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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45366 ***</div>
<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, History of the Anglo-Saxons, by Thomas
Miller, Illustrated by William Harvey</h1>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10">
  <tr>
    <td valign="top">
      Note:
    </td>
    <td>
      Images of the original pages are available
      through Internet Archive. See
      <a href="https://archive.org/details/historyofanglos00mill">
      https://archive.org/details/historyofanglos00mill</a>
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div class="transnote">
<p class="center larger">Transcriber's notes</p>

<p class="p1">There are several "Parts" in this book. Only the last one
is listed in the <a href="#CONTENTS">Table of Contents</a>. The titles of
the parts are shown as spaced, sans-serif headings (example:
<span class="part">The Saxon Invasion.</span>).<br />&nbsp;</p>

<p>The page numbers in the Table of Contents usually refer to the end of
the chapter, rather than to the beginning. The "CHAPTER" links are to the
beginnings of the chapters.<br />&nbsp;</p>

<p>The <a href="#ILLUSTRATIONS">List of Illustrations</a> follows the
last chapter of the book. The
<a href="#FOOTNOTES">footnotes</a> were moved to the end of this eBook.<br />&nbsp;</p>

<p class="covernote">The book cover image was created by the transcriber
and placed in the Public Domain.<br />&nbsp;</p>

<p>Additional <a href="#transnote">Transcriber's notes</a> will be
found after the footnotes.</p>
</div>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<hr class="full" />
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>

<div id="ip_1" class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Conversion of Ethelbert.</i></div></div>

<h1><span class="gesperrt">HISTORY</span><br />
<span class="xsmall">OF</span><br />
<span class="gesperrt">THE ANGLO-SAXONS:</span><br />

<span class="xsmall">FROM THE</span><br />

<span class="smaller">Earliest Period to the Norman Conquest.</span></h1>

<p class="p2 center">BY</p>

<p class="p1 vspace center large">THOMAS MILLER,</p>

<p class="p1 vspace center smaller">AUTHOR OF "ROYSTON GOWER," "LADY JANE GREY,"<br />
"PICTURES OF COUNTRY LIFE," ETC.</p>

<p class="p2 center bold">Second Edition.</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>

<p class="p2 center vspace larger">LONDON:<br />
DAVID BOGUE, FLEET STREET.<br />
<span class="small">MDCCCL.</span>
</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">iii</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</a></h2>

<div class="center">
<table summary="Contents">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE DAWN OF HISTORY.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Obscurity of early history&mdash;Our ancient monuments a mystery&mdash;The Welsh Triads&mdash;Language of the first inhabitants of Britain unknown&mdash;Wonders of the ancient world</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE ANCIENT BRITONS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">The Celtic Tribes&mdash;Britain known to the Phœnicians and Greeks&mdash;The ancient Cymry&mdash;Different classes of the early Britons&mdash;Their personal appearance&mdash;Description of their forest-towns&mdash;A British hunter&mdash;Interior of an ancient hut&mdash;Costume of the old Cymry&mdash;Ancient armour and weapons&mdash;British war-chariots&mdash;The fearful havoc they made in battle</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE DRUIDS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Interior of an old British forest&mdash;Druidical sacrifice&mdash;Their treasures&mdash;Their mysterious rites and ceremonies&mdash;The power they possessed&mdash;Their belief in a future state&mdash;Their wild superstitions&mdash;An arch-Druid described&mdash;Their veneration for the mistletoe&mdash;Description of the Druids offering up sacrifice&mdash;The gloomy grandeur of their ancient groves&mdash;Contrast between the idols of the Druids and the heathen gods of the Romans</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">LANDING OF JULIUS CÆSAR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Cæsar's reasons for invading Britain&mdash;Despatches Volusenus from Gaul to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">iv</a></span>reconnoitre the island&mdash;Is intimidated by the force he finds arranged along the cliffs of Dover&mdash;Lands near Sandwich&mdash;Courage of the Roman Standard-bearer&mdash;Combat between the Britons and Romans&mdash;Defeat and submission of the Britons&mdash;Wreck of the Roman galleys&mdash;Perilous position of the invaders&mdash;Roman soldiers attacked in a corn-field, rescued by the arrival of their general&mdash;Britons attack the Roman encampment, are again defeated, and pursued by the Roman cavalry&mdash;Cæsar's hasty departure from Britain&mdash;Return of the Romans at spring&mdash;Description of their armed galleys&mdash;Determination of Cæsar to conquer Britain&mdash;Picturesque description of the night march of the Roman legions into Kent&mdash;Battle beside a river&mdash;Difficulties the Romans encounter in their marches through the ancient British forests&mdash;Cæsar's hasty retreat to his encampment&mdash;The Roman galleys again wrecked&mdash;Cessation of hostilities&mdash;Cassivellaunus assumes the command of the Britons&mdash;His skill as a general&mdash;Obtains an advantage over the Romans with his war-chariots&mdash;Attacks the Roman encampment by night and slays the outer guard&mdash;Defeats the two cohorts that advance to their rescue, and slays a Roman tribune&mdash;Renewal of the battle on the following day&mdash;Cæsar compelled to call in the foragers to strengthen his army&mdash;Splendid charge of the Roman cavalry&mdash;Overthrow and retreat of the Britons&mdash;Cæsar marches through Kent and Surrey in pursuit of the British army&mdash;Crosses the Thames near Chertsey&mdash;Retreat of the British general&mdash;Cuts off the supplies of the Romans, and harasses the army with his war-chariots&mdash;Stratagems adopted by the Britons&mdash;Cassivellaunus betrayed by his countrymen&mdash;His fortress attacked in the forest&mdash;Contemplates the destruction of the Roman fleet&mdash;Attack of the Kentish men on the encampment of the invaders&mdash;The Romans again victorious&mdash;Cassivellaunus sues for peace&mdash;Final departure of Cæsar from Britain</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">CARACTACUS, BOADICEA, AND AGRICOLA.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">State of Britain after the departure of Cæsar&mdash;Landing of Plautius&mdash;His skirmishes with the Britons in the marshes beside the Thames&mdash;Arrival of the Roman emperor Claudius&mdash;Ostorius conquers and disarms the Britons&mdash;Rise of Caractacus&mdash;British encampment in Wales&mdash;Caractacus defeated, betrayed by his step-mother, and carried captive to Rome&mdash;Death of the Roman general Ostorius&mdash;Retreat of the Druids to the Isle of Anglesey&mdash;Suetonius attacks the island&mdash;Consternation of the Roman soldiers on landing&mdash;Massacre of the Druids, and destruction of their groves and altars&mdash;Boadicea, queen of the Iceni, assumes the command of the Britons&mdash;Her sufferings&mdash;She prepares for battle, attacks the Roman colony of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span>Camaladonum&mdash;Her terrible vengeance&mdash;Her march into London, and destruction of the Romans&mdash;Picturesque description of Boadicea and her daughters in her ancient British war-chariot&mdash;Harangues her soldiers&mdash;Is defeated by Suetonius, and destroys herself&mdash;Agricola lands in Britain&mdash;His mild measures&mdash;Instructs the islanders in agriculture and architecture&mdash;Leads the Roman legions into Caledonia, and attacks the men of the woods&mdash;Bravery of Galgacus, the Caledonian chief&mdash;Agricola sails round the coast of Scotland&mdash;Erects a Roman rampart to prevent the Caledonians from invading Britain</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">DEPARTURE OF THE ROMANS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Adrian strengthens and extends the Roman fortifications&mdash;Description of these ancient barriers, and the combats that took place before them&mdash;Wall erected by the emperor Severus&mdash;He marches into Caledonia, reaches the Frith of Moray&mdash;Great mortality amongst the Roman legions&mdash;Severus dies at York&mdash;Picturesque description of the Roman sentinels guarding the ancient fortresses&mdash;Attack of the northern barbarians&mdash;Peace of Britain under the government of Caracalla&mdash;Arrival of the Saxon and Scandinavian pirates&mdash;The British Channel protected by the naval commander, Carausius&mdash;His assassination at York&mdash;Constantine the Great&mdash;Theodosius conquers the Saxons&mdash;Rebellion of the Roman soldiers; they elect their own general&mdash;Alaric, the Goth, overruns the Roman territories&mdash;British soldiers sent abroad to strengthen the Roman ranks&mdash;Decline of the Roman power in Britain&mdash;Ravages of the Picts, Scots, and Saxons&mdash;The Britons apply in vain for assistance from Rome&mdash;Miserable condition in which they are left on the departure of the Romans&mdash;War between the Britons and the remnant of the invaders&mdash;Vortigern, king of the Britons&mdash;A league with the Saxons</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">BRITAIN AFTER THE ROMAN PERIOD.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Great change produced in Britain by the Romans&mdash;Its ancient features contrasted with its appearance after their departure&mdash;Picturesque description of Britain&mdash;First dawn of Christianity&mdash;Progress of the Britons in civilization&mdash;Old British fortifications&mdash;Change in the costume of the Britons&mdash;Decline in their martial deportment&mdash;Their ancient mode of burial&mdash;Description <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">vi</a></span>of early British barrows&mdash;Ascendancy of rank</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE ANCIENT SAXONS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Origin of the early Saxons&mdash;Description of their habits and arms&mdash;Their religion&mdash;The halls of Valhalla&mdash;Their belief in rewards and punishments after death&mdash;Their ancient mythology described&mdash;Superstitions of the early Saxons&mdash;Their ancient temples and forms of worship&mdash;Their picturesque processions&mdash;Dreadful punishments inflicted upon those who robbed their temples&mdash;Different orders of society&mdash;Their divisions of the seasons&mdash;Their bravery as pirates, and skill in navigation</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">HENGIST, HORSA, ROWENA, AND VORTIGERN.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Landing of Hengist and Horsa, the Saxon chiefs&mdash;Their treaty with Vortigern and the British chiefs&mdash;The British king allots them the Isle of Thanet as a residence, on condition that they drive out the Picts and Scots&mdash;Success of the Saxons&mdash;Arrival of more ships&mdash;Landing of the Princess Rowena&mdash;Marriage of Vortigern and Rowena&mdash;Quarrel between the Britons and Saxons&mdash;Description of their first battle by the old Welsh bards&mdash;The Britons led on by the sons of Vortigern&mdash;Death of Horsa, the Saxon chief&mdash;Rowena's revenge&mdash;Pretended reconciliation of the Saxons, and description of the feast where the British chiefs were massacred&mdash;Terrible death of Vortigern and the fair Rowena</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ELLA, CERDRIC, AND KING ARTHUR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Arrival of Ella and his three sons&mdash;Combat between the Saxons and Britons beside the ancient forest of Andredswold&mdash;Defeat of the Britons, and desolate appearance of the old forest town of Andred-Ceaster after the battle&mdash;Revengeful feelings of the Britons&mdash;Establishment of the Saxon kingdom of Sussex&mdash;Landing of Cerdric and his followers&mdash;Battle of Churdfrid, and death of the British king Natanleod&mdash;Arrival of Cerdric's kinsmen&mdash;The Britons again defeated&mdash;Arthur, the British king, arms in defence of his country&mdash;His adventures described&mdash;Numbers of battles in which he fought&mdash;Death of king Arthur in the field of Camlan&mdash;Discovery of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span>remains in the abbey of Glastonbury</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ESTABLISHMENT OF THE SAXON OCTARCHY.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Landing of Erkenwin&mdash;The establishment of the kingdom of Wessex&mdash;Description of London&mdash;Arrival of Ida and his twelve sons&mdash;The British chiefs make a bold stand against Ida&mdash;Bravery of Urien&mdash;Description of the battle of the pleasant valley, by Taliesin, the British bard&mdash;Llywarch's elegy on the death of Urien&mdash;Beautiful description of the battle of Cattraeth by Anenrin, the Welsh bard&mdash;Establishment of the kingdom of Mercia&mdash;Description of the divisions of England which formed the Saxon Octarchy&mdash;Amalgamation of the British and Saxon population&mdash;Retirement of the unconquered remnant of the ancient Cymry into Wales</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">CONVERSION OF ETHELBERT.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Commencement of the civil war amongst the Saxons&mdash;Struggle between Ethelbert, king of Kent, and Ceawlin, king of Wessex, for the title of Bretwalda&mdash;Description of the slave-market of Rome&mdash;Monk Gregory's admiration of the British captives&mdash;Gregory becomes pontiff, and despatches Augustin with fifty monks to convert the inhabitants of Britain&mdash;Picturesque description of the landing of the Christian missionaries in the Isle of Thanet&mdash;Intercession of Bertha&mdash;Ethelbert's interview with Augustin and his followers&mdash;The missionaries take up their residence in Canterbury&mdash;Conversion of Ethelbert&mdash;Augustin is made Archbishop, by Pope Gregory&mdash;The rich presents sent to Britain by the Pope&mdash;Character of the Roman pontiff&mdash;His wise policy in not abolishing at once all outward forms of heathen worship&mdash;Eadbald ascends the throne of Kent&mdash;Marries his stepmother, and is denounced by the priests&mdash;He renounces the Christian faith&mdash;The monks are driven out of Essex&mdash;Eadbald again acknowledges the true faith, and the persecuted priests find shelter in the kingdom of Kent</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDWIN, KING OF THE DEIRI AND BERNICIA.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Adventures of Edwin, king of the Deiri&mdash;His residence in Wales with Cadvan, one of the ancient British kings&mdash;Ethelfrith having deprived him of his kingdom, seeks his life&mdash;Edwin flies from Wales, and seeks the protection of Redwald, king of East Anglia&mdash;Edwin's dream&mdash;The queen of East Anglia <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span>intercedes in behalf of Edwin&mdash;Redwald prepares to wage war with Ethelfrith&mdash;Religion of the king of East Anglia&mdash;Description of the battle fought between Redwald and Ethelfrith on the banks of the river Idel&mdash;Death of Ethelfrith, and accession of Edwin to the throne of Northumbria&mdash;Edwin's marriage with Edilburga, daughter of Ethelbert&mdash;Journey of the Saxon princess from Kent to Northumbria&mdash;Attempted assassination of Edwin&mdash;Paulinus endeavours in vain to convert Edwin to the Christian faith&mdash;The king assembles his pagan priests and nobles to discuss the new religion&mdash;Speech of Coifi, the heathen priest&mdash;Beautiful and poetical address of a Saxon chief to the assembly&mdash;Coifi desecrates the temple of Woden&mdash;Peaceful state of Northumbria under the reign of Edwin&mdash;Death of Edwin at the battle of Hatfield-chase in Yorkshire&mdash;Victories of Cadwallon, the British king&mdash;Triumph of the Saxons under Oswald, and death of Cadwallon at the battle called Heaven-field</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">PENDA, THE PAGAN MONARCH OF MERCIA.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Description of the kingdom of Mercia&mdash;Character of Penda, the pagan king&mdash;Charity of Oswald&mdash;Barbarous cruelty of Penda&mdash;His desolating march through Northumbria&mdash;Attacks the castle of Bamborough&mdash;His march into Wessex&mdash;His invasion of East Anglia&mdash;Sigebert, the monk-king, leads on the East Anglians&mdash;Is defeated by Penda, who ravages East Anglia&mdash;The pagan king again enters Northumbria&mdash;Oswy offers all his treasures to purchase peace&mdash;Is treated with contempt by Penda&mdash;Oswy prepares for battle&mdash;Penda's forces driven into the river&mdash;Death of the pagan king&mdash;Great changes effected by his death&mdash;Courage of Saxburga, the widowed queen of Wessex&mdash;Perilous state of the Saxon Octarchy</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">DECLINE OF THE SAXON OCTARCHY.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Alfred, the learned king of Northumbria&mdash;His patronage of the celebrated scholar Aldhelm&mdash;Ceowulf, the patron of Bede&mdash;Mollo, brother of the king of Wessex, burnt alive in Kent&mdash;King Ina and his celebrated laws&mdash;Strange device of Ina's queen to induce him to resign his crown, and make a pilgrimage to Rome&mdash;Mysterious death of Ostrida, queen of the Mercians&mdash;Her husband, Ethelred, abandons his crown and becomes a monk after her violent death&mdash;Ethelbald ascends the throne of Mercia&mdash;Adventures of his early life&mdash;His residence with Guthlac, the hermit, in the island of Croyland&mdash;First founder of the monastery of Croyland&mdash;Ethelbald joins Cuthred, king of Wessex, and obtains a victory over the Welsh&mdash;Proclaims <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span>war against Cuthred&mdash;Description of the battle, and defeat of Ethelbald&mdash;Independence of the kingdom of Wessex&mdash;Abdication of Sigebyhrt, king of Wessex&mdash;His death in the forest of Andredswold&mdash;Rapid accession and dethronement of the kings of Northumbria&mdash;Summary of their brief reigns</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">OFFA, SURNAMED THE TERRIBLE.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Offa ascends the throne of Mercia&mdash;Drida's introduction and marriage with the Mercian king&mdash;Character of queen Drida and her daughter Edburga&mdash;Offa's invasion of Northumbria&mdash;He marches into Kent&mdash;Is victorious&mdash;Defeats the king of Wessex&mdash;His victory over the Welsh&mdash;Description of Offa's dyke&mdash;Offa's friendly correspondence with Charlemagne&mdash;Adventures of Egbert&mdash;Murder of Cynewulf, at Merton, in Surrey&mdash;Brihtric obtains the crown of Wessex, and marries the daughter of Offa&mdash;Ethelbert, king of East Anglia, visits the Mercian court&mdash;Queen Drida plots his destruction&mdash;Description of a Saxon feast&mdash;Dreadful death of Ethelbert&mdash;Offa's daughter, Alfleda, seeks shelter in the monastery of Croyland&mdash;Murder of Queen Drida&mdash;Edburga poisons her husband, Brihtric, king of Wessex&mdash;She flies to France&mdash;Her reception at the court of Charlemagne&mdash;She dies a beggar in the streets of Pavia</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EGBERT, KING OF ALL THE SAXONS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Character of Egbert&mdash;His watchful policy&mdash;Death of Kenwulf, and decline of the kingdom of Mercia&mdash;Egbert annexes the kingdom of Kent to Wessex&mdash;Compels Wiglaf, king of Mercia, to pay him tribute&mdash;He conquers the kingdom of Northumbria, and subjects the whole of the Saxon kingdoms to his sway&mdash;Northumbria invaded by the Danes&mdash;They sack the abbey of Lindisfarne, and slay the monks&mdash;The Danes again land in Dorsetshire&mdash;Egbert presides over a council in London, to devise measures to prevent the ravages of the Danes&mdash;The remnant of the ancient Britons who have been driven into Wales, form a league with the Danes, and are defeated&mdash;Death of Egbert</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE ANCIENT SEA-KINGS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Origin of the Danish invaders&mdash;Habits of the early Vikings&mdash;Their warlike education&mdash;Picturesque description of their wild life&mdash;Their hatred of the Saxons&mdash;Description of their ships and warlike weapons&mdash;Arrangement of their plans to plunder&mdash;Their vows on the golden bracelet&mdash;Power of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">x</a></span>their leader only acknowledged in battle&mdash;Their rude festivities</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">FIRST SETTLEMENT OF THE DANES IN NORTHUMBRIA.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Ethelwulph, king of Kent&mdash;His unfitness to govern&mdash;The brave bishop of Sherbourne&mdash;The two characters contrasted&mdash;Boldness of the Danes&mdash;They occupy the Isle of Thanet&mdash;Battle of the field of Oaks&mdash;Character of Osberga, mother of Alfred the Great&mdash;Ethelwulph visits Rome in company with his son Alfred&mdash;The king of Kent marries Judith, daughter of Charles of France&mdash;His presents to the Pope&mdash;Returns to England with his youthful wife&mdash;Rebellion of his son Ethelbald&mdash;Death of Ethelwulph&mdash;Ethelbald marries his stepmother Judith&mdash;She elopes from a monastery with Baldwin, the grand forester&mdash;Death of Ethelbald&mdash;Brief reign of Ethelbert&mdash;Alfred begins to distinguish himself&mdash;The celebrated sea-king, Ragnar Lodbrog&mdash;His bravery&mdash;Builds a large ship&mdash;Is wrecked on the coast of Northumbria&mdash;Made prisoner by Ella, and dies in a dungeon&mdash;His celebrated death-song&mdash;The sons of Ragnar Lodbrog prepare to revenge their father's death&mdash;England invaded by their mighty fleet&mdash;Their march towards Northumbria&mdash;Ravage York&mdash;Horrible death of Ella, king of Northumbria&mdash;The Danes occupy the kingdoms of the Deiri and Bernicia&mdash;Nottingham taken by the Danes&mdash;Alfred accompanies his brother Ethelred, and the king of Mercia, in their attack upon the Danes&mdash;They enter into a treaty with the invaders&mdash;Alfred's marriage and attainments at this period</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">RAVAGES OF THE DANES, AND DEATH OF ETHELRED.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Ravages of the Danes in Lincolnshire&mdash;Destruction of the monastery of Bardney&mdash;Gallant resistance of the Mercians&mdash;Battle near Croyland Abbey&mdash;Destruction of Croyland Abbey, and murder of the monks&mdash;Sidroc, one of the sea-kings, saves a boy from the massacre&mdash;The abbey of Peterborough destroyed by the Danes&mdash;Description of the country through which the invaders passed&mdash;Their march into East Anglia&mdash;The Danes enter Wessex&mdash;Battle of Ash-tree hill, and victory of the Saxons&mdash;Death of Ethelred</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ACCESSION AND ABDICATION OF ALFRED THE GREAT.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Miserable state of England when Alfred ascended the throne of Wessex&mdash;He is disheartened by the rapid arrival of the Danes&mdash;Enters into a treaty with them, and they abandon Essex&mdash;The Danes occupy London&mdash;Burrhed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">xi</a></span>king of Mercia, retires to Rome&mdash;The Danes now masters of all England, excepting Wessex&mdash;Alfred destroys their ships&mdash;Again enters into treaty with them&mdash;He encounters them at sea&mdash;Treaty at Exeter&mdash;His strange conduct at Chippenham&mdash;Vindication of the character of Alfred&mdash;His conduct during retirement&mdash;Alfred the Great in the cowherd's hut&mdash;Discovery of his retreat&mdash;His skirmishes with the Danes&mdash;Odin, the earl of Devonshire, captures the magical banner of Hubba, the sea-king&mdash;Alfred and his followers fortify their island retreat&mdash;Poverty of the great Saxon king</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ALFRED THE GREAT.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Alfred in disguise visits the Danish camp near Westbury in Wiltshire&mdash;His interview with Godrun, the sea-king&mdash;Alfred musters the Saxon forces at Selwood forest&mdash;The arrival of his followers described&mdash;His preparation for battle&mdash;Description of the combat&mdash;Defeat of the Danes&mdash;Alfred besieges the Danish encampment&mdash;Surrender of Godrun&mdash;Policy and generosity of Alfred the Great&mdash;Peaceful appearance of England&mdash;Landing of Hastings, the famous sea-king&mdash;Alfred increases his navy&mdash;Character of Hastings, the sea-king, the most skilful of all the Danish invaders&mdash;Alfred marches his army between the Danish forces&mdash;His masterly generalship&mdash;Hastings offers to quit the kingdom&mdash;His treachery&mdash;Is again conquered by Alfred&mdash;The Danes of East Anglia and Northumbria rise up against Alfred&mdash;The wife and children of Hastings are taken prisoners by Alfred, and discharged with presents&mdash;After many struggles the Danes are at last defeated&mdash;Hastings quits England&mdash;Death of Alfred the Great</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">CHARACTER OF ALFRED THE GREAT.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">His boyhood&mdash;Early love of poetry&mdash;Self-cultivation&mdash;Wisdom displayed in his conduct with the Danes&mdash;Difficulties under which he pursued his labour&mdash;His patronage of literary men&mdash;Method of study&mdash;Summary of his works&mdash;He reforms the Saxon nobles&mdash;Divides his time&mdash;Various purposes to which he appropriates his revenue&mdash;His invention for marking the hours&mdash;Cultivates an acquaintance with foreign countries&mdash;His severity in the administration of justice&mdash;Establishment of a rigid system of police&mdash;His laws&mdash;Intellectual character of Alfred the Great</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDWARD THE ELDER.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Ethelwold lays claim to the throne of Wessex&mdash;Is backed by the Danes, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">xii</a></span>crowned at York&mdash;Battle of Axeholme and defeat of Ethelwold&mdash;Edward ravages Northumbria&mdash;The Danes attack Mercia&mdash;They enter the Severn&mdash;Battle of Wodensfield, and defeat of the Danes&mdash;Edward strengthens his frontier with fortresses&mdash;Their situation described&mdash;Bravery of his sister Ethelfleda&mdash;The Danes enter North Wales&mdash;Edward again victorious&mdash;Submission of the Welsh princes and the Danes of Northumbria&mdash;Death of Edward the Elder</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE REIGN OF ATHELSTAN.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Athelstan, the favourite grandchild of Alfred the Great&mdash;While but a boy his grandfather invests him with the honours of knighthood&mdash;He is educated by Alfred's daughter, Ethelfleda&mdash;Athelstan's sister married Sigtryg, a descendant of the famous sea-kings&mdash;The Dane repudiates his wife, and renounces his new religion&mdash;Athelstan invades his dominions&mdash;Death of Sigtryg, and flight of his sons&mdash;Preparation for the invasion of England&mdash;The force arrayed against Athelstan&mdash;Measures adopted by the Saxon king&mdash;Preparations for battle&mdash;Picturesque description of the battle of Brunanburg&mdash;Anglo-Saxon song on Athelstan's victory&mdash;High position attained by Athelstan&mdash;Otho the Great marries Athelstan's sister&mdash;The Saxon monarch forms an alliance with the emperor of Germany and the king of Norway&mdash;Harold of Norway suppresses piracy&mdash;Sends his son Haco to be educated at the Saxon court&mdash;Presents a beautiful ship to Athelstan&mdash;Death of Harold, king of Norway&mdash;List of the kings who were established on their thrones by Athelstan&mdash;His presents to the monasteries&mdash;His charity and laws for the relief of the poor&mdash;Cruelty to his brother Edwin&mdash;Death of Athelstan</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE REIGNS OF EDMUND AND EDRED.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Accession of Edmund the Elder&mdash;Anlaf, the Dane, invades Mercia, and defeats the Saxons&mdash;Edmund treats with Anlaf, and divides England with the Danes&mdash;Perilous state of the Saxon succession prevented by the death of Anlaf&mdash;Change in Edmund's character&mdash;His brilliant victories&mdash;Cruelty to the British princes&mdash;Edmund assassinated while celebrating the feast of St. Augustin, by Leof, the robber&mdash;Mystery that surrounds the murder of Edmund the Elder&mdash;Edred ascends the Saxon throne&mdash;Eric, the sea-king&mdash;His daring deeds on the ocean&mdash;Description of his wild life&mdash;Edred invades Northumbria&mdash;Eric attacks his own subjects&mdash;Edred's victory over the Danes&mdash;Scandinavian war-song on the death of Eric&mdash;Death <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">xiii</a></span>of Edred</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDWIN AND ELGIVA.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Edwin's marriage with Elgiva&mdash;Odo, the Danish archbishop&mdash;St. Dunstan&mdash;His early life&mdash;He becomes delirious&mdash;His intellectual attainments&mdash;His persecution&mdash;He falls in love&mdash;Is dissuaded from marriage by the bishop, Ælfheag&mdash;He is again attacked with sickness&mdash;Recovers, and becomes a monk&mdash;Lives in a narrow cell&mdash;Absurdity of his rumoured interviews with the Evil One&mdash;His high connexions&mdash;Analysis of his character&mdash;Dunstan's rude attack upon King Edwin, after the banquet&mdash;Dunstan again driven from court&mdash;Remarks on his conduct&mdash;Elgiva is cruelly tortured, and savagely murdered by the command of Odo, the archbishop of Canterbury&mdash;Dunstan recalled from his banishment&mdash;Supposed murder of Edwin</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">THE REIGN OF EDGAR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Power of Dunstan&mdash;He is made Archbishop of Canterbury&mdash;He appoints his own friends counsellors to the young king&mdash;His encouragement of the fine arts&mdash;Enforces the Benedictine rules upon the monks&mdash;Speech of Edgar in favour of Dunstan's reformation in the monasteries&mdash;Romantic adventure of Elfrida, daughter of the Earl of Devonshire&mdash;Death of Athelwold&mdash;Personal courage of Edgar&mdash;His love of pomp, and generosity&mdash;His encouragement of foreign artificers&mdash;His tribute of wolves' heads&mdash;England infested with wolves long after the commencement of the Saxon period&mdash;Many of the Saxon names derived from the wolf&mdash;Death of Edgar&mdash;Elfric's sketch of his character&mdash;Changes wrought by Edgar</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDWARD THE MARTYR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Dunstan still triumphant&mdash;Is opposed by the dowager-queen Elfrida&mdash;Her attempts to place her son, Ethelred, upon the throne, frustrated by Dunstan&mdash;Contest between the monks and the secular clergy&mdash;The Benedictine monks driven out of Mercia&mdash;The Synod of Winchester&mdash;Dunstan's pretended miracle doubted&mdash;The council of Calne&mdash;William of Malmesbury's description of the assembly&mdash;Dunstan's threat&mdash;Falling in of that portion of the floor on which Dunstan's opponents stood&mdash;Reasons <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">xiv</a></span>for supposing that the floor was undermined by the command of Dunstan&mdash;Death of his enemies, and triumph of the archbishop&mdash;Edward's visit to Corfe Castle&mdash;He is stabbed in the back while pledging his stepmother, Elfrida, at the gate&mdash;His dreadful death&mdash;Character of Elfrida</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ETHELRED THE UNREADY.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Elfrida still opposed by Dunstan&mdash;Ethelred crowned by the archbishop of Canterbury&mdash;His malediction at the coronation&mdash;Dislike of the Saxons to Ethelred&mdash;Dunstan's power on the wane&mdash;Insurrection of the Danes&mdash;The Danish pirates again ravage England&mdash;Courageous reply of the Saxon governor of Essex&mdash;Single combat between the Saxon governor, and one of the sea-kings&mdash;Cowardly conduct of Ethelred&mdash;He pays tribute, and makes peace with the Danes&mdash;Alfric the Mercian governor, turns traitor, and joins the Danes with his Saxon ships&mdash;The Saxon army again commanded by the Danes, and defeated&mdash;Olaf, the Norwegian, and Swein, king of Denmark, invade and take formal possession of England&mdash;Ethelred again exhausts his exchequer, to purchase peace&mdash;Swein's second invasion of England&mdash;Cruel massacre of the Danes by the Saxons&mdash;Murder of Gunhilda, the sister of Swein, king of Denmark&mdash;Swein prepares to revenge the death of his countrymen&mdash;Description of his soldiers&mdash;Splendour of his ships&mdash;His magical banner described&mdash;His landing in England&mdash;Alfric again betrays the Saxons&mdash;Destruction of Norwich&mdash;Ethelred once more purchases peace of the Danes&mdash;-Ælfeg, archbishop of Canterbury, made prisoner by the sea-kings&mdash;He refuses to pay a ransom&mdash;Is summoned to appear before the sea-kings while they are feasting, and beaten to death by the bones of the oxen the pirates had feasted upon&mdash;Ethelred lays an oppressive tax upon the land&mdash;He raises a large fleet&mdash;Is again betrayed by his commanders&mdash;Sixteen counties are given up to the Danes&mdash;Ethelred deserted by his subjects&mdash;Escapes to the Isle of Wight, and from thence to Normandy&mdash;Swein, king of Denmark, becomes the monarch of England&mdash;Death of Swein&mdash;His son Canute claims the crown&mdash;Is opposed by Edmund Ironside&mdash;Canute's cruelty to the Saxon hostages&mdash;Miserable state of England at this period, as described by a Saxon bishop</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDMUND, SURNAMED IRONSIDE.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Courageous character of Edmund Ironside&mdash;His gallant defence of London&mdash;His prowess at the battle of Scearston&mdash;Obstinacy of the combat which is only terminated by the approach of night&mdash;Renewal of the battle in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">xv</a></span>morning&mdash;Narrow escape of Canute, the Dane, from the two-handed sword of Edmund Ironside&mdash;Conduct of the traitor Edric&mdash;Retreat of the Danes&mdash;Battles fought by Edmund the Saxon&mdash;Ulfr, a Danish chief, lost in a wood&mdash;Meets with Godwin the cowherd, and is conducted to the Danish camp&mdash;Treaty between Canute the Dane and Edmund Ironside&mdash;The kingdom divided between the Danes and Saxons&mdash;Suspicious circumstances attending the death of Edmund&mdash;Despondency of the Saxons</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">CANUTE THE DANE.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Coronation of Canute the Dane&mdash;His treaty with the Saxon nobles&mdash;He banishes the relations of Ethelred, and the children of Edmund&mdash;Fate of Edmund's children&mdash;Canute's marriage with Emma, the dowager-queen of the Saxons&mdash;Death of the traitor, Edric&mdash;Canute visits Denmark&mdash;Death of Ulfr, the patron of Godwin the cowherd&mdash;Canute invades Norway&mdash;Habits of the Norwegian pirates&mdash;Canute erects a monument to Ælfeg, the murdered archbishop of Canterbury&mdash;Carries off the dead body of the bishop from London&mdash;Night scene on the Thames&mdash;Kills one of his soldiers&mdash;His penance&mdash;Establishes the tax of Peter's-pence&mdash;Picturesque description of Canute rebuking his courtiers&mdash;His theatrical display, and vanity&mdash;His pilgrimage to Rome&mdash;Canute's letter&mdash;His death</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">REIGNS OF HAROLD HAREFOOT AND HARDICANUTE.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Sketch of Canute's reputed sons&mdash;The succession disputed&mdash;Rise of earl Godwin&mdash;Refusal of the archbishop to crown Harold Harefoot&mdash;Harold crowns himself, and bids defiance to the church&mdash;Conduct of Emma of Normandy&mdash;Her letter to her son Alfred&mdash;He lands in England, with a train of Norman followers&mdash;His reception by earl Godwin&mdash;Massacre of the Normans at Guildford&mdash;Death of Alfred, the son of Ethelred&mdash;Emma banished from England&mdash;Her residence at Bruges&mdash;Hardicanute prepares to invade England&mdash;Death of Harold Harefoot&mdash;Accession of Hardicanute&mdash;Disinters the body of Harold&mdash;Summons earl Godwin to answer for the death of Alfred&mdash;Godwin's defence&mdash;Penalty paid by earl Godwin&mdash;Character of Hardicanute&mdash;His Huscarls&mdash;The inhabitants of Worcester refuse to pay the tax, called Dane-geld&mdash;They abandon the city&mdash;Reckless conduct of Hardicanute&mdash;He invites Edward, the son of Ethelred, to England&mdash;Hardicanute, the last of the sea-kings, dies drunk at a marriage-feast <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">xvi</a></span>in Lambeth</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ACCESSION OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Edward established on the throne of England by the power of earl Godwin&mdash;Edward marries Editha, the earl's daughter&mdash;Description of the Lady Editha, by Ingulphus&mdash;Godwin's jealousy of the Norman favourites, who surrounded Edward&mdash;Friendless state of Edward the Confessor, when he arrived in England&mdash;Changes produced by the arrival of the Normans in the Saxon court&mdash;Independence of Godwin and his sons&mdash;Emma banished by her son Edward&mdash;Threatened invasion of Magnus, king of Norway&mdash;The Saxons and Danes alike jealous of the Norman favourites&mdash;Eustace, count of Boulogne, visits king Edward&mdash;His conduct at Dover&mdash;Several of the count's followers are slain&mdash;Earl Godwin refuses to punish the inhabitants of Dover for their attack on Count Eustace&mdash;The Normans endeavour to overthrow Earl Godwin&mdash;He refuses to attend the council at Gloucester&mdash;Earl Godwin and his sons have recourse to arms&mdash;The Danes refuse to attack the Saxons in king Edwin's quarrel&mdash;Banishment of the Saxon earl and his sons&mdash;Sufferings of queen Editha</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Description of the English court, after the banishment of Earl Godwin&mdash;William, the Norman, surnamed the Bastard, and the Conqueror, arrives in England&mdash;William's parentage&mdash;Sketch of his father, surnamed Robert the Devil&mdash;His pilgrimage to Rome, and death&mdash;Bold and daring character of William the Norman&mdash;His cruel conduct to the prisoners of Alençon&mdash;His delight on visiting England&mdash;Circumstances in his favour for obtaining the crown of England&mdash;Return, and triumph of Earl Godwin&mdash;England again on the verge of a civil war&mdash;Departure of the Norman favourites&mdash;Sketch of the English court after the return of the Saxon earl&mdash;Death of Godwin&mdash;Siward the Strong&mdash;Rise of Harold, the son of earl Godwin&mdash;Imbecility of Edward the Confessor&mdash;Harold's victory over the Welsh&mdash;Conduct of Tostig, the brother of Harold&mdash;Coldness of the church of Rome towards England&mdash;struggle of Benedict and Stigand for the pallium&mdash;Mediation of Lanfranc&mdash;William the Norman becomes a favourite with the Roman pontiff&mdash;Suspicious death of Edward, the son of Edmund Ironside&mdash;Edward the Confessor suspects the designs of William the Conqueror&mdash;Harold, the son of Godwin, obtains permission to visit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">xvii</a></span>Normandy</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_296">296</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">EARL HAROLD'S VISIT TO NORMANDY.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Harold shipwrecked upon the coast of France&mdash;Is made captive, and carried to the fortress of Beaurain&mdash;Is released by the intervention of William of Normandy&mdash;Harold's interview with Duke William at Rouen&mdash;Affected kindness of the Norman duke&mdash;William cautiously unfolds his designs on the crown of England&mdash;His proposition to Harold&mdash;Offers Harold his daughter, Adeliza, in marriage&mdash;Duke William's stratagem&mdash;Harold's oath on the relics of the saints&mdash;Description of William the Norman's courtship&mdash;Character of Matilda of Flanders&mdash;Harold's return to England&mdash;The English people alarmed by signs and omens&mdash;Appearance of a comet in England&mdash;Description of the death of Edward the Confessor</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ACCESSION OF HAROLD, THE SON OF GODWIN.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Harold elected king of England by the Saxon witenagemot&mdash;Becomes a great favourite with his subjects&mdash;Restores the Saxon customs&mdash;Conduct of William the Norman on hearing that Harold had ascended the throne of England&mdash;Tostig, Harold's brother, forms a league with Harold Hardrada, the last of the sea-kings&mdash;Character of Harold Hardrada&mdash;His adventures in the east&mdash;He prepares to land in England&mdash;Tostig awaits his arrival in Northumbria&mdash;The duke of Normandy's message to Harold king of the Saxons&mdash;Harold's answer&mdash;He marries the sister of Morkar of Northumbria&mdash;Duke William makes preparations for the invasion of England&mdash;Arrival of Harold Hardrada with his Norwegian fleet&mdash;Superstitious feeling of the Norwegian soldiers&mdash;He joins Tostig, the son of Godwin&mdash;They burn Scarborough, and enter the Humber&mdash;Harold, by a rapid march, reaches the north&mdash;He prevents the surrender of York&mdash;Preparation for the battle&mdash;Harold surprises the enemy&mdash;Description of the combat&mdash;Harold offers peace to his brother&mdash;The offer rejected&mdash;Description of the battle&mdash;Deaths of Harold Hardrada and Tostig&mdash;Harold's victory</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">ENGLAND INVADED BY THE NORMANS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Preparations in Normandy for the invasion of England&mdash;Description of duke William's soldiers&mdash;He obtains the sanction of the pope to seize the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">xviii</a></span>crown of England, and receives a consecrated banner from Rome&mdash;Meeting of the barons and citizens of Normandy&mdash;Policy of William Fitz-Osbern&mdash;Measures adopted by the Norman duke&mdash;His promises to all who embarked in the expedition&mdash;Vows of the Norman knights&mdash;Protest of Conan, king of Brittany&mdash;Death of Conan&mdash;The Norman fleet arrives at Dive&mdash;Conduct of duke William while wind-bound in the roadsteads of St. Valery&mdash;Consternation amongst his troops&mdash;Method pursued by the Norman duke to appease the murmurs of his soldiers&mdash;The Norman fleet crosses the Channel, and arrives at Pevensey-bay&mdash;Fall of the astrologer&mdash;Landing of the Norman soldiers&mdash;William's stumbling considered an ill omen&mdash;He marches towards Hastings&mdash;Alarm of the inhabitants along the coast&mdash;Tidings carried to Harold of the landing of the Normans</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc sub" colspan="2">BATTLE OF HASTINGS.</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Harold, king of the Saxons, marches from York&mdash;Despatches a fleet to intercept the flight of the Normans&mdash;Disaffection amongst his troops&mdash;He arrives in London&mdash;His hasty departure from the metropolis&mdash;Cause of Harold's disasters&mdash;Description of the Norman and Saxon encampments&mdash;William's message to Harold&mdash;Occupation of the rival armies the night before the battle&mdash;Gurth advises Harold to quit the field&mdash;Morning of the battle&mdash;The Saxon and Norman leaders&mdash;William the Norman's address to his soldiers&mdash;Inferiority of the Saxons in numbers&mdash;Strong position taken up by Harold&mdash;Commencement of the combat&mdash;Courage of the Saxons&mdash;The Normans driven back from the English intrenchments&mdash;Skill of the Norman archers&mdash;Cavalry of the invaders driven into a deep ravine&mdash;The battle hitherto in favour of the Saxons&mdash;Rumour that William the Norman was slain&mdash;The effect of his sudden appearance amongst his retreating forces&mdash;Unflinching valour of the Saxons&mdash;Stratagem adopted by the Norman duke&mdash;Its consequence&mdash;William again attempts a feigned flight, and the Saxons quit their intrenchments&mdash;Dreadful slaughter of the English&mdash;Death of Harold, the last Saxon king&mdash;Capture of the Saxon banner&mdash;Victory of the Normans&mdash;Retreat and pursuit of the remnant of the Saxon army&mdash;The field of Hastings the morning after the battle&mdash;The dead body of Harold discovered by Edith the Swan-necked</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#The_Anglo-Saxons">THE ANGLO-SAXONS.</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Their religion&mdash;Government and laws&mdash;Literature of Anglo-Saxons&mdash;Architecture, Arts, &amp;c.&mdash;Costume, Manners, Customs, and Everyday life</td>
    <td class="tdr">p.&nbsp;<a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr>
</table></div>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace2">THE<br />
<span class="larger">HISTORY OF ENGLAND</span><br />
Under the Anglo-Saxons.</h2>

<hr />

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE DAWN OF HISTORY.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"This fortress, built by Nature for herself<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Against infection and the hand of war,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This earth of majesty&mdash;this little world&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This precious stone set in the silver sea&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">England, bound in with the triumphant sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose rocky shore beats back the envious surge<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of watery Neptune."<br /></span>
</div><div class="attrib">
<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Almost every historian has set out by regretting how little is
known of the early inhabitants of Great Britain&mdash;a fact which
only the lovers of hoar antiquity deplore, since from all we can
with certainty glean from the pages of contemporary history, we
should find but little more to interest us than if we possessed
written records of the remotest origin of the Red Indians; for both
would alike but be the history of an unlettered and uncivilized
race. The same dim obscurity, with scarcely an exception,
hangs over the primeval inhabitants of every other country; and
if we lift up the mysterious curtain which has so long fallen over
and concealed the past, we only obtain glimpses of obscure hieroglyphics;
and from the unmeaning fables of monsters and giants,
to which the rudest nations trace their origin, we but glance
backward and backward, to find that civilized Rome and classic
Greece can produce no better authorities than old undated traditions,
teeming with fabulous accounts of heathen gods and goddesses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span>
What we can see of the remote past through the half-darkened
twilight of time, is as of a great and unknown sea, on which
some solitary ship is afloat, whose course we cannot trace through
the shadows which everywhere deepen around her, nor tell
what strange land lies beyond the dim horizon to which she seems
bound. The dark night of mystery has for ever settled down upon
the early history of our island, and the first dawning which throws
the shadow of man upon the scene, reveals a rude hunter, clad
in the skins of beasts of the chase, whose path is disputed by
the maned and shaggy bison, whose rude hut in the forest fastnesses
is pitched beside the lair of the hungry wolf, and whose first
conquest is the extirpation of these formidable animals. And
so, in as few words, might the early history of many another
country be written. The shores of Time are thickly strown
with the remains of extinct animals, which, when living, the eye
of man never looked upon, as if from the deep sea of Eternity had
heaved up one wave, which washed over and blotted out for ever
all that was coëval with her silent and ancient reign, leaving a
monument upon the confines of this old and obliterated world,
for man in a far and future day to read, on which stands ever
engraven the solemn sentence, "<i>Hitherto shalt thou come, but
no further!</i>"&mdash;beyond this boundary all is Mine! Neither
does this mystery end here, for around the monuments which
were reared by the earliest inhabitants of Great Britain, there
still reigns a deep darkness; we know not what hand piled together
the rude remains of Stonehenge; we have but few records
of the manners, the customs, or the religion of the early Britons;
here and there a colossal barrow heaves up above the dead; we look
within, and find a few bones, a few rude weapons, either used in
the war or the chase, and these are all; and we linger in wonderment
around such remains. Who those ancient voyagers were
that first called England the Country of Sea Cliffs we know not;
and while we sit and brood over the rude fragments of the
Welsh Triads, we become so entangled in doubt and mystery as
to look upon the son of Aedd the Great, and the Island of Honey
to which he sailed, and wherein he found no man alive, as the
pleasing dream of some old and forgotten poet; and we set out
again, with no more success, to discover who were the earliest inhabitants
of England, leaving the ancient Cymri and the country
of Summer behind, and the tall, silent cliffs, to stand as they had
done for ages, looking over a wide and mastless sea. We then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span>
look among the ancient names of the headlands, and harbours,
and mountains, and hills, and valleys, and endeavour to trace a
resemblance to the language spoken by some neighbouring
nation, and we only glean up a few scattered words, which leave
us still in doubt, like a confusion of echoes, one breaking in
upon the other, a minglement of Celtic, Pictish, Gaulish, and
Saxon sounds, where if for a moment but one is audible and
distinct, it is drowned by other successive clamours which come
panting up with a still louder claim, and in very despair we
are compelled to step back again into the old primeval silence.
There we find Geology looking daringly into the formation of
the early world, and boldly proclaiming, that there was a
period of time when our island heaved up bare and desolate
amid the silence of the surrounding ocean,&mdash;when on
its ancient promontories and grey granite peaks not a green
branch waved, nor a blade of grass grew, and no living thing,
saving the tiny corals, as they piled dome upon dome above the
naked foundations of this early world, stirred in the "deep profound"
which reigned over those sleeping seas. Onward they go,
boldly discoursing of undated centuries that have passed away,
during which they tell us the ocean swarmed with huge, monstrous
forms; and that all those countless ages have left to record their
flight are but the remains of a few extinct reptiles and fishes,
whose living likenesses never again appeared in the world. To
another measureless period are we fearlessly carried&mdash;so long as
to be only numbered in the account of Time which Eternity
keeps&mdash;and other forms, we are told, moved over the floors of
dried-up oceans&mdash;vast animals which no human eye ever looked
upon alive; these, they say, also were swept away, and their
ponderous remains had long mingled with and enriched the
earth; but man had not as yet appeared; nor in any corner of
the whole wide world do they discover in the deep-buried
layers of the earth a single vestige of the remains of the
human race. What historian, then, while such proofs as these
are before his eyes, will not hesitate ere he ventures to assert
who were the first inhabitants of any country, whence they
came, or at what period that country was first peopled? As
well might he attempt a description of the scenery over which
the mornings of the early world first broke,&mdash;of summit and
peak which, they say, ages ago, have been hurled down, and
ground and powdered into atoms. What matters it about the date<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span>
when such things once were, or at what time or place they first
appeared? We can gaze upon the gigantic remains of the mastodon
or mammoth, or on the grey, silent ruins of Stonehenge,
but at what period of time the one roamed over our island,
or in what year the other was first reared, will for ever remain a
mystery. The earth beneath our feet is lettered over with proofs
that there was an age in which these extinct monsters existed,
and that period is unmarked by any proof of the existence of
man in our island. And during those not improbable periods
when oceans were emptied and dried up, amid the heaving up
and burying of rocks and mountains,&mdash;when volcanoes reddened
the dark midnights of the world, when "the earth
was without form, and void,"&mdash;what mind can picture aught
but His Spirit "moving upon the face of the waters,"&mdash;what
mortal eye could have looked upon the rocking and
reeling of those chaotic ruins when their rude forms first
heaved up into the light? Is not such a world stamped with
the imprint of the Omnipotent,&mdash;from when He first paved its
foundation with enduring granite, and roofed it over with the
soft blue of heaven, and lighted it by day with the glorious
sun, and hung out the moon and stars to gladden the night; until
at last He fashioned a world beautiful enough for the abode of
His "own image" to dwell in, before He created man? And
what matters it whether or not we believe in all these mighty
epochs? Surely it is enough for us to discover throughout every
change of time the loving-kindness of God for mankind; we
see how fitting this globe was at last for his dwelling-place;
that before the Great Architect had put this last finish to His
mighty work, instead of leaving us to starve amid the Silurian
sterility, He prepared the world for man, and in place of the
naked granite, spread out a rich carpet of verdure for him to
tread upon, then flung upon it a profusion of the sweetest flowers.
Let us not, then, daringly stand by, and say thus it was fashioned,
and so it was formed, but by our silence acknowledge that it
never yet entered into the heart of man to conceive how the
Almighty Creator laid the foundation of the world.</p>

<p>To His great works must we ever come with reverential
knee, and before them lowly bow; for the grey rocks, and
the high mountain summits, and the wide-spreading plains,
and the ever-sounding seas, are stamped with the image
of Eternity,&mdash;a mighty shadow ever hangs over them. The
grey and weather-beaten headlands still look over the sea, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span>
the solemn mountains still slumber under their old midnight
shadows; but what human ear first heard the murmur of the
waves upon the beaten beach, or what human foot first climbed
up those high-piled summits, we can never know.</p>

<p>What would it benefit us could we discover the date when our
island was buried beneath the ocean; when what was dry land
in one age became the sea in another; when volcanoes glowed
angrily under the dark skies of the early world, and huge
extinct monsters bellowed, and roamed, and swam, through the
old forests and the ancient rivers which have perhaps ages ago
been swept away? What could we find more to interest us were
we in possession of the names, the ages, and the numbers, of the
first adventurers who were perchance driven by some storm upon
our sea-beaten coast, than what is said in the ancient Triad before
alluded to? "there were no more men alive, nor anything but
bears, wolves, beavers, and the oxen with the high prominence,"
when Aedd landed upon the shores of England. What few
traces we have of the religious rites of the early inhabitants of
Great Britain vary but little from such as have been brought to
light by modern travellers who have landed in newly-discovered
countries in our own age. They worshipped idols, and had no
knowledge of the true God, and saving in those lands where the
early patriarchs dwelt, the same Egyptian darkness settled over
the whole world. The ancient Greeks and Romans considered
all nations, excepting themselves, barbarians; nor do the Chinese
of the present day look upon us in a more favourable light;
while we, acknowledging their antiquity as a nation, scarcely
number them amongst such as are civilized. We have yet to
learn by what hands the round towers of Ireland were reared,
and by what race the few ancient British monuments that still
remain were piled together, ere we can enter those mysterious
gates which open upon the History of the Past. We find
the footprint of man there, but who he was, or whence he
came, we know not; he lived and died, and whether or not
posterity would ever think of the rude monuments he left
behind concerned him not; whether the stones would mark
the temple in which he worshipped, or tumble down and cover
his grave, concerned not his creed; with his hatchet of stone,
and spear-head of flint, he hewed his way from the cradle to
the tomb, and under the steep barrow he knew that he should
sleep his last sleep, and, with his arms folded upon his breast,
he left "the dead past to bury its dead." He lived not for us.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE ANCIENT BRITONS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Where the maned bison and the wolf did roam,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ancient Briton reared his wattled home,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Paddled his coracle across the mere,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the dim forest chased the antlered deer;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pastured his herds within the open glade,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Played with his 'young barbarians' in the shade;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And when the new moon o'er the high hills broke,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Worshipped his heathen gods beneath the sacred oak."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">The Old Forest</span>.<br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Although the origin of the early inhabitants of Great Britain
is still open to many doubts, we have good evidence that at a
very remote period the descendants of the ancient Cimmerii,
or Cymry, dwelt within our island, and that from the same
great family sprang the Celtic tribe; a portion of which at
that early period inhabited the opposite coast of France. At
what time the Cymry and Celts first peopled England we have
not any written record, though there is no lack of proof that
they were known to the early Phœnician voyagers many centuries
before the Roman invasion, and that the ancient Greeks
were acquainted with the British Islands by the name of the
Cassiterides, or the Islands of Tin. Thus both the Greeks
and Romans indirectly traded with the very race, whose ancestors
had shaken the imperial city with their arms, and rolled
the tide of battle to those classic shores where "bald, blind
Homer" sung. They were the undoubted offspring of the dark
Cimmerii of antiquity, those dreaded indwellers of caves and
forests, those brave barbarians whose formidable helmets were
surmounted by the figures of gaping and hideous monsters;
who wore high nodding crests to make them look taller and
more terrible in battle, considering death on the hard-fought
field as the crowning triumph of all earthly glory. From this
race sprang those ancient British tribes who presented so bold
a front to Julius Cæsar, when his Roman galleys first ploughed
the waves that washed their storm-beaten shores. Beyond this
contemporary history carries us not; and the Welch traditions
go no further back than to state that when the son of Aedd first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span>
sailed over the hazy ocean, the island was uninhabited, which
we may suppose to mean that portion on which he and his
followers landed, and where they saw no man alive, for we
cannot think that it would long remain unpeopled, visible as it
is on a clear day from the opposite coast of Gaul, and beyond
which great nations had then for centuries flourished. What
few records we possess of the ancient Britons, reveal a wild
and hardy race; yet not so much dissimilar to the social
position of England in the present day, as may at a first glance
appear. They had their chiefs and rulers who wore armour,
and ornaments of gold and silver; and these held in subjection
the poorer races who lived upon the produce of the chase,
the wild fruits and roots which the forest and the field produced,
and wore skins, and dwelt in caverns, which they hewed
out of the old grey rocks. They were priest-ridden by the
ancient druids, who cursed and excommunicated without the aid
of either bell, book, or candle; burned and slaughtered all unbelievers
just as well as Mahomet himself, or the bigoted fanatics,
who in a later day did the same deeds under the mask
of the Romish religion. For centuries after, mankind had not
undergone so great a change as they at the first appear to have
done; there was the same love of power, the same shedding of
blood, and those who had not courage to take the field openly,
and seize upon what they could boldly, burnt, and slew, and
sacrificed their fellow-men under the plea that such offerings
were acceptable to the gods.</p>

<p>By the aid of the few hints which are scattered over the works
of the Greek and Roman writers, the existence of a few
remaining monuments, and the discoveries which have many
a time been made through numberless excavations, we can
just make out, in the hazy evening of the past, enough of
the dim forms of the ancient Britons to see their mode of life,
their habits in peace and war, as they move about in the twilight
shadows which have settled down over two thousand years.
That they were a tall, large-limbed, and muscular race, we
have the authority of the Roman writers to prove; who, however,
add but little in praise of the symmetry of their figures,
though they were near half a foot higher than their distant kindred
the Gauls. They wore their hair long and thrown back
from the forehead, which must have given them a wild look in
the excitement of battle, when their long curling locks would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span>
heave and fall with every blow they struck; the upper lip was
unshaven, and the long tufts drooped over the mouth, thus adding
greatly to their grim and warlike appearance. Added to
this, they cast aside their upper garments when they fought,
as the brave Highlanders were wont to do a century or two ago,
and on their naked bodies were punctured all kinds of monsters,
such as no human eye had ever beheld. Claudian mentions
the "fading figures on the dying Pict;" the dim deathly blue
that they would fade into, as the life-blood of the rude warrior
ebbed out, upon the field of battle.</p>

<p>How different must have been the landscape which the fading
rays of the evening sunset gilded in that rude and primitive age.
Instead of the tall towers and walled cities, whose glittering windows
now flash back the golden light, the sinking rays gilded a
barrier of felled trees in the centre of the forest which surrounded
the wattled and thatched huts of those ancient herdsmen, throwing
its crimson rays upon the clear space behind, in which his herds
and flocks were pastured for the night; while all around heaved
up the grand and gloomy old forest, with its shadowy thickets,
and dark dingles, and woody vallies untrodden by the foot of
man. There was then the dreaded wolf to guard against, the
unexpected rush of the wild boar, the growl of the grizzly bear,
and the bellowing of the maned bison to startle him from his
slumber. Nor less to be feared the midnight marauder from some
neighbouring tribe, whom neither the dreaded fires of the
heathen druids, nor the awful sentence which held accursed all
who communicated with him after the doom was uttered, could
keep from plunder, whenever an opportunity presented itself.
The subterraneous chambers in which their corn was stored
might be emptied before morning; the wicker basket which
contained their salt (brought far over the distant sea by the
Phœnicians or some adventurous voyager) might be carried
away; and no trace of the robber could be found through the
pathless forest, and the reedy morass by which he would escape,
while he startled the badger with his tread, and drove the beaver
into his ancient home; for beside the druids there were those
who sowed no grain, who drank up the beverage their neighbours
brewed from their own barley, and ate up the curds which
they had made from the milk of their own herds. These were
such as dug up the "pig-nuts," still eaten by the children in the
northern counties at the present day; who struck down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span>
deer, the boar, and the bison in the wild unenclosed forest&mdash;kindled
a fire with the dried leaves and dead branches, then
threw themselves down at the foot of the nearest oak, when
their rude repast was over, and with their war-hatchet, or hunting-spear,
firmly grasped, even in sleep, awaited the first beam
of morning, unless awoke before by the howl of the wolf, or the
thundering of the boar through the thicket. They left the fish
in their vast rivers untouched, as if they preferred only that food
which could be won by danger; from the timid hare they turned
away, to give chase to the antlered monarch of the forest; they
let the wild goose float upon the lonely mere, and the plumed
duck swim about the broad lake undisturbed. There was a
wild independence in their forest life&mdash;they had but few wants,
and where nature no longer supplied these from her own uncultivated
stores, they looked abroad and harassed the more civilized
and industrious tribes.</p>

<p>Although there is but little doubt that the British chiefs, and
those who dwelt on the sea-coast, and opened a trade with the
Gaulish merchants, lived in a state of comparative luxury, when
contrasted with the wilder tribes who inhabited the interior of the
island, still there is something simple and primitive in all that
we can collect of their domestic habits. Their seats consisted
of three-legged stools, no doubt sawn crossways from the stem
of the tree, and three holes made to hold the legs, like the seats
which are called "crickets," that may be seen in the huts of the
English peasantry in the present day. Their beds consisted of
dried grass, leaves, or rushes spread upon the floor&mdash;their covering,
the dark blue cloak or sagum which they wore out of
doors; or the dried skins of the cattle they slew, either from
their own herds or in the chase. They ate and drank from off
wooden trenchers, and out of bowls rudely hollowed: they were
not without a rough kind of red earthenware, badly baked, and
roughly formed. They kept their provisions in baskets of
wicker-work, and made their boats of the same material, over
which they stretched skins to keep out the water. They kindled
fires on the floors of their thatched huts, and appear to have
been acquainted with the use of coal as fuel, though there is
little doubt that they only dug up such as lay near the surface
of the earth; but it was from the great forests which half
covered their island that they principally procured their fuel.
They had also boats, not unlike the canoes still in use amongst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span>
the Indians, which were formed out of the hollow trunk
of a tree; and some of which have been found upwards of
thirty feet in length; and in these, no doubt, they ventured
over to the opposite coast of France, and even Ireland,
when the weather was calm. Diodorus says, that amongst
the Celtic tribes there was a simplicity of manners very
different to that craft and wickedness which mankind then
exhibited&mdash;that they were satisfied with frugal sustenance,
and avoided the luxuries of wealth. The boundaries of
their pastures consisted of such primitive marks as upright
stones, reminding us of the patriarchal age and the scriptural
anathema of "cursed is he who removeth his neighbour's
land-mark." Their costume was similar to that worn
by their kindred the Gauls, consisting of loose lower garments,
a kind of waistcoat with wide sleeves, and over this a
cloak, or sagum, made of cloth or skin; and when of the
former, dyed blue or black, for they were acquainted with
the art of dyeing; and some of them wore a cloth, chequered
with various colours. The chiefs wore rings of gold, silver, or
bronze, on their forefingers; they had also ornaments, such as
bracelets and armlets of the same metal, and a decoration called
the torque, which was either a collar or a belt formed of gold,
silver, or bronze, and which fastened behind by a strong hook.
Several of these ornaments have been discovered, and amongst
them, one of gold, which weighed twenty-five ounces. It seems
to have been something like the mailed gorget of a later day,
worn above the cuirass or coat of mail, to protect the neck and
throat in battle; their shoes appear to have been only a sole of
wood or leather, fastened to the foot by thongs cut from off the
raw hides of oxen they had slaughtered. The war weapons of
the wilder tribes in the earlier times, were hatchets of stone, and
arrows headed with flint, and long spears pointed with sharpened
bone; but long before the Roman invasion, the more civilized
were in possession of battle-axes, swords, spears, javelins, and
other formidable instruments of war, made of a mixture of copper
and tin. Many of these instruments have been discovered
in the ancient barrows where they buried their dead; and
were, no doubt, at first procured from the merchants with whom
they traded&mdash;ignorant, perhaps, for a long period, that they
were produced from the very material they were giving for
them in exchange. In battle they also bore a circular shield,
coated with the same metal; this they held in the hand by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span>
centre bar that went across the hollow inner space from which
the boss projected.</p>

<p>But the war-chariots which they brought into battle were of all
things the most dreaded by the Romans. From the axles projected
those sharp-hooked formidable scythes, which appalled
even the bravest legions, and made such gaps in their well-trained
ranks, as struck their boldest generals aghast. These
were drawn by such horses as, by their fire and speed, won the
admiration of the invaders; for fleet on foot as deer, and with their
dark manes streaming out like banners, they rushed headlong,
with thundering tramp, into the armed ranks of the enemy; the
sharp scythes cutting down every obstacle they came in contact
with. With fixed eyes the fearless warrior hurled his pointed
javelins in every direction as he rushed thundering on&mdash;sometimes
making a thrust with his spear or sword, as he swept by
with lightning-speed, or dragged with him for a few yards the
affrighted foeman he had grasped while passing, and whose
limbs those formidable weapons mangled at every turn until the
dreaded Briton released his hold. Now stepping upon the pole, he
aimed a blow at the opponent who attempted to check his speed&mdash;then
he stopped his quick-footed coursers in a moment, as if
a bolt from heaven had alighted, and struck them dead, while
some warrior who was watching their onward course fell dead
beneath so unexpected a blow; and ere the sword of his companion
was uplifted to revenge his death, the Briton and his
chariot were far away, hewing a new path through the centre
of veteran ranks, which the stormy tide of battle had never
before broken. The form of the tall warrior, leaning over his
chariot with glaring eye and clenched teeth, would, by his
valour and martial deportment, have done honour to the plains
of Troy, and won an immortal line from Homer himself, had he
but witnessed those deeds achieved by the British heroes in a
later day. What fear of death had they before their eyes who
believed that their souls passed at once into the body of some
brave warrior, or that they but quitted the battle-field to be
admitted into the abodes of the gods? They sprang from a
race whose mothers and wives had many a time hemmed in
the back of battle, and with their own hands struck down
the first of their tribe who fled,&mdash;sparing neither father,
husband, brother, nor son, if he once turned his back upon
the enemy: a race whose huge war-drums had, centuries
before, sounded in Greek and Roman combats. And from this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span>
hardy stock, which drooped awhile beneath the pruning arms of
civilized Rome, was the Gothic grandeur of the Saxon stem
grafted, and when its antique roots had been manured by the
bones of thousands of misbelieving Danes, and its exuberant
shoots lopped by the swords of the Norman chivalry, there sprang
up that mighty tree, the shadows of whose branches stretch far
away over the pathless ocean, reaching to the uttermost ends of
the earth.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE DRUIDS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"&mdash;&mdash;You Druids now maintain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your barbarous rites, and sacrifice again;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You what heaven is, and gods alone can tell,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or else alone are ignorant: you dwell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In vast and desert woods; you teach no spirit,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pluto's pale kingdom can by death inherit:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They in another world inform again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The space betwixt two lives is all the death."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Lucan's Pharsalia</span>, <i>T. May's Translation</i>, 1635.<br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">To Julius Cæsar we are indebted for the clearest description
of the religious rites and ceremonies of the Druids; and as he
beheld them administered by these Priests to the ancient
Britons, so they had no doubt existed for several centuries
before the Roman invasion, and are therefore matters of history,
prior to that period. There was a wild poetry about
their heathenish creed, something gloomy, and grand, and supernatural
in the dim, dreamy old forests where their altars were
raised: in the deep shadows which hung over their rude grey
cromlechs, on which the sacred fire burned. We catch glimpses
between the gnarled and twisted stems of those magnificent
and aged oaks of the solemn-looking druid, in his white robe
of office, his flowing beard blown for a moment aside, and
breaking the dark green of the underwood with the lower
portion of his sweeping drapery, while he stands like a grave
enchanter, his deep sunk and terrible eyes fixed upon the blue
smoke as it curls upward amid the foliage&mdash;fixed, yet only to
appearance; for let but a light and wandering expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span>
pass over one single countenance in that assembled group, and
those deep grey piercing eyes would be seen glaring in anger
upon the culprit, and whether it were youth or maiden they
would be banished from the sacrifice, and all held accursed who
dared to commune with them&mdash;a curse more terrible than that
which knelled the doom of the excommunicated in a later
day. There were none bold enough to extinguish the baleful
fire which was kindled around the wicker idol, when its angry
flames went crackling above the heads of the human victims who
were offered up to appease their brutal gods. In the centre of
their darksome forests were their rich treasures piled together,
the plunder of war; the wealth wrested from some neighbouring
tribe; rich ornaments brought by unknown voyagers from distant
countries in exchange for the tin which the island produced;
or trophies won by the British warriors who had fought in the
ranks of the Gauls on the opposite shore&mdash;all piled without
order together, and guarded only by the superstitious dread which
they threw around everything they possessed; for there ever
hung the fear of a dreadful death over the head of the plunderer
who dared to touch the treasures which were allotted to the awful
druids. They kept no written record of their innermost
mysteries, but amid the drowsy rustling of the leaves and the
melancholy murmuring of the waters which ever flowed around
their wooded abodes, they taught the secrets of their cruel creed
to those who for long years had aided in the administration of
their horrible ceremonies, who without a blanched cheek or a
quailing heart had grown grey beneath the blaze of human sacrifices,
and fired the wicker pile with an unshaken hand&mdash;these
alone were the truly initiated. They left the younger disciples to
mumble over matters of less import&mdash;written doctrines which
taught how the soul passed into other bodies in never-ending
succession; but they permitted them not to meddle in matters of
life and death; and many came from afar to study a religion
which armed the druids with more than sovereign power. All
law was administered by the same dreaded priests; no one dared
to appeal from their awful decree; he who was once sentenced
had but to bow his head and obey&mdash;rebellion was death, and a
curse was thundered against all who ventured to approach him;
from that moment he became an outcast amongst mankind. To
impress the living with a dread of their power even after death,
they hesitated not in their doctrines to proclaim, that they held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span>
control over departed and rebellious souls; and in the midnight
winds that went wailing through the shadowy forests, they bade
their believers listen to the cry of the disembodied spirits who
were moaning for forgiveness, and were driven by every blast
that blew against the opening arms of the giant oaks; for they
gave substance to shadows, and pointed out forms in the dark-moving
clouds to add to the terrors of their creed. They worshipped
the sun and moon, and ever kept the sacred fire burning
upon some awful altar which had been reddened by the
blood of sacrifice. They headed the solemn processions to
springs and fountains, and muttered their incantations over the
moving water, for, next to fire, it was the element they held in
the highest veneration. But their grand temples&mdash;like Stonehenge&mdash;stood
in the centre of light, in the midst of broad, open,
and spacious plains, and there the great Beltian fire was kindled;
there the distant tribes congregated together, and unknown gods
were evoked, whose very names have perished, and whose
existence could only be found in the wooded hill, the giant tree,
or the murmuring spring or fountain, over which they were
supposed to preside. There sat the arch-druid, in his white
surplice, the shadow of the mighty pillars of rough-hewn stone
chequering the stony rim of that vast circle&mdash;from his neck suspended
the wonderful egg which his credulous believers said fell
from twined serpents, that vanished hissing high in the air,
after having in vain pursued the mounted horseman who caught
it, then galloped off at full speed&mdash;that egg, cased in gold, which
could by its magical virtues swim against the stream. He held
the mysterious symbol of office, in his hands more potent than
the sceptre swayed by the most powerful of monarchs that
ever sat upon our island throne, as he sat with his brow furrowed
by long thought, and ploughed deep by many a meditated
plot, while his soul spurned the ignorant herd who were assembled
around him, and he bit his haughty lip at the thought
that he could devise no further humiliation than to make them
kneel and lick the sand on which he stood.</p>

