For a few minutes Alfgar sat like one stunned by the intelligence. Joy and fear were strangely mingled together; well did he remember Sidroc’s frequent visits to his father’s English home, and that the warrior had more than once taken him in his infancy upon his knee and sung to him war songs, telling him that he too must be a warrior some day.

He was roused from his reverie by the voice of Sidroc.

“Who is your companion?”

“Bertric, the son of Elfwyn of Aescendune; oh! you will see that no wrong is done to him, will you not? his people saved my life.”

“That they might make you a Christian, knowing that your father would sooner you had expired in the flames which consumed his house.

“No,” he added sternly; “he is doomed, he and his alike.”

Alfgar uttered a piteous cry, and appealed so earnestly that one might have thought he would have moved a heart of stone, yet all in vain.

“Does the eagle mourn over the death of the dove, or heed what pangs the kid may suffer which writhes beneath its talons? If you are of the race of warrior kings, act like one.”

While this was going on the warriors had been selecting some light and sharp arrows and stringing their bows.

“You have but one target, not two,” cried Sidroc, “and scant time wherein to use it.”

“Then you shall have two, for I will die with him,” cried Alfgar, comprehending at once that the death by which Saint Edmund of East Anglia, and many a martyr since, had glorified God, was destined for his companion, his brother.

He snatched at a weapon, and rushed to the tree to which the victim was bound, as if he would save him or perish in the attempt, but a grasp like iron was thrown around him, and he struggled in vain.

“Bind him, but do him no harm,” said Sidroc, “and detain him where he may see all, and strengthen his nerves for future occasions.”

Against the tree leaned Bertric, pale, yet strangely composed; the bitterness of death seemed to be past, so composed were his youthful features. The lips moved in earnest, fervent prayer. Once he glanced with a look of affection, almost of pity, upon Alfgar, and when the latter made the vain attempt to deliver him, he cried, “Do not grieve for me, dear Alfgar, you cannot save me; you have done your best; pray for me, that is all you can do.”

His patient courage, so unexpected in one so young, touched his captors, as nothing else would have touched them, and Sidroc approached him.

“Bertric of Aescendune, thou mayst save thy life on one condition; dost thou wish to live?”

The thought of home and friends, of his mother, awoke in his breast, and he replied:

“Yes, for the sake of those who love me.”

“I know nought of them, neither must thou henceforth, but thou mayst live if thou wilt join our nation and renounce thy Christianity; for I, who have no son, and seek one, will even adopt thee.”

“I cannot deny my faith.”

“Dost thou not fear the pain, the sharp arrows with which they will pierce thee?”

“I fear them, but I fear eternal death more; God help me!”

He repeated these last words over and over again, as if the struggle were very sore.

“Decide,” said Sidroc.

“I have decided-’In manus tuas, Domine,’” he breathed out, “’commendo spiritum meum.’”

“Let fly,” cried the chieftain, “and let the obstinate young fool know what death is.”

Arrow after arrow sped through the air and pierced the legs and arms of the martyr boy, for it was the cruel amusement of the Danes to avoid the vital parts in their living target. The frame of the sufferer quivered with agony, while the lip seemed striving to form the holy name, which has given strength to thousands of martyrs, whether at the stake, beneath the ferocious beast, or in whatsoever manner it has pleased God to make His strength perfect in weakness.

Then Alfgar saw what was the marvellous power of Christianity, and beheld a heroism utterly beyond the fierce excitement which nerved his countrymen for their scenes of carnage and blood; not one of his pagan friends could have suffered as calmly, as patiently-it seemed easier for the sufferer to bear than for Alfgar to look on; once or twice the latter gave audible vent to his emotions, but the look which Bertric turned upon him spoke volumes, and he restrained himself lest he should add to the pain of the victim. He knew not then that the example before him would nerve him in moments of severest trial, then fast approaching, that the one accusation urged against the Christians, which he had felt most keenly, that of cowardice, was answered in the weak yet valiant boy, who found strength in the name of Christ to endure all for His sake; neither did his fierce countrymen know that they were preparing a disappointment for the pagan Anlaf, and for all those of his house and lineage.

We cannot enter more closely into the secret which gave the martyr his strength; we know not the visions of heavenly joy which may have overpowered the present pain, we know not whether He who gave this elaborate framework of flesh and blood, nerve and sinew, miraculously suspended the full operation of His laws, as is elsewhere recorded of other martyrs. Certain it is, that sooner than relinquish Him, Bertric, like Saint Edmund nearly two centuries earlier, yielded his life to the rage of the enemies of His Lord {vi}.

The struggle was sharp but short, for Sidroc, to the surprise, and we must add the disgust, of his compatriots, seized a bow and sent an arrow straight to the heart. One nervous shudder passed through the limbs, and all was still; they had killed the body, and had no more that they could do.

Alfgar gazed with reverence, as well as love, upon the calm features from which the expression of pain had wholly passed; the light of the fire, mingling strangely with that of the rising full moon, illumined them in this their first day of nothingness, for the spirit which had lived and dwelt in the tabernacle of clay had fled.

Yet there was a wondrous beauty still lingering over them; they seemed etherialised-as if an angel’s smile had last stirred their lines, when the spirit went forth, and left its imprint of wonder, joy, and awe thereon; and Alfgar instinctively turned from them to the blue depths of heaven above, where a few stars were visible, although dimmed by the moonlight; and he seemed to trace his beloved Bertric’s passage to the realms of bliss. A light wind made music in the upper branches of the oaks, and it seemed to him like the rush of angels’ wings.

