prerogatives.

Edwy had followed Redwald’s advice: he had kept Elfric out of the way, and meant to do so until his coronation day. And meanwhile he condescended to disguise his real feelings, and to affect sorrow for his past failings when in the presence of Dunstan.

Yet he took advantage of the greater liberty he now enjoyed to renew his visits to the mansion up the Thames, and to spend whole days in the society of Elgiva. In their simplicity and deep love they thought all the obstacles to their happy union now removed. Alas! ill-fated pair!