Read Ebook: The Ward of King Canute: A Romance of the Danish Conquest by Liljencrantz Ottilie A Ottilia Adelina

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Sister Wynfreda bent her head to murmur a prayer: "God forgive me if I have lacked charity in my judgment on the Pagans! If they who have seen the light can do such deeds, what can be expected of those who yet labor under the curse of darkness?"

"I do not understand you," Randalin said wearily, sinking on the grass and passing her hands over her strained eyes. "When a man looks with eyes of longing upon another man's property, it is to be expected that he will do as much evil as luck allows him. Though he has got Baddeby, Norman was covetous of Avalcomb. When his lord, Edric Jarl, was still King Edmund's man, he twice beset the castle, and my father twice held it against him. And his greed was such that he could not stay away even after Edric had become the man of Canute."

It was the nun's turn for bewilderment. "The man of Canute? Edric of Mercia, who is married to the King's sister? It cannot be that you know what you say!"

"Certainly I know what I say," the girl returned a little impatiently. "All English lords are fraudulent; men can see that by the state of the country. Though he be thrice kinsman to the English King, Edric Jarl has joined the host of Canute of Denmark; and all his men have followed him. But even that agreement could not hold Norman back from Avalcomb. He lay hidden near the gate till he saw my father come, in the dusk, from hunting, when he fell upon him and slew him, and forced an entrance--the nithing! When he had five-and-fifty men and my father but twelve!"

She paused, with set lips and head flung high. The nun got down stiffly beside her and laid a gentle hand upon her knee.

"Think not of it, my daughter," she urged. "Think of your present need and of what it behooves us to do. Tell me how you escaped from the chamber, and why you wear these clothes."

"They were Fridtjof's." She spoke his name very softly. "I found them hanging on the chamber wall. In the night the men began to entertain themselves with singing, and it could be heard that they were getting drunk. It had been in my mind that I would stay where I was until they forced the door; then, because I would like it better to die than to marry any of them, I would throw myself out of the window, and the stones below would cause my death. But now it came to me that if I could dress so that they would not notice me, there were many good chances that I might slip past them and get out through the postern. I waited till they were all still, and then I crept into the women's room, and found the bondmaids huddled in their beds. They got afraid at the sight of me, for they thought I was Fridtjof's ghost; and they dared not move. So I had to go down alone." She shuddered in spite of herself. "Never did I think that darkness could be so unpleasant,--when one is listening for sounds and fears to put out a hand lest it touch something alive! But I got past the door and through the guard-room, where the Englishmen were snoring so loud that they would not have heard if I had stamped. In a niche in the wall outside I found Almstein the steward hiding, full of fear. I made him follow me out of the postern and around to the gate where...my father...and...Fridtjof..." Her voice broke, but she struggled on. "The English dogs had left them there... My father's face was...wounded...and the moon made his hair all silver round it, so that the blood looked to be black blots... And Fridtjof's sword was in his hand... Always he had wished to go into battle, though he was no more than fourteen winters old... There was a smile on his lips... I made Almstein dig two graves. He is a cowardly fellow, and it is likely that he would have left them there till the English were gone. I kissed Fridtjof's mouth...and...and I laid...my father's cloak...over...over his...face."

It was useless trying to go on; a deep sob shut off her voice and threatened to rend her when she tried to hold it back. Sister Wynfreda strove with gentle arms to draw her down upon her breast.

"Suffer the tears to come, my daughter," she urged her tenderly, "or sooner or later they must."

Randalin pulled away almost roughly, dashing the drops from her eyes.

"They shall not!" she cried brokenly. "They shall not! Am I a weak-minded English woman that I should shed tears because my kin are murdered? I will shed blood to avenge them; that is befitting a Danish girl. I will not weep,--as though there were shame to wash out! They died with great glory, like warriors. I will fix it in my mind that I am a kinswoman of warriors. I will not weep."

The older woman shrank a little. To ears attuned to the silence of the grave, such an outburst was little less than terrifying; she was at a loss how to soothe the girl. To gain a respite, she stole away and renewed the wounded man's bandages.

After a moment Randalin rose and followed, buckling her cloak as she went.

"Since I am become this man's lord, I think it right for me to see how he fares before I leave him," she explained. Once more she spoke gently, though the fire of her pride had quite dried her tears.

"Before you leave him?" The form in the faded robes turned inquiringly toward the erect young figure in its brave scarlet cloak. "What is it you say, my child?"

But Randalin was bending low over the green couch. "Do you know who I am?" she was asking urgently of the woodward. "Fix your eyes on me and try to gather together your wits."

Slowly the man's wandering gaze focussed itself; a silly laugh welled up in his throat. "It would be no strange wonder if I did not," he chuckled. "Odin has changed you greatly; your face was never so beautiful. But this once you cannot trick me, Fridtjof Frodesson."

There came a time when this mistake was a source of some comfort to Randalin, Frode's daughter; but now she stirred impatiently.

"Look again, and try to command your tongue. Tell me the state of your feelings. Can you live?"

