Produced by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) YORKSHIRE FAMILY ROMANCE. [Illustration: SIR JOHN HOTHAM.] YORKSHIRE FAMILY ROMANCE. BY FREDERICK ROSS, F.R.H.S., AUTHOR OF "CELEBRITIES OF YORKSHIRE WOLDS," "PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION," ETC. HULL: WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., THE HULL PRESS. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, & CO., LIMITED. 1891. Contents. THE SYNOD OF STREONESHALH THE DOOMED HEIR OF OSMOTHERLEY EADWINE, THE ROYAL MARTYR SIWARD, THE VICEROY PHASES IN THE LIFE OF A POLITICAL MARTYR THE MURDERER'S BRIDE THE EARLDOM OF WILTES BLACK-FACED CLIFFORD THE SHEPHERD LORD THE FELONS OF ILKLEY THE INGLEBY BOAR'S HEAD THE ELAND TRAGEDY THE PLUMPTON MARRIAGE THE TOPCLIFFE INSURRECTION THE BURNING OF COTTINGHAM CASTLE THE ALUM WORKERS THE MAIDEN OF MARBLEHEAD RISE OF THE HOUSE OF PHIPPS THE TRAITOR GOVERNOR OF HULL YORKSHIRE FAMILY ROMANCE. The Synod of Streoneshalh. Northumbria was at peace, after a long period of anarchy, bloodshed, battles, and murders. Christianity had been restored by St. Oswald, King and Martyr; York Cathedral, commenced by King Eadwine, had been completed; the great Abbey of Lindisfarne had become a centre of Christian light and civilisation; and several other churches and religious houses were growing up over the length and breadth of the land. Oswy, a wise, vigorous, and warlike King, one of the most illustrious of his line, ruled Northumbria in its integrity; held northern Mercia under his sway; had subjected the southern Picts and Scots to his authority; and was Bretwalda of the Heptarchy. This position, however, he had only gained, and this peace firmly secured, after a great struggle and the shedding of much blood, and, it must be added, after the perpetration of an atrocious crime. When Paulinus, under the patronage of King Eadwine, had introduced Christianity into Northumbria, Mercia was ruled by Penda, a ferocious Pagan, who made a vow to Woden that he would exterminate the new heretical faith or lay down his life in the attempt. Accordingly, he entered into a compact with Cadwallon, a British Prince of Wales, and together they invaded Northumbria. Eadwine met them in battle and was slain; Paulinus and the Queen, with her children, fled to Kent, and the kingdom was harried by the victors, who sought out the Christians and put them indiscriminately to the sword. Cadwallon remained as ruler of the kingdom, and under his barbarous measures Christianity became almost, if not altogether, extinct, whilst the altars of Woden were re-established in every direction. Osric and Eanfrid, grandsons of Ælla, first King of Deira, after the death of Eadwine, were raised by the voice of the people to the thrones of Deira and Bernicia. They had been baptised at the court of their uncle by Paulinus, but now, as they had no Christians to govern, they apostatised and relapsed into the faith of Woden, but their reign was short; they laid siege to Cadwallon in York, were defeated, Osric slain in the battle, and Eanfrid put to death afterwards; and Cadwallon continued to rule the Northumbrians with an iron hand. At this time there was a young Prince, an exile in Scotland--Oswald, son of Æthelfred, King of Bernicia--who had fled thither when a youth, and had been instructed in the principles of Christianity by the monks of Iona. He heard of the deaths of the two Kings, and of the misery to which his native land was subjected by the tyranny and oppression of Cadwallon, and determined upon going thither and attempting to drive out the usurper. On his arrival the people flocked round his standard, and, with a cross borne in front of his army, he met Cadwallon at Deniseburn, near Hexham, and defeated him, Cadwallon falling in the fight. He established his Court at York, as King of Northumbria, and eventually became Sixth Bretwalda, extending his territories beyond the Tweed. He restored Christianity, by means of missionaries from Iona, completed the church of York, commenced by Eadwine, and founded other churches and some monasteries, leading a life of usefulness, beloved by his people for his piety and good government. But Penda was still living, as bitter as ever against Christianity, and intelligence reached the Court of York that he was preparing for a second invasion of Northumbria, again to trample out the nascent Christianity. In order to be beforehand with his enemy, Oswald invaded Mercia, where the Pagan King was again victorious, and Oswald slain at Masserfield, which came, in consequence, to be called Oswald's-town, corrupted in modern times into Oswestry. Penda caused his body to be torn limb from limb and cast abroad to be devoured by wild beasts, then crossed the border into Northumbria, and ravaged the land with fire and sword. When the Mercians had retired, Oswy, an illegitimate half-brother of Oswald, was called to the throne of Northumbria in the year 642; but two years afterwards, Oswin, son of Osric the Apostate, disputed his right on the ground of his illegitimacy, and being backed by a numerous body of friends, Oswy agreed to a compromise, he taking Bernicia, and Oswin Deira. Seven years after, a dispute arose between the two Kings about the boundaries of their territories, and they took up arms to settle the question by the sword. The two armies met at Wulfer's Dun, near Catterick, when Oswin, perceiving the enemy's forces to be much more numerous than his own, and reluctant to shed blood recklessly, dismissed his men and went to the house of his friend Count Hudwold, at Ingethlin (Gilling), to conceal himself for the present, with a view of entering a monastery; but Hudwold betrayed him, and Oswy sent Ethelwin to murder him, who faithfully executed his mission. Eanfleda, Oswy's Queen, a daughter of King Eadwine, afterwards, with the consent of her husband, founded a monastery at Gilling, where prayers should be offered up for the soul of