Leaving a portion of his followers to protect the intrenchment in Wessex, Hastings marched at the head of a powerful force into Mercia: for he found it difficult to secure supplies in a neighbourhood which was so narrowly watched by Alfred. Scarcely was his back turned, before the Saxons attacked the stronghold he had quitted, and again carried off his wealth, his family, and his ships. This was the second time the wife and children of Hastings had fallen into the hands of Alfred. His chiefs intreated of him to put them to death, for Hastings had again violated the oath which he had taken to quit the kingdom, but the noble nature of Alfred recoiled from so cruel and cold-blooded an act, and loading them a second time with presents, he sent his own followers to conduct them in safety to the camp of the Danish king. Another division of the Danes had again attacked Exeter; Alfred hastened with his cavalry across the country as before, and compelled them to retreat to their ships. The fleet put out to sea, then doubled again towards the land, and attacked Chichester; but here they were defeated by the citizens and the neighbouring peasantry, and hundreds were slain.
When Alfred returned from Exeter, he found Hastings once more intrenched in Essex, with his forces greatly strengthened by the Northumbrian and East Anglian Danes, who had joined him in Mercia. A less active king than Alfred would never have kept pace with the rapid motions of the Danish monarch. Hastings now boldly sailed up the Thames. He then marched across to the Severn, where he was followed by the governor of Mercia, and attacked by the united forces of the Saxons and the men of South Wales. Alfred again advanced to join them, and the invaders were hemmed round by the Saxon army in the strong fortress of Buttington on the Severn. Here Hastings and his followers were compelled to endure all the horrors of a sharp siege, for to such straits were the Danes driven, that they were under the necessity of killing their horses for food. Blockaded alike on the land and on the river, and reduced to such a state of famine that numbers perished, the Northmen resolved at last to sally out upon the Saxons, and either to force a passage through the besieging army, or perish in the attempt. They rushed out headlong from their intrenchments, with a determined valour, worthy of a better cause. Thousands were either slain or drowned; and the remnant, with Hastings at their head, again escaped into Essex. The loss on the part of the Saxons was also severe; since, exhausted as the Danes must have been by siege and famine, it would not have been difficult to have cut off their retreat, had not the battle been so desperate; for Alfred had to fight with an enemy who was compelled either to conquer or perish; who had been defeated and driven from nearly every kingdom on the continent, and who seemed to pine for a home in a fertile country, where so many of his brethren had taken up their abode. The very bread he ate depended upon the chances of plunder; he would have been contented to settle down peaceably, as Godrun had beforetime done, but when Alfred saw the East Anglian and Northumbrian Danes rendering their aid to every new-comer, and eager, as of old, to oppose him, he found that a further extension of such lenient policy would soon wrest the remainder of the island entirely from his hands, and he resolved they should yet feel that a Saxon arm grasped the sceptre of England. None of the sea-kings had kept their faith like Godrun; he, alone, regarded the oaths which he swore on the golden bracelets that were sacred to his gods, and remained true to his allegiance.
The army of Hastings was soon recruited again from the former resources, and early in the spring he once more set out into the midland counties, plundering along his march until he reached Chester, where he again threw up a strong intrenchment. Alfred, at the head of his army, was soon in pursuit of the dangerous sea-king, and when he found how strongly he had fortified himself at Chester, the Saxon monarch had recourse to his old plan of starving out the garrison; and to effect this purpose he gathered up all the cattle in the neighbourhood, and all the corn in the district for miles around. Hastings and his followers had too bitter a remembrance of the famine they had endured at Buttington, to run another risk of suffering such privation, while there yet remained a chance of escape; so they once more forced their way through the Saxon army, rushed into North Wales, carried off from thence what booty they could, and retreated into East Anglia through such counties as were inhabited by the Danes, carefully avoiding every spot which Alfred and his army occupied. The county of Essex seems always to have been the favourite rallying point of Hastings, and here he appears to have settled down amongst his countrymen in the autumn of 896; to protect his ships during the winter, he built a fortress on the river Lea, which divides Middlesex from Essex, and there drew up his fleet within a distance of twenty miles from London. In this neighbourhood he appears to have reposed in safety until the following summer, when London poured forth its troops to attack the Danish fortress; but so strongly had Hastings intrenched himself, that all the military array of Middlesex was unable to penetrate the encampment of the sea-king.
At the close of summer, Alfred considered it necessary to be in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, to protect his subjects from the attacks of the Danes while they gathered in their harvest. Driving in foragers, attacking outposts, and checking attempted sallies, had rendered Alfred as familiar with the construction of the invaders' fortresses as they were themselves; and one day while meditating how he could most advantageously strike a decisive blow, and compel the enemy to abandon their stronghold, he hit upon the daring plan of draining the river Lea, and leaving the whole of the Danish fleet aground. To accomplish this, he ordered his soldiers to dig three new channels below the level of the river, and to raise two fortresses on either side the Lea to protect their operations. He drew off the waters into a tributary stream which emptied itself into the Thames, so that, as an old writer says, "where a ship might sail in time afore past, then a little boat might scarcely row." In the night, Hastings again broke through the toils with which the inventive genius of Alfred had encompassed him; and abandoning his ships, which were now useless, he contrived to send off the wives and children of his followers into East Anglia, to the care of his countrymen; he thus escaped from Alfred, and reached Bridgenorth, near the Severn, where he again intrenched himself. Although, as usual, he was quickly followed by the Saxon king, yet so strong was the military position which the Danes occupied, that with the exception of a slight skirmish or two, they were allowed to pass the winter unmolested. Many of the Danish vessels which Hastings had left behind were again set afloat, and conducted with great triumph into the Thames. The remainder were burnt and destroyed.
