Part 5

"Shall we let him go forth, husband, wed or unwed? Thou shouldst set him straightway in ward, the wheedling knave! or there are other ways, maybe!"

"Lady wife," said Offa, "do thou bear in mind that this man is our guest!"

"My lord, Ethelbert is young, and as for thee, thou hast looked thy last upon the height of thy manhood. And Egbert our son will never be the man that thou art. I say, beware! Come tell me now, if so be that Ethelbert of East Anglia wriggle from out of this pact he is come to make with us--if he make of us laughing-stocks from Iceland unto Caisar Charles's court--aye, and beyond--say ye will strike, O Offa of Mercia, so that your kingly dignity be upheld in the land!"

"God knoweth I will strike, and right heavily!" cried Offa. "I give my word I will not fail thee. But, lady, I hold thee mistaken--all this can scarcely be."

And as he was in gleeful humour, he put the matter from his mind, and began contentedly to examine and polish his boar-spears. He had suffered one or two envious pangs through Ethelbert's youth and vigour. Moreover, strong man though he was, he had never been able to bridle Cynerith.

Hardly had the Queen left the room than Sexwolf, her neglected favourite, sprang out upon her; and bitterly he upbraided her, raging, expostulating, pleading, outside the very door of King Offa's cabinet.

"Hold thy tongue, young man!" said she loudly, in her stateliest tones; and she swept from before him into the hall, where some were setting out the evening meal.

It was a hot evening, even sultry. They opened the doors, and such windows as had swinging frames, and the red glow of sunset shone in upon them for a brief hour. Though few of their court were to be present, they decked themselves that night in their full finery. Cynerith, clad in wine-purple, was as handsome, seen by twilight, as she had ever been in the days of her prime. Eadburh, in green and crimson, was gorgeous and blatant. Ethelfrith wore white, exquisitely embroidered with silver and gold.

Star of Mercia was she indeed that night. Eadburh seemed a burning brazier by contrast; Cynerith a painted shrew. No more was the Lady Ethelfrith silent; merry words flowed from her lips; time and again her laughter rippled out, soft and joyous. King Offa began, as was his custom, to talk of his wars, and of the stupendous dyke, boundary between his dominions and the lands of the wild Welsh, which the March folk, at his bidding, had dug in the sweat of their brows; but he soon hushed his voice, and listened proudly while his youngest-born told of her new-found pleasure in hunting, dancing, and friendly company. Even the Atheling, a stalwart, somewhat sullen youth, was seen once or twice to smile.

They brought her cither, and she sang them all her store of songs, with an art and confidence of which none had ever thought her capable. King Ethelbert applauded her and cast fond looks upon her, and at the end of every ditty he prayed her for more.

By and by, when the light faded and the torches were kindled, Offa the King began to yawn, and to doze in his chair. The Queen then conversed apart with Ethelbert. She bore herself meekly towards him, was innocent and child-like in manner and speech. Presently Offa awoke. His wife was beside him, bearing a brimming tumbler.

"What--what--sweetheart?" said he.

"It is mine own brew that thou lovest so well," Cynerith replied. She waited while he drank, and noted how the potion increased his drowsiness.

"Husband," she whispered, "I have sure proof that it is even as I guessed. He will go hence upon the morrow, leaving us pledges which he hath no mind to fulfil. Then will he stir up the men of his own kingdom, without doubt, hoping to take thee defenceless in thine old age. The hour is ripe, Offa my King! Shall he live to work our undoing?"

"I shall be nithing in the eyes of all men," murmured Offa.

"Lo, no man shall know how the end did come about," said the Queen. "I, thy wife, will be thy handmaid in this as in all things, aye, and bear the blame, if blame be to follow. Trust in me. O son of Woden, it profiteth not a man to spare his enemies. Hereafter shall thy sway reach from the hills of Wales even unto the eastern sea."

And Offa nodded his head.

She took another cup in her hand, and beckoned to Ethelbert, who rose to meet her midmost in the hall.

"We will talk together of the wedding day," said she. "The King leaves all such business unto me." Then they drank to one another, very gravely, where they stood.

Eadburh, sitting by her sister, nudged her, with sneering lips.

"Let us now to bed, children," cried Cynerith.

"I trow we are all full weary, even as our lord the King."

