"This is what Streone thought, for he deemed that he should be the king's master if he set him on the throne. So he must needs try to gain more wealth from the king, and after he had been at court for a while, one might see that Cnut grew weary of his words. But at last there was a great feast, and I stood behind Thorkel at the high place, and Streone was next to Thorkel, and Thorkel to the king on his right hand. When the ale was going round, Streone began to find fault with some ordering of Cnut's, and at last said:

"Maybe one might judge how things would go when the man who gave you this kingdom is treated thus.'

"Then Cnut looked at him very quietly and said:

"'You have the same honours from me as from Ethelred.'

"'Not so, not so,' he said. 'I was wont to sit at the king's right hand, with none between me and him.'

"Thereat Thorkel would have spoken, but Cnut held up his hand. I saw his bright eyes shining, and Streone should have taken warning, but his fate was on him.

"'You think, then, that you have not all you deserve?' the king said.

"'I have not. You have all—owing to me.'

"Then Cnut rose up and faced him, and a great hush fell on all the assembly.

"'This earl, as it seems, will be content with nothing short of the king's seat. Two kings has he pulled down, and one has he slain of those two. We have profited by this, as all men know. But here do I proclaim myself clear from all part in the slaying of Eadmund my brother, who, but for this man, might hereafter have taken all the kingdom when I died, according to our oaths. I suppose that no man will believe that I had nought to do with this murder, but I am clear thereof, both in thought or wish or deed.

"'Now in gaining the kingdom which has been the right of the Danish kings—if tribute paid for conquest in old time means aught—at least since the days of Guthrum, if not before, I have used the help of this earl, for Mercia was ours by right, as in the Danelagh. I will not say that his way of helping me has been what one would wish, but in war one uses what weapons one can find. For his help to me the Earl of Mercia has been well paid. Now, what shall be given to the man who betrayed to death the foster son who believed in him as in himself?'

"Then I, Thrand the freeman of Colchester, nowise caring what befell me, answered in a loud voice:

"'Let him die. He is not fit to live.'

"'Slay him, therefore,' said Cnut.

"Thereat Streone cried for mercy once, grovelling. And he having done so, I lifted the axe I bore and slew him, even on the high place at the king's feet.

"Then one in the hall said in a great voice:

"'Justice is from the hands of Cnut the king.'

"There went round a murmur of assent to that, and I called to me another of Thorkel's men, a Colchester man of your guard also, and while all held their peace and Cnut stood still looking at what was done, stirring neither hand nor foot, but with his eyes burning bright with rage and his head a little forward, as an eagle that will strike, we two bore the traitor's body to the window that overhangs the Thames, and cast it thereout into the swift tide.

"After that I went my way down the hall, and the king cried:

"'Let the man go forth.'

"So that none spoke to me or withstood me.

"When I got to the street it was dark, and it seemed to me that the best thing that I could do was to fly. So I went by day and night, and I am here."

So that was the traitor's end. And I was glad, for I knew that England was free from her greatest foe. Justly was Edric Streone slain, and all men held that it was well done. Nor did any man ever seek Thrand to avenge the earl's death on his slayer. I think none held him worth avenging.

I bade Thrand hold his peace concerning his part in this matter, for a while at least, lest I should lose him.

After Streone's death it was plain that Cnut was king indeed, for his Danish jarls knew him too well to despise him. They went each to his place, and the land began to smile again with the peace that had come, and Cnut sent Eirik the jarl home to Denmark with the host, as I have said.



Chapter 16: By Wormingford Mere.

Now it was not long after Streone's death that I had a message from Emma the queen to bid me to her wedding with Cnut, that should be completed with all magnificence. And I went with Thorkel the jarl and Egil, and I could not complain of the welcome I had both from the queen and from Cnut. I might say much of that wedding, for it was wonderful, but I cared not much for it, except that there I met Elfric the abbot again, and he would have me stay in his house, so that it was most pleasant to be with him, and away from the bustle and mirth of the strangers who were with the king.

But for this wedding Eadward Atheling would not come from Normandy. Men said that he was likely to gather forces against his new stepfather, but that it would be of no use. So thought I, for it was a true word that I had heard at Senlac in the hut on Caldbec hill—that Cnut should have the goodwill of all men, even of myself. For so it was, as one might see written in the faces of the London burghers, who alone of all England had baffled him again and again, and now could not do enough honour to him. He had won even their love.