<p>They held the mistletoe which grew on the oak sacred,
and on the sixth day of the moon came in solemn procession to
the tree on which it grew, and offered up sacrifice, and prepared
a feast beneath its hallowed branches, adorning themselves
with its leaves, as if they could never sufficiently reverence
the tree on which the mistletoe grew, although they named themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span>
druids after the oak. White bulls were dragged into the
ceremony; their stiff necks bowed, and their broad foreheads
bound to the stem of the tree, while their loud bellowings came
in like a wild chorus to the rude anthem which was chaunted on
the occasion: these were slaughtered, and the morning sacrifice
went streaming up among the green branches. The chief
druid ascended the oak, treading haughtily upon the bended
backs and broad shoulders of the blinded slaves, who struggled
to become stepping-stones beneath his feet, and eagerly bowed
their necks that he might trample upon them, while he gathered
his white garment in his hand, and drew it aside, lest it should
become sullied by touching their homely apparel. Below him
stood his brother idolators, their spotless garments outspread
ready to catch the falling sprigs of the mistletoe as they dropped
beneath the stroke of the golden pruning-knife. Doubtless
the solemn mockery ended by the assembled multitude carrying
home with them a leaf or a berry each, of the all-healing plant,
as it was called, while the druids lingered behind to consume
the fatted sacrifice, and forge new fetters to bind down their
ignorant followers to their heathenish creed. Still it is on record
that they taught their disciples many things concerning the
stars and their motion; that they pretended to some knowledge
of distant countries, and the nature of the gods they worshipped.
Gildas, one of the earliest of our British historians, seeming to
write from what he saw, tells us that their idols almost surpassed
in number those of Egypt, and that monuments were then
to be seen (in his day) of "hideous images, whose frigid, ever-lowering,
and depraved countenances still frown upon us both
within and outside the walls of deserted cities. We shall not," he
says, "recite the names that once were heard on our mountains,
that were repeated at our fountains, that were echoed on our hills,
and were pronounced over our rivers, because the honours due
to the Divinity alone were paid to them by a blinded people."
That their religion was but a system of long-practised imposture
admits not of a doubt; and as we have proof that they possessed
considerable knowledge for that period, it is evident that they
had recourse to these devices to delude and keep in subjection
their fellow-men, thereby obtaining a power which enabled them
to live in comparative idleness and luxury. Such were the
ancient Egyptian priests; and such, with but few exceptions,
were all who, for many centuries, held mighty nations in thrall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span>
by the mystic powers with which they cunningly clothed
idolatry. True, there might be amongst their number a few
blinded fanatics, who were victims to the very deceit which
they practised upon others, whose faculties fell prostrate
before the imaginary idols of their own creation, and who bowed
down and worshipped the workmanship of their own hands.</p>

<p>All the facts we are in possession of show that they contributed
nothing to the support of the community; they took no share in
war, though they claimed their portion of the plunder obtained
from it; they were amenable to no tribunal but their own, but
only sat apart in their gloomy groves, weaving their dangerous
webs in darker folds over the eyes of their blinded worshippers.
We see dimly through the shadows of those ancient forests where
the druids dwelt; but amongst the forms that move there we
catch glimpses of women sharing in their heathen rites; it may
be of young and beautiful forms, who had the choice offered them,
whether they would become sacrifices in the fires which so often
blazed before their grim idols, or share in the solemn mockeries
which those darksome groves enshrouded&mdash;those secrets which
but to whisper abroad would have been death.</p>

<p>The day of reckoning at last came&mdash;as it is ever sure to
come&mdash;and heavy was the vengeance which alighted upon
those bearded druids; instead of such living and moving evils,
the mute marble of the less offensive gods which the Romans
worshipped usurped the places where their blood-stained sacrifices
were held. Jupiter frowned coldly down in stone, but he
injured not. Mars held his pointed spear aloft, but the dreaded
blow never descended. They saw the form of man worshipped,
and though far off, it was still a nearer approach to the true
Divinity than the wicker idol surrounded with flames, and filled
with the writhing and shrieking victims who expired in the
midst of indescribable agonies. Hope sat there mute and sorrowful,
with her head bowed, and her finger upon her lip,
listening for the sound of those wings which she knew would
bring Love and Mercy to her aid. She turned not her head to
gaze upon those heathenish priests as they were dragged forward
to deepen the inhuman stain which sunk deep into the
dyed granite of the altar, for she knew that the atmosphere their
breath had so long poisoned must be purified before the Divinity
could approach; for that bright star which was to illume the
world had not yet arisen in the east. The civilized heathen was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span>
already preparing the way in the wilderness, and sweeping down
the ruder barbarism before him. There were Roman galleys
before, and the sound of the gospel-trumpet behind; and those
old oaks jarred again to their very roots, and the huge circus of
Stonehenge shook to its broad centre; for the white cliffs that
looked out over the sea were soon to echo back a strange language,
for Roman cohorts, guided by Julius Cæsar, were riding upon
the waves.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">LANDING OF JULIUS CÆSAR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The cliffs themselves are bulwarks strong: the shelves<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And flats refuse great ships: the coast so open<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That every stormy blast may rend their cables,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Put them from anchor: suffering double war&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their men pitched battle&mdash;their ships stormy fight;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For charges 'tis no season to dispute,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Spend something, or lose all."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">The True Trojans</span>, 1633.<br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Few generals could put in a better plea for invading a country
than that advanced by Julius Cæsar, for long before he landed
in this island, he had had to contend with a covert enemy in the
Britons, who frequently threw bodies of armed men upon the
opposite coasts, and by thus strengthening the enemy's ranks,
protracted the war he had so long waged with the Gauls. To
chastise the hardy islanders, overawe and take possession of
their country, were but common events to the Roman generals,
and Cæsar no doubt calculated that to conquer he had but to show
his well-disciplined troops. He was also well aware that the
language and religion of the Britons and Gauls were almost the
same, and that the island on which his eye was fixed was the
great centre and stronghold of the druids; and, not ignorant of
the power of these heathen priests, whose mysterious rites
banded nation with nation, he doubtless thought, that if he could
but once overthrow their altars, he could the more easily march
over the ruins to more extended conquests. He had almost
the plea of self-defence for setting out to invade England as he
did, and such, in reality, is the reason he assigns; and not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span>
possess the old leaven of ambition to strengthen his purpose,
was to lack that which, in a Roman general, swelled into the
glory of fame. Renown was the pearl Julius Cæsar came in
quest of; he was not a general to lead his legions back to the
imperial city, when, after having humbled the pride of the
Gauls, he still saw from the opposite coast the island of the presumptuous
Britons&mdash;barbarians, who had dared to hurl their
pointed javelins in the very face of the Roman eagle;&mdash;not a man
to return home, when, by stretching his arm over that narrow
sea, he could gather such laurels as had never yet decked a
Roman brow.</p>

<p>The rumour of his intended invasion had already reached the
Britons, who, well aware of the victories he had won in the
opposite continent, and probably somewhat shaken by the terror
which was attached to the name of the Roman conqueror, lost
no time in sending over ambassadors with an offer of submission,
and hostages. But although Cæsar received the messengers
kindly, and sent back with them Comius, a Gaul, in whose talent
and integrity he had the greatest confidence, still his attention
was not to be diverted from the object he had in view; and
much as he commended their pacific promises, he but waited the
return of the galley he had sent out to reconnoitre, before he
embarked. Nor had he to wait long, for on the fifth day after
his departure, Volusenus returned from his expedition, with the
meagre information he had been able to glean about the coast
without landing; though, such as it was, it induced Cæsar to set
sail at once, and, with twelve thousand men and eighty transports,
he started from the sea coast which stretches between
Calais and Boulogne, and steered for the pale-faced cliffs of
Albion. It was in a morning early in autumn, and before the
Britons had gathered in their corn-harvest, when the Roman
general first reached the British shore; nor can we, from the
force which accompanied him, suppose that he was at all surprised
to see the white cliffs of Dover covered with armed men ready to
oppose his landing. But he was too wary a commander to
attempt this in so unfavourable a spot, and in the face of such
a force, and therefore resolved to lie by, until past the hour of
noon, and await the arrival of the remainder of his fleet; for
beside the force which we have already enumerated, there were
eighteen transports in which his cavalry were embarked, but
these were not destined to take a share in his first victory; so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span>
finding both wind and tide in his favour, he, without their aid,
sailed six or seven miles further down the coast, until he reached
the low and open shore which stretches between Walmer Castle
and Sandwich. This manœuvre, however, was not lost upon
the Britons, for as he measured his way over the sea, so did they
keep pace with him upon the land, and when he reached the
spot which was so soon to be the scene of slaughter, he found
the island-army drawn up ready to receive him, with their
cavalry and war-chariots placed in the order of battle, while
many a half-naked and hardy soldier stood knee-deep amongst
the breakers, which beat upon the beach, with pointed javelin,
and massy club, and rough-hewn war-hatchet, eager to oppose
his landing;&mdash;the proud Roman himself confesses that they
presented a bold front, and made a brave defence. Superior
military skill, and long-practised discipline, together with the
formidable war-engines which he brought over in his galleys,
and from which showers of missiles were projected that spread
death and consternation around, were too much for the Britons,
few of whom, except such as had fought in the ranks of the
Gauls on the opposite shore, had ever before looked upon such
terrible instruments of destruction; and under cover of these,
after a short contest, the Roman general managed to disembark
two of his legions. But for this mode of warfare, and those
dreadful engines opening so suddenly upon them, Cæsar would
probably never have been able to land his forces; for we may
readily imagine that, unaccustomed as they were to such a mode
of attack, the consternation that it spread could scarcely be exceeded
by a first-class line-of-battle ship pouring in a broadside
amongst the startled savages of the South Sea Islands, whose shores
had never before echoed back the thunder of a cannon. Although
Cæsar himself states that for a time the Roman soldiers were
reluctant to leave their ships, owing to the extent of water which
flowed between them and the shore, still there is but little doubt
that the fearless front presented by the Britons, as they stood
knee-deep among the waves, in spite of the missiles which were
sent forth in showers from the Roman galleys, somewhat appalled
their highly disciplined invaders. Cæsar has left it on record that
his soldiers hesitated to land, until one of his standard-bearers,
belonging to the tenth legion, sprang from the side of the galley
into the sea, and waving the ensign over his head, exclaimed,
"Follow me, my fellow-soldiers! unless you will give up your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span>
eagle to the enemy. I, at least, will do my duty to the republic
and to our general." It was then, roused by the example of the
courageous standard-bearer, that the Roman soldiers quitted
their ships, and the combatants met hand to hand.</p>

<p>Although upon that ancient battle-ground have the winds and
waves for nearly two thousand years beaten, and scarcely a
name is left of those who fought, and fell, and dyed the stormy
sea-beach with their blood; still, as we gaze down the dim vista
of years, the mind's eye again catches glimpses of the unknown
combatants&mdash;of the warm autumn sunshine falling upon those
white and distant cliffs&mdash;of the high-decked Roman galleys rising
above the ever-moving waves, and we seem to hear the deep
voice of the Roman general rising beyond the murmur of the
ocean; we see the gilded eagle rocking and swaying over the
contending ranks, as they are driven forward or repulsed, just as
the tide of battle ebbs and flows; and ever upon the beaten beach
where the waves come and go, they wash over some mangled and
prostrate form, throwing up here a helmet and there a shield,
while figures of the mailed Roman, and the half-naked Briton, lie
dead and bleeding side by side, their deep sleep unbroken by the
shout, and tramp, and tumult of war. The javelin with its
leathern thong lies useless beside the bare brawny arm that could
hurl it to within an inch of its mark, then recover it again without
stepping from out the ranged rank; the dreaded spear lies broken,
and the sharp head trodden deep into the sand by a Roman footstep.
Higher up the beach, we hear the thunder of the scythe-wheeled
war-chariots of the Britons, and catch glimpses of the
glittering and outstretched blades, as they sparkle along in their
swift career like a silvery meteor, and all we can trace of their
course is the zig-zag pathway streaked with blood. Faint, and
afar off, we hear the voices of the bearded druids hymning their
war-chaunt, somewhere beyond the tall summits of the bald-faced
cliffs. Anon, the roar of battle becomes more indistinct&mdash;slowly
and reluctantly the Britons retreat,&mdash;the Roman soldiers pursue
them not, but fall back again upon their galleys, and we hear
only a few groans, and the lapping of the waves upon the sea-shore.
And such might have been a brief summary of that
combat, interspersed here and there with the daring deeds of
warriors whose names will never be known; and then the eye
of the imagination closes upon the scene, and all again is enveloped
in the deep darkness of nearly two thousand years.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span>
As the Roman cavalry had not yet arrived, Cæsar was prevented
from following up the advantage he had gained over the
Britons, and marching to where they were encamped, a little
way within the island. The natives, however, doubtless to gain
time, and better prepare themselves for a second attack, sent
messengers to the Roman general, who were deputed to offer
hostages as a guarantee of their submission to the Roman arms.
They also liberated Comius, whom he had sent over with offers
of alliance; and after a sharp rebuke, in which the Roman invader
no doubt attempted to show how wrong it was on their
part to attempt to oppose his landing and seizing upon their
island, he forgave them, on condition that they would send him a
given number of hostages, and allow him, without interference,
to act as he chose for the future. Such, in spirit, were the
terms on which the haughty conqueror dismissed the British
chiefs, who probably returned with the determination of breaking
them whenever an opportunity presented itself. A few
hostages were, however, delivered, and several of the British
leaders presented themselves before Cæsar, perhaps as covert
spies, although they came with avowed offers of allegiance,
smarting as they were under their recent defeat.</p>

<p>The Roman general was not destined to accomplish his conquest
without meeting with some disasters. The vessels which
contained his cavalry, and were unable to accompany the first
portion of his fleet, were again doomed to be driven back by a
tempest upon the coast of Gaul, even after they had approached
so near the British shore as to be within view of Cæsar's encampment.
The fatal night that saw his cavalry dashed back
upon the opposite coast, also witnessed the destruction of several
of his galleys, which were drawn up on the beach behind his
encampment; while those that were lying at anchor in the distant
roadstead were either wrecked or cast upon the shore, and
so battered by the winds and waves as to be wholly unfit for
sea-service; for a high tide seemed to have rushed over his galleys;
and this, together with the storm, scarcely left him in the
possession of a vessel in which he could put out to sea with
his troops. Without either provisions to feed his soldiers, or
materials to repair his shattered ships, and his whole camp
deeply dispirited by these unforeseen calamities, the Roman
general found himself, at the close of autumn, on a stormy and
unfriendly coast, and in possession of but little more of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span>
island than the barren beach on which he had won his hitherto
useless victory. The Britons were not long before they discovered
the full extent of these disasters; frequent visits to the
Roman encampment had also made them better acquainted with
the number of the troops; and as they had already measured
their strength against the Roman arms, and the Roman weapons
had doubtless lost much of their former terror in their eyes, they
began to make preparations for sweeping off the whole force of
the invading army, for they clearly saw that it was without
either provisions, cavalry, or ships; and though they commenced
their work cautiously, they made sure of obtaining an easy
victory, and such as they thought would intimidate the hearts
of all future invaders. Cæsar was too wary a general not to
see through their designs, for he perceived that the visits of the
chiefs to his encampment were less frequent than formerly; that
they were also slow in sending in the hostages they had promised
to give up; so, Roman-like he determined to arm himself
against the worst. He ordered some of his troops to repair such
ships as were sea-worthy, out of the wreck of those which were
useless; these, when ready, he sent over to Gaul for stores;
others of his soldiers he sent out to scour the country in search
of provisions, and to gather in whatever corn they could find,
which must have been very trifling, as he states that, except in
one field, all beside in the neighbourhood had been harvested.
In this field, which stood at a short distance from one of those
old primeval forests which everywhere abounded in the island,
one of his legions were busily engaged gathering in corn,
when they were suddenly attacked by the armed islanders, who
rushed out of their hiding-places from the neighbouring thicket.
Fortunately for the Roman soldiers, this chanced to be no great
distance from their encampment; and as the ever-watchful eye
of Cæsar was open while he stood looking out from his strong
fortifications, he saw a huge cloud of dust rising in the air in
the direction of the distant corn-field, and sallying out of the
encampment, at the head of two of his cohorts, he bade the remainder
of the legion follow him with the utmost speed, and
rushed off to the rescue of his soldiers. A few more minutes
and he would have arrived too late to save any of them, for he
found his legion, which had already suffered considerable loss,
hemmed in on every side by the cavalry and war-chariots of
the Britons; and he had no sooner succeeded in withdrawing his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span>
engaged forces from the corn-field, than he hurried back to his
strong entrenchments, the brave islanders having compelled him
to make a hasty retreat. Several days of heavy rain followed,
during which the Roman general confined his soldiers to the
camp. But the hardy Britons were not to be deterred by the
elements from following up the slight advantage which they
had gained; so mustering a strong force of both horse and
foot, they drew up and surrounded the Roman entrenchments.
Cæsar was too brave to sit quietly down and be bearded in
his own stronghold by an army of barbarians; so watching
a favourable moment, he marshalled forth his mailed legions,
which were by this time strengthened by a small body of
cavalry that had returned with Comius from Gaul; and with
these he fell upon the Britons and dispersed them with great
slaughter, also pursuing them into the country, and setting fire
to many of their huts, before he again returned to his encampment.
The Britons, as before, sued for peace, which Cæsar
readily granted, as he was anxious to return to Gaul with his
leaky ships and wearied troops; nor did he wait to receive
the offered hostages, but with the first fair wind set sail, having
gained but little more than hard blows by this his first invasion.</p>

<div id="ip_22" class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"><img src="images/i_042.jpg" width="410" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Combat between the Romans and Britons.</i></div></div>

<p>The warm spring days which brought back the swallow from
over the sea, saw the Roman galleys again riding on the sunny
waves that broke upon our rock-girt coast. From the surrounding
heights and smooth slopes which dipped gently down
into the sea, the assembled Britons beheld eight hundred vessels
of various sizes hastening shoreward from the opening ocean.
Amid waving crests and glittering coats of mail, and Roman
eagles blazing like gold in the distance, and long javelins whose
points shone like silver in the sunlight, as they rose high above
the decks of the galleys, they came rolling along like a moving
forest of spears, swayed aside for a moment as some restive war-steed,
impatient to plant his sharp hoof upon the earth, jerked
his haughty neck, and shook out his long dark mane upon the
refreshing breeze, while his shrill neigh came ringing upon the
beach above the hoarse murmur of the breakers, which rolled at
the feet of the terrified Britons. On those decks were above
thirty thousand Roman soldiers assembled, headed again by
Julius Cæsar, and now strengthened by two thousand cavalry.
It is said that the excuse offered by the Roman general for this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span>
his second invasion, was, that hostages had not been sent in according
to treaty, though the truth beyond doubt is, that his ambition
was dissatisfied with the hasty retreat he was compelled to
make; his pride mortified at the bold front the islanders had presented,
for he must have felt, in his hurried departure to Gaul,
that he bore back but little to entitle him to the much-coveted
name of Conqueror, a name which his wars with the Britons
never won him, for even Tacitus deigned to honour him with
little more than the title of Discoverer, after all his exploits in
our island had terminated. Unlike his former reception, he
this time landed without having to strike a blow, for the sight
of such an armed host struck terror into the hearts of the
natives, and they fled in the direction of the Stour, or near to
that neighbourhood where Canterbury now stands. A proof
how earnestly Cæsar commenced his second campaign in the
island, and how resolved he was to bring the war to a speedy
end, is found, in his setting out at midnight to pursue the
Britons, scarcely leaving a sixth part of his army behind, to
protect his shipping and encampment. Perchance, the haughty
Roman had boasted how soon he would bring over a few of the
barbaric chiefs for his friends, and add to their stock of foreign
curiosities a few dozens of war-chariots, and had laughed amongst
his officers at the joke of their being picked up by some island
warrior, and carried off in his scythe-armed car by a couple of
swift-footed steeds. He frequently wrote to Rome, and perhaps
occasionally boasted in his epistles, what speedy work he
would make of the conquest of Britain. Be this as it may,
there is proof in the strength of the force which he this time
landed, that he already began to appreciate aright the brave
blood that flowed through those ancient British veins.</p>

<p>In the still depth of midnight did the measured tramp of
Roman infantry ring upon the silence, as they strode inland towards
the heart of Kent, and beside those old forests and reedy
morasses was the heavy tread of Cæsar's cavalry heard; the rattle
of their mail, and the jingling of their harness, broken by the
short answers of the scouts as they rode hastily in and out, announcing
a clear course, or with low obeisance receiving the
commands of the general. We may picture some poor peasant
startled from his sleep by that armed throng, dragged out of his
wattled hut by the side of the wild forest, and rudely handled by
the Roman soldiers, because he either refused to tell, or was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span>
ignorant of the position his countrymen had taken up. We
may picture the herdsman hurrying his flocks into the forest
fastnesses as he heard that solemn and distant tramp coming
like subdued thunder upon the night-breeze, so unlike the wild
shoutings and mingled rolling of his own war-chariots, amid
which the voices of women and children were ever mingled; so
solemn, deep, and orderly would march along those well-disciplined
Roman troops, contrasted with the irregular movements
of the Britons. Cæsar reached the reedy margin of a river
in the cold grey dawn of a spring morning; and as the misty
vapour cleared up from the face of the water, he beheld the
hardy islanders drawn up on the rising ground beyond the
opposite bank, ready to dispute the passage if he ventured
across. The charge was sounded, and at the first blast of the
Roman trumpets the cavalry dashed into the river, and the well-tempered
steel blades of the invaders soon began to hew a path
through the opposing ranks, for almost at the first stroke the
swords of the Britons, which were made of tin and copper, bent,
and became useless, while those wielded by their assailants
were double-edged, and left a gash every time they descended.
The horses broke through the British infantry, as if they had
been but a reed fence; and as their cavalry was the heaviest,
they met in full career the rush of the island war-chariots,
plunged their long javelins into the chests of the horses, and
received the shock of the British cavalry on the points of their
highly-tempered and strong-shafted spears. The whole affray
seemed more like a skirmish than a regular engagement, as if the
war-chariots and cavalry of the Britons were only employed to
check the advance of the Roman columns, while the remainder
of their force retreated to a strong fortification, which stood at
some distance in the woods, and which was barricaded by felled
trees, fastened together and piled one above another; thither
the remainder of the army also fled, leaving the Romans to
follow after they had regained the order of march, and sent back
to their camp those who were wounded in the skirmish on the
river bank. These marches through wild, uncultivated forests
were very harassing to the heavy-armed Roman legions, who
made but slow progress compared to the light-footed troops of the
Britons, for they were inured to this woodland warfare, and
as familiar with the forest passes as the antlered deer.</p>

<p>Pursuit was again the order of the day; the stronghold in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span>
forest was carried by the Romans, and amongst the legions
which distinguished themselves in the contest, was the one who,
but for the timely arrival of Cæsar, would probably have left
their bones to whiten in the harvest-field, from which they had
had so narrow an escape in the preceding autumn. Another
evening darkened over the forest, under cover of which the Britons
again retreated further inland, without being pursued; for
the Roman general seemed to have a dread of those gloomy old
woods, through which the paths, even in the open noon-day, were
rugged, uncertain, and difficult, and were as likely to lead
towards some bog, lake, or dangerous morass, as to any of the
British fortifications; the Roman soldiers were therefore employed
in throwing up intrenchments, and strengthening their position
in case of a surprise. It came, but not until morning, and instead
of the Britons, was brought by a party of Roman horsemen
from the camp; the galleys were again driven upon the shore by
the waves, and many of them wrecked; the angry ocean had once
more risen up against the fortunes of Cæsar. These unwelcome
tidings arrived just as he had given the order to advance; a few
minutes more, and he would have been off in full pursuit after the
Britons; the unexplored forest stretched before him; his eagles
glittered in the morning sunshine; the trumpets had sounded the
march, when the order was given to halt, and above twenty
thousand armed Romans were compelled to return at the bidding
of the waves. The mound they had thrown up was deserted;
the river, which had but a few hours before been reddened by
the blood of many a brave warrior, was repassed without opposition;
and both cavalry and infantry now commenced a rapid
retreat in the direction of the Roman encampment. When
Cæsar reached the sea-shore, he beheld a sight discouraging
enough to blanch even a Roman cheek; many of his finest galleys
had become total wrecks; others it seemed almost impossible to
repair; the few that were saved he despatched at once to Gaul
for assistance, set every hand that could use a saw, axe, or
mallet, immediately to work, and instead of sitting down and
bemoaning his ill-fortune, he, like a brave-hearted Roman as he
was, began to make up for his loss, and gave orders for building
several new ships. Added to this, he had the remainder drawn
on shore, and ran up a barrier to protect them from the ravages
of the ocean, thus including a dry-dock within his fortified
encampment. All these preparations necessarily consumed some
time, during which the islanders remained undisturbed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span>
Returning to the Britons, who had not been idle during this
brief interval, we find their army greatly increased, and a renowned
prince, named Cassivellaunus, placed as commander at
the head of the states, they wisely judging that one who had so
signalized himself in his wars with the neighbouring tribes, was
best fitted to lead them on, now that they were banded together
for mutual protection against the Romans. Nobly did the
barbaric chief acquit himself; he waited not to be attacked;
but having selected his own battle-ground, charged upon the
Roman cavalry at once, with his horsemen and war-chariots.
Although Cæsar did at last gain a slight victory, and, as he
himself says, drove the Britons into the woods, and lost several
of his soldiers through venturing too far, still it does not appear
that he obtained the day, for the Britons already began to find
the advantages they obtained through occasional retreats, which
enabled them to draw the enemy either nearer to, or into the
woods&mdash;a stratagem which in this skirmish they availed themselves
of; for while the Romans were busy, as was their custom,
in protecting their camp for the night, by throwing up ramparts
and digging trenches around it, the Britons sallied out from
another opening in the wood, and slaughtered the outer guard.
The Roman general ordered two cohorts to advance to the rescue;
they were also repulsed, and a tribune was slain; fresh troops
were summoned into action, and the Britons betook themselves
to their old leafy coverts with but very little loss. On this
occasion, the Roman general was compelled to acknowledge,
that his heavy-armed soldiers were no match for an enemy
who only retreated one moment to advance with greater force
the next, and would, whenever an opportunity presented itself,
dismount from their horses, or leap out of their chariots, and
renew the battle on foot, and that, too, on the very edge of some
dangerous bog, where an armed horseman was sure to founder
if he but made a leap beyond the boundary line with which they
were so familiar. Another day, a disastrous one for the Britons,
and the battle was renewed, and they, as before, commenced the
attack, waiting, however, until the Roman general had sent out
a great portion of his cavalry and infantry to forage&mdash;a body
amounting to more than half his army, no mean acknowledgment
of the estimation in which the island force was held, while
it required from ten to fifteen thousand men to collect the supplies
he needed for one day; a tolerable proof that he had not forgotten
the all but fatal skirmish in the corn-field when he first landed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span>
Emboldened by their success on the previous day, the Britons this
time charged up to the solid body of the Roman legions, rushing
fearlessly against the wall which their well-disciplined ranks
presented, a firm phalanx, that had withstood the shock of the
bravest armies in Europe without being broken&mdash;an array
strengthened every moment by the return of the foragers. One
solid, impenetrable mass now bore down, like a mighty avalanche,
upon the congregated Britons; a vast sea of spears, and shields,
and swords, all heaving onward without resistance, Cæsar heralding
the way, like the God of the storm, the armed cavalry
thundering onward like the foremost wave, until the whole mass
struck upon the iron stems of the gnarled oaks, which stood
at the edge of the forest, then rolled back again into the
plain, leaving a ridgy line of wounded and dead to mark
their destructive course. It was the first open shore on
which the full tide of the Roman arms had flowed on the
islanders. The waves had many a time before gathered together
and broken, but here the full surge of battle swept uninterrupted
upon the beach. Although the sun still sets over that great
grave-yard of the dead, not a monument remains to tell of its
"whereabout," or point out the spot where many a brave soldier
looked round and took his rest.</p>

<p>Through Kent, and along the valley which stretches at the foot
of the Surrey hills, did Cæsar pursue the shattered army of the
British prince, his march probably extending over that level line
of beautiful meadow-land on which the old palace of Eltham still
stands, along the wooded neighbourhood of Penge and Sydenham,
and out at the foot of the Norwood hills, to where, far beyond, the
Thames still glitters like a belt of silver as it goes winding round
near Chertsey. Here the British leader had rallied; on the opposite
bank stood his forces, and in the bed of the river he had caused
pointed stakes to be planted, to prevent his pursuers from crossing
the ford. These were but slight obstacles in the path of
Cæsar; he ordered his cavalry to advance, commanded the infantry
to follow at their heels, or at their sides, as they best could; and
so they passed, some grasping the manes of the war-horses with
one hand to steady their steps in the current, while with the other
they held the double-edged sword, ready to hew or thrust, the
moment they came within arm's length of the enemy. Cassivellaunus
was once more compelled to retreat, though never so far
but that he was always in readiness to fall upon any detached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span>
cohorts, and with his five thousand war-chariots to hang upon
and harass any party of foragers: Cæsar was at last compelled
to send out his legions to protect the horsemen while they
gathered in provisions. Even then the island prince drove and
carried off all the cattle and corn which was pastured or garnered
in the neighbourhood of the Roman encampment. The invaders
were never safe except when within their own entrenchments;
for they had now to deal with an enemy who had grown too
wary to trust himself again in the open field, but contented himself
by harassing and hanging upon the detached masses which he could
waylay. He was well acquainted with all the secret passes
and intricate roads, and kept the Roman guards in a continual
state of alarm; and when it was not safe to attack them, the
Britons would at times suddenly assemble at the outskirts of the
woods, and shaking their javelins, to the foot of which a hollow
ball of copper, containing lumps of metal or pebbles, was affixed,
commence such a sudden thundering and shouting as startled
the horses, and caused them to run affrighted in every direction;
they then seized upon the forage, and ere the heavy legions could
overtake them, they were off at full speed far away in the forest
passes, along paths known only to themselves. Such a system of
warfare was new even to Cæsar, and as yet he had only gained
the ground he encamped upon&mdash;that which contained his army,
for the time, was all he could call his own.</p>

<p>But the Britons could not long remain true to themselves; petty
jealousies and long-stifled murmurs began at last to find vent;
one tribe after another came to the Roman camp; to all he made
fair promises, took their corn and their hostages, sowing no doubt
the seeds of dissension deeper amongst them at the same time, and
getting them also to inform him where the capital of their warlike
chief was situated, which secret they were base enough to betray;
for many of the petty princes envied the renown which Cassivellaunus
had won by his valour. Even Cæsar's narrative at this turn
of events enlists our sympathies on the side of the British general,
and the handful of brave followers who still remained true to their
country's cause. His capital, which is supposed to have stood on
the site of St. Albans, and which in those days was surrounded by
deep woods and broad marshes, was attacked; many were slain,
some prisoners taken, and numbers of cattle driven away; for
the forest town of this courageous chief appears to have been
nothing more than a cluster of woodland huts surrounded by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span>
ditch, and strengthened by a rampart of mud and trees, a work
which the Roman legions would level to the earth in a brief space
of time. Though beaten and forced from his capital, the British
prince retreated upon another fortress further into the wood;
from this he was also driven. Still his great heart buoyed him
up; and although defeated, he determined to have another struggle
for the liberty of his unworthy country, and despatched messengers
into Kent, bidding the Britons to fall at once upon the
Roman camp and fleet. Had the prince himself been present, it
is not improbable that this daring deed would have been executed,
for he was unequalled in falling upon the enemy, and
carrying his point by surprise: but he was not; and although the
attack did honour to the valour of the brave men of Kent, it
failed. Many were slain, and the Romans returned victorious
to their camp. It wanted but the genius who meditated so bold
a stroke to have carried it into effect; had he been there, Cæsar's
eagles would never more have spread out their golden wings beneath
the triumphal arches of haughty Rome.</p>

<p>Fain would we here drop the curtain over the name of this
ancient British warrior, and leave him to sleep in the heart of
his high-piled barrow undisturbed. Alas! he was compelled to
sue to the Roman general for peace, who no doubt offered it him
willingly, conscious that, had he succeeded in his bold attempt
upon the camp and fleet, the Roman would have had to kneel for
the same grant at the foot of the Briton. Cæsar demanded
hostages, got them, and hurried off to his ships, and without
leaving a Roman troop behind, hastened with all his force to the
coast of Gaul, and never again did he set foot upon our island
shore. Over the future career of Cassivellaunus the deep midnight
of oblivion has settled down; the waves of time have washed
no further record upon that vast shore which is strewn over with
the wrecks of so many mighty deeds; the assembled druids who
chaunted his requiem, and the Cymric or Celtic bard who in
rude rhymes broke the forest echoes as he recounted his exploits
in battle, have all passed away; and but for the pen of his Roman
opponent we should never have known the bravery of that British
heart, which, nearly two thousand years ago, beat with hopes and
fears like our own.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">CARACTACUS, BOADICEA, AND AGRICOLA.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And many an orphan's water-standing eye,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And orphans for their parents' timeless death,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did rue the hour that ever thou wert born."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">For nearly a century after the departure of Cæsar, we have no
records of the events which transpired in England; that the inhabitants
made some progress in civilization during that period
is all we know; for there can be but little doubt that a few of
the Roman soldiers remained behind, and settled in the island
after the first invasion, and introduced some degree of refinement
amongst the tribes with whom they peaceably dwelt. No
attempt, however, was made, during this long interval, to fortify
the island against any future invasion; and when the Roman
commander, Plautius, landed, about ninety-seven years after the
retirement of Cæsar, he met with no resistance until he had led
his army some distance into the inland country. After a time
a few skirmishes took place&mdash;some of the tribes submitted&mdash;but
nothing like a determined resistance seems to have been offered
to the Roman arms, until Plautius had extended his victories
beyond the Severn, and compelled the Britons to retreat into the
marshes beside the Thames. Here it was that the Roman commander
first learned to estimate aright the valour of the force
he had to contend against; for the bogs and swamps which had
so often checked the meditated movements of Cæsar, proved
nearly fatal to the force headed by Plautius, who, after suffering
a severe loss, retreated to a secure position beside the Thames.
In this strong encampment he calmly awaited the arrival of the
Emperor Claudius, who, after a time, joined him with a considerable
reinforcement&mdash;just stayed long enough to look round
him&mdash;received the submission of a few petty states&mdash;and then
returned most triumphantly to Rome; for it is questionable
whether he ever fought a single battle. It is at this period that
the figure of Caractacus heaves up slowly above the scene; we
see him but dimly and indistinctly at first, but, after a time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span>
he towers above all his compeers, as Cassivellaunus did in the
days of Cæsar. We see him moving now and then between the
divided legions commanded by Vespasian and Plautius, but
nothing of importance is done on either side. The Isle of
Wight is for a short time subdued; a small portion of the island
south of the Thames is occupied by the invaders; then Plautius
is recalled to Rome, and before he well arrives at the imperial
city, the whole camp is in disorder; the Roman legions can no
longer protect the states that have submitted to them. Caractacus
is up, armed, and in earnest. Ostorius Scapula next
appears, and places himself at the head of the Roman ranks,
strikes an unexpected blow in the midst of winter, and gains
some advantage over the Britons. About this time it appears
that the Romans first commenced the erection of forts in the
island, thus keeping the conquered states within well-guarded
lines, and protecting them from the attacks of the unsubdued
tribes, taking good care, at the same time, that they did not
escape and join their independent countrymen. His next step
was to disarm all the states within these limits; and as some of
them had become willing allies, rebellion soon broke out within
these circumscribed bounds. Once disarmed, it will readily
be imagined how easily they were beaten. Ostorius had now
work enough on his hands; the tribes that occupied the present
counties of York and Lancashire next arose, attacked the
Roman legions, and were defeated. It was then that the ancient
Silures sprang up, the bravest of all the British tribes, the true
Cimbrii of early renown. The battle-ground now shifts into
Wales, and Caractacus is the commander. Almost every mountain-pass
and ford were familiar to him; his renown already rang
through the island; wherever the Roman eagle had bowed its
haughty neck, he had been present; the Roman general knew
with whom he had to deal, and moved forward with all his available
force. Around the standard of Caractacus had rallied every
tribe from the surrounding country, who refused to bow their
necks to the invaders. Tacitus says that he chose his ground
with great skill, in the centre of steep and difficult hills, raising
ramparts of massive stones, where the ascent was possible; while
between his army and the road by which the Romans must
approach, there flowed a river which it was difficult to ford. As
the enemy drew near, he exhorted his soldiers to remember how
their forefathers had driven Cæsar from Britain, spake to them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span>
of freedom, their homes, their wives and children, in a style
which the Roman historians would have pronounced eloquent,
had the address flowed from the mouth of one of their own generals.
The Britons again were conquered, though they fought
bravely&mdash;their naked bosoms and helmetless heads were sure
marks for every well-tempered Roman blade, while their own
copper swords bent back at the first thrust they made at their
mail-clad enemies. Caractacus was not slain, though he only
escaped to be given up in chains to the Romans by his treacherous
stepmother, Cartismanda, after having for nine years waged
war against the invaders of Britain. The British leader was
dragged (with his wife and children) a prisoner to Rome; his
fame had flown before him, and the Romans, who ever respected
valour, crowded round to look at the renowned island chief. He
alone, of all the British captives, shrunk not when brought before
the Roman emperor, Claudius. There was a noble bearing
about the man: that eye which had never quailed before the
keen edge of the uplifted blade in battle&mdash;that heart which had
never sunk, though it was the last to retreat from the hard
fought field, buoyed him up in the presence of his enemy, and
the noble Roman ordered his chains to be struck off, an act
which did honour to the successor of Cæsar. Caractacus would
have done the same, had Claudius obtained the same renown,
and so stood a captive before him. Whether the brave barbarian
died in some contest with a gladiator in the arena of Rome,
"butchered to make a holiday" in a later day, before Nero, or
returned to his country, or joined the legions of his conquerors,
and fell fighting in some foreign land, we know not&mdash;we see his
chains struck off before the Emperor Claudius, then he vanishes
for ever from the page of history.</p>

<div id="ip_33" class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;"><img src="images/i_055.jpg" width="411" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Caractacus carried captive to Rome.</i></div></div>

<p>Even this undoubted victory was of but little advantage to
the Roman arms. The Silures proved themselves worthy descendants
of the ancient Cymry, the terror of whose name, as
we have before shown, had in former times carried consternation
even to the very gates of Rome. They broke up the enemy's
camp, fell upon their lines and forts, drove the Roman legions
back to their old intrenchments, and, but for the timely arrival
of a party of foragers, would have cut up every soldier within
the Roman encampment in Wales. Nor could Ostorius, when
he brought up all his legions to battle, conquer them again.
One skirmish was but the forerunner of another; the Britons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span>
but retreated to-day, to advance with stronger force on the morrow;
until at last, harassed and vexed, ever fighting but obtaining
no advantage, the commander, who had conquered Caractacus,
fortified himself within his camp, and died. He was the
bravest general that the Britons had ever looked upon since the
days of Cæsar. Pass we by Frontinus, Didius, and Veranius;
there are other shadows to pass over this dimly-lighted stage of
our history, who "will do strange deeds and then depart."</p>

<p>Wearied and harassed by such a succession of invasions, the
chiefs of the druids, with many of the Britons who refused to
submit to the Roman yoke, retired to the island of Anglesey,
that they might, amid its shadowy groves and deep passes, follow
their religious rites without molestation, and sleep securely
without being aroused by the din of arms which was ever awakening
the echoes that dwelt amongst gloomy Albion's white
cliffs. To this island, guarded more by the terrors of superstition
than the substantial array of arms, the Roman commander,
Paulinus Suetonius, determined to cross; and to accomplish his
purpose, he built a number of flat-bottomed boats in which he
placed his troops. As the invading force neared the opposite
shore, they were struck with terror by the strange scene which
rose before them, and many a Roman heart that had never before
quailed in the stormy front of battle, stood appalled before the
dreaded array which had there congregated. It seemed as if they
had reached the shores of the fabulous Hades of their ancient
poets; for there women were seen rushing in every direction in
dresses on which were woven the forms of dismal objects; and
while their long dishevelled hair streamed out in the sea-breeze,
they brandished their flaming torches aloft as they rushed to
and fro, their eyes glaring wildly out of the dense smoke, as it
blew back again in their angry faces, while they looked out
"fierce as the furies, terrible as hell." Behind them were the
grim druids collected, with hands and eyes uplifted, as they invoked
the curses of the gods upon the heads of the Roman legions;
before them the huge fires which were already kindled, blazed and
crackled, and shot out their consuming tongues of flame, as if
they were hungry for their prey, while the druids pointed to the
invading force, and bade their warriors hasten and bring their
victims to the sacrifice. The Roman soldiers seemed paralysed;
they stood almost motionless, as if they had not power to strike
a blow. They fell back affrighted before the lighted torches of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span>
the women, and the curses of the druids, which struck more
terror into their souls than if the thunder of a thousand war-chariots
had borne down upon them, in all their headlong array.
Aroused at last by the voice of their leader, who bade them to
despise a force of frantic women and praying priests, they rushed
boldly on, even to the very foot of the dreaded fires; and many
a bearded druid was that day driven before the points of the
Roman spears into the devouring flames which they had kindled
for the destruction of their invaders. Dreadful was the carnage
that ensued; even the sacred groves were fired or cut down; if
the Britons escaped the flames, it was but to rush back again
upon the points of the Roman swords&mdash;the sun sunk upon a
scene of desolation and death&mdash;a landscape blackened with ashes&mdash;fires
that had been extinguished by blood, whose grey embers
faded and died out, as the last sobs of the expiring victims subsided
into the eternal silence of death.</p>

<p>The spirit of British vengeance, though asleep, was not yet
dead, and at the rumour of these dreadful deeds it sprang up,
awake and armed, on the opposite shore; as if the blow which
struck down their sacred groves, and overthrew their ancient
altars, had sent a shock across the straits of Menai, which had
been felt throughout the whole length and breadth of the land;
as if at the fall of the sacred groves of Mona the spirits of the
departed dead had rushed across, while the voices of the murdered
druids filled all the air with their wailing cries of lamentation,
until even women sprang up demanding vengeance, and Boadicea
leaped into her war-chariot, as if to rebuke the British warriors by
her presence, and to show them that the soul of a woman, loathing
their abject slavery, was ready to lead them on to either liberty
or death, and to place her fair form in the dangerous front of
battle&mdash;for her white shoulders had not escaped the mark of the
Roman scourge. Her daughters had been violated before her
eyes, her subjects driven from their homes, the whole territory
of the Iceni over which she reigned as queen groaned again
beneath the weight of cruelty, and oppression, and wrong; her
subjects were made slaves; her relations were dragged into captivity
by the haughty conquerors; her priests slaughtered; her
altars overthrown, and another creed thrust into the throats of
those over whom she ruled, at the points of the Roman swords.
Her sufferings, her birth, the death of her husband king Prasutagus,
her towering spirit, her bold demeanour, and the energy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span>
her address, struck like an electric shock throughout all the surrounding
tribes, and many a state which had bowed in abject submission
beneath the haughty feet of the conquerors, now sprang
up, and as if endowed with a new life, rushed onward to the
great mustering ground of battle, like clouds hastening up to join
the dark mass which gathers about the dreaded thunder-storm,
before the deafening explosion bursts forth.</p>

<p>On the Roman colony of Camaladonum did this terrible tempest
first break, scattering before it a whole Roman legion, and
scarcely leaving one alive behind to tell the tale. The voices of
pity and mercy were unheard amid that dire and revengeful
din; no quarter was given, no prisoners were made; blinded
with revenge, stung to madness by the remembrance of their
grievous wrongs, the assailants rushed forward, sparing neither
age nor sex; destruction seemed to have set all her dreadful instruments
at once to work, and in a few days upwards of seventy
thousand Romans perished by the gibbet, the fire, and the
sword. Such of the Roman officers as could escape, fled to
their galleys, and hurried off to Gaul. Even Suetonius, who
had hastened back at the first rumour of this dreadful carnage,
was compelled to abandon London, already a place of some distinction,
in despair, and hurry off with his legions into the open
provinces. As he retreated, the Britons entered; and out of
the vast multitude which a few hours before those walls had
inclosed, scarcely a soul remained alive. The Roman soldiers
rushed into their temples to avoid the assailants; the figure of
the goddess of Victory which they worshipped fell to the
ground; the females ran wailing and shrieking into the streets,
into the council chambers, into the theatres, with their children
in their arms. In the red sunsets of the evening sky their
heated imagination traced moving and blood-coloured phantoms,
colonies in ruins, and overthrown temples, whose pillars were
stained with human gore, and in the ridges which the receding
tide left upon the shore, their fancies conjured up the carcases
of the dead. Before the desolating forces of the stern
Boadicea ran Fear and Terror, with trembling steps and pale
looks; by her side grim Destruction, and blood-dyed Carnage
stalked, while behind marched Death, taking no note of Sorrow,
and Grief, and Silence, whom he left together to mourn amid
the solitude of those unpeopled ruins. Meantime, Suetonius,
having strengthened his army to a force which now amounted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span>
to upwards of ten thousand men, chose the most favourable
position for his troops, where he awaited the arrival of the
Britons to commence the battle. Nor had he to wait long; for,
flushed with victory, and reeking fresh from the carnage, the
assailants came up, with Boadicea, thundering in her war-chariot,
at their head, and soon drew together in the order of
battle. The Romans were now actuated by feelings of revenge.</p>

<p>With her long yellow hair unbound, and falling in clusters
far below the golden chain which encircled her waist, her dark
eyes flashing vengeance as she glanced angrily aside to where
the Roman legions were drawn up in the distance, (an impenetrable
mass, looking in their coats of mail like a wall of steel,
bristling with swords and spears,) and with the curved crimson
of her cruel lip haughtily upturned, Boadicea rose tall and queen-like
from the war-chariot in which her weeping daughters were
seated, and turning to the assembled tribes who hemmed her
round with a forest of tall spears, she raised her hand to command
silence; and when the busy murmur of subdued applause
which acknowledged her bravery had died away, she bade them
remember the wrongs they had to revenge, the weight of
oppression which had so long bowed their necks to the dust; the
sword, and fire, and famine, which had desolated their fair land;
their sons and daughters carried off and doomed to all the
miseries of slavery; their priests ruthlessly butchered at the
foot of the altar; their ancient groves hewn to the ground
by sacrilegious hands, and consumed by fire; she pointed to
her daughters whom the invaders had violated, and raising
her white and rounded arm, showed the marks which the
scourge of the ruffianly Catus had left behind; then brandishing
her spear aloft, she shook the loosened reins over her restive
steeds, and was soon lost in the thickest of the battle. But the
lapse of a century, and the many battles in which they had
fought, had not yet enabled the Britons to stand firm before the
shock of the Roman legions. They were defeated with tremendous
slaughter; and the queen, who had so nobly revenged
her country's wrongs, only escaped the carnage to perish by
her own hand. Even down the dim vista of time we can yet
perceive her; the flower of her army lying around dead; the
remnant routed and pursued by the merciless Romans, while
she, heartbroken, hopeless, and alone, sacrifices her own life;
and though but a heathen, does a deed which in that barbarous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span>
age would have ennobled her had she been born in the country
of her civilized invaders, who would proudly have erected a
statue to her memory in that city whose haughty emperors proclaimed
themselves the conquerors of the world. Little did the
vanquishers dream a woman would spring up and emulate the
deeds of their most renowned warriors, and that the fair barbarian
would in after ages leave behind her a more than Roman
name.</p>

<p>But neither the destruction of the druids, the death of Boadicea,
nor the destruction of her immense army, enabled the
Romans to extend their possessions with safety in the island.
They were ever, as in the days of Cæsar, upon the defensive; no
colony, unless a legion of soldiers were encamped in the immediate
neighbourhood, was safe; and even after defeating the queen of
the Iceni, and receiving a great force of both infantry and cavalry,
Suetonius left the island unconquered, and the war unfinished,
and returned to Rome.</p>

<p>It is a pleasure to turn from these scenes of slaughter, to find
that the next Roman general of note who came over to govern
Britain, subdued more tribes by the arts of peace, and by kindness,
than all his predecessors had done by the force of arms. Such is
the power of genius, that we seem again to be in the company of
one we have long known; for Agricola was the father-in-law of
Tacitus, the eloquent historian, and there is but little doubt that
the record of the few facts we are in possession of connected with
this period were dictated by the general himself to his highly gifted
son-in-law; we can almost in fancy see the grey-headed veteran
and the author seated together in some Roman villa discoursing
about these "deeds of other days." He had served under Suetonius,
was present at that dreadful massacre in the island of
Anglesey, where men, women, and children were so mercilessly
butchered&mdash;had with his own eyes looked upon Boadicea. What
would we not now give to know all that he had seen? To write
this portion of our history with his eyes&mdash;to go on from page to
page recording what he witnessed from day to day&mdash;to have him
seated by our hearth now as he no doubt many a time sat beside
Tacitus. What word-pictures would we then paint&mdash;what wild
scenes would we portray!</p>

<p>It was Agricola who first taught the ancient Britons to erect
better houses, to build walled cities instead of huts; who bestowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span>
praise upon their improvements, instructed them in the Roman
language, and persuaded them to adopt a more civilized costume;
to erect baths and temples; to improve their agriculture; and thus
by degrees he so led them on from step to step, that instead of a
race of rude barbarians, they began to assume the aspect of a
more civilized nation. Still he had to contend with old and
stubborn tribes, who held it a disgrace to adopt any other manners
than those of their rude forefathers&mdash;the same difficulties
beset the path of the Norman on a later day&mdash;the same obstacles
are met with in Ireland at the present hour&mdash;pride, indolence,
ignorance, and a host of other evils have first to be
uprooted before the better seed can be sown. It would but be
wearisome to follow the footsteps of the Roman general through
all his campaigns; before him the imperial eagles were borne to
the very foot of the Grampian hills; he erected forts for the
better protection of the country he had conquered, and the huge
rampart which ran from the Frith of Clyde to the Forth was
begun under Agricola. He appears to have been the first of the
Roman commanders who brought his legions in contact with the
Caledonians, or men of the woods, and even there he met with a
formidable opponent in the Caledonian chief named Galgacus; the
same struggle for liberty was made there as in England&mdash;battles,
bloodshed, death, and desolation are about all that history records
of these campaigns, if we except what may be called a voyage of
discovery; for it appears that the Roman general sailed round
the coast of Scotland to the Land's End in Cornwall, and thence
to the point from which he had first started&mdash;supposed to
be Sandwich&mdash;being the first of the Roman generals who, from
personal observation, discovered that Britain was an island.
Shortly after completing this voyage Agricola was recalled to
Rome. The next period of our history carries us to other conflicts,
which took place before those mighty bulwarks that the
Roman conquerors built up to keep back the northern invaders,
who in their turn overran England with more success than the
Romans had done before them. It was then a war between the
Romans and the Picts and Scots, instead of, as before, between
the Romans and the Britons. Although they doubtless originally
descended from the same Celtic race, yet through the lapse of
years, and their having lingered for some time in Ireland and in
Gaul, we are entangled in so many doubts, that all we can clearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span>
comprehend is, that three different languages were spoken in
the island of Britain at this period, namely, Welsh, Irish, and
another; but whether the latter was Gothic or Pictish, learned
men who have dedicated long years of study to the subject have
not yet determined by what name it is to be distinguished.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">DEPARTURE OF THE ROMANS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"He looked and saw wide territory spread<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Before him; towns and rural works between,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cities of men, with lofty gates and towers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Concourse in arms, fierce forces threatening war&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Assaulting: others, from the wall defend<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With dart and javelin, stones and sulphurous fire:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Milton's Paradise Lost, Book XI.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The fortified line erected by Agricola was soon broken through
by the northern tribes, and the Emperor Adrian erected a
much stronger barrier, though considerably within the former;
and this extended from the Tyne to the Solway, crossing
the whole breadth of that portion of the island. Urbicus,
as if determined that the Romans should not lose an inch
of territory which they had once possessed, restored the more
northern boundary which Adrian had abandoned, and once
more stretched the Roman frontier between the Friths of
Clyde and Forth; they thus possessed two walls, the more
northern one, first begun by Agricola, and the southern one,
erected by Adrian. Forts were built at little more than a
mile distant from each other along this line, and a broad rampart
ran within the wall, by which troops could readily
march from one part to another. This outer barrier was
the scene where many a hard contest took place, and in the
reign of Commodus it was again broken down, and the country
ravaged up to the very foundations of the wall of Adrian.
This skirmishing and besieging, building up and breaking
down of barriers, lasted for nearly a century, during which
period scarcely a single event transpired in Britain of sufficient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span>
importance to be recorded, though there is every proof
that the Britons were, in the meantime, making rapid strides
in civilization; for England rested securely under the guardianship
of the Roman arms. The battles fought at the
northern barriers disturbed not the tranquillity of the southern
parts of the island. It was not until the commencement of
the third century, when old and gouty, and compelled to be
borne at the head of his army in a litter, that the Emperor
Severus determined to conquer the Caledonians, and boldly
sallied out for that purpose beyond the northern frontier.
His loss was enormous, and between war with the natives,
and the wearisome labour in making roads, felling forests,
and draining marshes, which had hitherto been impassable to
the Roman troops, fifty thousand soldiers were sacrificed. Nothing
daunted, however, the gouty old emperor still pressed
onward, until he reached the Frith of Moray, and was struck
with the difference in the length of the days, and shortness of
the nights, compared with those in southern latitudes. Saving
making a few new roads, and receiving the submission of the
few tribes who chanced to lie in his way, he appears to have
done nothing towards conquering this hardy race; so he returned
to Newcastle, and began to build a stronger barrier than any of
his predecessors had hitherto erected. On the northern side of
this immense wall, he caused a deep ditch to be dug, about
thirty-six feet wide, while the wall itself was twelve feet in
height; thus, from the bottom of the ditch on the northern side
there rose a barrier about twenty-five feet high, which was also
further strengthened by a large number of fortifications, and
above three hundred turrets. But before Severus had well
completed his gigantic labours, the Caledonians had again over-leaped
the more northern barrier, and fought their way up to
the new trenches. The grey-headed old hero vowed vengeance,
and swore by "Mars the Red," that he would spare neither
age nor sex. Death, who is sometimes merciful, kindly stepped
in, and instead of allowing him to swing in his litter towards new
scenes of slaughter, cut short his contemplated campaign at York,
about the year two hundred and eleven; and after his death, the
northern barrier was again given up to the Caledonians.</p>

<p>A wearisome time must it have been to those old Roman
legions, who had to keep guard on that long, monotonous wall,
which went stretching for nearly seventy miles over hill and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span>
valley; nothing but a desolate country to look over, or that wide,
yawning, melancholy ditch to peep into from the battlements, or
a beacon-fire to light on the top of the turret, as a signal that
the barbarians were approaching. An occasional skirmish must
have been a relief to that weary round of every-day life, made
up in marches from fort to fort, where there was no variety,
saving in a change of sentries&mdash;no relief excepting now and
then sallying out for forage; for between the outer and
inner wall, the whole country seems at this period to have
been a wilderness&mdash;a silent field of death, in which the
bones of many a brave man were left to bleach in the bleak
wind, and from which only the croak of the raven and the howl
of the wolf came upon the long dark midnights that settled
down over those ancient battlements. Sometimes the bold barbarians
sailed round the end of the wall in their wicker boats,
covered with "black bull's hide," and landed within the Roman
intrenchments, or spread consternation amongst the British villages;
but with the exception of an occasional inroad like this,
the whole of the northern part of the island appears to have
been quiet for nearly another century, during which the
Roman arms seem to have become weakened, and the British
tribes to have given themselves up more to the arts of peace
than of war. Such privileges as were granted to the Roman
citizens, were also now extended to the Britons; and under the
dominion of Caracalla, the successor of Severus, there is but
little doubt that the southern islanders settled peaceably down
in their homesteads (now comfortable abodes), and began to be
somewhat more Romanized in their manners, that marriages
took place between the Romans and the Britons, and that love
and peace had now settled down side by side, in those very spots
which the stormy spirits of Cassivellaunus, Caractacus, and
Boadicea had formerly passed over. The wheels of the dreaded
war-chariots seem to have rested on their axles; we scarcely
meet with the record of a single revolt amongst the native tribes,
excepting those beyond the wall of Adrian. Through the pages
of Gildas we catch glimpses of strange miracles, and see the
shadow of the cross falling over the old druidical altars, but
nothing appears distinct; and although we may doubt many passages
in the writings of this our earliest historian, it would be
uncharitable to the memory of the dead even to entertain a
thought that he wilfully falsified a single fact. The only marvel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span>
is, that, living in an age when so few could write&mdash;when only
common rumours were floating about him&mdash;when he was surrounded
with the faint outlines of old traditions, he should
have piled together so many facts which are borne out by contemporary
history. To place no faith in the narrative of Gildas,
is to throw overboard the writings of the venerable Bede, and
float over the sea of time for many a long year, without a single
record to guide us. Although we have confidence in many of these
ancient chronicles of the undefended dead, we shall pass on
to undisputed facts, founded upon their faint records; for we
have scarcely any other light to guide us through these dark
caverns, which the ever-working hand of slow-consuming Time
hath hollowed out.</p>

<p>About the commencement of the fourth century, a new enemy
made its appearance upon the British coast, and though it only
at first flitted about from place to place like a shadow, it at last
fixed itself firmly upon the soil, never again to be wholly
obliterated. This was the Saxon&mdash;not at that period the only
enemy which beside the Caledonians invaded Britain, for there
were others&mdash;Scandinavian pirates, ever ready with their long
ships to dart across the British channel upon our coast. These
invaders were kept at bay for a time by a bold naval commander
called Carausius, supposed himself originally to have been a
pirate, and occasionally to have countenanced the inroads of the
enemy; and on this account, or from the dreaded strength of his
powerful fleet, a command was issued from Rome to put him to
death. He, however, continued for some time to keep the
mastery of the British Channel, defied Rome and all its powers,
assumed the chief command over Britain, and was at last
stabbed by the hand of his own confidential minister at York.
Allectus, Constantine, Chlorus, and Constantine the Great,
follow each other in succession, each doing their allotted work,
then fading away into Egyptian darkness, scarcely leaving a
record behind beyond their names; for the eyes of the Roman
eagle were now beginning to wax dim, and a fading light was
fast settling down upon the Eternal city, and gloomy and
ominous shadows were ever seen flitting athwart the golden disc
whose rounded glory had so long fallen unclouded upon the
Imperial city. Even in Britain the wall of Severus had been
broken through, a Roman general slain, and London itself
pillaged by these hordes of barbarians. The plunderers were,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span>
however, attacked by Theodosius, the spoils retaken, and the
inhabitants, whom they were driving before them in chains,
liberated. These assailants are supposed to have been mingled
bodies of the Picts, Scots, and Saxons, and the addition of
Saxonicus was added to the name of Theodosius, in honour of
this victory.</p>

<p>The Roman soldiers in Britain now began to elect their own
generals, and to shake off their allegiance to the Emperor:
one undoubted cause for so few legions being found in England
at this period, and a proof that that once mighty arm had already
grown too weak to strike any effective blow in the distant territories.
Chief amongst those elected to this high rank in Britain
stood Maximus, who might doubtless have obtained undisputed
possession of the British Island, had not his ambition led him to
grasp at that portion of the Roman empire which was in the
possession of Gratian. To accomplish this, he crossed over to
Gaul with nearly all his island force, thus leaving Britain almost
defenceless, and at the mercy of the Picts, and Scots, and
Saxons, who were ever on the look-out for plunder. He attained
his object, and lost his life, having been betrayed and put
to death by Theodosius the Great, under whose sway the eastern
and western empire of Rome was again united. Alaric the
Goth was now pouring his armed legions into Italy, and to
meet this overwhelming force, Germany, and Gaul, and Britain
were drained of their troops, and our island again left a prey to
the old invaders, who no doubt reaped another rich harvest;
for the Britons, no longer able to defend themselves against
these numerous hordes of barbarians, were compelled to apply
for assistance to Rome. Probably some time elapsed before the
required aid was sent, for we cannot conceive that Stilicho
would part with a single legion until after he had won the
battle of Pollentia, and seen the routed army of Alaric in full
retreat. Such was the penalty Britain paid for her progress in
civilization,&mdash;the flower of her youth were carried off to fight
and fall in foreign wars,&mdash;and when she most needed the powerful
arms of her native sons to protect her, they were attacking the
enemies of Rome in a distant land, and leaving their own
island-home a prey to new invaders. Nor was this all: when
the arms of Rome had grown too feeble to protect Britain,&mdash;when
beside their own legions, the country had been drained of almost
every available soldier&mdash;when in every way it was weakened, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span>
scarcely possessed the power to make any defence, it was deserted
by the Romans, left almost prostrate at the feet of Pictish,
Scottish, and Saxon hordes, either to sue for mercy on the best
terms that could be obtained, or to perish, from its very helplessness.
Alas! Rome could no longer defend herself, her glory
had all but departed; and the Britons, who for about two
centuries had never been allowed to defend themselves, and
were now almost strangers to arms, were left to combat a force
which many a time had driven back the Roman legions.</p>

<p>The few Roman troops that yet remained in Britain began
to elect and depose their own commanders at pleasure. They
first chose Marcus, allowed him to rule for a short period, then
put him to death. Gratian was next elevated to power, bowed
down to and obeyed for three or four months, then murdered.
Their next choice fell upon Constantine, influenced, it is said,
by his high-sounding name; and it almost appears, by his carrying
over his forces to Gaul, as Maximus had done before him,
and aiming at a wider stretch of territory, that he scarcely
thought Britain worth reigning over. Numbers of the brave
British youth were sacrificed to his ambition; and England seems
at this time to have only been a great nursery for foreign wars.
Gerontius, who appears to have been a British chief, now rose
to some influence, and basely betrayed his countrymen by
entering into a league with the Picts, and Scots, and Saxons, and
no doubt sharing the plunder they took from the wretched
Britons; he also appears to have carried an armed force out of
the island, probably raised by means of the bargain he made
with the barbarians; he was pursued into Spain by the troops
of the Roman emperor, Honorius; fled into a house for shelter
after the battle; it was set fire to, and he perished in the flames&mdash;a
dreadful death, yet almost merited by such a traitorous act
as, first selling his country to these northern robbers and pirates,
carrying off those who were able to protect her, and then
leaving his kindred a prey to the barbarians. The Britons, in
their misery, again applied for help to Rome: Honorius could
render none, so he sent them such a letter as a cold friend,
wearied out by repeated applications, sometimes pens to a poor,
broken-down bankrupt; he could do nothing for them, they
must now assist themselves; he forgave them the allegiance
they owed, but had not a soldier to spare. So were the
Britons blessed with a liberty which was of no use to them;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>
they were left to shift for themselves, like an old slave, who,
instead of being a help, becomes an encumbrance to his task-master,
who, to get rid of him, "God blesses him," and turns him
out a free man, with the privilege to beg, or starve, or perish,
unless in his old helpless age he can provide for himself. Not
that the Roman emperor was so unkind in himself; he would
perhaps have assisted the Britons if he could; he was but one
in a long chain of evils, and that the last, and least powerful,
which, by disarming the Britons, and draining off all their strength
to feed other channels, had reduced them to their present helpless
state. True, they had now temples, and baths, and pillared
porticoes, and splendid galleries, and mosaic pavements,
and beautifully shaped earthen-vessels; had some knowledge of
Roman literature, and, above all, Roman freedom. Alas! alas!
their old forest fortresses, and neglected war-chariots, and rude
huts, guarded by the dangerous morass, and quaking bog,
would now have stood them in better stead; their splendid
mansions were but temptations to the barbarians, their broad,
firm roads so many open doors to the robbers. They may not
inaptly be compared to some poor family, left in a large and
splendid mansion in some dangerous neighbourhood, which the
owner has deserted, with all his retinue and wealth, for fear
of the thieves and murderers who were ever assailing him,
leaving only behind a book or two for their amusement, a
few useless statues to gaze upon, and but little beside great
gaping galleries, whose very echoes were alarming to the new
possessors. Sir Walter Scott has beautifully said, when
speaking of the Romans leaving the Britons in this defenceless
state, that "Their parting exhortation to them to stand in
their own defence, and their affectation of having, by abandoning
the island, restored them to freedom, were as cruel as it
would be to dismiss a domesticated bird or animal to shift for
itself, after having been from its birth fed and supplied by the
hand of <span class="locked">man."<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a></span> Strange retribution, that whilst the sun of
Rome should from this period sink never to rise again in its
former glory, that of Britain should slowly emerge from the
storm and clouds which threatened nothing but future darkness,
and burst at last into a golden blaze, whose brightness now gilds
the remotest regions of the earth.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span></p>
<p>But Britain had still a few sons left, worthy of the names
which their brave forefathers bore; the blood of Boadicea still
flowed in their veins; it might have been thinned by the luxury
of the Roman bath, and deadened by long inactivity, but
though it only ran sluggishly, it was still the same as had
roused the strong hearts of Cassivellaunus and Caractacus
when the Roman trumpets brayed defiance at the gates of their
forest cities. There was still liberty or death left to struggle
for; the Roman freedom they threw down in disdain, and
trampled upon the solemn mockery; and when they once cast off
this poisoned garment, they arose like men inspired with a new
life; they seemed to look about as if suddenly aroused from
some despairing dream&mdash;as if astonished to hear their old island
waves rolling upon a beach unploughed by the keel of a Roman
galley&mdash;as if wondering that they had not before broken
through those circumscribed lines, and forts, and ramparts,
while they were yet guarded with the few Roman sentinels;
they saw the sunshine streaming upon their broad meadows, and
old forests, and green hills, and tall pale-faced cliffs, turning to gold
every ripple that came from afar to embrace the sparkling sands
of the white beach, and they felt that such a beautiful country
was never intended to become the home of slaves. They shed
a few natural tears when they remembered how many of their
sons and daughters had been borne over those billows in the
gilded galleys of the invaders; they recalled the faces they had
seen depart for ever over the lessening waves; the mother
weeping over her son; the manacled father, whose "eyes burnt
and throbbed, but had no tears;" the pale-cheeked British
maidens, who sat with their faces buried in their hands, as,
amid the distant sound of Roman music, their lovers were hurried
away to leave their bones bleaching upon some foreign shore;
and they would have fallen down and prostrated themselves
upon the ground for very sorrow, had not the thunder of their
northern invaders rung with a startling sound upon their ears,
and they felt thankful that much work yet remained to be done,
and that they were now left to fight their own battles, even as
their forefathers had fought, in the dearly remembered days of
their ancient glory.</p>

