I own the token, said Odo. My son lives. He needs no vengeance. He turned the handle of his axe downwards, passed it to his left hand, and stretched the right to Verronax, saying, Young man, thou art brave. There is no blood feud between us. Odo, son of Helgund, would swear friendship with you, though ye be Romans.
Compensation is still due according to the amount of the injury, said the Senator scrupulously. Is it not so, O King?
Euric assented, but Odo exclaimed
No gold for me! When Odo, son of Helgund, forgives, he forgives outright. Where is my son?
Food had by this time been brought by the Kings order, and after swallowing a few mouthfuls Marcus could stand and speak.
Odorik, apparently dead, had been dragged by the Goths into the hut of the widow Dubhina to await his fathers decision as to the burial, and the poor woman had been sheltered by her neighbour, Julitta, leaving the hovel deserted.
Columba, not allowing her grief and suspense to interfere with her visits of mercy to the poor woman, had come down as usual on the evening of the day on which her father and her betrothed had started on their sad journey. Groans, not likely to be emitted by her regular patient, had startled her, and she had found the floor occupied by the huge figure of a young Goth, his face and hair covered with blood from a deep wound on his head, insensible, but his moans and the motion of his limbs betraying life.
Knowing the bitter hatred in Claudiodunum for everything Gothic, the brave girl would not seek for aid nearer than the villa. Thither she despatched her male slave, while with her old nurse she did all in her power for the relief of the wounded man, with no inconsiderable skill. Marcus had brought the Greek physician of the place, but he had done nothing but declare the patient a dead man by all the laws of Galen and Hippocrates. However, the skull and constitution of a vigorous young Goth, fresh from the mountains, were tougher than could be imagined by a member of one of the exhausted races of the Levant. Bishop Sidonius had brought his science and sagacity to the rescue, and under his treatment Odorik had been restored to his senses, and was on the fair way to recovery.
On the first gleam of hope, Marcus had sent off a messenger, but so many of his household and dependents were absent that he had no great choice; so that as soon as hope had become security, he had set forth himself; and it was well he had done so, for he had overtaken the messenger at what was reckoned as three days journey from Bordigala. He had ridden ever since without rest, only dismounting to change his steed, scarcely snatching even then a morsel of food, and that morning neither he nor the horse he rode had relaxed for a moment the desperate speed with which he rode against time; so that he had no cause for the shame and vexation that he felt at his utter collapse before the barbarians. King Euric himself declared that he wished he had a Goth who could perform such a feat of endurance.
While Marcus slept, Æmilius and the two young men offered their heartfelt thanks in the Catholic church of Bordigala, and then Euric would not be refused their presence at a great feast of reconciliation on the following day, two of Verronaxs speedy-footed followers having been sent off at once to bear home tidings that his intelligence had been in time.
The feast was served in the old proconsular house, with the Roman paraphernalia, arranged with the amount of correct imitation that is to be found at an English dinner-party in the abode of an Indian Rajah. It began with Roman etiquette, but ended in a Gothic revel, which the sober and refined Æmilii could hardly endure.
They were to set off on their return early on the morrow, Meinhard and Odo with them; but when they at length escaped from the barbarian orgies, they had little expectation that their companions would join them in the morning.
However, the two Goths and their followers were on the alert as soon as they, and as cool-headed as if they had touched no drop of wine.
Old Odo disdained a mule, and would let no hand save his own guide his horse. Verronax and Lucius constituted themselves his guides, and whenever he permitted the slightest assistance, it was always from the Arvernian, whom he seemed to regard as a sort of adopted son.
He felt over his weapons, and told him long stories, of which Verronax understood only a word or two here and there, though the old man seemed little concerned thereat. Now and then he rode along chanting to himself an extemporary song, which ran somewhat thus
Maids who choose the slain,
Disappointed now.
The Hawk of the Mountain,
The Wolf of the West,
Meet in fierce combat.
Sinks the bold Wolf-cub,
Folds his wing the Falcon!
Shall the soft priestling
Step before him to Valhal,
Cheating Loks daughter
Of weak-hearted prey?
Lo! the Wolf wakens.
Valkyr relaxes,
Waits for a battlefield,
Wolf-cub to claim.
Friendly the Falcon,
Friendly the Gray-Wolf.
