Читать книгу King Penda's Captain - Mac Kenzie Mac Bride - Страница 4

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So Feargus stayed behind with king Penda, and soon his name became known through all the land. Though he was yet ungrown, men looked upon him as a man, for so was he limbed; and such was he for hardihood and cunning with all weapons that he soon excelled all the captains of the king. In stature he towered above his fellows, and his strength was like that of two men. He sought no fight nor feared any, yet his enemies were adread of him; but not less loved was he of his friends, and his manners were so mild, withal, that the poorest might speak with him familiarly. Besides Feargus, were other captains of Penda, chief among whom were his sons Peada and Wulfere; and Osbert, son to the king of the North English,[1] with his brothers Godwine, Thorkill, and Tosti and his cousin Edgar. These were rich and great, and there were also many kings and nobles gathered about the city of Tamworth, the chief town of Mercia. Of these was one Sigmund, king of the Lindiswaras, who, with his daughter Torfrida, was much about the hall of Penda. So Feargus dwelt among the Mercians and they fought many battles, and great was their gain, and the cause of the Christians waned before them. But gradually the spirit of the new faith fell upon its enemies and even Sigmund, the chief friend of Penda, drifted slowly over, and with him went his daughter Torfrida. So that when Penda made war on the Christian king of the East Anglians, Sigmund no longer followed him and he was wrath. Now we have seen that Torfrida had been much about the hall of Penda, for the old warrior loved the little maiden, and felt his hearth brighter for her presence; but when Sigmund withheld from Penda in his war on king Anna of East Anglia, Torfrida was denied king Penda’s halls and great sorrow fell upon Feargus. For the youth now learned that he loved the damsel, now when he dare no longer make it known to Penda or to herself; for the king had said that he must not enter Sigmund’s land; so Feargus went forth to the fight heavy-hearted. And when they wended homeward after harrying and burning the lands of the Christians he sighed for Torfrida; and so one night he mounted his horse in secret and, taking a clarsach, or small harp, and a minstrel’s cloak, rode away eastward, and still rode through the next day until he won Sigmund’s land. Being dressed as a minstrel no one heeded him, for minstrels were held in great honour amongst the English as amongst the Albanich, and as he rode he made a little song. He entered the town of Lindum, which was set on a high hill, and sought out the king’s halls, and there in the garden beheld Torfrida walking to and fro with head downcast and greeting,[2] and ever and anon wringing her small hands. She was as fair as an April morning and not less fresh and fragrant; like a golden river her hair fell over her white throat and shoulders to her waist; deep blue were her eyes and her forehead low and straight and square; pink cheeks she had, and parted lips—fit guardians of her precious breath, if breathe indeed like common folk she did. “Now,” thought Feargus, “if she weeps for me I am glad of my coming; but gin she greets for other cause, and this new faith hath hardened her against her old friends, then will the head of Feargus hang this night over the lintel of king Sigmund, and Penda will know that Feargus hath broken his word which as a youth he swore on his father’s sword, and his name will go down without honour among the Albanich, and his enemy Osbert will rejoice.” Then Feargus walked out towards the garden and, drawing his harp, sang the simple song which he had made in riding through the woods that morning. Done with great freedom from the old English into the new it ran thus:—

MY HEART DOTH BEAT

“My heart doth beat for thou art fair,

As Luga’s shower[3] thy glowing hair,

As down thy soft white cheeks and red,

As fleecy clouds thy pale forehead.

“Oh, never man had love so meet,

Oh, never maiden face so sweet,

Oh, ne’er will be so sad a heart

As mine shouldst thou bid me depart.

“But shouldst thou whisper, ‘Lover, stay,

I cannot live an thou’rt away,

So I the whole world will defy

To have my sweetheart ever nigh;’

“Then all these clouds will turn to rose

As at an August evening’s close,

And mating song-birds in the brake

Will sing of love for thy dear sake.”

Torfrida paused in her walk when the first notes fell upon her ear. She heard the song right through and smiled sadly and wept a little, and then turned swiftly and ran through the green bushes and threw her arms round the tall minstrel with a little cry of joy. And when she had found her tongue she said—

“Feargus, O Feargus! what dost thou here? If the men of Sigmund do but see thee, then neither I nor any other can save thee.”

“Then thou art of a mind, sweet Torfrida, to save the enemy of Sigmund and the conqueror of the Christians.”

“Thou hast wronged me if ever thou hast thought that I could betray thee; but what brings thee here?” she added, with a woman’s disingenuousness.

“Thyself, Torfrida.”

“Myself!”

“Nay now, thou well knowest ’tis thyself; never since the day thy father took thee away has there been any joy in the world for Feargus, nor will be till thou art back.”

“Back, ah! that I will never be, noble Feargus, slayer of Christians though thou art—but get thee hence, for hast thou not broken Penda’s bidding by coming into this land?”

“That have I, and that must I again, if I may not see thee without, for thou, Torfrida, hast the heart of Feargus.”

“And thou that of Torfrida.”

Long time they stood with hands locked, and much they spake, till the maidens of Torfrida came out to seek their mistress. Then said Torfrida, “Never again must thou come, O Feargus, for an the men of Penda or of my father caught thee, even though death were not dealt to thee, thou wouldest be for ever disgraced.”

“I cannot live without seeing thee, sweet Torfrida, and must come.”

“Nay, rather will I ride forth to meet thee on Penda’s land than that thou shouldst break thine oath to the king.”

