CÆDWALLA

Cædwalla

OR

THE SAXONS IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT

A Tale

BY

FRANK COWPER, M.A.

QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD

With Illustrations by the Author

SECOND EDITION

LONDON SEELEY & CO. 46 47 & 48 ESSEX STREET, STRAND (LATE OF 54 FLEET STREET) 1888

All Rights Reserved.

TO

H.R.H. PRINCE HENRY OF BATTENBERG, K.G.

Hon. Colonel 5th (Isle of Wight "Princess Beatrice's") Volunteer Battalion. The Hants Regiment.

THIS TALE OF THE DEEDS OF TEUTONIC WARRIORS IN OLDEN TIME IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

BY THE AUTHOR

PREFACE.

In writing a story of the Isle of Wight in the seventh century, which shall at the same time be suitable for young people as well as historically truthful, there are many difficulties. The authorities for this period are Bede and the Saxon Chronicle. The former obtained his information of the South Saxons and the Wihtwaras from Daniel, Bishop of Winchester, who was evidently well-informed of the state of the southern people during the later half of the seventh century. Eddius, Asser, Ethelweard, Florence of Worcester, and Henry of Huntingdon all supply information, more or less accurate, as they are nearer to or more remote from the time of which they treat; and the valuable remarks of the modern specialists Dr. Guest, Kemble, and Lappenberg, are useful in leading the student to a right judgment of the facts. The historians, Dr. Milman, Dr. Lingard, and Mr. Freeman are also important helps, especially the first-named writer. Neander's "Memorials of Christian Life" and Montalembert's "Monks of the West," have been consulted, with a view to becoming acquainted with the theology and religious fervour of the times; and Mallet's "Northern Antiquities" has been largely laid under contribution for a clue to the mythology of the period, although properly belonging to a later time, and to the Scandinavian form of Teutonic religion. The author has also had the learned assistance of the Rev. J. Boucher James, M.A., Vicar of Carisbrooke, and late Fellow and Tutor of Queen's College, Oxford, whose antiquarian knowledge of the Isle of Wight is accurate and profound.

The scenes are all well known to the writer, who has many times threaded the channels at the entrance to Chichester Harbour, and climbed the steep slopes of Bembridge and Brading Downs.

As the story has been written for young people, sentiment has been entirely omitted, the ideas of the author differing from those of other writers who make their youthful heroes and heroines suffer the sentimental pangs of a Juliet and a Romeo.

The mode of spelling the Saxon names has been carefully thought over, and the most commonly received method has been generally adopted.

The name of the outlaw, West Saxon King, and enthusiastic convert to Christianity, Cædwalla, himself, has offered considerable difficulties, since there are many ways of writing his name, and probably not a few of pronouncing it. Cæadwalla, Cædwalla, Cadwalla, are the most common forms; while perhaps the most correct pronunciation would be represented by Kadwalla.*

* The name of Cædwalla bears a singular resemblance to that of Cadwalla, the British prince who made war upon Ædwin, king of Northumbria. According to Geoffrey of Monmouth, Cadwalla was succeeded by Cadwallader, who died at Rome AD. 689, the very place and date of Cædwalla's death, according to Bede. Could Cædwalla have really been of British descent?

His brother, Mollo, Wulf, or Mul, as he is indifferently called, is also a very ambiguous personage as regards nomenclature, and it has even been suggested that his name was "Mauler," as though he were an awkward man to deal with in a personal encounter!

A few simple foot-notes have been appended; not that they were necessary to students of history, into whose hands the author hardly ventures to hope the little book will fall, but because it seemed some explanation was required for younger readers.

That the state of the south of England during the latter half of the seventh century was a very dismal one, is sufficiently clear from all contemporary evidence, and the author has not attempted to give a more couleur de rose view of it than his materials justified.

It is, however, quite evident from Bede and other authorities that the English or Saxons had already developed great intellectual powers, and where law and order were more firmly established than in the south of England, general culture and the arts of peace were making steady progress.

Such learning as that of Bede, such architecture as that introduced by St. Wilfrid at Ripon and Hexham, such artistic work as that of the Royal MS. preserved in the British Museum, which may have been the very one presented by Wilfrid to his church of York, show that the Saxons, who are so often described as mere jovial, hard fighting, hard drinking, blustering dullards, had in many instances reached a comparatively high standard of civilization.