As she passed out, she said in the ear of a trusted servant: "Gymbert, be ready against I need thee!"

Edric the seneschal stayed behind, searching the floor and the tables for property mislaid, smothering the torches himself with meticulous care. He heard a light step brush across the strewn rushes. Ethelfrith stood before him, darkly cloaked and hooded.

"My little hare was ailing this evening," said she. "I might not find thee, Edric, though I sought. But even now he is better than I could earlier have hoped."

"I will go see him early to-morrow," said Edric, "if ye do think he will live through this night." He was a man of few words.

"He will live through the night.... Edric, I have no wish to sleep. I have thoughts and fears which break through my rest.... And then ... Eadburh said ... at least I do fancy that she meant to say...."

"Her tongue wags ever too fast," Edric rejoined. "Well, lady, what said she?"

"It was of my lord King Ethelbert she spake.... I am sorely troubled. Meseemeth that the Queen and King Ethelbert love each other not, or mayhap.... And there is strife between my mother and Sexwolf.... I hate Eadburh!" cried Ethelfrith. "God forgive me!" she added, horrified.

Surprise and interest went far to conquer Edric's wonted reserve. The little princess irked him usually; but now--yes, and formerly throughout that evening--she showed signs of a spirit that he had never suspected to exist in her.

"Listen, lady," said he. "King Ethelbert should go his ways, taking you with him. He loveth you dearly, as all may see. Here hath he been three weeks, and is no nearer the settlement of that which brought him hither. Ye are scarce even a moment together. This is a drear betrothal."

"Alack! how can I help?" said she. "Can a maid beg a man to wed her?"

"And fret not yourself too greatly over what Queen Eadburh may say or do. Her mind is evil, and all that she looketh upon doth take on for her the same ill hue."

"O Edric, good Edric, dear Edric, say to me that all must be well! My heart sinks within me. Tell me--tell me truly whether my father's court be fair and clean, as I have heretofore dreamed it to be!"

Edric turned away his face, and began to poke, with the staff which he always carried, in the rushes beneath a little table standing under one of the windows. A faint clink resounded. He stooped and picked up a small, finely-wrought key with a handle curiously bent.

"That is my mother's wry-necked key!" exclaimed Ethelfrith. "Great store sets she by it. Thou knowest she weareth it ever upon the chain at her waist."

"She leant much upon the board this evening, playing at chess with Ethelbert," said the old man, "Belike it was rubbed loose, or the chain broke."

"It openeth the garden door of the chamber, built down into the earth, beneath the Queen's bedroom," the Lady continued. "I have never been within, nor hath any that I have heard of. But Gymbert may go sometimes: he hath another key like unto this. Once, one of the maids did whisper.... But I will not believe it!"

"Neither have I ever seen into that chamber," said Edric the seneschal; and both together they uttered the same words:

"This night spake she into the ear of Gymbert, even as she left the hall!"

"O child, be strong!" said Edric. He stopped and coughed. "There would be no harm," he ventured, "in learning to be strong."

They were both silent for a little while. Then "Take thou the Queen's key, Ethelfrith Offa's daughter," said he. "She shall deem it utterly lost. It may serve thee at need."

She slipped it into her bosom, and went softly from the room.

"God's blood! thou sorry young fool!" cried Offa's wife. "Is this all I must hear from thee--I, who have done thee so much honour? By the Fiend! thou art right hardy! Thinkest indeed that the man who scorneth me shall have my daughter? I am no loser, and Offa and I, we shall share thy kingdom!"

She stamped her foot three times, and scarcely had she done so when a part of the floor of her bedchamber began quickly to descend, and Ethelbert King of the East Angles, who stood upon that part, sank with it out of sight.

There followed one or two cries, fierce, but muffled almost to extinction, and a thud.

The Queen put her face to the opening, and called, "Gymbert, is all done?"

There was no reply. She bent low to listen. Then a piercing sound assailed her ears--the voice of a woman, shrieking again and again, with gruesome, mechanical regularity.

Another moment, and Cynerith had reached the garden. The outer door of this wing, her private door, was open. Upon the threshold stood her youngest daughter, in night-rail and hooded cloak.