Harassed and defeated on every hand, the spirit of Hastings at last bowed down before the superior genius of Alfred; and as dissensions already began to break out in the Danish camp, the brave but unfortunate sea-king fitted up his shattered fleet as he best could, and in the spring of 897 departed for France, where some small portion of territory was allotted to him by the king, and there he passed the remainder of his days. A few naval engagements of but little note took place after the departure of Hastings, in all of which the Saxons were victorious; and towards the close of his reign Alfred treated these sea-pirates with great severity, and on one occasion ordered several of them to be executed. These, however, appear to have belonged to either Northumbria or East Anglia,—and all such had sworn allegiance to Alfred. Before the close of his reign, the Saxon fleet consisted of above a hundred strongly-built and well-rigged vessels, many of these were manned by Frieslanders, and as they were placed in such situations as the Danes had generally selected for their landing-places, they silently overawed and checked the inroads of the enemy, as they went prowling about "like guardian giants along the coast." This great king did not survive the departure of Hastings above three years. He died on the 26th of October, in the year 900, or 901. Hitherto we have been compelled to confine ourselves to the military achievements of this celebrated monarch. A summary of his great intellectual attainments, which a volume would scarcely suffice to contain, we shall attempt to crowd within the brief space of another chapter.
We have seen the shadow of this great king pass, through the clouds of sorrow and suffering, into the glory and immortality which still shed their lustre around his memory, after the darkness of nearly a thousand winters has gathered and passed over his grave. Even the gloomy gates of death could not extinguish, in the volumed blackness they enclose, the trailing splendour which accompanied his setting, without leaving behind a summer twilight, over a land where before there was nothing but darkness to mark the departing day. Upon a sky dim, and unsprinkled with the golden letters of light, Alfred first rose, the evening star of English history. From his first appearance a brightness marked his course; even in the morning of life, he "flamed upon the forehead of the sky." Instead of the dull, cold, leaden grey, which announced the appearance of other kings, his crowned head broke the stormy rack, in a true splendour that befitted such majesty, and though dimmed for awhile, every observant eye could see that it was the sun which hung behind the clouds.
In childhood, long before his step-mother, Judith, had taught him to read, his chief delight was in committing to memory the poems which the Saxon bards chaunted in his father's court; and who can doubt but that many a wandering minstrel descended from the ancient Cymry, struck his harp within the Saxon halls, and made the boyish heart of Alfred thrill again, as he heard the praises of those early British heroes sung, whose bare breasts and sharp swords were the bold bulwarks that so long withstood the mailed legions which the haughty emperor of Rome had sent, swarming over our own island shores. In this rude school was Alfred first taught that the names of the good, the great, and the brave can never die; that valour and virtue were immortal; and he resolved to emulate the deeds of those whose memories time can never obliterate; by whose names we number the footsteps of eternity, when marble and monumental brass have crumbled into dust. It was at the Castaly of the Muses, which then but trickled from a rude, grey Saxon font, where Alfred first drank in the draught that gave him immortality. Eager for knowledge, he looked around in vain for any one to instruct him; he had not a clergyman about him who could translate the prayers he read in Latin, into Saxon; until poor old Asser came from Wales, he could not find in his whole court a scholar equal to himself. His nobles could hunt and fight; his brothers could do no more: they lived and died, and their names would never have been remembered had they not chanced to have been kings. The mind of Alfred was fashioned in another mould; accident had made him a king, and he resolved to become a man, to think and act worthy of a being who bore on his brow God's image—to be something more than the mere heir to a hollow crown and the lands of Wessex; so he threw aside his sword, which he knew a thousand arms could wield as well as his own, and took up his pen. He was the first Saxon king who attempted to conquer his enemies without killing them—who offered them bread instead of the sword. He was much wiser than many legislators in our own enlightened times. He gave Godwin and his Danes land and seed, bade them work, and live honestly and peacefully; they had felt the weight of his arm before-time, and, for a long period after, they disturbed not his study again. What benefit was it to Alfred to whiten with human bones a land which he knew it would be better to cultivate?—there was room enough for them all, so he sat down again to enrich his own mind. We can readily imagine that he never took up his sword without a feeling of reluctance—that he thought a man could not be worse employed than in slaying his fellow men. Alfred was England's earliest reformer. When his nobles found that he had determined to find them no more fighting, they took to reading and writing, for time hung heavily upon their hands. He then allowed them to share in his councils, and they began to make laws for the living, instead of slaying, and then fixing a price to be paid to the kindred of the dead for the murder they had committed.
