CHAPTER XXI.
VIKING CHIEF AND SAXON MAIDEN.
"He beheld A vision, and adored the thing he saw."
Wordsworth.
Ere long, the hum of voices and the scrambling sound of approachingfootsteps were heard. Then hurried orders, given in an undertone,muffled footsteps, as of persons bearing a burden, accompanied by a low,deep groan, broke upon the anxious ear of Ethel, who was listening withnerves in a state of utmost tension and alarm. These sounds graduallyabated as the party retired to a more distant room, and doors weresoftly closed behind. By-and-bye her anxious suspense was abated by theentrance of Bretwul and his wife, accompanied by Sigurd, the lord ofLakesland. A cold tremor ran through her blood as her eyes rested forthe first time upon the burly figure of the stranger; and she tried toevade the rivetted gaze which he turned upon her, by turning to Bretwul.
"I think the Earl is much worse than the messenger would have usbelieve, Bretwul. Can I go to him? I may be of use. I have some skill innursing, thanks to my instructions and the terrible times upon which ourland has fallen."
"Do not be alarmed," said Sigurd, trying to infuse as much of gentlenessas he could into the gruff tones which issued from the deep, broadchest. "Oswald is put to bed, and his wound is a mere nothing--aflesh-wound, which ought to have healed itself; but his body has beenpampered and daintily housed, and the merest cuts tell on such. Thewound has cankered and brought on a touch of fever. Pity that men, whoought to know better, swathe their limbs, and pamper their bodies, andlive in cunningly decorated houses, and spend their time toying withsuch finikin things as these"--pointing to sundry books and musicalinstruments. "Women's things, and baby's toys!"
"I think I had better go with you, Eadburgh," said Ethel, anything butassured by the unsympathetic words of the strange visitant.
This was just what Eadburgh was anxious to say; and the two immediatelydisappeared.
"Be seated, my lord," said Bretwul to Sigurd, "and I will find someeatables. I doubt not you are well-nigh famished."
"Aye, aye. We have ridden eight hours continuously in the darkness, andyou well say we are famishing."
No sooner had the door closed behind Bretwul than Sigurd's astonishmentat the vision his eyes had just seen, found vent.
"What is this I have looked upon?" he murmured to himself. "Someinhabitant of Valhalla, where our gods and heroes have gone? Surely ourpriests have told me of nothing so fair as she, even there! I wouldcovet a hero's grave this very hour, and the dark beyond, if they whodwell there get them wives so fair as she."
Here, let me, for the further information of the reader, say that thisSigurd, or "lord of Lakesland," as he was known, whom we have met withbefore in these pages, was a typical example of many a Norse chieftainwho still held sway in the land, ruling their followers after the mannerof the rude past; and the important part which he plays in these"Chronicles" calls for a more elaborate introduction than we have yetaccorded him. He was a man who rivetted the gaze at once, but it was afascination, and not a delight, to the beholder. Men could not forbearto look, but they far oftener turned away from him with a shudder and asense of relief than otherwise. When Halfdane, the viking marauder,pounced down upon Northumbria, and the north of England generally, hedivided a great part of the lands of the Saxons amongst his followers;and they, settling amongst the Angles, intermarried with them; and thus,in the course of time, the two became almost one people. But in somedistricts there were clearly defined lines of separateness. Sigurd, inunbroken line, was a descendant of one "Rollo, the Ganger" (or walker).Wonderful traditions lingered amongst the people of the height and buildof this warrior: such fragmentary histories, or folk-lore, declared thathe was compelled to walk because no horse could bear his weight. Hencehis name, the "Ganger," or walker.