When I would go back to Bures, Emma the queen sent for me, hearing that I would speak with her ere I went, and she received me most kindly, coming down from her high place to greet me.

"Redwald," she said, laughing a little, "I was a sore burden to you when we fled hence."

"My queen," I answered, "the danger was the burden. It weighed on all of us."

"That is a court speech," she said; "but we taught you court ways, and I will not blame it. Nevertheless, though you will not tell me so plainly, I know that I made things worse for you by my foolishness. Forgive the abbess, if the queen may expect nought but smooth words."

"I do not know how I can answer you, Queen Emma," said I at that, "but it is true that for you I would go through the same again."

"Then I am forgiven," she said. "Now tell me what became of the brave maiden who withstood the Danes with you, and also my sharp tongue—trouble sharpened it, Redwald, and I have repented my hard words to her."

"She is with friends at Penhurst, near to Earl Wulfnoth's castle of Pevensea. And she feared that you would hate her."

"I would that I could reward her rather," the queen said. "Have you seen her of late?"

"Not since just before last midsummer," I answered; and I suppose my face showed some feeling that the queen noted.

"Redwald," she said, "if you would wed this maiden it is I who would give her a portion that should be worthy of her and of you. Can it be so?"

"My queen," I said with a great hope in my heart, "if that is your will, I think that it must be so. But in honesty I will tell you that an old betrothal that was when I was a child seems to stand in the way. But neither I nor the child to whom I was betrothed have seen one another since the coming of Swein's host. And I know not where she is."

"Ah! you would have it broken, and I wonder not. That can surely be."

Then all at once came over me one thought of how Hertha had perhaps, after all, longed and waited and prayed for my coming. I remembered words that Ailwin had spoken that seemed to say that this might be so; and thus on the very threshold of freedom I shrank back lest I should wrong the child I had loved by breaking my troth so solemnly plighted; and I knew not what to say, while the queen looked at me wondering.

Then she smiled and said:

"Maybe you cannot love the maiden. Wait awhile, and let me hear of you again. One may not, in kindness, force these matters. But I will trust you to tell me if she is to wed any other than you—for her portion shall be ready for her. The riches of England and Denmark and Norway are mine."

There spoke Emma of Normandy again, and her proud look came back. The maidens on the dais were smiling at one another, for the queen was turned away from them.

"Let it be thus, my queen," I said, after I had thanked her.

And she said that it should be so, deeming that I had thought of Uldra not at all, maybe.

Then she spoke of my own doings, and Cnut came as we did so. I bowed to him, and he took my hand, calling me "thane" in all good faith.

"Now I have to come ere long into your country," he said, "for I have vowed to build a church in each place where I have fought and conquered. Have you a house where I may stay?"

"My place is far from Ashingdon, lord king," I answered, "and I am rebuilding my father's house as best I can."

"I suppose my men burnt it?" he said plainly.

"Your father's men did so in the first coming."

"Therefore shall his son rebuild for your father's son," said the king. "Will you accept aught from me?"

"Lord king," said I, "I have fought against you, and have owned you unwillingly at first."

"That is certain," he said laughing, "else had you not tried to take away my queen. Go to, Redwald, you are a troublesome subject."

"I think I shall be so no longer," I answered.

So those two most royal ones bade me farewell, and I went away to Elfric, and found Godwine there. The young earl was high in favour with Cnut, and rightly.

Presently came one from the king with somewhat for me, and that was a goodly gift of money, which I hardly cared to take at first.

Then Godwine laughed at me.

"We have a great chest half full of gold at Pevensea out of which you may take a double handful whenever you need it. Cnut has the gold of three kingdoms and says you may do the same out of his hoards. Head breaking brought you the first, and hardship the second. Take one as you would the other, man. It is your due."

And Elfric added that the king's gift was surely out of goodness of heart. There could be no thought of bribes now. So I took it, and was glad thereof, for I could not ask my people for rents and dues yet.

Elfric asked me of Uldra, as one might suppose, and was glad when he heard of her welfare.

"I suppose that when I get back to Medehamstede her folk will want to know how she fares in Normandy, or the like. Maybe they have troubled the good abbess already more than enough, for she brought her to me."