July, 1887.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

Stranded

"Freely Ye have Received—Freely Give"

"Under the Greenwood Tree"

The Surprise

St. Wilfrid

Extremes Meet

"Ho! Watchman; What of the Night!"

"Nothing Venture, Nothing Have"

"I can call Spirits from the Vasty Deep"

"For My Sake, be Comfortable"

"Memories of Long Ago"

"The King shall have His Own Again"

"Which is the Better Life?"

"'Twixt Cup and Lip there's many a Slip"

"The Cruel Crawling Foam, the Cruel Hungry Foam"

"Blessed are the Peacemakers"

"In the Lost Battle, Borne Down by the Flying"

"Let's Whip the Stragglers o'er the Seas Again"

"Be Ready, Claudio, for your Death, To-Morrow"

"'Tis True we are in Great Danger; the greater should our Courage be"

"Let us Die in Honour; once more back Again"

"Now, by my faith, Lords, 'twas a Glorious Day"

"The Conclusion of the Whole Matter"

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

How they ran ashore on the Pole Sand at the Bar of Cissanceaster Haven . . . Front.

Cædwalla heweth a way out of the burning Palace of Edilwalch

How the Skald, the Yokel, and the Jackass strove for the Prize of Poesie

How they talked of many things as they mended the boat at Boseham

How Dicoll and Ædric saw the boat depart

How Deva, Malachi, and Wulfstan were surprised by the Wihtwaras

How Athelhune kept the Roman Ruins

How Corman and Ædric fled before Berchthune

How the South Saxon was held by the mud, and naught could save him

How Wilfrid goeth forth to meet Cædwalla, and biddeth him stay the Battle

How Wulf the Atheling waited for the onslaught of Arwald, and blenched not

How Cædwalla won Wihtea, and slew Arwald

CÆDWALLA

OR, THE SAXONS IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT

CHAPTER I.

STRANDED.

"How much longer, thinkest thou, must we be here, Biggun?"

To this question no answer was returned, and after a moment the same voice spoke again rather more feebly.

"Biggun, why answerest thou not? What ails thee? Oh, how she does bump!" And the child's voice became tremulous with pain.

"It won't be a long time now, Ædric, before she floats, I'm thinking; the tide is making up fast—only if she don't go to pieces first I'm a weala,"[1] added the speaker, under his breath.

[1] The general name for foreigners, but applied especially to the conquered, and therefore despised, British. The words Wales and Welsh are the modern equivalents.

"Art thou much in pain, Eddie?" said another younger and brighter voice.

"Oh! Wulf, it does hurt here so much. It wouldn't hurt like this, I think, if the weary old boat wouldn't bump so dreadfully—oh!—" exclaimed the boy, as a rolling wave came in and raised up the large, awkwardly-built boat; and then, as the white crest of the wave passed on to break in a long frothy cataract over the shallow sand-bank beyond, the boat fell back with a bump that made every timber in her strain and creak and work as though she would go to pieces.

The old man addressed as "Biggun," whose real name was Ceolwulf, but who was always called Biggun by reason of his height and breadth of chest, had gone to the bows of the boat as he saw the wave coming, and, calling to the boy who was addressed as Wulf to take his pole and push hard, had leant with all his might on his own long pole; and, as the wave lifted the awkward craft, their united efforts made her give a little.

"There she goes, there she goes; her head is coming round. Ah, now she's aground again! Well, never mind, the next roller is coming, and she'll come off then. There, have a care not to overstrain thyself, Wulfstan," said the old man cheerily. "Wait for the next swell; we want all our strength, and it is not much either that we've got."

The position of the boat was not a very safe one, considering the condition she was in. She was lying aground on a sand-bank at the entrance of a harbour which was then, as it is now, very difficult for a stranger to find his way into.