Oswin, and for the pardon of Oswy. The people of Deira refused to recognise Oswy as King; drove him back across the Tees when he came to take possession, and elected Æthelwald, a son of Oswald, for their King. The hoary-headed old Pagan, Penda, although now well stricken in years, could not witness the advance of Christianity, under Oswy, without pious emotion, and he resolved upon still another invasion of Northumbria in the cause of Woden. He entered into an alliance with Athelm, King of the East Angles, and Æthelwald of Deira--the latter incited by motives of policy--and the confederates marched against Oswy. A great battle ensued at Winwidfield, near Leeds, when Æthelwald, who was a Christian, repented of having entered into a league with the enemies of that faith, and stood aloof. After an obstinate fight, Penda and thirty of his chief officers were slain, and the greater part of his army cut to pieces. This was the last struggle in England between Christianity and Paganism. Thus there was peace in the land after the scenes of violence and bloodshed occasioned by the fanatic fury of Penda, and Oswy found himself in a position to carry out his views for establishing Christianity on a sure basis. Before the battle of Winwidfield he had made a vow that he would build a great monastery at Streoneshalh, endow it with the twelve manors of Crown property lying round the White Bay (Whitby), and that he would dedicate his daughter Eanfleda to perpetual virginity and the service of God in the monastery, if he should, by the blessing of God, be successful over his Pagan enemy. The Cathedral of York was now finished, and he sent the masons and other workmen to erect the monastery and church on the lofty cliff overhanging the outfall of the river Esk into the White Bay, and its walls uprose with marvellous rapidity. As soon as it was completed it was opened for monks and nuns of the Benedictine order, a colony of whom migrated from Hartlepool; and the Princess Hilda, a woman highly esteemed for her learning, virtue, and piety, was placed at the head as Prioress. At this time there were two bodies of Christians in Northumbria, antagonistic to each other on many points of doctrine and ceremonial, the most important being the question of the proper time for the celebration of the Easter festival, and most important was it deemed in these primitive times, for both parties firmly believed that the soul's salvation was imperilled by its non-observance on the right day. The antagonistic sects were the priests and monks from Iona, representatives of the primitive British Church--which had been planted in the island, it was said, by Joseph of Arimathea--with their converts, comprehending the greater portion of the Northumbrian Christians; and on the other side, the ecclesiastics who had imbibed their faith at the feet of Romish teachers. The origin of this antagonism of opinion came about in the following way. Christianity had been extirpated in Northumbria by the sword of Penda, and the people had relapsed into heathenism, very few remaining who still clung to the faith as taught by Paulinus. This was the state of the country when Oswald came to the throne. He had imbibed the tenets of Christianity in the schools of Iona, and sent thither for missionaries to re-convert his people, and founded the see of Lindisfarne, which became the focus of religion and civilisation in his kingdom. Thus, when Oswy ascended the throne, Christianity of the ancient British type prevailed in the land. But there were others who had been educated in Southern England, France, and Italy, who held to the faith as promulgated by Augustine, Paulinus, and other Roman missionaries, and a great deal of controversy, disputation, and even quarrels on tenets of belief and religious observances, took place between the two divisions of the Church. First and foremost, as stated above, was that of the proper time for observing the festival of Easter. The British Church celebrated it on the day of the full moon next after the vernal equinox; the Romish, not on the day of the full moon, but on the Sunday following. The former claimed St. John, the beloved apostle, and the usage of the Eastern Church, as their authorities; the latter, the example of Saints Peter and Paul, backed by a decree of the council of Nice, and they branded as schismatics all who refused to conform to their mode; whilst the British condemned to hell-fire all who deferred the celebration until the Sunday after the full moon. Bede said "It was not without reason that the question disturbed the minds of a great number of Christians, who were apprehensive lest after they had begun the race of salvation they should be found to have run in vain." This state of things caused great confusion, one section of the Church humbling themselves in abstinence, prayers, and tears, whilst the other were lifting up their voices in joyful celebration of the Resurrection. Even in the King's Palace there was disunion, Oswy, who had been educated in Scotland, and Eanfleda, his Queen, who had been taught in Kent, observing the festival, one on the one day, the other on the other. It was obvious that something must be done to put an end to these disputes, and Oswy at length determined upon calling together a Synod to settle the matter once and for all. There was also another question on which the two sections of the Church were at daggers drawn, that of the tonsure, the Romish monks shaving the head all round, emblematic of the crown of thorns; the British only in front as far back as the ears; but this was not looked upon as a vital question, and was easily arranged after the great Easter dispute was settled. The King decided upon holding the Synod in his new monastery of Streoneshalh, and had summoned all the most notable ecclesiastics on both sides to discuss the question. It was a picturesque spectacle to see the Royal train and the monks and priests winding