Gymbert the Queen's thrall rushed at the Lady Ethelfrith, and tried to take hold of her. She fought and beat him off, and tottered, shrieking still, though more faintly, sobbing and moaning, down the few steep steps and towards the middle of the room, where lay a shapeless mass from which a pool of crimson was spreading slowly. A flickering lantern swung from a hook upon the wall.

Others arrived upon the scene. First came old Edric; then Eadburh, with her mass of tawny hair about her face; then Offa, muttering hoarsely; and all the inhabitants of the palace thronged to learn what had befallen.

Ethelfrith was seated upon the ground, holding Ethelbert's dissevered head in her arms, and she rocked herself to and fro, and chanted in a far-away tone.

"Under the leaves, under the leaves, There saw I maidens seven!"

She broke off short, and changed her tune.

"Then He built Him a bridge of the beams of the sun, And over the water ran He; And the three wealthy wights they followed him after, And drowned they were all three!"

"Come, canst thou riddle me my ridlass?

"Yellow and green, Sharp and keen, Grows in the mene. The King cannot ride it, no more can the Queen."

"No more can the Queen.... I must mind me to tell my mother that in two years and a little more her son will be lying dead and cold. How sister Eadburh will storm at what must follow--the fall of our proud house!... Heart's dearest, the sun is high in heaven. Why do ye not awake, my lord? Do ye not hear the lark singing? Ethelbert, there is blood all about thy hair--it is like a crown, Ethelbert!"

Babbling thus and laughing, she was torn away: nor did she ever recover her reason, though she lived thereafter thirty years.

Earl Sweyn the Nithing

_Being the Chronicle of Winifred Ebba's daughter_

In the first year of King Hardicanute, on the sixth-and-twentieth day of May, feast of blessed Augustine, Algive, only child of Aldred, sometime thane of Berrington, became by oath-plight nun of the Order of blessed Benedict, before the altar of the Abbey-church of Leominster, lately builded and begun by Leofric the good Earl. By this means grew the hoard of the same holy house the richer by the half of her goods. The other half, and her land at Berrington eke, Athelstane her uncle kept for himself.

On the self-same day, and in the self-same abbey-church, did I, Winifred Ebba's daughter, whose father had been freed churl of the father's father of this Algive, make also mine awful vows to serve God after St. Benedict's law. Algive Aldred's daughter had then fifteen years, and I six more than she: all the days of our lives had we played together, and I watched over her. And for that I had ever longed, since I could mind me, for the religious life, I was glad in that hour: and my kindred chode not too greatly, for that I willed to tread the path whereon wended our old thane's daughter. But for Lady Algive was her oath-plight the spring of many and bitter woes.

Now Algive was a right comely maiden. Like the blush of the wild rose on milk was the skin of her cheek: red as the wild rose-berries her soft lips; her hair yellow as the heart of the honeysuckle, and long and curling before they shore it; and her eyes were blue and grey together, as the onyx-stone in my Lord Bishop's great ring. She was hale, blithe, and unmoody, mild and forgiving; she worshipped God as do most women; she had ever a most sweet ruth for all that ailed or sorrowed; boughsome was she unto the rule of St. Benedict, in so far as the Abbess willed: yet I do mind me of thinking always that Heaven had not called her to be a nun. Howsoever, these thoughts kept I to myself. Twenty sisters were we, a few good enough, many less good than the best that lead the life of the world. We dwelt together in peace as far as might be; but there were no saints among us, such as King Edward loved. Nor was there such learning at Leominster as many of our English sisterhoods did boast of; but of such things I cannot speak cunningly, nor was I ever drawn to lettered lore. For me, the things of the household: let me cook and mend, heal and bind, and all happiness is mine. Our sister Algive had small learning enough. But because she was sunny ever, and none hated her, and because, moreover, her kin were mighty folk, when the Abbess Mildred came to die, we made her Abbess over us. Algive was then in her one-and-twentieth year. I do think that from first to last her rule was overmild. Many of us left prayer for idle talking--an ill thing where there are many women! Me she took from the kitchen, wherein I had wrought since my coming to the convent, to be sub-prioress, and sent me often as her trusted bode about the farm and garden.

