The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the convent of St
Withold's before the apprehended evil took place. The Abbot, himself of
ancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse and
exuberant hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late,
or rather an early hour; nor did they take leave of their reverend host
the next morning until they had shared with him a sumptuous refection.
As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an incident happened
somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of all people of Europe, were most
addicted to a superstitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions
can be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still to be
found among our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a mixed race,
and better informed according to the information of the times, had lost
most of the superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought
from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking freely on such
topics.
In the present instance, the apprehension of impending evil was inspired
by no less respectable a prophet than a large lean black dog, which,
sitting upright, howled most piteously as the foremost riders left the
gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro,
seemed bent upon attaching itself to the party.
"I like not that music, father Cedric," said Athelstane; for by this
title of respect he was accustomed to address him.
"Nor I either, uncle," said Wamba; "I greatly fear we shall have to pay
the piper."
"In my mind," said Athelstane, upon whose memory the Abbot's good
ale (for Burton was already famous for that genial liquor) had made a
favourable impression,--"in my mind we had better turn back, and abide
with the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your
path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have
eaten your next meal."
"Away!" said Cedric, impatiently; "the day is already too short for
our journey. For the dog, I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave
Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master."
So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, impatient at the
interruption of his journey, he launched his javelin at poor Fangs--for
Fangs it was, who, having traced his master thus far upon his stolen
expedition, had here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way,
rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the
animal's shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth; and
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. Gurth's heart
swelled within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his faithful
adherent in a degree much deeper than the harsh treatment he had himself
received. Having in vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes,
he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master's ill humour had prudently
retreated to the rear, "I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes
with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and these bonds will
not let me help myself one way or another."