As this Sigurd was in body and physical proportions, so he was in mind.He was rough, rude in manners, tastes, and pursuits, but strong in thesturdy virtues of honesty and chastity, his Viking heritage. In the caseof Oswald notably, and of Ethel, and many others of our Saxon chieftainsand chieftainesses, some measure of education had been sought after andprized. Contact also with the Normans, who in goodly numbers dwelt inEngland during our late King Edward's lifetime, had done much to modifythe vulgar tastes and habits of the English. But in the case of Sigurd,the undiluted primitiveness of the marauding Norseman, untainted anduninfluenced by the undoubted advance the world was making, wasembodied. He never travelled beyond the rugged hills and weird gorges ofhis domain, unless it were to meet the hardy robbers from over theScottish border. To fish in the glorious lakes; to hunt in thestretching forests and dense woods; to excel in the rude games ofwrestling, archery, putting the stone, and many other games whichconstituted the sole recreations of vulgar churls, was his delight. Hehad little sympathy and little intercourse with those members of hisclass who were awaking to the presence of, and yielding to, thecivilising influences which were beginning to be felt in England, by itsincreasing contact with the continent of Europe. Still, there was arugged honesty about this man altogether admirable. He loved deeply andfaithfully; but he hated just as fiercely and implacably. He was a manof great, even gross extremes, magnificent in energy and force ofcharacter. Happy was the man who shared his affection; but woe be to theman who incurred his hatred. This first interview with Ethel had adistinctly repellent influence upon her; her very blood seemed to freezeunder his ardent gaze. It seemed to her that she was face to face withone of the unlovable gods or heroes, their sagas, or wise men, werenever tired of glorifying. The sense of shrinking and dread which Ethelexperienced at this first meeting might have been intensified by heranxiety with regard to Oswald; but Sigurd was quick to notice theinvoluntary start, the shrinking from him, and it cut him deeply, and tothe quick.
When the door was closed he stood for some minutes like one petrified,blankly staring at the closed door through which the fair vision haddisappeared. The form and features of the beautiful Saxon floatedindistinctly before his vision. "She shrank from me!" he fiercelyejaculated, but the tones were half a groan as well. "Why thisill-disguised dread of me?" he murmured. He slowly surveyed himself fromhead to foot in the vain endeavour to discover what it was about himwhich so startled and repelled Ethel. Then he strode across the room andstood before a mirror which hung from the wall in an elaborately wroughtframe--an article he had never used before, and seldom met with, andwhich he faced now with a scowl of contempt upon his face. His head andface were faithfully reflected, and some of his muscular frame. Hisvisage was bronzed and brown, his beard unshaven and unkempt, whilstfrom underneath his helmet there escaped masses of hair of an unlovelyred colour. "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I should better win me a bride as myfierce Viking ancestors won theirs, with their swords, getting them asthe spoil of war, or winning them at Holmganga (duel), where valour andprowess in arms were recognised. Any Norman gallant with a well-trimmedbeard would put me to the rout as wives are won in these degeneratedays! Any Saxon with a smattering of clerk's gear and book-learning,would have me on the hip. One who could play at joust with foppishNorman gallants, or lilt his heel to the sound of music, would bepreferred before me. Yet, what is there ails these sturdy limbs of mine?Sturdy limbs counted for much in the days of our ancestors; but nowevery dainty girl shrinks at them with contempt, as marks ofboorishness. Why should this girl shrink from me so? Hist to me,Viking," said he, apostrophising himself, "and tell me this. Why shouldthis fair Saxon thus unhinge me? Why should I care for blue eyes, flaxentresses, and a sylph-like form? Viking warriors were not mothered bygirls like this. Then clearly, if Viking warriors cannot be mothered bysuch, Viking warriors should not be wived by them. A wife of brawnybuild, with hardihood enough to be a sea-king's consort, and nurse mewarrior sons, would surely mate me best. My home will have to be therugged hills where the eagle hath his eyrie, or the dense forest whereprowls the wolf, and where the lordly red deer roam at will. Yet I dobelieve this fair Saxon hath bewitched me; she is comely beyond aught my
eyes have seen before. But what of that? 'Tis despisable--maudlin! Yetthose blue eyes of hers, and that comeliness of form, is quite new tome. Those maidens of brawny build, and bold, unwomanly features--I neverbethought me to love them yet. Ah! I have been ever ready to fight thebold, but I never could love it; 'tis the gentleness and maidenly graceof this Saxon maiden hath done it. Her speech is gentle, and her manneris coy and shy, and nothing forward. Out upon me for a dotard!" said hesavagely. "I'll no more on't! I will not sleep under this roof; 'tisenervating! I'll get me out upon the heath, where I can hear the soughof the night winds, and listen to the night-birds' screech. 'Twill bringme back my Viking's mood, and scare away this flimsy dream of love. Howcould I mate with a timid dove, except I shed my talons! A Viking sleekand pursy, well fed, and ease-loving!--a monstrosity I should be! Thedoor of Valhalla would be closed against me. The gods and heroes in theland beyond the deep sea, whose company I hope to join at death, woulddisown me. My boast and pride, my Viking's race, would fitly come to endwith me."