Those were the days when holy King Edward sat upon the throne in Thorney Island, by London town, and doughty Earl Godwin swayed the land. Many hated this Godwin; not a few feared, but ever followed him; but I who knew him can tell you so much of him: Were he greedy of wealth and grasping after means to might, yet had he a stout English heart, and none loved better than he the English land, or kenned better the wants of English folk. Churl's son or childe's son, I wit not, but King Edward took his daughter, fair Edith, as Lady of the English; and the children of Godwin were of the blood of kings, for he wedded Gytha the Danish Lady, kinswoman of King Canute. But though foremost in Witan and in leaguer, two of his own sons might Earl Godwin never rule. Of the six sons of Godwin, with three have I, Winifred, had my dealings, and of those three this is my reckoning: Sweyn the eldest was a man, for all his wilfulness and his sinful wrath. Harold the next-born was a noble prince. Woe worth the day wherein the arrow slew him! As for Tostig, fair of face as Michael Archangel, he was a devil.

Now the Abbey of Leominster stood in the old land of Offa, some fourteen miles from the Hereford, where the king's armies are wont to pass over Wye into the fastnesses of the Welsh. Some three years before my lady Algive became our Abbess, Sweyn the first-born son of Godwin was made Earl, and given as Earldom much of the old kingdom of the March--to wit, Herefordshire and Gloucestershire, and more beside. Ere long there spread from mouth to mouth tales of the wildness of our young Earl, even such wildness as Godwin his father bore with never in any other lord in England. More viking he seemed than Englishman, which made some to wonder, and to put abroad a groundless slander. And with brooding brows and foreboding nods, folk would tell of how he spurned the wise words of the old, or of how he would at times drink deep, and then fall to singing, fighting, or love-making maybe. Yet was he a righteous lawgiver, and open-handed ever: loving a daring deed, a hearty lay, a tale of the great ones of bygone years. Few there were that wished him not well, and few that prayed not God to bring him through the storms of youth to a steady manhood. Alack! alack for Lord Sweyn! tallest, proudest, most gifted of all the Godwinsons!

It was on the twenty-sixth day of May--the self-same day of our profession--in the year of Our Lord One Thousand, Forty and Seven, when the hawthorn was in full bloom, and the bleak blossoms of the blackthorn hung withered and tattered on their swart stems, and all our broad meadows shone golden with the buttercup, that we of the convent of Leominster heard a clatter of many horses' hooves upon the cobble-stones before our door. And there before the door was Sweyn our Earl, with twenty Danish house-carles that followed him, and at his side some of the wealthiest and worthiest thanes of our smiling shire of Hereford. He was much above the mean height, long-limbed and lithe, with a swift and noiseless tread; not ruddy, as are the most of the English, but dark of hair and milk-white of skin as his mother the Dane, and browned about the face and neck by wind and sun; with a nose like the beak of a hawk, and eyes like the hawk's for brightness, and a sudden, rare smile such as God gives to few. And a most beguiling tongue had Earl Sweyn--the tongue of a sagaman.

I saw his coming, peeping from an upper window, and went in haste with the tidings to the Lady Abbess.

He strode into her little parlour, and louted low before her. Then many a strange thing happened. I was standing by at this their first meeting, and what there befell can I forget never. For ye must bear in mind that for six years I had toiled without end within the convent kitchen, and beheld no man, young or old, goodly or wizen, but Godmund the priest. It was a fair sight that greeted the Earl, that of Algive Aldred's daughter, now full-grown to womanhood--two and twenty years had she--fair even in her weeds of black, with her eyes lowered, yet she peering, as I knew, all the while from beneath her lashes. And so, when he then beheld her, Sweyn Godwinson grew pale beneath his bronze, and stood stock-still before her, his look all wonder. Algive raised her grey-blue eyes to his for one short moment. Of a sudden she dropped her gaze once again to the hem of her kirtle, and felt fumblingly for the crucifix at her waist. Then Sweyn flushed deep red, and his fingers clenched on the handle of his boar-spear; and taking another step forward, he bowed him down once more, and gave her greeting in words. Thereafter these twain talked together in courtly wise, as befitted them.

* * * * *

From that day forth came Earl Sweyn often to our Abbey. Twice or thrice had he with him his near kinsman, Beorn, late made Earl of the Middle English, sister's son to King Canute. This was a handsome man enough, but methought his eyes were treacherous. After a while Earl Sweyn brought Beorn no more, but himself came, and was much with the Abbess alone.