"Whose daughter was she?" I asked.

"Maybe I heard, but I have forgotten," he said. "The abbess knows. I saw not her folk, for the sisters brought her with them with my consent."

So I went back to Bures well content with all but one thing, and that was what troubled me more than enough. But I knew not that to my dying day I shall rejoice that I kept my troth to Hertha.

It was on one of those wondrous days that come in October, with glory of sunshine and clear sky over gold and crimson of forest and copse, that I learnt this.

I would go to Wormingford now and then to see that all was going well with the rebuilding of Hertha's home, for Cnut's gift was enough for that also, seeing that all one needed was at hand and did but require setting up by skilled workers. Our priest, Father Oswin, found me such craftsmen as I needed.

"Let me rebuild the church first, father," I had said to him when I returned thus rich.

"Not so, my son. That is a matter which must be taken in hand presently, and not hurriedly. Shelter first the man who shall do it, and provide for the fatherless at Wormingford, and it will be better done after all."

Therefore I was very busy. And on this day of which I speak I walked in the late afternoon, and must needs turn aside into the woods by the mere, for I had often done that of late, loving the place for old memories the more now that Olaf came into them. It seemed to me that I had never seen the still mere look more wondrously beautiful than on this day, for we had had neither wind nor rain to mar the autumn beauty of the trees, and that was doubled by the mirror of the water.

So I lingered in that place where Olaf and I had been so nearly slain, thinking of that night and of many other days, and then I heard a footstep coming through the wood, and turned to see who it might be, for I had never met any other in the haunted place.

And there came towards me slowly a white-robed maiden who looked steadfastly at me, saying nought. And I thought that surely she was the White Lady of the Mere. The shadows flickered across her face and dress, and in her hand she bore a basket with crimson leaves and the like.

And then I saw that surely this was Hertha coming to meet me as in the old days when I had waited for her here—Hertha grown older, and changed; but yet as I saw her here in the old place one could not but know her, and half I cried out her name, and then stayed with my heart beating fast.

For as she came into the clearing and was close to me she held out her hands, and the basket fell at her feet, and lo! it was Uldra, whom I loved—and Uldra was Hertha—and I had in my arms all that I longed for, and my trouble was gone for evermore.

"How was it that you knew me not before this?" she asked presently, while we walked together to Wormingford to find Ailwin. They had but come back that morning.

"Always have I seemed to know you well," I said, "but first the sisters' dress, and then that I looked not for Hertha in London, prevented me. And so I grew to know your looks and ways as Uldra, whom I grew to love. Then all thought of the old likeness that puzzled me at first was forgotten. There is no wonder in it, for you have grown from childhood to womanhood since we fled from Bures, and I have gone through much that blotted your face from my mind. Rather do I wonder where you have been all this time."

"One secret I may not tell you today," she said; "and that is where our safest hiding place has been in sorest peril. Some day I will show it you, for it is not far. But for long did Gunnhild and I dwell with her brother in the forest and marsh fastnesses beyond the Colne. There one might take to the woods when prowling Danes were near, though it was but twice, and but for a few hours then, that we had to do so. There was little or no danger there when the host passed on. Some day shall you and I ride to that quiet farmstead, for I love the kindly folk who cared for me so well."

Then I said, and my words came to pass afterwards:

"If they will, they shall have my best farm here for their own, that they may be near you. Now tell me how you came to be with Elfric."

She blushed a little, and laughed.

"When we were at Penhurst," she said, "you told me how you were seeking me—well, maybe I was seeking you. It fell out thus. When you and Olaf, whom I long to see, scattered the Danes here, Gunnhild said that we must fly, for they were seeking hiding places. So she would go to her sister, who is abbess at Ramsey, by the great mere of Whittlesea. So we fled there, and the journey was overmuch for her, and there she died after two days. That was a sore grief to me, but I will not speak of grief now. Then Ailwin told the abbess to keep me with her until all things were safe, when he would return for me. But Gunnhild had asked her to find me a place with the Lady Algitha, Eadmund Atheling's wife, because I should meet you in his house often enough. That she could do, and would have done.

"Then the Danes came, and one day Elfric sent word that he was going to Normandy. Those two sisters would go home, and so the abbess sent me with them, thinking that thus her sister's plan for me would be best carried out. For she was told by Elfric that you were in charge of the party, saying the sisters would be safe in your care. Elfric might get me a place in the queen's new household; and if not—if you knew me not nor cared for me—there was always the convent."

