Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune

  CHAPTER XIII. THE CITY OF DORCHESTER.

  Dorchester was at this period the most important city of the Midlandcounties, for it was the seat of the great bishopric which extendedits sway over nearly the whole of Mercia.

  Here the apostle of Wessex, Birinus, had converted and baptizedCynegils, king of that country, Oswald, the saintly king ofNorthumbria, being present, and receiving him fresh from theregenerating waters as his adopted son. Here, the next year, Cuichelm,his brother, was baptized, and from this centre Christianity waswidely diffused. The good bishop died in the year 650, and was buriedamongst the people he loved, but many years later his relics weretranslated to Winchester. But the tale went forth that the cunningcanons of Dorchester had given them another body than that of thesaint, and their shrine was the object of veneration equally with therival shrine at Winchester.

  Dorchester became successively the seat of two great bishoprics--theone West Saxon, the other Mercian. The first, founded by Birinus, whenWessex extended far north of the Thames, was divided seventy yearslater into two sees--Winchester and Sherburne. For some years the citywas without bishops, owing to its insecure position during the strifebetween Wessex and Mercia, but later it appears as the seat of thegreat Mercian bishopric, retaining its jurisdiction until after theNorman conquest, when the see was transferred to Lincoln. ThereforeDorchester long enjoyed a wide celebrity and greater influence, thanthe city, Oxenford, which, lying at a distance of ten miles, wasdestined to supersede it eventually.

  The day was closing on an evening of November 1006, and the sun wassinking across the level country beyond the walls, when the people ofDorchester might have been seen crowding the roads which led from theeastern gate towards Bensington and Wallingford; the wooden bridge bywhich the road crossed the Tame was covered with human beings, andevery eye was eagerly directed along the great high road. The hugecathedral church towered above the masses, rude in architecture, yetstill impressive in its proportions, while another church, scarcelysmaller in its dimensions, rose from the banks lower down the stream,below the bridge, and the wooden steeple of a third was visible abovethe roofs of the houses in the western part of the city.

  But, as in every other city which had once been Roman, the relics ofdeparted greatness contrasted painfully (at least we should think so)with the humbler architecture around. The majesty of the churches wasindeed (as a contemporary wrote) great, but thatched roofs consortedill with the remains of shattered column and pedestal, and with thefragmentary ruins of the grand amphitheatre, which were yet partlyvisible, although the stones which had been brought from Bath to buildit had been employed largely in church architecture.

  The light of day was rapidly fading; a light breeze brought down theremaining leaves from the trees, or whirled them about in alldirections; winter was plainly about to assume the mastery of thescene, as was evident from the clothing the people wore, the thick furand warm woollen cloaks which covered their light tunics.

  At length the sound of approaching cavalry was heard, and the cry "TheKing! the King!" was raised, and cheers were given by the multitude.It was observable, almost at a glance, that they proceeded from theyoung and giddy, and that their elders refrained from joining in thecry.

  About a hundred horsemen, gaily caparisoned, appeared, and in themidst, with equal numbers of his guard preceding and following, rodeEthelred the king. He was of middle stature and not uncomely, butthere was a look of vacillation about his face, which would havestruck even an indifferent physiognomist, while his thin lips, whichhe was constantly biting (when he was not biting his nails), seemed toindicate a tendency towards cruelty.

  But by his side rode one, whose restless eyes seemed to wander to eachindividual of the crowd in turn, while power and malice seemed equallyconspicuous in his glance. Little changed since we last beheld himrode the traitor, for so all but the king accounted him, EdricStreorn.

  Amidst the shouts of the populace, who loved to look on the display,the Bishop Ednoth {xi} and the chief magistrates of the cityreceived the monarch and his councillor in front of the church of Sts.Peter and Paul, and escorted him through the streets to the palace,which stood in what was then a central position, on the spot nowcalled Bishop's Court. It was spacious, built around a quadrangularcourtyard, with cloisters surrounding the lowest storey and the smoothshaven lawn, in the centre of which a granite cross was upraised. Agateway opened in the southern side and led to the inner court, andthe cloisters opened from either side upon it.

  On the opposite side of the quadrangle was the great hall where synodswere held, and where, on state occasions, such as a royal visit, thebanquet was prepared.

  Here, after the king had availed himself of the bath, and hisattendants had divested themselves of their travel-stained attire, thethrone of the king was placed at the head of the board, and a seat forthe bishop on his right hand, and for Edric on his left.