<p>With a population so thinned as it must have been by the heavy
drainage made from time to time from the flower of its youth, we
can readily conceive how difficult it was to defend the wall which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span>
Severus had erected, after the departure of the Romans. But
we cannot imagine that the Britons would hesitate to abandon a
position which they could no longer maintain, or waste their
strength at an outer barrier when the enemy had already
marched far into the country. On this point the venerable
Gildas must have been misinformed, and the narrative of Zosimus
is, beyond doubt, the correct one. From his history it is
evident that the Britons rose up and boldly defended themselves
from the northern invaders; they also deposed the Roman rulers
that still lingered in the British cities, and who, no longer overawed
by the dictates of the emperor, doubtless hoped to establish
themselves as kings, or chiefs, amongst the different tribes
they had so long held in thrall. But the Britons threw off this
foreign yoke, and at last rooted out all that remained of the
power of Rome. Thus, beside the Picts and Scots, who were
ever pouring in their ravaging hordes from the north, and the
Saxons, who came with almost every favourable breeze which
blew, to the British shore, there was an old and stubborn foe to
uproot, and one which had for above four centuries retained a
tenacious hold of our island soil. Many of the Romans who
remained were in possession of splendid mansions, and large
estates, and as the imperial city was now over-run with bands of
barbarians, they were loath to leave a land abounding with plenty,
for a country then shaken to its very centre by the thunder of
war. Though not clearly stated, there is strong reason for believing
that these very Romans, who were so reluctant to quit Britain,
connived at the ravages of the Picts and Scots, as if hoping, by
their aid, once more to establish themselves in the island.</p>

<p>This was a terrible time for the struggling Britons&mdash;it was
no longer a war in which offers of peace were made, and hostages
received, but a contest between two powers, for the very
soil on which they trod. This the islanders knew, and though
often sorely depressed and hardly driven, they still continued
to look the storm in the face. Every man had now his
own household to fight for&mdash;the Roman party was led on by
Aurelius Ambrosius, the British headed by Vortigern; a name
which they long remembered and detested, for the misery it
brought into the land. As for Rome, she had no longer
leisure to turn her eye upon the distant struggle, for Attila
and his Goths were now baying at her heels; there was a cry
of wailing and lamentation in her towered streets, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span>
wide landscape which stretched at her imperial feet, was blackened
by the fire of the destroyer. She had no time, either to
look on or send assistance to either party; and when Ætius had
read the petition sent by the Britons, who complained that "the
barbarians chase us into the sea; the sea throws us back upon
the barbarians; and we have only the hard choice left us of
perishing by the sword or by the waves," he doubtless cast it
aside, and exclaimed, "I also am beset by a host of enemies, and
cannot help you:" a grim smile, perhaps, for a moment lighting
up his features, as he recalled the Romans who, false to their
country, had basely lingered in the British island, and thus
deserted him in the hour of need; and as the stern shadow again
settled down upon his features, he consoled himself for a moment
by thinking that they also had met with their reward&mdash;then
again prepared to defend himself against the overwhelming
force of Attila.</p>

<p>Harassed on all sides, the Britons now began to look to
other quarters for aid, for they appear to have assembled at
last under one head, and to have been guided in their course
by Vortigern. The character of this ancient British king
is placed in so many various lights by the historians who
have recorded the events of this obscure period, that it is impossible
to get at the truth. What he did, is tolerably clear;
nor are we altogether justified in ascribing his motives only to
self advancement; pressed within and without by powerful enemies,
he, no doubt, sought assistance from the strongest side,
though it is not evident that he ever made any formal offer. He
must have had some acquaintance with the Saxons, whom he
enlisted in his cause&mdash;it is improbable that he would hail an
enemy, standing out at sea with his ships&mdash;invite him to land
and attack a foe, with whom this very stranger had been
leagued. One man might have done so, but what Vortigern did
had, doubtless, the sanction of the British chiefs who were assembled
around him at the time. They must have had strong
faith in the Saxons, and it is not improbable that some of
them had been allowed to settle in the Isle of Thanet&mdash;had
already aided the Britons in their wars against the Romans,
who were located in the island, as well as against their northern
invaders, before they were intrusted with the defence of Britain.
But we must first glance at the England of that day before we
introduce our Saxon ancestors&mdash;the "grey forefathers" of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span>
native land, whose very language outlived that of their Norman
conquerors, and who blotted out almost every trace of the
ancient Britons by their power&mdash;"A tribe which, in the days
of Ptolemy," says Sharon Turner, in his admirable history of
the Anglo-Saxons, "just darkened the neck of the peninsula of
Jutland, and three inconsiderable islands in its neighbourhood.
One of the obscure tribes whom Providence selected, and trained
to form the nobler nations of France, Germany, and England,
and who have accomplished their distinguished destiny." These
stand dimly arrayed upon the distant shore of time, and calmly
await our coming.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">BRITAIN AFTER THE ROMAN PERIOD.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"What, though those golden eagles of the sun<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have gone for ever, and we are alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall we sit here and mourn? No! look around,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There still are in the sky trails of their glory,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in the clouds traces where they have been.&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their wings no longer shadow us with fear.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let us then soar, and from this grovelling state<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rise up, and be what they have never been."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Ode to Hope.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Britain, after the departure of the Romans, was no longer a
country covered every way with wild waving woods, dangerous
bogs, and vast wastes of reedy and unprofitable marshes.
Smooth green pastures, where flocks and herds lowed and
bleated, and long slips of corn waved in the summer sunshine,
and fruit-trees which in spring were hung with white and
crimson blossoms, and whose branches in autumn bowed beneath
the weight of heavy fruitage, now swelled above the
swampy waste, and gave a cheerful look to the grassy glade
which had made room for the bright sunshine to enter into the
very heart of those gloomy old forests. Walled towns, also,
heaved up above the landscape, and great broad brown roads went
stretching for miles through a country over which, a few centuries
before, a mounted horseman would have foundered. The
dreamy silence which once reigned for weary miles over the lonesome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span>
woodland, was now broken by the hum of human voices;
and the ancient oaks, which for many a silent year had only over-shadowed
the lairs of beasts of the chase, now overhung pleasant
footpaths, or stretched along the sides of well-frequented roads,
sure guides to the lonely wayfarer that he could no longer mistake
his course from town to town. Though many a broad
bog, and long league of wood and wilderness still lay on either
hand, yet, every here and there, the home of man rose up amid
the waste, showing that the stir of life had begun to break the
sleep of those solitudes. Instead of the shadowy avenue of trees
which marked the entrance to their forest fortresses, lofty
arches now spanned the roads which opened into their walled
streets, and above the roofs of their houses tall temples towered
in all the richness of Roman architecture, dedicated to the
classical gods and goddesses whose sculptured forms graced the
lofty domes of the imperial city. Few and far between, in the
dim groves, whose silent shadows remained undisturbed, the
tall grass climbed and drooped about the neglected altar of the
druids, and on the huge stone where the holy fire once burned,
the grey lichen and the green moss now grew. Even the Roman
sentinel, as he paced to and fro behind the lofty battlement,
sometimes halted in the midst of his measured march, and leaned
on his spear to listen to the low "Hallelujah" which came floating
with faint sound upon the air, as if fearful of awakening the
spirit of some angry idolator. In the stars which pave the
blue floor of heaven, men began to trace the form of the cross,
and to see the spirit of the dove in the white moonlight that
threw its silver upon the face of the waters, for Britain already
numbered amongst her slaughtered sons those who had suffered
martrydom for the love they bore to their crucified Redeemer.
Under the shadow of the Roman eagles had marched soldiers,
proud that they bore on their hearts the image of the cross of
Christ. In spite of the decree of Diocletian, the Gospel sound
still spread, and around the bleeding head of the British martyr
St. Alban, there shone a glory which eclipsed all the ancient
splendour of Rome. The mountains, the rivers, and the ancient
oaks, were soon to echo back the worship of the true God, and
no longer to remain the objects of idolatry. The unholy
doctrine of the druids was ere long to be unmasked, and instead
of the gloomy gods which frowned down in stone amid the
darksome groves, and whose dead eyes ever looked upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span>
melancholy water that murmured around the altars on which
they stood, the light of a benign countenance was about to break
in beauty over the British isle, and a voice to be heard, proclaiming
peace and good-will to all mankind. For the Picts and
Scots had already fallen back affrighted before the holy Hymns
of Zion, and been more startled by the loud Hallelujah chaunted
by the soldiers of Christ, who were led on by Germanus, than
ever they were by the loud braying of the brazen trumpets
of Rome. British ladies, ever foremost to tread the paths of
religion and virtue, had boldly heralded the way, and in spite
of the lowering and forbidding looks of the druids, Græcina
and Claudia had already knelt before the throne of the True
God. Though the vanguard came heavily up amid cloud and
storm, Hope, and Love, and Mercy, rode fearlessly upon the
wings of the tempest.</p>

<p>It is but just to the memory of those ancient Roman invaders,
that we should confess they never reduced to slavery and total
subjection the tribes which they conquered; that, generally, in
return for the taxes they imposed, and the expense to which they
put the invaded country, they instructed the inhabitants in the
Roman arts&mdash;and although they humbled their martial spirit, and
left the conquered tribes less able to defend themselves, still the
signs of civilization everywhere marked their course. Beside
being brave generals, the Roman commanders were also able
statesmen; nor had the Britons for centuries before, nor did they
for centuries after, sleep in that peaceful security which they
enjoyed under the sway of the wise Agricola. Though the
conquerors taxed their corn, they taught the Britons a better
method of cultivating it; though they made heavy levies
upon their cattle, they were the first to set them the example
of reclaiming many an acre of pasturage from the hitherto useless
marsh and forest. They instructed them in planting the
fruit-trees, from which the tithe was taken; and, in addition to
orchards, pointed out to them the art of dressing vineyards.
Fifteen hundred years or more may have chilled our climate,
but in those days the purple and bunchy grape drooped around
many a British homestead. The chief towns were governed
by Roman laws; London and Verulamium were already celebrated
cities, and the latter reared high its lofty towers, and
temples, and theatres, in all the architectural grandeur of Roman
art. For centuries after did many of these majestic monuments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span>
remain, even when the skeleton of the once mighty Rome
had all but crumbled into dust, as if to proclaim that the last
work of those all-dreaded conquerors was the civilization of
Britain. They divided our island into five provinces, appointed
governors and officers to administer justice, and collect taxes in
each division. Over all these a chief ruler was placed, who
was accountable for his actions to the Roman emperor, and
whose written orders were given to him in a green-covered book,
emblazoned with golden castles, when he was installed in the
dignity of his office&mdash;as, in almost all colonies, there were doubtless
many who, "clothed in authority," ruled with an iron hand
over their fellow-men; not that such always escaped&mdash;for, as
we have before stated, the revolt of Boadicea was caused by the
oppression of Roman rulers, and dreadful was the reckoning of
her vengeance.</p>

<p>We have already had occasion to remark how easily the Romans
broke through the ancient British fortresses, and how frequently
the Picts and Scots made inroads through the ramparts
erected by the Romans. Saving, however, in such works as appear
to have been hastily thrown up by the Britons, when they retreated
into their native forests, they displayed considerable skill
in the erection of their strongholds. They occasionally constructed
high walls, with blocks of granite five or six feet long, and these
they piled together without the aid of cement, digging a deep
ditch outside, to make access more difficult; and as this fortress
was built in the form of a circle, and the wall was of sufficient
thickness to permit half a dozen men to walk on it abreast, it
must, although not of such extent, have been as difficult to
storm as the barriers thrown up by the Romans. The huge
stone, supposed to weigh upwards of seven hundred tons, which
is placed on the points of two rocks in Cornwall, and the
massy blocks raised and piled on each other at Stonehenge,
show that, ages before the Roman invasion, Britain was inhabited
by a tribe whose knowledge of the power of leverage,
and skill in removing such gigantic blocks from the distant
quarries, were only surpassed by the builders of the Egyptian
Pyramids. No wonder that a race possessed of such natural
genius was, under tuition of the Roman architects, enabled to
produce such a class of workmen, that a demand was made for
them even in Gaul, and that the skill of the British mechanic
was in that early age acknowledged on the continent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span>
Industry led to wealth, and the latter to luxuries to which
the simple Britons had, before the Roman period, been entire
strangers; instead of the cloak of skin, and the dyed sagum,
those who dwelt in towns now wore the Roman toga, and the
British ladies began to decorate themselves with jewels of gold,
silver, and precious stones, instead of their own island pearls,
once so celebrated as to cause even a grave historian to attribute
the invasion of Julius Cæsar to no other motive than a
wish to fill his galley with them. They now wore bracelets
and collars of gold, and amongst the imports to Britain, we find
mention of ivory bridles, chains of gold, cups of amber, and
drinking-vessels of glass, made in the most elegant forms. A
great change had taken place in the habits of these ancient in-dwellers
of the forest, whose eyes in former days had seldom
been gladdened by a sight of such treasures, unless when brought,
now and then, by some warrior from the Gaulish wars, to be
looked on and wondered at, or caught sight of for a moment
amongst the coveted hoards of the druids. We have it on
record, that the waist of queen Boadicea was encircled by a
chain, or girdle of gold; and shortly after we have proof that
nearly the whole of the British tribes were in subjection under
the Roman power&mdash;clear evidence that wealth, refinement, and
civilization had softened down the rugged and hardy sinews
of war&mdash;that the old warriors of the wild woods were better
adapted for the struggles of battle than their sons who had put
on the Roman toga, and reared their homes within the limits
of walled cities. As it was with the Britons, so it was with the
Saxons&mdash;they also became less courageous, as they grew more
civilized. And here a grave question naturally intrudes itself
into our narrative, which to answer aright must either yield in
favour of a state of barbarism, or pull down that great idol
called a hero&mdash;though there are many exceptions on record to
uphold the latter, some of which we have already instanced, as
in Cassivellaunus and Caractacus.</p>

<p>It is apparent that the more southern inhabitants of the British
island had by this time adopted the Roman custom of interring
their dead. Formerly the northern tribes did but little
more than place the body in the naked earth, cover it up, and
mark the spot by a pile of stones; and that rude monument was
left to point out the last resting-place of the departed. The
more southern tribes erected huge barrows above their dead,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span>
burying with them all that was considered most valuable, articles
of gold and silver, weapons used in the war and in the
chase, and even the body of the favourite dog, when he died,
was not considered unworthy of sharing his master's grave.
Many of these mounds of earth were immense, and in several
cases it is clear that the soil which formed them had been brought
from a considerable distance, perhaps from the very spot which had
been marked by the valorous though now forgotten deeds of the
dead. These ancient sepulchres varied greatly in size and shape.
Those which appear to have contained the remains of the earlier
inhabitants of our island, were frequently above a hundred yards
in length; and if, as it has been supposed, each follower brought
his wicker basket of earth to empty upon the chieftain's
grave, or the high-piled hillock was the work of the friends of
the departed, though so many long centuries have elapsed, they
yet speak of the respect in which those early warriors were held.
Sometimes the body was placed in a cist, with the legs drawn
back towards the head, and this position of burying seems to have
been adopted at a very remote period by the Britons. Sometimes
the trunk of a large tree was cut up into a proportionate
length, hewn hollow, and the body placed within it. This again
appears to have been a custom of very ancient date. They were
also in the habit of burning the bodies of the dead&mdash;of collecting
the burnt bones and placing them in the lowest bed of the barrow,
then piling the stupendous mound above the ashes. Those
tribes that became more Romanised appear to have followed the
custom of their conquerors of burning the bodies, and collecting
the ashes in urns; many of these have been discovered in what
are called the Roman-British barrows, which display but indifferent
workmanship. Others which have been dug out of old
Roman burying-places show much elegance both in their forms
and ornaments. With these have also been found mingled incense
and drinking cups of the most beautiful patterns. The Britons
appear to have had no common grave-yard; one barrow seems to
have covered the remains of a chief, another that of his wife and
children; perchance those who fell in the same battle were sometimes
interred together, or it may be that the lesser hillocks
covered the remains of the vassals, hemming around the huge
barrow under which the chieftain slept, as if to protect him even
in death&mdash;a silent guard surrounding his remains, as when living
they had rallied about him. What were the forms of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span>
solemn processions&mdash;what ceremonies they used while burying
their dead&mdash;what heathen prayers they offered up to their rude
gods, or what war-hymns they chaunted over the remains of their
chiefs, we know not. The snows of nearly two thousand winters
have fallen, whitened, and melted upon, their graves, but
whether the latter were interred amid the deep war-cry of the
tribe, or consigned to the earth amid tears and sorrowful sounds,
we can never know. The glass beads, the amulets, and breastplates
of gold&mdash;the spear-heads of bronze and flint, the rude
necklaces of shells, and the pins and ornaments which we have
discovered, throw no light upon the name, rank, or history of
the dead.</p>

<p>The barbarous custom of painting or tatooing their skins soon
grew into disfavour as the Britons became civilized. They began
to find other uses for the dye which they extracted from the herb
called woad, and instead of distinguishing themselves by the
hideous forms of beasts or reptiles which they were wont to
puncture and imprint upon their bodies, they now bore the marks
of their rank in the form of their costume, and sought for their
renown in the plaudits of other men. They began to look for
their leaders amongst the ancient families, and to trace back
their genealogies to their earliest heroes. This ended all Roman
claims, for they refused to grant any land to such as had
not descended from the primitive tribes; it led also to much
dissension, to many heart-burnings and bitter jealousies; family
was divided against family, and tribe against tribe; petty kings
sprang up in every province; there was much blood shed&mdash;more
to be spilt; and as Vortigern alone had maintained his claim, he
was determined to support his position at any sacrifice. Whether
Hengist and Horsa came on a mission of peace, or as traders
or pirates, or were driven by a storm upon the coast, or were exiled
from their country, are matters of no moment. They were
hired&mdash;their business was to fight&mdash;they were paid for doing so&mdash;they
accepted the terms offered by the British king, acquitted
themselves manfully, and finally were the means of establishing
the Saxons in Britain. To the commencement of this period we
have now arrived, and the next who pass through the gate of
history are our old English forefathers, the Saxons.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span></p>

<h2 class="part"><a name="The_Saxon_Invasion" id="The_Saxon_Invasion">The Saxon Invasion.</a></h2>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE ANCIENT SAXONS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The stupendously holy gods considered these things:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They gave names to the night and to the twilight;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They called the morning and mid-day so.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There sat an old man towards the east in a wood of iron,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where he nourished the sons of Fenris.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Every one of these grew up prodigious&mdash;a giant form,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sons of the two brothers inhabit the vast mansions of the winds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A hall stands brighter than the sun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Covered with gold in Gimle."&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Volupsa</span>.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The Saxons were a German or Gothic race, possessing an
entirely different language to that of the Celts or ancient Britons;
and although they do not appear to have attracted the same
attention as the other tribes, they were, doubtless, settled at
a very early period in Europe. At the time when they begin
to stand forth so prominently in the pages of history, they occupied
the peninsula of Jutland, now a portion of Denmark, with
two or three neighbouring islands, known by the names of
North Strande, Busen, and Heligoland, all situate near the mouth
of the Elbe. As they, however, consisted of three tribes&mdash;namely,
the Jutes, the Angles, and the Saxons&mdash;they probably,
at a former period, stretched over a much larger surface of
country, the boundaries of which it is now difficult to define.
As early as the time of Ptolemy, a branch of this ancient Scythian
race was denominated the Saxons. They claimed their
descent from Odin, probably some old and celebrated warrior,
whose deeds grew up under magnified traditions, until at last he
was dignified with the title of their god. Like the Britons,
they were a brave and fearless race, delighting in plunder and
slaughter, ever choosing the most dangerous and perilous paths,
loving the roll of the wave, and the roar of the storm, and generally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span>
landing under a gloomy and tempestuous sky, to surprise
and attack the enemy. Their arms were a sharp sword, a keen-pointed
dagger, a tall spear, and a ponderous battle-axe, all made
of good iron. But the most dreaded weapon they wielded seems
to have been a large heavy hammer, from which projected a number
of sharp-pointed spikes. This fearful instrument was the
terror of their enemies, and no helmet was proof against its blows.
Their chiefs wore a kind of scaly armour, which appears to
have been formed of iron rings, locked together upon a tight-fitting
coat, or leathern doublet. The rims and bosses of their
shields were of iron, while the body was sometimes formed of
wood, and covered with leather. Many of these shields were
large enough to protect the whole form, and as they were convex,
no doubt the point of the enemy's weapon would glide off, unless
it was struck firmly into the centre; thus they formed a kind of
moveable bulwark, behind which the warrior sheltered himself
in battle. They believed that the souls of those who bravely
perished on the hard-fought field were at once wafted into the
halls of Valhalla, and the terrible heaven which they pictured
in a future state consisted in those dreadful delights so congenial
to their brutal natures while on earth&mdash;being made up of a
succession of conflicts and struggles, cleaving of helmets and
hacking of limbs; and that when the twilight deepened over
those awful halls, every warrior was again healed of his wounds;
that they then sat down to their grim and hideous banquet,
where they fed upon a great boar, whose flesh never diminished,
however much they ate, and when they had satiated themselves
with these savoury morsels, which they cut off with their daggers,
they washed them down with deep draughts of mead, which
they drank out of the skulls of their cowardly enemies. Into
those halls the brave alone were admitted&mdash;the craven, and the
coward, and those who fell not in the red and reeking ranks of
battle, were doomed to dwell in the dark regions of Niflheim,
where Hela, the terrible, reigned; where gaunt Famine stalked
like a shadow beneath the vaulted dome; where Anguish ever
writhed upon her hard bed, and dark Delay kept watch against
the sombre doors which she never opened. Such were the
eternal abodes those barbarians believed they should enter after
death&mdash;the realms which their stormy spirits would soar into,
when they could no longer guide their barks over the shadows
of the overhanging rocks&mdash;when the tempestuous sea no longer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span>
bore them upon the thunder of its billows, and cast them upon
some distant coast, to revel in carnage and slaughter;&mdash;it was
then that they turned their dying eyes to the coveted halls of
Valhalla, and that huge banquet-table on which the grisly boar
lay stretched, surrounded by drinking-cups formed of human
skulls.</p>

<p>Those who had not courage enough to win an entrance into
these envied realms by their own bravery, put one of their
slaves to death, considering that such a sacrifice was acceptable
to Odin, and a sure passport into this ideal world. They, however,
believed that Valhalla would at last pass away; Odin himself
perish; that the good and the brave would inhabit another
heaven, called Gimle; and the evil and the cowardly be consigned
to a more awful place of punishment than that over which
Hela reigned; that the gods would sit in judgment; that Surtur,
the black one, would appear; and an evil spirit be liberated
from the dark cave in which he had been for ages bound with
chains of iron. That for three years increasing snow would fall
from all quarters of the world, and during this long winter there
would be no interim of summer, neither would any green thing
grow, but all mankind would perish by each other's hands. That
two huge monsters would appear; one of which would devour
the sun, the other, the moon; that mountains and trees would
be torn up, and the earth shaken to its deepest foundations.
That the stars would be blotted out of heaven, and one wide
shoreless sea cover the whole world, over which a solitary ship
would float, built of the nails of dead men, and steered by the
tall giant Hrymer. Then would the huge wolf Fenris open his
enormous mouth, the lower jaw of which would touch the earth,
the upper the heaven, over which a serpent would breathe
poison, while the sons of Muspell rode forward, led by the black
Surtur. A blazing fire, spreading out its myriad tongues of
flame, would burn before and behind him; his sword would
glitter like the sun, and the bridge which spanned across heaven,
be broken. Towards a large plain would these terrible forces
move, followed by Fenris, the wolf. The brazen trumpet of
Heimdal would ring out such a startling peal, as would awaken
the gods, and cause the mighty ash of Ygdrasil to tremble.
Odin would put on his golden helmet, and all the gods rise up in
arms, and after the wolf had devoured him, and its jaws had been
rent asunder by Vidar, the whole universe would be destroyed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span>
Such a creed as this was calculated to nourish and keep alive the
most benighted superstitions amongst its believers. Thus we find
them drawing omens from the flight and singing of birds, placing
their trust in good and evil days, and considering the full or new
moon as the most favourable seasons in which to put into operation
any important plan. They were influenced by the moving
of the clouds, and directed by the course of the winds; and from
the entrails of the victims sacrificed, they drew their auguries.
The breastplates they wore were imperfect, unless the smith
who forged them muttered a charm while he wielded his ponderous
hammer. Even the graves of dead men were frequented,
and those who slept their last sleep were intreated to
answer them. They judged of the fate of a battle by seizing
an enemy, and compelling him to fight with one of their own
race. From the branches of the oak they cut short twigs,
marked them, then scattered them at random upon a white garment,
and while the priest looked upward, he took those on which
his hand chanced to alight, and if they proved to be those on which
the favourite mark was impressed, it was considered a good omen.
They rode out the perilous tempest on the deep with better
heart if, on the departure of their bark from the stormy beach,
some priestess, with her hair blown back, stood upon the giddy
headland, and chaunted the mystic rhyme which they believed
would waft them, more safely than the most favourable breeze, to
the distant shore. Even through the long night of time we can
picture her standing upon the dizzy edge of the rock, while the
white-winged sea-gull wheeled and screamed above her head;
with the subdued thunder of the hoarse waves ever rolling at
her feet&mdash;her drapery blown aside, and her wan thin lips moving;
while they, tugging at the long oar with their brawny
arms and bowed heads, sent up a silent prayer to the god of the
storm.</p>

<p>Such were our forefathers&mdash;men who would startle at the stirring
of a leaf, or the shooting of a star, yet brave enough to rush
upon the point of a spear with a flushed cheek and a bright eye,
and who could look death full in the face without a feeling of fear.
Nor would it be difficult to point out, even in our own day,
numbers of superstitious signs and omens, which are as implicitly
believed in by the peasantry of the present age, as they were
by the ancient Saxons during this dark period of our history.
The chattering of a magpie, the croaking of a raven, the howling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span>
of a dog in the night, a winding-sheet in the candle, or a hollow
cinder leaping out of the fire upon the hearth, are even now held
amongst our superstitious countrymen as ominous of ill-luck, sickness,
or death. Scarcely an obscure English province is without
its wise-man, or cunning fortune-teller, those lingering
remains of the Wicca of the Saxons, which have descended
to us through the long lapse of nearly two thousand years,
in spite of the burnings and other executions which were so
common in our country only two or three centuries ago, when
not to believe in witchcraft would have been held a crime
equal to Atheism, by our more enlightened and comparatively
modern forefathers.</p>

<p>The temple erected to their war-god, in their own country,
appears to have been spacious and magnificent. On the top of
a marble column stood this idol, in the figure of a tall, armed
warrior, bearing a banner in his right hand, on which a red rose
was emblazoned, while in his left he held a balance. His helmet
was surmounted with a cock; on his breastplate a bear was engraven,
while on the shield which was suspended from his
shoulder was the image of a lion, upon a ground of flowers.
Here, women divined, and men sacrificed, and into the battle
was this warlike image borne by the priest; for as they could
not trust themselves upon the sea without a charm being first
muttered, so in the field did they require the image of their
idol to countenance the contest. To this grim deity did they
offer up their captives, and even those of their own tribe who
had fled, and turned their backs upon the fight, for they looked
upon cowardice as the greatest of crimes amongst their men, and
wantonness in their women they punished with death.</p>

<p>Some of their idols are surrounded by a wild poetry, and an
air of almost classic beauty, recalling to the mind the divinities
worshipped by the ancient Greeks and Romans. Of such was
their goddess, called the Mother of Earth, who was held so
sacred, that only the priest was permitted to touch her. Her
temple stood amid the solemn shadows of a silent grove; her
figure was always covered by a white garment, which was washed
in a secret lake; in those waters the slaves who administered at
her shrine were drowned&mdash;no one, saving the priest, was allowed
to go abroad, who were once entrusted with her mysteries. On
holy days her image was borne in procession, on the backs
of beautifully marked cows. Nothing but joy and peace then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span>
reigned throughout the whole length and breadth of the land:
the bark was moored upon the beach; the spear and battle-axe
hung upon the beam above the hearth, and Odin himself
seemed to sleep. But this lasted no longer than the
days allotted to these processions: when they had passed, the
keel was again launched, the weapons taken from their resting-place,
while "grim-visaged war resumed his wrinkled front."
Even the cattle that fed upon the island where this temple
stood were held so sacred, that it was a crime to touch them,
and he who drew water from the fountain that flowed beside the
grove, dared not, even by a whisper, disturb the surrounding
silence. We might almost fancy, while reading the description
of the idol they named Crodus, that we saw before us the
embodiment of one of Spenser's beautiful stanzas, or that he
himself had but turned into verse some old record, in which he
found pictured this image of one of the ancient Saxon gods. It
was of the figure of an old man, stooping through very age: he
was clothed in a white garment; a girdle of linen, the ends of
which hung loose, encircled his waist; his head was grey, and
bare. He held in his right hand a vessel, in which flowers floated
in water; his left hand rested upon a wheel, while he stood with
his naked feet upon the back of a prickly perch. How like
Spenser's description is the above, of his "Old January wrapped
well in many weeds, to keep the cold away&mdash;of February, with
the old waggon-wheels and fish&mdash;of the hand cold through holding
all the day the hatchet keen." Such a resemblance would
the eye of a poet trace, and so would he transform old Crodus,
the Saxon idol, into the personification of one of his months.</p>

<p>Whoever broke into one of their temples, and stole the sacred
vessels, was punished with a slow, lingering, and terrible death.
To the very edge of the sands of the sea-shore was he dragged,
when the tide was low, and there made fast&mdash;his ears were cut
off, and other parts of his body mutilated&mdash;then he was left alone.
Wave after wave came and went, and washed around him, as the
tide came in; he felt the sea rising every minute, inch by inch&mdash;higher
still, higher it came&mdash;every ripple that made a murmur
on the shore rang his death-knell, until the last wave came
that washed over him&mdash;then vengeance was satisfied. A more
awful death can scarcely be imagined.</p>

<p>They were a tall, big-boned, blue-eyed race of men, and it
appears from an old law made to punish a man who seized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span>
another by the hair, that they at one period wore it so long as
to fall upon the shoulders. The females wore ornaments on
their arms and necks. The government was generally vested in
the hands of the aged, and they appear to have elected their
ruler in war by the chiefs assembling and drawing lots. He
on whom it fell, they followed and obeyed; but when the war
was over, they were again all equal. They were divided into
four orders&mdash;the Etheling, or noble, who never married below
his own rank; the Free-man, who shared in the offices of government;
the Freed-man, or he who, either by purchase or merit,
had obtained his liberty; and the Serf, or slave. They reckoned
their time by the number of nights, and counted their years by
the winters. April they named Easter-month, after their goddess,
Eostre. Thus we still retain a name which, though commemorating
the worship of an ancient idol, has now become endeared to us
by the Resurrection of Christ&mdash;a holy time which we can never
forget, for at every return it seems to bring back a spirit of
beauty into the world, whose pathway is strown with the sweetest
and earliest flowers of spring. Bright spots of light every
way break through this age of barbarism, and May, which again
hangs the snow-white blossoms upon the hawthorn, they called
milk-month; nor can we now repeat the name without images
of lowing cattle and pleasant pastures springing up before us,
and we marvel how so warlike a race ever came to make use of
such poetical and pastoral names. The sun they worshipped
as a goddess; the moon as a god. A Saxon poet would have
called the former, "The golden lady of the day."</p>

<p>Although they appear to have been ignorant of the use of letters,
yet there is but little doubt that they used certain signs, or characters,
which they were able to interpret. Some of these Runic
hieroglyphics seem to have been engraven upon their swords.
Their war-songs were committed to memory, and it is probable that
many a one ranked high amongst their minstrels, who possessed
no other talent than that of remembering and repeating these
ancient lays. It might be that they were just enabled to form
characters clear enough in their resemblance to some natural
object, which, when inscribed upon the rugged monumental
stone, bore some allusion to the name or bravery of the chief
whose memory it perpetuated. Their only books seem to have
been the bark of trees; the rind of the beech their favourite
register; a tablet on which the rustic chronicler of the present<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span>
day still makes the mark of his fair one's name, in characters
only legible to himself. In point of civilization, they were
at this time centuries behind the Britons, and an old author,
describing them about the fifth century, says, "You see
amongst them as many piratical leaders as you behold rowers,
for they all command, obey, teach, and learn the art of pillage.
Hence, after your greatest caution, still greater care is requisite.
This enemy is fiercer than any other; if you be unguarded, they
attack; if prepared, they elude you. They despise the opposing,
and destroy the unwary; if they pursue, they overtake; if
they fly, they escape. Shipwrecks discipline them, not deter;
they do not merely know, they are familiar with, all the dangers
of the sea; a tempest gives them security and success, for it
divests the meditated land of the apprehension of a descent. In
the midst of waves and threatening rocks they rejoice at their
peril, because they hope to surprise." "Dispersed into many
bodies," adds Zosimus, "they plundered by night, and when
day appeared, they concealed themselves in the woods, feasting
on the booty they had <span class="locked">gained."<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a></span></p>

<p>When the Saxons first approached the British coast, they
issued out from the mouth of the Elbe, in wicker boats covered
with leather, which seem to have been but little better than the
coracles used by the ancient Britons. These were so light,
that they found but little difficulty in carrying them overland,
from one river or creek to another, then paddling their way
under cover of the banks, wherever sufficient water was to be
found, until at last they came unaware upon the natives. The
chiules or keels which they possessed at the time they were
called upon to aid Vortigern, were capable of containing above
a hundred men each, a wonderful improvement on the frail
barks with which they first ventured into the British seas.
Such as we have here described them, were the tribe destined
to overthrow an ancient race, whom the Romans never wholly
subjugated.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">HENGIST&mdash;HORSA&mdash;ROWENA AND VORTIGERN.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"They bargained for Thanet with Hengist and Horsa,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their aggrandizement was to us disgraceful,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">After the destroying secret with the slaves at the confluent stream,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conceive the intoxication at the great banquet of Mead,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conceive the deaths in the great hour of necessity;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conceive the fierce wounds&mdash;the tears of the women&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The grief that was excited by the weak chief (Vortigern);<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Conceive the sadness that will be revolving to us,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the brawlers of Thanet shall be our princes."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Ancient Welsh Poem&mdash;Seventh Century.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">We have no account of the preliminary arrangements between
the British king, and the Saxon chiefs, when the latter arrived
with three ships, and landed at Ebbs-fleet, a spot which now lies
far inland, though at that period the Wanstum was navigable
for large vessels, and formed a broad barrier between the Island
of Thanet and the mainland of Kent. Vortigern and his chieftains
were assembled in council when the Saxons appeared, and
Hengist and Horsa were summoned before them. The Saxon
ships, which contained about three hundred soldiers, were drawn
up beside the shore, where the adventurers anxiously awaited
the issue of the interview between their leaders and the British
king. Such a meeting as this could scarcely result from chance;
the time of landing&mdash;the assembled council&mdash;the attendance
of Hengist and Horsa, all bear evidence of some previous
understanding between the parties, similar to what we have
before alluded to. Vortigern first interrogated the Saxons
as to the nature of their creed; Hengist enumerated the names
of the gods they worshipped, and further added, that they also
dedicated the fourth and sixth days in the week to Woden and
Frea. Inference might be drawn from the reply of Vortigern,
that the Britons were already Christians, though such a conclusion
ought, doubtless, to be limited in its application to the inhabitants
of our island, for we have evidence that all were not.</p>

<p>It was agreed that the Saxons were to assist the Britons, to
drive the Scots and Picts out of the island&mdash;that for such service
they were to receive food and clothing, and when not engaged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span>
in war they were to be stationed in Ruithina, for by that name
was the Isle of Thanet called by the ancient Britons. There is
no evidence that Vortigern intended to give up this island,
at that period, to the Saxons; the arrangement he made had
nothing new in it. Centuries before, the Britons had crossed
the sea, and fought in the wars of the Gauls; they had also aided
the Romans: it was a common custom for one nation to hire the
assistance of another; when the time of service was over, the
soldiers either returned to their own country, or settled down
amongst the native tribes, whom they had defended, as in
Britain, many of the Romans and Gauls had done before-time.
In this case, however, the result proved very different, though
it would have been difficult for any one endowed with the
keenest penetration to have foreseen that three small ships,
probably containing in all not more than three hundred men,
and these willing to render assistance on very humble terms,
should point out a way over the waves, by which their companions
in arms should come, and conquer, and take possession of a
country which it had cost the Romans so many years of hard
warfare to subjugate. The Saxons appear to have done their
duty; fighting was their every-day trade: their robust natures
had received no touch of Roman refinement, they earned their
bread with the points of their swords, and the blows of their heavy
battle-axes; they drove back the northern hordes beyond the
Roman walls, and they soon grew into great favour with the
Britons. All this was very natural to a nation now making rapid
progress in civilization, and one wealthy enough to pay others
for fighting its battles&mdash;it was a much easier life to sit comfortably
in their walled cities, to follow the chase, and enjoy the
luxury of the bath, than to be chasing the Picts and Scots from
one county to another, through forests and morasses, and over
hills and dales, day after day; but to do this securely more aid
was required. Hengist and Horsa had left numbers of their
countrymen behind, who would willingly fight on the same terms
which they had accepted. Vortigern agreed to the proposition
they made, and more Saxons were speedily sent for. Seventeen
ships soon arrived, and on the deck of one of these vessels, from the
stern of which the banner of the white horse waved, stood a conqueror
whose long silken locks blew out in the breeze, unencumbered
by either helmet or crest, who bore neither sword,
spear, shield nor battle-axe, but was armed only with a pair of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span>
beautiful blue eyes, and a face of such strange and surpassing
beauty as had never before been mirrored in our island waves:
such was the Saxon Princess Rowena, destined to win more
broad acres from the Britons without striking a single blow, than
all the northern barbarians had ever gained by their numberless
invasions. On the landing of his daughter, accompanied by so
many of her countrymen, a great feast would, of course, be held
to celebrate the event, and there Vortigern and the British
chiefs would, beyond doubt, be assembled to welcome their new
allies; there is nothing remarkable in such an occurrence, nor in
Rowena drinking to her father's royal guest, nor in the island
king falling at once in love with the beautiful barbarian. Her
drinking his health in a tongue to which he was a stranger,
her natural bashfulness, on first standing in the presence of the
British king&mdash;her confusion when she found her language was
not understood by him&mdash;all, doubtless, contributed to make her
look more interesting. Then above all to know that the blood
of Woden flowed in her veins, that she had descended from a
hero, whose renown in battle had raised him to the grandeur of
a god, in the idolatrous estimation of his own countrymen; all
these things coupled together had surely romance and poetry
enough about them, aided by such a beautiful countenance, to
turn a calmer brain than Vortigern's, heated as his was by love
and wine. He had no peace until he married her; her image
seems to have haunted his memory, and caused him more uneasiness
until she became his wife, than all the inroads of the northern
hordes had hitherto done. Even before this period, all had gone
on smoothly and evenly between the Britons and the Saxons;
but now Love himself had landed amongst the last-comers, and
received the warmest welcome of them all. Who could dream
that he but heralded the way for slaughter, conquest, and death
to follow in, or that the beauty he accompanied should be the
cause of bloodshed between the Saxons and the Britons?&mdash;yet
so it was.</p>

<div id="ip_67" class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"><img src="images/i_091.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Vortigern and Rowena.</i></div></div>

<p>The Saxons were, shortly after, the sole possessors of the isle
of Thanet, and the influence of Vortigern's pretty pagan wife
was soon visible to the jealous eyes of the Britons. Hengist
and Horsa began to demand more liberal supplies, and to cast a
longing glance upon Kent; but the Britons had spirit enough to
resist such a concession, and here we for a time lose sight of
Vortigern and Rowena, though it is highly probable that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span>
retreated into the isle of Thanet, then held by the Saxons, from
the coming storm. Vortimer and Catigern, the two sons of Vortigern
by a former marriage, now took the command of the
Britons, with whom the Roman settlers in the island appear to
have joined; all resolved to make head in one common cause,
and to drive the Saxons out of Britain. Hengist and Horsa, to
strengthen their force, formed a league with their old brothers
in plunder, the Scots and Picts, and war once more broke out
in the land, more terrible in its results than it had ever been
in the struggles between the Britons and the Romans. What
few fragments we find in the old Welsh bards, alluding to these
ancient battles, are filled with dreadful descriptions, and awful
images of slaughter. We are borne onward, from the shout of
the onset, to the mighty shock when the opposing ranks close
in battle, when blade clashes against blade, when dark frowning
men sink with gory seams on their foreheads, and tall
chieftains rock and struggle together in the combat, and as
each knee is brought to the ground, it rests upon a bed of gore,
while battle-axes, as they are uplifted, and glitter a moment
in the air, shed down crimson drops. Then gloomy biers pass
by, on which "red-men" are borne; and ravens come sweeping
through the dim twilight which settles over that ancient battle-field,
to prey upon the fallen warriors. Such wailings as these
must have caused the heart of Vortigern to have beat painfully,
even when the fair head of Rowena was pillowed upon
it, and to have made him sigh, and regret that such beauty had
been purchased at so great a sacrifice. At the battle of the Ford-of-Eagles,
long after called Eaglesford, but now Aylesford, in
Kent, did Horsa, the brother of Hengist, fall; he whose banner
of the white-horse had waved over many a victorious field, and
been the terror of the northern tribes, now fell to rise no more.
On the side of the Britons, also perished Catigern, and a sore reproach
must his death have been to his father, Vortigern, when he
heard the tidings! for, alas, he was wasting the hours in soft dalliance
with his blue-eyed idolater, while his sons were fighting and
falling in defence of their country. Vortimer had now the sole
command of the Britons, and, if the ancient bards are to be believed,
it was by his hand that Horsa was slain. A sad pang
must such a rumour as this have sent through the aching heart
of poor Rowena, as she gazed upon her husband, and in him beheld
the father of her uncle's murderer, the destroyer of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span>
father's companion in arms&mdash;he who had shared the fortunes of
Hengist, from the hour when first the prow of their ship ploughed
together the sands on the British shore. One of our old
chroniclers (Roger de Wendover) states that, on a future day,
Rowena bitterly revenged the death of Horsa, by bribing one of
Vortimer's servants to poison her son-in-law, and that thus fell, in
the bloom of life, one of the noblest of the British warriors&mdash;a
victim to the vengeance of his step-mother. Whether this is
true or not, it is now impossible to decide, so much are the statements
of our early historians at variance; one thing, however, is
clear, the Saxons were defeated, and compelled to escape in
their long chiules, or ships; nor do they appear to have returned
until after the death of Vortimer, when, at the suggestion of
Rowena, her father was again invited to Britain, and this time
Hengist returned with a larger force than had hitherto landed
in our island. When the Saxon landed, he made an offer of
peace to the Britons, and invited the chiefs to a feast, which he
gave on the occasion. Both parties were to come without their
arms, such was the command issued by Hengist, and enforced on
the part of the British leaders by Vortigern, who was also present.
The treacherous Saxon had, however, given orders to his followers
to conceal short swords or daggers under their garments,
and when he gave the signal, to fall upon and slaughter every
Briton present, with the exception of Vortigern. The feast commenced,
the wine-cup circulated, the Saxon and British chiefs sat
side by side; those who had fought together, face to face and hand
to hand, were drinking from the same cup, for it appears to have
been so contrived that a false-friend should be placed between
every foe. Vortigern seems to have sat secure, and never once
dreamed of the treachery that surrounded him; and, perhaps, even
before the smile had well faded from Hengist's face, as he talked
of the pleasant days that were yet in store for his unsuspecting
son-in-law, he turned round and exclaimed: "<i>Nimed eure saxes</i>,"
"unsheath your swords," and in a few moments after three
hundred British chiefs and nobles lay lifeless upon the ground.
The motto prefixed to our present chapter is from one of the
poems of Golyddan, a Welsh bard, who lived within a century or
two after this cold-blooded massacre, a deed which must for many
a long year afterwards have rankled in the minds of the Britons,
and which their bards would never allow to slumber, whenever
they sang the deeds of their departed chieftains. Doubtless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span>
Rowena was present at that bloody banquet, and with a cruel
look confronted "the weak chief," as he stood pale and horror-stricken,
glancing from father to daughter, and cursing the hour,
as he looked into the face of the beautiful heathen, whose blue
eyes could perchance gaze, without shrinking for a moment, upon
those wan and clay-cold countenances that were now upturned
in death. Though long years have passed away, and the hawthorns
have put out their blossoms above a thousand times since
the fatal May in which this terrible tragedy took place, still
the eye of the imagination can scarcely conjure up the scene
without a shiver. It is supposed to have been near Stonehenge
where this cruel butchery took place, probably within the very
circle of those Druidical monuments, some of which still stand,
though at that period the whole temple was, doubtless, perfect.
If, as we are led to believe, many of the British chieftains
were Christians, there was something in keeping with the
stern character of the Saxon pagans, in thus slaughtering their
enemies in the presence of the very altars on which the islanders
had formerly sacrificed to the gods they themselves worshipped,
and such an act might, in their eyes, hallow even this savage revenge.
To slaughter all who did not believe in their heathen creed,
was with the Pagan Saxons a religious duty; they believed such
acts were acceptable to their gods.</p>

<p>We shudder at the very thought of such a deed&mdash;nearly fourteen
centuries have elapsed since the sands of Salisbury Plain
drank in the blood of these victims. Yet we startle to see the
dead thus piled together around the grey old stones which the
footsteps of Time have all but worn away, as if we still looked
calmly on while they were brought bleeding to our very thresholds.
Still the historian of the past might mingle his sympathy, and
carry back many a deed which has since then been done, to be
rolled up and mourned over in the same great catalogue of
cruelty. The shadows that move through the old twilight of
time, bend under the weight of the "red-men" that are borne
upon the bier. The form of Hengist seems to stand leaning
upon the red pillars that mark the entrance to the Hall of Murder
in Valhalla, as if wondering "why the chariot wheels so long
delayed," and the guests that still tarried behind, hastened to the
banquet of sculls, which stood awaiting their coming, in the
halls of Odin. For such a deed stamps him as a fitting servitor
in that horrible hall of slaughter.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span>
At Crayford in Kent, another great battle was fought between
the Saxons and the Britons, in which the latter were defeated
with great slaughter, and so complete was the victory, that the
remnant of the British army were compelled to retreat into
London. But with all his success, Hengist was unable to keep
possession of little more than the county of Kent, and the island
of Thanet, and even this, it appears, he would have found it
difficult to retain, but for the dissensions which were ever breaking
out amongst the British chiefs. The Britons were able at
this very time to send out twelve thousand armed men into Gaul,
to war against the Visigoths, so that there can be but little
doubt that, had unity reigned amongst them, they would have
found no difficulty in driving out the Saxons, as they had done
before-time. The island seems to have been so divided at this
period, and under the command of so many different chiefs or
kings, that they cared not to bring their united forces to bear
upon one corner of the kingdom, especially that where the presence
of Vortigern still appears to have been acknowledged; for
it is probable that the British king, after the death of his son,
settled down in his old age, amongst the Saxons, "a sadder and
a wiser man." We even hope, in spite of his misdeeds, and
the miseries into which his love for a fair face plunged the whole
island of Britain, that there is no truth in the statements of our
early Saxon historians, who have left it on record that he fled into
Wales, where, hated alike "by slave and free-man, monk and
layman, strong and weak, small and great," he at last perished
with the fair Rowena, and all his family, in those flames which
destroyed the fortress where he had sought shelter from his
enemies. Yet many venerable names might be brought forward
in support of this story of the terrible end of an ancient British
king. A dreadful fate for fair Rowena, if true, and all the evidence
is sadly in its favour, and from our hearts, we cannot help
pitying the poor girl, who with downcast eyes, as she held the
golden goblet in her hand, listened to the promises which the
island monarch poured into her ears; who stepped from the
deck of her father's galley, to share a throne, yet appears never
to have forsaken her husband in all the varied vicissitudes of his
chequered life; but through battle, flood, and fire, to have trod
the same perilous path with him, hand in hand, sometimes, it may
be, when alone, shedding tears at the remembrance of her father's
cruelties, weeping one hour, for the death of her own friends, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span>
the next, comforting Vortigern for the loss of those he mourned.
We picture her, as in the joyousness of her heart she left her
native home to meet her father&mdash;no mother appears to have accompanied
her&mdash;and, pagan as she was, we know not how pure
and holy the feelings of that heart might be; for, red with blood
as the hands of Hengist were, they had, doubtless, many a time
parted her silken ringlets, as he stooped down and imprinted a
father's kiss upon her lips. Perhaps a tear stole down the deep
furrows which time and care had ploughed in the weather-beaten
countenance of Hengist, as he embraced her when she
first landed on our island shore, as in her pure countenance he
traced the image of her mother, whom he had once so fondly
loved. Poor Rowena! she might have moved like a ministering
angel, through all the terrors of those stormy times, her mild blue
eyes beaming comfort on every woe-begone countenance on which
they glanced&mdash;now soothing the restless slumber of her father, as
he started up, dreaming of some new revenge, and by her falling
tears, and low-breathed whispers, chasing away the dark demon
from his couch; for even through the past, those gentle eyes seem
to beam upon us, and the tears by which they are dimmed quench
the cruel light, that when in anger, flashed from beneath her
fringed eye-lids. Oh, Mercy! thou wouldst not leave that beautiful
Saxon mother to perish shrieking amidst the surrounding
flames! What crimes she had, sprang from her faith; she was
nursed in a cruel creed; when the grim shadow of Odin fell not
over and darkened her gentle heart, she was a fond woman, even
as our mothers have ever been. But she is dead and gone.
Hengist is now no more, and Eric, his son, reigns sole king
over the white-cliffs, and green hills, and pastoral valleys of Kent,
and the keels of other chiules are grating upon our chalky headlands.
The grey curtain of Time again drops down over the dead
which in fancy stood before us, and after the night of death is
past, a new morning breaks, that</p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Laughs aside the clouds with playful scorn."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ELLA, CERDRIC, AND KING ARTHUR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"He was a shield to his country:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The courteous leader of the army;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His course was a wheel in battle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He was a city to old age;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The head, the noblest pillar of Britain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An eagle to his foe in his thrust,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Brave as generous;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the angry warfare, certain of victory."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Llywarch Hen.</span>, <span class="smcap">Sixth Century</span>.<br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The next Saxon chieftain of any note, who effected a landing
in Britain, and established himself in the country, was Ella; he
came, accompanied by his three sons and the same number of
ships, the latter being anchored beside the Isle of Thanet, where
Hengist and Horsa, twenty-eight years before, became auxiliaries
under Vortigern. From the south of Kent, a vast forest extended
into Sussex and Hampshire, a huge uncultivated wilderness,
called Andreade, or Andredswold, measuring above a
hundred miles in length, and a long day's march in breadth, for
it was full thirty miles wide, and abounded with wolves, deer,
and wild boars. Near the Sussex entrance of this primeval
English forest, Ella fought his first battle, and drove the Britons
into the wide wooded waste. After a time, the Saxon chief received
fresh reinforcements, and not until then did he venture
to attack the ancient British town which was named Andredes
Ceaster, and stood, strongly fortified, on the edge of the forest.
While the Saxons were attempting to scale the walls, a body of
the Britons rushed upon them from the wood, and, thus attacked
in the rear, the invaders were compelled to turn their backs
upon the town and carry the fight into the forest. Three times
was the assault renewed, for no sooner were the Saxons at the
foot of the wall than the Britons were upon their heels; each
time Ella's loss was severe; night came, and both parties rested
until the morrow, encamped within sight of each other. With
sunrise, the battle was renewed, and the Saxon chief this time
drove the Britons still further into the forest, but all was useless&mdash;they
knew every turning and every thicket that afforded a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span>
shelter, and by the time the besiegers had again reached the
town, the brave islanders were there, ready to pin the first
Saxon to the wall who attempted to scale it, with the unerring
javelins which they could hurl to an inch. The forces under
Ella became furious; they stood between two enemies; they were
attacked both from the town and the forest; whichever way
they turned, the pointed spears of the Britons were presented.
At length, the Saxon chief divided his army into two bodies:
one he commanded to drive the Britons into the forest, and to
prevent them from returning; the other, at the same time, began
to break down the walls. Revenge was now the order of the
day: maddened by their losses, and irritated by the long delay,
the merciless Saxons put every soul within the walls to death&mdash;neither
man, woman, nor child, did they leave alive; such a
massacre had never before taken place. Even the walls were
levelled to the earth, and, for ages after, that town stood by the
gloomy forest, silent, ruined, and desolate; until even the time of
Edward the First it was pointed out to the stranger; and though
the long grass, and the moss, and the lichen, had grown grey upon
its ruins, there were still traces of its fallen grandeur "which," in
the words of the old chronicler, "showed how noble a city it
had once been."</p>

<p>It is painful, even only in fancy, to picture the return of those
British warriors from the forest; how startling must have been
the very silence which reigned over those ruins, the vast dreary
woodland wilderness behind, the levelled walls and the bodies of
the dead before&mdash;here the remains of a beloved home which the
destroying fire had blackened&mdash;on the hearth a beautiful form, with
her long hair steeped in her own heart's blood, her child stretched
across her arm, over which the heavy rafter had in mercy fallen,
the wolf already prowling about the threshold. Even through
the night of time, we can almost hear their moans&mdash;each warrior
reproaching himself for having fled, and envying the unbroken
sleep of the slain. How looked those British fathers and husbands
when they again met the Saxon slayers in battle? Who
marvels, after reading of such deeds as these, that they hung
the heads of their enemies at their sides&mdash;that they found music
in the gurgling of their blood&mdash;that as the foe expired they stood
calmly looking on, mocking him with a solemn death-chaunt,
and telling the dying man of the wife and home he would
never see again&mdash;of the savage laugh, "bitter and sullen as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>
the bursting of the sea, of the dead which in their fury they
mangled&mdash;of the joy with which they hailed the flapping of the
raven's wings, as they heard them descending upon the battle-field?"
Such images would maddened revenge select to express its
triumph in, and the only marvel is, that so many beautiful passages,
expressive of grief, and sorrow, and heart-broken despair, are
scattered over the wild wailings of the early British bards. Yet
such scenes as we have here depicted it was theirs to deplore&mdash;such
revenge as they took, when the current of battle bore them
on to victory, it was theirs to exult in, and their bards, gifted
with the power of song, retired to mourn like the dove, or
sallied forth to destruction with the scream of the eagle.
They were familiar with the images of death, were called
upon every day to defend their lives, and were never certain
that she, whose beautiful smile beamed love on their departure
in the morning, would in the evening stand waiting
upon the threshold to welcome their return. Neither the weeping
mother, nor the smiling child, had, in those days, power to
turn aside the edge of the Saxon sword. Thus was the second
Saxon kingdom called Sussex, established, by Ella, and his three
sons.</p>

<p>Eighteen years after, another of Woden's descendants, named
Cerdric, came with his followers in five ships. Where they
landed is uncertain, though it does not appear that we should
be much in error if we fixed upon Yarmouth, which for centuries
after was called Cerdricksand, and known by that name
even in Camden's day. At the time of his landing, the Britons
were in possession of the whole island, with the exception of
Kent and Sussex, and the Saxons who inhabited these kingdoms
appear to have aided the new-comers. Battle followed
upon battle as usual, and we are thankful that only so few
scanty records exist, for it would be wearisome to go over such
successive bead-rolls of slaughter. Nor was Cerdric allowed
to land peaceably, for, like Julius Cæsar above five centuries
before, he had to fight his way from the first moment of
leaving the deck of his vessel. One great battle, however,
was fought, in which the British king Natanleod was slain; the
two armies met at Churdfrid, and in the onset the islanders
appear to have had the advantage. Natanleod commenced
the attack on the right wing of the Saxons, broke through
the line, bore down the standards, and compelled Cerdric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span>
to retreat. Years had passed away since the Britons had
before mustered such a force; they pursued the routed foe
across the field with terrible slaughter. The victory, however,
was far from being complete, for while the Britons plunged forward,
hot and eager in the pursuit, the forces under the command
of the son of Cerdric closed upon the flank of the pursuing
army and compelled them to wheel round and defend themselves.
The Saxon chief also recovered from the panic, and
attacked them in front; thus the Britons were hemmed in on
both sides, and their centre was soon broken. All was now
hurry, retreat, confusion, and slaughter; quarter was neither
craved nor given, those who could not escape fought and fell,
and when the battle was ended, the body of the British king
lay surrounded by five thousand of his lifeless warriors. It will
be readily imagined that Cerdric must have received great
assistance from Kent and Sussex to have won such a victory,
and it is evident that the leagued forces did not separate
without extending their ravages&mdash;many a fair province was desolated,
the inhabitants slaughtered, their houses burnt to the
ground, and their priests mercilessly butchered; for wherever
the Christian religion abounded, there the sword of the Saxon
was found unsheathed.</p>

<p>Stuf and Wihtgar next came, both of them Cerdric's kinsmen,
and it seems as if scarcely a favourable wind now blew, without
wafting a fresh fleet of Saxon chiefs to the British coast. They
evidently began to look upon Britain as their own; so many
relations came one after the other and settled down, and never
returned, that we can imagine the only topic of conversation
now in Jutland was about Britain&mdash;that houses and lands
were at a discount&mdash;that everybody was either purchasing or
building ships&mdash;that the old crones reaped quite a harvest
in standing upon the headlands and sending prayers after
the vessels, for Jutes, Angles, and Saxons were now all astir;
rumours had flown over the ocean that there were kingdoms
for those who dare venture for them, and that, no matter how
distant the descent might be, so long as the voyager had a drop
of Woden's blood in his veins, there was a crown for him if he
could but find followers to fight for it. Nor had the poor
Britons any hope left, for as one died off there was always
another ready to succeed. Cynric followed Cerdric; he passed
away, and Cealwin came&mdash;killed two or three British kings, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span>
whom we know nothing, excepting that one was called Conmail,
another Condidan, and the third Farinmail&mdash;added the
cities of Gloucester, Cirencester, and Bristol to his dominions&mdash;and
finally established the kingdom of Wessex, which included
several counties, beside the Isle of Wight. But we must not
thus hurry over this stirring period, for a new champion had
sprung up amongst the Britons, the king Arthur of old romance,
the hero of poetry and fable, the warrior whose very existence
has, to many, become a matter of doubt. What little we know
of any of the British kings who existed at this period, is almost
limited to the bare mention of their names. A new language
had sprung up, and, excepting among the conquered, there was
no one left to record the deeds of the British heroes, but the
Welsh bards; for what sympathy could the worshippers of
Woden have with the warriors who spoke another language, and
followed a creed so different to their own? What should we
have known of the earlier Britons but for Julius Cæsar? Who
can doubt but that the Saxons cared only to chronicle the deeds
of their own countrymen, or who can tell how many records
were destroyed by the misbelieving Danes on a later day? We
have more than tradition to prove the existence of Arthur: he
is alluded to by the ancient bards, and mentioned by them in
succession, for as one caught up and carried forward the Cymric
lay of another, so did he allude to warriors of other days. The
Saxons had enough to do to record their own conquests, and
left the Britons to mourn over their own disasters, for what they
remembered with feelings of pride would to the new-comers be
a source of regret; a British victory would but afford them a
theme for a dirge, and the very memory of a hero who had occasionally
triumphed over them would be a source of pain. Those
who furnished Gildas and Nennius with the subjects for their
histories would not be such as kept a record of the bravery of the
Britons, yet Arthur is mentioned by them both. These venerable
chroniclers could but tell what they heard; many of the
Welsh bards fought in the battles of which they sang, and
even defeat, as well as victory, was alike woven into their lays.
No such remains are found amongst the Saxon historians,
yet they both mention the battles in which Arthur fought:
he was a British king; and, though Gildas was living within
twenty years after the death of Arthur, he had but little sympathy
for him&mdash;nevertheless he praises his valour.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span>
Arthur is the last British king in whose fortunes we strongly
sympathize. We see his native land about to be wrested from
him. In every corner of the island are strangers landing, and
taking possession of the soil. In almost every battle the Britons
are defeated; they who, from the first dawning of history, had been
the possessors of the island, are about to be driven from it, and that,
too, at a period when they were just becoming familiar to us. As
we feel for and with them at this time, so do the Saxons at last
interest us, and there our sympathy ends; the Normans never
become so endeared to us as they have been. From their first
landing we seem to dislike them, even more than we do the
Saxons, whom we begin to see darkening every point of the
land, for as yet they are Pagans, and just as they gather upon
our favour, the Danes approach; and then we feel as much interested
on the side of the Saxons as we do now on that of the
Britons. For there are currents in history which bear us forward
against our will&mdash;we struggle against them in vain&mdash;we are swept
onward through new scenes, and whirled so rapidly amongst
past events, that we no longer cling to passing objects to retard
our courses; but as the wide ocean opens out before us, we
gaze upon its vastness in wonderment, and are lost in the contemplation
of the shifting scenes which are ever chasing each
other over its surface. The forms that fall upon the pages of
history, are like the sunshine and shadow pursuing each other
over the face of the ocean, where the golden fades into the grey;
and as each wave washes nearer to the shore, it is ever
changing its hue, from gloom to brightness, until it breaks
upon the beach, and is no more. Arthur leading on the Britons,
with the image of the Virgin upon his shield, seems, in our eyes,
only like some armed phantom, standing upon the rim of the
horizon at sunset, and pointing with his sword towards the
coming darkness; then he sinks behind the rounded hill, never
to appear again. His twelve battles have a glorious indistinctness,&mdash;they
sink one behind the other in the sunset, just as
we can trace the bright armour, and the drooping banners, and
the moving host, in the fading gold of the clouds,&mdash;they then melt
around the dying glories of heaven. Something great and grand
seems ever shaping itself before the eye; but ere we are able
to seize upon any distinct feature, all is gone, never to appear
again.</p>

<p>Arthur first appears to us checking the flight of a British prince;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span>
we see his hand on the rein, he is about to bear off the beautiful
lady, but is dissuaded from it by his companions. The
cavalcade passes on, and he rides moodily at the head of his
followers,&mdash;then one of the dark turnings of time shuts him out
from the sight.</p>

<p>Sword in hand, we next behold him, in hot pursuit after a
British chief, who has slain some of his soldiers; the image of
the Virgin is borne rapidly through the air, his teeth are clenched,
and there is a frown upon his brow. A priest approaches&mdash;others
come up&mdash;they tell him that there are enemies enough to
slay amongst the Saxons. The angry spot fades from his forehead,
and he sits calmly in his saddle&mdash;again he vanishes.</p>

<p>His wife is then borne away, and we meet him breathing
vengeance against the king of Somersetshire, vowing that he
will, ere night, leave Melva to sleep shorter by the head&mdash;he
slackens his rein for a few moments beside the gate of a monastery:
good and holy men are there, the hand of a venerable
man is placed upon his bridle, the image of the Virgin he bears
upon his shield is appealed to; he muses for a time with his eyes
bent upon the ground, he allows his war-horse to be led under
the grey gateway of the monastery&mdash;his wife is restored, and
Melva forgiven, and the curtain again falls.</p>

<p>Huel, another king of the Britons, has been tampering with
the enemies of his country; he is upbraided by Arthur for his
treachery, then slain by his own hand. We see him ever in
the van, at the battles of Glen, Douglas, Bassas, the Wood of
Caledon, Castle Gunnion, on the banks of the Rebroit, on the
mountain of Cathregonian, and the battle in which the Saxons
were routed on the Badon Hills, and we no longer wonder at
the slow progress made by Cerdric, or that he died before the
kingdom of Wessex was established. The armed troops, headed
by king Arthur, stood between his advance into Wales; they
remembered the hills of Bath, and the number of slain they
had left upon those summits. Saving the feud with Medrawd,
in which the British king received the blow by which he died,
these few facts are about all that we can gather of the renowned
deeds of the mighty King Arthur.</p>

<p>Excepting the slight mention made of him in the works of
Gildas and Nennius, the former of whom, as we have before
stated, was living about the period ascribed to Arthur, we find,
no other record of his deeds, beyond those tradition has preserved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span>
in the lays of the Welsh bards. After the battle of
Camlan, where Arthur received his death-blow, he was carried
from the field, and conveyed to Glastonbury Abbey, and consigned
to the care of a noble lady, named Morgan, who appears
to have been a kinswoman of king Arthur's; in her charge he
was left to be cured of his wounds. He, however, died, though
his death was long kept a secret, and rumours were sent abroad
that he had been removed into another world, but would one
day again appear, and reign sole king of Britain. Ages after,
this was believed in; it was a thought that often cheered the
fading eyes of the dying Celt; he believed that he but left his
children behind him for a time; and that Arthur, with the
Virgin upon his shield, and his sword, "Caliburne," in his
hand, would assuredly one day come and lead the remnant of
the ancient Cymry on to victory. No historian, who has looked
carefully into the few facts which we possess relating to this
British king, has ever doubted the existence of such a belief; it
was a coming devoutly looked for&mdash;the dreamy solace of a fallen
nation, their only comfort when all beside had perished. No
marvel that round his memory so many fables are woven&mdash;that
miracle upon miracle was ascribed to him, and deed upon deed
piled together, until even the lofty summit of high romance at
last toppled down with all its giants, and monsters, and improbable
accumulation of enemies slain, which in the days of Gildas
amounted to hundreds, and that down with it tumbled nearly
all the few facts which had swelled into such an inordinate bulk
from his fair fame. How it would have astonished the true
Arthur, could he but have been restored to life, and by the light
of the few embers which glimmered in the British huts in the
evening twilight, have heard some bard, the descendant of Llywarch
the aged, who knew him well, and had looked on him, face
to face, recounting his deeds at the battle of Llongberth! Yet,
through the traditions of these very bards, by whom his deeds
were so magnified, is his memory preserved, though above thirteen
centuries have glided away. All belief in his return must, ages
before this, have perished; yet his memory was not forgotten, and
it is on record, that a secret had been entrusted to one who had
probably descended from a long line of ancient minstrels; for the
druids, who numbered bards amongst their order, had mysteries
which they only confided to each other, and these were seldom revealed
until the approach of death. Nor can we tell how much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span>
they were interested in keeping the death of Arthur a secret, for
we must not forget that the fires upon their altars were not
wholly extinguished when the British king fell beneath the fatal
blow, which he received from the hand of his nephew in the field
of Camlan, for that his death was kept a secret has never been
disputed.</p>

<p>Though the discovery of the remains of king Arthur has long
been a matter of doubt, yet while it is supported by such high
authority as Giraldus Cambrensis and William of Malmsbury,
who were living at the period it is said to have taken place, and
while even Sharon Turner has admitted it into his "History of
the Anglo-Saxons," we should scarcely be justified in rejecting
it from our pages. The discovery is said to have originated as
<span class="locked">follows:&mdash;</span></p>