"So all that plan came out thus—and it is well," I said. "But why would you not come to Penhurst at first?"

She laughed lightly, answering:

"Can you not guess? Relf saw, and set things right. Did he never tell you what was wrong?"

"He said that it was want of travelling gear," said I.

"Why, that was not it, though being thoughtful and fatherly he asked of that first."

"Tell me what was the trouble, then."

"I thought—there were things said, and you called me by her name—that the wedding Relf spoke of was yours and Sexberga's. That was all."

"Surely Relf knew not who you were?"

"No. He did not till Ailwin came to Penhurst."

"Then," said I, "it passes me to know how he found out what the trouble was."

"Because he has a daughter of his own," she laughed.

And so she began to speak of Sexberga's wedding, which had been not long since.

Then we came to Wormingford, and there was Ailwin, bent and aged indeed by the troubles, but well, and rejoiced to see me once more, and that I and Hertha were so happily together. But I had to ask his pardon for my roughness to him before I could feel content.

"My son, had you not felt this matter very deeply, I know you would not have troubled yourself even to wrath about it. Truly I was glad to hear you speak so. There is nought to forgive."

So he said, and maybe he was right.

I rode back presently to Bures with my heart full of joy, and a wondrous content. And when I came to the house on the green I was to learn that joys come not always singly any more than sorrows, which are ever doubled.

The door stood open as I rode up, and in the red light from within the house stood two tall figures on the threshold, and the light flashed from helms and mail as they moved, and for a moment a fear came over me that some new call to arms waited me, so that the peace that I thought I had at last found was to be snatched from me. For it was as in the days when Olaf's men stood on guard over us at the doorway.

More like those days it was yet to be, for as I reined up a voice cried:

"Ho, cousin what of the White Lady?"

And Olaf himself came and greeted me as I leapt from the saddle, holding my shoulders and looking at me as he took me into the light to scan my face. The other warrior was Ottar the scald, my friend, and now I had all that I could wish.

We sat together in the old places, and he said presently:

"You seem contented enough with Cnut, to judge by your face, my cousin."

"I had forgotten him. I am content with all things," I answered.

"How came you here?"

"Nay, but you shall tell me of yourself first," he said. "Then I may have somewhat to say of my doings."

So I told him all.

"Why then, you must be wedded betimes," he said; "for I must see that wedding, though I would not have Cnut catch me. The ships are in Colchester river, and but for Egil I had never got there even."

Then I heard how he had been southward, and what deeds he had done; and it was Ottar who told me that, for Olaf had nought to say of himself. But presently when it came to the time when he turned his ships homeward, Olaf took up the story.

"When I was minded to go on from this place, in Carl's water as they call it, even to Jerusalem and the holy places, I had the sign that I looked for—the sign that I should go back to Norway. I slept, and in my sleep there came to me a man, very noble looking and handsome, and yet terrible, and he stood by me and spoke to me saying, 'Fare back to the land that is thy birthright, for King of Norway thou shalt be for evermore.' And I knew this man for Olaf Tryggvesson my kinsman, and I think that he means that I shall gain all Norway for Christ's faith, and that my sons shall reign after me in the days to come."

"It is certain that you shall win Norway," I said, "for so also ran the words of the Senlac witch, 'For Olaf a kingdom and more than a kingdom—a name that shall never die'."

"I think men will remember me if I beat Cnut in my own land," he said lightly. "So I came back as far as the Seine river, and there was Eadward Atheling trying to raise men against Cnut his stepfather. I knew not that that peaceful youth could rage so terribly when occasion was, It was ill to speak of Cnut to him—or of the queen either. Now I spoke with his few thanes, and they held that it was of no use to try to attack England. None would rise to help him. But he begged me to go with him for the sake of old days and common hatred of the Dane. Wherefore I thought that it was as well for England that he learnt his foolishness, and we went together, and were well beaten off from the first place we put into. So he went back contented to try no more, and I put in here on my way homeward."

Then I said:

"Do you blame me for submitting to Cnut?"

"You could do nought else," he answered. "And from all I hear he is likely to be a good king. Mind you that vision we saw on the shore in Normandy?"

