The Paladins of Edwin the Great

by Sir Clements R. Markham

Hereric had startling news to tell. He had passed most of his time studying under Laurentius in the monastery of St. Andrew. But Forthere and Godric, refusing to work at books, were sent to Monte Cassiano, where they were employed in the fields or at the works connected with the extension of the monastery. They were often in trouble, owing to their decided aversion for the Regula Monachorum of St. Benedict; and they had recently been brought back to the Caelian Hill.

Gregory had not forgotten his intention to introduce Christianity into England, the land of the beautiful children in the market–place. Three had been brought up in the monastery on the Caelian, and one at least would now make an excellent interpreter. He resolved to entrust the mission to his prior of St. Andrew, whose reward was to be the bishopric of the new diocese. Augustine was to be accompanied by Laurentius and Peter, Hereric and his two companions, and several monks and attendants. Letters were written to the Queens Fredegonda and Brunehaud for protection while passing through their dominions; and to Vergilius, the Bishop of Arles, to bespeak hospitality. Brunehaud promised also to provide an interpreter. Hereric had been told of the mission, and was, of course, delighted at so good an opportunity of returning home, provided that all his companions were equally favoured. But as the day for starting approached, the monks showed great repugnance to being employed on such a service. They were terrified, and although Augustine was not so faint–hearted, he looked upon the undertaking as being full of danger. The truth was that Forthere had been telling the monks such stories about England as made their hair stand on end. The time was very near; for the departure of the mission was to take place on the very next day, the 21st of July 596.

When all the news had been exchanged, the boys were long in consultation. The plans for the discovery and rescue of Sivel were laid with care and circumspection. But Forthere was torn different ways. He could not endure leaving Rome with his adopted brother still in the hands of the villain Mystacon; yet his devotion for the Atheling made it equally hard to quit the mission and remain. Hereric settled the question. "Forthere, my more than brother, your duty is clear. Sivel is the adopted son of your valorous father, Brand of Ulfskelf. You must follow the quest for him until his rescue is achieved. The loss to me is greater than I can tell you. But our Godric is growing to be a man, and a brave one. He will be my faithful companion and true soldier in your absence." Young Godric's face flushed with pleasure, while Hereric and Forthere clasped each other in a long, silent embrace. "But," added the Atheling, as he gazed into Forthere's eyes, "you must follow the rede of Porlor, and the guidance of Coelred and Lilla. Strike when they give the signal, but not before. Your blow is strong and sure. Let it fall at the appointed time, and not too suddenly, my Forthere. God bless you all, and may our next meeting be in our own land, with Sivel in our midst!"

It was clear that, if the boys accomplished all they intended, Rome would be too hot to hold them. Their course of action must be guided by events, but their general plan was to have horses always ready at the Symmachan villa, to overpower the guard at one of the gates when their work was done, and to join the army of the Lombard King. Thence they would make their way, by fair means or foul, to their native land. Coelred prevailed upon Hereric to take a good supply of money, and the Atheling also undertook to convey the small but precious bales from India, as part of his own baggage. It was the only chance of their reaching England.

Next day the mission left Rome. Pope Gregory offered up prayers, said mass at St. Peter's, and gave the monks his blessing. No attempt was made to oblige Forthere to go when he refused. A more woebegone set of wretches than the monks of this mission could not be conceived. They looked miserable and terror–stricken. Augustine was supported by the importance and responsibility of his position, Laurentius and Peter were good men and true, but the rest were very poor creatures. Hereric and Godric, alert and armed, brought up the rear, and long did they wave their caps to their beloved comrades, who stood on Aurelian's Wall to see the last of them. Two days afterwards Augustine came back alone. The cowardly terror of his monks had so increased that they sent their prior to entreat the holy Gregory that they should not be compelled to undertake so dangerous, toilsome, and uncertain a journey. But the holy Gregory was inexorable. He sent back Augustine, telling them that "it was better not to begin a good work than to think of desisting from that which had been begun. It behoves you, my beloved sons," he went on, "to fulfil the good work which, by the help of our Lord, you have undertaken, being assured that much labour is followed by an eternal reward. When Augustine returns, humbly obey him in all things." So the cowardly missionaries had to go on; but very few intended to trust their precious skins beyond Arles, or some other safe place for monks in the south of France. Forthere was much amused at the return of Augustine, believing that his stories had played a part in frightening the monks, whom he thoroughly despised.

Meanwhile the plans for the rescue were put in train without delay. On the first day Bassus and Porlor watched the approaches to the Pamphronian villa. Coelred searched the warehouses under the Aventine Hill, where they had all been confined when they first came to Rome. But the place was deserted. Lilla and Forthere went through every street and lane in the Suburra, scanning each face that passed them, but without result. Next day the rescuers were more fortunate. Forthere was again prowling in the vilest purlieus of the Suburra, when he caught sight of a face he recognised. Its owner was muffled in a cloak, which he drew quickly over his head, and ran at speed down a narrow lane. In another moment the hand of Forthere was upon him. His struggles were unavailing, and he was dragged out into the open space at the foot of the Palatine, gagged, and bound. Forthere was almost certain that the face was that of one of the servants of Mystacon. The sun had set, and as soon as it was dusk the vigorous young Englishman half carried and half dragged his captive across the Forum, and down the Appian Way to the garden of the villa of Symmachus. Forthere shared a cubiculum in the villa with his cousins. In this little room he deposited the living bundle, and left him still more securely bound and gagged. He required the rede of Porlor and his other comrades before proceeding further. He found Coelred and Bassus watching the villa of Pamphronius, while Porlor and Lilla returned from fruitless searches soon afterwards. They all began to examine their prisoner.

