BOOK XII.
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS
CHAPTER I.
In the heart of the forest land in which Hilda's abode was situated, a
gloomy pool reflected upon its stagnant waters the still shadows of
the autumnal foliage. As is common in ancient forests in the
neighbourhood of men's wants, the trees were dwarfed in height by
repeated loppings, and the boughs sprang from the hollow, gnarled
boles of pollard oaks and beeches; the trunks, vast in girth, and
covered with mosses and whitening canker-stains, or wreaths of ivy,
spoke of the most remote antiquity: but the boughs which their
lingering and mutilated life put forth, were either thin and feeble
with innumerable branchlets, or were centred on some solitary
distorted limb which the woodman's axe had spared. The trees thus
assumed all manner of crooked, deformed, fantastic shapes--all
betokening age, and all decay--all, in despite of the noiseless
solitude around, proclaiming the waste and ravages of man.
The time was that of the first watches of night, when the autumnal
moon was brightest and broadest. You might see, on the opposite side
of the pool, the antlers of the deer every now and then, moving
restlessly above the fern in which they had made their couch; and,
through the nearer glades, the hares and conies stealing forth to
sport or to feed; or the bat wheeling low, in chase of the forest
moth. From the thickest part of the copse came a slow human foot, and
Hilda, emerging, paused by the waters of the pool. That serene and
stony calm habitual to her features was gone; sorrow and passion had
seized the soul of the Vala, in the midst of its fancied security from
the troubles it presumed to foresee for others. The lines of the face
were deep and care-worn--age had come on with rapid strides--and the
light of the eye was vague and unsettled, as if the lofty reason
shook, terrified in its pride, at last.
"Alone, alone!" she murmured, half aloud: "yea, evermore alone! And
the grandchild I had reared to be the mother of kings--whose fate,
from the cradle, seemed linked with royalty and love--in whom,
watching and hoping for, in whom, loving and heeding, methought I
lived again the sweet human life--hath gone from my hearth--forsaken,
broken-hearted--withering down to the grave under the shade of the
barren cloister! Is mine heart, then, all a lie? Are the gods who
led Odin from the Scythian East but the juggling fiends whom the
craven Christian abhors? Lo! the Wine Month has come; a few nights
more, and the sun which all prophecy foretold should go down on the
union of the icing and the maid, shall bring round the appointed day:
yet Aldyth still lives, and Edith still withers; and War stands side
by side with the Church, between the betrothed and the altar. Verily,
verily, my spirit hath lost its power, and leaves me bowed, in the awe
of night, a feeble, aged, hopeless, childless woman!"
Tears of human weakness rolled down the Vala's cheeks. At that
moment, a laugh came from a thing that had seemed like the fallen
trunk of a tree, or a trough in which the herdsman waters his cattle,
so still, and shapeless, and undefined it had lain amongst the rank
weeds and night-shade and trailing creepers on the marge of the pool,
The laugh was low yet fearful to hear.
Slowly, the thing moved, and rose, and took the outline of a human
form; and the Prophetess beheld the witch whose sleep she had
disturbed by the Saxon's grave.
"Where is the banner?" said the witch, laying her hand on Hilda's arm,
and looking into her face with bleared and rheumy eyes, "where is the
banner thy handmaids were weaving for Harold the Earl? Why didst thou
lay aside that labour of love for Harold the King? Hie thee home, and
bid thy maidens ply all night at the work; make it potent with rune
and with spell, and with gums of the seid. Take the banner to Harold
the King as a marriage-gift; for the day of his birth shall be still
the day of his nuptials with Edith the Fair!"
Hilda gazed on the hideous form before her; and so had her soul fallen
from its arrogant pride of place, that instead of the scorn with which
so foul a pretender to the Great Art had before inspired the King-born
Prophetess, her veins tingled with credulous awe.