their way up the steep hill from the valley of the Esk and entering the portals of the priory on the summit, where it stood overlooking the expanse of sea, with its rounded arches and stunted pillars, radiant in the sunshine, and glitteringly white in the freshness of its architecture. The disputants assembled in the great hall, the King taking his place on the dais as president, with the prioress Hilda by his side. On the Scottish side were ranged Hilda, who, although she had been baptised by Paulinus, had been instructed at the feet of Aidan, the Ionian Bishop of Lindisfarne; Colman, Bishop of Lindisfarne; Cedd (a Northumbrian), Bishop of the East Saxons; and a train of monks and priests from Icolmkill and Lindisfarne. On the Romish side were Queen Eanfleda; Prince Alfred, son of Oswy; Wilfrid, Abbot of Ripon, who had been educated in Rome, a most able, eloquent, and learned man, the first Churchman of his age; Agilbert, Bishop of Paris, formerly of the West Saxons; James, the deacon who had been left by Paulinus in charge of the infant Northumbrian Church; Ronan and Agathon, priests who had been educated in France, and others who had received instruction from Italian priests and monks. Oswy maintained a neutrality as president, although he adhered to the British mode; and Cedd acted as interpreter. The King opened the Synod by briefly stating its object, the necessity of conformity in so important a point as that it was called together to discuss, praying the Holy Spirit to guide them in the debate; and concluded by calling upon Bishop Colman to open the discussion. The Bishop said that Easter, as observed by his Church, was derived directly from the Apostles, not from a Romish bishop or a council of fallible men. Bishops Finan, Aidan, and Columba had so observed it; but their authority, though eminently holy men, was not sufficient. Their warrant was based on the custom of St. John, the beloved disciple of Christ, therefore, recognising his high authority, and the fact that it was so observed by the Eastern and eldest-born Church, no one could dispute its being the true method. Bishop Agilbert was called upon to reply, but excused himself, as not knowing the Northumbrian tongue sufficiently well to make himself understood. Wilfrid, the Abbot, the great champion of his side, whose name was afterwards known from Rome to York, and who became Archbishop of York, thereupon rose and said, "Easter, as we observe it, is the same as we ourselves have seen it observed at Rome, where the blessed apostles, Saint Peter and Paul, lived, preached, suffered, and are buried; and as, in our travels through Italy and France, whether for study or pilgrimage, we have always seen it observed. We know also, by relation, that the same obtains in the Churches of Asia, Africa, Egypt, and Greece, nay, among all the churches of the world, excepting in this remote and obscure island, where a few obstinate Britons pretend to dispute the affair with the whole world." At this taunt Bishop Colman said, "I marvel, brother Wilfrid, that you call ours a foolish contention, when we have for our pattern and guide so worthy an apostle as St. John, who alone leaned upon our Saviour's breast." Wilfrid, touched with compunction at having spoken too harshly, replied, "God forbid that I should accuse St. John," and entered into a learned statement of the early Christians accommodating their rites and ceremonies in accordance with those of the Jews, and that St. John, who kept the laws of Moses literally, thus celebrated the feast of Easter on the first day of the Jewish Passover, whether on Sunday or any other day. But St. Peter, knowing that Christ rose from the grave on a Sunday, celebrated the feast on that day of the week, in accordance with a command which he received from our Lord, which is certainly a higher authority than that of St. John; and the decree of the council of Nice, in 525, was but a confirmation thereof. Colman replied, "Athanolius, so commendable for his holiness, and Father Columba, whose sanctity is proved by miracles, kept Easter as we do, and I do not deem it wise to depart from their method." "Their holiness and miracles," responded Wilfrid, "I dispute not; but I have no doubt that when, in the day of judgment, they say, 'Lord, have we not prophesied, cast out devils, and wrought miracles in Thy name?' He will answer, 'Begone; I know you not.' Can you compare Columba with the most blessed of the Apostles, to whom Christ said, 'Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it; and to thee I give the keys of the kingdom of heaven.'" "Did our Lord speak this to St. Peter?" asked the King, of Colman. "Most certainly," was the reply. "Hitherto," continued the King, "I have observed the rule of St. John, and in ignorance, but now mine eyes are opened. You both agree that the words of our Lord, quoted by the Father Abbot, were spoken to St. Peter, and I deem it not wise to withstand or gainsay so potent a person as the doorkeeper of heaven, lest when I come thither I find them closed against me; and I should recommend this assembly to decide upon celebrating the festival after the mode of St. Peter." The result of this speech was that several went over from the British to the Roman side, and, after a few other speeches, the question was put to the vote, and decided almost unanimously in favour of the Romanists. Cedd, Bishop of the East Saxons, was one of the converts, but Colman declined submission, soon after resigned his bishopric, and with his monks and priests returned to Iona. Ultimately, however, all the branches of the Church conformed to the rule of St. Peter--the Picts in 699, the Scots, comprehending the monks of Iona, in 716, and the Britons or Welsh in 800. The Doomed Heir of Osmotherley. The Vale of Mowbray is one of the many beautiful pieces of landscape scenery with which the county of Yorkshire abounds; a favourite sketching-ground for artists, and often seen, in