VIKING CHIEF AND SAXON MAIDEN.
"He beheld
A vision, and adored the thing he saw."
Wordsworth.
Ere long, the hum of voices and the scrambling sound of approaching footsteps were heard. Then hurried orders, given in an undertone, muffled footsteps, as of persons bearing a burden, accompanied by a low, deep groan, broke upon the anxious ear of Ethel, who was listening with nerves in a state of utmost tension and alarm. These sounds gradually abated as the party retired to a more distant room, and doors were softly closed behind. By-and-bye her anxious suspense was abated by the entrance of Bretwul and his wife, accompanied by Sigurd, the lord of Lakesland. A cold tremor ran through her blood as her eyes rested for the first time upon the burly figure of the stranger; and she tried to evade the rivetted gaze which he turned upon her, by turning to Bretwul.
"I think the Earl is much worse than the messenger would have us believe, Bretwul. Can I go to him? I may be of use. I have some skill in nursing, thanks to my instructions and the terrible times upon which our land has fallen."
"Do not be alarmed," said Sigurd, trying to infuse as much of gentleness as he could into the gruff tones which issued from the deep, broad chest. "Oswald is put to bed, and his wound is a mere nothing—a flesh-wound, which ought to have healed itself; but his body has been pampered and daintily housed, and the merest cuts tell on such. The wound has cankered and brought on a touch of fever. Pity that men, who ought to know better, swathe their limbs, and pamper their bodies, and live in cunningly decorated houses, and spend their time toying with such finikin things as these"—pointing to sundry books and musical instruments. "Women's things, and baby's toys!"
"I think I had better go with you, Eadburgh," said Ethel, anything but assured by the unsympathetic words of the strange visitant.
This was just what Eadburgh was anxious to say; and the two immediately disappeared.
"Be seated, my lord," said Bretwul to Sigurd, "and I will find some eatables. I doubt not you are well-nigh famished."
"Aye, aye. We have ridden eight hours continuously in the darkness, and you well say we are famishing."
No sooner had the door closed behind Bretwul than Sigurd's astonishment at the vision his eyes had just seen, found vent.
"What is this I have looked upon?" he murmured to himself. "Some inhabitant of Valhalla, where our gods and heroes have gone? Surely our priests have told me of nothing so fair as she, even there! I would covet a hero's grave this very hour, and the dark beyond, if they who dwell there get them wives so fair as she."
Here, let me, for the further information of the reader, say that this Sigurd, or "lord of Lakesland," as he was known, whom we have met with before in these pages, was a typical example of many a Norse chieftain who still held sway in the land, ruling their followers after the manner of the rude past; and the important part which he plays in these "Chronicles" calls for a more elaborate introduction than we have yet accorded him. He was a man who rivetted the gaze at once, but it was a fascination, and not a delight, to the beholder. Men could not forbear to look, but they far oftener turned away from him with a shudder and a sense of relief than otherwise. When Halfdane, the viking marauder, pounced down upon Northumbria, and the north of England generally, he divided a great part of the lands of the Saxons amongst his followers; and they, settling amongst the Angles, intermarried with them; and thus, in the course of time, the two became almost one people. But in some districts there were clearly defined lines of separateness. Sigurd, in unbroken line, was a descendant of one "Rollo, the Ganger" (or walker). Wonderful traditions lingered amongst the people of the height and build of this warrior: such fragmentary histories, or folk-lore, declared that he was compelled to walk because no horse could bear his weight. Hence his name, the "Ganger," or walker.