A lingering and painful disease, which had for years baffled the skill of all his physicians—the constant inroads of the northmen, who were ever keeping the country in a state of alarm—a dearth of kindred spirits to cheer him in his intellectual labours—prevented not the persevering king from struggling onward, in his toilsome journey, in search of knowledge and truth. Bede, with the exception of a single poem, had composed all his works in Latin; and, with scarcely an exception, there was no production of any merit that Alfred could obtain, at that period, but what was written in the same language; and when he looked round amongst all the thousands he ruled over, not one could be found, until Asser appeared, who was capable of instructing him, or who could translate into the Saxon tongue the knowledge for which he thirsted. He sent in quest of literary men to Rome, to France, to Ireland; wherever they could be found, he despatched messengers with presents to intreat and tempt them to visit his court. When they arrived, he made them equals and friends—he promoted them to the highest offices in his government—he valued them higher than all his treasures of gold and silver—by day and night they were his inseparable companions. He listened to the passages they translated, stopped them from time to time, and made notes of the most striking thoughts, and, in an after day, in numerous instances, he extended the crude ideas of the ancient writers, and threw in a thousand beautiful illustrations of his own, and such as were never dreamed of by the original authors; they reflect his own thoughts and feelings; and while we peruse them we know that we are drinking in the wisdom of Alfred. In his translation of Orosius he made a great portion of the geography and history of the world, as it was then understood, familiar to his countrymen; by his translation of Bede he gave them an insight into the records of their own land, and showed his nobles how indifferently their predecessors had conducted the government. By his Bœthius he instilled into their minds many moral axioms, imparted to them his own thoughts and feelings, and slowly raised them to that high intellectual station to which he had, by his own exertions, attained; for though he still ever soared high above them, yet there were eminences up which they never could have climbed unless by his aid. He found his nobles but little better than the northern barbarians, and he left them wise and thinking men. He made a green and flowery place of what had been before but a wide and weedy wilderness. He divided his attendants into three bodies, and when one party had served him a month, they returned home, and were succeeded by another; for it was not in the nature of Alfred to compel any of his attendants to neglect their own private affairs while serving him. By this means he but claimed their services during four months in the year, the remainder of the time they were allowed to dedicate to their own domestic matters. He divided his income into separate portions, appropriating each part to a particular purpose—first, he allotted a portion to his warriors and attendants; the next allotment was expended in building, in the improvement of which he collected many eminent architects from different nations; the third he expended in the relief of foreigners; no matter from what country they came, they left not the court of Alfred empty-handed: the remainder of his revenue was dedicated to religious purposes, to the support of the monasteries he had built, the schools he had erected, and of the various churches throughout the whole of the dominions. Out of this division the larger portion was religiously dedicated to the relief of the poor. Not only his treasures, but his time, was also equally divided; he but allowed one-third for rest and retirement, and within it scrupulously included the whole that he thought necessary to be consumed in partaking of his meals. The second eight hours he devoted wholly to the affairs of his kingdom, to the meeting of his council, to the assembling of his witena-gemot, audiences, plans of protection for the repelling of invasions, and for the better working of the great machinery which he had set in motion to better the condition of his subjects and weaken the power of his enemies. The remaining third of his time he appropriated to study and his religious duties. It was in this division, doubtless the happiest of all, that Asser and Grimbald read and translated while he listened, and in the little note-book which Asser had made him, he put down such thoughts as made the greatest impression on his mind. Alfred had neither clock nor chronometer with which to measure out the hours, only the sun and moving shadow by which he could mete out time, and they could neither guide him on the dull, cloudy day, nor the dark night. To overcome this difficulty, and mark the divisions of the twenty-four hours, he had wax candles made, twelve inches in length, each of which was marked at equal distances, and although the time taken up in replacing and re-lighting them would scarcely serve to mark accurately the lapse of minutes, yet they were so equally made, that six of them, with but little variation, used in succession, lasted out the twenty-four hours. To guard against the casualties of winds and draughts, he inclosed his candles in thin, white, transparent horn, and this result led to the invention of lanterns; and thus he measured time, which to him was the most valuable of all earthly treasures, for he considered his life as a trust held for the benefit of his people; and the knowledge which he himself accumulated he felt it a sacred duty to impart to others. From what was then considered the remotest corners of the earth, he despatched emissaries to gather information; he sent an embassy to India, and had messengers continually passing to and from Rome. The Danes, whom he had permitted to settle down peaceably in his dominions, he placed upon the same footing as the Saxons, giving to them equal laws, and punishing the criminals of both nations with the same impartial rigour, which many historians have considered to be somewhat too severe. Justice was then but little understood; and when the judges came to such decisions as Alfred considered unfair to the party injured, he occupied the tribunal, and had the matter brought before him, and according to his own judgment decided the case. He caused one of his own judges, named Cadwine, to be hanged, for having condemned a man to death without the consent of the whole jury. Freberne he also ordered to be executed, for sentencing one Harpin to suffer death, when the jury were undecided in their verdict; for when there was a doubt, Alfred concluded it was but just to save the accused. He would neither permit the jury to return an unjust verdict, nor the judge to influence their decision; but where there was doubt and difficulty to contend against, he brought the whole weight of his own clear, unbiassed intellect to bear upon the subject.
Without breaking down the warlike spirit of the people, he by a salutary law checked the thirst of personal revenge, permitting no man to slay his enemy in secret, not even if he knew that that enemy was seated at home beside his own hearth, he was not allowed to fight with him until he had publicly demanded redress. If the body of a murdered man was found, the penalty, which, considering the value of money in those times, was heavy, fell upon the whole hundred or tything in which the dead body was discovered. By this means, the innocent had the powerful motive of self-interest to induce them to give up the murderer. Rude and primitive as such a system may at first appear, these laws were well adapted to the spirit of the barbarous age in which he lived, when a pagan Dane considered it a meritorious work to slay a Saxon Christian, and the latter thought that he was doing Heaven service when he sent the spoiler of its monasteries, and the slayer of its priests, to revel in the halls of the blood-stained gods he worshipped. Elders were appointed over each hundred, and were answerable for the conduct of all who belonged to them. If a crime was committed, the roll was called over, and suspicion naturally fell upon the missing man who had fled. No other hundred could register his name until he had dwelt a given time amongst them; and through this strict system of espionage, pardonable only in such turbulent times, the land, as it were, was engirded with a continuous chain, not a link of which could be broken without the gap becoming visible. Alfred not only introduced the decalogue into his laws, but so adapted the Mosaic code to the habits of the age in which he lived, as to render it as effective amongst the Anglo-Saxons as it had been with the Israelites of old. His witena-gemot, or assembly of nobles, or parliament, or by whatever name we choose to designate the council of the land, was called upon to give its consent to these enactments, before they were put into operation, and such clauses as it objected to, Alfred blotted out from his Dom-boc. He first drew the bold outline of our present mode of government; and limned with his hand, though rudely, the grand form of our glorious constitution. He was proverbially known amongst his subjects by the title of the "Truth-teller;" and it was a saying during his reign, that golden bracelets might be hung upon the landmarks beside the common highways without a fear of their removal, such a vigorous watch did the law keep.