So it ran on, to the great scandal of Lucius, who longed for better knowledge of the Gothic tongue to convince the old man of the folly of his heathen dreams. Meinhard, who was likewise rather shocked, explained that the father and son had been recent arrivals, who had been baptized because Euric required his followers to embrace his faith, but with little real knowledge or acceptance on the part of the father. Young Odorik had been a far more ardent convert; and, after the fashion of many a believer, had taken up the distinctions of sect rather than of religion, and, zealous in the faith he knew, had thought it incumbent on him to insult the Catholics where they seemed to him idolatrous.
A message on the road informed the travellers that they would find Odorik at the villa. Thither then they went, and soon saw the whole household on the steps in eager anticipation. A tall young figure, with a bandage still round his fair flowing locks, came down the steps as Verronax helped the blind man to dismount; and Odo, with a cry of My son! with a ring of ecstasy in the sound, held the youth to his breast and felt him all over.
Are we friends? said Odorik, turning to Verronax, when his father released him.
That is as thou wiliest, returned the Arvernian gravely.
Know then, said Odorik, that I know that I erred. I knew not thy Lord when I mocked thine honour to Him. Father, we had but half learnt the Christians God. I have seen it now. It was not thy blow, O Arvernian! that taught me; but the Master who inspired yonder youth to offer his life, and who sent the maiden there to wait upon her foe. He is more than man. I own in him the Eternal Creator, Redeemer, and Lord!
Yea, said Sidonius to his friend Æmilius, a great work hath been wrought out. Thus hath the parable of actual life led this zealous but half-taught youth to enter into the higher truth. Lucius will be none the worse priest for having trodden in the steps of Him who was High-priest and Victim. Who may abide strict Divine Justice, had not One stood between the sinner and the Judge? Thus Mercy and Truth have met together; Righteousness and Peace have kissed each other.
THE CAT OF CAT COPSE
A HAMPSHIRE TRADITION
IThe Dane! the Dane! The heathen Dane
Is wasting Hampshires coast again
From ravaged church and plundered farm
Flash the dread beacons of alarm
Fly, helpless peasants, fly!
Ytenes green banks and forest shades,
Her heathery slopes and gorse-clad glades
Re-echo to the cry
Where is the King, whose strong right hand
Hath oft from danger freed the land?
Nor fleet nor covenant avails
To drive aloof those pirate sails,
In vain is Alfreds sword;
Vain seems in every sacred fane
The chantFrom fury of the Dane,
Deliver us, good Lord.
The long keels have the Needles past,
Wights fairest bowers are flaming fast;
From Solents waves rise many a mast,
With swelling sails of gold and red,
Dragon and serpent at each head,
Havoc and slaughter breathing forth,
Steer on these locusts of the north.
Each vessel bears a deadly freight;
Each Viking, fired with greed and hate,
His axe is whetting for the strife,
And counting how each Christian life
Shall win him fame in Skaldic lays,
And in Valhalla endless praise.
For Hambles river straight they steer;
Prayer is in vain, no aid is near
Hopeless and helpless all must die.
Oh, fainting heart and failing eye,
Look forth upon the foe once more!
Why leap they not upon the shore?
Why pause their keels upon the strand,
As checked by some resistless hand?
The sail they spread, the oars they ply,
Yet neither may advance nor fly.
Who is it holds them helpless there?
Tis He Who hears the anguished prayer;
Tis He Who to the wave
Hath fixed the boundmud, rock, or sand
To mark how far upon the strand
Its foaming sweep may rave.
What is it, but the ebbing tide,
That leaves them here, by Hambles side,
So firm embedded in the mud
No force of stream, nor storm, nor flood,
Shall ever these five ships bear forth
To fiords and islets of the north;
A thousand years shall pass away,
And leave those keels in Hambles bay.
Ill were it in my rhyme to tell
The work of slaughter that befell;
In sooth it was a savage time
Crime ever will engender crime.
Each Viking, as he swam to land,
Fell by a Saxons vengeful hand;
Turn we from all that vengeance wild
Where on the deck there cowered a child,
And, closely to his bosom prest,
A snow-white kitten found a nest.