“Brave indeed thou art, but I am loth to break my faith with the old man, though sorry that thou shouldst run into danger.”

“Nay, little danger will it be to me in my father’s land, and in Penda’s thy presence will shield me from all questions.”

And so they left it, and many times Torfrida rode out to meet her lover on the verge of king Penda’s land.

And Penda waxed more and more bitter against the Christians, while Feargus’s ardour grew less and less as he learnt something of their faith from Torfrida, for hard she beset him. At length it fell one evening that king Sigmund asked for his daughter, and her maidens could not find her; high and low they looked, but in vain, till at nightfall she returned, and Sigmund asked whither she had been, and Torfrida blushed and at length told the king her father, and he was much angered.

“So thou hast been holding tryst with thy father’s foe, and thou a Christian!”

Then Torfrida wept and asked forgiveness.

“Nay, I cannot forgive thee till thou hast broken this bond with young Feargus. The Christian may not wed with the worshipper of false gods. I little thought that child of mine could wish to wed with one who had lifted his hand against me.”

And then Sigmund sent for the priest who dwelt with them, and he was wrath and forbade her trysting with Feargus, and they kept her a prisoner in her room until such times, said her father, as she promised to abandon her lover.

And at the end of a month they came to her for an answer, and she said: “Never will I break my troth with Feargus, or wed other, Christian or heathen, for that I love him; and where love is, God will not and man may not come between; if he is infidel, will he not surely need a Christian to wife the more?”

And there was anger between Sigmund and Torfrida, for he was wishful that she should strengthen his hands by wedding a Christian king. So Torfrida sent her brother Edwy secretly to meet Feargus at their tryst, to bid him beware, and Feargus turned homewards heavy-hearted.

Now it happened that at this time Penda sent Feargus as a messenger to Northumbria, and there he fell in with one of the Christian priests of his own race, who took a liking to the young Pict, and Feargus, being by no means as bitter against the Christian as was his master Penda, listened to all he had to say, and received it kindly. So that before leaving he told the priest if it had not been for his duty to the old king and to his father, he would have almost become a Christian, whereupon the priest tried to show him that being of this mind his duty to his Maker was before that to his king and father.

“Such is not the law of my father’s people,” said Feargus, “for if I betray my trust to my master, how will I be fit to keep that to the God of the Christians. If thou canst overcome the old king with thy reasoning I will be glad, but if thou canst not, then must I yet stand by him to the end, and his enemies will still be mine.”

Feargus went his way southward till he won home again, but from that day much of the merry youthfulness of him died, and he walked with knotted brow and doubting heart and no longer sang blithely the war songs of the Albanich, but chose the plaintive and sorrowful ones instead, that suited best his spirit. And he could see dimly that in the days to come the new faith would rise triumphant over all lets and hindrances soever, for in it was truth so great and so plain withal that men had but to hearken to be overcome, and in the future he saw trouble for Penda and trouble for himself.

And when he reached home he found that Penda was making ready to march upon king Sigmund and had sworn to burn his city and harry his land, and Feargus was much troubled; for he knew that he must lift his hand against the kin of Torfrida—and what might not happen to her in the press and thick of the fight, when men spared neither old nor young; and how would her people let her marry with him who entered their land as a destroyer? And one day, as he was riding abroad, a man dressed as a beggar came up and drew close to him and whispered as he passed, and Feargus started, and, gathering his reins from the beast’s neck, rode on all that night and, at the morning, came to a wood. By this he lingered, until at noon he heard the sound of hoofs and saw Torfrida with two maidens accompanying her on palfreys; and he took her in his arms and kissed her, and saw that she was pale and careworn.

“I have come, O Feargus, to ask thee to spare my father and my kin for love of me; for know I well and all the world that if king Penda marches against us, my father will be overthrown; for his might is not like that of Penda, nor his captains like Penda’s captains.”

Then the water burst forth his eyes as he answered, “I would do much to serve king Penda, more would I do to serve thee; yet to Penda I plighted myself before I plighted myself to thee, and on my father’s sword I swore, so I cannot break my troth, sweet Torfrida, though my heart be torn in twain with grief for thee. Let me tell thee, also, Torfrida, that since I saw thee I have been persuaded that thy new faith is true, and that a greater power than of Penda’s will be needed to tear it from men’s minds. Yet I am his man; he is old and I would not desert him at this hour, even though I could without dishonour; for the old man, grim though he be at times, is steadfast in friendship as he is terrible in battle, and from a youth he hath cared for me and taught me as his son and not less steadfast shall he find me.”

“Thou hast said thou lovest me above all things else, yet wilt thou destroy me and my kin; thou art a Christian, yet wilt thou destroy the Christians.”

“A hard saying is that thou hast said: weep not so, my golden-haired one—thy sickness hath turned thy mind in this matter—in a different mood thou spokest when last we met in this place.”

“Call me no longer thy golden-haired one, and get thee hence, thou killer of Christians; with the aid of thee and thine Sigmund might turn the battle against Penda, but thou hast denied it; get thee hence; never more shalt thou gaze upon Torfrida.”

“Say not so—thou art beside thyself, and thy father hath prevailed upon thee to say these things—thou wilt not away, Torfrida, till I take my farewell of thee!”

But Torfrida pulled her rein and smote her horse and rode on, and Feargus neither moved nor spoke, but white like a dead man stood and gazed after her.