The man shook with his foolish laughter. "You cub! Will not even being killed cure you of your tricks? If you who have been in Valhalla do not know what Odin intends about my life, how can I know, who have stayed on earth?"

Sister Wynfreda's hand fell upon the girl's arm. "Disquiet yourself no further," she whispered. "It is useless and to no end. If it please the Lord to bless our labors, the wound will soon be healed. Come this way, where he cannot hear our voices, and tell me what moves you to speak of leaving. Is it not your intention to creep in with us?"

The nun reached out and caught the gay cloak, gasping. "The Danish camp? You speak in a raving fit! Better you thrust yourself into a den of ravenous beasts. You know not what you say."

Offense stiffened the figure under the cloak. "It is you who do not know. Now, as always, you think about Canute what lying English mouths have told of him. I know him from my father's lips. No man on the Island is so true as he, or so generous to those who ask of him. Time and again have I heard my father bid Fridtjof to imitate him. He is the highest-minded man in the world." Her voice as she ended was a stone wall of defiance. Sister Wynfreda made a desperate dash down another road.

"My daughter, I entreat that you will not despise my offer. The yoke is not so heavy here. Here is no strict convent rule; how could there be? We are but a handful of feeble old women left living after those who led us are gone, to the end that heathen fog smother not utterly the light which once was so bright. In truth, most dear child, you would have no hard lot among us. A few hours' work in the garden,--surely that is a pleasure, watching the fair green things spring and thrive under your care. And when the tenderness of the birds and the content of the little creeping creatures have filled your heart to bursting with a sense of God's goodness, to come and stand before the Holy Table and pour out your joys in sweet melody--"

But Randalin's head was shaking too decidedly, though she was not ungentle in her answering. "I give you thanks, Sister Wynfreda, but such a life is not for me. My nature is such that I do not like the gloomy songs you sing; nor do I care for green things, except to wear in my hair. And it seems to me that I should be spiritless and a coward if I should like such a life. I am no English girl, to tremble and hide under a mean kirtle. I am a Norse maiden, the kinswoman of warriors. I think I should not show much honor to my father and my brother were I to leave them unavenged and sit down here with you. No, I will go to my King and get justice. When he has slain the murderer and given me the castle again, I will come back; and you shall come and live with me, and eat meat instead of herbs, and--"

In her desperation, Sister Wynfreda caught her by the wrists and held her. "My daughter, my daughter, shake off this sleep of your wits, I entreat you! The men you are trusting in are dreams which you have dreamed in the safety of your father's arms. They among whom you are going are barbarians,--yea, devils! It were even better had you married the son of Leofwine. Think you I know nothing of the Pagans, that you set my words at naught? Who but Danish-men laid low these walls, and slaughtered the holy nuns as lambs are torn by wild beasts? Have I not seen their horrid wickedness? You think a nun a coward? Know you how these scars came on my face? Three times, with my own hands, I pressed a red-hot iron there to destroy the beauty that allured, else had the Pagans dragged me with them. Was I a coward?"

But Sister Wynfreda's expression changed so strangely that the girl foresaw an attack along another line, and hastened to forestall it. "It is not worth while to tell me further about the matter. Do you not see that it is by no means the same? I shall be a Danish woman among Danish men. I shall not be a captive, to be made a drudge of and beaten. It is altogether different. I shall be with my own people, my own King. Let us end this talk. Give me the bread and let me go. The sun is getting high."

She glanced at it as she spoke, and found it so much higher than she had realized that her haste increased.

"No, I dare not wait for it. It is necessary that I get a good start, or they will overtake me. They are to join Canute near Scoerstan; I heard it talked among them. My horse is somewhat heavy in his movements, for he is the one Gram rode yesterday; I found him grazing by the road. Let me go, Sister Wynfreda. Bid me farewell and let me go."

Clutching at her belt, her arm, her cloak, the nun strove desperately to detain her. "Randalin! Listen! Alas! how you grieve me by talking after this manner! Wait, you do not understand. It is not their cruelty I fear for you. Child, listen! It is not their blows--"

But Randalin had wrenched herself free. "Oh, fear, fear, fear!" she cried impatiently. "Fear your enemies; fear your friends; fear your shadow! Old women are afraid of everything! You will see when I come back. No, no, do not look at me like that; I do not mean to behave badly toward you, but it will become a great misfortune to me ii I am hindered; it will, in truth. See now; I will kiss you--here where your cheek is softest. I cannot allow you to take hold of my cloak again. There! Now lay your hand upon my head, as you do with the children when you wish them good luck."

Because there was nothing else to do, and because the thought of doing this gave her some comfort, Sister Wynfreda complied. Laying her trembling hands upon the bared black head, she raised her despairing face to heaven and prayed with all the earnestness that was hers. Then she stood at the gate in silence and watched the girl set forth. As Randalin turned into the sunny highway, she looked back with a brave smile and waved her cap at the faded figure under the arch. But the nun, left in the moss-grown garden, wrapped in the peace of the grave, saw her through a blur of tears.

