The Ward of King Canute | Page 8

of the
country. Though he be thrice kinsman to the English King, Edric Jarl
has joined the host of Canute of Denmark; and all his men have
followed him. But even that agreement could not hold Norman back
from Avalcomb. He lay hidden near the gate till he saw my father come,
in the dusk, from hunting, when he fell upon him and slew him, and
forced an entrance--the nithing! When he had five-and-fifty men and
my father but twelve!"
She paused, with set lips and head flung high. The nun got down stiffly
beside her and laid a gentle hand upon her knee.
"Think not of it, my daughter," she urged. "Think of your present need
and of what it behooves us to do. Tell me how you escaped from the
chamber, and why you wear these clothes."
"They were Fridtjof's." She spoke his name very softly. "I found them
hanging on the chamber wall. In the night the men began to entertain
themselves with singing, and it could be heard that they were getting

drunk. It had been in my mind that I would stay where I was until they
forced the door; then, because I would like it better to die than to marry
any of them, I would throw myself out of the window, and the stones
below would cause my death. But now it came to me that if I could
dress so that they would not notice me, there were many good chances
that I might slip past them and get out through the postern. I waited till
they were all still, and then I crept into the women's room, and found
the bondmaids huddled in their beds. They got afraid at the sight of me,
for they thought I was Fridtjof's ghost; and they dared not move. So I
had to go down alone." She shuddered in spite of herself. "Never did I
think that darkness could be so unpleasant,--when one is listening for
sounds and fears to put out a hand lest it touch something alive! But I
got past the door and through the guard-room, where the Englishmen
were snoring so loud that they would not have heard if I had stamped.
In a niche in the wall outside I found Almstein the steward hiding, full
of fear. I made him follow me out of the postern and around to the gate
where...my father...and...Fridtjof..." Her voice broke, but she struggled
on. "The English dogs had left them there... My father's face
was...wounded...and the moon made his hair all silver round it, so that
the blood looked to be black blots... And Fridtjof's sword was in his
hand... Always he had wished to go into battle, though he was no more
than fourteen winters old... There was a smile on his lips... I made
Almstein dig two graves. He is a cowardly fellow, and it is likely that
he would have left them there till the English were gone. I kissed
Fridtjof's mouth...and...and I laid...my father's cloak...over...over
his...face."
It was useless trying to go on; a deep sob shut off her voice and
threatened to rend her when she tried to hold it back. Sister Wynfreda
strove with gentle arms to draw her down upon her breast.
"Suffer the tears to come, my daughter," she urged her tenderly, "or
sooner or later they must."
Randalin pulled away almost roughly, dashing the drops from her eyes.
"They shall not!" she cried brokenly. "They shall not! Am I a
weak-minded English woman that I should shed tears because my kin

are murdered? I will shed blood to avenge them; that is befitting a
Danish girl. I will not weep, - -as though there were shame to wash out!
They died with great glory, like warriors. I will fix it in my mind that I
am a kinswoman of warriors. I will not weep."
The older woman shrank a little. To ears attuned to the silence of the
grave, such an outburst was little less than terrifying; she was at a loss
how to soothe the girl. To gain a respite, she stole away and renewed
the wounded man's bandages.
After a moment Randalin rose and followed, buckling her cloak as she
went.
"Since I am become this man's lord, I think it right for me to see how
he fares before I leave him," she explained. Once more she spoke
gently, though the fire of her pride had quite dried her tears.
"Before you leave him?" The form in the faded robes turned inquiringly
toward the erect young figure in its brave scarlet cloak. "What is it you
say, my child?"
But Randalin was bending low over the green couch. "Do you know
who I am?" she was asking urgently of the woodward. "Fix your eyes