In the character of Alfred was embodied all the elements which the poet, the dramatist, and the novelist attempt to throw around their most perfect ideas of a hero. He was a warrior, a statesman, and a scholar, and as perfect in each of these capacities as if he had spent his whole life in the battle-field, had dedicated his days and nights to law and politics, or been only a fond dreamer amongst books in the flowery fields of literature. He would have taken the lead in any age as the commander of an army; have either risen to the dignity of a chancellor or a premier in civil government, or have stood first in the high and ambitious rank of authorship. In him were beautifully blended courage and tenderness, perseverance and patience; justice which would have been stern, but for the softening quality of mercy, high-mindedness, and humbleness, and, above all, a universal love for his fellow men, not disfigured by the weak partiality of unworthy favouritism. He found England in a state of despondency, raised and cheered her, and then elevated her to a much higher station than that from which she had fallen. But for Alfred the Great, England would have been a desert, and never have recovered from the destructive fires and desolating ravages of the Danes. His name will be revered until time shall be no more.
Edward the Elder, in the year 901, was, by the unanimous consent of the Saxon nobles, elected king of Wessex. He had already distinguished himself for his valour, as he fought by the side of his father Alfred against Hastings. Although he was the son of Alfred, and elected by the consent of the whole witena-gemot, his cousin Ethelwold laid claim to the crown, and took possession of Wimburn, which he vowed death alone should compel him to give up. No sooner, however, did Edward appear before the gates of the town with his army, than Ethelwold fled; and escaping by night, reached Northumbria, where he was gladly received by the Danes, who, doubtless, thinking that they should have a better claim to the land of England, if a Saxon prince reigned over them, chose him for their sovereign, and at York he was appointed head monarch over all the sea-kings and their chiefs. With the Saxon king at their head, the Danes were not long before they aspired to the sovereignty of the whole island. But Ethelwold could not remain long amongst his subjects without partaking of their piratical habits, so he set up sea-king; and finding that the ocean yielded but a poor harvest, he visited the coast of France, and, either by promises or presents, mustered such a force as enabled him to man a considerable fleet, with which he returned to England and ravaged Mercia. As he landed in Essex, the East Anglian Danes readily joined him. Edward led his army into Lincolnshire in pursuit of Ethelwold, and overtook him a little below Gainsborough. The battle appears to have been fought on a small island, still called Axeholme, which is situated beside the river Trent, and the inhabitants of which are still called "The men of the Isle." Edward, having ravaged the neighbourhood around the isle of Axeholme, ordered his forces to retreat slowly, but on no account to separate. This order the Kentish troops neglected to obey, and either took a different route from the rest of the army, or remained behind to plunder, when Ethelwold, at the head of a superior force, rushed upon them, and they were defeated. Although it appears to have been more of a skirmish than a pitched battle, victory was purchased, on the part of the Danes, by the death of Ethelwold, and England then enjoyed a two years' peace.
After this brief interval, war again broke out. Edward, at the head of his Saxons and Mercians, over-ran and plundered Northumbria. In the following spring, the Danes retaliated, and attacked Mercia on each side of the river Trent. While Edward was busy on the south-eastern coast, repairing and collecting together his ships, a rumour circulated amongst the Danes that he had gone over to the opposite shore with his fleet. Misguided by these tidings, the Danish army passed across the country in the direction of the Severn, plundering every place they approached, and moving about in that irregular manner which showed that they were not apprehensive of any attack. Great was their surprise when they saw a powerful army approaching them; they discovered not the danger until it was too late to fly from it, for Edward was upon them, and there was no alternative but to fight. The battle took place at Wodensfield, and thousands of the Danes were slain, for, beside many earls and chiefs, they left two of their kings dead upon the field. The result of this battle established the power of Edward, and insured the safety of the Saxon kingdom. Like his father Alfred, he trusted not to the chances of war alone for security, but protected his frontiers by a line of strong fortresses, and placed a powerful guard over such weak points as had been most open to the invasion of the enemy. He filled these garrisons with chosen soldiers, who, united with the provincials or militia which Alfred had established, rushed out upon the Danes the moment they approached, without either awaiting the command of the king or of his earls, and by such watchful energy they ever kept the enemy in subjection. Inheriting her father's bravery, Ethelfleda, who was now a widow, acted in concert with her brother Edward, and made her name a terror to the Danes on the frontiers of Mercia, so that the governorship which had been intrusted to her husband Ethelred lost none of its power in her hands.