As this Sigurd was in body and physical proportions, so he was in mind. He was rough, rude in manners, tastes, and pursuits, but strong in the sturdy virtues of honesty and chastity, his Viking heritage. In the case of Oswald notably, and of Ethel, and many others of our Saxon chieftains and chieftainesses, some measure of education had been sought after and prized. Contact also with the Normans, who in goodly numbers dwelt in England during our late King Edward's lifetime, had done much to modify the vulgar tastes and habits of the English. But in the case of Sigurd, the undiluted primitiveness of the marauding Norseman, untainted and uninfluenced by the undoubted advance the world was making, was embodied. He never travelled beyond the rugged hills and weird gorges of his domain, unless it were to meet the hardy robbers from over the Scottish border. To fish in the glorious lakes; to hunt in the stretching forests and dense woods; to excel in the rude games of wrestling, archery, putting the stone, and many other games which constituted the sole recreations of vulgar churls, was his delight. He had little sympathy and little intercourse with those members of his class who were awaking to the presence of, and yielding to, the civilising influences which were beginning to be felt in England, by its increasing contact with the continent of Europe. Still, there was a rugged honesty about this man altogether admirable. He loved deeply and faithfully; but he hated just as fiercely and implacably. He was a man of great, even gross extremes, magnificent in energy and force of character. Happy was the man who shared his affection; but woe be to the man who incurred his hatred. This first interview with Ethel had a distinctly repellent influence upon her; her very blood seemed to freeze under his ardent gaze. It seemed to her that she was face to face with one of the unlovable gods or heroes, their sagas, or wise men, were never tired of glorifying. The sense of shrinking and dread which Ethel experienced at this first meeting might have been intensified by her anxiety with regard to Oswald; but Sigurd was quick to notice the involuntary start, the shrinking from him, and it cut him deeply, and to the quick.
When the door was closed he stood for some minutes like one petrified, blankly staring at the closed door through which the fair vision had disappeared. The form and features of the beautiful Saxon floated indistinctly before his vision. "She shrank from me!" he fiercely ejaculated, but the tones were half a groan as well. "Why this ill-disguised dread of me?" he murmured. He slowly surveyed himself from head to foot in the vain endeavour to discover what it was about him which so startled and repelled Ethel. Then he strode across the room and stood before a mirror which hung from the wall in an elaborately wrought frame—an article he had never used before, and seldom met with, and which he faced now with a scowl of contempt upon his face. His head and face were faithfully reflected, and some of his muscular frame. His visage was bronzed and brown, his beard unshaven and unkempt, whilst from underneath his helmet there escaped masses of hair of an unlovely red colour. "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I should better win me a bride as my fierce Viking ancestors won theirs, with their swords, getting them as the spoil of war, or winning them at Holmganga (duel), where valour and prowess in arms were recognised. Any Norman gallant with a well-trimmed beard would put me to the rout as wives are won in these degenerate days! Any Saxon with a smattering of clerk's gear and book-learning, would have me on the hip. One who could play at joust with foppish Norman gallants, or lilt his heel to the sound of music, would be preferred before me. Yet, what is there ails these sturdy limbs of mine? Sturdy limbs counted for much in the days of our ancestors; but now every dainty girl shrinks at them with contempt, as marks of boorishness. Why should this girl shrink from me so? Hist to me, Viking," said he, apostrophising himself, "and tell me this. Why should this fair Saxon thus unhinge me? Why should I care for blue eyes, flaxen tresses, and a sylph-like form? Viking warriors were not mothered by girls like this. Then clearly, if Viking warriors cannot be mothered by such, Viking warriors should not be wived by them. A wife of brawny build, with hardihood enough to be a sea-king's consort, and nurse me warrior sons, would surely mate me best. My home will have to be the rugged hills where the eagle hath his eyrie, or the dense forest where prowls the wolf, and where the lordly red deer roam at will. Yet I do believe this fair Saxon hath bewitched me; she is comely beyond aught my eyes have seen before. But what of that? 'Tis despisable—maudlin! Yet those blue eyes of hers, and that comeliness of form, is quite new to me. Those maidens of brawny build, and bold, unwomanly features—I never bethought me to love them yet. Ah! I have been ever ready to fight the bold, but I never could love it; 'tis the gentleness and maidenly grace of this Saxon maiden hath done it. Her speech is gentle, and her manner is coy and shy, and nothing forward. Out upon me for a dotard!" said he savagely. "I'll no more on't! I will not sleep under this roof; 'tis enervating! I'll get me out upon the heath, where I can hear the sough of the night winds, and listen to the night-birds' screech. 'Twill bring me back my Viking's mood, and scare away this flimsy dream of love. How could I mate with a timid dove, except I shed my talons! A Viking sleek and pursy, well fed, and ease-loving!—a monstrosity I should be! The door of Valhalla would be closed against me. The gods and heroes in the land beyond the deep sea, whose company I hope to join at death, would disown me. My boast and pride, my Viking's race, would fitly come to end with me."