My lady had indeed grounds for beseeching help of him: her churls were unruly, and who could rede the Abbess so well as the Earl? Howsoever, within the sisterhood was there great tattle of talk, and light hinting anent their two names. I but waited, and prayed, feeling sharp woe, and sorrowed in my heart--Mary forgive me!--as much for him as for her.

Then one day late in June, the Lady Abbess rode forth, with only a band of weapon-bearing churls, to Hereford, where Sweyn the Earl then dwelt. A week's stay made she there, then rode back again to her Abbey. No more was she the woman that she had been--even Algive the fair, sparkling as a beam of the sun. Wan as the dead was she now, with tight-drawn lips. All day long would she walk up and down the cloister, up and down the garden paths, oft-times wringing her hands together. The evil mutterings grew, and tongues waxed ever louder and bolder; and some sisters forbore not openly to cast gibes at their Abbess almost before her back was turned.

I beguiled them as well as I could to leave chatter and spend themselves in healthful work, for it was hay-harvest-tide. On a day early in August, the eleventh day, we bore in our last load of hay. I mind me well of that eleventh of August--sultriest day of all that sultry month: the lift bright as glass, and cloudless altogether until the hour of sun-setting. All day long we laboured in the heat, staying only for our holy offices, the which were soon said under the roof-tree of heaven; and every sister, yea, even the Abbess Algive herself, worked as lustily as the stoutest churl. All was done at early even; the great wains rolled home to the barns, and we passed in thankful procession to our church, and there sang vespers, as well as we might for our parched throats. The evening meal was spread in the hall of the convent: each nun stood beside her stool at the board--thinking, one and all, I trow, of white wheaten bread, and cool cider, and eke of dreamless slumber: at the board's head, the Abbess had but now beckoned to Godmund the Priest that he should ask blessing on our food, when there arose a loud clamour without, such as made even the drowsiest to start, and we heard the voice of the portress, angry and shrill. Then one threw open the door of the hall, and there upon the threshold stood Earl Sweyn Godwinson, and behind him his house-carles, twenty dauntless men of the Danes.

Earl Sweyn stepped within the hall, up to where the Abbess was.

"My lady," he cried, before us all, "here am I. Come thou with me!"

Abbess Algive would not meet his gaze. She strove a little to speak, and a whisper came.

"Lord Earl----"

Sweyn kept his glowing eyes upon her until at last she raised her eyes to his. Then:

"Sweyn, Sweyn," quoth she, and went to him, putting both her hands into his hands. She would have withdrawn them indeed, but he caught her about the body, and laughing a little, bore her shoulder-high from her convent hall.

We sped to our gates, but he was already ahorse, with her before him, holding to him tightly, and his men were springing to their saddles. Out at the gates they streamed, and we after them, into the midst of Leominster town, where they halted a little while. What a sight was there upon Leominster green! Small wonder that the folk thronged to stare! There were the sisters of blessed Benedict, running hither and thither as they were wode, all shrieking, some laughing, most wailing and calling upon all the saints: there lame old Father Godmund, snuffling and chiding all unheeded; in the midst of all, Sweyn the Earl, with his Danish house-carles about him, marking naught, it seemed, but a loose nail in his horse's shoe. Suddenly, one Sister Sexburh, who had been ever greedy after gold and jewels and such light things of the world, cried with a loud voice:

"What, good sisters! bide ye here when the road lies open before you? What of the flock when the shepherdess is fled? Must we ever waste within walls?" And picking up her kirtle with one hand, she set off swiftly down the high-way, with Offa the drunken thane in her wake.

But of all that there befell--to my shame I own it--I heard no more, for now Earl Sweyn set his horse's head towards Hereford, and with him was Algive with her arms about him; and I had no more thought of the Abbey of Leominster, of my holy oath of profession, of the needy I was wont to feed and clothe and the sick I was wont to heal; but I ran until I came up with Sweyn's horse, catching at his stirrup and calling out:

"Leave me not, leave me not! Take me also, Lord Earl!"

Sweyn made sign to one of his men that rode beside him, who, stooping, lifted me into his saddle before him, and so was I borne along, following Earl Sweyn and my Lady Algive.