<p>Henry the Second, during his visits into Wales, freely admitted
the Welsh bards into his presence; and as he numbered amongst
his own household a minstrel of some celebrity, named Pierre de
Vidal, there is every reason to conclude that he was a willing
listener to the ancient lays which were chanted in those days in
the halls of the nobles. By one of the old British bards he was told
that king Arthur was interred in Glastonbury Abbey; that the
spot was marked by two pyramids, or pillars; that the body was
buried very deep, to prevent the Saxons from discovering it;
and that, instead of a stone coffin, the remains would be found
in the trunk of a hollowed oak&mdash;a form of interment, as we have
before shown, very common amongst the ancient Britons. The
king transmitted this information to the abbot of Glastonbury,
commanding him to dig between the pillars, and endeavour to
discover the body of the British king. In the cemetery of the
abbey, and between the monuments which the Welsh bard had
pointed out, they commenced the search, and dug, it is said, until
they came to a stone, under which they found a leaden cross,
and the following inscription: "Hic jacet sepultus inclytus Rex
Arthurus in insula Avollonia." Though we must confess that
there is something very doubtful about the inscription of a British
king not being in Welsh, when the Cymry were said, at this
period, to have been acquainted with letters, we will pass it by,
and go on with the narrative. Sixteen feet lower, it is said,
they found the outer coffin, which, as before described, was
formed out of the solid stem of an oak, hollowed in the centre to
contain the body. The leg-bones, we are told, were of an unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span>
size, being the breadth of three fingers longer than those
of the tallest man present. These bones Giraldus, it is said,
took in his hand, and also read the inscription, for he was present
at the disinterment. The skull was large, and marked with
ten wounds&mdash;nine of these had healed in the bone, the tenth was
open, and probably showed where the mortal blow was struck
that terminated his life. Near at hand, were found the remains
of his wife; the long yellow hair which the ancient bards loved
to dwell upon, in their descriptions of the fair queen, appeared
perfect, until touched. The remains were removed into the
abbey, and placed in a magnificent shrine, which, by the order
of Edward the First, was placed before the high altar. In
the year one thousand two hundred and seventy-six, nearly
a hundred years after the bodies were discovered, the same
king, accompanied by his queen, visited Glastonbury, and
had the shrine opened to look upon the remains of the renowned
warrior and his once fair consort. King Edward folded
the bones of the reputed Arthur in a rich shroud, while his wife
did the same with those of the yellow-haired queen; then placed
them again reverentially within the shrine. The pillars which
marked the spot where the bodies were discovered, long remained;
and William of Malmsbury, who was living at the period when
they were disinterred, has left an account of the inscription
and figures upon the pillars, which were five-sided, and twenty-six
feet <span class="locked">high.<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</a></span> Neither the meanings of the inscriptions, or the
figures, were at the period of the discovery rightly understood.
What befel them afterwards we know not, though the fate of
the abbey is well known. Whether the discovery of these
remains be true or not, there cannot be a doubt about the existence
of king Arthur; for, were there even no allusion made to
him by Gildas and Nennius, who lived near upon the period
when he was waging war with Cerdric and Cealwin; or by the
British bards, who knew him personally, and even fought under
his command,&mdash;were there no such undeniable evidence as the
above, the traditions which so long preserved his remembrance
would go far to prove his existence. But these throw no light
upon the achievements by which he became so renowned; it is
like discovering the casket without the gem&mdash;there is evidence
of the treasure, and the care with which it was preserved, but
what the treasure itself was, we know not. What few facts we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span>
have thrown together, are all that can really be depended upon
as the true history of king Arthur: his knights, his round table,
and the deeds which are attributed to him, must ever stand
amongst the thousand-and-one tales which a wonder-loving
people have treasured in all ages, and some of which are found
even amongst the most barbarous nations. They appear to have
been such as raised Woden into a god in the darkest era of
Saxon paganism; and as Roman civilization seems never to have
spread far amongst the ancient Cymry in Wales, we are justified
in concluding that they also loved to shed around the memory of
their bravest chieftain the same mysterious reverence, and that
what was wanting to make up the unnatural stature of the image
of their idolatry, they piled up from old legends and time-out-of-mind
fables, that "give delight, but hurt not." The discovery
of king Arthur's remains is at best but doubtful history.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ESTABLISHMENT OF THE SAXON OCTARCHY.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Over the hawk's station, over the hawk's banquet of heads,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the quivering of the spears, reddening was the wing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the howling of the storm the course of the sea-gull was seen;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the blood, whirling and flowing, the exulting ravens were screaming,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They hovered above the treasure of the fierce-winged race,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And their clamour went spreading through the sky."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Cynddelu's Death of Owen.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">During the period in which the events occurred that are narrated
in the opening pages of our last chapter, another body of
Saxons had arrived in Britain, and settled down in Essex, where
under Erkenwin they laid the foundation of that kingdom or
state, which eventually extended into Middlesex, and included
London&mdash;then a town of considerable note, though bearing no
marks of its high destiny, as its few houses heaved up and overlooked
the Thames. Little did the fisherman dream, as he
turned back to gaze upon his humble home, where the morning
sunbeams fell, that the hut in which he had left his children
asleep, stood where a city would one day rise, that should become<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span>
the metropolis of England, and the envy of surrounding
nations. Still less did those ancient Saxons, as they landed in
the marshes of Essex, ever imagine that they were marching
onward towards a town, whose renown would one day spread to
the uttermost ends of the earth, a city which would at last arrest
the gaze of the whole wide world, whose grandeur would only
be eclipsed by its greatness, and stand the sun of the earth,
defying all eyes to point out, amid the blaze of its splendour,
where its brightness began or where it ended. But while the tide
which bore on a new population was thus setting in, and the
kingdom of East Anglia was formed by a portion of the Saxon
tribe, who have left no other names behind than those given to
the counties of Suffolk and Norfolk, the most formidable force
that had hitherto arrived in Britain, since the time of the Romans,
landed between the Tweed and the Firth of Forth. Forty ships
were at once anchored near the mouths of these rivers, and from
them stepped on shore, Ida and his twelve sons, with a number
of nameless chiefs, who belonged to the tribe of Angles, and
a long train of Saxon followers, all of whom had sworn to
acknowledge Ida as their king, for he also claimed descent from
the inexhaustible stock of Woden. Between the Clyde and the
Humber, the country was divided amongst many of the British
tribes, all of whom had their separate king, or chief, and were
ever doing their utmost, unconsciously, to aid the conquest of the
Saxons, by waging war with each other. Bernicia and Deira,
as they were afterwards called, were at the time of Ida's landing
governed by the following kings or chiefs, for it is difficult to distinguish
their proper titles, named Gall, Dyvedel, Ysgwnell, Urien,
the patron of Taliesin the bard, Rhydderc the generous, Gwallog,
Aneurin, himself a poet, together with other sovereigns whose
very names have perished, and who all appear to have, for once,
united, and made a bold stand against the advance of Ida.</p>

<p>We have now the light of these ancient bards to guide us
through this remote period, and some of them fought in the
battles of which they have left us descriptions. Chief amongst
these British warriors appears to have been Urien; Taliesin calls
him the "shield of heroes, the thunderbolt of the Cymry," and
compares his onset to "the rushing of mighty waves, and fiery
meteors blazing athwart the heavens." Ida, they designated the
flame-man, or flame-bearer, so terrible was the devastation which
he made. Many battles were fought between these renowned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span>
chieftains. It was on the night which ushers in the Sabbath, when
the "Flame-bearer" approached, with his forces divided into four
companies, to surround Goddeu and Reged, provinces over which
Urien governed. Ida spread out his forces from Argoedd to
Arfynnydd, and having assumed this threatening position, he
daringly demanded submission and hostages from the Britons.
Urien indignantly spurned the proposition, and turning to his
brother chieftains, exclaimed: "Let us raise our banners where
the mountain winds blow&mdash;let us dash onward with our forces
over the border&mdash;let each warrior lift his spear above his head,
and rush upon the destroyer, in the midst of his army, and slay
him, together with his followers." Taliesin, who was present,
and fought under the banner of Urien, thus describes the "Battle
of the Pleasant Valley:" "When the shouts of the Britons
ascended, louder than the roaring of the waves upon the storm-tossed
shore, neither field nor forest afforded safety to the foe: I
saw the warriors in their brave array, I saw them after the
morning's strife&mdash;oh, how altered! I saw the conflict between
the perishing hosts, the blood that gushed forward and soaked
into the red ground:&mdash;the valley which was defended by a rampart
was no longer green. Wan, weary men, pale with affright,
and stained with blood, dropped their arms and staggered across
the ford; I saw Urien, with his red brow&mdash;his sword fell on the
bucklers of his enemies with deadly force&mdash;he rushed upon them
like an eagle enraged." In this battle, the Britons appear to have
been victorious&mdash;others followed in which they were defeated,
for the "flame-bearing man" spread terror wherever he trod.
He, however, at last fell by Owen the son of Urien, one of the
poets, who also perished by the hand of one of his own countrymen,
and his death was bemoaned by the British bard Llywarch,
in such a plaintive strain that there are few compositions which
excel this ancient elegy, for its beautiful pathos and wild,
mournful images; some of these are as follows: "I bear a head
from the mountains; the body will ere night be buried under
the cairn of stones and earth! Where is he that supported and
feasted me? Euryddiel will be joyless to-night. Whom shall I
praise, now Urien is no more? The hall is stricken into ruins,&mdash;the
floor desolate, where many a hound and hawk were trained
for the chase. Nettles and weeds will grow over that hearth,
which, when Urien lived, was ever open to the tread of the
needy; the shout of the warriors as they uplifted the mead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span>
cups, no more will be heard rioting. The decaying green will cover
it, the mouldering lichen will conceal it, the thorn will above it
grow; the cauldron will become rusted that seethed the deer,
the sword of the warrior will no longer clank over it, no sound
of harmony will again be heard there; where once the blazing
torches flashed, and the deep drinking horn went round, the
swine will root, and the black ants swarm, for Urien is no
more!" Such were the immortal echoes that floated around our
island, nearly a thousand years before Shakspere "struck the
golden lyre."</p>

<p>After the death of Urien, another severe battle was fought
in the north between the Britons and Angles, who accompanied
Ida. Aneurin, who was in the fight, has composed the longest
poem which has descended to us descriptive of those ancient
conflicts; it is called the "Gododin," and was held in such
reverence by the Welsh bards, that they entitled him their
king. It is frequently alluded to by the minstrels of the period.
The poem descriptive of the battle of Cattraeth, from which
Aneurin escaped, when three hundred and three score British
nobles, all wearing the "golden torque," fell, contains nearly a
thousand lines. Only three renowned warriors survived this
awful combat; the bard was amongst the number. The British
chieftains had been drinking the pale mead by "the light of
rushes" all night long; with the first streak of dawn, they set
out to attack the Saxons; when they came in sight of the enemy,
they "hastened swift, all running together&mdash;short were their
lives." Like the melancholy chorus in a dirge is this "pale mead"
banquet ever repeated throughout the poem; its effects are sadly
deplored, it is ever turning up and coming in upon the end of
some sorrowful reflection; "pleasant was its taste, long its woe&mdash;it
had been their feast, and was their poison&mdash;it was a banquet
for which they paid the price of their lives." Hear Aneurin's
own words: "The warriors that went to Cattraeth were furious&mdash;pale
golden wine and mead had they drank; they were three
hundred and three score and three, all wearing golden torques,
who hastened to battle after the banquet. From the edges of
the keen-slaying swords, only three escaped the war-dogs, Aeron
and Dayarawd, and I, from the flowing blood were saved. The
reward of my protecting muse." The battle appears to have
been fought in the morning of one of their festive days; and in
the grey dawn, the intoxicated chiefs ran upon the enemy all together,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span>
probably having boasted over their cups that one would
outstrip the other, and be the first to dye his sword in Saxon
blood. The scene of the battle cannot now be ascertained; that
it was in the north we have proof, from the men of Bernicia and
Deiri being present.</p>

<p>After these events, the kingdom called Mercia was established;
it appears to have extended over our present midland counties,
occupying the most important space which stretches from the
Severn to the Humber, and even pushing its frontier upon the
borders of Wales. This formed the eighth kingdom, state, or
colony, established by the Saxons since the day when Hengist
and Horsa first entered the service of Vortigern&mdash;a period occupying
but little more than one hundred years, and during that time
there was scarcely an interval in which the Saxons had not
either to defend their hard-won possessions, or aid their countrymen
when they were close pressed. The Britons had still their
own kingdoms in Wales, Cornwall, a portion of Devonshire, and
the district of Strathclyde; and some of these they maintained
even after the death of Alfred.</p>

<p>We will now take a rapid glance at the eight kingdoms established
by the Saxons, for although Bernicia and Deiri are
frequently classed together as one state, and called Northumbria,
and were occasionally under the sway of one sovereign, they
were, nevertheless, distinct kingdoms for a time. Thus an
octarchy was established, formed of the following eight distinct
states.</p>

<p>First, the Jutes, who had gained Kent, where Hengist first
established himself, and to which his followers added the Isle of
Wight, and a portion of the opposite coast of Hampshire. This
formed the kingdom of Kent.</p>

<p>Second, the South Saxons, who landed under Ella, and, after
many a severe combat with the Britons, founded the kingdom of
Sussex.</p>

<p>Third, the East Saxons, who, under the command of Erkenwin,
gradually spread over the counties of Essex, Middlesex, and the
southern portion of Hertfordshire, which afterwards became
known as the kingdom of Essex.</p>

<p>Fourth, the West Saxons, who, headed by Cerdric, conquered
the inhabitants of Surrey, part of Hampshire, Berkshire, Wiltshire,
Dorsetshire, Somerset, a portion of Devonshire and Cornwall,
(though long after this period) and finally, founded the kingdom
of Wessex.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span>
Fifth, East Anglia, containing Norfolk, Suffolk, Cambridge,
the Isle of Ely, and some portion of Bedfordshire, all included
in the state or kingdom of East Anglia.</p>

<p>Sixth, Deiri, which included the counties of Lancaster, York,
Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Durham.</p>

<p>Seventh, Bernicia, where Ida first landed, and which extended
from Northumberland into Scotland, somewhere between
the rivers Forth and Tweed.</p>

<p>Eighth, and last, Mercia, which swallowed up the chief portion
of the midland counties, and was divided into the north and
south by the river Trent, though all were within the limits of the
dominion of Mercia. Such were the kingdoms that formed the
Saxon Octarchy, and which were no sooner established, than
one state began to wage war against the other, in which they
were occasionally aided by the Britons.</p>

<p>Hitherto we have had to feel our way cautiously along the
shores which skirt the dark sea of History, and have been compelled
to put into many a creek and harbour at a venture, as
abler mariners have done before us; but, in no instance have we
stirred, without consulting the compass and carefully examining
the chart which Gildas, Nennius, and Bede, those ancient
voyagers, have drawn up as a guide, and which Turner and
Mac <span class="locked">Cabe<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</a></span> have carefully examined, and marked anew every
point that is dark and doubtful.</p>

<p>Many events transpired before the final establishment of the
Saxon Octarchy, which we have hurriedly passed over as being
of little importance, and which to have narrated would have
carried us again over the ground already traversed. Of such are
the deaths of the Saxon kings or chiefs; the contests that arose
in selecting a successor, and the bickerings and breakings out,
which were necessarily consequent upon the formation of so
many separate states, for few of them could be called kingdoms.
Nor must we suppose, that in all cases where the conquerors
settled down, the ancient inhabitants fled before them&mdash;many,
doubtless, remained behind, and gradually intermixed with
the Saxons; of such, probably, would be those who had grown
civilized under the Roman government, and were skilled in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span>
the arts and manufactures, and had still continued to improve
in agriculture, ever since the time of Agricola. Men possessing
this knowledge, and acquainted with these secrets, would,
beyond doubt, be tempted to reside amongst the invaders;
and we shall soon arrive at a period, which will show that
civilization had tamed down the martial spirit of the Saxon, as it
had before-time done that of the Britons, and that they were for
a long season as apparently helpless under the attacks of the
Danes, as the ancient inhabitants of the island were under their
own repeated assaults. It would be a work of great labour, and
one that would require an acute analysis, to trace, step by step,
this degenerative process. Many of the Britons emigrated. We
have shown that twelve thousand, under a free king, Riothamus,
went out to war against the Visigoths, but it would only be
carrying us into the history of other countries were we to follow
their footsteps. Even the Britons that remained behind, though
dispossessed of nearly the whole of their country for a long time,
"bated not a jot of heart nor hope;" they clung to their old prophecies,
and, through the dark night of oppression, saw the ruddy
streak which they believed would ere long break into the bright
morning of vengeance, when they should drive the Saxons before
them triumphantly out of Britain. Strengthened by this belief,
they fought many a battle which we have not recorded, and even
when defeated, it was only to retire to their "stony paradise,"
as their bards called Wales, and there await the breaking of that
bright morning which had so long been foretold. There is something
wild and beautiful in the very idea of this never-to-be-realized
hope; it forms a prominent feature in the character of the
Welsh population to this very day, though now turned into a
feeling, which arms them, better than any other, against the lesser
evils of life. They are ever in the hope of seeing "better days."
We can readily fancy that every rumour of the outbreak amongst
the Saxon tribes, must have been received with as much acclaim
in their mountain fortresses, as would the first note awakened
by Aneurin or Llywarch when they struck their harps. We
can picture the eagerness with which they hurried down, to aid
one Saxon chief to make war upon another, scarcely caring
which chief conquered, so long as they themselves escaped, and
believing that the body of every enemy which they left in the field
was a unit nearer to the fulfilment of their fancied Millennium.
They never lacked a leader, if an attack was contemplated, and we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span>
probably err not in surmising that many an onset was made
after the night had been consumed "by the light of the rushes,"
and while they were brimful of valour and "pale mead," and
heated by the lay which some bard less renowned than Aneurin
chanted. Cattraeth may not be the only instance in which the
wearers of the "golden torques," the ensign of nobility, fell. Still
there seems to have been a hearty faith in the ancient Cymry,
which endears them to us, and in nothing was this evinced more,
than in their belief of the predictions of their bards. A pale ray
of light, like the lingering of a subdued smile, falls upon our page
whilst we write, as we contrast the "then" with the "now."
The bards of other days were kings, chiefs, and renowned warriors;
their harps raised them to these dignities: the bards of the
present age are bards only, and however great their fame, can
only receive due honour by first passing through the gate of
death. The extracts with which we have enriched this chapter
show the appreciation of the beautiful, in a barbarous age, and
oh! let not this sentence be forgotten. All that we know of the
lives of many of those ancient British kings, who were great and
renowned in their day, is what has been preserved in the lays of
our early bards; but for these, their very names would have
perished, and Urien himself would never again have awakened
the throb of a human heart. The cold contempt of the proud
and the haughty, chilled not the heart of the true minstrel; with
his harp in his heart, he ever goes, making music his companion,
when there is none beside to hear it; and the notes he often carelessly
scatters behind him, if of the true tone, are never lost. A
thousand years pass away, and they still ring as freshly about the
heart as those which we have here gathered, and which Llywarch,
above thirteen hundred years ago, poured forth between his sighs,
when he mourned for the loss of his chieftain, for there is a
sadness about the dirges which we yet feel. The monuments
of brass, of iron, and marble, have ages ago decayed or mouldered
away, yet the echoes which arose from that ancient harp have not
yet died. Time destroyeth all things excepting the Immortality
of the Mind.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">CONVERSION OF ETHELBERT.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The oracles are dumb, no voice or hideous hum<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Runs through the archëd roof, in words deceiving.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Apollo from his shrine can no more divine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No nightly trance or breathéd spell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">It will be readily supposed that many of the early Saxon chieftains,
or kings, for it matters not by which title we call them,
had by this time died, and been succeeded by their sons and
kinsmen. That many had also perished in the wars with the
Britons we have already shown, and now when the Octarchy
was established, and the ancient inhabitants of the country were
either conquered or driven into one corner of the island, when
it might be expected that Peace had at last alighted and taken
up her abode in the land, the Saxon sovereigns began to war
with each other. We have before shown that when the Saxons
went out to battle, they with one consent selected a king&mdash;no
matter how high might be the rank of those who had sworn to
serve under him, they obeyed his commands; when the war was
over, each again stepped into his former dignity, and the power
thus given for a time to the war-king was at an end. Some
such king was acknowledged by the Saxon sovereigns, and he
was called the Bretwalda, or king of Britain, though it is not
clear that the other sovereigns ever paid him any homage, and
the only inference we can draw from the claim set up by
Ethelbert, the young king of Kent, is, that it was conferred
upon that prince who was the nearest akin to Woden. Something
of the kind is shadowed forth in the claim, which is
grounded alone on his descent from Hengist. Ella, king of
Sussex, appears to have been the first who bore the title of
Bretwalda in Britain; he died, and it seems as if some time
elapsed before any other of the Saxon kings assumed the title;
the next that did was Ceawlin, king of Wessex. Ethelbert of
Kent rose up, and disputed the claim. Ceawlin was not a man to
be moved from his high estate by the descendant of Hengist, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span>
from this dispute sprang the first civil war between the Saxon
kings. Ethelbert was but little more than sixteen, when he
so daringly threw defiance in the face of the king of Wessex, and
Ceawlin was at that time one of the most powerful of all the
Saxon kings, and, after having defeated Ethelbert, he, on the
death of Cissa, king of Sussex, annexed that kingdom to his
own; nor was there a sovereign throughout the whole Saxon
states bold enough to wrest the plunder from his hand. For a
youth like Ethelbert to have thus bearded so powerful a king,
and to have been the first to commence hostilities, and finally
to have succeeded in gaining the envied title, evinces a courage
and a perseverance which draw the eye anxiously forward to
watch the result of his future career, nor shall we be disappointed
in the issue. But, before passing to the most important
event in his life, we must detail the circumstances by which it
was brought on.</p>

<p>One day, as a monk named Gregory was passing through the
market of Rome, looking, like others, on the great variety of
treasures which were piled there, and for which nearly every
corner of Europe had been ransacked, he was struck by a group
of beautiful boys. There was something in their white naked
limbs, fair complexions, and light long flowing hair, which at
once arrested the eye of the kind-hearted monk. He turned to
a keen-eyed merchant who was awaiting a purchaser (and who
had probably many other things beside these beautiful boys to
sell), and inquired from what country they had been brought?
He was answered, Britain. The next question he asked was
whether the inhabitants were Christians or Pagans? He was
told that they were Pagans. Gregory sighed heavily when he
heard this, and, as he fixed his eye with a tender and pitiful
look upon these fair and beautiful slaves, he exclaimed: "Oh,
grief of griefs! that the author of darkness should lay claim to
beings of such fair forms&mdash;that there should be so much grace
in the countenance, yet none in the soul."</p>

<p>When told that they were of the race of the Angles, he said
they were worthily named, for their faces were angelic; and
when informed that the province from which they came was
called the Deiri, he paused&mdash;divided the word, dwelt upon it,
then exclaimed, "De-ira Dei (from the wrath of God) they
must be torn." But when he further heard that the king of the
country from whence they came was named Ella, the beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span>
picture which had opened before his imagination, merely conjured
up from the ideas created by suggestive sound, was complete,
and, in his happy enthusiasm, he exclaimed, "Hallelujah!
the praise of God must yet be sung in that land." Imagine the quivering
lip and tearful eye which would first show the impression
of a kind-hearted man and a scholar, when told that these fair
children had been dragged from their homes, and brought from
a distant island, far away over the sea, and stood there huddled
together, seeking to avoid the merciless eye of the unfeeling
merchant, who found them the most troublesome part of the
cargo he had brought, for the bales he probably sat upon
required no feeding, and as a point of business he had been
compelled to keep those young slaves plump and in good
order, and doubtless, while showing them to the monk, he
made them display themselves to the best advantage. They,
struck by the kindness which must have beamed, like a
glory, around the countenance of the good monk Gregory, perhaps
wished that they might be purchased by so friendly-looking
a master, for they would be unable to comprehend a
single word he said beyond the names of their country and
kings. The quivering lip and tearful eye would soon change
into the lighted look of enthusiasm, as, bit by bit, the Pagan
island rose before the fancy of the tender-hearted monk, as he saw
their beautiful heathen mothers and fairer sisters kneeling
before senseless stocks and stones; and oh! what a chill must have
come over his kind heart when the pope, whom he entreated to
send missionaries into that heathen land, rejected his petition.
Still it prevented not good Gregory from purchasing the slaves,
who had so deeply interested him. He further clothed and
educated them, and would, had he not been prevented, have
accompanied them on their return to Britain.</p>

<p>Monk Gregory, at last, became the Roman pontiff; but the
splendour by which he was now surrounded altered not his gentle
nature; he remembered those beautiful barbarians,&mdash;had many a
time thought of their island home over the waves, and the fair
mothers who looked in vain for their return; and he solicited a
monk, to whom he had doubtless before-time confided this wish,
which ever seems to have been nearest his heart, to undertake
the journey; and Augustin was chosen to fulfil this mission. The
monks who were appointed to attend Augustin in his mission
had heard such rumours of the ferocity of the Saxons, that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span>
expressed a desire to return to Rome, although they had proceeded
some distance on their journey; and they so far gave way
to their fears as to prevail upon Augustin to go back and solicit
the pope to recall them. The pontiff, however, told them that to
abandon an undertaking which they had commenced was more disgraceful
than if they had not accepted it; bade them proceed in
God's name, appointed Augustin abbot over them, and commanded
them to obey him. Further, he gave them letters to the prelates
and kings through whose countries they would have to pass.</p>

<p>To the daughter of Charibert, king of the Franks, Ethelbert
was married; and although she was a Christian, and he a pagan,
it had been no bar to their union; Bertha was to follow her own
creed, Ethelbert his: he bowed before Woden, she acknowledged
the existence of the true God. Vortigern and Rowena had lived
together on the same terms before-time. Augustin arrived in
Britain, with his train of fifty monks and interpreters, which the
king of the Franks had provided, and landed in the isle of
Thanet. How different the intent of his mission to that of the
Saxon chiefs who had landed there a century and a half before
him! They came to kill, to earn their wages by bloodshed; these
came to save, and were neither armed with spear, sword, nor
battle-axe; their only shield was the cross of Christ, and on their
banner the figure of the Redeemer was borne. They came
with no other war-cry than the Litany which they chanted as
they moved gravely along. What glorious scenes illustrative
of the progress of our religion yet remain to be painted! How
easy to picture that ancient procession as it passed: their landing
from the ship: their prayer offered up on the beach: the misbelieving
Saxons looking on in wonder: some priest of Woden
pouring into the ear of a listening chief a disparaging story: the
countenances of children looking on with a mixture of fear and
wonder: heathen mothers pitying the figure upon the banner,
and wondering what he had done to be nailed upon the cross; or
perhaps thinking that they had come to solicit aid against those
who had been guilty of such inhuman cruelty, and their motherly
hearts at once enlisted in favour of the strangers, who came to
seek the means of vengeance for such an outrage. Or perhaps
they pitied the poor monks who had no arms to defend themselves,
and entreated their husbands to assist them. Such
fancies would naturally float over their benighted minds, for at
what other conclusions could they arrive from what they now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span>
saw? Doubtless the ship, when first seen out at sea, would
awaken other thoughts, and many an armed figure paced
the shore impatiently, and awaited the arrival of the vessel,
drawing circles upon the sand with their pointed weapons, to
while away the time, as they stood ready to offer up fresh
victims on the altar of Odin.</p>

<p>Ethelbert received the tidings of their coming rather coldly,
but still not unkindly; he bade them to remain where they
were, supplied them with such things as their immediate wants
required, and promised, in the meantime, to consider what he
would do for them. The bright eyes of Bertha had had their
influence; her sweet voice had made an inroad into the stony
heart of Ethelbert; but for her beautiful face, he would probably
have consigned the whole race of trembling monks to
Neiflheim and Hela the terrible, or offered them up as a rich
sacrifice to Odin. But even Bertha, great as her power appears
to have been over him, could only influence him in their favour
by slow degrees; he deliberated for several days before he consented
to meet them, and when he did at last agree to a conference,
he chose the open air,&mdash;still true to his ancient faith, for
there he had been taught to believe that all magical influence
was powerless. How looked he when he first beheld them?&mdash;Perhaps
he clung to the fair Christian that stood by his side, and
as she pressed his arm, and he felt that she also was of the same
faith, the colour mounted his cheek for a moment, and, as it
would appear, his heart half reproached him for having treated
them so coldly, for he at once kindly commanded the missionaries
to sit down. Doubtless the spot chosen for this interview was
a circle surrounded with seats of turf, such as the Saxons
assembled in, in the early ages, when their witena-gemots were
held in the open air. Surrounded with his nobles, the king
listened attentively until Augustin had made known the object
of his mission. Ethelbert, who was endowed with clear judgment,
waited patiently till the abbot had finished, and then
answered: "Your promises are fair, but new and uncertain. I
cannot abandon the rites which my people have hitherto observed;
but as you have come a long way to tell us what you believe to
be true, we will not only hold you harmless, but treat you hospitably.
Nor will we forbid any one you can convince to join
in your faith." Such was the substance of Ethelbert's answer;
a more candid or a kinder one never issued from a pagan's lips;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span>
but those lips had been breathed on by the prayers of Bertha,
and her own rounded roses had kissed their way into his heart;
he had found the honey that hung upon them, far sweeter than
the richest sacrifice that ever steamed up from the altars of
Woden. Ethelbert gave them a church in Canterbury, which
was built in the time of the Romans. The British Christians
had there bowed to their Maker; it had been Bertha's place of
worship, and was probably the only one in the wide county of
Kent where prayers to the true God were offered up,&mdash;where she
herself had many a time, amid hopes and fears, prayed for the
day to come which had at last arrived. She, a stranger in a
foreign land, far away from the home of her fathers, surrounded
by pagan altars and the hideous images of rude idols, had never
once despaired, as she leant, like Hope, upon her anchor, with
no one near to comfort her, but even while the hymns of Odin
rang upon her ear, in the midst of her devotions, had kept her
eye fixed upon the star which was mirrored in the troubled
waters that washed around the cold anchor, and chilled her
naked feet.</p>

<p>In this ancient British church, Augustin and his monks
administered the rites and ceremonies of the Christian religion
unmolested,&mdash;numerous converts were soon made, and baptised,
and chief amongst these was king Ethelbert. As a proof of his
earnestness and sincerity, the newly converted Saxon sovereign
granted the monks permission to repair all the British churches
in his kingdom, which had before-time been devoted to Christian
worship. The pope also conferred on Augustin the title of
archbishop, and sent him over a pall, woven from the purest and
whitest lamb's-wool, and chequered with purple crosses, that,
when worn over his shoulders, it might remind him of Christ
the good Shepherd, and of the crosses and perils he endured in
bringing home the lost sheep on his shoulders, and gathering
them together in the fold. But vestments for the altar, sacerdotal
garments, sacred vessels, and relics of martyrs, were not
all that Gregory sent over to Britain; for manuscript Bibles,
copies of the Gospels, psalters, and legends of the saints and
martyrs, were among the more substantial treasures which the
learned pope poured into our island, and some of which our own
immortal Alfred translated with his own hand in a later day.
The bindings of many of these manuscripts were emblazoned
with silver images of our Saviour, and glittering glories of yellow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span>
gold, from the centre of which blazed precious stones, so that when
uplifted by the priest, who stood high above their heads as he
expounded the holy mysteries, their eyes were dazzled by the
splendour of those richly bound volumes, and their senses impressed
with a solemn reverence, as they looked upon the image
of their Redeemer. He also sent over other fellow-labourers,
and amongst these were men distinguished for their piety and
learning. Gregory was a man endowed with great discernment,
possessing also those peculiar qualities which have ever marked
the profoundest statesmen; in these essentials he stood high
above his archbishop Augustin. The far-seeing pope knew that
he had to deal with a race of idolaters, many of whom would
change their creed to please their sovereign, or from other interested
motives; and, conscious of the purity of his own design and
the holiness of his cause, he resolved that there should be nothing
startling or forbidding, or much at variance with their
ancient customs, in the outward signs and ceremonies of the
Christian religion. With a liberality of opinion far outstriding
that of the age, he rightly concluded, that whatever was not really
evil in itself, it was useless to abolish. Let them retain their
sacrifices, argued Gregory; when the idols are removed, and the
remembrance of them destroyed, let them slaughter their cattle,
sacrifice, and feast upon the offering, and thank God for his
great abundance. What mattered it if on saint-days they erected
arbours of green branches around the church, feasted, and made
merry within them, so long as it was done in remembrance of
the saint to whom the building was dedicated? Surely this was
better than holding such celebration in honour of senseless idols.
Even their pagan temples he would not allow to be hurled down,
conscious that if such places had been held sacred while set apart
for the worship of graven images of wood or stone, they would
be doubly revered when the light of the true gospel broke in
glory within those ancient walls.</p>

<p>Pope Gregory had, doubtless, become acquainted with the
principal points of their heathen faith, and had concluded that if
only rapine and slaughter, and brave but brutal deeds, had been
extolled within those walls, and were the sure passports that
opened the envied halls of Valhalla, he might safely venture to
wrestle with this pagan idol, and overthrow him upon his own
ground: that the doctrines which breathed only of peace and
goodwill, and love and charity, and holy faith in a dying Redeemer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span>
would still be the same if offered up from the very altars on which
Odin himself had stood. It was the substance and the spirit
which dawned upon the great intellectual eye of Pope Gregory,
and made him tread boldly amongst the broken idols which lay
scattered at his feet, where others would have hesitated to have
moved. He daringly grafted the true faith upon a heathen stock,
well knowing that neither the stem nor the soil would militate
against the growth of the goodly fruit with which the branches
would on a future day be hung. Gregory would never have
entered into that fatal controversy beneath the oak, as Augustin
had done, about the celebration of Easter Sunday, and which, if
it did not lead to the slaughter of the monks of Bangor, as
some have believed, lessened the archbishop in the eyes of the
English priests, and caused much dissension and bitter feeling
amongst the Saxons. But Ethelbert, Bertha, and Augustin died;
and Eadbald became king of Kent.</p>

<p>Eadbald took possession of his father's throne and widow at
the same time; for, after the death of Bertha, Ethelbert had
married another princess of the same nation as his former wife.
The priests raised their voices, and denounced the marriage of
Eadbald with his step-mother; he heeded them not, but turned
pagan again, and a great portion of his subjects changed their
religion with him. Sigebert, the king of Essex, his father's friend,
who had become a Christian, also died about this time, and his
sons again embraced their old heathen creed, though they still
occasionally visited the Christian church. They were one day
present while the bishop was administering the Eucharist:
"Why dost thou not offer us that white bread which thou art
giving to others," said they, "and which thou wert wont to give
to our father's sib?" The bishop made answer, that if they
would wash in the same font in which their father the king was
baptized when he became a Christian, they might partake of
the white bread. They replied, that they would not be washed
in the fountain, yet they demanded the bread. The bishop
refused to give it them, and the heathen chiefs drove the
monks out of Essex. Some of them went into Kent, others
left Britain for a time; and as the remnant were on the eve of
departing, Eadbald, by a strange interposition, again renounced
his pagan faith, and intreated the priests to remain behind,
promising also to assist them, as his father Ethelbert had before
done, in the work of conversion. Whether it was a dream, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span>
the reproaches of his own conscience, or the penance which
Laurence had inflicted upon himself, before he again appeared
in the presence of Eadbald, or the working of His mighty
hand "who moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform,"
can never be known. Suffice it that the Saxon king saw the
"error of his ways" and repented.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDWIN, KING OF THE DEIRI AND BERNICIA.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"How oft do they their silver bowers leave<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To come to succour us that succour want;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How oft do they with golden pinions cleave<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Against foul fiends to aid us militant;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They for us fight, they watch, and duly ward,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And their bright squadrons round about us plant,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all for love, and nothing for reward;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh! Why should heavenly God to men have such regard."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Spenser's Faery Queen.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Bernicia and the Deiri formed, at this period, two Saxon
kingdoms, which lay bordering on each other. Ethelfrith
governed the portion that stretched from Northumberland to
between the Tweed and the Frith of Forth; and Ella, dying,
left his son Edwin, then an infant, to succeed him as king of
the Deiri&mdash;a part of England now divided into the counties of
Lancaster, York, Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Durham.
The Northumbrian king, Ethelfrith, appears at this time to
have been the most powerful of all the Saxon monarchs; and no
sooner was Ella dead, than he took possession of the Deiri; nor
was a sovereign to be found throughout the whole of the Saxon
kingdoms bold enough to draw his sword in the defence of Edwin.
The child was, however, carried into Wales, and entrusted to
the care of Cadvan, who was himself a British king, though
now driven into the very corner of those territories over which
his forefathers had for ages reigned. There is something
romantic in this incident of the child of a Saxon king having to
fly to his father's enemies for shelter, and in being indebted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span>
those whom his own countrymen had rendered all but homeless,
for his life. Ethelfrith, however, had at one period desolated
more British districts than any of his predecessors, and in proportion
as he was hated by the Cymry, so would they endeavour
to cherish an object armed with such claims as Edwin's, in the
hope of one day seeing him a leader, and at their head, when
again they measured swords with their old enemies. But this
they were not destined to witness, nor were they able to protect
the young king when he grew up, for Ethelfrith was ever in
pursuit of him&mdash;the figure of the stripling Edwin seemed to
stand up between him and the kingdom of Deiri, as if he felt
that, whilst the son of Ella was alive, he but sat insecurely in the
midst of his new territory. For several years Edwin was compelled
to wander about from province to province, keeping both
his name and rank a secret, and trusting to strangers to protect
him, as if he feared that the emissaries of Ethelfrith were ever
at his heels&mdash;until even his existence seems to have been a burthen
to him, and he doubtless many a time cursed the hour that ever
he was born the son of a king. From infancy had his life been
sought, by one who ought to have defended him when he was
left a helpless child, and heir to the possessions his father had won
by conquest&mdash;by murder; for sorry we are, as true historians,
to state, that not a Saxon king throughout the whole British
dominions could trace his origin to any other source: nor had
William the Norman, on a later day, any better claim to the
British crown. The title of royalty was ever in ancient times
written with a red hand. Thank Heaven! it is no longer so,
nor has the brow which a golden crown encircles, any need now
to be first bathed in human blood.</p>

<p>Edwin is somehow endeared to us, through having descended
from that king whose name attracted the attention of monk
Gregory in the slave-market of Rome, when he was first struck
by the beauty of those British children; for they came from the
Deiri, the kingdom which he governed, whose name called forth
the Allelujah to which the good monk, in the joyousness of his
heart, as he saw the figure of Hope glimmering brightly in the
far distance, gave utterance. From very childhood Edwin's
life was a romance, and many a painful feeling must he have
endured whilst sheltering amongst the Britons in Wales, who
were then writhing beneath the oppression of their Saxon conquerors:
allusions to his own father, or his kindred, or curses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span>
heaped upon his countrymen, must ever have been issuing from
the lips of the humbled Cymry; and who can tell but that to
avoid these painful feelings, he set out alone&mdash;a stranger amid
strangers. Weary of this wandering life, he at last threw himself
upon the generosity of Redwald, king of East Anglia, and
who was at that time honoured with the proud title of the Bretwalda
of Britain, as Ethelbert of Kent had been before. Edwin
acquainted him with his secret, and Redwald promised to
protect him. But his hiding-place was soon known to Ethelfrith,
who lost no time in sending messengers to Redwald, first
with the offer of rich presents, then with threats: and when he
found that neither persuasion nor bribes were effective, he
determined to wage war against the king of East Anglia, unless
he at once gave up Edwin. Redwald at last wavered, for in
almost every battle the Northumbrian king had been victorious;
nor would he probably have seized upon the Deiri, in the face
of six powerful Saxon sovereigns, but for the consciousness of
the strength he possessed, and the terror attached to his name.
The East Anglian king at last reluctantly promised to surrender
his guest. Edwin had a friend in Redwald's court who made
him acquainted with the danger that awaited him, and urged
him at once to escape. But the poor exile, weary of the miserable
existence he had so long led, and the many privations he
had endured, refused to fly for his life. "If I am to perish,"
said the young king, "he that destroys me will be disgraced,
and not myself. I have made a compact with Redwald that I
will not break. And whither should I fly, after having wandered
through so many provinces in Britain without finding a
shelter? How can I escape my persecutor?" His friend was
silent, and left Edwin to sit alone and brood over his own
thoughts. Night came and found the sorrowful king still sitting
upon the same cold stone beside the palace, where he appears to
have fallen asleep, and to have dreamt that a strange figure
approached him, placed his hand upon his head, and bade him
to remember that sign; after having caused him to make
several promises as to what he would do in future, if restored
to his kingdom, the stranger seemed to depart, having
first held out hopes that he should conquer his enemies, and
recover the territory of Deiri. There was nothing very wonderful
in such a dream, beyond the fact that it should afterwards
become true; and, although we cannot go so far as the venerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span>
chronicler Bede, in the belief that some spirit had appeared to
the young king&mdash;still dreams and visions are so interwoven with
the sleep that resembles death, and seem, somehow, more allied
with the shadows which we believe to people another state of
existence, that we can easily imagine, at that dark period, how
firm must have been the reliance of our forefathers upon the
phantoms which were thus conjured up, by the continuation of
such a train of waking thoughts.</p>

<p>Such miracles as the early monkish historians devoutly
believed in, the boldest writer would scarcely venture to work
out in a book professedly treating of only the wildest subjects
of fiction. Yet there are amongst the writers of history those,
who think it an act of dishonesty to pass over the dreams,
visions, and miracles of the early ages, and a want of faith not
to believe in them now, as our forefathers did in the olden time.
They might as well insist upon our copying out the recipes
from such old works as were to be found in the closets of our
grave grandmothers many generations ago; and adopting all
the spells and charms therein recorded, as invaluable cures for
almost every disease under the sun. What we look upon as
firm faith in one age, and believe to be such, we treat as the
weakest folly in another, without in either case outraging
reason, or bringing to the investigation an uncharitable spirit.
For past credulity, a sigh or a smile are enough to mark our
pity or censure, but to be partakers of the same belief are
thoughts against which the common understanding rebels, even
much as we may love the marvellous. A dream is not a
miracle, nor the fulfilment of it a proof of the interference of the
Almighty.</p>

<p>The young king had found favour in the eyes of the queen of
East Anglia, and she reasoned with Redwald, and boldly showed
him how base an act it would be, to give up their guest to the
man who, having robbed him of his kingdom, now sought to
take away his life. "A king should not violate his faith," said
she, "for gold, for good faith is his noblest ornament."
Redwald's heart seems ever to have guided him aright when he
admitted not fear into the counsel, so he nobly resolved, instead
of giving up his guest, to fight for him, and in place of basely
selling his life, to win him back the province he had been driven
from. And, after such a resolve, he doubtless felt himself more
worthy of the title of the Bretwalda of Britain. We regret<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span>
that Time has not even spared us the name of this noble Saxon
queen, that we might add one more woman to the list of these
angelic immortalities, who stand like stars upon the brow of the
deep midnight, that then hung so darkly above the clouded cliffs
of Albion. When Redwald had once decided, he began to act;
he waited not to be attacked, but, with such forces as he could
muster, rushed at once to the boundary of the Deiri. He met
Ethelfrith, ere he was wholly provided for his coming, on the
banks of the river Idel, near Retford, in Nottinghamshire, at
that time probably a portion of the kingdom he had wrested
from Edwin. Redwald had his guest, his honour, and his
kingdom to fight for: Edwin his life, and the possessions he
inherited from his father&mdash;Ethelfrith, a long-cherished vengeance
to appease&mdash;a kingdom he had seized upon without any one
having before dared to dispute his claim&mdash;and East Anglia, now
a fair prize, if he could but win it: he had a bad cause, yet not
a doubt about obtaining the victory, for he had many a time
driven the Picts and Scots, with whole hosts of the Cymry,
banded together, before him, further to the north than any,
excepting the Romans, had ever before done. His dreams had
never been broken by the thought of a defeat, even when the
monks of Bangor were praying against him; he conquered, and
drove the British kings before him like withered leaves before a
storm when the yellow Autumn is waning into Winter. No
Christian fire had ever burnt upon his pagan altars&mdash;to Woden,
the god of battles, had his sacrifices ever been offered up.
Redwald, more vacillating, kept two altars in the temple in
which he worshipped,&mdash;one dedicated to the grim idol which his
warriors still believed in&mdash;the other where he at times knelt
beside his fair queen, and sent up his wavering prayers, between
the shrine of Woden, and the True God. No truer picture was
probably ever drawn of the state of these truly pagan and half-Christian
Saxons in the early times, than is here presented; that
mingled fear of offending Woden, while the heart yearned for
the love of Him whom they believed to be the Giver of all
good, for God and good were in their language the same.</p>

<p>Before commencing the battle, Redwald divided his forces into
three divisions; one of these he placed under the command of his
son, Rainer, and the wing which the young prince headed, commenced
the attack. Ethelfrith commanded his veteran forces to
dash at once into the centre of the enemy's line; and so suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span>
and unexpectedly was this manœuvre accomplished, that it was
like the instantaneous bursting of a thunder-storm down some
steep hill side, covered over with the tall and yellow-waving corn
of summer, through which the torrent and the tempest cut a path,
for so was the division under prince Rainer dispersed, driven
aside and cut asunder, that before the two bodies led on by Redwald
and Edwin had time to wheel round, and check the force of
that mighty avalanche, the prince was slain, and scarcely a warrior,
who but a few moments before had charged so cheerfully
under his war-cry, remained alive.</p>

<p>For a few moments the terrible tide of battle rolled backward,
seeming to recoil from beneath the very force with which it had
broken, as if the vanward waves but rushed again upon those
that followed, to be driven on with greater might upon the desolated
and wreck-strewn beach. Back again was the overwhelming
tide borne with mightier force, and thrown off in a spray of
blood from the points of ten thousand unflinching weapons, while
Redwald himself, with lowering brow, and lip compressed, strode
sullenly onward, and hewed his way into the very heart of the
contest. Ethelfrith, outstripping his followers, rushed headlong
into the very centre of the battle; the gap he had hewn with his
own powerful arm closed behind him, and there stood between him
and the remains of his army, an impenetrable wall of the enemy&mdash;where
he fell, the last billow of the battle broke, for the companion
waves had rolled out far to seaward, and only the shore over
which they had broken was left, strewn over with the wrecks of
the slain. Death had at last done his mighty work; and under
his dark and awful banner Edwin had distinguished himself;
those gloomy gates had opened the way to the kingdom from
which he had so long been driven. Through the assistance of
Redwald, he not only became the king of the Deira, but conquered
the broad provinces of Bernicia, driving before him the
sons of Ethelfrith, and sitting down sole king of Northumbria, for
he united under his sway the kingdoms which Ida had governed,
and Ella, his father, had won. Thus, the youth who had so long
been a wanderer and an exile, who scarcely knew where to fly
for shelter, who was ever in fear of his life, became at last the undisputed
monarch of two mighty Saxon kingdoms, the Deira and
Bernicia.</p>

<p>Edwin no sooner found himself firmly seated on the throne of
Northumbria, than he sent into Kent, and solicited the hand of
Edilburga in marriage. She was the daughter of the late Ethelbert,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>
so distinguished for his kindness to the Christian missionaries.
Probably Edwin had become acquainted with her
while he wandered "homeless, amid a thousand homes." Her
brother Eadbald had, by this time, become a Christian, had
hurled down his heathen idols and pagan altars, and established
himself beside the church at Canterbury, which had long been
the metropolis of Kent. Eadbald justly argued, that it was
wrong for a Christian maiden to become the wife of a pagan
husband, of one who could neither share with her the holy sacrament,
nor kneel down to worship before the altar of the same
Holy God. Edwin bound himself by a solemn promise that he
would offer no obstacle to the royal lady following her own faith,
but that all who accompanied her, whether women, priests, or
laymen, should have full liberty to follow their own form of religion;
and that if, upon close examination by the wise and good
men of his own faith, he found the Christian creed better than
that of Odin, he might at last adopt it. The Saxon princess had
the fullest confidence in the promise of the pagan king, and with
a long train of noble and lowly attendants, headed by Paulinus,
who was by this time created a bishop, she left the home of her
fathers in Kent, and as Rowena had beforetime done, went to
sojourn among strangers. Many a prayer was offered up by the
way, and the holy rites of the church to which she belonged were
daily celebrated. Timidly must the maiden's heart have beaten
when she first set foot within that pagan land; but she probably
remembered the time when many of her father's subjects were
idolaters.</p>

<p>Nothing for the first year seems to have ruffled the smooth
course of love between the pagan king and his Christian queen.
Paulinus continued to preach, but made no converts; and the
love of Edilburga, and the worship of Odin, went on together
hand in hand; for though Edwin himself listened to the music of
lips as sweet as those of Bertha, which had murmured conversion
into the ears of Ethelbert, yet his creed remained unchanged. He
loved, listened, and sighed, with his heathen faith still unshaken.
It was at the holy time of Easter, while Edwin was seated in his
palace beside the Derwent, that a messenger suddenly arrived from
Cwichhelm, the pagan king of Wessex, and sought an audience,
to make known his mission. He was, of course, admitted. While
kneeling lowly to deliver his message, the stranger suddenly
started up, drew forth a dagger which was concealed under his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span>
dress, and was in the act of rushing upon the king, when Lilla,
a thane in attendance, threw himself, in a moment, between the
body of the monarch and the assassin&mdash;just in that brief interval
of time which elapsed between the uplifting and the descending
of the weapon; yet with such force was the deadly blow driven
home, that the dagger passed clean through the body of Lilla, and
slightly wounded the king. Although the swords of the attendants
were instantly drawn, yet the assassin was not cut down
until he had stabbed another knight with the dagger, which he
had drawn from the body of the faithful thane who so nobly
sacrificed his life to save that of the king. On the same evening,
(it was Easter Sunday,) Edilburga was delivered of a
daughter&mdash;the event probably hastened by the shock the
murderer had occasioned. Edwin returned thanks to Odin for
the birth of his child; and when Paulinus again drew his attention
to the God who had so miraculously preserved his life, he
promised he would follow the new faith which the bishop was
so anxious to convert him to, if he was victorious over the king
of Wessex, who had sent out his emissary to destroy him.
Edwin further consented that his daughter should be baptized,
as an earnest of his good faith. Several of his household were
at the same time united to the Christian church.</p>

<p>The account of Edwin's campaign against the king of Wessex
is so very vague and uncertain, that we are compelled to pass it
over altogether. It appears, however, that he slew his enemy
and returned home victorious&mdash;still he delayed his baptism,
although he abandoned his idol-worship, and might often be seen
sitting alone, as if holding serious communion with himself; still
he was undecided whether or not to change his ancient faith.
He also held long and frequent conversations with Paulinus, and
had many serious discussions with his own nobles. He was
even honoured with a letter from the pope, urging him to
abandon his idols. Edilburga also received a letter from the
same high authority, pointing out her duty, to do all that she
could, by her intercession, to hasten his conversion; but Edwin
still remained unchanged. The stormy halls of Odin and the
boisterous revels in which the spirits of the departed warriors
were ever supposed to partake, were more congenial to the
martial hearts of the Saxons, than the peace, humility, and gentleness
which clothed the Christian religion. A vision or a
miracle is again called in by the venerable Bede to complete the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>
conversion of Edwin. This we shall pass over without openly
expressing a feeling of doubt or disbelief. The means which
the Almighty might take to bring about the conversion of a
heathen nation are beyond the comprehension of man. We
doubt not the light which fell upon and surrounded Saul, when
breathing slaughter against the Christians whilst he was on his
way to Damascus, for there we at once acknowledge the wonder-working
hand of God. It required no such powerful agency
for Paulinus to become acquainted with Edwin's previous dream.
Nor does there appear to have been anything miraculous in the
token which the king was reminded of; neither was the incident
at all so startling as it first appears to be, for he had beyond
doubt made Edilburga acquainted with the subject of his dream,
and what would not a woman do, to accomplish the conversion
of a husband she loved? Even after all, Edwin assembled his
nobles and counsellors together openly, to discuss the new
religion before he was baptized, for the vision or miracle had not
yet dispelled his doubts.</p>

<p>When Edwin assembled his pagan priests and nobles together,
and threw open before them the whole subject, Coifi,
who had long administered the rites at the altar of Odin, and, as
it appears, reaped but little benefit, thus spoke out, plainly and
feelingly, at once. (We trust Edilburga was not present.)
"You see, O King, what is now preached to us; I declare to you
most truly, what I have most certainly experienced, that the
religion which we have hitherto professed, contains no virtue at
all, nor no utility. Not one of your whole court has been more
attentive to the worship of your gods than myself, although
many have received richer benefits, greater honours, and have
prospered more than I have done. Now, if these gods had been
of any real use, would they not have assisted me, instead of
them? If, then, after due inquiry, you see that these 'new
things' which they tell us of will be better, let us have them without
any delay." Coifi was weary of waiting for the good things
which stood ready prepared for him in the halls of Valhalla; he
wanted to have a foretaste whilst living.</p>

<p>But we will leave plain-spoken Coifi to introduce the next
orator, who was one of Nature's poets, though a pagan; and the
passage is doubly endeared to us, by the knowledge that on a
later day, Alfred the Great translated it, word for word, and letter
for letter. We regret that we cannot give the original, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span>
there are many words in it which seem out of place, such as we
believe the eloquent orator never uttered, although Bede lived
about this time, and probably heard it from the lips of some one
who was present when it was spoken. It ran nearly as follows:
"The life of man while here, O King, seems to me, when I
think of that life which is to come, and which we know not
of, like a scene at one of your own winter feasts. When you
sit in your hall, with the blaze of the fire in the midst of it, and
round you your thanes and ealdermen, and the whole hall is
bright with the warmth, and while storms of rain and snow are
heard out in the cold air, in comes a small sparrow at one door,
and flies round our feast; then it goes out another way into the
cold. While it is in, it feels not the winter storm, but is warm,
and feels a comfort while it stays; but when out in the winter
cold, from whence it came, it goes far from our eyes. Such is
here the life of man. It acts and thinks while here, but what it
did when we saw it not, we do not know, nor do we know what
it will do when it is gone." He then finished by adding something
about the new religion, and prayed of them to adopt it, if
it was more worthy of their belief, and opened clearer views respecting
a future state than the old.</p>

<p>Paulinus was present, and when he had satisfactorily answered
all questions, a fearful feeling still seemed to linger amongst the
pagans, as to who should first desecrate their old temple, and
overthrow the idols and altars before which they had so long
worshipped. "Give me a horse and a spear," said Coifi, "and
I will." They were brought to him. We cannot help picturing
Coifi in his eagerness to get rid of the old religion, nor how
Paulinus, with his dark hair, hooked nose, swarthy countenance,
and darker eyes, just looked for a moment at Edwin, as the
pagan priest hurled his spear at the idol temple, and profaned it.
"The people without thought him mad." What Coifi thought
of the people is not on record. He knew what the idols were
better than they did. Witness the results of his own experience;
for day after day, and year after year, had he administered to the
shrine, yet received no reward; and doubtless Coifi thought
that, let the new religion be what it might, it could not be worse
than the old one. When he had hurled his spear against the
temple, it was profaned, and could never more be dedicated to
the worship of Odin; for such an act was held impious by the
ancient Saxon pagans. The building was then destroyed, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span>
the surrounding enclosures levelled to the ground. This scene
took place near the Derwent, not far from the spot where Edwin
had so narrow an escape from the assassin Eumer. In Bede's
time it was called Godmundham, or the home of the gods.
After this, Edwin and his nobility were baptized, and through
his persuasion, the son of his protector, Redwald, embraced
Christianity, and diffused it amongst his subjects in East Anglia.
Edwin himself, as we have shown, had in his younger days been
a wanderer and an exile; and although we have no account of the
privations he endured, they were doubtless great, and perhaps
we should not much err in surmising that many a time he had
endured the pangs of hunger and thirst: for on a later day he
caused stakes to be fastened beside the highways wherever a
clear spring was to be found, and to these posts, brazen dishes
were chained, to enable the weary and thirsty traveller to refresh
himself. For houses were then few and far apart, and
the wayfarer had often to journey many a dreary league before
he could obtain refreshment, as the monasteries were the only
places in which he could halt and bait. In Edwin's reign, and
through his kingdom, it is said that a woman with an infant at
her breast might walk from the Tweed to the Trent without
fearing injury from any one. He seems to have been beloved
by all, and Edilburga ever moved beside him like a ministering
angel.</p>

<p>But Edwin was not destined to go down peaceably to his grave;
some quarrel arose between him and the son of his old Welsh
host, Cadvan: what the cause was, we know not; it, however, led
to a severe battle, and as it was fought near Morpeth, it is evident
that the Welsh king was the invader. Edwin was, as usual,
victorious, and chased Cadwallon into Wales. Some time after
this event, there sprang up a renowned pagan warrior amongst
the Saxons, named Penda, who governed the kingdom of Mercia,
a portion of Britain that up to this period scarcely attracts the
historian's attention. This Mercian king, Cadwallon prevailed
upon to unite his forces with his own, and attack the Northumbrian
monarch. The battle is believed to have taken place at
Hatfield Chase, in Yorkshire, at the close of autumn in the
year 633; in it king Edwin was slain, together with one of his
sons, named Osfrid. Most of his army perished&mdash;a clear proof
of the stern struggle they made to conquer. Cadwallon, and his
ally, Penda, the pagan king, overran the united kingdoms of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span>
Northumbria, desolating the Deiri and Bernicia in their march,
and spreading terror wherever they appeared. Edilburga escaped
with her children into Kent; Paulinus accompanied her, for the
Christian churches appear to have been the chief objects which
the Mercian monarch sought to destroy.</p>

<p>The world seemed to have no charms for Edilburga after the
death of her royal husband. Her brother, Eadbald, the king of
Kent, received her kindly and sorrowfully: the widowed queen,
by his consent, built a monastery at Liming, and afterwards took
the veil.</p>

<p>Such was the end of the beautiful daughter of Ethelbert, she
who when a girl had many a time seen Augustin at her father's
court, and doubtless looked with childish wonder on the holy
banner which the missionaries bore before them, whereon the
image of the Blessed Redeemer was portrayed, when they first
appeared in Kent. Upon the death of Edwin, the kingdom of
Northumbria was again divided. Osric, a descendant of Ella,
ascended the throne of the Deiri, and Eanfrid, the son of Ethelfrith,
whom Edwin had driven into exile, reigned over Bernicia.
Osric soon perished, for Cadwallon still continued his ravages,
and while the king of Deiri was besieging a strong fortress which
the Welsh monarch occupied, an unexpected sally was made, and
in the skirmish Osric was slain. Eanfrid met with a less glorious
death, for while within the camp of Cadwallon, suing for peace,
he was, even against all the acknowledged laws of that barbarous
age, put to death. This Welsh king appears to have been as
great a scourge to the Saxons as ever king Arthur was in his
day, nor does his old ally, Penda, seem to have been a jot less
sparing of his own countrymen;&mdash;but his doings will form the
subject of our next chapter.</p>

<p>In fourteen battles and sixty skirmishes is Cadwallon said to
have fought, and so odious was the last year in which he distinguished
himself&mdash;so blotted by his ravages and the apostasy of
many of the Saxon kings, that Bede says, the annalists, by one
consent, refused to record the reigns of these renegades, so added
it to the sovereignty of Oswald. The most important event that
we have to record in his reign was the victory he obtained over
Cadwallon, which occurred soon after he was seated upon the throne
of Bernicia. Oswald was already celebrated for his piety, and
previous to his battle with the Welsh king, he planted the image
of the cross upon the field, holding it with his own hands, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span>
his soldiers filled up the hollow which they had made in the earth
to receive it. When the cross was firmly secured, he exclaimed,
"Let us all bend our knees, and with one heart and voice pray
to the True and the Living God, that He in His mercy will defend
us from a proud and cruel enemy: for to Him it is known
that we have commenced this war, for the salvation and safety of
our people." All knelt, as he had commanded, around the cross,
and when the last murmur of the solemn prayer had died away,
they marched onward with stouter hearts to meet the terrible
enemy. Of the battle we have scarcely any other record than
that which briefly relates the death of Cadwallon and the
destruction of his army. The spot in which the cross was planted
was called "Heaven-field," and was for ages after held in great
reverence. But neither the piety of Oswald, nor his victory
over the Welsh king, could protect him from the wrath of
Penda: and the scene of our history now shifts to the kingdom
of Mercia, which, up to this time, had seemed to sleep in the
centre of the Saxon dominions: for those who had settled
down in the midland districts had, with the exception of Crida,
scarcely left so much as a name behind, and he is only known
as the grandfather of Penda. To the deeds of the latter we
have now arrived, and he who assisted to slay five kings, is
the next stormy spirit that throws its shadow upon our pages.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">PENDA, THE PAGAN MONARCH OF MERCIA.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The gates of mercy shall be all shut up:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the fleshed soldier,&mdash;rough and hard of heart,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In liberty of bloody hand, shall range<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With conscience wide as hell: mowing like grass<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your fresh fair virgins and your flowering infants."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Hitherto the kingdom of Mercia has scarcely arrested our
attention, but the time at last came when it was destined to rise
with a startling distinctiveness above the rest of the Saxon states,
under the sovereignty of Penda. As the midland counties bordered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span>
upon the Deiri, it is not improbable that Mercia had been
subject to the sway of the more northern monarchs, until the
grandson of Crida appeared, and, struck by its fallen state, resolved
at once to raise it to its true dignity. We have seen him
before figure in the battle where he joined Cadwallon, and overthrew
the once-powerful Edwin; then he gained but an empty
victory, he now resolved to retrace his steps and reap a more substantial
harvest or perish in the attempt. Above sixty years had
already rolled over his head, yet for military skill and talent he
had scarcely an equal, and when, ten years before, he was crowned
king of Mercia, many foresaw that his would be a terrible
reign; he had linked himself with the British&mdash;daringly thrown
down his gauntlet and challenged all comers; no one was found
bold enough to pick it up. Wherever he appeared, Mercy fled
with a shiver, and Hope placed her fair hands before her eyes
to weep: from step to step did he advance as he grew grey in
crime, still glorying in the hoariness of his iniquities. Bold,
ambitious, and cruel, he sought out danger wherever it was to
be found, and attacked Power in the very heart of his stronghold;
he knew only Mercy by the name of Death, nor shunned he the
fate to which he consigned others. He hated not the Christians
who adhered rigidly to the tenets of their new creed, but if they
halted between two opinions, he abhorred them; while on his
part he worshipped Odin, and never left the altars of his grim
war-god dry for want of a victim. Endowed with a strong and
fearless mind, and a body that age only seemed to harden, he
led the way from battle to battle, and victory to victory, while
the neighbouring kings looked on and trembled. No marvel
that such a conqueror found ready allies amongst the Cymry, or
that they were ever eager to join him when he required their aid,
while he in return seems to have stood ready armed for any
cause, that might chance to fall in his way, and but for his
assistance to Cadwallon, Edwin might probably have died an
old man in his bed, with Edilburga and his children kneeling
beside him. But ambition was the rock on which nearly all these
ancient kings were wrecked; the open ocean was not wide
enough for them; wherever it was rumoured that danger lurked,
there they at once steered&mdash;they deemed it but cowardly to wait
for the coming of death, so seized the helm and sailed boldly out
to look for his dark dominions. To be chained to the domestic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span>
hearth was to them a misery, the bark of the old hound, and the
recognising flutter of the familiar hawk, and the prattle of children
became weary! weary! Old household affections but palled;
Edilburga might smile, and Paulinus pray, but the tramp of the
war-horse, and the ringing of the sword upon the buckler, and the
clang of the battle-axe, as it cleaved its way through helmet and
armour, were sweeter sounds than these; the spirit within but
yearned for the sleep which was purchased by a dearly won victory;
even the eyes of grey-headed old men brightened when the contest
was talked over in which they had fought, and they went out
of the hall, tottering at every step, to bask in the sunshine, and
sigh over the deeds done in those "good old times." Wearisome
was the morning light to their eyes, which dawned not
upon the tented field; they loved better to see the banner of the
red dragon of the Britons waving upon some distant height,
opposite to which their own standard of the white horse fluttered,
than to watch the motion of the trees, or the rustle of the yellow
corn, or to hear the bleating and the lowing of "the cattle upon a
thousand hills:" to such belonged Penda, the ruler of Mercia.</p>

<p>Whether the death of Cadwallon, the British king, with
whom Penda's forces were allied when Edwin was defeated at
the battle of Hatfield-chase, caused the Mercian monarch
to invade Bernicia, to revenge his fall and defeat, or whether
the love of conquest alone induced Penda to undertake this
expedition, is not recorded, neither is it clearly made out that
he was not present at the battle in which Cadwallon was slain.
Whatever were his motives, he attacked and slew Oswald, without
any apparent cause of quarrel, and in him perished one of
the best of the Northern kings. It is said that while the barbed
javelin which caused his death was still fixed in his breast,
he never for a moment ceased to pray; and that for centuries
after his death his name was ever linked with the following
pious sentence: "May the Lord have mercy on their souls! as
Oswald said, when he fell on the battle-field." It is also
recorded of Oswald that one day, as he was about to partake of
the refreshments which were placed before him in a silver dish,
the almoner, whose office it was to relieve the poor, stepped in
and informed him that a number of beggars were waiting without
soliciting alms:&mdash;when his eye alighted upon the rich vessel
in which the dainties were piled, the thoughts of their wants, and
his own unnecessary luxuries, rose before him with so striking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span>
a contrast, that he ordered the untouched food to be distributed
amongst the beggars, and the silver dish to be broken up and
given to them; yet Penda caused the head and limbs of this
pious and charitable king to be severed from the body, transfixed
on stakes, and exposed to the public gaze. He then
marched through Northumbria, spreading death and desolation
wherever he trod; attacked the castle of Bamborough, and,
unable to carry it by storm, demolished all the buildings in the
neighbourhood, and piled up the wood and thatch around the
strong fortress, and then set fire to the ruins he had heaped
together. Fortunately for the besieged, the wind changed just
as the flames began to rise, and the eddying gust blew back the
blazing ruins upon the besiegers. Penda then turned his back
upon Northumbria, and we next meet with him in Wessex,
where he makes war upon Cenwalch, for some insult the latter had
offered to Penda's sister; Cenwalch is driven out of his kingdom,
remains in exile three years, and then returns, having doubtless
reconciled himself to the Mercian king. When he had finished
his work in Wessex, and Sigebert had resigned his crown, he
directed his steps to East Anglia, for Redwald had long since
slept with his fathers: he had also founded a school, from which it
is not improbable the present University of Cambridge sprung;
and having given his kingdom to his kinsman Ecgric, and built a
monastery, into which he at last retired, he had long since taken a
farewell of all his greatness. But Sigebert had been renowned in
his day; and now danger was knocking at the door, the East Anglians
were unwilling that an old warrior should be pattering his
prayers when he ought to be wielding his battle-axe; and it is
recorded that his former subjects drew him forcibly out of the
monastery, and compelled him to lead them on against Penda.
With only a white wand in his hand, and probably robed in his
monkish habiliments, the old soldier took the command of the
battle; his religious scruples, however, preventing him from
using any warlike weapon. We can almost picture him, pale
with his ascetic life, for no one had adhered more rigidly to the
monastic rules than he had done, standing with his white wand
uplifted amid a throng of warriors, pointing to the most salient
points of the opposing army, with a martial glimmer just lighting
up for a moment the cold grey eye, which for years had
only contemplated that glory which he hoped to enjoy beyond the
grave. We can imagine the sudden contrast of sounds&mdash;from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span>
the low muttered prayer, or the holy hymns chaunted within the
walls of his monastery, to the shout, the rush, the struggle, and
the clanging of arms. Nor is it difficult to picture the look of
contempt with which the pagan king Penda would gaze upon
his ghostly opponent, or to imagine the bitter jeers to which
the hardened heathen would give utterance as he wiped his
bloody battle-axe, and gazed upon the monk-king and his
crowned kinsman, as they lay together amid the slain&mdash;for both
Sigebert and Ecgric fell, and their whole army was routed or
slaughtered by the hitherto invincible Penda.</p>

<p>Anna succeeded Ecgric, and Sigebert; but scarcely was he
seated upon the perilous throne of East Anglia, before the
pagan warrior again made his appearance; for although Penda
was now an old man, grey-headed, and eighty years of age,
he could no more live without fighting than he could without
food. Anna had been guilty of sheltering Cenwalch,
the king of Wessex, after Penda had dethroned him; an
unpardonable offence in the eyes of the hoary old heathen;
so he marched once more into East Anglia, and slew him. He
had by this time sent five kings and thousands of their followers
as offerings to Odin, and not yet satisfied, he resolved once
more to visit the northern kingdoms, for the pleasant vallies
which stretched on either side the Trent had no charms for
Penda. The "thirty-armed river," as Milton has called it, could
not retain him within its boundaries; he liked not the air of our
midland counties, so set off to pay another visit to the Deiri or
Bernicia, with every mile of which he was doubtless familiar.
He had grown grey in fighting battles, had been a king thirty
years, and during the whole period was either preparing to
attack, marching, or fighting. The old chroniclers compare
him to a vulture, a wild beast, ravenous for prey, and one whose
chief delight was in the clashing of arms, and the shedding of
human blood.</p>