"It has come to pass as you read it," I answered.

Then he said:

"Yet more is to come to pass of that vision. Cnut will reign and will pass when his time comes, and with him will pass his kingdoms. There will be none of his line who shall keep them {16}."

"After him Eadward, therefore, or Alfred, should they live," I said, musing. For the words of dying Ethelred came back to me—his foretelling of the strong hand followed by the wise.

"That will be seen," answered Olaf. "Now I came to know if you were yet landless and desperate so that you would sail to Norway with me. But now I cannot ask you that. Nevertheless I shall be more glad to see you wedded and at rest here, for I think that you have seen your share of war."

"And I have been unlucky therein," said I.

"Now has your luck changed," said Olaf. "And all is well."

So it came to pass that our wedding was made the happier by the presence of Olaf the king and by the songs of Ottar the scald. And Egil came from Colchester, and with him many of those of my men who were left, and Olaf's ship captains, so that with Sudbury folk and our own people there was a merry gathering enough, and the little church was over full when Ailwin and Oswin were ready at the altar.

After that was over, Olaf came forward and gave to the priests a great chain of gold links, bidding them lay it on the altar for a gift towards rebuilding the house of God.

"Only one thing do I ask you," he said, speaking in a hushed voice as he stood there. "And that is that no week shall pass without remembrance of those of my men who died for England on Leavenheath."

And Oswin said:

"It shall be so, King Olaf, for it has already become our custom here. Now will we remember your name also."

* * * * * *

Ten years agone it is since Olaf sailed away from us and won Norway from the hand of Cnut. Now and then come Norsemen to me from him when they put into Colchester or Maldon, and ever do they bring gifts for Hertha and Olaf and Eadmund and Uldra, the children that are ours. For all things have gone well with us, and with all England under the strong and wise rule of Cnut the king.

I stood beside him on Ashingdon hill when he came to see to the building of the churches on the battlefield at the place of the first fight, and at Ashingdon, and at Hockley where the flight ended. And he dedicated that at Ashingdon to St. Andrew, in memory of Eadmund his noble foe and brother king, for on the day of that saint Streone slew him.

There Cnut the king stood and spoke to me:

"I build these churches, and their walls will decay in time, and maybe men will forget who built them, but the deeds of Eadmund will not be forgotten, for there are few men who have fought a losing fight so sternly and steadfastly as did he. Nor shall men forget you, Redwald, and those who fought and died here, and on the other fields that are rich with their blood spilt for love of England. None may say that their lives are wasted, for I see before us a new brotherhood that will rise out of our long strife, because Dane and Saxon and Anglian know each other for men."

So he said, and so it is, and our England is rising from the strife into a mighty oneness that has never been hers before.

We went to London before long to see the great wedding that was made for Godwine, my friend, and Gyda, the fair daughter of Ulf the jarl, and niece of Cnut himself. There also were Relf and the lady of Penhurst, and Eldred and Sexberga, and many more of Wulfnoth's thanes. But the old viking had gone to his place beyond the grave, and I saw him no more after I left him at Berkeley.

Godwine is the greatest man in England now, and well loved. All men speak of his deeds in Denmark, whither he took the king's English host when troubles were there, and he is one of those who hold the kingdoms together since Ulf and Thorkel and Eirik are dead. They were slain in petty quarrels, and it is ever in my mind that it was in judgment on them for treating with Streone the traitor in the days when Cnut had not yet taken the kingship and rule into his own hands. I hold him blameless of that, for what could a boy of thirteen, however wise, do against their word and plans?

But Thrand of Colchester lives yet, being port reeve of his own town under Egil, my good friend.

None have ever seen the White Lady of the Mere again, nor has aught ill befallen my thrall, who thought he saw her. I gave him his freedom when we were wedded, and he is over the herds for us. But ever do I choose rather to call my dear one "Uldra," the name which she borrowed from the White Lady when I met her at Bosham, and asked what I should call her, for by that name I learnt to love her.

Now one day she bade me take her to the great mound of Boadicea the queen beyond the river, for she had somewhat to show me, and half fearing I went. But she had no fear of the place, and one might see that she knew her way through the pathless woods around it well, so that I wondered. She led me across the water which stands around it in the old trench, stepping on fallen trees which made a sort of bridge, and then went to a place where the bushes grew thickly and tangled.