"Art thou a mortal like myself," she said after a pause, "or one of
those beings often seen by the shepherd in mist and rain, driving
before them their shadowy flocks? one of those of whom no man knoweth
whether they are of earth or of Helheim? whether they have ever known
the lot and conditions of flesh, or are but some dismal race between
body and spirit, hateful alike to gods and to men?"
The dreadful hag shook her head, as if refusing to answer the
question, and said:
"Sit we down, sit we down by the dead dull pool, and if thou wouldst
be wise as I am, wake up all thy wrongs, fill thyself with hate, and
let thy thoughts be curses. Nothing is strong on earth but the Will;
and hate to the will is as the iron in the hands of the war-man."
"Ha!" answered Hilda, "then thou art indeed one of the loathsome brood
whose magic is born, not of the aspiring soul, but the fiendlike
heart. And between us there is no union. I am of the race of those
whom priests and kings reverenced and honoured as the oracles of
heaven; and rather let my lore be dimmed and weakened, in admitting
the humanities of hope and love, than be lightened by the glare of the
wrath that Lok and Rana bear the children of men."
"What, art thou so base and so doting," said the hag, with fierce
contempt, "as to know that another has supplanted thine Edith, that
all the schemes of thy life are undone, and yet feel no hate for the
man who hath wronged her and thee?--the man who had never been king if
thou hadst not breathed into him the ambition of rule? Think, and
curse!"
"My curse would wither the heart that is entwined within his,"
answered Hilda; "and," she added abruptly, as if eager to escape from
her own impulses, "didst thou not tell me, even now, that the wrong
would be redressed, and his betrothed yet be his bride on the
appointed day?"
"Ha! home, then!--home! and weave the charmed woof of the banner,
broider it with zimmes and with gold worthy the standard of a king;
for I tell thee, that where that banner is planted, shall Edith clasp
with bridal arms her adored. And the hwata thou hast read by the
bautastein, and in the temple of the Briton's revengeful gods, shall
be fulfilled."
"Dark daughter of Hela," said the Prophetess, "whether demon or god
hath inspired thee, I hear in my spirit a voice that tells me thou
hast pierced to a truth that my lore could not reach. Thou art
houseless and poor; I will give wealth to thine age if thou wilt stand
with me by the altar of Thor, and let thy galdra unriddle the secrets
that have baffled mine own. All foreshown to me hath ever come to
pass, but in a sense other than that in which my soul read the rune
and the dream, the leaf and the fount, the star and the Scin-laeca.
My husband slain in his youth; my daughter maddened with woe; her lord
murdered on his hearthstone; Sweyn, whom I loved as my child,"--the
Vala paused, contending against her own emotions,--"I loved them all,"
she faltered, clasping her hands, "for them I tasked the future. The
future promised fair; I lured them to their doom, and when the doom
came, lo! the promise was kept! but how?--and now, Edith, the last of
my race; Harold, the pride of my pride!--speak, thing of Horror and
Night, canst thou disentangle the web in which my soul struggles, weak
as the fly in the spider's mesh?"
"On the third night from this, will I stand with thee by the altar of
Thor, and unriddle the rede of my masters, unknown and unguessed, whom
thou hadst duteously served. And ere the sun rise, the greatest
mystery earth knows shall be bare to thy soul!"
As the witch spoke, a cloud passed over the moon; and before the light
broke forth again, the hag had vanished. There was only seen in the
dull pool, the water-rat swimming through the rank sedges; only in the
forest, the grey wings of the owl, fluttering heavily across the
glades; only in the grass, the red eyes of the bloated toad.
Then Hilda went slowly home, and the maids worked all night at the
charmed banner. All that night, too, the watch-dogs howled in the
yard, through the ruined peristyle--howled in rage and in fear. And
under the lattice of the room in which the maids broidered the banner,
and the Prophetess muttered her charm, there couched, muttering also,
a dark, shapeless thing, at which those dogs howled in rage and in
fear.