<p>After having slain Oswald and brutally exhibited his remains, he
appears to have paid frequent visits to Oswy, who succeeded him.
But Oswy had no disposition to fight, and therefore endeavoured
to keep the quarrelsome old Mercian quiet by exhausting the
Northumbrian treasury. Growling like a tiger, Penda refused
to accept all the treasures he could heap together; he was
neither to be bought over by gold nor prayers; he came to fight,
and fight he would; he seemed like a drunken man who is determined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span>
to quarrel, even if he has to run his head against the
first post he meets with. He had come, he said, to extirpate
the whole race of the Northumbrians&mdash;the Deiri, Bernicia, and
all&mdash;he came to kill.</p>

<p>When Oswy found that all entreaties were in vain, he mustered
his forces together, which were far inferior to Penda's in
number. Before commencing the battle, Oswy vowed, like
Jephthah of old, that if he obtained the victory, he would dedicate
his daughter to the service of the Lord; and having formed
this resolution, he issued forth to meet the mighty man-slayer,
who had hitherto scarcely sustained a single defeat. The Northumbrian,
with a heavy heart, divided the command of his little
army between himself and his son Alfred. The battle took
place somewhere in Yorkshire, but where cannot now with certainty
be pointed out; it was in the neighbourhood of a river,
and not far distant from York. The contest was terrible; the
army under the command of Penda appears to have been made
up of Britons and Saxons, some of whom were dragged reluctantly
into the battle, and but waited the first favourable
moment to turn their arms against the dreaded chieftain. The
low land in the rear of Penda's army was flooded; beyond, the
deep-swollen river was already roaring as if in expectation of its
prey. Penda charged as usual&mdash;hot, eager, and impetuous, as if
the victory was already his own; but the old man's arms were
not so strong as they had been,&mdash;he could not see his way so
clearly as he had done beforetime. Odilwald, who occupied a
favourable position, had not yet stirred a step. It seems as if
one portion of Penda's mighty force was jealous of another;
there was the river roaring behind, and Oswy bearing down
upon them before. Midway all was confusion, and in the midst
of it stood Penda, blinded with fury, and bleeding from his
wounds. Over the dying and the dead trampled the victorious
army of Oswy. Over Penda they trod, who lay upon the ground
a hideous mass, his grey head cloven open by a blow from a
battle-axe. None paused to survey him. Before the Northumbrians
the routed host rushed onward, onward, until the ringing
of armour, and the clashing of blade upon blade, sunk into a
gurgle, and a moan, and a splash; and still the river tore on
its way, as if in haste to make room for more. Downward the
defeated plunged, into deep beds, where the hungry pike slept,
and the slimy eel lay coiled. The flooded fields were manured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span>
with the dead; hideous sights which many a rich harvest has
since covered; the river-bed was clogged up with the bodies of
the slain, which fishes fed upon, and winter rains at last washed
away&mdash;rich relics to pave the floor of that gloomy hall, where
Hela the terrible reigned. If ever there was a clattering of
skulls in Valhalla it was then; or if Odin ever rushed out with
open arms, to meet the bloodiest of his worshippers, it was
when the soul of Penda came. What a crimson country is
ours! what rivers of gore has it taken to make our green England
what it is! No marvel that even the rims of our daisies
are dyed crimson by contact with such a sanguinary soil.</p>

<p>Oswy, after this unexpected victory, now overran Mercia, and
subjected it to his sway. His daughter Alchfleda he also gave
in marriage to Peada, the son of Penda, and installed him in his
father's kingdom, on condition that he should introduce Christianity
into his dominions. Alfred, the son of Oswy, in return
married the daughter of Penda, whose name was Cyneburga.
Thus on each side a pagan was united to a Christian, and the
work of conversion went on prosperously; for there were now
but few corners of the British dominions in which the true faith
was not introduced. Such changes were enough to make the
stern old Saxon heathen leap out of his grave. In his lifetime no
one would have been found bold enough to have proposed them.
Alchfleda's mother was still living, and remained a firm follower
of the old idolatrous creed; she seems to have accompanied her
daughter into Mercia, and had doubtless in her train many a grey
old veteran, who still bowed the knee before the altars of Odin,
and who looked upon a religion which taught peace, good will,
and charity to all mankind, with disdain. It is not clearly made
out by whose instigation Peada was assassinated. Both his wife
and her mother stand accused of the deed, but no cause is
assigned for the former perpetrating so dreadful a crime; nor can
any other reason be assigned for the latter having done it, beyond
what we have given. Peada, however, fell at the holy time of
Easter, which seems to have been a favourite season for assassination
amongst the pagan Saxons, in proof of which numerous
instances might be quoted. Before his death, Peada commenced
the famous monastery of Peterborough, which his brother Wulfhere
completed. Nor was Wulfhere content with only finishing
the minster, for he gave to the Abbot Saxulf, to the monks, and
their successors for ever, all the lands and waters, meads, fens,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span>
and weirs, which lay for many miles around it, and covered in
extent what forms more than one English shire. Wulfhere, like
Sigebert, appears to have been as much of a monk as a warrior,
though a little of old Penda's blood still flowed in his veins; and
when Cenwalch, of Wessex, who had been humbled and disgraced
by Penda, resolved to have his revenge upon the son,
although he was at first successful, the Mercians at last became
conquerors, and Cenwalch was again exiled, and his kingdom
fell into the hands of the Mercian sovereign.</p>

<p>The king of Essex, about this time, made frequent visits to
Oswy's court, and the Northumbrian sovereign lost no opportunity
of dissuading him from following his idol worship. The
arguments Oswy used, though simple, were convincing; he told
him that such objects as were fashioned out of stone or wood,
and which the axe or the fire could so readily destroy and consume,
could not contain a Godhead. Such reasoning had the
desired effect, and the king of Essex, together with numbers of
his subjects, abandoned their pagan belief. The sovereign of
Sussex was also converted through the instrumentality of Wulfhere,
who was as eager to spread the doctrines of Christianity
as his father had ever been to uphold the worship of Woden.
Cenwalch, the king of Wessex, who, like so many others about
this period, keeps crossing the busy stage at intervals, only to
fill up the scenes, at length died, but whether in exile or not is
uncertain. Saxburga, the widowed queen, stepped into the
vacant throne; but the Wessex nobles refused to be governed
by a woman, although she wielded the sceptre with a firmer
hand, and ruled the kingdom better than her husband had ever
done; strengthening her forces, and ever holding herself in
readiness in case of an invasion. Still there was ever some one
amongst her nobles who shared her rule; and one of these, a
descendant from the renowned Cerdric, led her forces against the
king of Mercia. Essex was at this time under the sway of
Wulfhere, and it is likely enough that he looked with a jealous
eye upon the bold front which Saxburga's kingdom presented,
after the death of Cenwalch, who had been so frequently conquered.
A battle was fought in Wiltshire, in which neither
party appear to have reaped any material advantage; and in little
more than a year after the contest, both the leaders were in their
graves. Oswy, the conqueror of Penda, had before this died,
and his son Ecgfrid became the king of Northumbria, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span>
the Deiri and Bernicia were now united. Alfred, who had
married Penda's daughter, after having aided in destroying her
father and his powerful army, at the battle in Yorkshire, was
not allowed to succeed Oswy, on account of some flaw in his
birth. Nearly all beside, of any note, who figured in this busy
period, had passed away, excepting the last son of Penda, named
Ethelred, who, after the death of Wulfhere, ascended the Mercian
throne. Ecgfrid fell in a battle against the Picts, though
not before he had invaded Mercia, for although Ethelred had
married his sister, it seemed as if the hostile blood which had so
long flowed between the sons, Oswy and Penda, was not to be
blended by marriage. The archbishop Theodore stepped in between
the combatants, and healed up the breach long before
Ecgfrid perished. About this time, also, died Cadwaladyr, the
last of the Cymry who aspired to the sovereignty of Britain.
His death was the cause of a battle being fought. Similar unimportant
events make up the catalogue which closes the account
of this period. The Saxon kingdoms seemed to stand upon an
ever-moving earthquake: one was swallowed to-day, and cast up
again on the morrow: the earth was ever rocking and reeling:
kings came and went, as the images shift in a kaleidoscope. If
one year saw a sovereign victorious, the next beheld him dethroned
and an exile; he put on his crown, or laid it aside, just
as his more powerful neighbour bade him. When fortune placed
him uppermost, he retaliated in the same way on his former conqueror.
Still we have before us the stirring times of Offa the
Terrible; Egbert and Ethelwulf followed by the stormy sea-kings,
whose invasions were more merciless than those of the Saxons;
for the history of this period is like an ocean studded with
islands, some of which lie near together, others wide apart; and
many which, from the distance, seem to have a barren and forbidding
look, are, on a nearer approach, found rich in ancient
remains; and though now silent and desolate, we discover in
what is left behind traces of the once mighty inhabitants, that
ages ago have passed away. Such is the history of the early
Saxon kingdoms. Where an idle voyager would yawn and grow
weary, his intelligent companion would linger, and gaze, and
ponder in silent wonder and reverential awe.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">DECLINE OF THE SAXON OCTARCHY.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">"Let us sit upon the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tell sad stories of the death of kings:&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How some have been deposed, some slain in war;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All murdered:&mdash;For within the hollow crown<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That rounds the mortal temples of a king,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Keeps Death his court."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The remainder of our journey through the kingdoms which
anciently formed the Saxon Octarchy now lies in a more direct
road, where there are fewer of those perplexing paths and winding
ways, such as we have hitherto been compelled to thread, in
our difficult course through this dimly-discovered country of the
Past. We are now on the sun-bright borders of those dark old
forest fastnesses, amid which we could scarcely see what flowers
were at our feet, or catch a clear glimpse of the outstretched
sky that hung above our heads; a few steps from this, and we
leave this land of twilight and uncertain shadows behind. After
the death of Ecgfrid, Alfred, who is already distinguished as
having fought in the battle in which Penda fell, and afterwards,
as having married his daughter, ascended the throne of Northumbria.
We have before shown how, on account of his birth,
his succession was disputed by the nobles; against their decision
he offered neither defence nor resistance, but betaking himself
to study, he so enriched his mind, under the instruction of the
famous Bishop Wilfrid, that Bede classes him as first amongst
the kings of Anglo-Saxons for his literary acquirements. He
"waded not through slaughter to a throne," but calmly abided
his time, and when it came, quitted his study to sway the sceptre.
His court was the resort of literary men and enlightened travellers,
and Aldhelm, the celebrated scholar of that day, stood high
in his favour. There was a firmness about his character worthy
of the name which afterwards becomes so endeared to us, for
when he could not conscientiously agree in certain matters with
his old tutor, Wilfrid, he allowed the bishop to quit his dominions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span>
nor had a letter from the Pope influence enough to alter his resolution.
Nothing of note appears to have occurred in Northumbria
during his reign, for the expulsion of Eadwulf, and
the ascension of Osred, were accomplished without difficulty.
Ceolwulf came next, to whom Bede dedicated his Ecclesiastical
History; but we must not step too suddenly into the familiar
light which seems all at once about to break upon us.</p>

<p>Ceadwalla, a descendant of the renowned Cerdric's, after the
death of Ecgfrid, made a stand against the nobles of Wessex,
who had banished him from that kingdom. He first attacked
the king of Sussex, slew him, and desolated his dominions. He
then, accompanied by his brother Mollo, made an inroad into
Kent, where they ravaged and destroyed the towns and villages
for miles around. While Mollo, with several of his soldiers,
were busied in plundering a house, they were surrounded by
the enraged men of Kent, who, preventing the escape of the
marauders, set fire to the building on every side, and burnt all
within alive. The king of Wessex revenged his brother's
death, and, far and wide, around the scene of this terrible sacrifice,
he made "a land of mourning." After this he went on a
pilgrimage to Rome, was baptized by the Pope, and died the
week after.</p>

<p>Ina then ascended the throne of Wessex; his celebrated laws
are still in existence, and as they throw considerable light upon
the manners of this remote period, we will take a hasty glance
at them before proceeding further. If a child was not baptized
within thirty days after its birth, a penalty of thirty shillings
was demanded; if that period elapsed and the ceremony was
still neglected, the priest or the parents must forfeit all they
possessed. If a slave or theow worked on Sunday by his
master's commands, he became free; if a freeman worked on that
day, by his own consent, he forfeited his freedom. If any one
sold his servant, whether a slave or a freeman, he must pay his
full value. If a poor man died, and left his wife with a child,
six shillings a-year was to be paid for its maintenance, together
with a cow in the summer, and an ox in winter&mdash;its kindred
was to take charge of the house until the child became of age.
If a man was killed, his life was valued according to what he
was worth, and the slayer had to pay a fixed price for his death.
Crude as these laws are, and barbarous as they prove the
people to have been for which they were made, still they are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span>
first landmarks, reared in a wild and uncivilized country, which
point out to man the extent of his possessions and his power;
the first attempt to draw an even line between might and right;
for here the poor theow, the slave of the soil, he who was sold,
like the cattle upon the estate, to the next purchaser, felt secure
within his allotted mark. The day of holy rest was his own;
if his lord compelled him to labour, the laws of Ina, next day,
made him a free man. Ina, like his predecessors, was compelled
to fight his way to peace, and amid his hostilities, he became involved
in a war with Ceolred, king of Mercia. His queen appears
to have been as courageous as himself, and is said to have
besieged one of her husband's enemies at Taunton, and to have
levelled the castle in which he was sheltered to the ground.
Ina rebuilt the abbey of Glastonbury, and endowed it with rich
gifts. It seems to have grown a custom amongst the Saxon
kings at this period, to go on pilgrimage to Rome, resign their
crowns, and become monks. Ina's queen had long tried, but in
vain, to induce her husband to follow what she considered such
worthy examples; but her entreaties had hitherto proved useless.
She at last hit upon the following device. A feast had been held
in one of Ina's castles; and the morning after the banquet they
went out together to ride; when they returned, she conducted
Ina into the banqueting hall, which was now covered with
filth, and occupied by a herd of swine, a litter of which was
resting upon the very couch he had before occupied. Well
might so sudden a change astonish him, and we can readily
imagine the dark spot that gathered upon his angry brow.
Such a mode of conversion would have startled either Augustin
or Paulinus, and made even cunning Coifi pause before he
changed his opinion. The queen pleaded guilty to the fault,
and reasoned upon the matter as follows: "My lord," said she,
"this is very different from the noise and hilarity of yesterday;
there are no brilliant hangings now; no table weighed down with
silver vessels, no delicacies to delight the palate, neither flatterers
nor parasites&mdash;all these have vanished like the smoke
before the wind&mdash;have all passed away into nothingness. Ought
we not, then, to feel alarmed, who covet them so much, yet are
everyway as transient? Are not all such things so? and are we
not ourselves like a river, that hurries headlong and heedlessly
along to the dark and illimitable ocean of time? Unhappy must
we ever be if we let such things occupy our minds. Think, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span>
entreat you, how disgusting those things become of which we
are so enamoured; and see what filthy objects we have become
attached to; for in those filthy relics we may see what our
pampered bodies will at last become. Oh! let us reflect, that
the greater we have been, and the more powerful we now are,
the more alarmed we ought to be, for the greater will be the
punishment of our misconduct."</p>

<p>Ina listened, sighed, resigned his crown, and set off for Rome,
where he founded a school, and imposed a tax of a penny upon
every family in his kingdom, which was called Romescot, and
which went to support the institution he had raised. As a proof
of his sincerity, he wore a common dress, lived meanly, cut his
hair, laboured hard, and dwelt in retirement with his queen,
until he died "a good old man." His brother, Inigils, had died
a few years before him, a name that falls silent as snow upon
the pages of History; yet like the snow, doing its silent work, for
he must have been a man of some note in his day and generation,
to have been the father of Egbert and the grandfather of Alfred
the Great, from whom descended a long line of kings.</p>

<p>The Mercian nobles rose up and put to death Ostrida, the
wife of Ethelred their king, for what cause history is altogether
silent; neither the why nor the wherefore is given&mdash;the sentence
reads in the Saxon Chronicle like an epitaph upon a gravestone,
yet she was the daughter of the once powerful Oswy of
Northumbria, and when destroyed, queen of the Mercians. The
very mystery which hangs around her fate interests us, and we
want to know something about what she had done to draw down
such dreadful punishment, but all our inquiries are vain; beyond
the mere entry of her violent death, not even a doubt is registered,
for us to pause over. The deed was done, and is recorded
in one brief, terrible sentence, and we know no more. Her
husband, Ethelred, abandoned the crown of Mercia to his nephew
Cenred, and entered the monastery of Bardney, as a monk, going
through all the routine of common duties, like a humble brother,
until at last he rose to the rank of abbot in the monastery which
he himself had founded.</p>

<p>Ethelbald is the next king of Mercia who commands our
attention. He had been nursed in the stern school of privation;
like Edwin of Northumbria, he had been persecuted in his youth,
and owed his life to Guthlac, the hermit of Croyland. Picture
the warrior monk and the young king in those wild marshes&mdash;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span>where
no monastery was as yet built up, and where, upon that
swamp, which was afterwards crowned with a splendid abbey,
only a humble hut, and a rude cross of wood, were then to be
seen. The stormy old warrior, Guthlac, who had done battle
in many a hard-fought field, was at last weary of a soldier's life,
and hearing that there was an island surrounded by a lake in
a corner of Mercia, he got one of the rude Lincolnshire fishermen
to row him to the spot, where for some time he remained
alone; here he was visited by Ethelbald, a man elegant in form,
with a frame of iron, and a bold, undaunted spirit. There must
have been some strange charm in the society of the soldier-monk,
thus to have won over the young king to share with him such a
solitude, for the marshes of Croyland must in those days have
worn a most forbidding appearance, and even now, as they wave
in summer, with their dark, coarse patches of goose-grass, and
in some places, no stir of life is seen, excepting where the gosherd
drives before him his noisy flock, an air of melancholy
reigns over the scenery, and the mind unconsciously wanders
back among the shadows of the dead. Nor did Ethelbald,
when he ascended the throne of Mercia, forget his exile, or his
companion Guthlac, but gave the island of Croyland to the monks
who had accompanied his friend, and preserved their piety
amid all the privations which surrounded that solitude, and
over the monument which the Mercian king erected to the monk,
was afterwards built the monastery of Croyland.</p>

<p>Ethelbald conquered Northumbria, and, aided by Cuthred,
king of Wessex, obtained a victory over the Welsh; but although
they had thus fought side by side, a spirit of jealousy lurked
within each bosom, and the Wessex king only waited for the first
favourable opportunity to throw off the mask, and free himself
from the power of the Mercian monarch. Unforeseen circumstances,
for some time, prevented Cuthred from openly taking
the field against Ethelbald; his son rose up in rebellion, and no
sooner was he put down, than one of his nobles, named Edelhun,
took up arms, and would have conquered Cuthred, had he not
been wounded at the very time when the battle had turned in
his favour. These rebellions Ethelbald is accused of having
fomented. The rival kings at last met near Burford in Oxfordshire;
Ethelbald had under his command the combined forces of
Essex, Kent, East Anglia, and Mercia; Cuthred, the soldiers
of Wessex alone, and the powerful arm of the former rebel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span>
Edeldun, who was now his friend. From Roger de Wendover,
we, with a few slight alterations, copy the following description
of the battle, as being one of the most picturesque accounts
which we have met with in the pages of the early historians:
"The attack on each side was headed by the standard-bearers
of the opposing king; Edeldun bore the banner of Wessex, on
which was emblazoned a golden dragon, and rushing forward
with the ensign in his hand, he struck down the Mercian standard-bearer,
a daring deed which called forth a loud shout from
the army of Cuthred. A moment after, and the noise was
drowned by the clashing of weapons, the mingled din, and roaring,
and shouting, which swelled into the prolonged thunder of
battle, amid which, if a brief pause intervened, it was filled up
by the shrieks and groans of the wounded and the dying, or the
falling of some dreaded instrument which terminated the agony
of death. Havoc spread like the destroying flames, into the
midst of which the maddened masses plunged. Death and
danger were disregarded; they fought as if the fate of a kingdom
rested upon the blows dealt by each single arm. For a moment the
sunlight fell upon a mass of dazzling armour, gilding the plumed
helmet, the pointed spear, the uplifted sword, and broad-edged
battle-axe, and the rich banner, which, as it was borne onward
amid the hurried charge, fluttered in gaudy colours, high over
the heads of the eager combatants; a few moments more, and all
this brave array was broken; another moving mass rushed onward
in the thickest of the strife, the banner rocked and swayed, then
went down; point after point the uplifted spears rose and sank,
the helmets seemed as if crowded together; then the space which
they occupied was filled up by others who passed onward, the
moving waves heaved and fell, and passed along, while over all
rolled that terrible sea of death which had swallowed up horse,
rider, banner, sword, and battle-axe. Foremost in the ranks,
stood Edeldun; wherever he moved, the spot was marked by the
rapid circles which his ponderous battle-axe made around his
head. At every stroke, death descended; wherever that terrible
edge alighted, the hollow earth groaned, as it made room for
another grave; no armour was proof against the blows which he
dealt, for the fall of his arm was like that of a dreaded thunderbolt
that rives asunder whatever it strikes. Like two consuming
fires, each having set in from opposite quarters and destroyed
all that lay in their path, so did Edeldun and Ethelbald at last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span>
meet, flame hurrying to flame, nothing left between to consume;
behind each lay a dead, desolated, and blackened pathway." Here
we are compelled to halt; the sternest image we could gather
from the pages of Homer, would still leave the idea of their
meeting imperfect. Ethelbald fled, having first exchanged a few
blows with his dreaded adversary. Wessex shook off the Mercian
yoke, and Ethelbald never again raised his head so high as
it had before been, when he looked proudly above those of the
surrounding kings. Cuthred died, and the king of Mercia was
soon after slain in a civil war in his own dominions. After his
death, our attention is riveted upon the events which took
place between these rival kingdoms, for the rest of the Saxon
states, with scarcely an exception, were soon swallowed up in
that great vortex, which at last bore the immortal name of England.</p>

<p>After the death of Cuthred, the throne of Wessex was occupied
by Sigebyhrt, whose reign was brief and unpopular; he paid no
regard to the laws which had been established by Ina; he took
no heed of the remonstrances of his subjects, but when Cumbra,
one of the most renowned of their nobles, boldly proclaimed the
grievances of the people, he was put to death. This was the
signal for a revolt&mdash;the nobles assembled, the people were summoned
to the council, and Sigebyhrt was deposed. Fearful of
the vengeance of his subjects, the exiled king fled into the
wild forest of Andredswold, where he concealed himself amid
its gloomy thickets. Here it is probable that for a time the
rude peasantry supplied him with food, and that the wild man
of the wood was the whole talk and wonder of the neighbouring
foresters. One day, however, he was met by a swineherd
named Ansiam, who had doubtless seen him beforetime when he
visited his murdered master Cumbra&mdash;the swineherd knew him
at the first glance, and although he did not kill the king on the
spot, yet he waited his time, and revenged his master's death
by stabbing Sigebyhrt to the heart. He appears to have
watched him to his hiding-place, and when the fallen king lay
stretched upon his couch of leaves, under the shade of gloomy
and overhanging boughs, the savage swineherd stole silently
through the thicket, and with one blow sent the unhappy sovereign
to sleep his last sleep. As in the death of queen Ostrida,
we find but a brief entry of his terrible ending in the old
chronicles; he suited them not, was slain, cast aside, and so made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>
room for another, and Cynewulf, in whose veins the blood of
Woden was believed to flow, reigned in his stead.</p>

<p>We will now hasten on and make a brief survey of the state
of Northumbria. Ceolwulf, the patron of Bede, resigned his
crown for the quietude of the cloister. Eadbert succeeded to
the vacant throne. Whilst he was warring with the Picts, his
dominions were invaded by the Mercians; he reigned for
twenty-three years, then retired to a monastery, making the
eighth Saxon king who had voluntarily laid aside the crown for
the cowl. It is said that the fate of Sigebyrht and the fall of
Ethelbald caused him to contrast their turbulent ending with
the peaceful death-bed of Ceolwulf&mdash;a strange change was thus
wrought in the minds of these old Saxon kings&mdash;the glory of
Woden had departed; no eager guests now rushed to the banquetting-halls
of Valhalla; they looked for other glories beyond
the grave. Osulf succeeded his father to the throne of Northumbria,
scarcely reigned a year, and was treacherously slain.
Taking no warning by his fate, Edelwold was bold enough to
accept the crown; as usual, the path from the throne to the
tomb was but a brief step, and he perished. Another and
another still succeeded. Alred, a descendant of Ida, stepped
into the empty seat, just looked around, and was driven out of
the kingdom. Then Ethelred came, put two of his generals to
death on the evidence of two others, when, a few months after,
the accusers turned round upon him, conquered him, and drove
him from the throne. He fled like Alred. Alfwold was the
next king that came to be killed; he just reigned long enough to
leave his name behind before he bade the world "good night."
Osred next mounted, made his bow, was asked to sit down, then
driven out. Ethelred was beckoned back again; he came,
stabbed Eardulf, who had aspired to the crown, and left him
bleeding at the gate of a monastery; dragged the children of
Alfwold from York, and slaughtered them; put to death Osred,
who, like himself, had been deposed, and just when he thought
he had cleared away every obstacle, and was about to sit down
upon the throne which he had stuffed with the dead to make it
more easy, his subjects rewarded him for what he had done by
slaying him. He was followed by Osbald, who sat trembling
with the crown upon his head for twenty-seven days, but not
having reigned long enough to merit death, he was permitted
to retire into a cloister. Eardulf, whom we left bleeding at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span>
gates of the monastery, was taken in and cured by the monks,
fled to Rome, was received by Charlemagne, and at last placed
upon the throne of Northumbria, where he had not sat long
before his subjects revolted. The crown and sceptre of Northumberland
were then thrown aside&mdash;men shunned them as
they would have done a plague; the curse of death was upon
them, no man could take them up and live. "Death kept his
court" within the one, and when he wielded the other, the gold
had ever pointed either to the grave or the cloister. From such
a murderous court numbers of the nobles and bishops fled&mdash;the
throne stood vacant for several years; no man was found bold
enough to occupy it. The sword which ever hung there had
fallen too often&mdash;not another Damocles could be found to ascend
and survey the surrounding splendour from such a perilous
position.</p>

<p>In looking over this long list of natural deaths, murders, and
escapes which took place in one kingdom after the abdication of
Eadbert, we have but recorded the events which occurred within
forty short years, from seven hundred and fifty-seven to about
seven hundred and ninety. From the landing of Hengist and
Horsa, about three centuries before, nearly one hundred and
fifty kings had sat upon the different thrones of the Anglo-Saxon
kingdoms. The bulk of these are unknown to us
excepting by name; we can with difficulty just make out the
petty states they reigned over, and that is nearly all. Some
died in the full belief of their heathen creed, with a firm faith
that from a death-bed in the field of battle to the brutal immortality
which their bloody deeds had merited was but a step, and
that their happiness hereafter would consist in feasting and
holiday murders in the halls of Woden. Others calmly breathed
their last with their dying eyes fixed upon the cross of Christ,
while the anchor of their faith sunk noiselessly into the deep
sea of death, and their weary barques were safely moored in
that tranquil harbour where neither waves beat nor tempest
roared, and where, at last, the "storm-beat vessel safely rode."
What a fearful history would those three centuries present if it
could but be truly written&mdash;if we could but have the everyday
life of those all but unknown kings! forgotten as their very
graves are, and scattered their ashes into dust, which ages
ago mingled imperceptibly with the breeze, and was blown
onward, unseen and unfelt. Yet there was a time when even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span>
the meanest and the most unknown marched in pomp to the
Pagan temple, or lowly Christian church, when before them the
noisy heralds went, and the applauding mob swelled behind, and
rude as the crown and sceptre might be, and all the barbaric
pearl and gold, still the holy oil was poured forth, and solemn
prayers offered up, and the whole witena-gemot, with the
neighbouring nobles, were assembled together, and the little
world around them for days after talked only of the coronation
of the king. Thousands at their command had mustered in
battle, high nobles had bowed their heads before them; on a
word from their lips life or death frequently hung; valour and
beauty were gathered around their thrones, and, when they rode
forth in grand procession, the wondering crowd rushed out to
gaze,&mdash;even as it does now. Edwin, with his banner borne
before him, and Offa, with his trumpets sounding in the streets,
were as much a marvel above a thousand years ago, as her
present Majesty is in the provinces in our own time. Yet
there are many in the present day who think it a waste of time
to dwell for a few hours upon the fates of those ancient kings,
who, forsooth! because they have been so long dead, are considered
as undeserving of notice by those who seem to measure
the events of the past by their own present insignificance, who,
conscious that they themselves will be forgotten for ever as
soon as the grave has closed over them, look begrudgingly upon
almost every name that Time has not wholly obliterated.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">OFFA, SURNAMED THE TERRIBLE.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">"Come, come you spirits<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stop up the access and passage to remorse,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That no compunctious visitings of nature<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And take my milk for gall."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">To the kingdom of Mercia must we again turn the reader's
attention for a few moments, and take up the thread of our history
from the death of Ethelbald, who, it will be remembered,
fell, while endeavouring to put down the rebellion which was
headed by Bernred. Of the latter we know nothing, excepting
that he reigned for a few months, when he was either banished
by the nobles, or driven from the throne by Offa, surnamed
The Terrible, who descended from a brother of the king-slaying
Penda. Though we have no clear proofs of the means by which
Offa got possession of the crown of Mercia, there are many dark
allusions scattered over the works of the monkish historians who
were living about this period, which scarcely leave a doubt that
he obtained the title of The Terrible through the violent measures
he had recourse to in attaining it. Bede says, he won the
kingdom of Mercia "with a bloody sword." One of the most
romantic incidents which occur in the records of this period, is
that which first introduced the future queen, Drida, into Offa's
presence. She was a bold, beautiful, ambitious, and cruel
woman, and appears to have been related to Charlemagne. She
committed some crime, for which she was doomed to undergo
the ordeal of iron or fire; but although her deeds were so clearly
proved, yet, as she was allied to Charlemagne, she was allowed
the more merciful ordeal of water, and launched alone upon the
pathless ocean, in a small boat, without either oar, rudder, or
sail. She was supplied with food for a few days, and left to the
winds and waves, by which she was driven upon the British<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>
coast, somewhere on the territory over which Offa reigned. The
storm-tossed beauty was conducted to the presence of the Mercian
monarch, and having had ample time, while thrown from wave
to wave, companionless upon the ocean, to make up a false tale,
she at once gave utterance to a story which won both the pity
and the love of Offa at the same time. He resigned her to the
care of his mother for a few days, frequently visited her, and
speedily married her.</p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"He loved her for the dangers she had passed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she loved him that he did pity them."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p>Such is the account given in his life, written by a monk of
St. Albans, the abbey of which was founded by Offa. Could
we prove that Homer was familiar to the monkish historian, we
should be justified in imagining that he had transformed Ulysses
into Drida, and changed Calypso to Offa; but whether or not,
the wild legend has a doubtful look, though it has been quoted
by grave authors, and is admitted into several histories.</p>

<p>Offa was not a king who sat asleep with the sceptre in his
hand; there was the wakeful and ambitious queen Drida now by
his side; and, startling as it may seem, the dark events which
stained their reign, and the deeds of Offa's daughter, Edburga,
would in the hands of a Shakspere furnish the materials for
another tragedy, that might stand side by side with Macbeth.
Her cold cruel pride, and chilling haughtiness, are said to have
broken the heart of Offa's mother, and, in a few months, to
have hurried her into the grave. The blinded king saw only
her superb beauty, for she appears to have been a female fiend,
that outwardly wore an angel's form. Brave as a lion, and possessing
talents that would have broken through the gloom of the
most benighted period, the Mercian king marched onward from
conquest to conquest, now achieving deeds that win our admiration,
then sinking down to commit such crimes as must have
made his subjects shudder. On each side of him Drida and his
daughter are ever rising up, like two spirits that attract our
attention, as they come out in the sunshine to smile, or rush
shrieking from amid the darkness, into which they had plunged,
to accomplish some new and horrible deed; they seem to come
and go with a terrible distinctness, that makes us tremble as
they either approach or vanish, as if Mercy fled before them,
and we heard, in the place from which she had hurried affrighted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span>
dying moans, and Love wailing upon the very lips on which
he, expiring, kissed the poison of death. All is dim as a dream,
or startling as some appalling reality which we look upon with a
doubtful consciousness. So perplexing and unnatural appear
the events of this period, that the generality of historians seem
to have paused, looked round for a moment, in doubt and wonder,
then hastened off to visit less forbidding scenes: as if they feared
to grapple with the shadows and the realities, that here seem to
be ever exchanging places, throwing aside what is only doubtful
as feeble, and dreading to look among events which seem cruel
and unnatural for their horrible truth, as if years, because they
have rolled away, were empty of events, and days dawned not
upon hopes and fears as in the present day. Wild-roses blew, and
nightingales sang, as they do now, and the smell and sound were
as sweet to those who went out to look and listen, in the noonday,
or in the twilight, and returning, were stabbed by the way,
or laid their heads upon their pillows unconscious of the poison
that would, before the dawning, with a noiseless power, unlock
and throw open the silent gates of death. The murdered kings
who were hurried into their graves by these merciless women,
once enjoyed the tender green of Spring, and the sober gold of
the Autumnal foliage, as we still do. What a period are we now
picturing! A king is murdered and consigned to his grave; his
successor builds a monastery, or makes a pilgrimage to Rome,
and believes that he has purchased forgiveness. A queen rushes
out of the chamber, and leaves behind her the yet warm body of
the husband she has poisoned, crosses the sea, and becomes an
abbess. A young king comes wooing, in all the hey-day of life,
is allured from the banquet by the mother of the fair princess
for whose hand he is suing, taken into the next apartment, and
put to death. And these are the solemn truths of English history&mdash;the
dark deeds that were done by those who sat on the
very throne which Alfred the Great himself occupied. The
events which we record in this chapter, were written down by
Alfred nearly a thousand years ago; he heard them from the
lips of those whose fathers had lived and moved through all
these stirring scenes.</p>

<p>We have before shown in what a defenceless state Northumbria
was left. Offa, doubtless well acquainted with the civil
dissensions by which it was rent asunder, attacked it, as his uncle
Penda had done beforetime; what advantages he gained, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>
not recorded. He next marched into Kent, fought a hardly
contested battle at Otunford or Otford, conquered, and annexed
that kingdom to Mercia. At the battle of Bensington, he defeated
Cynewulf, king of Wessex, and either took possession of
his dominions, or compelled him to become his ally; that Offa
did not dethrone him is evident from an incident which we shall
shortly have to narrate. The ancient Britons were not yet at rest,
for whenever a favourable opportunity occurred, they sallied forth
from the corners into which they were driven, slew and plundered
the Saxons, and hastened back again into their mountain-fortresses
as soon as they saw a stronger force approaching.
They had several times invaded Mercia, and, emboldened by their
success, at length drove the Saxons who dwelt beside the
Severn, further into the heart of the kingdom. Offa at last
armed, and led on, a powerful force against them. The Welsh
fled into their hidden fastnesses, where they stood until his back
was turned upon them, when they again ventured forth. The
Mercian king once more approached, when the mountaineers, as
usual, fled, and all the open country, from the Severn to the river
Wye, was cleared of them; this time Offa determined to imprison
this daring remnant of the old Cymry within their own limited
territories. To accomplish this, he commanded a vast trench to
be dug, and a huge rampart to be thrown up, as the Roman
generals had done centuries before; and this gigantic work he
extended for nearly a hundred miles, carrying it over marsh, and
morass, and mountain, from the river Dee to the entrance of the
Wye, strengthening it also with fortresses, which he manned
with chosen and hardy soldiers. But the Welsh were not long
before they filled up a large portion of the ditch, made a wide
gap through the ramparts, and fell upon Offa's warriors while
they were holding their Christmas feast, and more than one
Saxon fortress was left standing all throughout that dark winter
night without a sentinel. Offa again arose, and revenged the
deaths of his followers; the king of North Wales, and many of
the old British nobles, fell at the battle of Rhuddlan, and those
who were taken prisoners were doomed to the severest slavery.
Mercia was not disturbed again by the Welsh during the reign
of Offa the Terrible. The remains of the immense work, which
ages after retained the name of Claudh Offa, or Offa's Dyke, are
still visible, and for centuries were the acknowledged barrier
that divided England from Wales; many an unrecorded combat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span>
was fought on those ancient boundaries, and the remains of
many a hero, whose name will never now be known, lie buried
deep down within those filled-up trenches.</p>

<p>Perhaps Offa's marriage with Drida was the first cause of his
opening a correspondence with the renowned Charlemagne; but
whatever it might be, the letters that passed between them reveal
the earliest traces of a protected trade with the continent.
The Frankish king offered to permit all pilgrims to pass securely
through his dominions; and such as came not on religious missions,
but were engaged in commerce, were to pass safely to and
fro, after paying the requisite duties. To Offa, Charlemagne
sent as proofs of his kindness and friendship, a rich belt, an
Hungarian sword, and two cloaks of silk. Trifling as these
matters may at first appear, they show what silent strides
civilization was already making; duties paid on commerce for
protection are different things to the dogs and horses which, centuries
before, the Britons were wont to present to the Roman
emperors whenever they required their aid.</p>

<p>Egbert, who was destined to become the grandfather of Alfred
the Great, resided for a time at Offa's court; but when Brihtric
ascended the throne of Wessex, and demanded the hand of Edburga,
Egbert hastened to France, where he became a great
favourite with Charlemagne; and there he not only improved
himself in learning and military tactics, but by departing from
Britain, saved his life, for Brihtric was already jealous of the
fame he had won, while residing with Offa, and sought to destroy
him. Had the gifted young prince offended Edburga by refusing
her hand, and was this jealousy aroused by queen Drida
and her daughter? There is one of those mysterious blanks here
which we are at a loss to fill up rightly, for it is not clear that
Egbert fled to Offa for protection, but on the contrary he appears
to have been a guest of the Mercian king's, for some time before
Brihtric sought the hand of Edburga. According to William
of Malmesbury, Egbert's claim to the throne of Wessex was superior
to Brihtric's; but we must not pass over the event by
which the throne of Wessex became vacant. Cynewulf we have
already seen measuring arms with Offa at the battle of Bensington,
where he was defeated. He became jealous of Cyneheard,
who was a brother of Sigebyrht, a king who had been driven
from the throne of Wessex, and he either sought to slay him, or
banish him from the kingdom. Cyneheard made his escape, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span>
no further than into a neighbouring wood, near Merton in Surrey,
where he lay concealed, having, however, a number of spies
about him, who were ever on the look out after the king, for
Cyneheard had resolved to strike the first blow; nor was it long
before an opportunity occurred that favoured his purpose.</p>

<p>A fair lady lived at Merton, whom Cynewulf frequently
visited, often coming with only a few attendants; his enemy was
on the look out, and soon surrounded the house after he had
seen the king enter. Cynewulf threw open the door, rushed out,
and wounded Cyneheard; a dozen swords were at once uplifted
against him; the king of Wessex fought alone against them all;
his followers were in another part of the house; there was not
one by to aid him, and he was slain. Assistance came too late;
the tumult had aroused those within, and, snatching up their
weapons, they hastened out to defend their master; they beheld
him fallen and bleeding beside the threshold. Cyneheard parleyed
with them for a few moments, offered them broad lands, and rich
rewards, if they would serve him; they threw back his offer with
disdain, and foot to foot, and hand to hand, did they fight until
only one remained alive; the dead followers, and the dead king,
lay side by side. The tidings of Cynewulf's death were soon
blown abroad, and others speedily rode up to revenge the murder
of their sovereign. To these Cyneheard made the same offers,
and received the same reply, their only answer being the naked
weapons they presented; they had come to revenge the death of
their king, to demand life for life, and with but few words they
fell upon Cyneheard and his followers, and slew them all, excepting
one, who was severely wounded. Thus Brihtric ascended
the throne of Wessex, and married the daughter of Offa,&mdash;and
dark was the bridal chamber into which he entered.</p>

<p>Turn we to another scene. A young lady was leaning upon
the ledge of the palace-window, watching a long train of knights
entering the court-yard, and admiring the beauty of one who appeared
to be their chief, when she called upon her mother to
come forward and witness the scene. That lady was the youngest
daughter of Offa, the woman she called her mother, queen Drida,
the youth she had admired, Ethelbert, who had just succeeded to
the throne of East Anglia, and had now come with costly presents,
to seek her hand, and form an alliance with the powerful
house of Mercia. Drida had those beyond the sea whom she
wished to serve, with whom she had in vain endeavoured to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span>
unite her daughter in marriage; there was but one left single
now, the youngest, Alfleda, and the youthful king of East Anglia
had come to carry her off also. She had seen her husband welcome
him, and the warm reception Ethelbert had received, was
gall and wormwood to her. The evil spirit rose strong within
her, and she resolved he should never again quit her roof until
he was carried to his grave.</p>

<p>She called Offa aside. She well knew the power of her beauty:
the weak point of her husband&mdash;ambition. She pointed out the
number of followers who, encamped without the palace walls,
had accompanied Ethelbert,&mdash;assured him that marriage was not
the errand he had come upon;&mdash;that his design extended to the
crown of Mercia. Offa doubted her assertions. Cunning as she
was cruel, she suddenly turned round the point of her argument,
then proceeded to show him that if even the young king
did marry their daughter, he would, from the moment of his
union, consider himself as heir to the throne of Mercia, and
hourly look for Offa's death; nay, seek to hasten it if an opportunity
offered. She showed him how Ethelbert had made himself
acquainted with the roads which led through Mercia&mdash;how
he must have observed every salient point of the kingdom as he
passed along; and, perceiving that the king looked perplexed,
she added&mdash;"Either he will shortly be the cause of your death,
or you must now be the cause of his."&mdash;The poor blinded husband
admitted the truth of her argument, confessed that he was
exposed to peril; yet, according to one of the old chroniclers,
turned away, and firmly refused to partake in such a "detestable
crime as she suggested; which," added he, "would bring eternal
disgrace upon me and my successors."</p>

<p>The two kings sat down to the feast; the hall of the palace
resounded with mirth. Drida came in every now and then, and
when called upon to account for her absence, said she had been
looking after the apartment which she was fitting up for the reception
of her royal guest: for Ethelbert had spent the previous
night in his camp, as the day was drawing to a decline long
before he reached the royal residence. In the room which the
queen had set apart for the East Anglian king, she had caused a
splendid throne to be erected, which was overhung with curious
drapery, and surmounted by a rich canopy. In the adjoining
apartment a beautiful couch was fitted up, on which he was to
sleep. She came in again with the same smiling look, and armed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span>
with that beauty which Time had only rendered more imposing
and majestic. She sat down to the feast, and whiled away the
hour with pleasant and playful conversation. All without looked
calm, and cheerful, and captivating, while within, there rolled
dark and deep-moving murder, and savage vengeance; and all
the awful turmoil, which ever beats about the restless brain of
disappointed ambition. The Saxon gleemen sung, and tumbled;
the wine-cup circulated&mdash;rich pigment, sweetened with honey,
and flavoured with spices, was handed round in costly vessels;
mead mellowed with the juice of mulberries, and strong wines,
made odoriferous with the flowers and sweet-herbs which had
been used in the preparation, passed from hand to hand; and
all went "merry as a marriage bell," when the antiquated syren
turned sweetly round, and assumed one of those studied looks
which had saved her from the fiery ordeal&mdash;which, when tossed
like a wave upon the ocean, had won its way through Offa's
heart to his throne; she exclaimed, (and probably laid her hand
upon the shoulder of her unsuspecting victim, as she spoke;)
"Come, my son, Alfleda anxiously awaits you in the chamber I
have prepared; she wishes to hear the words of love which her
intended husband has to say." It is not improbable that she led
him in playfully by the hand&mdash;not one of his attendants followed.
When he entered the room, she bade him sit down upon the
throne, which stood in readiness to receive him; and, looking
round with feigned wonder, marvelled why her daughter had not
already arrived. With the merry mead playing about his
brain, we can almost picture Ethelbert uttering some jest as he
threw himself laughing into the gorgeous seat. We can see the
last smile linger about Drida's eye, the sparkling fire of vengeance
heaving up, as the demon-like glare flashed forth, the
instant she had released her hand&mdash;for the moment Ethelbert
threw himself upon the throne, it sunk beneath him, into the pit,
or well over which it had been placed. There was help at hand,
men behind the arras, who listened silently for the fall. They
rushed forth, Drida aided them. Beds, pillows, and hangings,
were thrown upon the shrieking king, to drown his cries; and
when all was silent, the trap-door was again closed. There
is scarcely a doubt that Offa was privy to the deed. The
fact of his taking possession of East Anglia immediately after
the murder of Ethelbert, is a strong proof of his guilt; though
some have attempted to show that he but seized upon it in self-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span>defence,
when the East Anglians swore to revenge the death of
their sovereign.</p>

<p>Alfleda, the fair betrothed, fled from the murderous court, to
the monastery of Croyland; and in the midst of those wild
marshes, where the bittern boomed, and the tufted plover went
ever wailing through the air, she assumed the habit of a nun,
and dedicated the remainder of her days, which were few, to the
service of God.</p>

<p>In the "Life of Offa," which we have before alluded to, it is
stated that the Mercian monarch banished the royal murderess
to one of the most solitary fortresses in his dominions,&mdash;that
she carried with her an immense treasure, which she had reaped
from many a crime, and wrung from many a one who had
groaned beneath her oppression: that, lonely and neglected, she
was left to gloat over the gold for which she had perilled her
soul. But vengeance was not long before it overtook her. The
lonely fortress to which she was banished was attacked by robbers,
her treasures taken from her, and she herself cruelly tortured,
then thrown into a well, where she was left to expire, unwept,
and unpitied. A strange resemblance does her end bear
to that of the youthful king, whom she caused to be so ruthlessly
butchered.</p>

<p>Edburga inherited all her mother's vices; she was envious,
ambitious, and cruel. Those who became favourites with her
husband, Brihtric, she hated, allowing no one to share his confidence
or his counsel without drawing down her vengeance;
and when she could not succeed in obtaining their disgrace or
banishment, she caused them to be secretly poisoned, for there
were ever emissaries at her elbow, ready to do their wicked
work. Like her mother Drida, she found a pleasure in the
execution of dark and dreadful deeds. There was a youth who
stood high in the estimation of the king, whom Edburga had long
endeavoured, but in vain, to overthrow. Brihtric turned a deaf
ear to all her complaints, and seldom trusted his envied favourite
out of his sight. But she had sent too many of her victims to
the grave, and was acquainted with too many ready roads, which
led direct to death, to abandon her prey; so, following her old
sure and speedy path, she poured poison into his wine-cup. That
night the king drank out of the same vessel as his favourite, and
died. She sent one soul more to the dark dominions than she
had intended; and, dreading the vengeance of her nobles, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span>
packed up all the treasures she could find in the palace, and
hastened off to France. The West Saxons passed a decree that
no king's consort should in future share her husband's throne,
but that the title of queen should be abolished.</p>

<p>The murderess presented herself before Charlemagne, with
all her treasures, and, doubtless, as her mother Drida had before-time
done, when tossed by the angry ocean upon the British
coast, she feigned some story to account for her coming, for
Charlemagne asked her whether she would choose himself or his
son, who stood beside him, for her husband. She boldly replied&mdash;"Your
son, because he is the youngest." The monarch
answered: "that if she had chosen him, it was his intention to
have given her to his son; but now," added he, "you shall have
neither." A strong proof that she had forged some tale about
the death of Brihtric, for such a proposition would never have
been made to her had Charlemagne known that she had just
hurried, with breathless haste, from the dead body of her murdered
husband. She went into a monastery, became abbess,
and was quickly driven out for the immoral and infamous life
she there led. "Last scene of all"&mdash;the haughty daughter of
Offa became a common beggar in the streets of Pavia, where
she was led about by a little girl. King Alfred mentions these
facts; he heard them from those who knew her well. Offa was
then in his grave. His son reigned but a few months&mdash;Edburga
died a beggar in the streets&mdash;Alfleda soon after in the
monastery of Croyland. The whole race was swept away;
not one was left alive in whose veins there ran the blood of
Offa the Terrible. Neither sable tragedy nor dark romance were
ever woven from wilder materials than the historical truths which
form this gloomy chapter.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EGBERT, KING OF ALL THE SAXONS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When that my care could not withhold thy riots,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!"&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Egbert was no sooner apprised of the death of Brihtric, than
he hastened out of France, to take possession of the throne of
Wessex, and never had a Saxon sovereign that had hitherto
swayed the perilous sceptre come armed with the experience of
the new king. He had studied in the stern school of Charlemagne,
had narrowly scanned the policy pursued by that great
monarch, both in the council and in the camp, and was well prepared
to collect and reduce to order the stormy elements which
had so long been let loose over Britain; for, in addition to the
civil discords which shook the land, the Danes had already invaded
our island. Few kings had ever received a warmer welcome
from their subjects than that which awaited Egbert on his accession,
for he was the last descendant of the race of Cerdric. Kent,
Essex, and East Anglia, had already acknowledged the power of
Mercia; Northumbria had long been rent asunder by internal
dissensions; and Sussex was by this time united to Wessex.
Having thus doubled its strength and enlarged its territories, the
kingdom over which Egbert reigned was, with the exception of
Mercia, the only independent state that stood unbroken amid the
ruins of the Octarchy.</p>

<p>Kenwulf sat firmly upon the throne, whose foundation Offa
had so well consolidated. Egbert watched him with an eagle
eye, but though ever on the alert, the Mercian king was too
wary to become an aggressor; and the Wessex sovereign knew
too well the strength of his rival, to be the first to commence an
attack. Both kingdoms seemed overhung with the same threatening
sky, but no one could tell on which it would first break,
though all could foresee that, in spite of its remaining so long
stationary, the storm must at last burst forth. As the petty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span>
states around them crumbled to pieces, were gathered up and
built in upon other foundations, so did each silently seek to possess
himself of the ruins and overtop the other, making an outward
parade of their strength; yet each tacitly acknowledging,
by their forbearance, how much they envied, yet respected, their
neighbours' power. Like two expert wrestlers, each retained his
hold, without venturing to overthrow his adversary. This state
of things could not last long; yet while Kenwulf lived, he kept
the balance so equally poised, that, with all his ambition, Egbert
ventured not to touch the scale. The king of Mercia died, and,
from that moment, Wessex slowly gained the ascendancy.
Hitherto Egbert had contented himself by carrying his arms into
Cornwall and Devonshire, and waging war with the Britons.
After Kenwulf's death, he aimed at the sole sovereignty of Britain,
and circumstances soon favoured his long-meditated conquest.
Had Egbert died first, Kenwulf would have aspired to
the same power.</p>

<p>The Mercian king left his son Kinelm, who was only seven
years of age, and heir to the throne, to the charge of his sisters.
Windreda, the eldest, was not long before she caused her brother
to be put to death. His tutor, Askebert, was the instrument
chosen by this unnatural sister to accomplish the deed. It is
said that she promised to share with him the sovereignty. Under
the pretence of hunting, the unsuspicious prince was led into a
neighbouring wood, and there murdered. The spot in which
the body was interred was, after some time, discovered by a
herdsman, who went in search of one of his cows which had gone
astray; a miracle in the old monkish legends is appended to the
discovery. The sceptre of Mercia was wrested from the hands
of Windreda by her uncle, Ceolwulf, who, however, did not retain
it long before he was driven from the throne by Beornwulf,
which revolution soon shook the kingdom of Mercia to its very
centre. Egbert still stood aloof; the time for action had not yet
arrived. He foresaw that the last usurper would not long remain
inactive; nor was he wrong. Beornwulf rushed headlong into a
war with Wessex. The battle took place at Wilton, which, in
ancient times, was called Ellan; and although the Mercians mustered
together the largest force upon the field, Egbert, after a
sharp contest, won the victory.</p>

<p>Although the king of Wessex did not carry his victorious
arms at once into Mercia, he lost no time in annexing Kent to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span>
his dominions, thus weakening at once his rival's power. To
accomplish this, he despatched his son Ethelwulf, the father
of our Alfred the Great, with a strong force into Kent, who
drove the vassal king across the Thames. Egbert next promised
to support the East Anglians, if they would rise and declare
themselves independent of the Mercian king. He kept his word.
Beornwulf fell in the first battle. Ludecan succeeded him, and
also perished in the next contest. Wiglaf then took the command
of the Mercian forces, but before he had time to
strengthen his army, and make up for their previous defeats,
Egbert was upon him, and the power of Wessex was at last
triumphant. Wiglaf fled into the monastery of Croyland, and
appears to have been so closely pursued, that he was compelled
to seek shelter in the very cell which the daughter of Offa
occupied&mdash;the sanctity of which the invaders respected: here
he remained four months. What a shock must the feelings of
the fair nun have undergone when the last defender of Mercia
rushed into her little apartment to save his life&mdash;from the very
night when she fled from her father's palace, pale and woe-begone,
and horror-struck at the murder of her intended
husband&mdash;from that very night had the fortune of her family
begun to decline, and now she was all that remained of the
once powerful house of Offa. What changes had that Saxon
princess witnessed, what shifting scenes could she recal as she
sat in the solitude of her cell, contemplating the past as it rose
before her!</p>

<p>By the intercession of Siward, Wiglaf was permitted to
occupy the throne of Mercia, on condition that he paid tribute
to Egbert&mdash;the abbot of Croyland attested the payment. Prior
to this period, the Northumbrians grew weary of being without
a king, and Eanred now sat upon the throne. During the reign
of Kenwulf he had been bold enough to invade Mercia. As
Egbert had by this time subdued the whole Octarchy, with the
exception of Northumbria, he determined to carry his victorious
army into Deiri and Bernicia. Eanred well knew that it was
useless to measure arms with a monarch who had already
compelled five Saxon kingdoms to acknowledge his power, so
he came forth submissively, and, like the rest, became a tributary
vassal to the king of Wessex. Egbert next invaded Wales, and
penetrated into the very heart of Snowdon: victory still attended
him. From the Tweed to the Land's End of Cornwall, no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span>
now arose to dispute his sovereign sway. No Saxon king had
ever before ruled over such a vast extent of territory, for he
was at last sole king of England, although he never assumed
that proud title; neither did any Saxon king after him ever
rule over such a length and breadth of land.</p>

<p>We have before stated that, during the reign of Offa, the
Danes had landed in England; they first arrived with three
ships, approached one of the royal cities, when the sheriff of
the place, thinking they were foreign merchants, rode up with
a few attendants to inquire their business. Their answers
being unsatisfactory, he ordered them to be driven away, when
they fell upon him, and he, with all who accompanied him, were
slain. The Danes then plundered the town; but before they
escaped to their ships, Offa's soldiers attacked them. After
this defeat, they returned again, landed in Northumbria,
ravaged the country, sacked the abbey of Lindisfarne, slew
several of the monks, then retreated with an immense spoil to
their ships. At several other parts of the island they had also
landed, before Egbert occupied the throne of Wessex. In the
year 832 they came again; Egbert had made the whole kingdom
of the Octarchy bow before the power of Wessex, and doubtless
had sat down, expecting to doze away the remainder of his days
peaceably upon his throne, when tidings came that a number of
these savage pagans had landed in the Isle of Sheppey, slaughtered
several of the inhabitants, and, laden with plunder, had
again escaped to sea without a single vessel pursuing them.</p>

<p>The next year, the Danes came with thirty-five ships, and
were met by Egbert at Charmouth, in Dorsetshire, and if the
English were not defeated in this engagement, they lost a considerable
number of men, amongst whom were two bishops and
two ealdermen; while the Danes sustained but little loss, and
escaped, as before, with their ships. So serious had the ravages
of the sea-kings now become, that a council was held in London,
to devise the best means to prevent their depredations. At this
council Egbert presided, and, according to the charter which
Wiglaf granted to the abbey of Croyland, wherein direct allusion
is made to a promise given at the time, there were present,
"Egbert, and Athelwulf his son, and all the bishops and great
ealdermen of England, consulting together as to the best means
of repelling the constant incursions of the Danes on the English
coast." These northern invaders soon found ready allies amongst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span>
the remnant of the ancient Cymry, who still inhabited a corner
of Cornwall and the adjacent neighbourhood, and were as ready
as in the days of king Arthur, to league themselves with any
enemy who was bold enough to attack the Saxons. But the
martial spirit of the ancient Britons had all but died out; the
few embers that remained, when stirred, retained all their former
glow, then faded again in their old ashy grey, and sank into a lesser
compass at every touch; for the smouldering waste had slowly
gone on, year after year, and no new fuel having been added,
the hidden sparks huddled hopelessly together&mdash;Liberty had
neglected to come, as the bards had promised she would do: the
altar and the spark were still there, but the long-looked for sacrifice
never came, which was to light the whole island with its
blaze. Still, the old Cymry were not yet dead; they hailed the
Danes as their deliverers, and thinly as they were sprinkled over
the surrounding country, they gladly mustered what force they
could, and joined the stormy sea-kings at Hengston Hill, in Cornwall.
Egbert met them with a well-appointed army, and defeated
their united forces with terrible slaughter.</p>

<p>The following year, Egbert died, after a reign of thirty-seven
years, and was succeeded by his son, Ethelwulf, the father of
Alfred the Great. The king of all the Saxons sank into his
grave, with the fond hope that the whole Octarchy had now become
united like one family, all acknowledging one sway; that
the civil dissensions by which each separate state had so long
been torn asunder had for ever ceased; and as the Danish invaders
had not again appeared since their dreadful defeat at
Hengston Hill, he closed his dying eyes, and left his country
at peace. But scarcely was he within his grave, before the
northern hordes again poured into England, spreading greater
consternation than the Saxons had ever done amongst the Britons.
The hour of retribution, which the Cymry had so long looked
for, was fast approaching, but few of their ancient race lived to
witness its fulfilment; for time, and conquest, and slavery, and
death, had left but few of those early inhabitants behind, whose
forefathers first landed upon our island, and called it the Country
of Sea Cliffs. But we have reached another of those ancient
landmarks, which stand wide apart along the shores of History,
the grey monuments which overlook that still sea of death, where
nameless millions have for ages been buried. From these we
must now turn away to gaze upon another race, more savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span>
and uncivilized than the preceding invaders ever were, when,
nearly four centuries before, they first rowed their long chiules
over the same stormy seas, and marvelled to find an island in
the ocean, which contained walled cities and stately temples, and
tall columns, that might have vied with classic Rome. To the
Danes must we now turn&mdash;those children of the creeks, who,
under the guidance of their sea-kings, followed the road of the
swans, as they called the ocean, and hewed out a home with
their swords, wherever the winds or the waves wafted or drifted
them.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p>

<h2 class="part"><a name="Invasion_of_the_Danes" id="Invasion_of_the_Danes">Invasion of the Danes.</a></h2>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE ANCIENT SEA-KINGS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The Northmen sailed in their nailed ships,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the roaring sea over deep water&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They left behind them raw to devour<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sallow kite, the swarthy raven with horny nib,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the house vulture, with the eagle swift,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And that grey beast, the wolf of the wold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To consume the prey."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Anglo-Saxon War Song.</span>&mdash;Ingram's <i>Translation</i>.<br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The Danes, Norwegians, or Norsemen, for it matters not by
which title we distinguish them, descended from the same
primitive race as the Anglo-Saxons&mdash;the old Teutonic or
Gothic tribes. But to enter fully into the mixed population,
all of whom sprung from this ancient stock, and at different
periods invaded England, we should have to go deeply into the
early history of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Their religion
was the same as that which we have described at the commencement
of the Saxon invasion. They worshipped Odin,
and died in the hope of enjoying the brutal delights which their
imaginations pictured as never-ending in the halls of Valhalla.
From the rocky coast of Norway, and the very islands where
Hengist, and Cerdric, and Ella, first led their followers, the
stormy sea-kings came: across the rough Baltic they rode; they
swarmed like locusts along the neighbouring shores, and were
neither intimidated by the tempest, nor disheartened by the
defeats which they frequently sustained. The kingdoms from
whence they came were divided into petty sovereignties, where
one chief made war upon the other&mdash;where the conqueror of
yesterday was likely enough to be driven on the morrow to the
sea-coast, and, finally, out into the ocean, when, with his ships,
he became a sea-king, and over the billows rode merrily to discover<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>
some other country. If he returned enriched with
plunder, he was respected; if he came back empty-handed, he
was despised. His vessels laden with spoil soon procured him
plenty of followers, and then his former conqueror fell a victim;
for over each province, or state, that could furnish forth a dozen
ships, each of which contained about sixty or seventy armed
men, there a sea-king was to be found. Norway alone, at one
period, was divided into about thirty of these sovereignties.</p>

<p>Others there were who possessed not a rood of territory,
whose only property was their ships, the crews their subjects,
the sword their sceptre; who had no alternative but to plunder
or perish, to slay or starve, or stay at home and prey upon their
brethren, who themselves were ever darting out from the herbless
coast to seize whatever they saw passing upon the sea.
If the family retained any landed possession, one son stayed at
home to inherit it, the rest sallied out with their ships to seek
their fortune across the deep; for a few vessels, well equipped
and ably manned, were considered a rich inheritance amongst
the Danes. At twelve years of age, they were initiated into this
piratical profession, and taught to believe that to plunder and to
slay were the only honourable passports to wealth and glory&mdash;the
only employments that were considered noble. The lessons
their fathers taught them, all tended to the same end, for they
left their children no wealth. "Go, my sons," said they, "and
reap riches and renown, with your ships and your swords."
They learned to despise inherited property; they valued that
most which had been won by the greatest danger, and prized
highest the plunder which they had become possessed of by
venturing into the most perilous paths.</p>

<p>In bays and creeks, and in the shadows of jutting headlands,
they concealed themselves, where they were ever ready, at a
moment's notice, to rush upon the passing prey. When out at
sea, they cared not where they were driven to, so long as it was
not to their own coast. They called the storm their servant, and
wherever it carried them, they said "that was the spot where
they desired to go&mdash;the tempest that hurled them along with
its mighty breath but came, that the rowers might rest their
weary arms." Those who were drowned, they believed, went
safely to Odin; those who survived, but laughed at the storm
they had escaped. Danger depressed them not, and death
they but considered as a common and necessary companion, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span>
went on his appointed mission to conduct them to the halls of
Odin, and returned again unheeded, and dwelt amongst them
from day to day; coming and going like a common messenger
that scarcely merited a passing remark. They looked upon the
Saxon Christians as traitors to their gods; and as they had been
crushed under the iron hand of Charlemagne, and been subjected
to revolting cruelties to compel them to renounce their
ancient creed, they believed that they rendered true service
to Odin by slaughtering the priests, and destroying the
churches of Christ. Such of the unconverted Saxons as still
inhabited the neighbourhood of Jutland, readily formed a league
with the more distant sea-kings, and, thus banded together,
they made head against their common enemies, though their
near brethren; for they now looked upon them as renegades,
and neither the resemblance which they bore to each other in
feature or language, nor the remembrance that all were once of
the same religion, checked for a moment their hostile spirit. In
former times, they worked themselves up into fits of madness,
bit their shields, and imitated the howling of wolves, and the
barking of dogs; and, under this excitement, performed feats of
unnatural strength, such as maniacs alone are capable of achieving.
When in this state, woe to the warriors they rushed upon! Such
savage deeds were common in early times amongst the followers
of Odin. It is said that, in the darker centuries, they ate the flesh
of horses raw, dragged the infant from the breast of its mother,
and tossed it from one to another upon the points of their lances.</p>

<p>They decorated the prows of their ships with the figures of
animals: the heads of shaggy lions, and savage bulls, and hideous
dragons, were placed at the front of their vessels, and threw their
grim shadows upon the waves. Along the sides of their ships
they hung their shields, which, placed together, threw back the
billows, and thus protected them from the surges of the sea, as
they did from the blows dealt in battle. On their masts were
placed the figures of birds, whose outstretched wings veered
round with every wind that blew. Some of their vessels were
built in the form of a serpent, the prow resembling the head, the
long stern forming the tail; these they called the great sea-serpents,
or sea-dragons. When they unloosed their cables, and
left their ships to career freely over the waves, they called it
giving their great sea-horses the rein. They lashed the prows
of their vessels together, and while thus linked, steered right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span>
into their enemies' ships; over the dragons', and the bulls', and
the lions' heads they leaped, and courageously boarded the foe.
The huge club, studded with spikes, which dealt death wherever
it fell, they called the "star of the morning." When they
fought, they called their war-cry, "chaunting the mass of lances;"
to show their contempt for the Christian creed, they stabled
their horses in the Christian churches; and when they finished the
repast which they had compelled the reluctant host to furnish,
they slew him, and burnt his <span class="locked">house.<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</a></span></p>

<p>When they ascended the rivers, and found a convenient and
secure station, they drew up their vessels, as the Romans had
done beforetime, threw up intrenchments, and left a guard behind,
while the bulk of their force sallied out to scour the country,
burning and slaying wherever they came, seizing upon all the
horses they could capture, to carry their plunder over-land; and
when hotly pursued, or followed by a superior force, they broke
up their encampment, and trusted for safety to their ships.
After a time, they became bolder; drove away or slaughtered
the natives, and settled down upon the land they had taken
from the inhabitants. Some they allowed to reside amongst
them, on condition that they renounced their religion; and the
ceremony of a Christian becoming a pagan consisted of his partaking
of the flesh of a horse, which was sacrificed on one of
their altars dedicated to the worship of Odin. When the sea-kings
made a solemn vow, they swore upon a golden bracelet.
In their social hours, all were equal; no man was then addressed
as chief; all distinction was levelled. They sat in a circle, and
passed the drinking-horn from hand to hand. He whom they
obeyed in battle, whom they followed wherever he chose to steer
his ship&mdash;when the victory was won, laid his dignity aside; for
the stormy spirit who ruled in the tempest and heralded the way
in the fight, (though still a sea-king if the alarm was given,) was,
while peace lasted, and the feast continued, on a level with the
lowest of his followers. This very unbending, during these
festive moments, linked the chief closer to his subjects, and made
them feel that he was one of themselves; it left ambition less to
aspire to, and lowly valour to receive the same meed of praise.
He was chosen king, who was best fitted to endure the greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span>
hardships, and not for his high rank alone; one who had never
slept under a house-roof, nor emptied a cup beside the domestic
hearth, but whose habitation had, from childhood, ever been his
ship, was the sea-king they would follow to the gates of the
grave; such a one they chose, when the leader in whose veins
the blood of Woden was believed to have flowed, either slept
beneath the waves, or furnished a feast for the ravens in the deserted
battle-field.</p>

<p>The dangers they recklessly dared, would necessarily require
a frequent change of chieftains; and as such qualities as
we have enumerated were essential to the character of a sea-king,
the command was left open to all who, by their bravery,
chose to aspire to it; and nothing could be more conducive to
the cultivation of a high spirit of valour than that levelling of
all distinction. He who in his social moments hailed all as his
equals, would, in the hour of trial, rally around him the stoutest
and the truest hearts; and to prove their devotedness, they
would follow him through fire and flood, nor leave him when he
fell across the dark threshold of death.</p>

<p>Such were the stormy sea-kings, whose ships were now darkening
the ocean, who were soon to become sharers of the island
which their adventurous brethren had wrested from the Britons,
and who were destined to enrich the plains of England with each
other's blood. The grim gods of the ancient Cymry seemed to
require some savage sacrifice before they departed for ever from
the wave-washed island on which their altars had for centuries
blazed.</p>