The boat had got aground fortunately at the time when the tide was just beginning to rise, and there was, therefore, every hope that she would float off again as the tide rose; but there was also the great danger of her breaking up first, considering how old she was and how badly built, and the difficulty of getting her off was considerably increased by the long rollers that came in, with their green and glassy swirl, and lifted her farther and farther on. Had there been more strength in the crew it would have been an easy matter to get her off, or had the boat drawn less water; but she was such a heavy, clumsy, thing, drawing quite four feet of water, that it would have done no good to get overboard and push, for her weight would have only been imperceptibly lightened, while the depth of the water would have prevented any great strength being applied by pushing her. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but stand in the bows and push with all their might against the sand with two long poles they had with them.

It was early in the morning of an October day, and owing to the dim light of the hour before sunrise they had got aground; for although Ceolwulf, or Biggun, had never been in here before, yet he was accustomed to find his way into creeks and out-of-the-way harbours, and would have avoided this bank could he have seen the long rollers breaking ahead; but in the white mist of the early morning he could not make them out. It was true that their dull sound in the still morning air should have told him there were dangers near; yet the waves were breaking all around on many similar sand-banks, and it was difficult to tell how near they were. As the glow of the coming sun spread over the sky they could make out their position better. About two hundred yards on their right was a high bank of shingle, with nothing whatever to be seen above it; this bank stretched away to the west until it was lost in the mist, but immediately ahead of the boat it ended in a point of shingle, steeply sloping down to the sea; beyond this point nothing could yet be seen but the oily sea blending with the grey mist; directly under the bows of the boat the sea was breaking in long glassy rollers, while beyond them a low and shingly beach stretched away into the mist again; overhead the grey fog was rolling off in ever-changing wreaths, and towards the east a warm rosy light told of the rising sun; behind them the impalpable mist and sea faded into one, only now and then a dark ridge would rise up and come majestically rolling onwards, the boat would give a gentle heave, then come down with a heavy bump, and the wave would pass on to curl over in a sounding deluge of foam, and spread out in white froth over the bank to join the eddying current on the other side.

The occupants of the boat were two boys, about ten and twelve years of age, and the old man. The eldest boy, who was addressed as Eddie, and whose name was Ædric, was lying down in the most comfortable position he could obtain in the bottom of the boat. He was covered up with a few skins, and from time to time moved in a feverish, restless way. His head was all that could be seen, and showed a pale, handsome countenance, with blue eyes and yellow hair; but the evident expression of pain made the face look older than it was. The unkempt hair lay in curling masses on a pillow of rough cow-hide, and it would have been difficult to tell if the figure were that of a boy or girl.

Beside him lay a bow and some arrows, a couple of spears, and a formidable-looking axe. There were no other articles in the boat, and the only means of propelling her were three long and very rude oars, a mast, and one old and patched sail bent to a yard, and hoisted like a lug-sail, only quite incapable of being set properly, both by reason of its shape and the weakness of its material. The halyards which hauled the sail up were old and worn, and they would have given way at the least strain put upon them.

There had been a light draught of air from the south during the night, but it had blown rather heavily from the south-west for two or three days previously.

The old man called Biggun was a hard, weather-beaten, grim-looking fellow, his reddish-grey beard and stubbly moustache surrounded a sunburnt face seamed with wrinkles, and two sharp grey eyes looked out from under heavy, bushy eyebrows. He wore no covering on his head, and his dress chiefly consisted of a leathern coat or jacket, covering a rough woollen kind of jersey, which formed a kilt below his waist. On his legs he wore pieces of leather with the hair on, strapped round with thongs of hide, and rough leather sandals protected his feet. He was armed with a sharp knife at his waist-belt.

The other boy was a bright-looking little fellow, of about ten years of age, fine and well-made; his hair, like that of his brother, hung in thick masses round his neck, and would have been all the better for a little brushing and combing. He was fair, like his brother, and gave promise of developing great strength in later life. He was dressed in a tight-fitting tunic of coarse woollen stuff, and wore short drawers of the same material, and bare legs. He also carried a small dagger suspended from a leathern belt, and leather sandals, strapped on to his feet and round his ankles, completed his equipment.

"Now, Wulf, hold on to thy pole," called out Biggun, as a dark ridge rose up silently astern and came rolling on. The stern of the boat lifted, and as the wave passed under her, the old man and the boy leant with all their might on their poles, and Ædric called out: "That's it, I feel her moving—there she goes; that's right, keep her going. Ah! now we are off," as Biggun and Wulfstan kept pushing with their poles as the boat moved astern.