The man swore that he had never seen his captors before, and had never heard of Mystacon; but they all recognised him, so he was turned on his back, a sword was put on his throat, and he was told that it would be drawn across it if he told a single lie. They then found that Sivel had been several days at Rome, confined in a house in the Suburra; not ill treated, the man declared, but only kept secure. All this time Mystacon had been bargaining for the full price of Sivel to be paid again to him if he was restored, pretending that he was not actually in Rome. Pamphronius offered half the price. He was furious at the way his slaves had been taken from him, and would pay high for the mere spiteful pleasure of getting them into his power. A bargain had at length been struck, and Sivel was to be delivered over to his master the next day, after noon. The man was tied up again, gagged, and secured in the stable.

After a consultation, it was decided that the intended preliminary interview between Lilla and Pamphronius would be unnecessary. They now knew all they wanted to know. They would watch for the arrival of Mystacon and his victim, and effect the rescue by force. All the old fury that they had felt when they first heard that they were to be sold as slaves came back to them—the mortification and the burning shame. Forthere was beside himself with rage at the thoughts of the old insults and of the danger to which his beloved little brother was still exposed. It would be a bad time for Mystacon when he next met the outraged lads. In the morning they looked carefully to their arms; and saw that the horses were ready for a start at any moment, with a small supply of food for each rider.

In the afternoon all five comrades concealed themselves behind a ruined wall, and kept careful watch over the villa of Pamphronius. It was thought better to allow the slave–dealer with his party to enter than to attack him in the road, where they might be interrupted. Forthere had a heavy club, the rest were armed with swords. All had long knives. After an anxious interval, they at length heard many footsteps. First came Mystacon himself, looking proud and self–satisfied, and it was with the greatest difficulty that Forthere could restrain himself from flying at the villain's throat. Then followed a closed litter, carried by slaves, and half a dozen armed men. The doors of the villa were closed, but when Mystacon knocked and uttered the words "Servus Captus" in a loud voice, they were thrown open. The little procession passed in, and they were quickly closed and barred again. The boys rushed towards the doors, furious and baffled; but Porlor made a sign for silence. He then knocked in his turn and said "Servus Captus" in a loud voice. Again the doors were thrown open, and a tall slave appeared. Porlor flew at his throat, and the unexpected assault threw him off his balance. He fell without uttering a sound, and in another instant Forthere had cut his throat. They were now in the large deserted atrium. At the other end there were heavy curtains concealing the great hall, and behind them they heard voices.

The five lads pulled themselves together. They were well armed, but they were about to face heavy odds if the attendants showed fight. They drew their swords. "Ready?" cried Coelred, and the curtains were torn aside. Coelred and Forthere occupied the entrance, while Lilla and Bassus rushed across the hall to the opposite door, to prevent all escape. Porlor then advanced a little and looked round. On the right, at a table, were Pamphronius and Mystacon. On the left was Sivel tied hands and feet, and held by two slaves, with half a dozen armed men behind them. To send the slaves flying and cut the bonds was the work of an instant. Porlor put his arm round Sivel, who flew to his side. The other four lads made a furious onslaught on the armed men. Lilla ran the foremost through the body, Bassus cut down another, and the rest threw down their swords and surrendered. "The first that moves is a dead man," cried Coelred, and Forthere proceeded to secure and gag them. Pamphronius and Mystacon remained to be dealt with. The slave–dealer's face was blanched with fear. Too well he recognised his assailants. But the patrician tried to put a bold face on the matter. "The Holy Father will make you all answer for this outrage," he cried. "Osvitus and Sivellus are my property. I have a right to recover them. They belong to me." This was more than Forthere could stand. To his astonishment Pamphronius found himself seized by the throat and dragged into the middle of the room. "Miserable wretch!" shouted the enraged Englishman. "Lilla is the descendant of God, Sivel is the brother of a goddess. Their fathers were brave warriors who could make a hundred such creatures as you run before them. You are not good enough to be their slave. Kneel down and ask their pardon, or I will smash your skull," and he raised the heavy club he had brought with him. The patrician had never been spoken to in this way in all his life. But he was in mortal terror, and did what he was told. "Shall I kill the niddring?" asked Forthere. "It is not necessary," said Porlor. So he was well tied up, gagged, and rolled into a corner. Then Mystacon was brought forward howling for mercy, and reminding the boys of all his kindness. "For you, vile wretch," said Coelred, "there can be no forgiveness. You had fair warning. We prayed to you to spare us from shame and humiliation, and you had no mercy. We told you then that we would kill you, and Englishmen always keep faith. You must die, and at our hands." He made a sign to Forthere, who ran Mystacon through and through, and he fell dead. "We could not have left Rome with honour," said Coelred, "until this was done."