That tender boy, with tresses fair,
Was Edric, Egberts cherished heir;
The plaything of the homestead he,
Now fondled on his grandames knee;
Or as beside the hearth he sat,
Oft sporting with his snow-white cat;
Now by the chaplain taught to read,
And lisp his Pater and his Creed;
Well nurtured at his mothers side,
And by his father trained to ride,
To speak the truth, to draw the bow,
And all an English Thane should know,
His days had been as one bright dream
As smooth as his own rivers stream!
Until, at good King Alfreds call,
Thane Egbert left his native hall.
Then, five days later, shout and yell,
And shrieks and howls of slaughter fell,
Upon the peaceful homestead came.
Mid flashing sword, and axe, and flame,
Snatched by a Vikings iron grasp,
From his slain mothers dying clasp,
Saved from the households flaming grave,
Edric was dragged, a destined slave,
Some northern dame to serve, or heed
The flocks that on the Sæter feed.
Still, with scarce conscious hold he clung
To the white cat, that closely hung
Seeking her refuge in his arm,
Her shelter in the wild alarm
And who can tell how oft his moan
Was soothed by her soft purring tone?
Time keeping with retracted claw,
Or patting with her velvet paw;
Although of home and friends bereft,
Still this one comforter was left,
So lithe, so swift, so soft, so white,
She might have seemed his guardian sprite.
The rude Danes deemed her such;
And whispered tales of disir bound
To human lords, as bird or hound.
Nor one mid all the fleet was found
To hurt one tender paw.
And when the captive knelt to pray
None would his orisons gainsay;
For as they marked him day by day,
Increased their wondering awe.
Crouched by the mast, the child and cat,
Through the dire time of slaughter sat,
By terror both spellbound;
But when night came, a silence drear
Fell on the coast; and far or near,
No voice caught Edrics wakeful ear,
Save waters lapping sound.
He wandered from the stern to prow,
Ate of the stores, and marvelled how
He yet might reach the ground;
Till low and lower sank the tide,
Dark banks of mud spread far and wide
Around that fast-bound wreck.
Then the lone boy climbed down the ship,
To cross the mud by bound and skip,
His cat upon his neck.
Light was his weight and swift his leap,
Now would he softly tread, now creep,
For treacherous was the mud, and deep
From stone to weed, from weed to plank,
Leaving a hole whereer he sank;
With panting breath and sore taxed strength
The solid earth he felt at length.
Sheltered within the copse he lay,
When dawn had brightened into day,
For when one moment there was seen,
His red cap glancing mid the green,
A fearful cry arose
Here lurks a Dane! The Dane seek out
With knife and axe, the rabble rout
Made the copse ring with yell and shout
To find their dreaded foes.
And Edric feared to meet a stroke,
Before they knew the tongue he spoke.
Hid mid the branches of an oak,
He heard their calls and blows.
Of food he had a simple store,
And when the churls the chase gave oer,
And evening sunk upon the vale,
With rubbing head and upright tail,
Pacing before him to and fro,
Puss lured him on the way to go
Coaxing him on, with tender wile,
Oer heath and down for many a mile.
Ask me not how her course she knows.
He from Whom every instinct flows
Hath breathed into His creatures power,
Giving to each its needful dower;
And strive and question as we will,
We cannot trace the inborn skill,
Nor fathom how, whereer she roam,
The cat neer fails to find her home.
What pen may dare to paint the woe,
When Egbert saw his home laid low?
Where, by the desolated hearth,
The mother lay who gave him birth,
And, close beside, his fair young wife,
And servants, slain in bootless strife
Mournful the King stood near.
Alfred, who came to be his guest,
And deeply rued that his behest
Had all unguarded left that nest,
To meet such ruin drear.
With hand, and heart, and lip, he gave
All king or friend, both true and brave,
Could give, one pang of grief to save,
To comfort, or to cheer
As from the blackened walls they drew
Each corpse, and laid with reverence due;
And then it was that Egbert knew
All save the child were here.
King Alfreds noble head was bent,
A monarchs pain his bosom rent;
Kindly he wrung Thane Egberts hand
Lo! these have won the blissful land,
Where foemans shout is heard no more,
Nor wild waves beat upon the shore;
Brief was the pang, the strife is oer
They are at peace, my friend!
Safe, where the weary are at rest;
Safe, where the banishd and opprest
Find joys that never end.
Thane Egbert groaned, and scarce might speak
For tears that ploughed his hardy cheek,
As his dread task was done.