"God guard you, my fledgeling," she whispered over and over. "My prayers be as a wall around you. My love go with you as a warm hand in your loneliness. God keep you in safety, my most beloved daughter!"

Openly I now speak Because I both sexes know: Unstable are men's minds toward women; 'T is when we speak most fair, When we most falsely think: That deceives even the cautious. Ha'vama'l.

This morning there were few travellers upon the Street. South of the highway the land was held by English farmers, who would naturally remain under cover while a Danish host was in the neighborhood; while north of the great dividing line lay Danish freeholds whose masters might be equally likely to see the prudence of being in their watch-towers when the English allies were passing. Barred across by the shadows of its mighty trees, the great road stretched away mile after mile in cool emptiness. At rare intervals, a mounted messenger clattered over the stones, his hand upon his weapon, his eyes rolling sharply in a keen watch of the thicket on either side. Still more rarely, foraging parties swept through the morning stillness, lowing cows pricked to a sharp trot before them, and squawking fowls slung over their broad shoulders. Captured pigs gave back squeal for squawk, and the voices of the riders rose in uproarious laughter until the very echoes revolted and cast back the hideous din.

The approach of the first of these bands caused Randalin's heart to leap and sink under her brave green tunic. For all that she could tell from their dress, they might as well be English as Danish. If her disguise should fail! As they bore down upon her, she drew her horse to the extreme edge of the road and turned upon them a pale defiant face.

On they came. When they caught sight of a sprig of a boy drawn up beside the way with his hand resting sternly on his knife, they sent up a shout of boisterous merriment. The blood roared so loudly in Randalin's ears that she could not understand what they said. She jerked her horse's head toward the trees and drove her spur deep into his side. Only as he leaped forward and they swept past her, shouting, did the words reach home.

"Look at the warrior, comrades!" "Hail, Berserker!" "Scamper, cub, or your nurse will catch you!" "Tie some of your hair on your chin, little one!"

As the sound of hoof-beats died away, and the nag settled back to his steady jog-trot, the girl unclenched her hands and drew a long breath.

"Though it seems a strange wonder that they should not know me for a woman, I think I need give myself no further uneasiness. It must be that I am very like Fridtjof in looks. It may be that it would not be unadvisable now for me to ask advice of the next person how I can come to the camp."

The asking had become a matter of necessity by the time she found anyone capable of answering the question. Three foreign merchants whom she overtook near noon could give her no information, and she covered the next five miles without seeing a living creature; then it was only a beggar, who crawled out of the bushes to offer to sell the child beside him for a crust of bread. The petition brought back to Randalin her own famished condition so sharply that her answer was unnecessarily petulant, and the man disappeared before the question could even be put to him. Two miles more, and nothing was in front of her but a flock of ragged blackbirds circling over a trampled wheat-field. Already the sun's round chin rested on the crest of the farthest hill. In desperation, she turned aside and galloped after a mailed horseman who was trotting down a clover-sweet lane with a rattle and clank that frightened the robins from the hedges. He reined in with a guffaw when he saw what mettle of blade it was that had accosted him.

"Is it your intention to join the army?" he inquired. "Canute will consider himself in great luck."

"I am desirous to--to tell him something," Red Cloak faltered.

His grin vanishing, the man leaned forward alertly. "Is it war news? Of Edric Jarl's men?"

Before her tongue could move, Randalin's surprised face had answered. The warrior smote his thigh resoundingly.

"You will be able to tell us tidings we wish to know. Since the fight this morning we have been allowed to do no more than growl at the English dogs across the plain, because it was held unadvisable to make an onset until the Jarl's men should increase our strength. It is to be hoped they are not far behind?"

"You make a mistake," Randalin began hesitatingly. "My news does not concern the doings of Edric Jarl, but the actions of his man Norman--"

A blow across her lips silenced her.

"Hold your tongue until you come in to the Chief," the man admonished her, with good-humored severity. "Have you not learned that babbling turns to ill, you sprouting twig? And waste no more time upon the road, either. Yonder is your shortest way, up that lane between the barley. When you come to a burned barn, do you turn to the left and ride straight toward the woods; it should happen that an old beech stock stands where you come out. Take then the path that winds up-hill, and it will bring you to the war booths before you can open your foolish mouth thrice. Trolls! what a cub to send a message by! But get along, now; you will suffer from their temper if they think it likely that you have kept them waiting." He gave the horse a stinging slap upon the flank, that sent him forward like a shaft from a bow.

Snatching up her slackened rein with one hand, his rider managed to secure her leaping cap with the other; and after the first bounce, she caught the jerky gait instinctively and swayed her body into its uneven swing. But her heart was all at once a-throb in a wild panic. Was this what a boy must expect? This challenging brutal downrightness, which made one seem to have become a dog that must prove his usefulness or be kicked aside? Her spirit felt as bruised as a fledgeling fallen upon stony ground. She shivered as the old beech stock loomed up before her.

"If these other men behave so, it is in my mind to tell them that I am a woman," she decided. "Since they are my own people, no evil can come of their knowing; and I dislike the other feeling."

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