detached portions, on the walls of the Royal Academy. An equal favourite, also, is it with the tourist and worshippers of natural beauty. If Dr. Syntax, when he mounted Grizzle to go in search of the picturesque, had come to the Vale of Mowbray, we may fancy that he would have considered his quest at an end, and his purpose accomplished. In the Saxon era it presented a somewhat different aspect from what it does now; more strikingly magnificent and grand in its wild, natural beauty. Instead of cornfields, pastures, hedgerows, churches, mills, and mansions, it was one expanse of forest, with towering oaks, elms, and poplars; and, beneath a tangled undergrowth of brushwood and briar, the home and haunts of the antlered stag, the wild boar, the wolf, and innumerable other wild creatures, four-footed, on the sward below, or pinion-borne amid the foliage above. It must not be supposed, however, that the vale was given up entirely to these denizens of woodland, and destitute of human inhabitants. The Lord of the valley was Earl Oswald, a Saxon, or, to speak more accurately, an Anglian nobleman--the greatest landed proprietor for many miles round. His mansion was seated on a gentle slope of the Hambleton Hills; a one-storied edifice, consisting of a large hall, where he, his retainers, and domestic servants, partook of their meals, and where the latter slept by night, on straw or rushes spread on the floor, with some smaller family sleeping and guest rooms, a kitchen, brewhouse, and other necessary appliances of a nobleman's household, including a chapel with open, round-headed doorway, draped with a pair of woollen portieres, generally looped back, and displaying in the interior some roughly carpentered benches, and a lamp pendant from the roof. Around the mansion was some arable land, with granaries and stacks; pasture land for horses, oxen, and sheep, protected by stockades from the incursions of wolves and other beasts of prey; an orchard and a vegetable garden. Scattered about in clearings of the forest were the homesteads of the class correspondent with the modern tenant-farmer, with their oxen, swine, wains, and rude implements of husbandry; and, nestling around the mansion, an aggregation of wattled and mud-built dwellings, the abodes of the villeins or serfs, hence denominated a village, in the centre of which stood the church, a very primitive structure of wood, consisting of nave and chancel only, without side aisles, transept, or tower. Earl Oswald was a young man of five-and-twenty years, comely in aspect and benign in manner; and was a considerate overlord and kind master. He had not long been in possession of his estates, his father having died only twelve months previously, his death having been occasioned by an accident when pursuing the wild boar in the forest. The present Earl was the last of his race, having no brothers or other relatives to inherit the earldom, which would become extinct in case of his death without issue; consequently it behoved him, in order to continue the succession, to look out for a wife. But at that time the choice was very limited; it was essential that he should marry a lady with some pretensions to aristocratic birth, in order to keep up the dignity of his family; and as people, even nobles, did not then travel far away from home, visiting only such families as resided within a moderate distance, his choice was rather restricted. It happened, however, that one day, when hunting in Cleveland, he met with a Thegn, one of the lower order of nobility, who invited him to his house to spend the night, as he was some distance from home. At supper he was introduced to the Thegn's daughter, Gytha, a beautiful young maiden, some three or four years younger than himself, and was so charmed with her beauty, amiability of deportment, and sensible conversation, that he became enamoured of her, and mentally resolved that if there were no obstacles in the way he would make her his countess and the mother of his heir. He made no declaration on that occasion, but finding the hunting round the bases of the great Cleveland hill, the Ottenberg, now called Roseberry Topping, fruitful of sport, he came again and again, seldom letting a week pass without one or two visits, and never failing to call at the Thegn's house, where he was always cordially welcomed by Gytha and her father. The friendship thus commenced soon ripened into intimacy, and when the Earl found that his attentions had made an impression on the heart of the fair maiden, he began to whisper in her ear the tale of love. As maidens, in those practical, unsophisticated days, knew not the art of coquetry, and were not apt at disguising the feelings of their hearts, Gytha listened with pleasure to his flattering tale, confessed at once that she reciprocated his love, and without any needless circumlocution or affected bashfulness consented to become his wife, which met with the full approbation of her father, and a month afterwards he bore her away to become the mistress of the mansion in the Mowbray Vale, and, it was hoped, the mother of the future lord of the domain. Months past along--delicious months--one succession of honeymoons; the happy pair never tiring of each other's company. In the mornings the Earl would go forth to superintend the operations of ploughing, sowing, or harvesting, or to look after the careful tending of his flocks and herds; and occasionally, for pastime or for the benefit of the larder, would penetrate the recesses of the forest, hunting-spear in hand, and surrounded by his hounds; whilst the Lady Gytha directed the domestic affairs of the house, or occupied herself in her bower, with her handmaidens, embroidering a set of arras for the adornment of the hall; but they always spent the after-part of the day together in caressing converse. The months thus passed along, and began to resolve themselves into years, but still the great hope of their lives