And for the slain, from monk and priest
Rose requiems that never ceased,
While still he sought his son.
Oh, would to Heaven! that father said,
There lay my darling calmly dead,
Rather than as a thrall be bred
His Christian faith undone.
Nay, life is hope! bespake the King,
God oer the child can spread His wing
And shield him in the Northmans power
Safe as in Alswyths guarded bower;
Treaty and ransom may be found
To win him back to English ground.
The funeral obsequies were oer,
But lingered still the Thane,
Hanging around his home once more,
Feeding his bitter pain.
The King would fain with friendly force
Urge him anew to mount his horse,
Turn from the piteous sight away,
And fresh begin lifes saddened day,
His loved ones looking yet to greet,
Where neer shall part the blest who meet.
Just then a voice that well he knew,
A sound that mixed the purr and mew,
Went to the fathers heart.
On a large stone King Alfred sat
Against his buskin rubbed a cat,
Snow-white in every part,
Though drenched and soiled from head to tail.
The poor Thanes tears poured down like hail
Poor puss, in vain thy loving wail,
Then came a joyful start!
A little hand was on his cloak
Father! a voice beside him spoke,
Emerging from the wood.
All travel-stained, and marked with mire,
With trace of blood, and toil, and fire,
Yet safe and sound beside his sire,
Edric before them stood.
And as his father wept for joy,
King Alfred blessed the rescued boy,
And thanked his Maker good!
Who doth the captives prayer fulfil,
Making His creatures work His will
By means not understood.
NOTE.The remains of the five Danish vessels still lie embedded in the mud of the Hamble River near Southampton, though parts have been carried off and used as wood for furniture in the farm-houses. The neighbouring wood is known as Cat Copse, and a tradition has been handed down that a cat, and a boy in a red cap, escaped from the Danish ships, took refuge there.
NOTE.The remains of the five Danish vessels still lie embedded in the mud of the Hamble River near Southampton, though parts have been carried off and used as wood for furniture in the farm-houses. The neighbouring wood is known as Cat Copse, and a tradition has been handed down that a cat, and a boy in a red cap, escaped from the Danish ships, took refuge there.
DE FACTO AND DE JURE
I. DE FACTOThe later summer sunbeams lay on an expanse of slightly broken ground where purple and crimson heather were relieved by the golden blossoms of the dwarf gorse, interspersed with white stars of stitch-wort. Here and there, on the slopes, grew stunted oaks and hollies, whose polished leaves gleamed white with the reflection of the light; but there was not a trace of human habitation save a track, as if trodden by horses feet, clear of the furze and heath, and bordered by soft bent grass, beginning to grow brown.
Near this trackfor path it could hardly be calledstood a slender lad waiting and watching, a little round cap covering his short-cut brown hair, a crimson tunic reaching to his knee, leggings and shoes of deerhide, and a sword at his side, fastened by a belt of the like skin, guarded and clasped with silver. His features were delicate, though sunburnt, and his eyes were riveted on the distance, where the path had disappeared amid the luxuriant spires of ling.
A hunting-horn sounded, and the youth drew himself together into an attitude of eager attention; the baying of hounds and trampling of horses hoofs came nearer and nearer, and by and by there came in view the ends of boar-spears, the tall points of bows, a cluster of heads of men and horsesstrong, sturdy, shaggy, sure-footed creatures, almost ponies, but the only steeds fit to pursue the chase on this rough and encumbered ground.
Foremost rode, with ivory and gold hunting-horn slung in a rich Spanish baldrick, and a slender gilt circlet round his green hunting-cap, a stout figure, with a face tanned to a fiery colour, keen eyes of a dark auburn tint, and a shock of hair of the same deep red.
At sight of him, the lad flung himself on his knees on the path, with the cry, Haro! Haro! Justice, Sir King!
Out of my way, English hound! cried the King. This is no time for thy Haro.
Nay, but one word, good fair King! I am FrenchFrench by my fathers side! cried the lad, as there was a halt, more from the instinct of the horse than the will of the King. Bertram de Maisonforte! My father married the Lady of Boyatt, and her inheritance was confirmed to him by your father, brave King William, my Lord; but now he is dead, and his kinsman, Roger de Maisonforte, hath ousted her and me, her son and lawful heir, from house and home, and we pray for justice, Sir King?
