Cædwalla; or, The Saxons in the Isle of Wight: A Tale

by Frank Cowper

"Not so unpleasant as thou dost," was the answer; "but before I die I would like to have a question settled."

"What is it?" said Arwald.

"We have often talked about death, and whether a man has any feeling after his head is off," said Athelhune. "Now, give me a knife. If I feel anything after my head is off, I will throw the knife at thee; if it falls to the ground, it will prove I have no feeling. Now strike, and see what will happen."

Arwald laughed, and bid a knife be given him. The executioner approached. Athelhune held up his hand with the knife pointed at Arwald. The executioner slowly measured his distance. Flash went the axe, and at the same moment the knife flew from Athelhune's hand and pierced Arwald's burly leg, causing that stout warrior to utter a yell of pain; but Athelhune's head was on the ground, and no man could say whether he had hurled the knife while his head was still on his shoulders or no. The knife still quivered in Arwald's flesh, as the headless body fell heavily to the ground, and the brave West Saxon eorldoman was numbered with his fathers; glad enough to be away from the pain and anguish he had been suffering from his broken leg, which now, owing to the want of care and cruel treatment he had suffered, was rapidly growing black, and had swollen to a great size. He knew he never could be of any use again, and had longed for death to relieve him for some hours past.

The brave warrior died true to the instincts and noblest teaching of his race and ancestors. A faithful, devoted friend, a recklessly brave man, and a skilful chief, he came on this expedition, well knowing the desperate nature of the enterprise, without a thought which could reflect upon his friend and king Cædwalla; his king wished him to go, that was enough for him. It was not his business to question or discuss the reasonableness of the wish; such an idea never crossed his mind; it could not occur to him. His sense of duty to his chief was comprised in those lines that so beautifully describe the whole duty of a soldier:—His "not to make reply," his "not to reason why," his "but to do and die." And this idea of a soldier's duty he carried out in its entirety, both towards his king and chief Cædwalla, as well as towards those who served under him, all of whom he tried to impress with the same spirit of noble discipline and self-sacrifice. He died contentedly, nay, happily; he had done all he could. If he had not succeeded, that was no affair of his; were there not the Norns or Fates, who ruled the affairs of men? And oftentimes, he knew, even in his own experience, what looked like failure was only the seed of success. Did not men put seed into the ground, and did not the seed disappear? Who could have told that that lost seed would come out of that dry, lumpy ground, green corn good for the food of man? The doing of one's duty, even if it ended in failure, was the sowing of good seed, it must bear fruit, only it might take a longer time, as some seeds took more time than others to come up. With the noble simplicity of his character, he also accepted implicitly the creed of his ancestors. Surely there was a place of reward for honest men, who struggled to live and die full of that virtue, that [Greek: andréia], that manfulness, which all men in all ages, and of all races, have known to be the essence of a good life. Full of this hope, he rejoiced at his departure to the new life, grateful too that the last few hours of pain had made the longed-for moment all the greater relief.

There was a great shout of triumph from the prisoners when they saw the knife flying from Athelhune's hand straight for Arwald, and the disappointment was great when it was seen that the wound was not in any way dangerous, although the knife had plunged deep into the fleshy part of the leg and caused the ruler of the Wihtwaras considerable pain as it was drawn out. However, a bandage soon stopped the bleeding, and Arwald called to the executioner to go on with his work, more irritable now than ever.

The courage of the previous victims re-acted upon those whose turn was now coming, and when the executioner stepped up to the next man, and was preparing to strike him sideways, like the others, the man called out to him to strike the blow in front.

"Many is the time I have looked death in the face without blenching, and thou shalt see now if I flinch or no."

The executioner took him at his word; he placed the edge of the axe against the man's neck under his chin. Took up the proper distance, planted his feet firmly on the ground, told the man to raise his head a little higher, swung the axe swiftly back and then struck with a swish through the air forwards, and the headless trunk rolled over on the ground, while the head dropped at the feet of the thrall who held the withy. The bystanders could see no change of expression as the axe gleamed in the act of striking, not a twitch of an eyebrow, or quiver of an eyelid told that the man dreaded the blow.

"Well sped, brave soul," cried the spectators, whose interest was growing deeper as each victim met his end so nobly. Five men had now died, there remained but three more on the log, of whom Beornwulf was the last. Beornwulf was getting weary of sitting so long, and he was irritated with the thrall who held the withy entwined in his hair, which was remarkably long and bushy, and of which Beornwulf was very proud. The thrall twitched his head every time an execution took place, not intentionally, but because he kept twisting round to get a good look at the performance, while Beornwulf also wished to see how each man met his death, with the result that his neck was now very stiff, and he himself was in an impatient, irritable, frame of mind. He did not care what became of him; he knew he would die in a few minutes, but none the less, or rather because of that certainty, he wished to excite Arwald before he died.