Meanwhile Ethel, accompanied by Eadburgh and Bretwul, repaired to theroom where Oswald had been laid at rest. Some knowledge of medicine andthe art of healing, happily, was possessed by all Saxon gentlewomen.Also there were a few amongst the serfs, who were the lowest class ofthe peasantry, that had some knowledge of herbs, potions, poultices,bandages, and simple remedies and expedients, which were frequently veryeffective, though sometimes mistaken.
Oswald smiled a pleasant smile as they entered; but it required no greatskill or discernment to see that he was weak and suffering. The hecticflush upon his countenance, and the short, hurried breathing told buttoo plainly that the wound and the weakness were not the worst foes thathad fastened on him. He could not fail to note the dismay and alarmdepicted on the pale and anxious face of Ethel.
"Ethel, girl," said he, putting as much pleasantness into his tone ofvoice as he could command, "never let that sweet face wear so sad alook. The case is not so bad as that--nothing worse than a mereflesh-wound; but the damp and exposure on those mountain sides, and thatlong and horrid home-coming on horseback, has taken the life out of me."
But in spite of his efforts to be cheerful, he could not suppress agroan and a painful contortion of his face.
"Bretwul," said he, uncovering his shoulder, "for mercy's sake undothose bandages! My arm swells, and they screw me tight as a vice, andgive me a sickening pain."
Ethel, however, advanced, and with firm and nimble fingers undid theclumsy bandages, cleaning and washing the festering wound wonderfullygently, but resolutely, and without faltering. Without faltering orhesitancy also, she bathed and salved, lotioned and bandaged it again.Oswald, with the passiveness of a tired child, submitted to it all.
"Ah!" said he, "now I've got a chance."
But this done, Ethel's culinary arts were called into requisition, anddelicacies from the mere, the flock, or the chase succeeded each otherwith tempting regularity.
"If the wound could have had but a week's start of the fever, I shouldhave been hopeful," said she to Eadburgh.
But this was not to be, for next day Oswald became restless, withoccasional wanderings of the mind, and this was speedily followed by atotal relapse. Never for a moment, by night or by day, except for themost necessary things, did Ethel quit his side; and never was there amoment, by night or day, but either Bretwul or Wulfhere watched by hisbed. And when the fever was at its height, it was as much as the twostrong men could do to hold him in his bed.
During this season of mental aberration, he would be at one time engagedin mortal strife with his hated rival Vigneau. Anon, he was over seaswith Alice de Montfort, a refugee in a foreign land. Then the graphicscene enacted in the dungeon beneath the castle, where Alice, torch inhand, and alone, saved him out of the hands of her own countrymen, andgave him liberty and life, was acted over again, with intense realism ofvoice and gesture.
Frequently he recoiled, with horror depicted in his countenance, asEthel gently smoothed his pillow, or moistened his parched lips. Then hewould call vehemently for the fair Norman with the dark eyes and raventresses.
Ethel heard all this with agony at heart, and often the tear, unbidden,dropped upon the coverlet as she bent over him. Often she would murmurto herself,--
"He thinks not of me. I am but a Saxon girl, to pet and speak gently to.Would he were harsh and forbidding, like this stranger! But he is whathe is, and God made me a woman, and I will bear this burden, as too ofta woman must; for he will never know, and that will make it bearable."
So for many weary days and nights the resolute struggle of life anddeath for victory went on, and the weary, anxious watchers looked on,helpless, except to pray and hope that favouring Providence would givethe victory as they wished.
At last the crisis passed. Thanks to the wonderful physique andrecuperative faculties of the patient, combined with the ceaseless careand patient nursing of the Saxon maiden, the strong man vanquished, andcast off the malignant foe. Then commenced the slow rallying from theutter prostration, and the gradual regaining of strength.