Ha, Roger, thou there! What sayst thou to this bold beggar! shouted the Red King.
I say, returned a black, bronzed hunter, pressing to the front, that what I hold of thee, King William, on tenure of homage, and of two good horses and staunch hounds yearly, I yield to no English mongrel churl, who dares to meddle with me.
Thou hearst, lad, said Rufus, with his accustomed oath, homage hath been done to us for the land, nor may it be taken back. Out of our way, or
Sir! sir! entreated the lad, grasping the bridle, if no more might be, we would be content if Sir Roger would but leave my mother enough for her maintenance among the nuns of Romsey, and give me a horse and suit of mail to go on the Holy War with Duke Robert.
Ho! ho! a modest request for a beggarly English clown! cried the King, aiming a blow at the lad with his whip, and pushing on his horse, so as almost to throw him back on the heath. Ho! ho! fit him out for a fools errand!
Well fit him! Well teach him to take the cross at other mens expense! shouted the followers, seizing on the boy.
Nay; well bestow his cross on him for a free gift! exclaimed Roger de Maisonforte.
And Bertram, struggling desperately in vain among the band of ruffians, found his left arm bared, and two long and painful slashes, in the form of the Crusaders cross, inflicted, amid loud laughter, as the blood sprang forth.
There, Sir Crusader, said Roger, grinding his teeth over him. Go on thy way nowas a horse-boy, if so please thee, and know better than to throw thy mean false English pretension in the face of a gentle Norman.
Men, horses, dogs, all seemed to trample and scoff at Bertram as he fell back on the elastic stems of the heath and gorse, whose prickles seemed to renew the insults by scratching his face. When the Kings horn, the calls, the brutal laughter, and the baying of the dogs had begun to die away in the distance, he gathered himself together, sat up, and tried to find some means of stanching the blood. Not only was the wound in a place hard to reach, but it had been ploughed with the point of a boar-spear, and was grievously torn. He could do nothing with it, and, as he perceived, he had further been robbed of his sword, his last possession, his fathers sword.
The large tears of mingled rage, grief, and pain might well spring from the poor boys eyes in his utter loneliness, as he clenched his hand with powerless wrath, and regained his feet, to retrace, as best he might, his way to where his widowed mother had found a temporary shelter in a small religious house.
The sun grew hotter and hotter, Bertrams wound bled, though not profusely, the smart grew upon him, his tongue was parched with thirst, and though he kept resolutely on, his breath came panting, his head grew dizzy, his eyes dim, his feet faltered, and at last, just as he attained a wider and more trodden way, he dropped insensible by the side of the path, his dry lips trying to utter the cry, Lord, have mercy on me!
II. DE JUREWhen Bertram de Maisonforte opened his eyes again cold waters were on his face, wine was moistening his lips, the burning of his wound was assuaged by cooling oil, while a bandage was being applied, and he was supported on a breast and in arms, clad indeed in a hauberk, but as tenderly kind as the full deep voice that spoke in English, He comes round. How now, my child?
Father, murmured Bertram, with dreamy senses.
Better now; another sup from the flask, David, again said the kind voice, and looking up, he became aware of the beautiful benignant face, deep blue eyes, and long light locks of the man in early middle age who had laid him on his knee, while a priest was binding his arm, and a fair and graceful boy, a little younger than himself, was standing by with the flask of wine in his hand, and a face of such girlish beauty that as he knelt to hold the wine to his lips, Bertram asked
Am I among the Angels?
Not yet, said the elder man. Art thou near thine home?
Alack! I have no home, kind sir, said Bertram, now able to raise himself and to perceive that he was in the midst of a small hand of armed men, such as every knight or noble necessarily carried about with him for protection. There was a standard with a dragon, and their leader himself was armed, all save his head, and, as Bertram saw, was a man of massive strength, noble stature, and kingly appearance.
What shall we do for thee? he asked. Who hath put thee in this evil case?
Bertram gave his name, and at its Norman sound there was a start of repulsion from the boy. French after all! he exclaimed.
Nay, David, said the leader, if I mind me rightly, the Lady Elftrud of Boyatt wedded a brave Norman of that name. Art thou her son? I see something of her face, and thou hast an English tongue.