  Ethelred took his place; upon his head a thin circlet of gold confinedhis flowing locks already becoming scant, but, as their natural colourwas light, not otherwise showing signs of age: he was only in hisfortieth year. His tunic was finely embroidered in colours around theneck, and was below of spotless white, secured by a belt richlygilded, whereon was a sheath for the dagger or knife, which was usedfor all occasions, whether in battle or in meal time, the haft beinginlaid with precious stones. Over the tunic a rich purple mantle waslightly thrown, and his slippers were of dark cloth, relieved by whitewool; the tunic descended to his heels.

  The attire of Edric was similar in shape, but of different colour; histunic was of green, edged with brown fur, his mantle of dark cloth,and his belt of embossed leather. There was a studied humility in itall, as if he shunned all comparison with the king.

  Ednoth said grace, and the chanters responded. The canons of thecathedral, the priests of the other churches, the sheriff of thecounty, the reeve of the borough, the burgesses, all had their places,and the banquet began; huge joints being carried round to eachindividual, from which, with his dagger, he cut what he fancied anddeposited it on his plate; then wine, ale, and mead were pouredfoaming into metal tankards, and lighter delicacies followed. Therewas no delay; no one cared to talk until he had satisfied hisappetite.

  The king, as a matter of course, opened the conversation, when theedge of desire was gone.

  "Have the levies who served in the war all been disbanded, Sheriff?"

  "The last returned from the garrisons in Sussex a week ago, and areall hoping for a quiet winter in the bosom of their families."

  "Have they lost many of their number? Did the people of this hundredsuffer greatly in the war which Sweyn forced upon us?"

  "Not very many; still there has been a little mourning, and muchanticipation of future evil," replied the bishop.

  "That is needless," said Edric; "they may all prepare to keep theirChristmas with good cheer. The Danes are sleeping, hibernating likebears in their winter caves."

  "While they are so near as the Wight, who can rest in peace?" saidEdnoth.

  "The Wight! it must be a hundred miles from here; the Danes have neverreached any spot so far from the coast as this."

  "Yet there is an uneasy belief that they will attack the inlanddistricts now that they have exhausted the districts on the coast, andthat we must be prepared to suffer as our brethren have done."

  "Before they leave their retreat again we shall be ready to meet them;our levies will be better trained and more numerous."

  "A curse seemed upon all our exertions this last year," said Ednoth,sorrowfully. "We were defending our hearths and our homes, yet we wereeverywhere outmanoeuvred and beaten. It could not have been worse hadwe had spies and traitors in command."

  The king slightly coloured, for he resented all imputations on hisfavourite, and was about to make a sharp reply, when a voice whichmade him start, replied:

  "Quite right, reverend father! as you say, success was impossiblewhile spies and traitors commanded our forces."

  All looked up in amazem
ent; two guests had entered unbidden, and theking, the bishop, and Edric recognised Prince Edmund.

  "The unseemly interruption is a sufficient introduction to thecompany. I need not, my friends, present to you my turbulent sonEdmund, or the attendant he has picked up."

  "No need whatsoever, if you will first allow us to explain the reasonsof our presence here. We have somewhat startling news from the enemy."

  "The enemy, by my last advices, lies quiet in the Isle of Wight," saidEdric.

  "I will not dispute your knowledge, my lord Edric," replied thePrince, "considering the intimacy you stand on with Sweyn."

  "Intimacy! I would sooner own intimacy with the Evil One."

  "You might own that, too, without much exaggeration, since the goodbishop will bear me witness that he is the father of lies."

  "Edmund, this is unbearable," said the king.

  "Pardon, my father and liege, but truth will out."

  The company sat in amazement, while the hand of Edric playedconvulsively with the hilt of his dagger; meanwhile Edmund ate, andgave to Alfgar, ere he spake again.

  "Stay, Edric," whispered the king; "thou art my Edric. I was neverfalse to thee, nor will I be now; did I not, for thy sake, look overthe death of Elfhelm of Shrewsbury, and put out the eyes of his sons?canst thou not trust me now?"

  Thus strengthened, Edric remained, and uneasy whispers passed aroundthe assembly.

  At last Edmund looked up.

  "When the flesh is weak through toil and fasting, speech is noteloquent, but now listen, all Englishmen true, and I will speak out."

  He told his tale, how he had conceived suspicions that the Danesintended a winter descent; how he had risked his life (in theexuberance of youthful daring) to ascertain the truth; how, trustingto his knowledge of Carisbrooke, wherein he had spent many pleasantdays in his boyhood, he had ventured amongst the Danes as a gleeman,in imitation of Alfred of old; how there he had assisted, unsuspected,at a meeting of the council in the great hall, and heard it decided toinvade England, and finally how he had escaped. And then he continued:

  "And in that council I heard that the Danes had a secret friend in theEnglish army, who ever gave them due warning of our movements, and whocaused all the miscarriage of our last campaign. Stand forth, EdricStreorn, for thou art the man, and my sword shall prove it, if needbe."