was not accomplished, that of giving an heir to carry downwards the honours and possessions of the family. For a long time they flattered themselves with this hope, despite the length of time that had elapsed since their marriage; but when three or four years had gone into the past without any fruition of their hopes, they began to despond. The Earl became moody and melancholy in contemplating the probable and almost certain extinction of his race; and his lady wept and mourned in secret, at the bitter disappointment her husband experienced, no less than at the denial to herself of the delights and pleasant anxieties of maternity. Another year or two, with their wintry storms and summer sunshine, went by, and the Earl had sunk into the depths of despair, when, after all hope had departed, a gleam of sunshine shot athwart "the winter of his discontent," heralding the coming of a glorious summer. The probable birth of a living child, and, it might be, heir, was announced to him, and he immediately became a changed man; from the slough of despondency he sprang up, radiant with expectancy, buoyant in spirit, and gladdened at heart; and the Lady Gytha underwent an equal change, from tears and brooding to the delicious anticipation of fondling on her breast and presenting to her husband, as the outcome of their loves, an heir to his lands and dignities. It was a proud day for Earl Oswald when the women of his household brought him news of the birth of a male child, healthy and well-formed, with promise of developing into vigorous life, indeed, in the nurse's opinion, it was one of the most wonderful infants that ever came into the world, and he was further gratified to learn that the mother was doing well, whom he waited upon as soon as the feminine portion of the community, who ruled supreme at this interesting crisis, permitted, to congratulate her on the auspicious event. Nor did he confine himself to mere gratulations and expressions of rejoicing; in demonstration of his gratitude to Heaven for his long-hoped-for heir, every day, for the succeeding week, he sat at the entrance door of his mansion and administered, with bountiful hand, food and stycas to all mendicant wayfarers, dispensed gifts to his servitors and slaves, and bestowed liberal donations on the Church and the monastic fraternities, with a stipulation in the latter case that they should pray for the welfare of the newly-born Christian child. The infant throve apace, and waxed more beautiful every day, with his blue Saxon eyes and fair flaxen hair, the darling of his mother, the cherished hope of his father, and the petted plaything of all the household. He had attained the mature age of twelve months, when a terrible calamity befel the family, a calamity, however, which was common enough in those days of turbulence, bloodshed, and war. It was the time when the Danish Vikings were most active in making landings on the British coasts, ravaging the country, and massacring the people who opposed them, and then sailing homeward with the spoils of the plundered villages and monasteries. Northumbria lay especially open to their incursions; Ravenspurn, Flamborough, and Lindisfarne, were their principal landing places, and the Humber, the Tees, and the Tyne, their high roads into the interior. They had, indeed, established a permanent encampment on the headland of Flamborough, and intrenched themselves by enlarging a natural ravine, deepening it, and throwing up earthworks, so as to constitute it a formidable defensive barrier stretching across the peninsula, which still exists, and is popularly known as "Danes' Dyke." News reached Earl Oswald that a large fleet of vessels had arrived at Flamborough, and that the Danes, in great numbers, were marching with sword and firebrand across the Wolds, and in the direction of his home. The news was sent by the leading men of the district, who were gathering their vassals and slaves together to resist the invaders, and he was requested to come to their assistance with all the men he could muster. He lost no time in obeying the call, and after bidding an affectionate farewell to his wife, and exhorting her to great watchfulness and care over little Oswy, who, said he, is the only hope for the continuance of my race in case of any mischance to myself--he went forth at the head of his retainers, and joined the army, which had assembled in the neighbourhood of Driffield, to check the progress of the enemy. About a couple of miles to the north-east of Driffield, there was a valley running east and west, along which it was anticipated the foe would come, and here the Saxons decided to await their approach. They took up their position on the southern slopes, and threw up some rough earthworks to protect their front, and, after lying there a couple of days, their scouts brought intelligence that the Danes were but a mile distant, and that in their track could be seen the flames of villages which they had fired in their march. Presently they made their appearance; a vast host of fierce-looking warriors, who, on perceiving the Saxons, set up a wild barbarian shout, and clashed their weapons together as if eager for the conflict. The Saxons uttered a shout of defiance in response, but remained quietly behind their intrenchments, whilst the Danes rushed forward impetuously, and clambering up the slope, the battle began. The field was obstinately contested on both sides, the fight lasting the entire day, neither gaining any absolute advantage, the bravery being equal on both sides, and what the Saxons lacked in numbers was made up by the superiority of their position, and the shelter afforded by their earthworks. Great numbers of brave men fell on both sides, the Danes, from their exposed position, losing more than their antagonists, and when the darkness of night fell, separating the combatants, they deemed it expedient to retreat upon Flamborough. The following day the Saxons