"Can you see aught strange here?" she said to me.

I could see nothing but thicket of briar and sloe climbing the steep side of the mound. And therefore she parted them, not easily at first, for none had touched them for long; and there before me was the opening of a low stone-sided-and-roofed passage, leading to the heart of the mound.

"Enter," she said. "This is our hiding place in sorest need."

"Hardly dare I do so. It is ill to disturb the mighty dead," I answered.

"The dead queen has sheltered us helpless women well," she answered. "She is not disturbed, for this is not her resting place."

So I went in, stooping double, for the stone passage was very low. I cannot tell whence the stone came, nor why the place was made unless it were to receive some chiefs of the Iceni, whose bones were gone had they ever been there, for there was a stone chamber in the mound's heart, fitted with stone seats and stone beds, as it were, and four people might well live in that place, for it was cool in summer and warm in winter, but very silent.

I spoke not a word till we were in the sunshine again, and then I shivered.

"I could not have entered that place alone," I said.

"Gunnhild had no fear thereof, nor had I as a little child. Three times we bided there for days, while the Danes pillaged and burnt all around us, and were safe."

It was some old secret handed down to Gunnhild that had taught her how to find the passage entrance. But she knew not where the great queen lay. Maybe her resting place is below the mound itself, or maybe she lies elsewhere, as some say.

Then said I:

"Let us close the place. I pray that none may need it again."

So I loosened the earth above with my spear butt and it fell and covered the doorway. And none, save Hertha and myself, know where its place is.

Yet men say that they see the bale fires burning even now, on the mound top on the nights when men look for such things. I have never seen them.

There are two men of whom I must say a word, for I love them well. One is Father Ailwin, our priest, and my old master—who bides here with Oswin, whom I prayed to stay with us also—growing old peacefully; and the other is Elfric the abbot, my friend ever, and now Cnut's best adviser. Each in his own way fills well the place that is his, one as the counsellor and friend of plain folk like ourselves, winning the love and reverence of thane, and franklin, and thrall alike; and the other as the wisest in the land maybe, high in honour with all the highest in church and state. Well have those two wrought, and we cannot do without their like, whether in village or court.

It is likely that Elfric will be archbishop ere long, and that will be well for us all. So great is the name of Cnut the king that hereafter it will be that all that was wrought of wisdom in his time will be laid to his account; but he would not have it so, for he knows what he owes to Elfric. But also I think that the cruel deeds wrought by the jarls while he was yet but a child will be thought his work also, for men will forget how young he was when the crown came to him, seeing that in utmost loyalty the jarls spoke of him ever as commanding, as the old viking ways bade them.

But I who knew him almost from the first have seen how he hated these deeds, staying the hands of his chiefs as soon as he knew what his power was. Therein wrought Emma the queen, whose pride taught him what his place was, sooner than might else have been.

Now I will say one last word of myself, who am happy—in wife, and children, and home. Cnut made me ealdorman, that so I might serve East Anglia, and I am glad, for I must needs go to the great witan at times and meet Godwine and Relf and many others who are my friends. But, rather than Redwald the ealdorman, I would that I might be called ever by the name which comes into the songs of Ottar the scald now and then—the name in which I have most pride, King Olaf's kinsman.

THE END.



Notes.

1 the armed followers of a Saxon noble.

2 The national weapon. A short, strong, curved blade used as a dirk.

3 The massacre of the Danes on St. Brice's day, 1002 A.D., in which Swein's sister was killed.

4 Now Peterborough.

5 From the Heimskringla, Saga of Olaf the Saint.

6 Tribute.

7 An embodied familiar spirit.

8 According to Bede, in A.D. 418 the Romans collected and hid all the treasure in England, except some part which they took to Gaul. OElla took Anderida in 491 A.D.

9 The cold spring.

10 Mail shirt.

11 Daughter of Alfred the Great, and wife of Ethelred, Earl of Mercia.

12 The utmost term of Saxon contempt.

13 Now Canewdon.

14 The "Five Boroughs" of the old Danelagh were Leicester, Lincoln, Nottingham, Stamford, and Derby.

15 The work of the great Dunstan, and the first code that recognized the rights of Danish settlers.

16 This prophecy of Olaf's is recorded in the "Saga of Olaf the Saint".

THE END