A Thane of Wessex: Being a Story of the Great Viking Raids into SomersetWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
A Thane of Wessex: Being a Story of the Great Viking Raids into Somerset
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Great Britain -- History -- Anglo-Saxon period, 449-1066 -- Juvenile fiction
Then, as in a dream, I listened to words that I will not recall, making
good those accusations. And through all that false witness there seemed
to me to run, as it were, a thread of those foolish, boy-wise words of
mine that had, and meant, no harm, but on which were now built mountains
of seeming proof. So that, when at last all those men had spoken I was
dumb, and knew that I had no defence. For no proof of loyalty had I to
give--for proof had never been required of me. And a man may live a
quiet life, and yet conspire most foully.
As my accusers went back to their seats there ran a murmur among the
folk, and then a silence fell. The level afternoon sun seemed to blaze
on me alone, while to me the air seemed thick and close, and full of
whispers.
Ealhstan the Bishop broke the silence.
"The proof is weighty, and Matelgar the Thane is an honourable man," he
said, sadly enough; "but if a man conspires, there needs must be one
other, at least, in the plot. Surely we have heard little of this."
Then was added more evidence. And men proved lonely journeys of mine,
with evasion of notice thereof, and disavowal of the same. Yet I thought
that Matelgar the Thane knew of my love for Alswythe, his daughter, whom
I would meet, as lovers will meet, unobserved if they may, in all honour.
Yet, as I listened, it was of these meetings they spoke, saying only
that I had been able to concord whom I met, and where, though Matelgar
must have known it. When that was finished, Eanulf bade me call men to
disprove these things. And I could not. For my accusers were my close
companions, and of Alswythe I would not speak, and I must fain hold my
peace.
Only, after a silence, I could forbear no longer, and cried:
"Will none speak for me?"
Then one by one my father's friends rose and told what they knew of my
boyhood and training; but of these last few years of my manhood they,
alas for my own folly could not speak. What they might they did, and my
heart turned to them in gratitude for a little, though Matelgar's
treachery had seemed to make it a stone within me.
They ended, and the silence came again. It seemed long, and weighed on
me like a thunderstorm in the air, nor should I have started had the
whole assembly broken into one thunderclap of hatred of me. But instead
of that, came the calm voice of Ealhstan the Bishop:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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