went over the field to succour the wounded and bury the dead. Among the former was found Earl Oswald, who was taken in charge by his retainers and conveyed to his home; and the latter were buried, Saxon and Dane together, and tumuli raised over their bodies. Their grave-mounds may still be seen spread over two or three acres of ground, over-canopied by trees, and are popularly known by the name of "Danes' Graves," and the valley where the battle was fought still bears the name of "Danes' Dale." A speedy messenger was sent to inform Lady Gytha of what had befallen her husband, and it was with anguished heart that she received the mournful cavalcade which carried him, wounded and almost insensible, to his home. He lived two or three days, but in the end, despite the most skilful of leechery and the most assiduous nursing, he succumbed to the loss of blood he had sustained during the night he lay on the field. In his dying moments he again besought his wife to protect and bring up in godly fashion his infant heir; and she, with heartbroken sobbing, entreated him to have no apprehensions on that head, as now she would have nothing to live for but that one sole purpose. And the Earl closed his eyes in death, and was buried in the little wooden church hard by, which had been built by his grandfather--buried with all the pomp befitting his rank; and the Lady Gytha returned to her mansion to grieve over her loss, devote herself to the instruction of her beloved child, and look after the interests of his estates. It chanced one day that the widowed lady and her orphan child were disporting themselves on the grass-plot in front of the house, when a withered old crone came up and implored charity. The Lady Gytha, who was ever beneficent to the poor, sent into the house for some victuals, which she gave to the old woman, bidding her sit under the shade of a tree and eat thereof, condoled with her under her infirmities, and supplemented her gift of food with a few coins. Whilst she was conversing with the woman, the little Oswy was running about after some ducks, and, chasing them to the edge of a pond, fell in, but was immediately rescued. At the same moment a dog that was chained up near by gave two prolonged howls, which attracted the attention of the stranger, who, after musing awhile, said, "Lady! you have been very kind in your largesses to me, whom you know not, and I can only repay you by a warning, which I pray you to take heed of. I am an old woman, and have lived long in this world, not without learning somewhat that is hidden to others. I have studied omens and forebodings, and have acquired the power of predicting the future from signs of the present. Know then, lady, that I can foresee from the mishap of your little son, and the language of the dog, that he will undergo great peril from water, and that this will happen, unless prevented by fit precaution, in his second year, as is indicated by the two howls of the dog;" and, having said this, she hobbled off, leaning on her walking-staff, without leaving time for reply. Lady Gytha, although she did not place much credence in the prediction of the old woman, was imbued, to some extent, with the superstitions and credulities of the age, and she summoned into her presence an astrologer, requesting him to cast the nativity of the child. He noted down the time and particulars of his birth, and promised a reply within the week. After a few days' absence he returned, and appeared before Lady Gytha with a clouded brow, she receiving him with a tremor of anxiety. "What do the stars reveal?" enquired she. "Are the tidings good or evil?" "Lady," replied he, "I have calculated the star of his nativity, and sorry am I to tell that it augurs evil rather than good. A great peril awaits the child, on the fourth day of the third moon after his second birthday. It is recorded in the starry volume that on that occasion he will perish by drowning." "Oh, say not so, wise sir. It would kill me as well. Are you assured that this fate is inevitable?" "Fate, lady, is inevitable; but there is one planet which presents a disturbing element in his horoscope, and it is possible that this fate may have been miscalculated, and that, through the influence of the planet, the threatening may be averted; and it will become you that, at the date indicated, you should take all possible precaution, in order that he should not be brought into the neighbourhood of water of any kind." The astrologer, having been rewarded generously for his services, and assured that all due precautions should be taken, he departed, murmuring to himself, "Fate is fate, and it cannot be averted." The Lady Gytha's whole existence was now absorbed in that of her child. He was scarcely ever out of her reach and sight, she watched over him with more than maternal care, if that were possible, and he continued to blossom out, with the promise of becoming everything she could wish--her support, her comfort, and the pride of her after-life. But these prospects of the future were overshadowed by a cloud--an anxious foreboding of what might happen on the fourth day of the third moon of his second year, which the stars marked with a doubtful and perhaps fatal prognostic. Could he but pass that dangerous point of life, the lowering cloud would dissolve into thin air, and for the future might be anticipated the glad sunshine of existence. The fatal day came nearer and nearer. He had passed his second birthday, and the mother had meditated often and often on the means whereby he should be delivered from the threatening evil. It was plainly revealed to her that the danger arose from water, and she reasoned that if she could place him out of the neighbourhood of river, pools, or springs, the evil might be turned aside and the augury baffled. When thinking the matter over, there suddenly rose up before her mind's eye the steep slopes of Ottenberg, the Cleveland hill, about which she had