CHAPTER II

ALCA

Alca was the most beautiful girl that her countrymen had ever beheld; and even then, at the early age of sixteen years, as she tripped out into the crowded court, she appeared to the beholders to be a perfect dream of loveliness, lithe and active, yet with the graceful dignity of a long–descended princess. Her hair was golden, her eyes a deep sapphire blue, with that calm depth of meaning which was then believed to be one attribute of an elf–maiden. Alca, from a young child, had been remarkable for the universality of her love, which was extended to all the gods had made. Her wisdom and knowledge were far beyond her years, and seemed to those around her to be miraculous. She saw the true meanings of beliefs and customs. She alone was able to extract the hidden truth from the mysteries of nature, and could understand those longings and aspirations which her companions could only dimly shadow forth by their creeds and their superstitions. All loved the Princess, but they looked upon her as one nearer to gods than to men; and only children dared to love her without awe, and as a being higher and wiser, but still one of themselves. For the rest of the world Alca was an elf–maiden endowed with special gifts by the gods.

The Princess had accompanied her uncle to Stillingfleet to see her cousins and other young friends, and to visit the Lady Volisia, to whom she was warmly attached. On that summer morning she was to go with her friend to the shrine of a goddess of her people on the other side of the Ouse, attended by the children and by several servants. When they reached the bank it was high tide. A large flat–bottomed boat was run into the water, and the party was pulled across by the boys to an old Roman fort on the opposite side, called Acaster. It consisted of two towers, like those on the column of Trajan, surrounded by a ditch. It was on the verge of a dense forest, in which some clearings had been made. The whole tract forming the angle between the Ouse and Wharfe was forest–clad, except where clearings had been made for planting apple and other fruit trees, and where the ings or swampy meadows formed a fringe between the forest and the river banks. The pilgrims made their way through the thickets by a very narrow path without stopping, for the promised visit to the orchards was to be on their return, after their devotions had been duly paid to the goddess.

Nehalennia, to whose worship the wife of Seomel had remained faithful, was a Celtic goddess, who presided over fertility, and especially over fruit trees, and who was also the goddess of chalk pits and the patroness of chalk workers. The temple or haruc (Hörgr), as the English called it, was unbuilt by human hands. The deity dwelt in a shady spot, embowered and shut in by self–grown trees, veiling her form in the rustling foliage of the overhanging boughs. Here, just within the forest, but bordering on the bright expanse of ings, stood a large slab of limestone, on which was carved in relief an image of Nehalennia, with long flowing hair, and baskets full of apples by her side. Masses of elecampane (Inula Helenium) and of other medicinal plants grew round the base of the carved stone, and a solemn silence reigned around. A few rays of the mid–day sun found their way through the overhanging branches, and lighted up the bas–relief, carved by some well–trained Roman hand. The Lady Volisia, the Princess Alca, and the children made their offerings to the shrine, and continued kneeling in devotion for some time. It was the very spot on which the Cistercian nunnery of Appleton was erected 600 years afterwards.

The party made their way through the dense forest from the shrine of Nehalennia to the orchards of Appleton, which supplied Stillingfleet and all the homesteads round York. Here they rested under the apple trees, eating the rosy fruit, while Alca talked to the children. Porlor had asked her why Nehalennia was not also a goddess of the English, and she answered in the way which would make the essence of such mysteries most clear to her companions. "The names only are different," she said, "the deity is the same. Your mother and her people pray for fertility to Nehalennia, and you and Coelred and your sisters should do likewise, because invocation of the same name is one more tie of love between mother and children. Your father's people invoke Freyr to send them rain and sunshine, and to give them the fruits of the earth in due season. But it is the same thing. Both are names to denote the beneficent goodness of the 'All–father,' he whom the English call Woden. Remember that whatever god we invoke, we are always praying, through one of his attributes, to the 'All–father.'

"Woden has many names," she exclaimed in a voice which awed her companions, and with a rapt look, as if gazing through space and seeing what was not visible to them. "He is the God and Father of victory, the Giver of gifts, the Almighty and All–knowing, but always the Father and Creator of gods and men. Sitting on his throne hlidskialf he can survey the whole world, and can hear all that goes on among men. His spear gûnguir is in his hand; his ravens, Huginn and Muninn, are on his shoulders; his wolves, Geri and Freki, are at his feet; his horse Sleipnir by his side. He too is the Father of the slain, and the Rewarder of the brave and good when this life is ended." After a pause her eyes lost that far–away look, and were full of love as she turned to the children, and promised to tell them the meaning of all these things as soon as they were old enough to understand. Coelred, who had been eagerly listening to all the Princess had said, now anxiously inquired about the slain, and about the fatherhood of Woden in regard to them. "In three years," he said, "I shall be girded with a sword, and shall take my place in battle by the side of my father Seomel. How soon after that will Woden choose me to be one of the slain: are the bravest taken first, or the youngest, or those who are of least service? Can the Princess tell me?" Alca replied, as they wended their way home—"Of that hour it is given to none to tell. Woden sends his wish–maidens, called Valkyrie, who fly through the air to choose the heroes that are to fall. Often the best and bravest are taken, sometimes the very young, sometimes a warrior waits long and fights in many battles before his turn comes. No good warrior fears the Valkyrie. They are to be loved, not feared. They hover over the conflicting armies, mingle in the ranks, take the slain in their embraces, and ride with them on their heavenly horses to Valhalla, where they attend at the feasts, and hand the drinking–horn to gods and heroes. But touching the hour of death nothing can be known, because the selection is made on the spot by the Valkyrie. The time we cannot know." Then she turned with a sweet smile, and, looking from one to the other, she said to the two boys, "Yet this I do know, for it is given to me to know. When the fulness of time arrives, Coelred and Porlor will fall in battle, fighting bravely in a righteous cause."

The boys were deeply impressed. Their hearts were too full for words, and there was silence until they reached the old Roman tower at Acaster and had crossed the river. It was broken by Porlor, who asked if the Valkyrie could be seen. "No," replied Alca, "they are unseen in battle; for, like Woden and the Valhalla, they are a mystery, which it is given to