England was fortunate in having three great kings in succession at this critical period, all alike bent upon strengthening and advancing the prosperity of the kingdom.

Athelstan, who came to the throne on the death of his father Edward, had been a favourite grandson of Alfred, and people said that he resembled his grandfather in many ways. When he was only a little fellow, Alfred, delighted with his beauty and graceful manners, had affectionately embraced him, and prayed for the happiness of his future reign, should he ever come to the crown of England. He had presented him at an early age with a scarlet cloak, a belt studded with brilliants, and a Saxon sword with a golden scabbard, thus, as was customary among many nations at this time, calling him even in boyhood to prepare himself for war and admitting him into the company of the King’s own pages. Alfred then placed him with his daughter Ethelfled, the “Lady of Mercia,” to be brought up in a fitting way for the future care of the kingdom. The young prince could not have had a better instructress. Ethelfled’s liberal spirit, high courage, and good understanding were passed on to her pupil. William of Malmesbury, who had a great admiration for this prince and gives us an excellent account of his reign, tells us that there was a strong persuasion among the English that one more just and learned never governed the kingdom; all his acts go to show that this praise was well deserved. He was of a good height and slight in person, with fair hair that seemed to shine with golden threads. Beloved by his subjects, he was feared and respected by his enemies. He obliged the warlike tribes of Wales and Cumberland to pay him tribute, “a thing that no king before him had even dared to think of,” and he forced them to keep within limits west of the Wye, as he forced the Cornish Britons to retire to the western side of the Tamar, fortifying Exeter as a post of strength against them. Not long after his consecration at Kingston-on-Thames, in 925, amid the happy plaudits of the nation, Athelstan received from abroad many marks of the esteem in which he was held by foreign princes. Among others, Harald Fairhair sent him as a gift a ship with a golden prow and a purple sail, furnished with a close fence of gilded shields. This splendid present was received by Athelstan in state at York, and the envoys who presented the gift were richly rewarded by him, and sent home with every mark of respect and friendliness.

There are two events in Athelstan’s reign that are of great importance to us in connexion with Norse history in these islands, the first being his wars in Northumbria, the second his accepting Hakon, Harald Fairhair’s son, as his foster-child, and bringing him up in England under his own charge and tuition. We will deal with these two events in separate chapters.

It was part of Athelstan’s fixed policy, when coming to the throne, to bring into subjection to himself those outlying portions of England which up to that time had stood aloof as determined enemies to the central power and as absolutely independent kingdoms. Nothing would induce the Welsh or Cornishmen to yield, and we have seen that Athelstan was reduced to penning them up, as far as he could, into their own districts, beyond rivers which he endeavoured to make the borders of their respective countries. But in the north he had yet a harder task in his endeavour to reduce the Danish kingdom of Northumbria to submission.

At this time the kingdom of Northumbria was ruled by two of the fiercest and most renowned of all the Danish chiefs who at different times made England their home. The names of these chiefs were Sitric Gale, or “The One-eyed,” and his son and successor, Olaf Cuaran, or “Olaf o’ the Sandal,” both men of wild and romantic careers. Some think that the old romance of “Havelok the Dane” really describes the history of Olaf Cuaran, but this I myself do not think to be likely, although Havelok also is called Cuaran in the story. But the name in his legend seems to mean a “kitchen-boy,” because he was at one time so poor and needy that he was forced to act as messenger to an earl’s cook, whereas Olaf’s title is an Irish word, meaning “a sandal.” We do not know exactly why he was so named.

It would seem that at the beginning of his reign, Athelstan endeavoured by a friendly alliance to bring Northumbria back to English rule. It was a favourite and wise plan of his to make alliances by marriage with foreign princes, and it shows in what esteem he was held that men of power and position were ready to unite themselves with his family. One of his sisters he married to the Emperor Otto, the restorer of the Roman Empire, and another he offered in marriage to Sitric Gale, after a friendly meeting arranged by the two kings at Tamworth on the 3rd of February in the year in which Athelstan came to the throne (925). With Sitric Athelstan made a close and, as he hoped, a lasting covenant; but alas! Sitric died hardly more than a year afterwards, and on his death Athelstan, evidently in consequence of the arrangement made between them, claimed the throne of Northumbria, where he seems to have been peacefully received by the inhabitants. He spent this year in the north in active endeavours to quell the last disaffected portions in the realm. There is no doubt that at this time Athelstan designed to unite the whole of Britain under his own sway. He at first drove Howel, King of Wales, and then Constantine, King of the Scots, from their kingdoms; but not long after, if we are to believe his admirer William of Malmesbury, moved with commiseration, he restored them to their original state, saying that “it was more glorious to make than to be a king.” However, he obliged both these princes to accept their crowns as underlords to himself, thus establishing a suzerainty over them.

But his plans did not suit the turbulent Danish princes. Godfrey, brother to Sitric, was at the time of Sitric’s death reigning as King of Dublin, but on hearing of Athelstan’s succession to the sovereignty of Northumbria he came over hastily and claimed the kingdom. He was, however, a man hated both in Northumbria and in Ireland, and Athelstan was strong enough to drive him out and send him back to Dublin with his Danes in the year 927.