often clambered and gambolled when a child, and it struck her that if she could convey young Oswy to the summit, he would be removed so far away from any running or standing stream, or pool of water, that there could be no possibility of the fulfilment of the prediction, and she resolved upon taking him thither. Accordingly she proceeded to her father's house at its base, and on the summer's night preceding the fateful day, clomb the side of the hill with her child in her arms. She arrived at the summit as the sun was rising from the sea on the eastern horizon, and lighting up the glorious panorama visible from that elevated position. She partook of some refreshment which she had brought with her, and, although she felt no fatigue in making the ascent, owing to her anxiety, now that she had reached what she deemed a place of security, nature began to give way, and a sense of exhaustion to oppress her. She sat there, with her child clasped in her arms, as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and darted forth its heated rays upon her unsheltered head. Under its influence she began to feel drowsy, but battled with the feeling, determined not to lose her hold of the child until the day had passed. At length, however, she unconsciously and insensibly succumbed, and fell asleep, sinking on the turf and relaxing her grasp. The young Oswy disengaged himself, and wandered away, plucking the wild flowers, and looking with infant delight at the gulls winging their flight over the sea. An hour or two elapsed, and the Lady Gytha awoke. At first she could scarcely understand where she was, but in a few minutes she came to full consciousness, and was startled to find that her child was not with her. She sprang up, called him by name, but elicited no response, and she feared he had fallen down the side of the hill. With beating heart she sought around, and on turning a projecting shoulder of the hill was agonised to perceive the object of her search lying with his face in a stream of water that was issuing from a fissure, and, on taking him up, found life to be extinct. The pen fails in attempting to depict her frantic grief, but it may be briefly stated, that she carried down the lifeless body, conveyed it to her home, and laid it beside its father in the little timber church. For her there was no further earthly joy, and fixing her thoughts on the only source of consolation, she founded a small religious house in the Vale of Mowbray, where she spent the few remaining years of her life in religious meditation and devotional exercises. She was buried beside her beloved child in the little church, around which a village grew up, which was called, in remembrance of the burial-place of Oswy and his mother--Osmotherley. According to the legend, the spring at the summit of the hill gushed forth miraculously, in order that the decree of Fate should not be frustrated. "On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found The spring which rose his sad doom to complete; And on its verge the villagers sit round, In wonder recording the fiat of Fate." Eadwine, the Royal Martyr. A pious and benevolent monk of Rome, passing one day through the slave market of that city, noticed a group of beautiful fair-haired boys and youths, who were exposed for sale. Compassionating their condition, he enquired whence they came. "They are Angles," was the reply. "They are beautiful enough to be _angeli_," said the monk. "What part of Anglia come they from?" "Deira." "Then shall they be saved, _de ira_, from the wrath of God. Who is their King?" "Ælla." "Then," continued the monk, "shall Alleluias resound through their land," and he there and then determined to go thither as a missionary, and preach the Gospel to them, but before he could complete his arrangements, he was raised to the Pontifical throne as Gregory I., afterwards called Gregory the Great. Incapable, therefore, of going himself, he sent Augustine, with Paulinus and other monks, as missionaries to the Saxons of Britain. Instead, however, of going to the kingdom of Deira, they landed in that of Kent, gained the ear of King Ethelberht, who embraced Christianity, and established the see of Canterbury, with Augustine as Bishop thereof. Ælla, the first king of Deira, died in the year 588, leaving a son, his heir, then three years of age, and an elder daughter, Acca, married to Ethelfrid, King of Bernicia, the great kingdom of Northumbria being then divided into Bernicia and Deira, both extending from sea to sea, and separated by the river Tees. Taking advantage of his brother-in-law's tender age, Ethelfrid usurped the throne of Deira, and became King of the whole of Northumbria, and the boy Eadwine was taken into exile by his friends. For many years, until he grew up to manhood, he wandered about from one refuge to another, until at last he found a safe asylum at the court of Redwald, King of the East Angles. Ethelfrid sent a demand that he should be delivered up to him, and Redwald, in reply, said to the messenger, "Tell thy master that I have promised to protect him, and will not give him up at the dictate of any King, however powerful he may be." Eventually, however, persuaded by bribes, and terrified by threats, he agreed to deliver him up. Eadwine, hearing of this, wandered forth into the forest, and, "as he sate solitary under a tree, in dumps, musing what was best to be done," a venerable stranger suddenly appeared before him, and said, "Noble Prince, thou knowest me not, but I come to tell thee that thou shalt be restored to thy kingdom, and moreover shall become Bretwalda of the Saxon Kings, if thou listenest but to those that shall be sent to thee, to teach the worship of the only true God." Eadwine, dazzled by the prospect, readily promised to do so, when the stranger placed his hand upon his head, saying, "Remember that as a sign," and vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared. On his return to