<p>Through a land whose skies were reddened by the fires of the
destroyer, and whose fields were heavy and wet with the blood
of the slain, are we now about to journey; and after toiling
through two weary centuries of slaughter, we shall but sit down
upon the shore, to be startled again by the sound of the Norman
trumpets. A king lives and dies, a battle is won and lost; and
he who next succeeds to the throne, or wins the victory, sweeps
over the dead who have passed away, as the autumn-blast whirls
the withered leaves before it, until the very storm itself dies out,
and others awaken from the caverned sleep in which they have
grown strong enough to contend with the green array of a new
summer. Briton, Saxon, Dane, and Norman, are like the four
seasons which make up the long year of our history.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">FIRST SETTLEMENT OF THE DANES IN NORTHUMBRIA.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"On Norway's coast the widowed dame<br /></span>
<span class="i2">May wash the rock with tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May long look o'er the shipless seas<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Before her mate appears;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May sit and weep, and hope in vain,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Her lord lies in the clay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And never more will he again<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Ride o'er the salt sea-spray."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">The Old Ballad of "Hardyknute."</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Ethelwulph, although placed, in his father's life-time, upon the
throne of Kent, had assumed the monastic habit, and a dispensation
from the pope had to be obtained before he could be
crowned king of Wessex. He appears to have been a man of a
mild and indolent disposition, one who would have made a better
monk than a monarch, and have been much happier in the
dreamy quietude of the cloister, than in the stir and tumult of the
camp. Alstan, the bishop of Sherbourne, who had shared the
council and favour of Egbert, was the first to arouse Ethelwulph
from his natural lethargy; for the bishop possessed a fiery and
military spirit, better adapted to lead an army into battle, and
to sound the war-cry, than to guide a peaceful flock along those
pleasant pastures, where prayer and praise ought alone to be
heard. Could the king and the priest but have exchanged
places, the spirit of Egbert would yet have been left in the land;
as it was, however, Alstan did his best&mdash;recruited the exchequer,
raised a strong military force, and, though but feebly backed by
his sovereign, he placed the country in an abler state of defence
than it otherwise would have been, and was instrumental in
baffling many of the daring incursions of the Danes. Every
attack they now made became more formidable; they ventured
up the largest rivers; pillaging all the towns they came near, and
escaping with the spoil;&mdash;for four days, with a favourable wind,
was time enough to sail from their own shores to the southern
coast of Britain. At length, they began to think that the hours
lost in voyaging to and fro might be turned to better account if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span>
they settled down at once upon our coast; and in the year 851,
they took up their winter quarters in the island of Thanet.
There could now no longer remain any doubt of their intentions;
they were treading in the very footsteps which Hengist and
Horsa had left behind; they had taken possession of the soil.</p>

<p>The following spring, three hundred and fifty ships entered the
Thames; London and Canterbury were plundered; the Danes
marched onward into Mercia, defeated Bertulph, ravaged the
country for miles, then turned round again and entered Surrey.
Here, however, they found Ethelwulph, and his son Ethelbald, at
the head of the West Saxons, ready to receive them; and at Okely,
or the Field of Oaks, as the spot was then called, the Saxons, after
a hard fight, won the victory&mdash;such a desperate and deadly
struggle had not taken place for many years in Britain; more than
half of the Danish army perished in the field. Another son of
Ethelwulph's had defeated the Danes at Sandwich, and captured
nine of their ships. The men of Devonshire had also obtained a
victory over them at Wenbury. Such was the consternation
they had already spread, that every Wednesday was now set
apart as a day of prayer, to implore the Divine aid against the
Danes. Hitherto it had but been the muttering of the tempest,
with a few flashes playing about the dark edges of the thunder-cloud;
the terrible and desolating burst had yet to come. But
there was now slowly growing up to manhood one who was soon
destined to stand in the front of the storm&mdash;who was born to
tread, sure-footed, through the rocking of the whirlwind:&mdash;to his
boyish days will we now for a few moments turn aside.</p>

<p>The mother of Alfred was named Osberga; she was the daughter
of Oslac, the king's cup-bearer&mdash;as ambassador of Ethelwulph,
he signed the charter in which Wiglaf gave the monastery and
lands of Croyland to the abbot Siward and his successors. Osberga
was a lady celebrated for her piety and intellectual
attainments, talents which could have been of but little service
in the education of Alfred, for before he had reached his seventh
year, Ethelwulph, in his old age, became enamoured of a youthful
beauty&mdash;Judith, the daughter of Charles of France, and her he
married, although there scarcely remains a doubt that Osberga
was still living. It was on his return from Rome with the
youthful Alfred, that Ethelwulph first became smitten with the
princess Judith. We have shown that it was customary for the
Saxon kings to make a pilgrimage to Rome, and as Ethelwulph<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span>
is said to have loved Alfred "better than his other sons," he had
him introduced to the pope, and anointed with holy oil, although
he was the youngest of all his children&mdash;a clear proof that he
intended him to become his successor. The presents which
Ethelwulph made to the pope were of the costliest description,
and show that even at this early period the Saxon kings must
have been in the possession of considerable wealth. They consisted
of a crown of pure gold, which weighed four pounds, two
vessels of the same material, two golden images, a sword adorned
with pure gold, and four dishes of silver gilt, besides several
valuable dresses. He also gave gold and silver to the priests, the
nobles, and the people; rebuilt the school which Ina had founded,
and which, by accident or carelessness, had been burnt down;
and above all, procured an order from the pope, that no Englishman,
while in Rome, whether an exile or a public penitent,
should ever again be bound with iron bonds. When he returned
to England with his girlish wife, and the youthful Alfred, he
found his eldest son Ethelbald at the head of a rebellion, backed
by his old friend bishop Alstan, and the earl of Somerset. The
cause assigned for this insurrection was, that Ethelwulph had
raised Judith to the dignity of queen, contrary to the law of
Wessex, for, as we have before shown, the West Saxons had
abolished that title, on account of the crimes committed by
Edburga. The real cause, however, appears to have been a
jealousy of the favour shown to Alfred. But Ethelwulph was
now in his dotage, and as in his younger days he had never
evinced much of a warlike spirit, he by the intercession of his
nobles came to an amicable arrangement with his son, and after
this survived about two years, leaving Ethelbald the crown,
which he had been so eager to assume.</p>

<p>But neither crown, throne, nor sceptre, satisfied Ethelbald,
unless he also possessed the young widow, Judith. It is said that
she was but twelve years old when Ethelwulph married her, and
that she had never been more to the old king than a companion.
This, however, silenced not the clamour of the church, and
Ethelbald is said to have dismissed her;&mdash;a point much
doubted,&mdash;although it is clear enough that he did not survive
his father above three years. The monkish writers attribute
his short career to his unnatural marriage. Judith left England,
and for a short time resided in France, in a convent near Senlis.
While here, she captivated Baldwin, surnamed the Arm of Iron,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span>
by whom she was carried off (nothing loth) and married. Her
father, it is said, applied to the pope to excommunicate Baldwin,
for having taken away a widow forcibly. But whether the
pretty widow told another tale, or Baldwin had influence enough
to reach the ear of the pontiff, or by whatever other means the
matter was arranged, the pope took a very lenient view of the
affair, and Judith's third marriage was solemnized with the full
approbation of her father. Baldwin became earl of Flanders.
The son of Judith, on a later day, married the daughter of Alfred
the Great, from whom Matilda, the wife of William the Conqueror,
afterwards descended, and from whom has come down
our long race of English kings to the present time. The adventures
of queen Judith, her marriages with Ethelwulph and his
son, together with her elopement from the convent with Baldwin,
the grand forester, are matters that still sleep amongst the
early records of the olden time, and such as require the hand of
a bold historian to bring them clearly before the public eye.</p>

<p>We are now reaching the border-land of more stirring times.
Ethelbert succeeded his brother Ethelbald; and his short reign
was disturbed by the repeated attacks of the Danes, who again
wintered in the isle of Thanet, overran Kent, and extended their
ravages to the eastern parts of the country. After a reign
of six years, Ethelbert died, and Ethelred ascended the throne
of Wessex;&mdash;during his reign, Alfred began to take an active
part in the government. But we must now glance backward,
and bring before our readers a few of the Danish leaders. Chief
amongst the sea-kings who invaded England about this period,
was Ragnar Lodbrog, whose celebrated death-song has been
frequently translated, and is considered one of the oldest of the
northern poems which we possess. It was this famous sea-king
who led on that terrible expedition which overran France, and
destroyed Paris. After this, he returned to Norway, and built
two of the largest ships which had ever sailed upon the northern
seas. These he filled with armed men, and boldly steered for
the English shore. The art of navigation was then in its infancy;
the mighty vessels which Ragnar had built he had no
control over; they were thrown upon the coast of Northumberland,
and wrecked. A Saxon king, named Ella, at this time
ruled the northern kingdom, for Egbert had long before
placed tributary sovereigns over all the states he conquered.
The bold sea-king had no choice left to him, but either to plunder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span>
or perish, no matter how powerful the enemy might be that came
out against him; his ships were wrecked, and all means of escape
cut off. With an overwhelming force compared with that of Ragnar,
Ella met the sea-king, and though so unequally matched,
the pirate and his followers behaved bravely. Four times did
Ragnar rush into the opposing ranks, making an opening
through them wherever he appeared. He saw his warriors
perish around him one by one, until he alone was left alive out
of all that daring band,&mdash;every soul, excepting himself, was slain
in the combat. Ella took the brave sea-king prisoner, and, bleeding
as he was with his wounds, shut him up in a deep dungeon,
among live and venomous adders. The charmed mantle which
his wife Aslauga had given him, had proved of no protection; and
it was upon his death that the celebrated song, which we have
before-mentioned, was composed. It has been attributed to the
sea-king himself, though it is hardly possible that it could have
been his own composition; for as he perished in the dungeon, it
is not likely that his enemies would preserve a lay that set at
defiance all their tortures, and triumphed over their former
defeats. The following extracts will convey some idea of the
ancient Scandinavian war-songs:&mdash;</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords, when in the flower of my youth
I went out to prepare the banquet of blood for the wolves, when
I sent the people from that great combat in crowds to the halls
of Odin. Our lances pierced their cuirasses&mdash;our swords clave
their bucklers.</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords, and hundreds lay around the
horses of the island rocks&mdash;those great sea promontories of England.
We chaunted the mass of spears with the uprising sun.
The blood dropped from our swords; the arrows whistled in the
air as they went in quest of the helmets. Oh! it was a pleasure
to me, equal to what I felt when I first held my beautiful bride
in my arms.</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords, on that day when I laid low
the young warrior who prided himself on his long hair, and who
had just returned that morning from wooing the beautiful girls.
But what is the lot of a brave man but to die amongst the first?
A wearisome life must he lead who is never wounded in the
great game of battle&mdash;man must resist or attack.</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords! but now I feel that we follow
the decrees of fate, and bow to the destiny of the dark spirits.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span>
Never did I believe that from Ella the end of my life would
come, when I urged my vessels over the waves&mdash;but we left
along the bays of Scotland a banquet for the beasts of prey.
Still it delights me to know that the seats of Odin are ready for
the guests, and that there we shall drink ale out of large hollowed
skulls. Then grieve not at death in the dread mansion
of Fiolner.</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords! oh! if the sons of Aslauga but
knew of my danger, they would draw their bright blades and
rush to my rescue. How the venomous snakes now bite me.
But the mother of my children is true; I gained her that they
might have brave hearts. The staff of Vithris will soon stick
in Ella's heart. How the anger of my sons will swell when
they know how their father was conquered. In the palace of
my heart the envenomed vipers dwell.</p>

<p>"We struck with our swords! in fifty and one combats have I
fought, and summoned my people by my warning-spear-messenger.
There will be found few kings more famous than I.
From my youth I loved to grasp the red spear. But the goddess
invites me home from the hall of spoils; Odin has sent for me.
The hours of my life are gliding away, and, laughing, I will
die."</p>

<p>The tidings of the terrible death of Ragnar were not long
in travelling to the rocky coast of Norway; in every creek, and
bay, and harbour, it resounded, and wherever a sea-king breathed
around the Baltic, he swore on his bracelet of gold to revenge
the death of the renowned chieftain; all petty expeditions were
laid aside; Dane, Swede, and Norwegian, united like one man;
and eight kings, and twenty jarls, or petty chieftains, all joined
in the enterprise, at the head of which Ingwar and Hubba, the
two sons of Ragnar, were placed; all the relations and friends of
Ragnar, no matter how remote, swelled the force that had congregated
to revenge his death.</p>

<p>Although this mighty fleet was directed towards Northumbria,
by some chance it passed the coast, and came to anchor on the
shores of East Anglia. No one in England was apprized of its
approach. Ethelred had not been long seated on the throne of
Wessex, and Northumbria was still shaken by internal revolutions;
for Osbert, who had been expelled by Ella from the Deiri,
was now making preparations to regain the kingdom. The
Danes did not, however, commence hostilities so soon as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>
landed, but quietly overawing the country by their mighty
force, they took up their winter quarters within their intrenchments,
and moored their vessels along the shore. They demanded
a supply of horses; the king of East Anglia furnished
them; he intruded not upon their encampment, neither did they
molest him. The rest of the Saxon states looked calmly on,
trusting that the tempest would burst where it had gathered,
and that they should escape the terrible storm; but they were
doomed to be disappointed. With the first warm days of Spring,
the whole Danish host was in motion; such an army had never
before overrun the British island. The sons of Ragnar strode
sullenly onward at its head. They halted not until they reached
York, the metropolis of the Deira; they swept through the
city in their devastating march, leaving sorrow, and slaughter,
and death, to mark their footsteps; destroying all before them
as they passed, until they reached the banks of the Tyne.
Osbert and Ella had by this time become united, and began to
advance at the head of a large army, which numbered amongst
its commanders eight earls. The Danes had again fallen back
upon York, and near the outskirts of that city were first attacked
by the Northumbrians. The assault was so sudden that the
pagans were compelled to fly into the city for shelter. Flushed
with this temporary victory, the Saxons began to pull down the
city walls, and once within its streets, the Danes then rose up, and
fell upon the Northumbrians, whom they cut down with terrible
slaughter&mdash;nearly the whole of the Saxon army perished. Ella
fell alive into their hands, and horribly did the sons of Ragnar
revenge their father's death. All the tortures which cruelty
could devise, they inflicted upon him. So decisive was the
victory, that Northumbria never again became a Saxon kingdom,
but was ruled over with an iron hand by one of the sons of
Ragnar. The work of vengeance could go no further; they had
put the king to a lingering and agonizing death, and having
desolated his kingdom, one of the sons of the terrible sea-king,
whose spirit they had appeased, sat down upon the vacant throne,
and, from the Tyne unto the Humber, reigned the undisputed
sovereign. Thus was the death of Ragnar revenged. Having
once taken possession of the kingdom, the Danes began to fortify
York, and to strengthen the principal towns in the neighbourhood.
From Northumberland to the shores of the Humber they
strengthened their great mustering ground, and made it a rallying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span>
point for all the sea-kings who had courage enough to brave
the perils of the Baltic, and venture their lives, like the sons of
Ragnar, for a kingdom. All who had aided in revenging the
death of Ragnar, now invited their kindred and followers over
to England. They came in shoals, until Northumbria was filled
like an overstocked hive that awaits a favourable opportunity to
swarm.</p>

<p>That deep buzzing was soon heard which denoted that they
were ready to swarm, for there was now no longer room for so
many. The dark cloud passed with a humming sound through the
Deiri, along the pleasant valley of the Trent, through the wild
forest of Sherwood, whose old oaks then stood in all their
primitive grandeur, until they saw before them the walls of
Nottingham rising high above their rocky foundation. The
inhabitants fled into the surrounding forest, or hurried over the
Trent into the adjoining county of Lincolnshire, where Burrhed,
the king of Mercia, resided. Alarmed by the rumour of such
an host, the Mercian king sent into Wessex for assistance; and
Ethelred, joined by his brother Alfred, who was now slowly
rising, like a star on the rim of the horizon, hastened with their
united armies to assist the Mercian king. But the Danes were
too strongly entrenched within the walls of Nottingham to be
driven out by the combined forces of Mercia and Wessex. The
Saxons, well aware of the strength of these fortifications, were
compelled to encamp without the walls, for the tall rocky barriers
on which the castle yet stands, and the precipitous and
cavernous heights which still look down upon the river Lene,
formed strong natural barriers from which the Danish sentinels
could look down with triumph, and defy the assembled host
that lay encamped at their feet. After some delay, a treaty was
entered into between the contending armies, and the Danes agreed
to fall back upon York; the river Idel, which is so narrow that the
points of two long lances would meet, if held by a tall chieftain
on either shore, was the slender barrier that divided the opposing
nations; a roe-buck from a rising summit could readily overleap
it, and in an hundred places it was fordable. Ethelred and his
brother Alfred, (who had now numbered about nineteen years,)
led back their army into Wessex, and allowed the Danes to
pursue their way quietly into Deiri. This forbearance is
greatly censured by the early historians, but we must bear in
mind that Alfred was not yet king, and that Ethelred but came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span>
up as an ally on the side of Mercia. He who was destined to become
the greatest sovereign that ever sat upon the English throne,
was at this period one of the most daring followers of the chase,
for, although he was from childhood a martyr to a painful disease,
yet where the antlered monarch of the forest led the way, there
was Alfred to be seen foremost amongst the hunters. Young as he
was, he had already married a Mercian lady, called Ealswitha,
and some portion of Wessex was allotted to him, probably such
as had been held by his father Ethelwulph, when the subjects
rebelled on account of his step-mother Judith. Slightly as we
have passed by this frail fair lady, Alfred was greatly indebted
to her; she first tempted him to read when he was only twelve
years of age; but for her he might, like his brothers, have remained
in ignorance. She first pointed out the path which
guided him to the literature of Rome; he had trod the streets of
the "eternal city," and his wise laws tell us the use he made of
his learning.</p>

<p>We are compelled to drag the great king bit by bit before
our readers, lest we should startle them by his too sudden
appearance; for he seems to rise above the age in which he
lived with an unnatural majesty&mdash;there is no relief near to
where he stands, no neighbouring summit which he might
descend that would seem to lessen his giant form in its shadow;&mdash;bold
and bare and giant-like his god-imaged figure heaves up,
and with its mighty shadow eclipses the very sunset which,
though ever sinking, leaves not in gloom the bright form that
makes the "darkness visible" by which it is surrounded.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">RAVAGES OF THE DANES&mdash;DEATH OF ETHELRED.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"We look in vain for those old ruins now,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For the green grass waves o'er that ample floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And where the altar stood rank nettles grow;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">None mourned its fall more than the neighbouring poor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They passed its ruins sighing, day by day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And missed the beadsman in his hood of gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who never bade the hungry turn away."&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Old Abbey.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Spring, that gives such life and beauty to the landscape, but
aroused the Danes to new aggressions, and they this time
marched into the opposite division of Mercia, crossing the
Humber and the Trent, and landing in that part of Lincolnshire
which is still called Lindsey, where they spread death and desolation
wherever they passed. From north to south they swept
onward like a destroying tempest; the busy hamlet, the happy
home, and the growing harvest, all vanished beneath their footsteps.
Where in the morning sunshine, the pleasant village,
and the walled town, stood upon the high cliffs and overlooked
the wild wold and reedy marish; the dim twilight dropped
down upon a waste of smoking ruins, and blackened ashes, while
such of the inhabitants as escaped the merciless massacre, either
sheltered in the gloomy wood, where "the grey wolf of the weald"
had its lair, or in the sedgy swamp where the wild swan built,
and the black water-hen went paddling onward before her dusky
and downy young ones. Wherever a church or a monastery stood
up amid the scenery, thitherward the Danes directed their steps,
for to slaughter the priest at the altar, and carry their clamorous
war-cry into the choir, where they changed the hymning of the
psalter into the groans and shrieks of agonised death, was to
them a delight, equal to that of the heaven which they hoped to
inhabit hereafter. But sack, slay, burn, and destroy, are words
which but faintly describe the ravages of these Northern
pagans, that fall upon the ear with an indistinct meaning;
and it is only by following them step by step, and bringing their
deeds before the eye of the reader, that we can throw the
moving shadows of these savage sea-kings for a moment upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span>
our pages. Having ravaged the district of Lindsey, destroyed
the beautiful monastery of Bardney, and killed every monk
they found within its walls, they crossed the Witham, and entered
that division of Lincolnshire which is called Kesteven&mdash;here
a stand was made against them. The earl of Algar, with
his two officers, Wibert and Leofric, mustered together the inhabitants
who dwelt around the wild and watery neighbourhood
of Croyland, and being joined by the forces which Osgot the sheriff
of Lincoln had collected, and aided by a monk who had once
been a famous warrior, and now cast aside his cowl to don a
heavy helmet, they sallied forth in the September of 868, and
gave battle to the Danes. After a sharp contest, in which three
of the sea-kings were slain, the men of Mercia drove the
pagans into their intrenchments, nor did they cease from assailing
them in their stronghold until darkness had settled down
upon the land. But a thousand men, though backed by so good
a cause, were sure to fall at last before such a mighty and overwhelming
host as the invaders presented.</p>

<p>It so chanced that during the day, when the handful of brave
Saxons were victorious, the Danish forces had divided, but in
the night the division, which had been delayed by their work of
destruction, entered the camp, into which the defeated force had
been driven. Thus, by daylight, the pagan army was more
than doubled. Amongst these new comers were the two sea-kings
who had taken such terrible vengeance on Ella, for the
death of their father, Ragnar. The arrival of such a force spread
great consternation amongst the little band of Saxons, who were
encamped without the Danish intrenchments, and many of the
peasants fled during the night to their homes&mdash;the brave only
remained behind to die. In the early dawn of that bygone
Autumn morning, the Danes arose and buried the three sea-kings
who had fallen the day before in battle. The Saxons looked
calmly on, but moved not, until the solemn ceremony was
ended: the savage Hubba was present at that funeral. Algar
stood ready, with his little force drawn up in the form of a wedge;
he placed himself and his officers in the centre, confided the right
wing to the monk Tolius, and the left to the sheriff of Lincoln;
they planted their shields so closely together, that each one
touched its fellow; they held their strong projecting spears pointing
outward with a firm grasp, for they knew that their safety
depended upon being thus banded together, and thus, awaiting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span>
the attack, the solid wedge-like triangle stood. Leaving behind
a sufficient force to protect their encampment, which was filled
with plunder and captives, the remainder of the Danes, headed
by four kings and eight jarls or earls, sallied forth to give battle
to the Saxons. The first shock was terrible, but it broke not
the well-formed phalanx, though it jarred along the lines like a
chain that is struck; for a moment each link swung, there was a
waving motion along the ranks, then the horsemen recoiled again,
for the line was still unbroken. The Danish javelins penetrated
only the shields, the horses shrank back from the piercing
points of the Saxon spears. Savage Hubba could not get near
enough to strike with his heavy battle-axe&mdash;the morning-star,
which made bright flashes around the head of Ingwar as he
wielded it, swung harmless before that bristling forest of steel.</p>

<p>Upon the lonely moors and the damp marshes a dim mist began
to gather, and along the distant ridge where the wild forest
stretched far away, the evening shadows began to fall, when the
Danes, wearied and enraged at being so long repulsed, made
another attack;&mdash;then wheeling round, feigned a defeat. In vain
was the warning voice of the earl of Algar raised; in vain did the
monk intreat of them, by the name of every blessed saint in the
calendar, to stand firm; it was too late&mdash;the little band was broken&mdash;they
were off in the pursuit&mdash;the Danes were flying before them&mdash;and
onward they rushed, making the air resound again with the
shouts of victory. Suddenly the Danish force turned upon their
pursuers. Hubba made a circle with his cavalry to the right; to the
left the centre came back like an overwhelming wave, and the
Saxons were surrounded. All was lost. Neither the skill of
Algar nor the bravery of Tolius were now of any avail; there
was nothing left but to stand side by side, and to fight until they
fell. But few of that brave band escaped; those who did, availed
themselves of the approaching darkness, and plunging into the
adjoining forest, hastened to the distant monastery of Croyland,
to publish their own defeat.</p>

<p>It was the hour of matins, when, pale, weary, and breathless,
two or three of the Saxon youths who had escaped from the
scene of slaughter, rushed into the choir of the monastery
with the tidings that all excepting themselves had perished.
The abbot uplifted his hand to command silence when he saw
them enter, and the solemn anthem in a moment ceased. He
then bade the monks who were young and strong, to take a
boat, and carry off the relics of the saints, the sacred vessels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span>
jewels, books, and charters, and all the moveable articles of
value, and either to bury them in the marshes, or sink them
beneath the waters of the lake, until the storm had passed
over. "As for myself," added the abbot, "I will remain here,
with the old men and children, and peradventure, by the mercy
of God, they may take pity on our weakness." The children
were such as at that period were frequently brought up, by the
consent of their parents, in the habits of a monastic life, and who
in their early years sung in the choir:&mdash;amongst the old monks
were two whose years outnumbered an hundred. Alas! the
venerable abbot might as well have looked for mercy from a herd
of ravenous and howling wolves, that came, gaunt, grey, and
hungry, from the snow-covered wintry forest, as from the misbelieving
Danes, who were then fast approaching. All was
done as he commanded; the most valuable treasures were rowed
across the lake to the island of Thorns, and in the wood of Ancarig,
those who were not brave enough to abide the storm found
shelter. One rich table plated with gold, that formed a portion of
the great altar, rose to the surface, and as they could not sink it,
it was taken back, and again restored to its place in the monastery.</p>

<p>Meantime the flames which shone redly between the forest-trees,
told that the last village had been fired; every moment
brought nearer the clamour of the assailants, until at last the
tramp of horses could be distinctly heard: then the ominous
banner on which the dusky raven was depicted hove in sight,
and the whole mass came up with a deep, threatening murmur,
which drowned the voice of the abbot and the monks, and the
little children, as they continued to chaunt the psalter in the
monastery. At the foot of the altar, in his sacerdotal robes, was
the abbot hewn down; the grey hairs of the venerable priests
protected them not&mdash;those who rushed out of the choir were pursued
and slaughtered; there was scarcely a slab on the floor of
the sacred edifice that was not slippery with blood. Some were
tortured to make them confess where their treasures were concealed,
and afterwards beheaded, for the Danes acted more like
fiends, let loose to do the work of destruction, than like men.
There was one exception on that dreadful day&mdash;one human life
was saved by the intervention of a Dane, and but for him every
soul would have perished. The prior had been struck down
early in the massacre by the battle-axe of Hubba; as he lay dead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span>
upon the pavement, a little boy about ten years of age clung to
him and wept bitterly, for he had been greatly attached to the
prior. The slaughter was still going on, when Sidroc, one of
the sea-kings, paused with the uplifted sword in his hand to
gaze on the boy, who knelt weeping beside the dead body of the
prior. Struck by his beautiful and innocent countenance, the
Danish chief took off his cassock, and throwing it around the
little chorister, said, "Quit not my side for a moment." He
alone was saved&mdash;excepting those who had previously fled with
the boat and the treasures. Disappointed at finding neither gold
nor jewels, the pagans broke open the tombs, and scattered around
the bones of the dead, and as there was no longer any one at
hand to slay, they set fire to the monastery. Laden with cattle
and plunder, they next proceeded to Peterborough, burning and
slaying, and destroying whatever they met with on their
march.</p>

<p>The abbey of Peterborough was considered at this time as
one of the finest ecclesiastical edifices in England. It was built
in the solid Saxon style, with strong stunted pillars, crypts,
vaulted passages, oratories, and galleries, while the thick massy
walls were pierced with circular windows, and contained
the finest library which had ever been collected together in
Britain; the gift of many a pilgrim who had visited the still
proud capital of Italy. The doors of this famous building were
so strong that for some time they resisted the attacks of the
Danes, and as the monks and their retainers had resolved to
defend themselves as long as they could, neither the besieged
nor the besiegers remained idle. From the circular windows,
and the lofty roof of the abbey, the monks and their allies threw
down heavy stones, and hurled their sharp javelins at the enemy,
who had hitherto endeavoured in vain to break open the ponderous
doors. At last the brother of Hubba was struck to the
earth by a stone, and carried wounded into his tent.</p>

<p>This act seemed to redouble the fierce energy of the Danes,
and in a few minutes after they drove in the massy gates. In
revenge for the wound his brother had received, the brutal
Hubba, with his own hand, put eighty-four monks to death;&mdash;he
demanded to be the chief butcher on the occasion, and the request
was freely granted him. The child whom Sidroc had
rescued from death at Croyland stood by and witnessed that
savage slaughter, and the friend who had saved him stooped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span>
down, and whispering in his ear, bade him not approach too
near Hubba. The boy, as we shall see, needed not a second
warning. All who had aided in defending the monastery, excepting
the few who escaped at the commencement of the attack,
were put to death. The library was burnt, the sepulchres broken
open, and the abbey fired; and for nearly fifteen days was that
noble edifice burning, before it was totally consumed. Many a
deed and charter, and valuable manuscript, which would have
thrown a light on the manners and customs of that period, were
consumed in the flames.</p>

<p>Laden with spoil, the merciless pagans next marched towards
Huntingdon. Sidroc had charge of the rear-guard, which
brought up the plunder. Two of the cars, containing the spoil
of the monastery, were overturned in a deep pool, while passing
a river, and as the sea-king lingered behind, and was busily engaged
in superintending his soldiers, and aiding them to save all
they could from the wreck, the child who had witnessed such
scenes of bloodshed took advantage of the confusion, and escaped.
Having concealed himself in a wood until the faint and far-off
sounds of the Danish army had died away, he set off across the
wild marshes alone, and in the course of a day and a night
found his way back again to Croyland. Poor little fellow! the
smoking ruins and the weeping monks, who had returned from
their hiding-place in the island of Thorns, and who were then
wailing over their murdered brethren, were the melancholy
sights and sounds that greeted his return home;&mdash;a stern school
was that for a child of ten years old to be nursed in! He told
them all he had witnessed at Peterborough; they gathered
around him to listen; they ceased to throw water on the burning
ruins until his tale was ended; they left the headless body
of their venerable abbot beneath the mighty beam which had
fallen across it, nor attempted to extricate it until he had finished
"his sad, eventful history." Then it was that they again wept
aloud, throwing themselves upon the ground in their great
anguish, until grief had no longer any tears, and the sobbing of
sorrow had settled down into hopeless silence. That over, they
again commenced their sad duty: the huge grave was deepened,
the dead and mutilated bodies were dragged from under the
burning ruins, and placing the abbot on the top of the funeral
pile, they left them in one grave, covered beneath the same
common earth, to sleep that sleep which no startling dream can
ever disturb.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span>
Scarcely was this melancholy duty completed, before the few
monks who had escaped from the massacre of Peterborough
made their appearance. They had come all that way for assistance,
for, excepting themselves, there were none left alive to
help to bury their murdered brethren, on whose bodies the
wolves from the woods, they said, were already feeding. With
heads bent, and weeping eyes, and breaking hearts, those poor
monks had moved mournfully along, leaving the wolves to feed
upon their butchered brothers beside the blackened ruins of their
monastery, until they could find friends who would help them
to drag the half-consumed remains from beneath the burning
rafters, place them side by side, and, without distinction, bury
them in one common and peaceful grave. How clearly we can
picture that grave group on their journey! their subdued conversation
by the way, of the dead, whose good deeds they discussed,
or whose vices they left untouched, as they recalled their
terrible ending; the country through which they passed, desolate;
the inhabitants, who were wont to come on holy-days to worship,
fled; a hamlet here reduced to ashes, there a well-known form,
half consumed, stretched across the blackened threshold. We
can picture the wolf stealing away until they had passed; the
raven, with his iron and ominous note, making a circle round
their heads, then returning to the mother or the infant, half
hidden in the sedge beside the mere, or with her long hair floating
loose amongst the water-flags, amid which she was stabbed
as she ran shrieking, with the infant at her breast. Wherever
they turned their eyes, there would they behold desolation, and
death, and decay,&mdash;see homes which the fire had consumed,
in ruins; or where the children had escaped, witness them weeping
beside the roofless walls, fatherless, motherless, hopeless; for
such was the England of those days, over which the destroying
sea-kings passed. Let us, however, hope, that there were a few
like Sidroc amongst them; that the raven and the wolf were
not their only attendants, but that the angel of mercy, though
concealed in a pillar of cloud by day, and in a pillar of fire by
night, was still there, and though unseen, many a time stretched
forth his hand to rescue. It is painful to picture such scenes as
our history presents at this period; they are all either soaked
through with the blood of the slain, or black and crackled with
the scorching flames which have passed over them. It makes
us shudder to think what they who once lived and moved as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span>
now do, must have endured; while, after the lapse of nearly a
thousand years, we cannot portray their sufferings without
sympathizing with their sorrows, and experiencing a low, heart-aching
sensation. The grave that covers up and buries the past,
inters not all pain and sorrow with the dead, but leaves a portion
behind, that the living may feel what they once suffered&mdash;the
agonizing shriek, and the heart-rending cry, ring for ages
after upon our ears;&mdash;such sounds disturb not the silent chambers
of the dead!</p>

<p>The Danes now proceeded to march into East Anglia, a
kingdom whose inland barrier was marked by vast sheets of
water that set in from the Wash, and went winding away into
the low marshes of Cambridge, far away beyond Ely, over a
country above an hundred miles in extent. Along this boggy
and perilous course did the pagans advance with their plunder,
their cars, and their cavalry; razing the monastery of Ely to the
ground as they passed, nor pausing until they came to the residence
of the king of East Anglia, which stood beside a river
that then divided Suffolk from Norfolk. When the Danish
king came in sight of Edmund's residence, he sent him a message,
commanding him to divide his treasures with him; also
bidding the messenger to tell the East Anglian king that it
was useless to oppose a nation whom the storms of the ocean
favoured&mdash;whom the tempests served as rowers, and the lightning
came down to guide, that they might in dark nights escape
the rocks. They gave the Saxon king but little time for hesitation
before they dragged him forth, and bound him to a tree.
They had no words to waste: slaughter was their work, and
they commenced it at once. They began by shooting arrows
at his limbs, without injuring the body; but finding that they
could neither get him to confess their superiority, nor show any
symptom of fear, Ingwar at last uplifted his heavy battle-axe,
and severed the head at a blow. Thus, East Anglia, like a portion
of Northumbria, became a Danish province; and Godrun, a
celebrated sea-king, whom we shall again meet during the reign
of Alfred, was placed upon the throne.</p>

<p>Their next step was towards Wessex; for they well knew
that if they could but once conquer that kingdom, the dominions
of Mercia would become an easy prey, as these were the
only two Saxon states that seemed able to withstand them.
Wessex, as we have shown, was much enlarged since the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span>
formation of the octarchy, and was soon destined to swallow up
for ever the kingdom of Mercia; for Burrhed was not competent
to stand long at the helm and steer safely through such a
storm as surrounded him. Having reached Berkshire, the
Northmen took possession of Reading without opposition, when
they at once sent out a strong body of cavalry to plunder, while
the remainder of the army commenced throwing up an intrenchment
to strengthen their position. Scarcely had they time to
complete this work before the West Saxons attacked them; and
though at the first they seem to have had the best of the battle,
they were in the end compelled to retreat, and leave the invaders
masters of the field. At the second attack, both Ethelred
and Alfred were present; they led up the strongest array
that could be mustered;&mdash;to every town, thorpe, and grange, war-messengers
had been despatched with the naked sword and arrow
in their hands, uttering the ancient proclamation, which none
had hitherto disobeyed, and which bade "each man to leave his
house and land, and come;" the mustering ground was near
Æscesdun, or Ash-tree Hill. The Danes divided their army
into two bodies, each of which was commanded by two kings
and two earls. Ethelred followed the example they had set him,
giving the command of one division of his army to Alfred. As
the Danes had been the first to form into battle order, so did
they commence the attack; and although they had the advantage
of the rising ground, Alfred, nothing daunted, led his forces in
close order up the ascent to meet them. Near the hoar ash-tree
the contending ranks closed, and there many a Dane and Saxon
fell, who never more passed that barrier until they were borne
away on the bier. Although Ethelred had heard the war-cry,
and knew that the battle had commenced, he refused to leave
his tent until his priest had finished the prayer which he was
offering up, when the Danes first charged down the hill-side.
By the time it was ended, Alfred, with his inferior force, though
fighting their way foot to foot, were slowly losing ground, and
but for the timely appearance of Ethelred, and the division under
his command, he must have retreated. As it was, however, the
sudden arrival of such a strong force changed the fortune of the
day. One of the sea-kings fell; and beside him, Sidroc, who
had saved the child from the massacre of Croyland; then the
Danish ranks began to waver, for thousands of the invaders had
already fallen. But the carnage ended not here: all night long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span>
did the Saxons chase their pagan enemies, until, towards the
evening of the next day, and from the foot of the hill where
the battle was fought&mdash;far away over the fields of Ashdown, and
over the country that now lies beside Ashbury, up to the very
intrenchment at Reading&mdash;was the whole line of road strewn
with the dying and the dead;&mdash;there the massacre of Croyland
and Peterborough was revenged, and for days after the bodies
of the Danes lay blackening in the sun. But terrible as was
the slaughter, and complete the victory, a fortnight saw the
Northmen again in the field, strengthened by reinforcements,
who had landed upon the coast, and by these were the Saxons,
in their turn, defeated. In the next battle that was fought
between them, Ethelred received his death wound; and Alfred
the Great ascended the throne of Wessex. Over the threshold
of this perilous period must we now pass, to the presence of one
of England's greatest kings.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ACCESSION AND ABDICATION OF ALFRED.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"In fortune's love&mdash;then the bold and coward,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wise and fool, the artist and unread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in the wind and tempest of her frown,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Puffing at all, winnows the light away."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere</span>.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Alfred was scarcely twenty-two years of age when he ascended
the throne of Wessex&mdash;it was on the eve of a defeat when the
sceptre fell into his hands&mdash;when the Danes were flushed with
victory, and nearly all England lay prostrate at their feet. With
such a gloomy prospect before him, we can easily account for the
reluctance he showed in accepting the crown, although it was
offered to him by all the chiefs and earls who formed the witenagemot,
when there were children of his elder brother Ethelbald
alive, who, according to the Saxon order of succession, were
the next heirs to the crown. But the Wessex nobles were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span>
already well acquainted with Alfred's talents, for during the
twelve months prior to his accession, he had distinguished himself
in eight pitched battles against the Danes, and had fought in
many an unrecorded skirmish against parties of the enemy who
were sent out to forage. Alfred well knew that the death of
Ethelred would hardly leave him breathing-time, before he
should again be compelled to take the field; that he also had to
fight under the disadvantage which necessarily attends a defeat;
while the enemy came swelling in all the triumph of recent
victory; that he had to repair his late losses, and rouse afresh
his subjects, who were still smarting with the wounds they had
received from their conquerors, while the invaders were made
more daring by every conquest, and more insolent by every
concession. Such was the state of the kingdom into which
Alfred was ushered by the death of his brother: nor was this
all&mdash;he no doubt, with his clear eye, saw that it was no longer a
mere struggle between two parties, where the one seeks to
plunder, and the other to protect his property, but a contest for
the very land on which they fought. The Danes had ceased to
trust for safety to their "sea-horses"&mdash;they had abandoned "the
road of the swans," they but travelled over it to a land in which
their countrymen were now kings, where their brethren were in
the possession of cities and lands&mdash;they came to share in the inheritance
of the soil&mdash;either to find their future homes, or their
graves in England. The prize each party was now contending
for, was England itself&mdash;it was neither more nor less than to
decide whether our island should in future be ruled over by the
Danes, or the Saxons. It was but what the Romans had beforetime
aspired to, and what, after a hard struggle, the Saxons
themselves had accomplished. Well might Alfred despair when
he looked at his shattered army, and saw how small a portion
of England he possessed.</p>

<p>What had he gained by the eight hard-fought battles he shared
in the year before his accession to the crown? The places of
those whom he had helped to hew down were filled up again by
the first favourable wind that blew towards his ill-starred kingdom;
as the grave closed over the dead, the sea threw another
living shoal upon the coast&mdash;none returned&mdash;if they retreated,
it was but to some neighbouring intrenchment, or some kingdom
over which a sea-king reigned. Alfred had not sat upon the
throne of Wessex a month, before his army was attacked, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span>
Wilton, during his absence, and defeated by the Northmen.
Wearied of a war which only brought victory to-day, to be followed
by defeat on the morrow, he made peace with his enemies,
and they left the kingdom of Wessex, though on what terms we
know not, unless it was that Alfred agreed not to assist the king
of Mercia, as his brother Ethelred had frequently done. It
would almost appear by their marching at once into Mercia, that
such were the conditions on which they quitted Wessex.</p>

<p>Nine battles in one year must have made a sad opening
amongst the West Saxons, for, unlike the Danes, they had no
ships constantly arriving upon the coast to fill up the places of
those that were slain. Oh, how the young king must have
yearned for retirement, and his books! when he looked round
and saw the miserable and almost defenceless state of his kingdom&mdash;his
brave warriors dropping off daily, and none to close the
gap that was left open in his ranks. Let us leave him for a
brief space&mdash;his heart heavy, his soul sad, and his head resting
upon his hand, with not a ray of hope to cheer him, excepting
his trust in God&mdash;while we follow the footsteps of the Danes.</p>

<p>That part of the Danish army which abandoned Wessex took
up its winter quarters in London, at about the same time that
another portion of the invaders marched from Northumbria, and
wintered at Repton, in Derbyshire, where they sacked and destroyed
the beautiful monastery, which for above two centuries
had been the burial-place of the Mercian kings; and, as at Croyland
and Peterborough, they broke open the sepulchres and
scattered abroad the ashes of the Saxon monarchs. Twice had
Burrhed, the king of Mercia, negotiated with these truce-breakers,
as the old chroniclers called them, and finding that
they paid no regard to their oaths, and wearied with such a
repetition of conflicts, Burrhed quitted his throne, went to Rome,
where he died, and left his subjects to struggle on, or perish, as
they best could. Instead of placing one of their own kings upon
the throne of Mercia, the Danes gave the crown to Ceolwulf,
under the stipulation that he should pay them tribute, and assist
them with his forces whenever he was called upon; and that
when he ceased to fulfil these conditions, he should from that
moment resign his power. It would almost appear that there
was so little left in the kingdom of Mercia worth their taking
that they left him to gather up the remainder of the spoil, while
they turned their attention to more substantial plunder; but his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span>
reign was short, he was hated by those by whom he was employed,
as well as by those whom he plundered, for he robbed
alike the peasant, the merchant, the clergy, and even on the
remnant of the poor monks of Croyland, whose brethren had been
slain, and whose abbey had been destroyed, regardless of their
losses and their sufferings, he imposed a tax of a thousand pounds.
But in spite of this stern severity, he soon grew into disfavour
with his new masters, was stripped of everything, and perished
miserably. After his death, Mercia never existed again as a
kingdom, but was blotted out for ever from the Saxon octarchy
as a distinct state; and in an after day, when the power of the
invaders began to wane, it was united by Alfred to Wessex,
never again to exist as a separate province.</p>

<p>The arena of England was now only occupied by two powers;
on the one hand, by Alfred, with his little kingdom and his mere
handful of West Saxons: on the other, by the Danes, who were
in possession of nearly the whole of the remainder of the island&mdash;for,
with the exception of the kingdom of Wessex, all the
rest of the Saxon states were in the hands of the invaders.</p>

<p>Three of the Danish sea-kings, named Godrun, Oskitul, and
Amund, having, with their army, wintered at Cambridge, set
out again, early in the spring, to attack Wessex; to give
Alfred another proof how useless it was by either treaty or concession
to hope to put off the evil day. This time they brought
a large force to oppose him, and besides crossing the country,
they sailed round by Dorsetshire, where they stormed the castle
of Wareham; and though Alfred destroyed their ships, those
who passed inland devastated the country for miles around.
Alfred seems at this period to have grown weary of war, to
have lost all heart and hope, and, for the first time, he purchased
peace of them with gold; nor was he long before he had to
repent of such timid policy, for although they swore as usual
upon their bracelets, and even, at his request, pledged themselves
solemnly upon the relics of the Christian saints, yet only
a few nights after this useless ceremony, they rushed upon his
encampment, slew a great portion of his cavalry, and, carrying
off the horses, mounted their own soldiers upon them, and
rode off to Exeter, where they passed the following winter.
Though weary and dispirited, Alfred did not remain idle, but
commenced building larger ships and galleys, so that he might
be better able to compete with his enemies upon the ocean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span>
Such a plan, had it been pursued earlier by the Saxon kings,
would have caused thousands of the Northmen to have found
their graves in the ocean ere their feet touched our coast;
but now the whole land behind him was filled with enemies,
from the edge of the Channel, which his own kingdom overlooked,
deep down, and far inland, to where the green lands of
England stretched unto the Frith of Forth. Hopeless as it now
was, Alfred boldly sallied forth with his ships, to encounter a
fleet of Northmen off the Hampshire coast, where, having suffered
much damage in a previous storm, the Danes were defeated, with
the loss of one hundred and twenty of their ships. Emboldened
by this success, Alfred collected his army and went forth to
attack the Danes in their stronghold at Exeter. Here, however,
instead of renewing the assault, and turning to advantage
the victory which he had obtained at sea, he contented
himself with a few hostages, and a renewal of the oaths, which
his experience ought to have taught him they would break on
the first favourable occasion, and allowed them once more to
depart into Mercia. We can only account for this strange conduct
on the part of Alfred by believing that the population of
Wessex had been greatly thinned by the rapid succession of
battles which had been fought at the close of the reign of
Ethelred.</p>

<p>We now arrive at the most unaccountable action in the life
of this great king, the abdication of his throne, and desertion of
his subjects. His real cause for acting in this strange manner
(unless some new and authentic document should be brought to
light) will never be known. In the January of 878, the Danes
attacked Chippenham; it is not clearly proved that Alfred
struck a single blow; all we really know for truth is that many
of the West Saxons fled, some of them quitting England, that
Alfred was nowhere to be found, not even by his most intimate
friends. These are historical truths, too clearly proved to
remain for a moment doubtful. The cause we will as carefully
examine as if the great Saxon king stood on his trial before us,
for the honour of Alfred is dear to every Englishman, for though
dead "he yet speaketh" in the wise laws he has bequeathed
to us.</p>

<p>We know, from many authorities, that when the Danes
invaded Wessex in January, numbers of the inhabitants fled.
The effect such conduct would produce on a sensitive mind like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span>
Alfred's, it is easy to picture; his sensations would be a minglement
of pity, contempt, and disgust, and his proud heart would
inwardly feel that they knew not how to value him aright; that
if left to themselves for a little time they would then know how
to estimate the king they had lost. We could fill a chapter
with good, tangible reasons, showing why Alfred acted as he
did, and yet we should, probably, after all, fall far short of the
true cause. It might be injured pride, stern necessity, or the
very despair which drives men to retire from the contest, to
wait for better days. There is one undeniable point clearly in
his favour, he did not retreat to enjoy a life of luxury and ease,
but to endure one of hardship, privation, and suffering. In
this he still remained the great and noble-hearted king. Asser,
who loved him, clearly proves that Alfred, at this time, laboured
under a low, desponding, and melancholy feeling. His words
are, "He fell often into such misery that none of his subjects
knew what had befallen him."</p>

<p>Surely no king had ever greater cause to feel unhappy;
the man who, day after day, struggles on, and still finds
matters worse on the morrow, becomes weary of the ever-flickering
rays of hope, grows desperate, and plunges amongst
the deepest shadows of despair; others, again, through very
despondency, fold their arms, and wait until the worst comes,
as if a fatality overwhelmed them, for all human perseverance
hath its limits; these once passed, men become believers in
inevitable destiny. To these Alfred, at this time, probably
belonged.</p>

<p>It appears that Alfred did not desert his subjects before they
deserted him; and after the many battles that were fought
within the year which saw him king of Wessex, we can readily
conceive he had not a single soldier to spare. He is accused,
by those who knew him well, who conversed with him frequently,
and saw him daily, of having been high, haughty, and
severe; in a word, of looking down with contempt upon
those around him. This is a grave charge; but where, with
one or two exceptions, could he in his whole kingdom find
a kindred mind to his own? Asser loved him, but he was an
exception. His relation, Neot, rebuked him, and a young
king would but ill brook lecturing. His chiefs or earls were
brave, but illiterate men, not even fit companions for his own
cabinet; for he was familiar with the forms of government in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span>
civilized Rome and classic Greece; and, excepting when engaged
in the battle-field, there could be no reciprocal feeling between
them. These were the sharp and forbidding angles that time
was sure to smooth down; but the Saxon nobles could not comprehend
how they ever came to exist&mdash;they did not understand
him. There is nothing new in this&mdash;it occurs every day. Let
a man of superior intelligence rise up in a meeting of unlettered
boors, and he will find some amongst the herd ready to oppose
him, and these generally the least ignorant of the mass, but
jealous of one whose capabilities stretch so far beyond their own.
Who knows how many heart-burnings of this kind he had to
endure, when assembled with his barbarous councillors&mdash;His
mind was not their mind, his thoughts soared far above their
understanding. Where they believed they distinguished the
right, he would at a glance discover palpable wrong; where
they doubted, he had long before come to a clear conviction.
And no marvel that he at times treated their ignorant clamours
with contempt, for he appears to have been as decided and hasty
as he was intelligent and brave. He was young. The children
of his eldest brother were now men, and from their high
station would take an active part in the government. According
to the order of Saxon succession, one of these ought to have
sat upon the throne of Wessex. Who more likely than they to
oppose his wise plans&mdash;to thwart him when he was anxiously
labouring for the good of his subjects? All that has been brought
against him but proves that he was hasty in his temper, high
and haughty, and unbending when in the right; and somewhat
severe in the administration of justice, especially upon those
whom he had appointed as judges, when he found them guilty of
tampering with it for selfish ends.</p>

<p>It will be borne in mind, that after Alfred had compelled the
Danes to abandon Exeter, they retired into Mercia, where, in the
autumn, they were joined by a strong force of Northmen, another
cloud of those "locusts of the Baltic." They entered Wessex
at the close of the year, and in January had taken up their
winter quarters at Chippenham in Wiltshire, it would almost
appear, without meeting any opposition; for very little dependence
can be placed on the account of Alfred having been
attacked while celebrating Christmas there; of numbers being
slaughtered on both sides, and Alfred escaping alone in the
night. No mention has been made of such a battle in the records<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span>
which were written during Alfred's life, and which have
descended to us. All we know for a certainty is, that on the
approach of the Danes, many of the inhabitants fled in terror,
some to the Isle of Wight, others into France; while numbers
went over to Ireland. It is at this time that we find Alfred
himself absent from his kingdom. "Such became his distress,"
says Turner, quoting from the old chronicles, "that he knew
not where to turn; such was his poverty, that he had even no
subsistence but that which by furtive or open plunder he could
extort, not merely from the Danes, but even from those of his
subjects who submitted to their government, or by fishing and
hunting obtain. He wandered about in woods and marshes in
the greatest penury, with a few companions; sometimes, for
greater secresy, alone. He had neither territory, nor for a
time the hope of regaining any."</p>

<p>Near to that spot where the rivers Thone and Parret meet,
there is a beautiful tract of country, which still retains its old
Saxon name of Athelney, now diversified by corn and pasture
lands; but at the time of Alfred, according to the description in
the Life of St. Neot, written at that period, "it was surrounded
by marshes, and so inaccessible, that no one could get to it, but
by a boat; it had also a great wood of alders, which contained
stags, goats, and many animals of that kind. Into this solitude
Alfred had wandered, where, seeing the hut of a peasant, he
turned to it, asked, and received shelter." It was in this hut
that the incident occurred between the cowherd's wife and
Alfred, which is so familiar to every reader of English history.
We quote Asser's description, for there is no doubt that he gave
it nearly literally, as he heard it from king Alfred's own lips:
"It happened, that on a certain day the rustic wife of this man
prepared to bake her bread; the king, sitting then near the
hearth, was making ready his bows and arrows, and other warlike
instruments, when the rough-tempered woman beheld the
loaves burning at the fire. She ran hastily and removed them,
scolding the king, and exclaiming: 'You man! you will not turn
the bread you see burning, but you will be very glad to eat it
when done.' This unlucky woman little thought," continues
Asser, "that she was addressing the king, Alfred."</p>

<p>This anecdote was often told in an after day, and no doubt
awakened many a smile around the cheerful Saxon hearths,
among both noble and lowly, when the brave monarch had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span>
either driven the ravagers from his dominion, or compelled the
remnant to settle down peaceably in such places as he in his
wisdom had allotted to them. And now, even through the dim
distance of nearly a thousand years, we can call up the image of
the Saxon king, with his grave, intelligent countenance, as he
sat in the humble hut, preparing his weapons of the chase, his
thoughts wandering far away to those he loved, or brooding
thoughtfully over the causes which had forced him from his
high estate. We can fancy the angry spot gathering for a
moment upon his kingly brow, as, startled by the shrill clamour
of the cowherd's wife, he half turned his head, and the faint,
good-natured smile that followed, while the glowing embers threw
a sunshine over his face, as he afterwards stooped down and
turned the loaves which the rough-tempered, but warm-hearted
Saxon woman had prepared for their homely meal; and this
anecdote is all the more endeared to us by the fact that
the noble-minded king, on a later day, recommended the cowherd
Denulf to the study of letters, and afterwards promoted
him to a high situation in the church. While residing in the
neighbourhood of this cowherd's hovel, says an old manuscript,
written a century or two after these events, and attributed
to an abbot of Croyland, "Alfred was one day casually recognised
by some of his people, who, being dispersed, and
flying all around, stopped where he was. An eager desire
then arose both in the king and his knights to devise a remedy
for their fugitive condition. In a few days they constructed
a place of defence as well as they could; and here, recovering
a little of his strength, and comforted by the protection
of a few friends, he began to move in warfare against his
enemies. His companions were very few in number compared
with the barbarian multitude, nor could they on the first day, or
by their first attacks, obtain any advantages; yet they neither
quitted the foe nor submitted to their defeats; but, supported by
the hope of victory, as their small number gradually increased,
they renewed their efforts, and made one battle but the preparation
for another. Sometimes conquerors and sometimes conquered,
they learned to overcome time by chance, and chance by
time. The king, both when he failed, and when he was successful,
preserved a cheerful countenance, and supported his friends
by his example."</p>

<p>What a rich, unwritten volume, does this last extract contain;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span>
what a diary of valorous deeds, keen privations, and patient
sufferings! What "footmarks on the sands of time" are here
left! These are the great gaps in history which we mourn over&mdash;the
changes which Time has made, as he passed through the
human ranks he has hewn down, and which we regret he has not
chronicled. We would forgive the grim scythe-bearer the ten
thousand battles he has buried in oblivion, had he but preserved
for us one day of the life of Alfred on this lonely island&mdash;one brief
record of what he said and did between sunrise and sunset,
whilst he sojourned with Denulf, the cowherd. Alas! alas!
Time has but shaken off the blood that dappled his pinions,
upon the pages of History; the sweet dew-drops which hung
like silver upon his plumes, and fed the flowers, have evaporated
in the sunsets that saw them wither.</p>

<p>Although a gloom seemed to have settled down upon the land
during the absence of Alfred, yet all was not so hopeless as it
appeared; for Hubba, who with his own hand had shed the
blood of so many monks at the massacre of Peterborough, had
himself been slain by Odun, the earl of Devonshire; and the
magical banner which the three sisters of Hubba are said to
have woven in one noontide, during which they ceased not to
chaunt their mystic rhymes, had fallen into the hands of the
Saxons. The rumour of such a victory cheered the heart of
Alfred, and he must have felt humbled at the thought that,
while he himself was inactive, there still existed English hearts
that preferred pouring forth their best blood to becoming slaves
to their invaders.</p>

<p>To render his island retreat more secure, Alfred caused a
defensive tower to be erected on each side of the bridge; and,
as this was the only point of access by land, he there placed, as
sentinels, a few of his most trusty followers, so that they might
be ready to give the alarm in the event of their hiding-place being
discovered. Scarcely a day passed, but he sallied forth at
the head of his little band and assailed the enemy. Too weak
to attack the main body, he hung upon, and harassed their
foragers; he waylaid the Danish plunderers as they passed on
their way to their camp with the spoil, and again wrested from
them what they had wrung from his own countrymen. Day
and night, Alfred and his followers were ever springing unaware
upon the invaders from out the wood, the marsh, and the
morass; wherever a clump of trees grew, or a screen of willows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span>
gave them shelter, there did the Saxons conceal themselves
until the enemy appeared, when, rushing forth, they laid the
spoilers low. Such a system of warfare made the king well
acquainted with all the secret passes in the neighbourhood, and
thus enabled him with his little band to thread his way securely
between the bog and the morass, and to attack the Northmen at
such unexpected points as they never dreamed it was possible
for the enemy to pass. Such a rugged method of attack also
inured them to hardships, kindled the martial spirit which
had too long slumbered, and thus schooled Alfred in that
generalship which he so skilfully brought to bear upon a larger
scale when he overthrew the Danes. Even before his rank
was discovered, his fame had spread for miles around
the country; and all who had spirit enough to throw off the
Danish yoke, who preferred a life of freedom in the woods and
wilds and had sufficient courage to abandon their homes for the
love of liberty, gathered around and fought under the banner
of the island stranger. Such of the Saxons as had stooped
to acknowledge the Danish rulers, did not escape scathless from
the attacks of Alfred and his followers; for he made them feel
how feeble was the power upon which their cowardly fears had
thrown themselves for protection, when measured beside the
strength of their own patriotic countrymen.</p>

<p>Of the straits to which he was sometimes driven, Time has
preserved one touching record, which beautifully illustrates the
benevolence of his character. One day, while his attendants
were out hunting, or searching for provisions, and the king sat
alone in the humble abode which had been hastily reared for his
accommodation, whiling away the heavy hours by the perusal of
a book, a poor man came up to him, weary and hungry, and
asked his alms in God's name. Alfred took up the only loaf
which remained, and, breaking it asunder, said, "It is one poor
man visiting another;" then, thanking God that it was in his
power to relieve the beggar, he shared his last loaf with him;
for he well remembered his own privations when he first applied
for shelter at the cowherd's hut.</p>

<p>Turn we now to a brighter page in the life of this great king,
when, emerging from his hiding-place, he seemed to spring up
suddenly into a new existence, and by his brave and valorous
deeds to startle alike both friend and foe.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ALFRED THE GREAT.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">"'Tis much he dare:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He hath a wisdom that doth guide his brain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To act in safety."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere</span>.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Near Westbury, in Wiltshire, may still be seen a hill, which,
as it overlooks the neighbouring plain, appears rugged, lofty,
abrupt, and difficult of ascent; its summit is marked with the
trenches and ditches which the Danes threw up when they were
encamped upon and around it during the reign of Alfred. This
spot the Saxon king resolved to visit in disguise before he
risked the battle on which the fate of his kingdom depended.
To accomplish this, he assumed the character of a harper, or
gleeman, and approaching the enemy's outposts, he attracted the
attention of the sentries by his singing and music; after playing
for some time among the tents of the common soldiers, the
minstrel was at last led by one of the Danish chiefs to the camp
of Godrun, the sea-king. What were the thoughts of Alfred
while he looked full in the face of his enemy as he stood before
him in his tent? what was the air he played&mdash;the words he
sang?&mdash;though Fancy stands ready, with her lips apart, to pour
both into our ear, Truth, with a grave look, bids us pass on,
and from her silence we know they are lost for ever. That
Alfred narrowly reconnoitred their position, is best proved by
the plan he adopted after the victory, when he drew a belt
around the whole intrenchment. After he was dismissed from
the Danish encampments with praise and presents (the latter the
plunder of his own subjects), he hastened to his island retreat at
Athelney, and began to make preparations for attacking the
enemy. The naked sword and arrow were borne by faithful
emissaries throughout the whole length and breadth of the
counties of Wiltshire, Hampshire, Dorsetshire, and Somersetshire;
and in addition to the ancient and imperative summons
brought by these war messengers, they were intrusted with the
secret of Alfred's hiding-place, and all were commanded to meet
him with the strongest military force they could muster, within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span>
three days from the time they first received a message. The
east side of Selwood Forest, or, as the Saxon name signifies,
The Wood of Willows, was the mustering ground. The spot
itself was marked by Egbert's stone, said to have been the remains
of a druidical monument, and celebrated on account of a victory
which Egbert once won there. This Wood of Willows, in the
time of Alfred, extended about fifteen miles in length, and six
in breadth, stretching over the country which now lies from
beyond Frome to Burham.</p>

<div id="ip_180" class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;"><img src="images/i_206.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Alfred describing the Danish Camp on his return.</i></div></div>

<p>The news of Alfred's being alive, when no tidings had been
heard of him for nearly six months, spread hope and delight
throughout all the adjoining counties; and for three days the
west Saxons rushed in joyfully to the appointed place of meeting;
and never before had the silent shades of Selwood forest
been startled by such a braying of trumpets and clamour of
voices as were ever and anon raised to welcome each new comer&mdash;never
had Alfred before received such warm-hearted homage
as he did during those three days from his subjects, nor had
king ever before so boldly perilled himself as to enter alone into
the enemy's encampment. A grand sight must it have been to
have witnessed the Saxon banner, with the white horse displayed
upon its folds, floating above that grey old druidical
monument&mdash;to have seen that assembly of brave warriors in the
morning sunshine encamped beside the great willow wood,
which was then waving in all the green luxuriance that adorns
the willow-tree at the latter end of May. It was a sight which,
once to have seen, would have made an old man die happy. How
we long to know how Alfred looked, and what he wore, the
colour of the horse he rode upon, and what he said to each new-comer,
and whether, during his absence, he looked thinner, or
older, or more care-worn. Yet all this was seen and heard
by thousands, although not a record remains to bring him again
before our "mind's eye."</p>

<p>When all was ready, Alfred marched his newly-raised forces
into the enemy's neighbourhood; and though not clearly made
out, it would almost appear as if he encamped for the night on
a hill, which fronted the intrenchments of the Danes. Next
morning, both armies drew up on the plains of Ethandune.
Behind the forces commanded by Godrun rose Bratton Hill,
with its strong encampment, and on this the Danes could fall
back if they were defeated; behind Alfred, there lay, miles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span>
away, the little island of Athelney, the bridge, the towers, and
the cowherd's hut; there was nothing, if he looked back, to
tempt him to retreat, only the broad marshes and the wild willow
wood for him again to fall upon. The sea-king little thought,
as he looked on, a shade paler than when he sat listening to the
Saxon gleeman in his tent, that the same minstrel commanded
the mighty force which was then arrayed before him. By his
richest armlet of gold, and the shoulder-blade of his choicest
war-horse, he would have sworn, that had he known of the
quality of his harper, he would that night have sent him to
have played in the banquet-hall of Odin.</p>

<p>The Saxons commenced the attack; for the Danish leader, as
if something foreboded a defeat, seemed with his army to hug
the foot of his encampment;&mdash;eager, hot, and impetuous, Alfred's
soldiers rushed upon the enemy in that reckless order which
often ends in defeat, unless it is the impulsive outbreak of determined
valour. The Danish ranks were broken for a few moments,
then rallied again in the hand-to-hand fight as they met
the foremost Saxons, who had been thrown in amongst them.
In this mingled <i>mêlée</i> of uplifted swords, battle-axes, and javelins,
and while the Danes were slowly regaining the ground they
had lost, a shower of arrows was suddenly poured in amongst them,
which came full and blinding into their faces, and this was followed
by the instant charge of the Saxon spearmen; and to add
to the panic which had fallen upon the Danes, a cry was raised
amongst the superstitious soldiers under Alfred, that one of the
Saxon saints had suddenly appeared amongst them, had seized
the banner, and borne it into the very thickest of the enemy's
ranks. From that moment, the Danes began to retreat; there
was no withstanding an army which fought under the belief that
they were led on by a supernatural leader. Alfred himself had
risen up so unexpectedly amongst them, that their enthusiasm,
which had taken the place of despair, was raised to the
highest pitch, they were ready to believe that St. Neot, or
any other saint in the Saxon calendar, had taken their king
under his special protection, and they cheerfully followed the
mysterious standard-bearer into the very heart of the Danish
ranks. They scattered the enemy before them like thistle-down
before the autumnal blast; wherever the sea-kings rallied
for a moment, and made head against the islanders, the Saxon
storm tore over them, and they vanished like the foam which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span>
the wind tears from the billow, and bears howling along as it
rushes over the waves, which roll away affrighted before its
wrath. The field was strewn with the dead; never before had
the Danes met with so sudden and decisive a defeat.</p>

<p>Godrun retreated with the shattered remnant of his army
into the intrenchments. Alfred surrounded him in his stronghold;
every day which saw the Danish garrison grow weaker
for want of provisions and water, saw the army of Alfred
strengthened by the arrival of new forces. The Saxon king
had not left his enemies a single passage by which they could
escape, without first fighting their way through the besieging
army. On the fourteenth day, Godrun capitulated, and humbly
sued for peace. Generous as he was brave, Alfred readily acceded
to his request, on such mild terms as must have made the
invaders ashamed of the cruelties they had formerly inflicted
upon their conquerors. Alfred well knew the little value that
the Danes placed either upon their oaths or their hostages; the
former they had ever broken the moment they escaped; and
as to the latter, they left them either to perish or be liberated,
just as chance directed. They cared not to come back and redeem
their pledges when there was plunder before them. Alfred
knew that England was ample enough for them both; and he
proposed that if they would abandon their pagan creed, and settle
down peaceably, to cultivate the soil, instead of the arts of war,
they should for the future be friends, and he would give them East
Anglia for an inheritance. Godrun thankfully accepted the noble
offer, and was baptized. Alfred became answerable for the
"promises and vows" made by the Danish king at the font.
The boundaries of the two nations were sworn to in a solemn
treaty, and Godrun was installed in his new territory, which
he parcelled out amongst his followers. The immense space of
ground which Alfred allotted to the Danish king and his soldiers
consisted of that which is now occupied by the counties of Norfolk,
Suffolk, Cambridgeshire, and Essex, together with portions
of Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire, and even a part of Huntingdonshire.
But Alfred did not rest content with merely presenting
them with such vast territory; he also protected them with the
same equal laws; he made no distinction in the punishment of a
crime, whether it was committed by a Dane or a Saxon&mdash;each
was to be alike tried by a jury of twelve men. He made Ethelred,
who afterwards married his daughter Ethelfleda, commander<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span>
over the kingdom of Mercia, strengthened his army, and
thus planted a strong barrier between that kingdom and the
Danish settlements of Deiri and Bernicia. Cities, and castles,
and fortifications which had fallen into neglect and ruin, he repaired
and rebuilt; he separated the country into hundreds and
tythings, and established a militia, which were to serve for a
given number of weeks, then return home again, and their places
to be supplied by others, each changing about in succession.
Hitherto, the Saxons had but little to defend; but now the
country was so well protected, that the soldier came and went
with a cheerful heart, for he no longer found a pile of blackened
ashes to mark the spot where his home had once stood. Instead
of shuddering lest he should see the mangled remains of his wife
and children, or the Danish fires reddening the sky, he now
approached the calm comforts of his humble English home, and
slept securely in the assurance that the eagle eye of Alfred
was ever sweeping over sea and land, and that ten thousand
Saxon swords were always ready to be uplifted at his bidding.
Saxon carols were chaunted in the harvest-fields at the close of
the summer of 878; and merry voices were heard, where only
the year before there sounded "the wailing tones of sad lament,"
for a mighty mind was now engrossed with the welfare of the
people.</p>

<p>About this time, a large fleet of Danes, under the command of
the famous sea-king Hastings, arrived in the Thames, and, crossing
the country, sought the alliance of Godrun, who with his
soldiers was following the peaceful occupations of husbandry, and
the more useful arts of civilized life, when their Northern
brethren landed. Hastings, finding that he could not win Godrun
from his allegiance to Alfred, after wintering at Fulham,
crossed over into Flanders, where he remained for some time at
Ghent. Meantime, Alfred continued to increase his navy, to
build ships of a larger size, and of such forms as were better
adapted to ride out the storm, and to grapple with the enemy on
their own element. The Saxon and Danish ships were constantly
coming in contact on the ocean, and now victory generally
declared itself in favour of the former. In 884, another
Danish fleet invaded England and besieged Rochester, but the
citizens valiantly defended the place until Alfred with his army
arrived to relieve them. No sooner did the Saxon king appear,
than the Danes abandoned their fortress, leaving behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span>
horses and captives they had brought over from France; and,
hurrying off with their ships, they again set sail for the coast of
Gaul. No sooner were they driven out of England, than Alfred
had to hasten into East Anglia, where a strong force of
Northmen had arrived, and who seemed determined to force the
followers of Godrun into rebellion. Many of the Danish settlers
preferred their old piratical habits to the more peaceful mode of
life which Alfred had compelled them to adopt, and readily took
down the battle-axe from the smoke-discoloured beam where it
had so peacefully <span class="locked">rested,<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</a></span> and withdrew the club, bristling with
iron spikes, the star of the morning, from its hiding-place, to
join the new comers. The first Danish ships the Saxons attacked,
they either captured or sunk, and the Northmen are
said to have fought so fiercely, that every soul on board perished.
Another fleet arrived, and gained some slight advantage over
the Saxons; but in the end Alfred conquered, and compelled
the Danes who occupied East Anglia again to settle down to their
peaceful occupations.</p>