  "Edmund, thou ravest," cried the king; "produce thy witnesses."

  "Alfgar, son of Anlaf, answer; whom didst thou espy talking withSweyn?"

  "Edric Streorn."

  "How didst know him?"

  "Because he threatened my life on St. Brice's night, and I had oftenseen him while dwelling in Mercia."

  "A Dane witnessing against a free-born Englishman? Can it be endured?"cried Ethelred. "What, here, my royal guard!--here! here! your King isinsulted--insulted, and by his son and his son's minions."

  The guard rushed in, their weapons in their hands.

  "Seize my son, the false Edmund."

  "Here I am," quietly said the hero of the English army, for such hewas, although not recognised as such by the government of his father."Here I am; what Englishman will bind me?"

  The men stood as if paralysed.

  "Will you not obey?" shouted the weak Ethelred, and stamped inimpotent anger on the floor.

  But they would not--they could not touch Edmund.

  Edric whispered in the king's ear.

  "I was wrong," said the king; "retire, guards.

  "Edmund, come with me; tell me what you have seen. I will hear you,and judge between you and my Edric--judge fairly."

  "Wait till my return, Alfgar."

  Alfgar waited. No one spoke to him; all the company seemed utterlybewildered, as well they might be until, after the expiration of anhour, during which time Ednoth had left the hall, and the companybroke up by degrees, an officer of the court came and whispered in hisear that Edmund awaited him without the gates.

  He left the table at once, and proceeded beyond the precincts of thepalace, following his guide.

  "Where is the prince?"

  "He has had a stormy interview with his father, and has just left him,refusing to lodge in the palace, to sleep without the precincts. I amto conduct you thither."

  Leaving the palace, they were passing through some thick shrubbery,when all at once two strong men sprang upon Alfgar. At the same momenthis attendant turned round and assisted his foes. He struggled, but hewas easily overpowered, when his captors led him away, until, passinga postern gate in the western wall of the town, they crossed anembankment, and came upon the river. There they placed him on board asmall boat, and rowed rapidly down the stream.

  In the space of a few minutes they ran the boat ashore in the midst ofdense woods which fringed the farther bank, and there they forced himto land, and led him upwards until, deep in the woods, they came uponan old timbered house. They knocked at the door, which was speedilyopened by a man of gigantic stature and ruffianly countenance, bywhose side snarled a mastiff as repulsive as he.

  "Here, Higbald, we have brought thee a prisoner from our lord."

  The wretch looked upon Alfgar with the eyes of an ogre bent ondevouring a captive, and then said:

  "The chamber where blind Cuthred was slaughtered looks out on thewoods behind where no one passes, and it is strong; it will be betterfor you to take him there."

  And he drew aside to let them pass.

  "Here, Wolf" said the uncouth gaoler, "smell him, and see you have toguard him."

  The dog seemed to comprehend. He smelt around the prisoner, thendisplayed his huge fangs, and growled, as if to tell Alfgar what hisfate would be if he tried to escape.

  The poor lad turned to his captors who had brought him there, for theyseemed more humane than his new gaoler.

  "For pity's sake, tell me why I am brought here--what crime I havecommitted."

  No reply.

  "At least bear a message to one who will think I have deserted him inhis need."

  Again they were silent.

  They had ascended a rough staircase. At the summit a passage led pasttwo or three doors to one made of the strongest plank, andstrengthened with iron.

  They opened it, thrust him in, showed him, by the light of theirtorches, a bed of straw in the corner.

  "There you can lie and sleep as peacefully as at Carisbrooke," saidone of his guards.

  "And let me tell you," added Higbald, "that it will be certain deathto try to get away; for if you could escape me, my dog Wolf, whoprowls about by day and night, would tear you in pieces before any onecould help you. He has killed half-a-dozen men in his day."

  Like a poor wounded deer which retires to his thicket to die, Alfgarthrew himself down upon the bed of straw. His reflections were very,very bitter.

  "What would Edmund think of him?"

  "He will know I am faithful. He will not think that the lad whose lifehe saved has deserted him. He will search till he find me even here."

  Thus in alternate hope and despair he sank at last to sleep--naturehad its way--even as the criminal has slept on the rack.