the palace, he found that, at the intercession of the Queen, Redwald had withdrawn from his engagement, and was now determined to protect the fugitive to the utmost of his power. Ethelfrid, in consequence, raised an army for the invasion of East Anglia, but was met by Redwald, and a desperate battle ensued on the banks of the river Idle, in which the usurper was defeated and slain, and Eadwine proclaimed King of Northumbria. He proved himself to be an able and vigorous ruler, adding the Isles of Man and Anglesea to his dominions, and extending his territories northward to the Forth, where he built a fortress, around which a town gradually grew up, which was called Edwin's burgh--the infant Edinburgh. He raised his kingdom to a height of power it had never before attained, and in the year 624, on the death of Redwald, he attained the dignity of Bretwalda, or Supreme King of the Saxons, and President of the Heptarchian Witenagemot, whenever any such should be called together. His first wife, Quenborga, daughter of Ceorl, King of Mercia, having died, he sent Ambassadors to ask the hand of Ethelburga, daughter of Ethelberht, King of Kent, in marriage, but her brother, Eadberht, then on the throne, replied, "I cannot consent, for it is not meet that a Christian Princess should mate with a pagan." The Ambassadors returned to Northumbria, and extolled so highly the beauty and amiability of the Princess, that Eadwine determined to make her his Queen at any cost, and, after some further negotiation, agreed that she should enjoy her own religion, have priests to celebrate the rites thereof, and, moreover, that he would himself examine the grounds of the Christian faith, and if he found them superior to those of Woden, would renounce the latter and embrace the former. Accordingly the fair young Christian came to Northumbria, accompanied by Paulinus and three or four preaching monks, and the marriage was celebrated with great splendour at York, the Pope sending her, on the occasion, a silver mirror and a gilt ivory comb, which latter is supposed to have been found near Whitby in 1872. Faithful to his stipulation, the King allowed his Queen the utmost freedom in religious matters, and permitted the monks to go forth throughout his realm, preaching and making proselytes. Still he himself adhered to the worship of Woden, in the great temple of Goodmandingham, over which Coifi presided as high priest, and which was contiguous to one of his palaces--that of Londesborough, near Market Weighton. About this time Cuichelm, King of Wessex, jealous of his ascendancy as Bretwalda, sent a messenger to assassinate him, who failed in his object, and Eadwine prepared to make war against Cuichelm for his dastardly conduct. Two days after this event his daughter Eanfleda was born, and, at the urgent request of the Queen and Paulinus, he permitted her to be baptised and dedicated to the service of the God of his Queen, as a thank-offering for his escape. He promised Paulinus also, that if his God were sufficiently potent to give him a victory over Cuichelm, he would, on his return, take into serious consideration the question of embracing Christianity and proclaiming it the religion of Northumbria. At the close of their conversation, Paulinus placed his hand on the King's head, and said, "You have been restored to your kingdom, you have extended its limits, and become the greatest of the Saxon kings of England--the Bretwalda--know you this sign?" Eadwine replied that he did. "And," continued Paulinus, "there was another promise besides these of a secular nature, that teachers should be sent to instruct you in the true faith. Behold, here we are--I and my companions." This was more convincing to the King than any amount of logical argument, and he marched with confidence into Wessex, gained a decisive victory, and on his return summoned a gemôt of nobles at his Londesborough Palace to discuss this great religious question. The chief speaker at the assembly was the high priest Coifi. "Know, O King!" said he, "that I have long been of opinion that our gods are worthless, and can do nothing for us, and I now perceive that the God of Paulinus is God alone, the creator of the world, and the true object of worship." The King acquiesced in his views, and the nobles, taking their cue from them, gave their assent to the deposition of Woden, and the substitution of Christ as the God of the Saxons. It was then determined that the great temple of Woden should be desecrated, and the King inquired who would dare to do it. "I," replied Coifi, "I have spent my life hitherto in ministering at the altar of a false and impotent god, and it is fitting that I should overturn that altar." A day was fixed for the purpose, and then the King and his nobles, followed by a crowd of people, proceeded from Londesborough to Goodmandingham, and in the midst Coifi, mounted on a war steed and brandishing a lance in his hand. As the priests of Woden were only permitted to ride mares, and not to bear arms of any kind, the people gazed upon him with superstitious horror, expecting that either the earth would open and swallow him, or a thunderbolt descend from the sky and strike him dead; but neither occurred, and the sun shone as serenely as if no such monstrous act of impiety were taking place. Without hesitation Coifi rode boldly into the temple, and, poising his lance, hurled it at the idol, upon which the people without, not daring to enter, fearing lest the temple should fall and bury them in its ruins, set up a loud yell of horror, and flung themselves down on the sward, but when they beheld the lance quivering in the side of the image and the priest calmly riding out, without the slightest manifestation of wrath on the part of the outraged god--neither thunder, lightning, nor earthquake--they began to think that
{'title': 'Yorkshire Family Romance by Frederick Ross', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}