"Well, Wulfstan, thou didst that well, I will say; and thou wilt grow up yet to pay off the debts of last night upon that nithing Arwald. Ah, the robber! I wish I had got my axe into him, that I do. That's right, keep her head round; the tide will swing us in now, and we can see all the banks."

The boat was now fairly afloat, and was, as Biggun said, being rapidly carried into the narrow channel of deep water that led between the steep shingle point and the outlying spit of sand on which they had bumped.

The sun had risen over the mist, and the grey bank ahead gradually resolved itself into a low island, covered with bushes and a few wind-blown trees, which all looked as if a violent gale was then blowing, although everything was perfectly still. Their branches stretched away to the north-east, and all the side towards the south-west was bare and branchless. On each side of the island the sea flowed up in winding channels, with wide reaching mudbanks between the water and the shore; beyond the lowland and water, rose thickly-wooded hills, standing back some distance from the immediate foreground.

Slowly the boat passed the shingle point, and was paddled with difficulty towards the channel on the right. They had now got into perfectly still water, and Wulfstan was amused to see how curious the waves looked as they stood up astern like a low dark wall, and then suddenly broke up into foam, followed by a dull, heavy sound like distant thunder.

"Thou art in less pain now, Eddie?" said Wulfstan.

"Yes, Wulf; but the leg hurts a good deal—it aches so. I wonder what became of father? Think of our home all burnt down! and father killed. Dost thou think he was killed, Biggun?"

"I am greatly afraid of it. He wasn't the man to let his goods go without a fight, and we know how the fight went."

It was an age when men did not sorrow long; they were so accustomed to slaughter, and robbery, and misery, that the loss even of the nearest and dearest relations stirred more the feelings of revenge than the softer emotions.

The South of England in the latter part of the 7th century was not a place where sentiment could flourish; men had no time then for the luxury of sorrow. Hard knocks and little pity was the order of the day. Ninety, or rather eighty-four years ago, Augustine the Monk had set foot in the Island. But that part of it where the events just related were taking place had not yet heard the Gospel tidings, or, if a faint rumour had reached the leading Eorldomen, the common people knew little of it. Quite recently, a few strange men, speaking an unknown tongue, had come to the inlet, the entrance of which has just been described; they had come by land, and had forced their way through the vast impenetrable forest that separated the South Seaxa, or Sussex, from the rest of England. There were but four of these men, and their habits were very simple and harmless, and the rude men of the country saw nothing to gain by doing them harm. They let them live therefore; and they had settled at a convenient spot at the head of a creek that had its outlet to the sea, upon the sandy bar of which the boat had struck. This place was called Boseam, or Boseham, and is known to-day by the very little altered name of Bosham.

There had also lately arrived a wonderful man, a Skald or Priest, as Biggun had heard, who had all sorts of charms and spells, and who had come from foreign parts. He, like the strange men of Bosheam, never fought; he wore splendid clothes, and talked in a wonderful way. Edilwalch, the king of the South Saxons, stood greatly in awe of him, and so did all the country round.

"But what tongue does he talk?" said Ædric, who was greatly interested in what Biggun was telling them about this wonderful man.

"He talks English, only in a different way to what we do; rather more like those men who were wrecked on our coast last year."

"What, those men who came from Bernicia, as they called it, and wanted to go across the sea? But, Biggun, what's that thing standing up in the water there?" added the boy with eagerness.

Biggun looked, and saw a thing that seemed like a man's head and shoulders standing out above the water. But the face was very flat and badly formed, with large bristles over the mouth, and bright eyes the skin nearly black and covered with long hair. For the first moment or so he was puzzled, not being a man of quick apprehension, but directly afterwards he called out: "Why, it's a seal! You have seen many of them off our point at the Foreland, Wulf."

The creature did not seem at all afraid of them, but was presently joined by another, who rose awkwardly up on the shallow sandbank and flapped its fins at them. They were approaching the Isle of Seals, or Sealsea.

Wulfstan picked up the bow from beside his brother, and was going to let an arrow fly at the creatures, when Biggun stopped him, saying: "We may want all our arrows, and we can't pick up the beast if thou dost hit it. Hark! there's somebody hallooing," and Biggun rested on his oar to listen.