But a more formidable foe than Godfrey was in the field. This was Olaf o’ the Sandal (called Anlaf in the English Chronicle), son of Sitric Gale, who seems to have been in Northumbria at the time, but who was expelled with his uncle Godfrey, and went back with the Danes to Dublin. Godfrey died soon after, as the Irish annals tell us, “of a grievous disease,” and for ten years Olaf nursed his wrath against Athelstan and awaited his opportunity to revenge himself upon him. He went to Athelstan’s enemy, the Scottish King, Constantine, and entered into a treaty with him, marrying his daughter; and Constantine never ceased to urge him on to war with the King of England, promising to support him in every way. Olaf remained long in Scotland, and was so much mixed up with Scottish affairs, that some Scandinavian historians call him “King of the Scots.”

It was in the year 937 that their preparations were at length completed, and one of the most formidable combinations ever formed against England came to a head. The battle of Brunanburh, or Brumby, fought in this year, is chronicled in the Irish and Norse annals, and the Saga of Egil Skalligrimson gives us a detailed account both of the battle itself and of the Norsemen who took part in it. The English Chronicle breaks out into a wild, spirited poem when describing this battle, and we are told by one English annalist that many years afterwards people spoke of the greatness of this fight.

The battle was probably fought not far from the Humber, though the exact spot is not now known. From the north marched down the Scottish King and his son, of whom the latter fell in the fight, Olaf o’ the Sandal taking charge of a fleet of 115 ships, with which he sailed into the Humber. From Dublin the whole force of the Danish host in Ireland set sail to join and support their fellow-countrymen from Scotland, Strathclyde, and Northumbria. This formidable host met the forces of Athelstan and his brother, Edmund, and was completely overthrown. Five kings lay dead on the field, and five of Olaf’s earls. King Olaf16 himself escaped to his ships and back to Ireland, with the shattered remnant of his magnificent army, there to become a source of trouble and terror in days yet to come. The poem in the English Chronicle thus describes his flight:—

William of Malmesbury tells us a romantic story of Olaf Cuaran on the night before the battle. It may very well be true; it accords with all we know of his adventurous character. The chronicler relates that on hearing of the arrival of the Danes and Scots in the North Athelstan purposely feigned a retreat. Olaf, who was still quite young and absolutely fearless, wishing to discover the exact strength of Athelstan’s forces and how they were disposed, assumed the character of a spy. Laying aside the emblems of royalty, he dressed as a minstrel, and taking a harp in his hand, he proceeded to the King’s tent. Singing before the entrance, and touching the strings of his harp in harmonious cadence, he was readily admitted, and he entertained the King and his companions for some time with his musical performance. All the time he was present he was carefully observing all that was said and done around him. When the feast was over, and the King’s chiefs gathered round for a conference about the war, he was ordered to depart. The King sent him a piece of money as the reward of his song; but one of those present, who was watching him closely (for he had once served under Olaf, though now he was gone over to the side of Athelstan), observed that the minstrel flung the coin on the ground and crushed it into the earth with his foot, disdaining to take it with him. When Olaf was well away this person communicated what he had seen to the King, telling him that he suspected that the minstrel was none other than the leader of his foes. “Why, then, if you thought this,” said Athelstan angrily, “did you not warn us in time to capture the Dane?”

“Once,” said the man, “O King, I served in the army of Olaf, and I took to him the same oath of fidelity that I afterwards swore to yourself. Had I broken my oath to him and betrayed him to you, you might rightly have thought that I would another time act in the same way toward yourself. But now I pray you, O King, to remove your tent to another place, and to endeavour to delay the battle till your other troops come up.”

The King approved of this, and removed his tent to another part of the field. Well it was that he did so, for that night, while Athelstan was still awaiting the remainder of his army, Olaf and his host fell upon him in the darkness of the night, the chief himself making straight for Athelstan’s tent, and slaying in mistake for him a certain bishop who had joined the army on the night before and, ignorant of what had passed, had pitched his tent on the spot from which the King’s tent had been removed.

Olaf, coming thus suddenly in the darkness of the night, found the whole army unprepared and deeply sleeping. Athelstan, who was resting after the labours of the day, hearing the tumult, sprang up and rushed into the darkness to arouse and prepare his people, but in his haste his sword fell by chance from its sheath, nor could he find it again in the gloom and confusion; but it is said that, when placing his hand on the scabbard, he found in it another sword, which he thought must have come there by miracle, and which he kept ever after in remembrance of that night. It is probable that in the hurry of dressing he had laid his hand on a weapon belonging to one of the chiefs who fought on his side.

Thus in the darkness of night and in wild confusion began the battle which, in spite of all, was to end victoriously for Athelstan and disastrously for his enemies. The Northern story of the fight, which we are now about to tell, occurs in the Saga of Egil, son of one Skalligrim, an old man who had betaken himself to Iceland with most of his family, from the rule of Harald Fairhair, and who stoutly opposed him on every occasion.

Skalligrim had two strong, warlike sons, Thorolf and Egil. They found the life in Iceland wearisome, for they preferred the turmoil of war; so they left old Skalligrim, their father, to his seal-fishing and whale-hunting and his shipbuilding and smith-work, for he was a man with many trades, and able and crafty, and careful in saving his money, and went off to fight in Norway and in England. Before the battle of Brunanburh they had offered their services to Athelstan, for the Norse were ever ready to war against the Danes, and they were in the fight of Brunanburh on his side, each of them commanding a troop of Norwegian soldiers, and did much, as the Saga will show, to help in winning the battle for the English.

Here is the story from Egil Skalligrimson’s Saga.