Star of Mercia Part 10

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 ridla.s.s?

"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 h.o.a.rd 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 G.o.d 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 sh.o.r.e 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 wors.h.i.+pped G.o.d 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 G.o.dwin swayed the land. Many hated this G.o.dwin; 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 G.o.dwin 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 G.o.dwin never rule. Of the six sons of G.o.dwin, 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.s over Wye into the fastnesses of the Welsh. Some three years before my lady Algive became our Abbess, Sweyn the first-born son of G.o.dwin was made Earl, and given as Earldom much of the old kingdom of the March--to wit, Herefords.h.i.+re and Gloucesters.h.i.+re, and more beside. Ere long there spread from mouth to mouth tales of the wildness of our young Earl, even such wildness as G.o.dwin 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 G.o.d to bring him through the storms of youth to a steady manhood. Alack! alack for Lord Sweyn! tallest, proudest, most gifted of all the G.o.dwinsons!

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 b.u.t.tercup, 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 s.h.i.+re 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.dmund 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 G.o.dwinson 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 gla.s.s, 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 l.u.s.tily as the stoutest churl. All was done at early even; the great wains rolled home to the barns, and we pa.s.sed 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 G.o.dmund 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 G.o.dwinson, 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 G.o.dmund, 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 s.e.xburh, 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.

From that day forth was Earl Sweyn forced to flee from s.h.i.+re to s.h.i.+re.

For wheresoever he would go, the noise of his sacrilege sped before him. All priests of G.o.d cried out upon him throughout the length and breadth of the land; and of the folk, the most did shun the Earl, and curse the whole brood of G.o.dwin.

Then Sweyn took pen in hand, and wrote unto Edward our King, his sister Edith the lady's lord, begging this thing of him: That whereas Algive Aldred's daughter had taken the holy oath-plight in full early youth, for dread of her kindred, whom she might not withstand, this Algive might now be freed of her oath, and be wedded to him, Sweyn G.o.dwinson, as his lawful wife. Now blessed Edward was a great saint, ywiss. Did any man ill or slightingly by this Edward's self, his laws or his kings.h.i.+p, then had the King towards him the kind heart of a woman: but woe betide that one that had wrought wrong to Holy Church! He alone would find starkness in King Edward. For him had our Lord King heart of stone! When he had read the writing of Lord Sweyn, he cut and tore the same in shreds, and stamping his foot upon the ground, swore by blessed Dunstan's bones that Sweyn G.o.dwinson should rue the day wherein he was born.

King Edward was abiding at Winchester, and Earl G.o.dwin and his other sons were with him. Unto his father sent Sweyn then for help, but G.o.dwin did most straitly let that he should not come to him: nor would any of his brethen hold speech with Sweyn, but Harold only.

Then was Algive the Abbess stricken with fear, and wanhope, and bitter remorse, and she fled from before Earl Sweyn, and hid herself in the house of a kinsman of mine own, in the borough of Pevensey, in Kentland, where, try as he would, he might never come at her. Here, in the summer of the next year, her son Haco was born.

And about this tide was Sweyn G.o.dwinson outlawed by Witenagemote, and became as a wolf, and his head as a wolf's head, and thus any man might slay him, and yet go guiltless of blood.

And Sweyn fled to the sea-sh.o.r.e, and took s.h.i.+p with his house-carles, and fared unto his Danish kin, and with them roved the seas a viking, for full a year and more.

Now my Lady Algive and I abode in the house of Oswy my kinsman, a worthy chapman of the town of Pevensey, and the folk around kenned nought of us nor of whence we came, believing her to be a widow and I her maid. For King Edward and Earl G.o.dwin had made fast unto my lady some small means of livelihood. Thus a whole year pa.s.sed from the spring of Sweyn G.o.dwinson's forth-going, and summer was come again. And one fine day, when my lady and I did walk forth into Pevensey market to buy us fresh cake-bread, who should come through the market, wending afoot, but Sweyn's cousin, Earl Beorn of the s.h.i.+fty eyes. He caught sight of Algive's face beneath her wimple, as she stood by the cake-seller's booth, and halted beside her, and spake softly, near to her ear. And when my lady returned to our dwelling, Earl Beorn went along with her, and there talked with her alone some while.

Often thereafter came he unto my lady Algive at my kinsman's house at Pevensey--once in the week at the seldomest. What this boded I could not guess, but ever I misliked this Beorn more and more.

One evening, late in summer, I, after long wandering by the sh.o.r.e in the cool of the eventide, hied me home, weening that somewhat ailed my lady, and sought her in her own small chamber. I found her therein, crouched low upon the floor, white as sheeted ghost, her eyes a-stare, her mouth round-agape. Seeing me, she stumbled to her feet, and with one great sob, flung her arms about my neck and held me as she would never let me go.

"Winifred, sweet friend," then said mine alderliefest lady, "fail me not now, thou that hast followed me through weal and woe! For now must I to a deed before which my whole being quails. Know then--Earl Beorn--he hath wooed me long to his own ends, and I withstood him, minding me that my troth is to Christ our Lord, even though I be now desecrate. But ever he spake of the King, and of how he, Beorn, had lately besought him that Sweyn might come again into England, and be made once more lord and earl, as beseemeth his father's son. And King Edward, said he, seemed like to yield. And oh! I have but now plighted me, that if Sweyn be inlawed by his means, I will go unto Beorn whensoever he shall send for me.... O Winifred, thou wilt yet stand by me? Thou wilt go with me--on that day...? To what end my soul's weal?