The fortresses which Edward thus reared, in time, became inhabited towns; around them sprung up human habitations and cultivated fields, for the soldiers had their allotted hours of duty and recreation, and when not employed in keeping a watch over the enemy, they followed the more peaceful occupations of agriculture. Many of these fortifications were placed in commanding situations; of such were Wigmore in Herefordshire; Bridgnorth and Cherbury in Shropshire; in Cheshire, Edesbury; in Staffordshire, Stafford and Wedesborough; all admirably adapted to coerce the Welsh upon the western boundaries; while Runcorne and Thelwall in Cheshire, and Bakewell in Derby, served to protect the northern frontier of the Saxon kingdom from the invaders. Manchester, Tamworth, Leicester, Nottingham, and Warwick, also formed strong barriers of defence to that portion of Mercia, while other places guarded the entrance of important rivers, which the Danes had never failed to avail themselves of, when they poured their forces over the land. Never in Alfred's time had the Saxon states presented such an impenetrable frontage as they did during the reign of Edward, and the governorship of his sister Ethelfleda; for the Saxon princess hesitated not to head the forces intrusted to her command, whenever the enemy appeared: since she had shared in all the hardships of those stormy times, and proved herself a worthy daughter of Alfred. Edward was not long before he was again compelled to take up arms against the northmen, who, after having entered the Severn and ravaged North Wales, carried their devastation into Herefordshire. But the military force established in the fortresses of Hereford and Gloucester, joined by the neighbouring inhabitants, rushed upon the Danes, and compelled them to seek shelter in an adjacent wood. They soon made head again; but Edward, who had by this time drawn his army together, kept so narrow a watch over them, that they despaired of escaping, and were fearful of again measuring their strength with the Saxons. In the night they separated into two divisions and began to retreat. Edward divided his army, pursued and defeated them. Such as escaped the slaughter, fled into Wales, where they for a short time found shelter, and at last sailed over into Ireland. But it is wearisome to run over such a catalogue of combats—of fortresses attacked and defended—of the victors of to-day who were vanquished on the morrow—of battles fought under commanders whose names have many ages ago perished—of castles besieged, the very sites of which are now unknown, and over whose ruins a thousand harvests have probably been reaped. Suffice it, that Edward so far secured his dominions, that the East Anglian Danes chose him for their "lord and patron"—that the Welsh princes acknowledged and submitted to his power, while the king of the Scots addressed him by the title of "father and lord," and the Danes of Northumbria looked up to him as their supreme sovereign. Such acknowledgments as these are proofs that he left the Saxon monarchy established on a solid foundation, and that he had not neglected the wise plans which his father had drawn out for the better security of his kingdom.
Edward died in Berkshire, about 924, after having reigned for nearly a quarter of a century, and though he had several sons and daughters both by his first and second wife, he appointed by his will his illegitimate son, Athelstan, as his successor to the throne. The Saxon nobles confirmed his choice. Edward had never to contend with such difficulties as beset his father, yet, had he not possessed a great share of the same military talent, the fabric which Alfred had erected might, if less skilfully defended, have again been overthrown. His character would have stood out more boldly on the page of history, had it not been placed by the side of Alfred the Great.
Although Athelstan was the illegitimate son of Edward the Elder, and his mother, a woman of surpassing beauty, only the daughter of a humble shepherd, yet he was in his thirtieth year elected to the crown, by the consent of the whole witena-gemot, or Saxon parliament, in accordance with the will left by his father. While but a child, his beauty and gentle manners had interested his grandfather Alfred, and the great king, as if foreseeing the splendid station to which the future monarch would one day rise, had with his own hand invested the boy with the honours of knighthood; had doubtless many a time placed him upon his own knee, and as he sat in childish pomp, in his purple garment, jewelled belt, and with his Saxon sword, buried in its golden sheath, dangling by his side, had instilled into his youthful mind those precepts which had guided his own career, and shown him how he should think and act when he became king. When Alfred died, his daughter Ethelfleda took Athelstan with her into Mercia, and joined with her husband Ethelred in watching narrowly over his education; so that when he was called upon to ascend the throne of Wessex, there could be but few found in that day whose scholastic and military attainments excelled those of Athelstan.
At the time of Athelstan's accession, Sigtryg, a grandson of Ragnar Lodbrog's, reigned over a portion of Northumbria, and although, like all the rest of the sea-kings, he was a bold and fearless pirate, and still worse, was guilty of the murder of his own brother, yet Athelstan gave to him his own sister in marriage, and the nuptials of the Danish king and the Saxon princess were celebrated with all the barbaric pomp of the period at Tamworth. What motive Athelstan had for establishing this union, we are at a loss to divine. It has been attributed to fear—a wish to conciliate a powerful enemy. This could not be the case: for we find the Saxon king preparing to invade his dominions a few months after he had married his sister. The conditions of the marriage were that Sigtryg should renounce his idolatry, and become a Christian—propositions which he swore to accede to by his own heathen oath on the bracelets; and, with his heart still clinging to the altars of Odin, he was baptized and married. He soon grew weary of his new wife and his new religion, put on his golden armlets again, and, solemnly swearing by his heathen gods, renounced them both: for, reigning over a land inhabited solely by unbelieving Danes, we can scarcely marvel at such an act when performed by a pagan, who understood not the attributes of the true God. Athelstan lost no time in preparing to resent the insult offered to his religion and to his sister, but began at once to march his forces towards Northumbria. Eager, however, as he had been to arm, when he reached the Danish dominions he found that death had stepped in before him; for Sigtryg, after renouncing both his Christian and his heathen creed, had died, and the sons whom he had had by a former wife fled at the approach of Athelstan. Anlaf, in his ship, escaped to Ireland; and Godifrid sought shelter and protection under Constantine, the king of the Scots. To the latter, Athelstan sent messengers, demanding of him to deliver up the Danish prince. Constantine prepared to obey the peremptory summons, but during the journey Godifrid escaped. After enduring many perils both by sea and land, he at last fell into the hands of Athelstan, whose anger had by that time subsided, for he received the poor fugitive courteously, and treated him kindly, and gave him a warm welcome to his own court. But four days of princely ease in a Saxon palace were quite enough for the great grandson of the stormy old sea-king, Ragnar Lodbrog, and on the fifth he fled, seized a ship, and set up pirate, as his forefathers had formerly done; for "he was," says one of the old chroniclers, "as incapable as a fish of living out of water." Although Athelstan added Northumbria to his dominions, the Danes were resolved not to give up a country of which they had so long retained possession without a struggle. Many a Vikingr still existed, who claimed kindred with the grandsons of Ragnar Lodbrog; and tidings soon reached the rocky coast of Norway, that the Saxon king had laid claim to the Anglo-Danish territories, over which their brethren had ruled as kings; and though the ivory horn of Hastings no longer summoned their sea-horses from the creeks and harbours in which they were stabled, they soon again began to ride over the road of the swans, and to climb the stormy waves of the Baltic in their armed ships. Such formidable preparations were made for the invasion as threatened at last to overwhelm for ever the Saxon monarchy. The rumour of such a victory rang through England, and arrested the gaze of the neighbouring nations. We will briefly glance at the cause of this great commotion.