It had often been a sharp struggle to him, nursed in heroic times, learned in battle songs, and of the very blood of the vikings, to avoid the feeling that Christianity was not the religion of the brave; now the difficulty was over, and who shall say that the first joy of the martyr’s soul was not the knowledge that his sufferings had already borne such fruit to God!

And not only was Alfgar reconciled to the reproach of the Cross, he was also content to be an Englishman, if not in blood, at least in affection and sympathy as in action.

An hour passed away; the body remained affixed to the tree; the night grew darker, and the hour approached when, under ordinary circumstances, people retired to rest, and the band commenced its preparations for carrying out the attack upon Aescendune.

One hope Alfgar had, and that not a faint one: he knew that the two theows had escaped unnoticed, and that they would give warning in time for either defence or escape; their strength at Aescendune was but slight for the former, all the able-bodied men were absent at the seat of war.

In the excitement of the last hour Alfgar had almost forgotten the meeting before him, but now it occupied his thoughts fully, and he began to expect the arrival of Anlaf each moment. He learned from the conversation around him that he and a portion of the band had gone to reconnoitre the position of the prey.

While Sidroc was somewhat impatiently expecting the arrival of his coadjutor, the cry of a raven was heard; it proved to be the signal for the party to advance, and Sidroc and his men obeyed at once.

But all their horses were left picketed by the stream, under the care of three of the youngest warriors, and there Alfgar was left, safely bound to a tree, for his captors could not trust him.

He was strongly, but not cruelly bound; it evidently was not intended to hurt him, only to secure him, and he could see that one of the warriors was especially charged to guard him.

Oh, how anxiously he strained the senses of sight and hearing for news from the forest party! could he but have given one warning, he would willingly have died like Bertric; all was silence-dread silence-the sleeping woods around gave no token of their dread inmates.

An hour and a half must have passed, when a bright light, increasing each minute in intensity, appeared through the trees-then a loud and startling cry arose-after which all was silence.

The light seemed to increase in extent and to have two chief centres of its brilliancy, and Alfgar guessed them to be the hall and the priory.

But no screams of distress or agony pierced the air from two hundred women and children, and Alfgar hoped, oh, so earnestly! that they might have escaped, warned in time by the theows.

With this hope he was forced to rest content, as hour after hour rolled by, and at length the footsteps of a returning party were heard.

It proved to be only a detachment of the fifty, sent to bring horses to be loaded with the spoil. Alfgar listened intently to gain information, and heard enough to show that the Danes had been disappointed in some way, probably in their thirst for blood.

“But how could they have known we were coming? We have marched through a hundred miles of the most desolate country we could find, and have come faster than any one could have carried the information.”

Such seemed to be the substance of the complaint of the warriors on guard, from which Alfgar felt justified in believing in the escape of the theows, and the consequent deliverance of the people, if not of the place.

Half the horses were taken to fetch the plunder, the other half left where they were, for the spot was conveniently situated, and the distance from Aescendune only about two miles.

When they had gone, Alfgar heard his guards talking together.

“What did they say, Hinguar?-not any blood?”

“No, but plenty of plunder.”

“That is not enough, we want revenge. Odin and Thor will not know their children; our spears should not be bright.”

“They must have been forewarned; Eric said that they had taken away a great many things.”

“Why could we not trace them?”

“Because there is no time; we are too far from the army and fleet; we must return immediately, before the country takes the alarm; remember we are only fifty.”

“Yes, but mounted upon the best horses, and the first warriors of our family; we may take some plunder, and send a few Englishmen to Niffelheim, before we get back; Anlaf would not let us stay to touch anything as we came.”

“No; all his desire was to get to this Aescendune.”

“Then the lad whom we made into a target is the only victim, while our kinsfolk’s blood, shed near here, cries for vengeance.”

“He died bravely.”

“Yes, that is a Christian’s kind of courage.”

“Well, perhaps some day they will learn to fight, and then-”

“Their songs tell them of an Alfred who defeated our best warriors.”

“That was long ago; if you go back far enough these English were sea kings before they were spoiled by becoming Christians.”

“Hush; I think I hear steps.”

“Who comes?” cried one of the guards, challenging a newcomer.

“I, Anlaf, your chief.”

And the father of Alfgar appeared on the scene.

Of average height, Anlaf possessed vast muscular powers; his sinews stood out like tight cords, and his frame, although robust, was yet such that there seemed no useless flesh about him. His hair was a deep grizzled red, as also his beard, and his eyes were of the same tinge, his nose somewhat aquiline, and his whole features, weatherworn as they were, were those of one born to command, while they lacked the sheer brutality of expression so conspicuous in some of his subordinates.

Ho addressed a few words to the guards, and they led him to Alfgar.

“Cut him loose,” he said.

They did so.

He looked mournfully yet sternly on the youth, who himself trembled all over with emotion.

“Alfgar,” he said, “do I indeed see my son?”

“You do, my father.”

“Follow me; nay, you are wounded-lean on my arm.”

Alfgar’s thigh had, it will be remembered, been pierced by an arrow, but the wound was not deep, and with his father’s assistance he could proceed. He knew where Anlaf led. At length they came upon a deserted clearing, and there he paused until Alfgar, who could scarcely keep up, stood by his side.

Before them the moonbeams fell upon a dark charred mass of ruins in the centre of the space.

“This is the spot where father and son should meet again,” said Anlaf and he embraced his son.