Meanwhile Ethel, accompanied by Eadburgh and Bretwul, repaired to the room where Oswald had been laid at rest. Some knowledge of medicine and the art of healing, happily, was possessed by all Saxon gentlewomen. Also there were a few amongst the serfs, who were the lowest class of the peasantry, that had some knowledge of herbs, potions, poultices, bandages, and simple remedies and expedients, which were frequently very effective, though sometimes mistaken.
Oswald smiled a pleasant smile as they entered; but it required no great skill or discernment to see that he was weak and suffering. The hectic flush upon his countenance, and the short, hurried breathing told but too plainly that the wound and the weakness were not the worst foes that had fastened on him. He could not fail to note the dismay and alarm depicted on the pale and anxious face of Ethel.
"Ethel, girl," said he, putting as much pleasantness into his tone of voice as he could command, "never let that sweet face wear so sad a look. The case is not so bad as that—nothing worse than a mere flesh-wound; but the damp and exposure on those mountain sides, and that long and horrid home-coming on horseback, has taken the life out of me."
But in spite of his efforts to be cheerful, he could not suppress a groan and a painful contortion of his face.
"Bretwul," said he, uncovering his shoulder, "for mercy's sake undo those bandages! My arm swells, and they screw me tight as a vice, and give me a sickening pain."
Ethel, however, advanced, and with firm and nimble fingers undid the clumsy bandages, cleaning and washing the festering wound wonderfully gently, but resolutely, and without faltering. Without faltering or hesitancy also, she bathed and salved, lotioned and bandaged it again. Oswald, with the passiveness of a tired child, submitted to it all.
"Ah!" said he, "now I've got a chance."
But this done, Ethel's culinary arts were called into requisition, and delicacies from the mere, the flock, or the chase succeeded each other with tempting regularity.
"If the wound could have had but a week's start of the fever, I should have been hopeful," said she to Eadburgh.
But this was not to be, for next day Oswald became restless, with occasional wanderings of the mind, and this was speedily followed by a total relapse. Never for a moment, by night or by day, except for the most necessary things, did Ethel quit his side; and never was there a moment, by night or day, but either Bretwul or Wulfhere watched by his bed. And when the fever was at its height, it was as much as the two strong men could do to hold him in his bed.
During this season of mental aberration, he would be at one time engaged in mortal strife with his hated rival Vigneau. Anon, he was over seas with Alice de Montfort, a refugee in a foreign land. Then the graphic scene enacted in the dungeon beneath the castle, where Alice, torch in hand, and alone, saved him out of the hands of her own countrymen, and gave him liberty and life, was acted over again, with intense realism of voice and gesture.
Frequently he recoiled, with horror depicted in his countenance, as Ethel gently smoothed his pillow, or moistened his parched lips. Then he would call vehemently for the fair Norman with the dark eyes and raven tresses.
Ethel heard all this with agony at heart, and often the tear, unbidden, dropped upon the coverlet as she bent over him. Often she would murmur to herself,—
"He thinks not of me. I am but a Saxon girl, to pet and speak gently to. Would he were harsh and forbidding, like this stranger! But he is what he is, and God made me a woman, and I will bear this burden, as too oft a woman must; for he will never know, and that will make it bearable."
So for many weary days and nights the resolute struggle of life and death for victory went on, and the weary, anxious watchers looked on, helpless, except to pray and hope that favouring Providence would give the victory as they wished.
At last the crisis passed. Thanks to the wonderful physique and recuperative faculties of the patient, combined with the ceaseless care and patient nursing of the Saxon maiden, the strong man vanquished, and cast off the malignant foe. Then commenced the slow rallying from the utter prostration, and the gradual regaining of strength.