It appears that Constantine had violated the treaty which he had made with Athelstan, and that the latter ravaged the Scottish dominions both by sea and land, carrying his army among the Picts and Scots, and the ancient Cymry, who inhabited the valley of the Clyde, and his ships as far north as Caithness. Unable to compete with the Saxon forces, Constantine began to look abroad for assistance, and formed a league with Anlaf, who, as we have before stated, had escaped to Ireland, where he was made king over some little state. He, it will be borne in mind, had fled from Northumbria at the approach of Athelstan, and doubtless considered that he had as just a claim to the throne of Northumbria as Athelstan had to that of Wessex. The Welsh princes, who, still settled down as petty sovereigns, had felt the weight of the strong arm of Athelstan, and readily confederated with Constantine and Anlaf—the Danes of Northumbria, East Anglia, and Cumbria, had so long been settlers in the country, that self-defence alone compelled them to league themselves against a king who threatened ere long to reduce the whole of Dane-land to his sway. Added to these, were the ships already fitting out in Norway, or breasting the billows of the Baltic. Thus were arrayed against Athelstan and his handful of Saxons, the whole forces of Scotland—the Irish fleet commanded by Anlaf—the remnant of the ancient Britons—the Danes of East Anglia and Northumbria—together with the legions who were hourly pouring in from Norway and the Baltic—a force formidable enough to have blanched the cheek of the great Alfred himself, had he lived to have looked upon it.
Athelstan saw the storm as it gathered about him, and knowing that it would before long break over him, he prepared himself like a man who is resolved to buffet it—who is determined to do his best to weather the tempest, whatever may betide. He resolved not to sit listlessly down with folded arms to be drenched by the overwhelming torrent, if safety could be won by hard struggling. He offered high rewards to every warrior who chose to fight in his cause; and Thorolf and Egil, two of those restless sea-pirates who cared not whether they plundered or slew for themselves or others, so long as it brought in wealth, arrived with three hundred followers, and entered the service of Athelstan. Another celebrated chief, named Rollo, also sent him assistance from Normandy. The war was commenced by Anlaf, who sailed into the Humber with a large fleet which consisted of about six hundred ships, while the forces under his command numbered at least forty thousand men. They overpowered the Saxon army which Athelstan had placed on the edge of the Deira and the Northern frontier of Mercia; and the remnant fled to the head-quarters occupied by the Saxon king. Anlaf is said to have visited Athelstan's camp, disguised in the character of a minstrel, as Alfred himself had before time done, when he reconnoitred the stronghold of Godrun. Although he escaped, he was discovered, and Athelstan was warned to remove his tent, by which means his life was saved, as a night attack was made upon the camp, and the bishop of Sherbourne, who had exchanged his mitre for a helmet, and who soon after arrived with his soldiers, was stationed in the quarter which the king had so recently quitted, and fell a victim, instead of Athelstan, for whose destruction the attack was planned. After this night combat, in which the enemy proved victorious, Athelstan knew that there was no time to be lost, and therefore began to arrange the forces for the battle, which was to decide his fate. Anlaf also drew up his large army in readiness for the approaching affray. The Saxon king placed his boldest troops at the front of the battle; leaving them to the command of Egil, who, though only a hired chieftain, was a brave and honourable soldier. To Thorolf he entrusted the followers whom he had been accustomed to lead, mingling with them a few of his own Saxon soldiers, who appear to have been steadier, and better able to repel the attacks of the Irish who had come over with Anlaf, and were in the habit of moving quickly from place to place, and by their changes disarranging the order of battle. Over the Mercian warriors, and the brave English hearts which London had poured forth, he placed Turketul, the chancellor, and bade him, when the war-cry was sounded, to charge headlong upon Constantine, and the Scots whom he commanded. Athelstan himself headed the West Saxons, placing them opposite to the point occupied by Anlaf, as if fearful of trusting any other than himself in the most dangerous post. Anlaf altered not his position, but stood front to front with his forces, drawn up opposite the Saxon monarch.