<p>The most celebrated sea-king that tried his strength with
Alfred, was Hastings, or Haestan&mdash;who again made his appearance&mdash;for
the weight of his arm had hitherto fallen upon France
and Flanders, and the opposite coast. For years this famous
Vikinger had lived upon the ocean; the poets of the period extol
him as a monarch whose territories were unbounded, whose
kingdom no eye could ever take in at a glance; for his home
was upon the sea, his throne where the tempest rose, and his
sceptre swayed over realms into which the shark, the sea-horse,
the monsters of the deep, and the birds of the ocean dare only
venture. He called his ships together by the sound of an ivory
horn, which was ever suspended around his neck, and the shrill
tones of which might be heard for miles inland, and over the
sea&mdash;the Saxons called it the Danish thunder. Whenever that
blast broke out, the herdsman hurried his cattle into the darkest
recesses of the forest&mdash;the thane barricaded the doors of his
habitation, and the earl drew up his drawbridge, looked up his
armour and his attendants, and never ventured to parley with
either the sea-king or his followers, unless the deep moat was
between them. For a quarter of a century had he harassed the
neighbouring nations, living upon the plunder he obtained, until,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span>
weary of leading such an unsettled life, he resolved to become
a king either over the Danes or the Saxons, and, now that
Godrun was dead, he doubted not but that, if he could conquer
Alfred, his own countrymen would gladly accept him for their
monarch.</p>

<p>The mighty mind of Alfred was busy meditating upon the
welfare of his people, and devising plans for their future improvement,
when his study was interrupted by the arrival of this new
horde of Northmen, and he was compelled to throw aside his
books and take up the sword. Skilled alike in a knowledge of both
arts and arms, he readily transformed himself from the statesman
to the soldier, and moved, with but little preparation, from the
closet to the camp. A heart less brave than Alfred's would
have quailed at beholding two hundred and fifty Danish vessels
darkening the Kentish coast, especially when the forces they
contained landed safely near the large forest of Andreade,
that far-stretching land of gloomy trees, which had proved so
fatal to the Britons, when Ella led on his Saxon hosts to battle
with the ancient islanders. But Alfred looked on, and remembered
the battle of Ethandune, and his large eye-lids quivered
not, neither did a motion of fear cloud his firmly-chiselled
countenance; for he knew that he reigned in the hearts of his
subjects. He saw the fortress carried which had been erected
in the marshes of Romney; beheld his enemies ravaging the
country along the coast, and as far inland as Berkshire; saw
Hastings enter the mouth of the Thames, with eighty ships, and
strongly fortify himself near Milton, and then he began to act.
Wheeling up his army midway, the Saxon king struck in between
the two divisions of the Danish forces; on his right
he left them the gloomy forest of Andreade, and the straits of
Dover to fall back upon; on his left the deep mouth of the
Thames, which opens upon the coast of Essex, yet even there
planting a strong force between the shore and their ships.</p>

<p>Wherever the Danes moved, to the right or to the left, landward
or seaward, the forces of Alfred were upon them. If they
endeavoured to cross over into Essex, they were driven back
upon their intrenchments; if they sought to rejoin their brethren
beside the sea-coast, the West Saxons drove them back. The
sea-shores and the skirts of the forest were guarded with jealous
eyes. Wherever a Danish helmet appeared, there was a Saxon
sword already uplifted. Hastings was awe-struck; he was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span>
prisoner in his own stronghold; he lay like a giant, manacled
with the very fetters his own strength had forged. If he but
stirred a foot, Saxon blows fell thick and heavily upon it, and
jarred again upon the other limb, which stood useless, and so
far apart. Alfred left the Danes who inhabited East Anglia to
break loose and ravage at their will, they could but prey upon
each other. He kept them aloof from the quarry he was hunting
down.</p>

<p>Shut up within his camp, and not able to send out a single
forager with safety, Hastings had at last recourse to stratagem,
and sent messengers to Alfred, offering to leave the kingdom if he
would guarantee him a free passage to his ships. To this proposition
Alfred consented; but no sooner had Hastings embarked, as
if to fulfil his engagement, than the other division of the army
rushed across the country, in the rear of Alfred's forces, and
crossing the Thames where it was fordable, landed in Essex,
where they met the division assembled under Hastings at Benfleet.
Only a portion, however, passed; for, turning his back
upon the North Foreland, Alfred pursued the remainder into
Surrey, and overtook them at Farnham, where he obtained a
complete victory; for Alfred had so manœuvred his forces as to
place the remnant of the Danish army between himself and the
Thames, and that too at a spot where it was no longer fordable.
Thus, those who escaped the Saxon swords plunged into the
river, and were drowned. Those who could swim, and a small
portion who were fortunate enough to pass the current on horseback,
escaped through Middlesex into Essex, where Alfred pursued
them across the Coln, and finally blockaded them in the
isle of Mersey. Alfred continued the siege long enough to compel
the Northmen to sue for peace, which he granted them, on
condition that they at once quitted England.</p>

<p>But scarcely had Alfred succeeded in defeating the enemy in
one quarter before a new force sprung up, ready armed, and
began to make head against him. The Danes of Northumbria
and East Anglia, who had for a number of years exchanged
their swords and spears for the sickle and the pruning-hook,
were no longer able to withstand the temptations which war and
plunder offered; but uniting their forces together, resolved to
attack Wessex. The Essex fleet, which, combined with that of
Hastings, consisted of about a hundred sail, passed without interruption
round the North Foreland, and along the southern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span>
coast, as far as Devonshire, where they laid siege to Exeter.
The other division, consisting of forty vessels that had been
fitted out in Northumbria, sailed round the north of Scotland,
and along the western coast, until they reached the Bristol
channel, where they laid siege to a fortified town on the north
of the Severn. No sooner did the tidings of this new invasion
reach the ears of Alfred, than he hastened off to the relief of
Exeter, where he again conquered the Danes, drove them
back to their ships, then, crossing over to the Severn, he compelled
the Northumbrian fleet to hasten out of the Bristol
channel, and once more left the west of England in a state of
security.</p>

<p>The movements of Hastings at this period are not very
clearly laid down. He appears to have crossed the Thames
again, and once more to have established himself in Essex, at
South Benfleet. But whether it was here that the camp of the
Danish king was broken up and plundered, and his wife and
children taken prisoners, or whether it was when he abandoned
his encampment in Kent that these disasters befel him, it is
difficult to understand, so rapid were the movements of both the
Danes and the Saxons at this period. Alfred, however, baptized
both the sons of Hastings, and loading them with presents,
sent them back again, together with their mother, in
safety to the camp of the Danish king. But delicacy and kindness
were alike wasted upon this Danish chief. Having neither
home nor country which he could call his own, and a vast family
of rapacious robbers to provide for, he had no alternative but
either to plunder or starve. He probably would have quitted
England, but he knew not where to go; and his Danish brethren,
fearful that he should settle down with his numerous followers,
and take possession of the land which they had for several years
so peacefully cultivated, chose what appeared to them the least
evil, and assisted him to win new territories from the Saxons.</p>

<div id="ip_188" class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"><img src="images/i_216.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Alfred releasing the family of Hastings.</i></div></div>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span>
all the military array of Middlesex was unable to penetrate the
encampment of the sea-king.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span>
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,&mdash;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.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">CHARACTER OF ALFRED THE GREAT.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Hear him but reason on divinity,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, all-admiring, with an inward wish,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You would desire the king were made a prelate;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You would say&mdash;it hath been all-in-all his study:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">List his discourse of war, and you shall hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A fearful battle rendered you in music."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span>
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&mdash;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&mdash;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?&mdash;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&mdash;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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span>
A lingering and painful disease, which had for years baffled
the skill of all his physicians&mdash;the constant inroads of the
northmen, who were ever keeping the country in a state of
alarm&mdash;a dearth of kindred spirits to cheer him in his intellectual
labours&mdash;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&mdash;he promoted
them to the highest offices in his government&mdash;he valued them
higher than all his treasures of gold and silver&mdash;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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span>
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&mdash;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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span>
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.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDWARD THE ELDER.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with your puissant arm renew their feats;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You are their heir, you sit upon their throne;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The blood and courage that renowned them<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Runs in your veins.&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All do expect that you should rouse yourself,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As did the former lions of your blood."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span>
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&mdash;of fortresses attacked
and defended&mdash;of the victors of to-day who were vanquished
on the morrow&mdash;of battles fought under commanders whose
names have many ages ago perished&mdash;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"&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE REIGN OF ATHELSTAN.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">"Clamour was on the earth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They darted from their hands many a stout spear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sharpened arrows flew&mdash;the bows were busy&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The buckler's received the weapon's point.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bitter was the fight&mdash;warriors fell on either side.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The youths lay slain."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Death of Bryhtnoth, 991.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span>
this union, we are at a loss to divine. It has been
attributed to fear&mdash;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&mdash;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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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&mdash;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&mdash;the
Irish fleet commanded by Anlaf&mdash;the remnant of the
ancient Britons&mdash;the Danes of East Anglia and Northumbria&mdash;together
with the legions who were hourly pouring in from
Norway and the Baltic&mdash;a force formidable enough to have
blanched the cheek of the great Alfred himself, had he lived to
have looked upon it.</p>

<p>Athelstan saw the storm as it gathered about him, and knowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span>
that it would before long break over him, he prepared himself
like a man who is resolved to buffet it&mdash;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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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;&mdash;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;&mdash;when
blood flowed and none heeded it, but the combatant placed his
foot upon the dead that the blow might fall with heavier force;&mdash;when
vassal and chief rolled over together;&mdash;when horse and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span>
rider fell, yet scarcely broke for a moment the enraged ranks
who passed over them&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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&mdash;who also narrowly escaped from being
captured&mdash;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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span>
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:&mdash;the conflict was at an end&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<blockquote>

<h3>ANGLO-SAXON SONG ON THE VICTORY AT BRUNANBURG.</h3>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>The Scots with the lord of the Northmen were chased away&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p></blockquote>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span>
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&mdash;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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span>
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</p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Rotten carcass of a boat, nor rigged,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor tackle, sail, nor mast,"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">and without even an oar, to be launched upon the ocean, and
left to chance, and the mercy of the waves. For some time the
unfortunate prince continued to keep afloat within sight of land,
until at last the wind rose, and perceiving that every billow but
rolled him further into the hopeless ocean, he preferred an instant
to a lingering death, and leaped boldly into the deep. His
body was afterwards washed ashore, and for seven years Athelstan
is said to have mourned over his brother's death, with deep
and bitter sorrow. Athelstan died about the year 940 or
941; and, as he left no children, he was succeeded by his brother
Edmund.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE REIGNS OF EDMUND AND EDRED.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The time has been, my senses would have cool'd<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To hear a night shriek; and my fell of hair<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As life were in't: I have supped full with horrors;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cannot once start me.&mdash;Wherefore was that cry?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The king, my lord, is dead."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Edmund, surnamed the Elder, had scarcely attained his
eighteenth year, when he ascended the Saxon throne. Many
of Athelstan's former enemies were still alive, and Anlaf, who
had played so prominent a part at the battle of Brunanburg,
again came over from Ireland, and placed himself at the head of
the Northumbrian Danes, with whom he marched into Mercia,
attacked Tamworth, and, in his first battle, defeated the Saxons.
England was not yet destined to be subject to the sway of one
king, for, after several defeats, Edmund employed the Archbishops
of York and Canterbury to negotiate with Anlaf, and
peace was concluded on the conditions that the Northumbrian
prince was to reign over that part of England which extended
to the north of Watling Street&mdash;the boundaries of which it is
difficult to define. Another clause was also annexed, which
placed the Saxon throne in greater jeopardy than it had ever
before been; for Edmund entered into an agreement with
Anlaf, that whoever survived the other should become the sole
and undisputed sovereign of England. Death saved the Saxons
from the degrading and dangerous position into which they had
fallen, for Anlaf died in the following year, and after his death
Edmund lost no time in taking possession of that portion of the
kingdom which had been wrested from him by the valour of the
Danish king.</p>

<p>It may be that the youth or inexperience of Edmund made
him fearful of measuring his strength against a veteran like
Anlaf, for when he had once resolved to reduce the Danes to
authority, he acted as became a descendant of Alfred, and not
only subjected Northumbria to his sway, but drove the Danes from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span>
the towns they had so long occupied on the frontiers of Mercia,
clearing the whole line of country from Stamford to Lincoln;
and, crossing the Trent, he drove them from the cities of
Leicester, Nottingham, and Derby, thus sweeping the whole of
the midland counties of the Danes, and peopling the strongholds
from which he had driven them with Saxons, and amply
making up for the vacillating weakness which marked the first
year of his reign. Neither did his conquests end here; he next
invaded Cumbria, unnecessarily tortured the sons of Dunmail,
and then gave the small state to Malcolm of Scotland, on condition
that he should defend the northern dominions, both by sea and
land, against all invaders. Strange as it may appear, he was
assisted in the subjugation of this petty kingdom by one of the
Welsh kings, although Cumberland and Westmoreland, which
formed the kingdom of Cumbria, were at this time inhabited by
a remnant of the ancient Britons, over whom reigned Dunmail,
its last Celtic king. Although the reign of Edmund is among
the briefest of our early Saxon kings, containing but the mere
entry of his name, a battle or two, and then his untimely death,
embracing, from his first assuming the crown to his being borne
to the grave, not more than five years, it offers to the contemplative
mind much matter for meditation. He commenced his
reign by a dishonourable concession, such as Athelstan would
never have thought of, though it had cost him both his kingdom
and his life in resisting it. He ended it by an act of
cruelty, causing the eyes of the sons of Dunmail to be put out.
Shortly after this, he fell in his own banqueting-hall, by the
hand of a robber, in the midst of his nobles; while the wine-cup
was circulating in celebration of the great Saxon feast held in
memory of St. Augustine, he was struck dead by the dagger of
Leof. At what place the deed was done, how the robber obtained
admittance into the hall, whether angry words were
exchanged between the assassin and the king, nothing certain
is known&mdash;so much do the accounts vary in the old chronicles,
although all admit the fact.</p>

<p>Leof had been banished for six years; he suddenly appeared
in the presence of the king; his object, beyond doubt, was to
slay him. Could we but prove that the murderer belonged to
the ancient Cymry, we should probably not be far in error in
concluding that he came to revenge the tortures which had
been inflicted on the British princes, who were blinded by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span>
command of Edmund. Vengeance only could have induced an
armed and banished robber to rush into the presence of the
king, when he was feasting in the midst of his nobles, and
there, on his own hearth, to deprive him of life. Strange that
the scene of an event so well known, should be buried in
obscurity. There must have been motives that impelled the
murderer to perpetrate such a deed, which were unfavourable
to the character of Edmund, or we should have met with
something more than the mere entry of his violent death in the
early chronicles. He was slain in his twenty-third year&mdash;in the
dawn of manhood; but where he fell, or in what place he was
buried, history has not left a single record that we can rely
upon. Malmesbury says, "His death opened the door for fable
all over England." How ominous his rising! how dark and
sudden his setting! what splendour surrounded his noonday
career; yet, withal, his life might be written in four brief sentences&mdash;"He
perilled his kingdom in his youth&mdash;nobly redeemed
the false step he had taken&mdash;committed an act of inhuman
cruelty&mdash;was afterwards murdered, in the year 946."</p>

<p>Edred succeeded Edmund, for the son of the latter was but
a child when his father was slain. They were both sons of
Edward the Elder by his second marriage, and, from the date of
his death, must have been mere infants when he died. Both
could claim the great Alfred as their grandfather.</p>

<p>During the short reign of Anlaf, and the subjection of
Northumbria by Edmund, we lose sight of Eric, the son of
Harold of Norway, to whom Athelstan had generously given
the crown of this northern kingdom, out of the respect he bore
to his father. But Eric cared not to occupy a peaceful throne:
if he was to be a king at all, he was resolved it should be a sea-king,
so he took to his ships, and left his subjects to shift for
themselves as they best could; for he had often, during his
sovereignty, whiled away the pleasant summer months with a
little pirating&mdash;had often treated his followers to an agreeable
excursion on the sea, where they plundered all the ships
they could, and conquered and slew their crews, no doubt
capturing our own merchants, whenever a chance offered. After
amusing himself and his companions for some time, by preying
upon all who came in his way, around the coast of Scotland, he
ventured over into Ireland, gathered what he could there,
crossed the sea again, and ravaged Wales, picking up along the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span>
northern coast, whenever he came near home, all the choice
spirits he could find about the Orkneys and the Hebrides. With
these he roamed at his pleasure, plundering wherever he could,
and performing such feats on the ocean as Robin Hood and his
merry men are, in a later day, supposed to have done in our old
English forests. He was also joined by many of the most
renowned sea-robbers from Norway, for the bold Vikingr found
but little encouragement to plunder under the government of
"Haco the Good." When Eric was weary of these rough Mid-summer
holidays, he came back again to his kingdom, moored
his ships, and placed his battle-axe upon the "smoky beam"
until the following spring, never troubling himself about law or
justice, but leaving his subjects either to do as they pleased, or
follow the lawless example he set them:&mdash;he quaffed his cup, and
sang his stormy sea-songs, and little recked Eric the Norwegian
how the world went, so long as he could get out upon
the windy ocean, and meet with prey and plunder upon the
billows of the deep. All seems to have gone merrily with him,
until, in an evil hour, he was either tempted or persuaded to
ravage England. Where he landed is not known, but his
success is said to have been great, and when he returned
to Northumbria laden with plunder, his Danish subjects received
him with warm welcome; although they had but just
before sworn fidelity to Edred, still their hearts were with the
daring sea-king, and they hailed him the more eagerly since
Edred, after having received their oaths of allegiance, had turned
his back upon the north. The Saxon king, although young, soon
turned round, and punished the wavering Danes for their disloyalty.
They again promised submission; but scarcely had he
reached York before Eric was upon his heels, and so unexpectedly
did he fall upon the army of the Saxon king, that he
cut off the rear-guard before he retreated. Edred once more
wheeled round, over-ran Northumbria, compelled them to renounce
Eric, inflicted a heavy fine, again received hostages and
promises of allegiance, and took his departure. Eric but lingered
on the sea until he was fairly out of sight, and then prepared
to take vengeance upon the subjects who had disowned
him.</p>

<p>There is but little doubt that the Danes who renounced Eric
were backed by a strong Saxon force which Edred had taken the
precaution of leaving in the neighbourhood. A battle was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span>
fought, which is said to have lasted the whole day, and in it
Eric, with five other sea-kings, was slain. Edred speedily
availed himself of the advantages obtained by this victory. He
carried away captive many of the Danish chiefs who had been
engaged in the rebellion, imprisoned Wulfstan, an archbishop,
who had been foremost in heading the revolt, divided the kingdom
into baronies and hundreds, over which he placed his own
officers, and overawing the country by strong garrisons, he at
last reduced it into a greater state of order and subjection than
it had ever before been since the Danes were first allowed to
occupy it. Although still inhabited by Danes, they were no
longer allowed even a sub-king to reign over them, but, like the
rest of the Saxon states, were under the sole government of
Edred, and thus rendered less independent than they had ever
been during the reign of the victorious Athelstan.</p>

<p>So distinguished a sea-king as Eric was not likely to perish
in battle without awakening the genius of the Scandinavian
muse. "I have dreamt a dream," begins the northern poet;
"at the golden dawn of morning I was carried into the hall of
Valhalla, and bade to prepare the banquet for the reception of
the brave who had fallen in the battle. I blew the brazen trumpet
of Heimdal, and awoke the heroes from their sleep. I bade
them to arise and arrange the seats and drinking-cups of skulls,
as for the coming of a king."</p>

<p>"'What meaneth all this noise?' exclaimed Braghi; 'why are
so many warriors in motion, and for whom are all these seats
prepared?'</p>

<p>"'It is because Eric is on his way to Valhalla,' replied Odin,
'whose coming I await with joy. Let the bravest go forth to
meet him.'</p>

<p>"'How is it that his coming pleaseth thee more than that of
any other king?'</p>

<p>"'Because,' answered Odin, 'in more battle-fields hath his
sword been red with blood; because in more places hath his deep-dyed
spear spread terror, for he hath sent more than any other
king to the palace of the dead.'</p>

<p>"I heard a rushing sound as of mighty waters: the hall was
filled with shadows. Then Odin exclaimed: 'I salute thee,
Eric! Enter, brave warrior; thrice welcome art thou to Valhalla.
Say what kings accompany thee?&mdash;how many have come
with thee from the combat?'</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span>
"'Five kings accompany me,' replied Eric; 'and I am the
sixth.'"</p>

<p>Although Eric was baptized, before he was placed on the
throne of Northumbria by Athelstan, yet the northern scald was
resolved to rescue him from his Christian paradise, and place
him in those halls, which he thought were more befitting
the spirit of a sea-king to dwell in. After the death of Eric,
many of the Anglo-Danes became Christians, and several enrolled
themselves amongst the religious orders, thus becoming
servants in the churches, which it had hitherto been their chief
delight to burn and destroy.</p>

<p>It was during the reign of Edred that the celebrated or notorious
Dunstan rose into such notice, for there is scarcely another
character throughout the whole range of history, upon which
the opinions of writers vary so much as in their summary of this
singular man. Madness, excessive sanctity, enthusiasm, hypocrisy,
cruelty, cunning, ambition, tyranny, have all been called
in, to account for the motives by which he was actuated. With
some the saint, and with others the sinner, has predominated, according
to the medium by which his actions have been surveyed
by different historians. It is difficult to sit down and
contemplate his character in that grave mood which is so essential
to depict the truths of history, for with Satan on the
one hand, and the saint on the other, the bellowing of the fiend,
and the clattering of the anvil, we get so confused between the
monk and the "brazen head," that we seem in a land of "wild
romance," instead of standing on the sober shore of history.
We will, however, deal as fairly with the dead, as the few facts
we are in possession of enable us to do, without sacrificing our
honest judgment. But first we must consign the remains of
Edred to the grave of his forefathers. He died in 955, after
having reigned nine years. He was afflicted with a slow, wasting
disease, which gave to him the appearance of old age, although
at his death he had numbered but little more than thirty winters.
He was succeeded by Edwin, the son of Edmund the
elder.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDWIN AND ELGIVA.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i21">"He was a man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Himself with princes;&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His own opinion was his law,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He would say untruths; and be ever double,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Both in his words and meaning. He was never<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lofty and sour, to them that loved him not,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But to those men that sought him sweet as summer."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Edwin was not more than sixteen years of age when he ascended
the throne. Although so young, he had married a beautiful and
noble lady of his own age, who appears to have been somewhat
too closely related to him to please the stern dignitaries
who were then placed at the head of the church, for it was at
this period when the rigid discipline of the Benedictine monks
was first introduced into England. Odo, a Dane, and a descendant
from those savage sea-kings who destroyed the abbeys of
Croyland and Peterborough, was, at this time, archbishop of
Canterbury, for it was not then uncommon to place the pastoral
crook in warlike hands, as there are many instances on
record which show that those who could best wield the battle-axe
were entrusted with the crosier; and Odo had served both
under Edward and Athelstan, and had fought and prayed
at the battle of Brunanburg. But before describing the most
important events of the reign of Edwin, we must give a brief
sketch of the life of Dunstan, and endeavour to throw a little
light upon the dark shadows which have so long settled down
upon his character.</p>

<p>Dunstan, who plays so prominent a part at this period, appears
to have lived near Glastonbury, and while yet a boy, seems to
have been fond of visiting an ancient British church which had
probably been erected by the Christians soon after the departure
of the Romans. At a very early period of his life, he was a believer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span>
in dreams and visions, and while yet unknown, imagined
that a venerable figure appeared to him and pointed out the spot
on which he was one day to erect a monastery. His studies were
encouraged, and his abilities are said to have been so great that
he was soon enabled to outstrip all his companions in learning.
We next find him suffering from a severe fever, probably the
result of excessive application, and which at last produced a state
of dreadful delirium. In the height of his madness, he seized a
stick and rushed out of his chamber, running with the speed of
a maniac over hills and plains; and fancying in his frantic flight
that a pack of wild hounds were pursuing him. Night found
him in the neighbourhood of a church, on which workmen had
been employed during the day; the invalid ascended the scaffold,
and without injuring himself, got safely into the church, where he
sank into a heavy slumber, from which he awoke not until morning,
when he found his intellects restored, though, to draw
a charitable conclusion from any of his future actions, we should
be justified in believing that there were intervals when the
disease returned. He had sufficient patronage to obtain an
introduction to the church or monastery at Glastonbury, where
he again renewed his studies, and besides obtaining a thorough
knowledge of the literature of that age, he appears to have excelled
in mathematics, music, writing, engraving, and painting,
and also to have been a skilful worker in metals. Such talents
as these, when so few excelled in any branch of the polite or finer
mechanical arts, could not fail of bringing him speedily into
notice, and he seems to have had an introduction to the royal
palace early in the reign of Edmund. No greater proof of his
intellectual attainments can be adduced, than his being accused
while at court of dealing in the arts of magic; for so far had he
shot beyond the ignorance and error of the age, that what could
now be readily comprehended by an ordinary understanding, was
in that benighted period attributed to supernatural agency; and
so strongly did the current of prejudice set in against him, that
Dunstan was driven from the court.</p>

<p>We can imagine with what shouts of derision he was pursued,
and with what loathing and heartburning he must have quitted
the palace as he fled before his insulting enemies, who, not
content with having hurled him from his high estate, pursued
him, and threw him into a miry ditch, beside a marsh, where
they left him to escape or perish. We can picture him reaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span>
his friend's house, at about a mile distant, the sorrow that
wrapped his heart as he looked upon his blighted prospects, the
anger that lighted his eye, and the burning scorn which he
poured in withering words upon the unlettered herd, as he
breathed his sorrow, and suffering, and disgrace, into the bosom
of his friend, and, with a sigh, looked upon all his hopes thus
undeservedly overthrown. For a short period, we here lose
sight of Dunstan; when we next meet with him, he is on the
point of marriage with a maiden to whom he appears to have
been greatly attached. He is dissuaded from marriage by his
relation, the bishop of Ælfheag, who tells him that such inclinations
only emanate from the Evil one, and persuades him to
become a monk. Love for a time made Dunstan eloquent, and
our only marvel is, that a man who was so susceptible of the
tender passion should, on a future day, become the unfeeling
opponent of marriage, and wield the power he possessed with
an unrelenting and iron arm over every priest who had entered
into this honourable bond of union. For a long time the bishop
argued in vain. Dunstan had then many reasons to urge in
favour of love and marriage; and probably, at that period, never
dreamed that he should have to use both force and argument
against them; but he seems to have been doomed to suffer
disappointment: and, although he endured it, it soured his
better nature, for, like Jonah's gourd, all that promised him
hope and delight seemed as if it only grew up to perish a
withering mockery. Sickness again attacked him, a disease
that brought him well nigh to death's door; he gave up all hopes
of recovery, he renounced all earthly happiness, and when he
began to turn his inward eye to that spiritual existence beyond
the grave, earth heaved up slowly, and to him sadly, and shut
out the coveted land of which he had obtained a dim glimpse,
but that earth was no longer to him the garden of hope and love.
He rose from his sick bed a melancholy and altered man;
became a monk, and in his cold, grey, stony cell, which shut
him up as in a grave, from the warm womanly heart he had
once so fondly doted upon, he vowed to lead a life of celibacy.</p>

<p>Up to this period of his life, Dunstan wins our sympathy: we
have seen him driven out, amid hooting and derision, from the
court; we have seen the golden link of love, which still bound
him to mankind, snapped heartlessly asunder; and now we
behold him buried, with all his genius and learning, in the lonely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span>
cell of a silent monastery. No marvel that, like the weary lion
who has been hard pressed by the cruel hunters, he at last got
up and shook himself&mdash;looked round with disgust upon the
narrow cave he had been driven into, and glared with scorn and
rage as he thought upon the puny power he had fled from; then
shook his majestic mane and rushed out, and filled the whole
neighbourhood with his roar.</p>

<p>How from his soul he must have spurned the ignorant mass
who came to look at him in the cell which he had dug in the
earth, and which seems to have been but little larger than a
common grave! What contempt he must have felt for the
illiterate crowd, as he toiled in his smithy, to hear them attribute
the roaring of his bellows, and the clattering of his hammer, to
the howling and bellowing of the devil; and, even sick and
weary as he was of the world, a suppressed smile must have
played about the corner of his mouth, as he saw the credulous
crowd gather around, who believed that he had seized the foul
fiend by the nose. Still it is hard to suppose that a man of his
learning and talent would for a moment lend himself to so
improbable a tale: he might, however, have seen the power
he was likely to gain from such a rumour, so let it take its
course, leaving those to credit it who were simple enough
to do so. The making for himself a narrow cell, and living in it
for a given time, was no uncommon penance at that period,
when hermits were found in lonely places, and priests, who had
been driven from their monasteries by the Danes, were compelled
to shelter in caves and forests, which they frequently
never quitted until death. Guthlac, on the lonely island at
Croyland, differed but little from Dunstan in his self-inflicted
probation.</p>

<p>It is, after all, difficult to suppose that his fame spread
amongst the highest ranks, through an idle and vulgar rumour
being circulated of his having pulled Satan's nose. Such a
report would never have drawn the Lady Ethelfleda, who had
descended from Alfred the Great, to visit him&mdash;to extol
his conversation, and to praise his piety; to introduce him
to the king, and, at her death, to leave him all her wealth.
Still less likely is it that such a fabrication would have raised
him high in the estimation of the venerable Chancellor Turketul,
the man who had so distinguished himself, in the reign of
Athelstan, at the battle of Brunanburg. Nor can we believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span>
that a grandson of the great Alfred would be so credulous as to
appoint him abbot of Glastonbury, unless he had had some solid
proofs of his learning and piety; for Edred made him his confidential
friend and councillor, and entrusted to his care all his
<span class="locked">treasure.<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</a></span> We will not acquit him of ambition, nor deny that he
might have deviated a little from a fair and honest course to
obtain power; that he became cautious and reserved; for the
man who in his younger days had been driven from the court
for his candour, and rolled in a ditch by those who were either
envious of his talents or too ignorant to appreciate his high
intellectual attainments, would naturally become more wary for
the future. He who but received hardship and insult as a reward
for his wisdom, would best display it afterwards by remaining
silent. Martyrs to a good cause act otherwise; but all men
covet not such immortality. We are painting the character of
a man disappointed in ambition and love; yet eager as of old for
power&mdash;such elements, though imperfect, are human. The man
who inflicted stripes upon himself for refusing the see of Winchester,
in the hopes of one day being made Archbishop of Canterbury,
had before been whipped for his honesty; and although
such deception would ill become one who aspired to be a saint,
it would be pardoned in a disappointed statesman. A man
kicked out of court, under the imputation of having "dealings
with the devil," but played trick for trick when he put the lash
into the hand of St. Peter. Dunstan had his eye upon an eminence,
and was resolved to attain it. Usurers and misers sometimes
fix their thoughts upon a given sum, which they resolve
to obtain, and then become honest. Human nature a little
warped was the same nine hundred years ago as now. We are
drawing the character of one who was then a living and moving
man, subject to human infirmities, for in his alleged saint-ship we
have no belief whatever, though Dunstan himself might aspire
to the title, and with a brain at times diseased, try at last to
find that sanctity within himself which others attributed to him,
even as a healthy man with a yellowish look discovers, through
the allusions of his friends, that he has got the jaundice, although
his countenance has only been exposed to the sun.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p>
<p>In miracles, the hand of God is manifested; when the dead
are raised, and the blind suddenly restored to sight, we question
not the Almighty power; but we doubt St. Peter lacerating the
back of Dunstan, and even acquit the latter of so merry a joke, as
that which was invented about his taking the devil by the nose
with his red hot tongs, and alarming all the neighbourhood by
his bellowings. If "possibility" is dragged into the argument,
we must remain silent, for no one is impious enough to limit
the power of the Deity. Where it would evince a want of faith
to doubt the holiness of the apostles, it would be no sin to hesitate
before we pronounced Dunstan, or Thomas-à-Becket, or
Peter the Hermit, saints. What a simple-minded peasant would
devoutly believe to be the truth in the present day, an intelligent
person would be scarcely tolerated in enlightened society for
asserting,&mdash;and by such homely facts as these are the truths of
history only to be tested.</p>

<div id="ip_224" class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;"><img src="images/i_254.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Dunstan dragging King Edwy from Elgiva.</i></div></div>

<p>The first act which brings Dunstan so prominently forward
in the reign of Edwin is his rude attack upon the king on the
day of his coronation. Edwin had retired early from the banquet-hall,
to seek the society of his beautiful wife Elgiva, in her
own apartment, when his absence was remarked by the assembled
guests. Odo, the Danish archbishop, was present at the coronation
feast, and perceiving that the retirement of the king displeased
the company, commanded those persons who were
attendant upon him to fetch Edwin back. After some demur
by the party whom Odo addressed, Dunstan and another bishop,
his relation, undertook to bring back the king. Elgiva's
mother was in the chamber with Edwin and her daughter when
the two bishops entered, rudely, and unannounced. Edwin, it
appears, at the moment of their entrance, was in one of his
merry moods, and doubtless glad that he had escaped from the
drunken revels of a Saxon feast, had taken off his crown and
placed it on the ground, and was engaged in a playful struggle
with his queen, when the bishops broke so rudely upon his retirement;
or it is very probable that the crown had fallen off his
head while toying with her, and that seeing the emblem of sovereignty
thus cast aside like a bauble, may for a moment have chafed
the temper of the irritable and decorous Dunstan. We could see
nothing to condemn on the part of the bishop, if he had respectfully
solicited the return of the king to the banquet; but when
Edwin refused to go, and Dunstan dragged him rudely from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span>
seat, and forced the crown again upon his head, the latter far out-stepped
his commission, and acted more like a traitor than a loyal
subject in thus attempting to coerce the king. It would, in those
days, have been held a justifiable act on the part of Edwin to have
laid the haughty prelate dead at his feet. Elgiva, with the spirit
of a true woman, upbraided the bishop for his insolence, and Dunstan,
we fear, made use of such epithets as belonged more to the
smithy than the sanctum; and in which he alluded to the painted
lady who is described in the Old Testament as having been
thrown out of her window, and devoured by dogs. Nor should we
think that the man who had the boldness to attempt to drag out
the king by force, would hesitate to throw out a gentle hint,
that, if opposed, he would adopt the same method of silencing
her as that which was used in stilling the tongue of a "king's
daughter." To account for this palace brawl, we must conclude
that the Danish prelate and the Saxon bishop had pledged each
other to such a depth in their cups as perilled their reason, or,
in other words, there is but little doubt, the reputed saint was
the worse for the wine-cup. Edwin's first act was, however,
sufficient to restore him again to his senses, and although he
was the friend of Turketul, the chancellor, and stood high in
the estimation of Odo, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the young
king deprived Dunstan of all the offices he held, confiscated his
wealth, and sentenced him to banishment.</p>

<p>Here we behold Dunstan once more driven from court,
and he no longer carries our sympathies with him, as before-time.
A private gentleman, much less a king, could not calmly
have brooked the insult Dunstan offered to his sovereign. Ten
thousand men might be found in the present day, who would
have rebuked the proudest bishop that ever wore a mitre, had
he but dared to intrude thus upon their privacy. We have
before stated that Elgiva was somewhat closely related to
her husband, though it is pretty clear that this kinship extended
not nearer than to that of cousin. Such as it was, however, the
savage Odo made it a plea for divorce, and separated the king
from his wife. Not contented with this, the bloody-minded and
cruel archbishop sent a party of savage soldiers to seize her&mdash;to
drag her like a criminal from her own palace, and, oh! horrible
to relate, to brand that beautiful face, which only to look on
was to love, with red hot iron&mdash;the lips and cheeks which the
young king had so proudly hung over and doted upon, were,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span>
by the command of the cursed Odo, burnt by the hands of
ruffianly soldiers&mdash;by the order of this miscalled man of God&mdash;yet
the lightning of Heaven descended not to drive his mitre
molten into his brain. Oh, what heart-rending shrieks must
that beautiful woman have sent forth!&mdash;what inhuman monsters
must they have been who held her white wrists, as she writhed
in convulsive agony. Death, indeed, would have been mercy
compared to such bloody barbarism; after this, she was banished,
in all her agony, to Ireland.</p>

<p>Time, that, like sleep, is the great soother of so many sorrows,
healed the wounds which the hard-hearted Odo had caused to be
inflicted on the youthful queen, and her surpassing beauty once
more broke forth, and erased the burning scars with which it
had been disfigured,&mdash;like a rose, that, in its full-blown loveliness,
leaves no trace of the blight that had settled down upon the
bud. With a heart, yearning all the more fondly for her youthful
husband, through the sufferings, which had been embittered
by his absence, she rushed, on the eager wings of love,
to pour her sorrows into his bosom, and to pillow her beautiful
head on that heart which had known no rest since their cruel
separation; but the demons of destruction were again let loose
upon her. She was pursued and overtaken before she had reached
those arms which were open to receive her, and so dreadfully
was the body of that lovely lady mangled, that the blood rolls
back chilly into the heart, while we sit and sigh over her sufferings.
We will not pain our readers by describing this unparalleled
butchery. But Odo reaped his reward. "Vengeance
is mine," saith the Lord; and before His unerring tribunal
the spirit of the mitred murderer, centuries ago, trembled.</p>

<p>From the hour of Elgiva's murder, the spirit of Edwin drooped.
He seems to have sat like a shadow with the sceptre in his hand,
"nerveless, listless, dead." His subjects rebelled against him.
Dunstan was recalled from banishment, and new honours were
heaped upon his head. Edwin's kingdom was divided, and though
his brother Edgar was not more than thirteen years of age, the
dominions of Northumbria and Mercia were placed under his
sway. The infamous Odo, and his emissaries, were at last
triumphant; and there is scarcely a doubt but that, a few years
after the death of his wife, Edwin himself was murdered in
Gloucestershire. In several old chronicles it is darkly hinted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span>
that he met with a violent death: in one, which is still extant in
the Cotton Library, it is clearly asserted that he was slain.</p>

<p>A youthful king, on whose head the crown, with all its cares
and heart-aches, was placed at the age of sixteen, was but ill-armed
to battle with the hoary-headed, cunning, and grey iniquity
which surrounded his throne. He, who would cast his crown
upon the ground to toy with his beautiful wife, was no match
for that hypocrisy which was hidden beneath the folds of a
saintly garb. When, with a spirit far beyond his years, he
boldly resented the insult that Dunstan had offered to him, the
whole power of the court was at once arrayed against him, for
Dunstan was already venerated by the ignorant people as a saint:
he had the chancellor and the primate on his side; and few would
be found to make head against a cause on the part of which
such powerful authorities were arranged as leaders. The respect
which was due to a king must have been greatly lessened by the
insult which Dunstan had offered to his sovereign. It resembled
more the conduct of a schoolmaster towards an unruly pupil than
that of a subject to his superior. Edwin closed his troublous
career about the year 959; and by his death Edgar, who had for
three years ruled over the northern dominions, became king of
England.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">THE REIGN OF EDGAR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The royal letters are a thing of course;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A king, that would, might recommend his horse,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And deans, no doubt, and chapters with one voice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As bound in duty, would confirm the choice.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Behold your bishop! well he plays his part,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Christian in name, and infidel in heart."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Cowper.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Over the reign of Edgar, who ascended the throne in his sixteenth
year, the shadow of Dunstan again falls, and those who
had rent the kingdom asunder, and placed him, when a mere
boy, upon the throne of Mercia, kept a more tenacious hold
of the crown as its circle widened, and gathered closer round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span>
Edgar as they saw his power increased. Dunstan had by this
time risen to the dignity of bishop of London. The infamous
Odo had died about the close of the reign of Edwin, and, weakened
as the power of that unfortunate king was, he had spirit
enough to appoint another to the primacy of England. The
bishop that Edwin had nominated perished in the snow while
crossing the Alps; for the pontiffs had issued a decree that no
one should be established in the dignity of archbishop till he had
first visited Rome, and received the pallium; which, as we have
before described, was a tippet made of the whitest and purest of
lamb's wool, chequered with purple crosses, and worn over the
shoulders. Another bishop was appointed in his place, but he
was soon compelled to resign the primacy, the objections raised
against him being, that he was modest, humble, and of a gentle
temper&mdash;virtues which, although they form the very basis of the
Christian character, but ill accorded with the views of the ambitious
churchmen who now surrounded the throne of the young
king. In 960, only a year after the accession of Edgar, Dunstan,
although he held the sees of Winchester, Worcester,
Rochester, and London, was appointed archbishop of Canterbury,
and received the pallium from the hand of Pope John the
Twelfth, at Rome. Dunstan lost no time in promoting the interests
of those who had assisted in raising him to his new dignity.
He appointed Oswald, a relation of Odo, to the bishopric
of Worcester; and Ethelwold, with whom he had been
educated in his early years, he made bishop of Winchester.
They also, by the intercession of Dunstan, became the king's
councillors. By this means, he had ever those who were his
sworn friends and servants at the elbow of the sovereign. That
he contributed to the spreading of education and to the encouragement
of the fine arts will ever redound to the credit of
Dunstan; while the supernatural gifts to which he laid claim&mdash;the
vision of his mother's marriage with the Saviour&mdash;the
song which, he said, the angel taught him, and with
which he roused every monk in the monastery, at morning
light, to learn&mdash;we must, in charity, attribute to that temporary
insanity to which he was at times subject, and which did not
even pass unnoticed by his contemporaries.</p>

<p>Nearly the first act of the primate appears to have been the
establishment of the Benedictine rules in the monasteries; for
the severe and rigid tenets which were adhered to by this new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span>
order of monks appear to have suited the cold, stony nature of
the new archbishop, the warm emotions of whose heart had now
died out, and faded into that cold, ashy grey, which, having lost
all sympathy with the living and breathing world, lies as if dead
and in a grave, while the heartless body still lives and acts.</p>

<p>Sorry we are that Edgar so implicated himself with the views
of the ambitious primate, that whatever Dunstan planned,
the king executed, and in every way favoured the new order of
monks. The following may be taken as a sample of Edgar's
eloquence in favour of the Benedictine order; it was delivered at
a public synod, over which the king presided. After condemning
the secular clergy for the smallness of their tonsure, in which the
least possible patch of baldness was displayed, and finding fault
with them for mixing with the laity, and living with concubines,
for that was the new name by which Dunstan now designated
the wives of the clergy, he addressed the primate as follows:
"It is you, Dunstan, by whose advice I founded monasteries,
built churches, and expended my treasure in the support
of religion and religious houses. You were my councillor and
assistant in all my schemes; you were the director of my conscience;
to you I was obedient in all things. When did you call
for supplies which I refused you? Was my assistance ever wanting
to the poor? Did I deny support and establishments to the
clergy or the convents? Did I not hearken to your instructions,
who told me that these charities were of all others the
most grateful to my Maker, and fixed a perpetual fund for the
support of religion? And are all our pious endeavours now frustrated
by the dissolute lives of the priests? Not that I throw
any blame on you; you have reasoned, besought, inculcated, inveighed:
but it now behoves you to use sharper and more vigorous
remedies, and, conjoining your spiritual authority with the
civil power, to purge effectually the temple of God from thieves
and intruders."</p>

<p>Although Edgar was such an unflinching advocate of celibacy,
and is said to have made married priests so scarce, that it was a
rarity to see the face of one about his court, he appears to have
fixed no limits to his own vicious propensities. While his first
queen was yet surviving, he carried off a beautiful young lady, of
noble birth, named Wulfreda, from the nunnery of Wilton, where
she was receiving her education, under the sanctity of the veil.
This, however, was no protection for her person; but Dunstan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span>
had the courage to step in, and inflict a penance upon the royal
ravisher; which was, to fast occasionally; to lay aside his crown
for seven years; to pay a fine to the nunnery; and, as if to
make all in keeping with the action, for which he was thus
mulct, he was to expel all the married clergy, and fill up their
places with monks. Such was the penalty imposed upon him
by Dunstan, who, himself disappointed in love in his earlier
years, was now the sworn enemy of all married priests.
Whether such edicts as he promulgated, and rigidly enforced,
were calculated to check or increase such infamous acts as the
above, there can scarcely remain matter of doubt; but how
many Wulfredas the enforcing of his unnatural laws of celibacy
were the means of violating can never now be known.</p>

<p>Edgar having heard rumours of the beauty of Elfrida, who
was the daughter of Ordgar, earl of Devonshire, despatched
one of his noblemen, named Athelwold, on some feigned business,
to the castle of her father, to see if her features bore out
the report he had heard of her beauty. Athelwold saw her,
was suddenly smitten with her charms, and keeping the mission
he was sent upon a secret, offered her his hand, was accepted,
and married her. Though Athelwold had reported unfavourably
of her beauty, and, through this misrepresentation, obtained
Edgar's consent to marry her, influenced, as he said, by her immense
wealth, the truth was not long before it reached the ears of
Edgar, who resolved upon paying her a visit himself. The king's
will was law; and all Athelwold could now do was to entreat
of Edgar to allow him to precede him, pleading, as an excuse for
his request, that he might put his house in order for the reception
of his royal guest. His real object, however, was to gain
time, and to persuade his wife to disguise her beauty by wearing
homely attire, or to suffer another to personate her until the
king's departure. But Elfrida, who, like Drida of old, concealed,
under the form of an angel, the evil passions of a fiend, rebuked
her husband sternly for having stepped in, and prevented her
from ascending the throne, and for having himself snatched up
that beauty which might have raised her to the rank of queen.
All, however, was not yet lost; and never before had Elfrida
bestowed such pains in decorating her person as she did on the
day of the king's arrival. She was resolved upon captivating
him; and as nature had done so much, she called in the charms
of art to give a finish to her unequalled beauty. We can almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span>
fancy poor Athelwold fidgeting about the turret-stair, and thinking
every minute which she spent over her toilet an hour; and
what a hopeless look the poor Saxon nobleman must have given,
as, startled by the trumpets which announced the coming of the
king, she rose from her seat with a proud step, and a kindling
eye, glancing contemptuously upon her husband as she passed,
and hurrying eagerly to the gate, to be foremost in welcoming
the sovereign. The king was charmed; Athelwold was found
murdered in a neighbouring wood; Edgar married Elfrida, and
her name is another of those foul stains which disfigure the
page of history. There is no proof that Edgar stabbed Athelwold
with his own hand; on the contrary, there was a natural
bravery about the king, more in keeping with the chivalric age
than the barbarous times in which he lived. To cite a proof of his
valour: it had been reported to him that Kenneth of Scotland,
who was then on a visit at the English court, had one day said
that it was a wonder to him so many provinces should obey a
man so little; for Edgar was not only small in stature, but very
thin. The Saxon king never named the matter to his guest,
until one day when they were riding out together, in a lonely
wood, when Edgar produced two swords, and handing one to the
Scottish sovereign, said, "Our arms shall decide which ought to
obey the other; for it will be base to have asserted that at a
feast which you cannot maintain with your sword." Kenneth
recalled his ill-timed remark, apologized, and was forgiven.
Such a man would scarcely stoop to so base an act as assassination.</p>

<p>None of the Saxon kings had ever evinced such a love of
pomp and display as Edgar. He summoned all the sovereigns to
do homage for the kingdoms they held under him, at Chester; and,
not content with this acknowledged vassalage, he commanded his
barge to be placed in readiness on the river, and, seating himself
at the helm, was rowed down the Dee by the eight tributary
kings who were his guests. But with all his pride he was
generous; and to Kenneth of Scotland, who had thus condescended
to become one of his royal bargemen, he gave the
whole wide county of Louth, together with a hundred ounces of
the purest gold, and many costly rings, ornaments, and precious
stones, beside several valuable dresses of the richest silk; only
exacting in return that Kenneth should, once a year, attend his
principal feast. Every spring he rode in rich array through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span>
his kingdom, accompanied by Dunstan and the nobles of his
court, when he examined into the conduct of the rulers he had
appointed over the provinces, and rigorously enforced obedience
to the laws. He gave great encouragement to foreign artificers,
regardless from what country they came; if they but
evinced superior skill in workmanship, it was a sure passport
to the patronage of Edgar. The tax which Athelstan
imposed upon the Welsh, after he had won the battle of
Brunanburg, Edgar commuted into an annual tribute of three
hundred wolves' heads; and, by such a wise measure, the
kingdom was so thinned of this formidable animal, that on the
fourth year a sufficient number could not be found to make up
the tribute. Three centuries after, and in the reign of Edward
the First, we find England again so infested with wolves, that
a royal mandate was issued to effect their extinction in the
counties of Gloucester, Worcester, Hereford, and Stafford, and
that in other places great rewards were also given for their
destruction. Our Saxon ancestors called January Wolf-month,
"because," says an old chronicle, "people are wont always in
that moneth to be more in danger to be devoured of wolves than
in any season els of the yere, for that through the extremity of
cold and snow, those ravenous creatures could not find of other
beasts sufficient to feed upon." The terror with which the
wolf was regarded by our forefathers, doubtless caused many of
the Saxon kings and leaders to assume the name of an animal
which was so formidable for its courage and ferocity. Thus we
find such names as Æthelwulf, the noble wolf; Berhtwulf, the
illustrious wolf; Wulfric, powerful as a wolf; Eardwulf, the
wolf of the province; Wulfheah, the tall wolf; Sigwulf, the
victorious wolf; and Ealdwolf, the old wolf. So infested were
the "cars" of Lincolnshire, and the wolds of Yorkshire, with
wolves, which were wont to breed, in what are now the marshlands
beside the Trent, amongst the sedge and rushes, that the
shepherds were compelled to drive their flocks at night for
safety into the towns and villages. And in the time of
Athelstan, a retreat was built in the forest of Flixton, in
Yorkshire, for passengers to shelter in, and defend themselves
from the attacks of wolves.</p>

<div id="ip_232" class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"><img src="images/i_264.jpg" width="410" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>The Welch tribute of Wolves Heads.</i></div></div>

<p>Edgar died in the year 975, at the age of thirty-two. By
his first wife he had a son named Edward, who succeeded him;
also a daughter who ended her life in a nunnery. By Elfrida,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span>
the widow of the murdered Athelwold, he had two sons,
Edmund, who died young, and Ethelred, who in his turn
obtained the crown by the murder which Elfrida caused to be
committed.</p>

<p>Elfric, who lived a few years after the death of Edgar, has
left the following highly-coloured testimonial in praise of his
character: "Of all the kings of the English nation, he was the
most powerful. And it was the Divine will that his enemies, both
kings and earls, who came to him desiring peace, should,
without any battle, be subjected to him to do what he willed.
Hence he was honoured over a wide extent of land." This
panegyric, we think, is somewhat overdrawn: it is true that he
kept up a large fleet, consisting of twelve hundred ships, which
he stationed on different points of the coast&mdash;that he punished
those who plundered the vessels of his merchants&mdash;executed the
law rigorously on the coiners of false money, and left England
as free from robbers as it had been at the close of the reign of
Alfred. Still, with all his high-sounding titles, which in some
of his charters run to the length of eighteen lines; he rivets not
the eye, nor interests the heart, like many of his predecessors
who grace the great gallery of our early Saxon kings.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDWARD THE MARTYR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"For saints may do the same things by<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Spirit, in sincerity,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which other men are tempted to,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And at the devil's instance do."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Butler's</span> <i>Hudibras</i>.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The tyrannous and bloody act is done;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The most arch deed of piteous massacre<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That ever yet this land was guilty of."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Edward, called the Martyr, was a mere boy of fifteen when he
ascended the throne, which was vacated by the death of his
father, Edgar. As he had been schooled under Dunstan, and
his mind moulded to suit the purposes of the ambitious primate,
he was chosen, in opposition to the wishes of Elfrida, who boldly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span>
came forward and claimed the crown for her son Ethelred, then
a child only six years old. This aspiring queen was not without
her adherents; and as the rigorous measures to which Dunstan
had resorted, to coerce the married clergy and exclude them from
officiating in the churches, had rendered him unpopular in many
quarters, numbers were found ready to rally round Elfrida and her
son Ethelred. But Edward had been appointed king by the
will of his father, and the charge against his legitimacy appears
to have been altogether unfounded; for he was the undoubted
son of Edgar, and the fruit of his first marriage with Elfleda,
who was called "the Fair;" and Dunstan adopted the readiest
method of settling the dispute by assembling the bishops, and
such of the nobles as were favourable to his cause, then placing
the crown at once upon his head.</p>

<p>Meantime, the contest continued to be waged more keenly between
the monks and the secular clergy. Dunstan had opposed
the coronation of Ethelred; and Elfrida, who was as bold as she
was cruel, rose up, and took the part of the married priests.
Elfere, the governor of Mercia, also set the primate at defiance,
emptied all the monasteries in his province of the Benedictine
monks, and levelled many of their buildings to the ground&mdash;a
strong proof that the power of the archbishop was on the wane.
Alwin, the governor of East Anglia, took the side of Dunstan;
gave shelter to the monks who had been driven out of Mercia;
and chased the married priests from the province over which he
ruled. Beside Mercia, the secular clergy had obtained possession
of many monasteries; and to end these disputes, Dunstan convened
a synod at Winchester. Here a voice is said to have
issued from the crucifix which was fixed in the wall, which forbade
all change; and instead of arguing the matter fairly, Dunstan
at once exclaimed&mdash;"A divine voice has determined the
affair; what wish ye more?" This artifice, however, did not
succeed; for there were then, as now, men who had great misgivings
about Dunstan's miracles, and who believed that he
would not hesitate to avail himself of any means he could impress,
to carry out his object. Dunstan, seeing the mistrust and doubt
with which his pretended miracle was received, resolved that, if
they did not accede to his wishes, his next attempt at the marvellous
should be accompanied with proof of his vengeance.</p>

<p>It was in the year 978 that this second or third council was
held at Calne. It was, as before, a Saxon parliament, or witena-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span>gemot,
consisting of the nobles and principal clergy of the nation.
The opponents of Dunstan appear to have grown hot in argument,
and, according to one of our ancient historians, William of
Malmesbury, "the matter was agitated with great warmth of
controversy, and the darts of many reproaches were thrown on
Dunstan, but could not shake him." The following reply of
the primate to the attack made upon him is given from Osberne,
who was the friend and councillor of the archbishop
Langfranc, a man who held Dunstan in the highest estimation.
Osberne was alive about a century after the event took place
which he records. After having defended himself for some time,
Dunstan concluded with these remarkable words: 'Since you
did not, in such a lapse of time, bring forward your accusation,
but, now that I am old and cultivating taciturnity, seek to disturb
me by these antiquated complaints, <i>I confess that I am unwilling
that you should conquer me</i>. I commit the cause of his
church to Christ as the Judge.' He spoke, and the wrath of
the angry Deity corroborated what he said; for the house was
immediately shaken; the chamber was loosened under their feet;
his enemies were precipitated to the ground, and oppressed by
the weight of the crushing timbers. <span class="smcap">But where the saint
was reclining with his friends, there no ruin occurred.</span>"</p>

<p>Eadmar, who was contemporary with Osberne, expresses himself
still more clearly, though he appears not for a moment to
have suspected that the villanous affair was arranged by Dunstan
and his confidential friends. "He spoke, and, lo! the floor
under the feet of <i>those who had come together against him fell
from beneath them</i>, and all were alike precipitated; but where
<i>Dunstan stood with his friends</i>, no ruin of the house, no accident
happened." The Saxon chronicle, an authentic record of that
period, also notices the falling in of the floor, and the escape of
Dunstan. As this is the greatest blot on his character, we have
been careful in producing such undisputed authorities. To attribute
the catastrophe to an accident, would be reasonable, had
only Dunstan himself escaped; but when we look at the conclusion
of the speech which is attributed to him by those who admired
his character&mdash;"I confess that I am unwilling you should
conquer"&mdash;and see it recorded that all his friends were uninjured,
we are surely justified in concluding that the floor had
been previously undermined, and that all was so arranged that,
at a given signal, the only remaining prop was removed, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span>
Dunstan and his friends were left secure to glut their gaze on
their slain and wounded enemies; for many of the nobles on
whom the beams and rafters fell were killed upon the spot.
That the crime rested with Dunstan alone, we cannot believe&mdash;many
must have been cognisant of it; the strength of the council
was against the primate, and but for this accident, miracle, or,
as we believe, carefully-planned scheme of villany, Dunstan's
power would at once have ended; as it was, to quote the words
of the old chronicler, "this miracle gave peace to the archbishop."
When his friend Athelwold died, and the see of Winchester was
vacant, Dunstan wished to appoint his friend Elphegus to the
bishopric; but meeting with some opposition amongst the nobles,
he boldly asserted that St. Andrew had appeared to him, and
commanded him to appoint his friend to the vacant see. Here
we have another proof of the use which Dunstan made of the
sanctity that was attributed to his character. The miracles which
are ascribed to him&mdash;his combats with the devil, who was constantly
appearing to him in every imaginable shape, such as
that of a bear, a dog, a viper, and a wolf, may be found fully
recorded in the ancient life, written by Bridfirth, who was personally
acquainted with <span class="locked">Dunstan.<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</a></span> We have dwelt thus
lengthily on the life of this singular and ambitious man, as in it
we see fully illustrated the evil consequence of persecuting and
retarding the progress of superior talent. It is probable that no
one ever set out in the world with a firmer determination of
acting honestly and uprightly than Dunstan; it is also clear,
that in intellectual attainments he ranked amongst the highest
which that age produced; nor do we think that we should be
much in error in assuming that when, in his old age, he looked
back, through the dim vista of years, to the bright and promising
morning of his life, he often sighed for that retirement which he
might have enjoyed in the society of her whom his heart first
clung to; nor can we marvel if the crimes which are attributed
to him are true, which is strongly supported by the evidence we
have produced, that in his old age his slumber was often broken
by such fearful apparitions&mdash;the creation of a guilty conscience,
as his friend and biographer Bridfirth has stated were ever
present before his diseased imagination.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span></p>
<p>Dunstan still stood high in the favour of his youthful sovereign,
and the primate shielded him, for a time, from the vengeance
of Elfrida, who aimed at placing the crown upon the head of
her son Ethelred; to accomplish this, a conspiracy had been
formed to assassinate Edward, in which the governor of Mercia,
who had driven out the clergy, is said to have leagued himself
with the queen-dowager; for party-feeling still raged as strongly
on the sides of the monks and the secular clergy as ever; and
aged as Dunstan was, there yet remained many enemies, who
anxiously sought his overthrow; but the nobles continued to
remain true to their king, and, while they surrounded him, he
was safe from the meditated blow.</p>

<p>The long looked for hour came at last. Edward was out, one
day, hunting near Wareham, in Dorsetshire, when, either having
outridden his attendants, or purposely resolved to visit his
mother-in-law, he rode up to Corfe Castle, where she resided
with her son Ethelred, and without alighting from his horse, had
a brief interview with Elfrida, at the gate. She received him
with an assumed kindness, and urgently pressed him to dismount.
This he declined doing, and having requested to see his
brother Ethelred, he called for a cup of wine, which was brought,
when, just as he had raised it to his lips, one of Elfrida's attendants
stepped behind him, and stabbed him in the back. Dropping
the cup from his hand, he struck the spurs into his horse, and
fled; for we can readily imagine that one glance at the countenance
of Elfrida satisfied the wounded monarch that she was the
instigator of the murderous deed. With no one near to follow
or support him, he soon fainted through loss of blood, and fell
from his saddle; the affrighted steed still plunged onward, with
headlong speed, dragging the body of the king along, over the
rugged road, as he still hung with his foot suspended in the
stirrup. When discovered by his attendants, he was dead&mdash;his
course was traced by the beaten ground over which his mangled
body had passed, and the blood that had stained the bladed grass,
and left its crimson trail upon the knotted stems against which
it had struck. His remains were burnt, and there is some
doubt whether even his ashes were preserved for interment.
"No worse deed," says the Saxon chronicle, "had been committed
among the people of the Anglo-Saxons since they first
came to the land of Britain." Edward was not more than
eighteen years of age when he was murdered.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span>
His death, however, was not the first that Elfrida had caused.
In the records of Ely, mention is made of an abbot named
Brythonod, who attracted her attention as he came to the palace
on matters connected with his abbey. As he was about to take
his departure, Elfrida requested to speak with him apart, under
the plea of unburthening her conscience. What passed at this
private interview would probably never have been known, but
through her own confession, when she became a penitent, and
acknowledged her guilt. She made such proposals to the abbot
as he was unwilling to concede to. Her fondness soon changed
to revenge, and shortly after the virtuous abbot was assassinated.
Such was the woman who comes heaving up, like a blood-stained
shadow, into the next reign, and whose evil influence brought
such woe upon England. It is said that Ethelred wept bitterly
at the death of his brother Edward, whom he dearly loved, and
that his mother seized either a torch or a thick wax candle, and
beat the young prince with it until he was senseless. So unpopular
were Elfrida and her son, that an attempt was made to
raise an illegitimate daughter of Edgar to the throne. The
young lady was the daughter of Wulfreda, whom he had violently
carried from the nunnery of Wilton. The plot failed, and
Ethelred succeeded to the crown, in 978, and in the tenth year
of his age.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ETHELRED THE UNREADY.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And whisper one another in the ear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While he that hears, makes fearful action,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">The ambitious hopes of Elfrida were justly doomed to meet
with disappointment: the power she sought to obtain by the
assassination of Edward eluded her grasp, and Dunstan, though
aged and infirm, still stood at the head of his party, triumphant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span>
The Saxons looked with disgust upon a woman who had caused
her son-in-law to be stabbed at her own castle-gate; and there
is but little doubt that the primate, for a time, so successfully
raised the popular indignation against her, that she was compelled
to seek shelter in a nunnery until the storm subsided.
On the head of the son of the murderess, the primate placed the
crown, in 978; and it is recorded that, instead of pronouncing
a blessing upon it, the stern churchman gave utterance to a bitter
malediction, foreboding that a reign which was begun with
bloodshed and murder, could only end in sorrow, suffering, and
dishonourable humiliation. Ethelred possessed not those qualities
which, by their sterling worth, weigh down all unpopular
opinion; where the darkness had once settled, it remained; for
he illuminated it not by the brilliant achievement of glorious
deeds. In the eyes of the Saxon nation the blood of Alfred
was at last contaminated; the wisdom which had so long
governed England peaceably, had waned away; and the arm
which had struck terror into the hearts of five nations on the
field of Brunanburg, was now weak and powerless; for the
throne of England was at last occupied by the child of a murderess,
whom Dunstan, from his apparent apathy, had already
nick-named "The Unready."</p>

<p>England had long been rent asunder by civil dissensions,
which the accession of Ethelred only tended to increase instead
of assuaging: the sceptre had before-time fallen into young and
helpless hands without diminishing the kingdom's strength,
but there were then none of those private heart-burnings to
contend against; none of that party bitterness which divided
family against family, for the state was supported by the united
strength of its nobles, and its councils swayed by a feeling of
union and harmony. It was not the monks and the secular
clergy that this long contention alone affected; almost every
town and village was divided against itself, for the quarrel extended
to the domestic hearth. Dunstan could not drive a
married priest from the church without making enemies of the
whole family: there was the insulted wife as well as the husband
to appease; then came a wide circle of relations and
friends, while, on the part of the monks, no such extensive
ramifications were arrayed. Thousands were therefore found
ready to overthrow a government which was headed by the
primate.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span>
Such internal dissensions as these could not pass unnoticed by
the Danes, who were ever on the alert to shake off the Saxon
yoke when an opportunity presented itself; and rumours of
the discords which reigned in England were soon blown over
the Baltic; and many an anxious eye began to look out over
the sea for succour; for the northmen had long pined for a king
of their own nation to reign over the territory which they occupied
in England. Dunstan, who had lent his powerful aid in
supporting the sceptre throughout three reigns, had, by this
time, grown old, and feeble, and helpless; Elfrida had weakened
the power she once possessed, by the very means she took
to strengthen it; and two years after the accession of Ethelred,
Danish ships again began to appear, and pour out their pirates
to ravage as of old, and spread terror along the English coasts,
for the tidings soon reached the rocky shores of Norway,
that there was no longer the wisdom of an Alfred to guide the
government, nor the arm of an Athelstan to protect the English
throne. While, to add to this state of disunion and broken
government, it is believed many of the influential Saxons were
in league with the Danes, and covertly encouraged the new
invaders.</p>

<p>Passing over the minor invasions, which first consisted of
seven ships, and then of three, and of the trifling engagements
which succeeded, and in which the Saxons were at one time
defeated, and at another victorious, we shall commence with the
first formidable force, which was commanded by Justin and
Gurthmund, and which was opposed by a strong Saxon
force, headed by Byrhtnoth, the governor of Essex. The
sea-kings first sent a herald to the Saxon court, demanding
tribute; the Saxon nobleman raised his buckler, and, looking
sternly at the messenger while he shook his javelin in his face,
exclaimed&mdash;"Herald of the men of the ocean, hear from my
lips the answer of this people to thy message. Instead of tribute,
they will bestow on you their weapons, the edge of their
spears, their ancient swords, and the weight of their arms.
Hear me, mariner, and carry back my message of high indignation
in return. Say, that a Saxon earl, with his retainers, here
stands undaunted; that he will defend unto death this land, the
domain of my sovereign, Ethelred, his people, and his territory.
Tell the Vikingrs that I shall think it but dastardly if they
retire to their ships with the booty, without joining in battle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span>
since they have advanced thus far into our land." A river
divided the hostile forces, and the Saxon earl allowed the invaders
a free passage across it unmolested, before the battle
commenced. One of the sea-kings fell early in the conflict;
Bryhtnoth selected the other for his opponent, and the bold
Vikingr accepted the challenge. The first javelin which the
sea-king hurled, slightly wounded the Saxon leader; Bryhtnoth
then struck the sea-king with his spear, but the Dane "so
manœuvred with his shield, that the shaft broke, and the spear
sprang back and recoiled." The next blow struck by the Saxon
earl pierced the ringed chains of the sea-king's armour, and
the pointed weapon stuck in his heart. The Dane had no
sooner fallen, than the Saxon was struck by a dart: a youth,
named Wulfmor, "a boy in the field," who appears to have
been the earl's page, or armour-bearer, with his own hand drew
out the javelin which had transfixed the body of Bryhtnoth,
and hurled it back at the Dane who had just launched it, with
such force, and so sure an aim, that it struck him, and he fell
dead. The Saxon earl was already staggering through loss of
blood, when one of the pirates approached him, with the intent
of plundering him of "his gems, his vestment, his ring, and his
ornamental sword." But Bryhtnoth had still strength enough
left to uplift his heavy battle-axe, "broad and brown of edge,"
and to strike such a blow on the corslet of the Dane, that it
compelled him to loose his hold. After this he fell, covered
with wounds, but uttering his commands to the last moment.
Although the battle was continued for some time after his death,
the Saxons were defeated.</p>

<p>Turn we now to Ethelred. While here and there a Saxon
chief was found bold enough to make head, like Bryhtnoth,
against the invaders, the dastardly sovereign assembled his
witena-gemot, to consult as to what amount of tribute should
be paid to the invaders, to induce them to abandon the island.
Siric, the successor of Dunstan, is said to have been the first
who proposed this cowardly measure. Had the old primate
been alive, with all his faults, he would have seen England
drenched with Saxon blood, and been foremost in the
ranks to have spilt his own, ere he would have seen his country
degraded by such an unmanly concession. Ten thousand pounds
was the disgraceful grant paid to purchase a temporary peace
with the Danes. The invaders received their money, departed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span>
and speedily returned with a greater force to demand a larger
sum. The northmen found no lack of allies in a land where
their countrymen had so long been located, who, shaking off their
allegiance to England, flew eagerly to arms, and joined the
new-comers.</p>