Behind the right wing of the army of Anlaf there stretched a vast wood; facing, and nearly out-flanking it, were drawn up the soldiers Thorolf commanded; who, eager as a hawk to rush upon the quarry, was the first to plunge headlong upon the enemy, and in a moment he was in the very thickest of the ranks, having far outstripped all, but a few of the foremost of his companions. Adils, a British prince, who fought under the banner of Anlaf, wheeled his Welsh forces round, and severed Thorolf and his friends from the rest of their followers, and slew them. Egil saw the standard of Thorolf surrounded by the enemy, beheld it rocking and reeling above the heads of the combatants as it was borne towards the wood, and conscious that his brave companion in arms had not betrayed his trust; that the banner of Thorolf was never seen to retreat whilst its leader was alive; he, with his shield slung behind his back, and wielding his huge claymore, rushed on like a dreaded thunderbolt to revenge his death. The forces which Athelstan trusted to his command deserted him not; they hewed their way through the enemy's ranks, they pursued them into the wood, and Adils fell in the fight, for the Welsh wing, which occupied the front of the forest, was defeated with terrible slaughter.
Meantime, in the centre of the plain, the combat raged with unabated fury; arrows, darts, and javelins, were abandoned; for it was now the close hand to hand contest, when blows were dealt at arm's length with the sword, and the battle-axe, and the club, bristling with sharp steel spikes, which bit through, or crushed the heaviest helmet;—when the huge two-handed claymore was swung with giant arms, and men fell before it like grass before the scythe of the mower in a summer field;—when blood flowed and none heeded it, but the combatant placed his foot upon the dead that the blow might fall with heavier force;—when vassal and chief rolled over together;—when horse and rider fell, yet scarcely broke for a moment the enraged ranks who passed over them—while over all the war-cry, and the shouts of the combatants rang, drowning the moans of the wounded and the dying. Cool and collected amid this breathless struggle, the chancellor Turketul selected a chosen band from amongst the Londoners and the brave men of Worcestershire, who were renowned for their valour, and who feared nothing while Singin was at their head. These the warlike chancellor placed in close order, and himself leading the way, they plunged headlong upon Constantine and his Scots, Turketul paying no more regard to the arrows that stuck in his armour than a rhinoceros would if pierced with a dozen pins, nor did he halt until he had dealt a heavy blow on the helmet of the Caledonian monarch. Had not the Scots rushed up in a body to the rescue, Turketul would have dragged their king, horse and all, into the Saxon ranks; they, however, came just in time to save him.
Never had a warrior a narrower escape with his life than Turketul. He was surrounded by the Scots, foremost amongst whom was the son of Constantine—who also narrowly escaped from being captured—when, just as the weapons were uplifted to despatch the chancellor, Singin rushed in at the head of his Worcestershire warriors, slew the Scottish prince with a single blow of his battle-axe, and rescued Turketul. The well-timed attack led on by Singin completed the defeat of the Scottish army, and they made no other attempt to rally; Constantine escaped. Leaving Turketul, Egil, and Singin to pursue the routed forces of the Welsh and Scots, we must now glance at that part of the field where the opposing forces, commanded by Athelstan and Anlaf, were engaged. Here the combat continued to rage unabated. The figure of the Saxon king was seen in the very thickest of the fight, and while he was hemmed in by his enemies, and showering down blows upon all who came within the reach of his weapon, his sword suddenly broke short at the handle. To receive the blows which were aimed at him upon his shield and snatch up another weapon were scarcely the work of a moment; but during that brief interval, Anlaf's troops obtained a slight advantage, and began to press more heavily upon the Saxon ranks. It were then that Anlaf, suddenly turning his head, beheld confusion in his rear; for Turketul and Egil, having returned from the pursuit, had thus suddenly hemmed in the only portion of the enemy's forces that remained upon the field. With the powerful forces of Athelstan before, and an enemy, already flushed with victory, attacking him in the rear, Anlaf saw his hitherto brave soldiers wavering on all sides; the centre of his strong line was broken, and to the left and right all was hurry, retreat, confusion, and slaughter, while in the centre the Saxon banner waved triumphant, and the loud cry of victory rang out in front, and was echoed back from the rear of the defeated army:—the conflict was at an end—the combined forces fled on every hand, and the conquerors pursued the flying enemy until their arms became weary with slaughter. Far as the eye could reach, it rested upon a long line of the dying and the dead. Never during the wars of Alfred had so many fallen upon one field as perished in the battle of Brunanburg.
But few of the poems which have been written to commemorate these ancient victories have descended to us perfect. That which was composed to celebrate the Saxon triumph at the battle of Brunanburg, has, however, been more fortunate, having found a place even in the Saxon chronicle itself. Although it has been frequently translated, and quoted by many historians, there is something so forbidding to the eye in the short, heavy lines, something so difficult to comprehend, in the lengthy extension, and abrupt transition of the sentences, that we shall venture upon a somewhat free adaptation of the literal version, yet endeavour to preserve unaltered the original thought and spirit of the poem:
ANGLO-SAXON SONG ON THE VICTORY AT BRUNANBURG.
Athelstan, king of earls, the lord, the giver of golden bracelets to the heroes, and his brother, the noble Edmund the Elder, won a lasting glory in battle by slaughter with the edges of their swords at Brunanburg. They, with the rest of the family of the children of Edward, clove asunder the wall of shields, and hewed down the waving banners, for it was but natural to them from their warlike ancestry to defend their treasures, their home, and their land, against all enemies in the battle-field.
From the time the sun rose up in the morning hour, to when the great star of the eternal Lord, that noble creature, God's candle bright, hastened to his setting, they pursued and destroyed the Scottish bands, and the men of the fleet in numbers dying, fell, and the wide field was everywhere covered with the blood of warriors; many a soldier lay there dead with darts struck down; many heroes over whose shields the showery arrows were shot, whom the battle would never again weary, and who would never more boast that they were of the race of Mars the Red.
Throughout the day the West Saxons fiercely pressed on the loathed bands, they scattered the rear of the army, and hewed down the fugitives with their strong mill-sharpened swords. The Mercians shrunk not from the hard-hand-play, from the men, who with Anlaf over the ever beating deep, in the ships sheltered, sought this land for the deadly fight. In that blood dyed battle-field, five kings in the bloom of youth did the sword send to slumber, also seven of Anlaf's earls, and numbers of the ship-borne army slept with the slain.
The Scots with the lord of the Northmen were chased away—fate compelled him to seek the noisy deep, and with a small host in his floating ship on the felon flood he escaped with his life, so also Constantine with his routed remnant in hasty flight, hurried to the north. Silent sat the hoary hero of Hilda amongst his kindred, for small cause had he to boast who had left his friends slain in combat; and his son, the fair-haired youth, unused to the conflict, mangled with wounds in the battle-field.
Inwood the aged, nor Anlaf, no more with the wreck of their armies could now exult or boast that they, on the stern battle-field, were better at lowering the banners, 'mid the clashing of spears, and the crashing of weapons, and the meeting of heroes on the field of slaughter, than the sons of Edward, whom they opposed. On the roaring sea; over the deep waters, a dreary and silent remnant, the northman sailed in their nailed ships, and sought in Dublin and Ireland to bury their disgrace.
Athelstan and his brother again sought their country, the west Saxon land from fight triumphant. They left behind them, to devour the prey, the ominous kite and the black raven, with horned beak, the horse-toad, and the eagle, swift to feast on the white flesh; the greedy battle-hawk, and the grey beast, the wolf of the weald.
The poem then concludes by stating "as the books of the old historians inform us, never had there before been so great a slaughter in this island since the Saxons first came over the sea to conquer the Welsh, and gain the land." The victory of Brunanburg made Athelstan the monarch of England, for not only had he subjugated the Danes in East Anglia and Northumbria, but had compelled the Welsh also to acknowledge his power. As the eyes of Europe had been turned upon him, before he entered the field against the combined forces his valour defeated, so did the different nations now rival each other in their congratulations on his victory. England was no longer the unknown island, which in former times the Romans had such difficulty to discover; but began to raise her head proudly amongst the neighbouring nations. The exiles who were compelled to flee from the ravages of the Northmen, he received and succoured in his own court. He sheltered his sister Elgiva, and her son Louis, when her husband, the king of France, was dethroned and imprisoned. He was appealed to for advice and assistance, when a dispute arose about the succession to the throne of France; and as he adjudged, so was the matter decided. His sisters were sought in marriage by powerful princes; his consent was courted by embassies, backed with costly presents; and he even fitted out a fleet, and sent it to the aid of France—thus being the first to cement a union with that kingdom, whose history in latter days has become so closely interwoven with our own. Even Otho, who was afterwards surnamed the great, obtained the hand of Athelstan's sister in marriage; and there is still in existence, in the Cotton library, a beautiful manuscript copy of the Gospels, in Latin, which was presented by Otho and his sister to Athelstan, on which the Anglo-Saxon kings are said to have sworn when they took the coronation oath. He was also honoured with the friendship of Henry the First, the emperor of Germany, and by the alliance of his son in marriage with his sister Editha. Athelstan also formed a league with Harold, king of Norway, and through the instrumentality of the two kings, the system of piracy, which had long rendered the ocean as perilous as the tempests that sweep over it, was, by the interference of Harold, and the intercession of Athelstan, put down: for Harold not only chased the pirates from his own dominions, but pursued them over the sea until he overtook, and destroyed them, and when he had cleared the ocean of these ancient robbers, he drew up a code of severe laws for the punishment of all who dared to attack either the British or the Norwegian fleets. In such high estimation was Athelstan held by Harold, that he sent his son Haco over to England to be educated in the Saxon court, and so delighted was the Norway king with the progress the young prince made in his studies and warlike exercises, that he presented to Athelstan a beautiful ship, with purple sails, surrounded with shields that were richly gilt, while the prow, or figure at the head, was wrought out of pure gold. To the prince, the Saxon king presented a costly sword, which Haco the Good, (as he was afterwards called, when he became king) treasured until the day of his death. When Harold died, and some difficulty arose as to the succession of Haco to the throne of Norway, Athelstan provided him with soldiers and a strong fleet, and thus enabled him to take possession of his kingdom. On the thrones of France, Bretagne, and Norway, sat three kings who were all indebted to Athelstan for their crowns; a strong proof of the power and dignity to which England had risen. He is said to have restored Howel to the kingdom of Wales, and Constantine to the throne of Scotland, after having conquered their dominions. Having assisted to dethrone Eric, and to place the crown of Norway on the head of Haco, he made the former king of Northumbria, as a proof of the respect he bore to the memory of his father Harold. Nor was he less liberal to the monks, but contributed freely to enriching the monasteries, both with money, books, and costly vessels, while several are said to have been built at his own expense. Like his grandfather Alfred, he was also generous to the poor; from the royal farms he ordered to be given to the needy every month a measure of meal, a gammon of bacon, or a ram worth fourpence, besides clothing once a year. These were to be distributed by the gerefa, who appears to have stood in the same position as an overseer, or relieving officer, having also to perform the duty of chief constable, and to warn the hundred when the folk-mote or folcgemot was to assemble. If he neglected to distribute the royal charity, he was fined thirty shillings, which was divided amongst the poor of the neighbouring tything. High, however, as the character of Athelstan stands, it is not free from the stains which too often blotted the brightest names that adorned this barbarous age, though we cannot tell, at this remote period, how reluctantly he may have yielded to the stern sentence of his witenagemot, when he consigned his brother to death. Edwin had been leagued with others to oppose the accession of Athelstan to the throne, and the king ordered him to be placed within the