<p>But the old Saxon spirit was not yet wholly extinct. There
was still remaining amongst the nobles a few who were resolved
not to be plundered with impunity. With great effort they at
last succeeded in arousing the lethargic king; and by his command,
a few strong ships were built at London, and filled with
chosen soldiers; and to Alfric, the governor of Mercia, was entrusted
the guidance of the Saxon fleet. His first orders were
to sail round the southern coast, and to attack the Danes at
some particular port, in which they could easily be surrounded.
A duke and two bishops were also joined with him in the command.
Alfric turned traitor, communicated to the Danes the
meditated mode of attack, then carried with him what force he
could in the night, and secretly joined the invaders. The rest
of the fleet remained true to their unworthy king, and honestly
executed their duty; although, through the frustration of their
able plans, they found the Danish ships in full flight, and at
first were only able to capture one of the enemy's vessels. But
that courage and perseverance which have so long distinguished
the English navy, were, even in this early age, frequently evinced;
and before the Danish ships were able to regain a safe harbour,
many of them were captured by the Saxons, and, amongst the
rest, were those which the traitor Alfric had carried over to the
enemy; he, however, contrived to escape; and Ethelred,&mdash;who
had been trained in the barbarous school of Elfrida,&mdash;to avenge
the crimes committed by Alfric, ordered the eyes of his son,
Algar, to be put out. The next attack was made upon Lincolnshire,
but the command of the Saxons was again entrusted to
three chiefs of Danish origin, who appear to have crossed over,
and joined their countrymen at the commencement of the
battle.</p>

<p>It was in the spring of 994 that a formidable fleet entered the
Thames, consisting of nearly a hundred ships, and commanded
by Olaf, king of Norway, and Swein, king of Denmark. On
first landing, they took formal possession of England, according
to an ancient custom of their country, by first planting one
lance upon the shore, and throwing another into the river<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span>
they had crossed. Although some resistance was offered, and
they were compelled to abandon their original plan of plundering
London, they were enabled to over-run Essex and Kent;
and satisfied with the plunder they obtained in these counties,
they next turned their arms successfully against Sussex
and Hampshire, and in none of these places did they meet with
opposition of sufficient importance to draw forth a word of comment
from the ancient chroniclers&mdash;a strong proof of the disaffection
that must have reigned amongst the Saxons, and of the
unpopularity of Ethelred's government.</p>

<p>Instead of arming in the defence of his kingdom, Ethelred
again had recourse to his exchequer, and despatched messengers
to know the terms the Danes demanded for a cessation of hostilities.
Sixteen thousand pounds (though some of our early
historians have named a much larger sum) was the price the
northern kings now claimed for the purchase of peace. It was
paid; and the king of Norway, after having received hostages
for his safety, paid a visit to the Saxon court. While he was
Ethelred's guest he was baptized, and, as it appears, not for the
first time, for the sea-kings cared but little for changing their
creed, when rich presents accompanied the persuasions of the
Christian bishops. But whether Olaf departed a pagan or a
Christian, he solemnly promised never more to invade England,
and religiously kept his word.</p>

<p>After the lapse of about three years, Swein, king of Denmark,
again resumed his hostilities. Wessex, Wales, Cornwall,
and Devonshire, were this time ravaged. The monastery of
Tavistock was destroyed, and although laden with plunder, so
little dread had the Danes of the Saxons that they boldly took
up their quarters for the winter in the island. It is true they
were not allowed to carry on their work of destruction without
molestation; but no sooner was an attack planned and a battle
arranged, than either treason or accident overthrew or checked
the operation. A spirit of disaffection reigned amongst the
people. That earnestness of purpose, and determined valour,
which had hitherto so strongly marked the Saxon character
seemed all but to have died out. As for Ethelred, though like
his mother, handsome in features, and tall of stature, he had
neither the abilities to figure in the field nor the cabinet. William
of Malmesbury pictured his character in three words, when he
called him a "fine sleeping figure." While Swein was engaged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span>
in a war with Olaf of Norway, another army of Danes landed
in England, though under what leader has not transpired. At
every new invasion the Danes rose in their demands, and this
time their forbearance was purchased by the enormous sum of
twenty-four thousand pounds.</p>

<p>We now arrive at one of the darkest pages of English history&mdash;a
massacre which throws into shade the sanguinary slaughter
committed by the command of Hengist, at Stonehenge. By what
means this vast conspiracy was formed is not clearly stated,
although it is on record that letters were sent secretly from the
king to every city and town in England, commanding all the
Saxon people throughout the British dominions to rise on the
same day, and at the same hour, to slaughter the Danes. On
the day that ushered in the feast of St. Brice, in the year
1002, this cruel command was executed, though we trust
that there is some exaggeration in the accounts given by
the ancient chroniclers, which state, that all the Danish families
scattered throughout England; husbands, wives, children, down
to the smiling infant that pressed the nipple with "its boneless
gums," were, within the space of one brief hour, mercilessly
butchered. Even Gunhilda, the sister of Swein, the
Danish king, who had married a Saxon earl, and become a
Christian, was not saved from the inhuman massacre; and her
boy, though the son of a Saxon nobleman, was first slain before
her face, ere she herself was beheaded. For nearly five
generations had the Danes been settled down in England; yet
we fear this dreadful order spared not those whose forefathers
had been born on the soil. Through the eye of imagination we
look with horror upon such a scene. We picture near neighbours
who had lived together for years&mdash;who had, when children,
played together&mdash;who had grown up and intermarried;&mdash;we
picture the wife rising up against the husband, the father
slaying his son-in-law; for neither guest, friend, nor relation
appear to have been spared. The insolence, and excess, and
brutality of the Danish soldiers formed no excuse for the
slaughter of the more peaceable inhabitants who had so long
been allowed to occupy the land, and had become naturalized
to the soil. Pomp and grandeur, and military array, to a certain
extent, disguise the horrors of war, though they lessen not the
effect such scenes produce upon a sensitive mind: but here
there was nothing to conceal cold-blooded and naked murder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span>
from the open eye of day. But Swein is already at the head of
his fleet, riding over the billows, and to him we will now turn, as
he stands upon the deck of his vessel, breathing vengeance
against the Saxons.</p>

<p>The army which Swein led on is said to have consisted of
only the bravest and noblest soldiers. There was not a slave,
nor a freed man, nor an old man amongst the number. The
ships in which they were embarked rose long and high above the
waters, and on the stem of each was engraven the same figure
as that which was wrought upon the banner of its commander.
The vessel which bore the king of Denmark was called the Great
Sea Dragon: it was built in the shape of a serpent, the prow
curving, and forming the arched neck and fanged head of the
reptile, while over the stern of the ship hung the twisted folds
which resembled its tail. On the heads of others were semblances
of maned bulls and twined dolphins, and grim figures of
armed men, formed of gilt and burnished copper, which flashed
back the rays of sunlight, and left trails, like glittering gold,
upon the waves. When they landed, they unfurled a mysterious
flag of white silk, in the centre of which was embroidered a
black raven, with open beak, and outstretched wings, as if in
the act of seizing upon its prey. This banner, to secure victory,
according to the Scandinavian superstition, had been worked
by the hands of Swein's three sisters in one night, while they
accompanied the labour with magic songs and wild gestures.
Such was the formidable array which, in the spring of 1003,
approached the shores of England.</p>

<p>When the Danes landed, they seized upon all the horses they
could meet with, and thus formed a strong body of cavalry;
they then attacked Exeter, slew many of the inhabitants, and
plundered the city. The county of Wilts was next ravaged,
and savagely did Swein avenge the murder of his countrymen.
Castles and towns were taken in rapid succession, and wherever
they passed, they left behind them desolating traces of fire and
sword. When they were met by the Saxon army, the leader
Alfric feigned illness, and declined the contest; thus, without
scarcely a blow having been struck by the English, the Danes
ravaged and plundered the country, and slew thousands of the
inhabitants; then escaped in safety with the spoil, and regained
their ships, leaving behind them a land of mourning, which a
grievous famine was now also afflicting.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span>
In the following year, Swein returned to England with
his fleet, and destroyed Norwich. Some slight opposition was
offered to him by the East Anglians, but it was not sufficient to
prevent him from reaching his ships, and escaping, as usual,
with the plunder. Turketul, who had an interview with Swein,
drew the following vivid picture of the miseries of England at
this period. "We possess," said he, "a country illustrious and
powerful; a king asleep, solicitous only about women and wine,
and trembling at war; hated by his people, and derided by
strangers. Generals, envious of each other; and weak governors,
ready to fly at the first shout of battle."</p>

<p>In 1006, the Danes again appeared, and this time they received
thirty-six thousand pounds to forbear their hostilities.
They, however, attacked Canterbury, and made Elfeg, the archbishop,
prisoner. He was secured with chains, and removed
from one encampment to another; for they believed him to be
rich, and were resolved not to part with him, unless he first
paid a heavy ransom. The price they fixed upon was three
thousand gold pieces. "I have no money of my own," said the
archbishop, "and am resolved not to deprive my ecclesiastical
territory of a single penny on my account." It was in vain
that the Danes urged him, day after day, to raise a ransom. The
archbishop was firm, and said, "I will not rob my poor people
of that which they have need of for their sustenance." One day,
when they had been drinking freely, the primate was brought
before the Danish chiefs for pastime, bound, and seated upon a
lean, meagre-looking horse. In this pitiable plight, he was led
into the centre of the enemy's encampment, in which was
placed a huge circle of stones, and on these the sea-kings and
their followers were seated. Around them were scattered heaps
of bones of oxen, the remains of their rude repast. Some of
the chiefs sat with their drinking-horns in their hands, others
resting idly with their hands on the hilts of their swords and
battle-axes. As soon as the primate appeared in the circle,
they raised a loud shout, and exclaimed: "Give us gold, bishop&mdash;give
us gold! or we will compel thee to play such a game as
shall be talked of throughout the whole world." Elfeg calmly
answered: "I have but the gold of wisdom to offer you; receive
that, and abandon your superstitions, and become converts to the
true God." The drunken chiefs, considering this as an insult to
their religion, hastily rose up from their mock tribunal, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span>
seizing upon the legs and thigh bones of the oxen which they had
been devouring, they beat him until he fell prostrate upon the
ground. He endeavoured in vain to kneel, and offer up a last
prayer, but sank forward, through weakness; when a Danish
soldier, whom he had formerly baptized, stepped forward, and
dealt him a heavy blow on the skull with his battle-axe, and terminated
his sufferings. The body of the murdered bishop was
purchased by the Saxons, and carried to London, where it was
<span class="locked">buried.<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</a></span></p>

<p>The next method which Ethelred had recourse to, was to lay
an oppressive tax upon the land; every 310 hides of land was
assessed to build one vessel, and every eight hides to furnish a
helmet and breastplate. Thus a naval force was raised which
consisted of seven hundred and eighty-five ships, together with
armour for 30,450 men. This fleet assembled at Sandwich.
But treason and misfortune seem now to have dogged every step
which the Saxons took. Wulfnoth, who was appointed one of
the commanders, carried off twenty ships, and set up pirate.
Brihtric, another leader, pursued him with eighty vessels, part
of which the tempest wrecked, while the remainder fell into the
hands of the traitor and pirate, Wulfnoth, and he burnt them.
Such events as these extinguished the last ray of hope that
dimly gleamed upon the disheartened Saxons. The Danes had
now only to command and receive. Sixteen counties were at
once given up to them, together with the sum of £48,000.
Ethelred was now king of only a portion of England; every day
the people began to secede from him, and to shelter themselves
under the sovereignty of the king of Denmark. It would only
be a dry and wearisome catalogue of names, to run over the roll
of cities, as they one after another, opened their gates to the
Danish king. London remained faithful to the last, and it was
not until Ethelred fled to the isle of Wight, and afterwards to
Normandy, where he was kindly received by the duke, whose
daughter he had married, that the metropolis of England acknowledged
Swein as its sovereign, for the Saxons had at last become
weary of being plundered by the Danes, and of the oppressive
taxes which they had been constantly called upon to pay to their
own king; so that they sat down sternly with folded arms, under a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span>
new sovereignty, conscious that it could not be worse than the
old. Swein, however, did not survive long to wear his regal
honours, but died the year after his elevation to the English
throne. Where the ancient town of Gainsborough looks down
upon the silver Trent, that goes murmuring for miles through
the still wild marshes of Lincolnshire, did Swein, the king of
Denmark and of England, breathe his last; and a majestic pile of
ruins, yet in parts inhabited, stands upon the site of the Mercian
castle in which he died. After the death of Swein, the
Danish population of England chose his son Canute, or Knut, as
their sovereign; while the Saxon nobles sent messengers over to
Normandy, offering to restore the crown to Ethelred, if he
would "govern them more righteously than he had done before."
The king dispatched his son Edmund with the necessary pledges,
demanding in return that they should hold every Danish king
an outlaw, who should declare himself monarch of England; to
this they consented, and having pledged himself "to amend all
that had been complained of," Ethelred, the Unready, returned
to England.</p>

<p>Canute was, however, resolved to maintain the crown which
his father had won, and in order to intimidate the Saxons, he
landed at Sandwich the hostages which Swein had received
from the English as pledges of their good faith and submission,
after having cruelly cut their hands and faces; these chiefly consisted
of the sons of the Saxon nobility&mdash;a savage retaliation for
the Danish massacre which Ethelred had authorized.</p>

<p>Following the policy adopted by Athelstan, Ethelred now
made an offer of high rewards to every warrior, of whatever
country, who chose to come and fight under the Saxon standard&mdash;many
came, and amongst the number, Olave, a celebrated
Vikingr, who afterwards obtained the crown of Norway. Canute
also secured the aid of one of the Norwegian earls, named Eric.</p>

<p>Edmund, surnamed Ironside, who was the illegitimate son of
Ethelred, now began to distinguish himself by his opposition to
the Danish king, and to him the Saxons already looked up as a
deliverer, even before his father died, which event took place at
the close of the year 1016. As the struggles between the
English and the Danes were carried on with great vigour by
Edmund Ironside and Canute, they become matter of history
which are connected with the next brief reign.</p>

<p>We find a gloomy picture of the miserable state of England,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span>
during the sovereignty of Ethelred, in the following complaint
made by a Saxon bishop who was living at the period: "We perpetually
pay the Danes tribute," says this old divine, "and they
ravage us daily. They burn, spoil, and plunder, and carry off
our property to their ships. Such is their successful valour,
that one of them will in battle, put ten of our men to flight.
Two or three will drive a troop of captive Christians through
the country, from sea to sea. Very often they seize the wives
and daughters of our thanes, and cruelly violate them before the
great chieftain's face. The slave of yesterday becomes the
master of his lord to-day, or he abandons his master, flies to the
sea-kings, and seeks his owner's life in the first battle that is
waged against us. Soldiers, famine, flames, and effusion of
blood, are found on every side. Theft and murder, pestilences,
diseases, calumny, hatred, and rapine, dreadfully afflict us.
Widows are frequently compelled into unjust marriages; many
are reduced to penury and are pillaged. The poor men are sorely
seduced, and cruelly betrayed, and though innocent, are sold far
out of this land to foreign slavery. Cradle-children are made
slaves out of this nation, through an atrocious violation of the
law for little stealings. The right of freedom is taken away;
the rights of the servile are narrowed, and the right of charity is
diminished. Freemen may not govern themselves, nor go where
they wish, nor possess their own as they like. Slaves are not
suffered to enjoy what they have obtained from their allowed
leisure, nor what good men have benevolently given for them.
The clergy are robbed of their franchises, and stripped of all
their <span class="locked">comforts."<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</a></span> Such was England at the period when the
sceptre was all but wrested from the descendants of Alfred, and
about to be wielded by the hand of a Danish king. At the last
struggle which was made to retain it, before the Saxon glory
was for a time eclipsed, we have now arrived.</p>
<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDMUND, SURNAMED IRONSIDE.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"His death, whose spirit lent a fire<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Being bruited once, took fire and heat away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the best tempered courage in his troops:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For from his metal was his party steeled;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which, once in him abated, all the rest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Edmund, who, for his valour and hardy constitution, was
surnamed Ironside, had already distinguished himself against
the Danes, and shown signs of promise, which foretold that,
whenever the sceptre fell into his hand, it would be ably
wielded. Like those meteoric brilliancies which startle us by
their sudden splendour, then instantly depart, so was his career&mdash;bright,
beautiful, and brief. We perceive a trailing glory
along the sky over which he passed, but no steady burning of
the star that left it behind. Had he ascended the throne at a
peaceful and prosperous period, he might probably have dozed
away his days in apathy; for he was one of those spirits born to
blaze upon the fiery front of danger, and either speedily to consume,
or be consumed. He began by measuring his stature
against a giant, and raised himself so high by his valiant deportment,
that had a little longer time been allowed him to
develope his growth, he would have overtopped the great
Canute, by whose side he stood.</p>

<p>He had scarcely leisure to put off the mourning which he had
worn at his father's funeral, before he was compelled to arm in
defence of the capital of the kingdom; for the Danish forces,
headed by Canute, had already laid siege to London, and nearly
the half of England was at that period in the possession of his
enemies. The struggle to carry the capital was maintained
with great spirit by the besiegers, and as bravely repelled by
the besieged; and the wall which then ran along the whole front
of the city, beside the Thames, was the scene of many a valorous
exploit. A bridge, even at this early period, stretched over
into Southwark, and on the Surrey side it was stoutly defended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span>
by the enemy, who for a long time held the Saxons at bay; for
they were strengthened by the ships which Canute had brought
up from Greenwich, and placed on the west side of the bridge;
thus cutting off all aid from the river; while he left a part of his
fleet below, to guard against surprise from the mouth of the
Thames. London was so strongly protected by its fortresses and
citizens, that Edmund was enabled to remove a great portion of
his army, and to fight two battles in the provinces during the
time it was besieged.</p>

<p>The most important of these was his engagement at Scearstan,
where he addressed his soldiers before commencing the
battle, and so kindled their valour by his eloquence, that at the
first onset, which was sounded by the braying of the trumpets,
the Danish soldiers staggered as if the weight of a mighty
avalanche had come thundering down amongst them. Edmund
himself fought amid the foremost ranks&mdash;there was no sword
that went deeper into the advanced line of the enemy than his
own&mdash;no arm that made such bleeding gaps as the sovereign's.
He seemed as if present in almost every part of the field at
once&mdash;wherever his eager eye caught a wavering motion in the
ranks, there he was seen to rally, and cheer them on. Edric,
who had long been in the service of Ethelred, fought on the side
of Canute, and by his influence arrayed the men of Wiltshire
and Somerset against Edmund. So obstinately was the battle
maintained on both sides, that neither party could claim the
victory when night settled down upon the hard-fought field.</p>

<p>The dawn of a summer morning saw the combat renewed.
While yet the silver dew hung pure and rounded upon the
blood-stained grass, the Saxon trumpets sounded the charge.
Foremost as ever in the conflict, Edmund fought his way into
the very thickest of the strife, until he found himself face to
face with Canute. The first blow which the Saxon king aimed
at his enemy, Canute received upon his shield: it was cloven
asunder; and with such force had the sword of Edmund descended,
that after severing the buckler, the edge of the weapon
went deep into the neck of the horse which the Danish king
bestrode. The English monarch still stood alone amid a crowd
of Danes, making such destructive circles with his two-handed
sword, that no one dared approach him. After having slightly
wounded Canute, and slain several of his choicest warriors,
Edmund was compelled to fall back amongst his own soldiers,
whom he now found in retreat and confusion.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span>
While Edmund was thus busily engaged in the very heart of
the battle, the traitor Edric had struck off the head of a soldier,
named Osmear, whose countenance closely resembled that of the
king, and holding it by the hair, he had ridden rapidly along
the Saxon lines, exclaiming: "Fly! fly! and save yourselves&mdash;behold
the head of your king." Edmund had just succeeded in
fighting his way through the Danish ranks, when he beheld the
panic which Edric had spread amongst the soldiers&mdash;his first act
was to seize a spear and hurl it at the traitor&mdash;he stooped, missed
the blow, and the weapon pierced two soldiers who stood near
him. Edmund then threw down his helmet, and taking the
advantage of a rising ground, stood up bareheaded, and called
upon his warriors to renew the combat; but many were already
beyond hearing. It was now near sunset, for the conflict had
lasted all day long, and those who rallied around him were just
sufficient to keep up the struggle without retreating, until darkness
again dropped down upon the scene. So ended the second
day, and neither side could claim the victory. Edmund again
encamped upon the battle-field, for he had still sufficient faith in
the force that remained with him to renew the contest in the
morning. Day-dawn, however, revealed the departure of the
Danes, and the Saxons found themselves alone, surrounded by
the wounded and the dead; for Canute had taken advantage of
the midnight darkness, and retreated from the field. The
Danish king hurried off with his army to renew the siege of
London; Edmund followed him, and drove the enemy as far as
Brentford. Here another battle took place; and as we find
Canute, soon after, once more beleaguering the capital, the advantages
the Saxon king gained could only have been slight.
Seeing that he could make no impression upon London, Canute
next led his army into Mercia, where he appears to have met
with but little opposition; he is said to have burnt every town
he approached. At Otford, in Kent, Edmund once more
attacked the Danish king, and drove him to Sheppey. Unfortunately,
the Saxon sovereign had admitted Edric the traitor
again into his friendship, and he betrayed him; but for this, it is
questionable if Canute could have maintained another attack.</p>

<p>It was on the eve of one of these battles, in which the northmen
were defeated, that a Danish chief, named Ulfr, who was
hotly pursued by the Saxons, rushed into a wood, in the hurry
of defeat, and lost his way. It was no uncommon hardship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span>
for a sea-king to throw himself at the foot of the nearest
oak, pillow his head upon the root, and sleep soundly until the
morning; he would only miss the murmur of the ocean, and,
to make up for its lulling sound, would be saved the trouble of
raising his hand every now and then to sweep off the salt spray
that dashed over him. But the dawn of day found him no
better off than the midnight; he would have known what course
to have steered had he been out alone upon the open ocean, but
in a forest, where one tree looked, in his eyes, just like another,
he knew not on what tack to sail. After wandering about for
some time, he met a Saxon peasant, who was driving home his
oxen, at that early hour, for it was probably dangerous to allow
them to be found in the forest after daylight, as the forest-laws
were already severe. The Danish chief first accosted the churl,
by inquiring his name. "It is Godwin," answered the peasant;
"and you are one of the Danes who were compelled yesterday
to fly for your life." The sea-king acknowledged it was true,
and asked the herdsman if he could guide him either to the
Danish ships, or to where the army was encamped. "The Dane
must be mad," answered Godwin, "who trusts to a Saxon for
safety." Ulfr entreated this rude Gurth of the forest to point him out
the way, at the same time urging his argument by presenting the
herdsman with a massive gold ring, to win his favour. Godwin
looked at the ring&mdash;it was probably the first time in his life he
had ever seen so costly a treasure&mdash;and after having carefully
examined it, he again placed it in the hand of the sea-king, and
said, "I will not take this, but will show you the way." Ulfr
spent the day at the herdsman's cottage; night came, and found
Godwin in readiness to be his guide. The herdsman had an
aged father, who, before he permitted his son to depart, thus
addressed the Danish chief&mdash;"It is my only son whom I allow
to accompany you; to your good faith I entrust him; for, remember,
that there will no longer be any safety for him
amongst his countrymen, if it is once known that he has been
your guide. Present him to your king, and entreat him to
take my son into his service." Ulfr promised, and he kept his
word, since there is no doubt that the young herdsman had
gained upon his favour during the journey, for when the sea-king
reached the Danish encampment, he took the peasant into
his own tent, placed him upon a seat, (a great honour in those
days,) which was as high as the one he himself occupied, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span>
treated him as if he had been his own son. This humble cowherd,
who afterwards married the sea-king's sister, will, ere
long, have to figure amongst the most prominent characters in
our history, but we must leave him for a time, and follow the
fortunes of the Saxon king, Edmund.</p>

<p>After sustaining the alternations of victory and defeat&mdash;having
been again betrayed by Edric, and making an offer to Canute
to decide the fate of the kingdom by single combat, a challenge
which the Danish king is generally believed to have declined&mdash;a
treaty was entered into by the rival sovereigns, in which it
was agreed that England should be divided between them.
They then, to all appearance, became friends, exchanged gifts
and garments, and the opposing armies for a time separated:
Edmund to reign in the south, and Canute to be king of the
north&mdash;the exact division of the kingdom is not recorded. It
was, however, a hollow treaty on the part of the Dane, who is
said afterwards to have rewarded every one who brought him the
head of a Saxon.</p>

<p>Edmund did not long survive this treaty; that he was assassinated,
there remains not a doubt, but where, or by whose
hand, is unknown. Two of his own chamberlains are said to
have been bribed, by either Edric or Canute, to destroy him.
His death took place in the year 1016. Unlike Ethelred, "he
was long and deeply lamented by his people," though his reign
was so short. With his death, all hopes of regaining the
kingdom from the power of the Danes seems, for a time, to
have departed, and Canute was allowed to sit down upon the
Saxon throne without opposition. More than five hundred
years, with but few intervals of peace between, had elapsed since
Hengist and Horsa first landed in the Isle of Thanet; yet all
the blood which during that long period had been spilt, had been
insufficient to cement firmly together the foundation on which the
tottering throne was erected. Neither the blood of Britons,
Romans, Saxons, nor Danes, could extinguish the volcano which
was ever bursting from beneath it; the cry that issued forth
was still, "Give, give!"</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">CANUTE THE DANE.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">"He doth bestride the world<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like a Colossus: and we petty men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Walk under his huge legs, and peep about<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To find ourselves dishonourable graves."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">By the death of Edmund, Canute became king of all England
in the twentieth year of his age. Before his coronation took place,
he assembled the Saxon nobles and bishops, and Danish chiefs
in London, who had been witnesses to the treaty entered into
between himself and Edmund, when the kingdom was divided;
and either by intimidation, persuasion, or presents, succeeded
in obtaining their unanimous assent to his succession to the
crown. In return for this acknowledgment, he promised to
act justly and righteously, and placed his bare hand upon the
hands of his chiefs and nobles as a token of his sincerity. But
in spite of these promises, the commencement of his reign was
marked by acts of unnecessary severity and cruelty. Those who
had been in any way related to either Ethelred or Edmund, he
banished; and many who had taken a prominent part in the late
struggles to support the Saxon monarchy, he put to death.
He also decreed that Edwig, the half-brother of Edward, should
be slain. The late king had left two children, one of whom
was named Edmund after himself, and the other Edward;
Canute, with the approbation of the Saxon nobles, became
their guardian; and no sooner were they placed within his
power, than he meditated their destruction; but a fear that his
throne was not sufficiently established to prevent the Saxons
from rising to revenge their death, caused him to postpone it;
and under the plea of securing their safety, the children were
committed to the charge of the king of Sweden; the messenger
who accompanied them at the same time giving instructions
that they were to be secretly killed. But the Swedish sovereign
was not willing to become a murderer at the bidding of
Canute, and therefore committed the children to the care of the
king of Hungary, by whom they were preserved and educated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span>
Edmund died, but Edward lived to marry the daughter of the
emperor of Germany, and from their union sprang Edgar
Atheling, a name that afterwards figures in the pages of
History.</p>

<p>Edward and Alfred, the remaining sons of Ethelred, were
still safe at the court of their uncle, Richard, duke of Normandy,
with their mother, Emma, the dowager queen; and scarcely
was Canute seated upon the throne before the Norman duke
despatched an embassy to the English court, demanding that
the crown of England should be restored to his eldest nephew.
Emma, it will be remembered, was herself a Norman, and
although she became the wife of Ethelred, her sympathies never
seem to have leaned much on the side of the Saxons. As early
as the time of the invasion of Swein, she had fled to her
brother's court with her children, nor does it appear that she
returned with her husband, Ethelred, when he was reinstated
upon the throne. Whether the proposition first emanated
from Canute, or her brother, the Norman duke, is somewhat
uncertain; but whichever way it might be, it was soon
followed up by the marriage of Emma, the widow of Ethelred,
the dowager-queen of the Saxons, with Canute, the Danish
king, and now the sole sovereign of England. The murdering,
the banishing, the usurping Dane, became the husband of "The
Flower of Normandy." After her union, it is said that she
paid no regard to the Saxon princes whom she left at her
brother's court, but, like an unnatural mother, abandoned
them to chance; and that, as they grew up, they forgot even
the language of their native country, and followed the habits
and customs of the Normans, for Emma soon became the
mother of a son by Canute, and disowned for ever her Saxon
offspring.</p>

<p>After his marriage with Emma, Canute disbanded the greater
portion of his Danish troops, and reserving only forty of his
native ships, sent back the remainder of his fleet to Denmark.
Canute then chiefly confined his government to that part of the
island which Alfred the Great had reigned over; for it is on
record that he ever held in the highest veneration the memory
of this celebrated king. He made Turketul, to whom he was
greatly indebted for the subjection of England, governor of
East Anglia. To Eric, the Norwegian prince, he gave the
government of Northumbria, and to the traitor, Edric, Mercia.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span>
Although he had in turn deserted Ethelred, Edmund, and even
Canute himself, he entrusted to him the government of this
kingdom. The traitor, however, was not allowed to retain the
dignities of his new dukedom long: a quarrel is said to have taken
place between him and Canute, in the palace which overlooked the
Thames at London. Edric is said to have urged his claim to
greater rewards, by exclaiming, in the heat of his passion, "I first
deserted Edmund to benefit you, and for you I killed him."
Canute paced the apartment, angrily, coloured deeply, bit his lips,
and while his eyes, which were always unnaturally fierce and
bright, seemed to flash fire, he replied, "'Tis fit, then, you should
die, for your treason to God and me. You killed your own lord!
him who by treaty and friendship was my brother! Your blood
be upon your own head for murdering the Lord's anointed; your
own lips bear witness against you." Such a sentence came but
with an ill grace from one who had encouraged, countenanced,
and rewarded villany; but Canute, though young, was a deep
adept in the blackest arts of kingcraft. He either called in, or
gave a secret signal to Eric, the Norwegian, who most likely
was present at the interview; for, having killed one king, we
should hardly think Canute considered himself safe, alone
with a murderer; but be this as it may, Eric laid him lifeless
with one blow from his battle-axe; and, without creating any
disturbance in the palace, the body of Edric was thrown out of
the window into the Thames. The old historians considerably
differ in their descriptions of the manner of his death, though
the majority agree that the deed was done in the palace at
London.</p>

<p>In 1019, so firmly had Canute established himself upon the
throne of England, that he paid a visit to his native country of
Denmark, where he passed the winter. But the government of
England appears not to have been conducted to his satisfaction
during his absence, for on his return he banished the duke
Ethelwerd, whom he had left in a situation of great trust, and,
shortly after, Turketul, the governor of East Anglia. A
Swedish fleet, soon after this period, is said to have attacked
the forces of Canute, and the victory, on the side of the English,
is rumoured to have been owing to the valour of Godwin, who,
at the close of the reign of Edmund, was a humble cowherd, but
had, in the space of a few brief years, risen to the dignity of an
earl. In his conflict with the Swedes, Ulfr, the patron of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span>
Godwin, was instrumental in saving Canute's life. After this
they quarrelled at a feast. It appears that they were amusing
themselves with some game at the time, and that Ulfr, well
acquainted with the natural irritability of the Dane's temper,
had either retired, or was about to retreat, when Canute accused
him of cowardice. Ulfr, ill-brooking an accusation which he
seems never to have merited, angrily exclaimed, "Was I a
coward when I rescued you from the fangs of the Swedish
dogs?" As in the case of Edric, the Dane liked not to have
those about him to whom he had been obliged; it was indifferent
to him whether they did his work by valour or treachery;
thus, shortly after, Ulfr was stabbed by the command of
Canute, while performing his religious duties in a neighbouring
church.</p>

<p>He next turned his attention towards Norway, over which
Eglaf, or St. Olave, as he has been called by some, now reigned.
The Dane is said to have commenced his attack by corrupting
the Norwegian subjects with presents of money. This done,
he went boldly over, with a fleet of fifty ships, carrying with
him many of the bravest of the Saxon nobles. From the
preparations which he had made, and the formidable force
with which he appeared, he was received with that apparent
welcome which necessity is sometimes compelled to accord,
and, wherever he approached, was hailed as "Lord." After
having carried away with him as hostages the sons and relations
of the principal Norwegian chiefs, he appointed Haco, the son
of that Eric whose battle-axe was ever ready to do his bidding,
governor of the kingdom. Haco returned to England for his
wife, who was residing at the castle of his father, the governor
of Northumbria, but a heavy storm coming on, he was unable
to land. His ship was last seen looming in the evening sunset,
off Caithness, in Scotland, while the wind was blowing heavily
in the direction of Pentland Frith, but neither Haco, his crew,
nor his ship, were ever beheld again, after the sun had sunk
behind the billows.</p>

<p>After this, Eglaf returned to the throne of Norway, and was
put to death by the hands of his subjects for making laws and
founding institutions which were calculated to accelerate the
progress of learning and civilization. Norway, which had for
centuries sent from its stormy shores such swarms of sea-kings
and pirates, could not be brought to understand that they should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span>
ever reap such benefits, if they changed their habits of rapine
and robbery for those of honesty and industry, and the more
rational pleasures of civilized life. They understood the laws
of "strandhug," and they acknowledged no other. If they
landed upon a hospitable shore, amongst a nation with whom
they were at peace, and found their provisions growing short,
they recruited their stock from the flocks and herds they saw
grazing in the neighbouring pastures, paid whatever amount
they pleased as the value of the animals they had slaughtered,
carried off corn and drink under the same free-trade tariff; and
sometimes, when remonstrated with on the smallness of the
amount paid, settled the balance by the blow of a battle-axe.</p>

<p>Although Canute was the son of a pagan, he became a
zealous Christian, rebuilt many of the monasteries which his
father had burnt, endowed others, and, either from a feeling of
piety, or to ingratiate himself with the Saxons, he erected a
monument to Elfeg, the archbishop, at Canterbury, whose
violent death had doubtless been accelerated by those very
veterans who had assisted him in conquering the Saxons.</p>

<p>Not content with honouring the murdered archbishop with a
monument, he resolved that the body should be placed in the
abbey which had witnessed the services of so pious a primate;
so he demanded the body of the bishop from the inhabitants of
London, who had purchased it from the Danes, and buried it in
their own city. The Londoners, however, refused to deliver it
up; when the Dane, mingling the old habits of the sea-king
with his devotions, put on his helmet and breastpiece, placed
himself at the head of his troops, carried off the coffin by force,
and, between two long lines of his armed soldiers, that were
drawn up on each side of the street which led from the church
to the Thames, had the dead body of the archbishop borne to
the war-ship, which stood ready to receive it. There is something
of magnificence in such an act of barbarous veneration as
this, which was accomplished without either injury or bloodshed;
and we can imagine that in every corner of the London of
that day, nothing was talked of but the daring piety of Canute,
which had led him to carry off the body of their reputed saint;
that public opinion would be divided in the motives it attributed
to such an act; that little groups would assemble at the corners
of the streets, and that long after twilight had settled down
upon the old city, their conversation would still be about Canute<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span>
and his soldiers, and the enormous war-ship, with its gilt
figure-head, that resembled a dragon, and the dead bishop
it would carry away; then the city-gates would be closed, and
over all would reign the ancient midnight silence and darkness,
while the dragon-headed ship and the Danes went slowly down
the silver Thames, freighted with the king, and the coffin, and
the murdered man.</p>

<p>There appears, at a first glance, something incongruous in
such an act as that of Canute's carrying off the dead body of
the bishop by force, when it was done with the intent of
making a favourable impression upon the Saxons; yet we must
not forget the stout resistance made by the capital in the
defence of Edmund, which the Danish king seems also to have
borne in mind, when he exacted from the city the sum of eleven
thousand pounds.</p>

<p>Canute seems to have been a man in whom the elements of refinement
and barbarism, which our ancient writers love to dwell
upon in their moral masks, were oddly blended; he was one
who believed that cruelty was necessary in the administration
of justice, but looked with horror upon a deed that was committed
without the pale of this shadowy boundary.</p>

<p>In a moment of unguarded passion, he with his own hand
slew one of his soldiers; thereby committing a deed which,
according to his own laws, the penalty was, in its mildest form,
a heavy mulct. After reflecting upon the crime he was guilty
of, and the evil example he was setting to others, he assembled
his army, and, arrayed in his royal robes, descended from his
gorgeous throne in the midst of the armed ranks; expressed his
sorrow for the deed he had done, and demanded that he should
be tried and punished like the humblest subject over whom he
reigned. He further offered a free pardon to his judges, however
severe might be the judgment they passed upon him; then
throwing himself prostrate upon the ground, in silence awaited
their verdict. Many a hardy soldier, whose weather-beaten
cheeks were seamed with the scars of battle, is said to have shed
tears as he beheld the royal penitent thus prostrate at his
feet. Those who were appointed judges retired for a few moments
to deliberate; but either believing that Canute was not
sincere, or having the example of those before their eyes who
had formerly done his bidding, they timidly resolved to allow
him to appoint his own punishment. This he did, and as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span>
fine for killing a man was then forty talents of silver, he
sentenced himself to pay three hundred and sixty, beside nine
talents of gold. It would, perhaps, be uncharitable to say that
the whole affair was a mere mockery; but when we remember
that a word from his lips could wring a thousand times that
amount from the oppressed Saxons, and that he himself had
compelled them to pay heavier taxes than had ever been demanded
by their own native kings, we are surely justified in
concluding, that after all, he acquitted himself on very moderate
terms.</p>

<p>During the ravages of the Danes, the tribute which the
Saxons paid to Rome had been suspended. This Canute resolved
to revive; and, as if to make up for the ravages of his
countrymen, the sea-kings, for the monks they had murdered,
and the churches they had destroyed, he inflicted a tax of a
penny on every inhabited house, which was called Peter's-pence;
thus further punishing the poor Saxons, by levying a
fine upon them "to the praise and glory of God," for so was the
royal ordinance worded, that they might show their gratitude to
mother church, through the hands of those who had been instrumental
in slaughtering their priests, overthrowing their altars,
and desolating their land. In brief, it was the descendant of
the murderer levying a tax upon the relatives of the murdered
to purchase forgiveness for the slayer&mdash;one of those crooked
paths by which, in that barbarous age, men hoped to reach
Heaven.</p>

<p>The plan he adopted to reprove his flattering courtiers displayed,
at best, much unnecessary show. A man who, by his valour
and abilities, had ascended a throne which had been occupied by
a long line of kings, and although an open enemy, had compelled
a powerful nation to acknowledge him as their sovereign&mdash;one
who had himself ridden over the stormy sea, and been tossed
like a weed from billow to billow, can never be supposed to have
entertained the thought for a moment that the angry ocean with
its rising tide would obey him, or roll back its restless waves
when he commanded. It was the same love of display which
caused him to erect the throne in the midst of his army, and
step forth in his royal robes, the haughty king, while he assumed
the part of the humble penitent for having slain one of his
soldiers. The same theatrical display which caused him to
order his lumbering throne to be placed beside the sea-shore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span>
and to sit down in all his kingly dignity, robed, crowned, and
sceptered&mdash;the gilt and tinsel that are so effective beyond the
footlights&mdash;induced him to adopt this stage effect; for Canute,
in the dress of a common man, with his foot in the spray,
would not have produced half that impression upon his audience,
many of whom, we can readily imagine, must have felt disgusted
at such useless parade. In a pompous manner, he is said to
have thus addressed his courtiers:&mdash;"Confess ye now how
frivolous and vain is the might of an earthly king compared to
that Great Power who rules the elements, and can say unto the
ocean, 'Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.'" We should
not probably err much if, instead of the words uttered by the
Danish king, something like the following was the real language
of his inward thought, and that, as he looked sternly upon them,
he said to himself, "Think not that I believe you such idiots as
to suppose that the sea will obey my bidding&mdash;a breath of mine
would sever the proudest head that now rises above the beach. I
alone am king, more powerful than any present, and I only
want to prove that there is but One mightier than I am, and
that while the waves wash my feet, they would surely drown
such common rascals as you all are." In a word, the whole
scene is too rich a piece of mockery to be treated seriously. It
is as if a man mounted a lofty steeple, and threw down his hat,
merely to convince the spectators below that if his head had
been in it, it would assuredly have been broken. It is but the
old cry of the Mahometan fruit-seller, which ends with, "In
the name of the prophet&mdash;figs." Another proof of his overbearing
vanity is given in his conduct to Thorarin, the Danish
bard. The poet had written some verses in praise of Canute.
It appears that the king was either engaged or seated at the
banquet when the scald intreated of him to listen to the verses
which he had written, urging as a reason, what a patron in
modern times would most likely have listened to&mdash;namely, that
they were but short. The Dane, however, true to his character,
in a love of display and praise, turned round indignantly upon
Thorarin, and in an angry tone exclaimed, "Are you not
ashamed to do what none but yourself would dare&mdash;to write a
<i>short</i> poem upon me? Unless by to-morrow at noon you produce
above thirty verses on the same subject, your head shall be
forfeited." The poor bard retired, and having whipped his muse
into the finest order for lying and flattering, he by the next day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span>
produced such a splendid piece of adulation, that the praise-loving
monarch rewarded him with fifty marks of silver.</p>

<div id="ip_262" class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"><img src="images/i_296.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Canute rebuking his Courtiers.</i></div></div>

<p>Following the example of the Saxon kings, Canute made a
pilgrimage to Rome, to visit the tombs of the saints: although
accompanied by a large train of attendants, he himself bore a
wallet upon his shoulder, and carried a long pilgrim's staff in
his hand. On every altar he, with his own hand, placed rich
gifts&mdash;doubtless, wrung from many a poor Saxon&mdash;pressed the
pavement with his lips, and knelt down before the shrines; he
purchased the arm of St. Augustine, for which he paid a hundred
talents of gold and the same number of talents in silver,
and this he afterwards presented to the church of Coventry.
He then despatched a letter to England, which has been frequently
quoted by ancient historians. It is curious as a specimen of
early epistolary art, and places the character of Canute in a much
more favourable light than the incidents which we have above
described; and as we obtain through it glimpses of the manners
and customs of this remote period, we shall present it <span class="locked">entire:&mdash;</span></p>

<p>"Knut, king of England and Denmark, to all the bishops
and primates and all the English people, greeting. I hereby
announce to you that I have been to Rome for the remission of
my sins, and the welfare of my kingdoms. I humbly thank the
Almighty God for having granted me, once in my life, the grace
of visiting in person his very holy apostles Peter and Paul,
and all the saints who have their habitation, either within the
walls, or without the Roman city. I determined upon this
journey because I had learned from the mouths of wise men,
that the apostle Peter possesses great power to bind or to loose,
and that he keeps the keys of the celestial kingdom; wherefore,
I thought it useful to solicit specially his favour and patronage
with God.</p>

<p>"During the Easter solemnity was held here a great assembly
of illustrious persons,&mdash;namely, pope John, the emperor Kunrad,
and all the chief men of the nations from Mount Gargano to the
sea which surrounds us. All received me with great distinction,
and honoured me with rich presents. I have received vases of
gold and silver, and stuffs and vestments of great price; I have
conversed with the emperor, the lord pope, and the other princes,
upon the wants of all the people of my kingdoms, English and
Danes. I have endeavoured to obtain for my people justice
and security in their pilgrimages to Rome, and especially that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span>
they may not for the future be delayed on their road by the
closing of the mountain passes, or vexed by enormous tolls. I
also complained to the lord pope of the immensity of the sums
extorted, to this day, from my archbishops, when, according to
custom, they repair to the apostolical court to obtain the pallium.
It has been decided that this shall not occur for the
future.</p>

<p>"I would also have you know that I have made a vow to
Almighty God to regulate my life by the dictates of virtue, and
to govern my people with justice. If during the impetuosity
of my youth I have done anything contrary to equity, I will for
the future, with the help of God, amend this to the best of my
power; wherefore, I require and command all my councillors,
and those to whom I have confided the affairs of my kingdom,
to lend themselves to no injustice, either in fear of me, or to
favour the powerful. I recommend them, if they prize my
friendship and their own lives, to do no harm or violence to
any man, rich or poor: let every one, in his place, enjoy that
which he possesses, and not be disturbed in that enjoyment,
either in the king's name, or in the name of any other person;
nor under pretext of levying money for my treasury, for I need
no money obtained by unjust means.</p>

<p>"I propose to return to England this summer, and as soon as
the preparations for my embarkation shall be completed. I
intreat and order you all, bishops and officers of my kingdom
of England, by the faith you owe to God and to me, to see that
before my return all our debts to God be paid&mdash;namely, the
plough dues, the tithe of animals born within the year, and the
pence due to Saint Peter from every house in town and country;
and further, at mid-August, the tithe of the harvest, and at
Martinmas, the first fruit of the seed; and if, on my landing,
these dues are not fully paid, the royal power will be exercised
upon defaulters, according to the rigour of the law and without
any mercy."</p>

<p>Canute died in the year 1035, and was buried at Winchester.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">REIGNS OF HAROLD HAREFOOT AND HARDICANUTE.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container"><div class="poem">
<dl>
  <dt>&nbsp;</dt>
    <dd><span class="in4">"What need I fear of thee?</span></dd>
    <dd>But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure,</dd>
    <dd>And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live,</dd>
    <dd>That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,</dd>
    <dd class="bpad">And sleep in spite of thunder."</dd>
  <dt><span class="smcap">Barnardine.</span></dt>
    <dd class="iq">"I have been drinking hard all night;</dd>
    <dd class="bpad">I will not consent to die this day, that's certain.</dd>
  <dt><span class="smcap">Duke.</span></dt>
    <dd>O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you,</dd>
    <dd class="bpad">Look forward on the journey you shall go."</dd>
    <dd class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span></dd>
</dl>
</div></div>

<p class="in0">While even the succession to the Saxon throne was sometimes
disputed when not a doubt remained about the right of a claimant
to the crown, it will not be wondered at, as at his death
Canute left three sons, two of whom were beyond doubt illegitimate,
that there should be some difference of opinion among
the chiefs and earls respecting the election of a new sovereign.
Hardicanute was the undoubted offspring of Emma and Canute;
she, it will be remembered, being the widow of Ethelred at the
time of her marriage with the Danish king. There is a doubt
whether Harold, who ascended the throne after the death of
Canute, was in any way related to the Danish king; or that
his pretended mother, whose name was Alfgiva, and who was
never married to Canute, finding that she was likely to have no
children, passed off the son of a poor cobbler&mdash;whom she named
Harold&mdash;as her own. It is said that Swein, the other reputed
son of Canute, was introduced by her in the same way. The
latter, Canute placed upon the throne of Norway during his
lifetime, also expressing a wish before his death that Harold
should rule over England, and that Hardicanute, his undisputed
son, should succeed him as king of Denmark. Beside these
claimants, it must be borne in mind that the children of
Ethelred were still alive, although, as we have before shown,
wholly neglected by the twice-widowed queen, Emma. The
witena-gemot assembled at Oxford to elect a new sovereign;
and as there were by this time several Danish chiefs among the
council, a division at once took place, the Danish party making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span>
choice of Harold, while the Saxons, headed by the powerful
earl Godwin, once the humble cowherd, preferred Hardicanute,
because his mother had been the wife of a Saxon
king. A third party advocated the claims of the sons of
Ethelred, who were still in Normandy. Leofric, earl of Mercia,
ranged his forces on the side of Harold; and even London
shook off its allegiance to the old Saxon line, and proclaimed in
his favour.</p>

<p>Although Hardicanute was in Denmark, earl Godwin resolved
to maintain his right to the throne; and it was not
until the country was on the very eve of a civil war, and
when many of the inhabitants had fled into the wild parts to
avoid its ravages, that the Saxon earl compelled the partisans
of Harold to give up all the provinces south of the Thames to
Hardicanute. Thus Godwin and Emma ruled in the south, in
behalf of Hardicanute, and held their court at Winchester;
while Harold, with London for his capital, and the whole
country north of the Thames for his dominions, was acknowledged
king of England; although it is on record, that the archbishop
refused to crown him, because the children of Ethelred
were still alive; that he even forbade any of the bishops to administer
the benediction, but placing the crown and sceptre
upon the altar, left him to crown, anoint, and bless himself
as he best could.</p>

<p>But whoever's son Harold might be, he resented this slight
with all the spirit of a true sea-king. He crowned himself
without the aid of the Saxon bishops; despised their blessings,
and, instead of attending church, sallied out with his hounds to
hunt during the hours of divine service; and so fleet was he of
foot in following the chase, that he obtained the surname of
Harefoot. He set no store by the Christian religion, but defied
all the bishops in Christendom, sounded his hunting horn while
the holy anthem was chaunted, and conducted himself in every
way like a hard-drinking, misbelieving Dane.</p>

<p>We again arrive at one of those mysterious incidents which
occasionally darken the pages of history, and render it difficult
to get at the real actors of the tragedy. A letter is written&mdash;the
sons of Ethelred are invited over to England. One arrives&mdash;he is
to all appearance hospitably received; in the night his followers
are murdered, and he himself shortly after put to a most cruel
death. That the events we are about to record took place, has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span>
never been doubted; the obscurity that will, probably, for ever
reign around them, conceals the real instigator of the deed.</p>

<p>Emma, it appears, was at this time living at the court of
Harold in London, when a letter arrived at Normandy (as if
from her), earnestly urging her sons, Edward and Alfred, to
return to England&mdash;stating, that the Saxons were already weary
of the Danish king, and were anxious to place the crown upon
either of their heads. The letter was answered by Alfred, the
youngest, appearing in person, accompanied by a troop of Norman
soldiers; which was contrary to the advice of the letter, as
the instructions it contained especially requested them to come
secretly. He first attempted to land at Sandwich, but why he
altered his mind, and went round the North Foreland, has never
been satisfactorily accounted for; for we cannot see what difference
it made whether earl Godwin received him at one point
or the other. It is, however, just probable that a party of
Danes, or those who were favourable to Harold, may by chance,
or by command, have been stationed at the spot Alfred first
selected for debarkation, the secret having got bruited abroad.</p>

<p>But be this as it may, the Saxon prince at last landed somewhere
between Herne-bay and the Isle of Sheppy, and when he
had advanced a short distance into the country he was met by
earl Godwin, who swore fealty to him, and promised to bring
him safely to his mother Emma, wishing him, however, to avoid
London, where Harold then resided, and with whom there is
some slight reason to believe Godwin was now in league, though
this suspicion hangs by a very slender thread. It is probable
that the powerful earl took a dislike to the strong body of
Normans who accompanied Alfred; and, jealous that the power
he sought to obtain by raising the Saxon prince to the throne
of England might be weakened by these retainers, he resolved
to cut them off at once, then make the best terms he could.</p>

<p>The Saxon prince and his followers, who amounted to about
seven hundred, were quartered for the night in the town of
Guildford, just as accommodation could be found for them, in
parties of ten and twelve&mdash;in every lodging abundance of meat
and drink was provided. Earl Godwin was in attendance upon
Alfred until late at night, and when he departed, he promised
to wait upon him early in the morning. Morning came, but the
earl made not his appearance, and it would not be unreasonable
to suppose that the partisans of Harold had heard of the arrival<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span>
of Godwin, that they entered Guildford in the night, and that
Godwin and his followers, who were unequal to cope with the
Danish force, escaped. Further, that these were the Danes whom
Alfred had seen while off Sandwich, and, since the course of his
steering round the North Foreland, and landing near the Isle of
Sheppy, they had crossed the country. If so, the Saxon prince and
his Norman followers must have marched through Kent and into
Surrey, within a few miles of the Danish army, who were probably
watching the motions of both Godwin and Alfred. Harold
may have caused the letter to have been written, and confided
his plans to Godwin, and the latter have resolved to rescue the
son of Ethelred from the snare that was set to entrap him, for
Godwin was fully competent to execute such an act if a favourable
opportunity offered itself. Emma may have been in earnest,
yet her purpose before accomplished might have been betrayed,
for although she is accused of having been an unkind
mother, there is no proof of that cruelty of disposition evinced,
which would justify us in concluding that she countenanced the
murder of her son. She might cling more fondly to Hardicanute,
who was her youngest child, than to the rest&mdash;such a feeling is
not uncommon. But these doubts and reasons might be multiplied
into pages, and then we should probably be as wide
apart from the truth.</p>

<p>In the old town of Guildford, above 900 years ago, nearly
seven hundred foreigners, most of them strangers to England,
retired to rest, some fondly dreaming of the possessions they
should obtain when the prince whose fortunes they followed
ascended the throne. Weary with their long journey, others
would fall at once to sleep, without bestowing a thought upon
the morrow, for that night there appears to have been no lack
of either food or wine. When hark, hark! it is the dead midnight,
and the chambers in which they sleep are filled with
armed men&mdash;figures in armour, some holding lights, others with
their swords pointed, bend over them&mdash;men who grasp strong
spears are stationed at the doors&mdash;some bind their arms with
cords&mdash;they attempt to reach their weapons, but find they have
been removed&mdash;some struggle for a few moments, but are
speedily overpowered. Chains and ropes are at hand, stern-looking
men set their teeth together, and kneel upon them until
their limbs are bound&mdash;and in every house at the self same hour
they are all secured and made prisoners. A few defended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span>
themselves and were slain. What a night must that have been
in the old town of Guildford&mdash;what Saxon hearts must have
ached at day-dawn, when the maidens beheld the young and
handsome foreigners led to execution! for some, doubtless, over
their cups, had boasted, that when the Saxon prince had "regained
his own," they would return again&mdash;and fond, foolish old
mothers, whose hearts beat in favour of the royal Saxon, may
have wetted their lips, and drank destruction to the Danes, and
talked about what they had heard their great-grandmothers say
of Alfred the Great, and hoped that he who then aspired to the
throne would be found worthy of the name he bore:&mdash;for a
hundred years would only have added to the fame of the great
king, and in that old Saxon town there were doubtless many
living whose ancestors had fought under Alfred the Great.</p>

<p>The morning that dawned upon the grey country witnessed
the execution of the Normans; they were led to death in tens,
and one out of every ten was left alive&mdash;the rest perished; but
whether beheaded by the battle-axe, or pierced through with
the sword or spear, or hung upon the nearest oak, history has
not recorded. But whether Godwin or Harold was the cause
of their death will never now be known. Vengeance, who is
never silent, bore their dying groans to the shores of Normandy,
and from that hour Revenge rose up, and, with his red right
arm bared, pointed with his bloody sword to the shores of
England. For thirty years that grim landmark stood pointing
over the sea, until at last it leaped from the stormy headland,
and led the way to the blood-stained shores of Britain.</p>

<p>Meantime, the Saxon prince was carried captive to London,
when, after having endured the insults and reproaches of
Harold, he was hurried off to Ely, to be tried by a mock court
of Danish judges, who, after having offered him every insult
they could invent, cruelly sentenced him to lose his eyes. The
barbarous sentence was fulfilled, and a day or two after its execution
death put an end to the sufferings of Alfred.</p>

<p>After the death of Alfred, Emma was banished from England
by the command of Harold; an act which goes far to prove that
she had been instrumental in tempting her ill-starred son to
visit England, though it seems somewhat strange that she should
take up her residence at Bruges, while her son Edward, who
was the true heir to the English throne, yet resided in Normandy.
She, however, despatched messengers to Denmark,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span>
intreating her son Hardicanute to revenge the death of his
maternal brother Alfred, who, she said, had been betrayed by
earl Godwin, and assassinated by the command of Harold.
During the remainder of the reign of Harold Harefoot, we lose
sight of earl Godwin, so that if even he had any share in the
plot which terminated in the murder of the young prince, it
appears not to have advanced his interests at the court of
Harold; who, before the close of his reign, attained the full
title of king of England. Nor does it appear that Hardicanute
ever set foot on the territory allotted to him by the council
of Oxford, on the south of the Thames; and which, as we
have shown, was held for a time on his behalf by Godwin, and
his mother, Emma of Normandy. The son of Canute was at
Bruges with his mother, having retired thither to consult her
previous to his meditated invasion of England, when a deputation
arrived there, from England, announcing the death of
Harold. He had already left a strong fleet at the mouth of
the Baltic, ready at his command, when the first favourable
wind blew, to commence hostilities against Britain; nine ships,
well armed, had also accompanied him on his visit to his
mother, in Flanders, when, just as his plan of attack was
decided upon, and all was in readiness for the invasion, Harold's
brief and blood-stained reign terminated, in the year 1040, and
he was buried at Westminster.</p>

<p>Nearly the first act that disgraced the reign of Hardicanute,
was his disinterment of the body of Harold; which, after having
exhumed and decapitated, he commanded to be thrown into the
Thames, from which it was taken out by a Danish fisherman,
and again interred in a cemetery in London, where the Danes
only buried their dead. His next act was to summon earl
Godwin before a court of justice, in which he was accused of
being instrumental in procuring the death of Alfred. At the
appointed day Godwin appeared; and, according to a law which
was at that period extant, procured a sufficient number of witnesses
to swear that they believed he was innocent of the crime
of which he was accused. Godwin stepped forward, and swore,
by the holy sacrament, "In the Lord: I am innocent, both in
word and deed, of the charge of which I am accused." The
witnesses then came forward, and taking the oath, exclaimed,
"In the Lord: the oath is clean and upright that Earl Godwin
has sworn." Simple and inefficient as such a mode of trial may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span>
appear, it must be borne in mind that perjury was in those days
visited with the severest punishment; not confined merely
to bodily pain, the infliction of a heavy penalty, or the loss
of worldly goods&mdash;but a perjured man was classed with witches,
murderers, sorcerers, the wolf heads, and outcasts of society;
and if slain, no one took cognizance of his death; he was debarred
even from the trial of ordeal, and whether he was murdered
or died, was refused the rites of Christian burial. Although
Alfred had established the trial by jury, such a judicial custom
as Godwin availed himself of continued to exist after the Norman
conquest.</p>

<p>Such a legal proof, however, was not sufficient to satisfy
the cupidity of Hardicanute; and the earl was compelled to
purchase his favour by presenting him with a splendid ship,
richly gilt, and manned by eighty warriors, armed with
helmet and hauberk, each bearing a sword, a battle-axe, and
a javelin, and their arms ornamented with golden bracelets,
each of which weighed sixteen ounces. A Saxon bishop was
also accused of having been leagued with Godwin, and he followed
the example of the earl, by purchasing the king's favour
with rich presents, which at this period appear to have been
the readiest mode of procuring an acquittal. The two brief
years that Hardicanute reigned, he seems to have passed in
feasting and drinking; his banqueting table was spread out
four times a-day, and his carousals carried far into the night.
Such excesses could only be kept up by constant supplies
of money; his "Huscarles," or household troops, were ever
out levying taxes; and as these armed collectors were all
Danes, many of them descendants of the old sea-kings, it will
be readily imagined that the Saxons were the greatest sufferers,
and compelled to contribute more than their share to this infamous
Dane-geld, as the tax was called. But these marauders,
although armed by kingly authority, did not always escape
scathless. The inhabitants of Worcester rose up and killed two
of the chiefs, who were somewhat too arbitrarily exceeding their
duty. Hardicanute ordered a Danish army to march at once
against the rebels, but when the authorized forces came up, they
found the city abandoned; the inhabitants had forsaken their
houses, and strongly entrenched themselves in a neighbouring
island, and though a great part of the city was destroyed, the
people remained unconquered. Such a brave example was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span>
not lost upon the Saxons. Opposition was now offered in many
quarters, and the Danish yoke at last became lighter; for Hardicanute
seemed to care but little how his kingdom was ruled, so
that his table was every day laden with good cheer, and his
wine-cup filled whenever he called for it; for he had been
nursed in the cradle of the sea-kings, and his chief delight was
to sit surrounded by these stormy sons of the ocean, and to drink
healths three fathom deep. Altogether, Hardicanute seems to
have been a merry thoughtless king. He invited his half-brother,
Edward, the son of Ethelred, over to England, and
gave him and his Norman followers a warm welcome at his
court; left his mother Emma, and earl Godwin, to manage the
kingdom as they pleased, and died as he had lived, a hard-drinker,
with the wine-cup in his hand.</p>

<p>It was at a marriage-feast, somewhere in Lambeth, in the
year 1042, when Hardicanute drank his last draught. At a late
hour in the night he rose, staggering, with the wine-cup in his
hand, and pledged the merry company that were assembled&mdash;then
drinking such a draught as only the son of a sea-king could
swallow, he fell down senseless upon the floor, "and never word
again spake he." He was buried near his father Canute, in the
church of Winchester. With his death ended the Danish race
of kings; and Edward, the son of Ethelred, the descendant of a
long line of Saxon monarchs, ascended the throne of England.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ACCESSION OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">"It is the curse of kings to be attended by slaves."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Favourites, made proud by princes, that advance their pride<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Against the power that bred it."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Thou wouldst be great. What thou wouldst highly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That wouldst thou holily: wouldst not play false,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet wouldst wrongly win."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Edward, surnamed the Confessor, had resided in England for
some time, when the throne became vacant by the death of Hardicanute;
and the Danes, left without a leader by the sudden
and unexpected demise of their king, had no means of resisting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span>
the Saxon force, which all at once wheeled up on the side of
Edward, and, led on by Godwin, placed the crown of England
upon the head of the son of Ethelred. To strengthen the power
which he already possessed, the earl Godwin proposed that the
king should marry his daughter, Editha, who appears to have
been a lady of high intellectual attainments: it was said of her,
in contrast to the stern and ambitious character of her father,
that, as the thorn produces the rose, so Godwin produced Editha.
Ingulphus, one of the most celebrated historians living at this
period, after describing her as being very beautiful, meek, modest,
faithful, virtuous, a lady of learning, and the enemy of no
one, says, "I have very often seen her, when, only a boy, I
visited my father in the royal court. Often, as I came from
school, she questioned me on letters and my verse; and willingly
passing from grammar to logic, she caught me in the subtle nets
of argument. I had always three or four pieces of money counted
by her maiden, and was sent to the royal larder for refreshment."
But all these amiable qualities were not sufficient to bring happiness
to the royal hearth; the earl was ever stepping in between
Edward and Editha, for Godwin became jealous of the Normans,
who were constantly coming over, and obtaining dignities
and honours from the court. Norman soldiers were placed
over the English fortresses; Norman priests officiated in the
Saxon churches, and, as the Danish power waned, and the offices
which Hardicanute had given to his own countrymen became
vacant, Edward filled up the places with his Norman favourites.
Those who had befriended him in his exile came over&mdash;such as
had grown up side by side with him till they reached manhood&mdash;had
shared his sports and pastimes&mdash;dined at the same table
with him when, without friend or companion, except his
brother Alfred, he landed a stranger upon the shores of
Normandy;&mdash;all such as had clung to him, and assisted him
while he was in exile, now came over to congratulate their
old acquaintance who had so suddenly emerged from his obscurity,
and become, by the voice of the whole Saxon nation, and
the tacit consent of the overawed and powerless Danes, the undisputed
monarch of England. Edward, on the other hand,
landed in his native country almost a stranger; he brought with
him foreign habits, foreign manners, and even spake the Norman-French
more fluently than the plain Saxon tongue of his ancestors.
He was but a child when he left England, and nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span>
thirty years residence in a foreign court must have caused his
native language to have sounded harshly on his ears when he
again landed on the shores of Britain. With the exception
of those who accompanied him, England would seem like a
strange country; he found none there whose habits and tastes
were congenial to his own, none with whom he had interchanged
the warm friendship which is natural to youth; and
he must instinctively have shunned the advances made to him
by earl Godwin, standing suspected, as he did, of having indirectly
contributed to the death of his brother Alfred, or, at the
least, of having deserted him in the night, and left him in the
hands of the Danes. Either Edward must have stood far aloof
from such suspicion, or, when he consented to marry the daughter
of Godwin, have purchased the crown of England by making
a sacrifice of his feelings and of his honour. Edward's mother,
it will also be remembered, was a Norman, and while the friends
of her son poured into the English court, she herself was followed
by those who claimed kindred with her race, until even the
very language of the Norman usurped that of the Saxon.</p>

<p>The Norman costume now became fashionable; those who
were ambitious of rising in the king's favour, or who wished
to stand high in the estimation of his favourites, began to
speak in broken Norman, until, in the neighbourhood of the
court, the Saxon seemed to have grown into an unfashionable
language. One man alone, and he, the most powerful in
the kingdom, still stuck sturdily to the old Saxon habits, and
openly expressed his dislike of the Norman favourites. This
was the cowherd, the son of Ulfnoth, whose daughter the king
of England had married; and he, with his sons, who had proved
themselves second to none in valour in the hard-fought field,
rose up, and made head against the Norman encroachments.
The Saxon earl, and his tall sons, boldly shouldered their way
through the crowded court, where their sister and daughter
reigned as queen; they lowered their helmets to no one, but
rudely jostled as they passed the groups of knaves and place-seekers
who infested the palace. Thus, without, at the folk-moots,
and the guilds, the Saxon earl and his sons were the favourites of
the people; while within, and about the palace, they were bitterly
hated by the Norman favourites. Such was the state of
parties at the English court nearly a thousand years ago, and it
will be necessary for the reader to bear them in mind, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span>
better understanding of the changes which they lead to&mdash;the
invasion of England by the Normans&mdash;a period at which we are
now rapidly arriving.</p>

<p>Whether Edward believed that his mother Emma had a share
in the death of her son Alfred, or was stung with the remembrance
that she had left them to the mercy of a strange court, and that
his position in England was rendered uneasy by those who had
followed him with their clamorous claims across the ocean, or he
disliked her for the favour which she had shown to her Danish
son, Hardicanute, or envious of the immense wealth and possessions
she is said to have accumulated during the reckless reign
of the hard-drinking sea-king&mdash;whether led by one or another
of these motives of dislike and suspicion, or actuated by a wish
to resent the neglect with which she had treated him, he seized
upon her possessions, lessened her power, and either confined
her in the abbey of Wearwell, or limited her residence within
the compass of the lands he granted her near Winchester.
This act was countenanced by Godwin, who, though he studied
his own aggrandisement, seems never wholly to have neglected
the interests of the Saxons. Her alleged intercourse with the
bishop of Winchester&mdash;her passing through the ordeal of fire
unscathed, with naked feet over burning plough-shares, are dim
traditions entirely unauthenticated by any respectable historian,
although such trials were not uncommon, as we shall show, when
we come to treat of the manners and customs of the Anglo-Saxons.
After this period, Emma of Normandy is scarcely
mentioned again by our early historians.</p>

<p>During the second year of his reign, Edward was menaced
with an invasion by Magnus, king of Norway and Denmark,
who sent letters to England demanding the crown of Edward; to
which the English king replied by mustering a large fleet at
Sandwich, and declaring himself ready to oppose his landing.
But the attention of Magnus was soon diverted from England to
secure his new territory of Denmark, as Sweyn, the son of Ulfr,
(the latter being the same sea-king whom the cowherd Godwin
guided to the Danish camp when he had lost his way in the
forest,) now aspired to the sceptre of Denmark. The son of
Ulfr requested aid from Edward to support his claim to the
Danish sceptre; and this request was strongly backed by earl
Godwin, who, whatever other stain he may have had upon his
character, cannot in this instance be accused of ingratitude, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span>
he earnestly pleaded that fifty ships should be fitted out, and
sent to the aid of the son of his early patron. Godwin's proposition
was, however, overruled by Leofric and Siward, earls of
Mercia and Northumbria, who will frequently be seen to stand
between earl Godwin and his claims upon the throne. What
aid Godwin afforded the son of Ulfr of his own accord we know
not, though it is on record that Sweyn obtained the crown
of Denmark on the demise of Magnus, which happened shortly
after the application he made for aid to Edward of England.
With the death of Magnus ended all attempts upon the English
crown on the part of the Danes, and we hear no more of the
ravages of these stormy sea-kings, nor of the civil wars in
England between these two nations, who had, through the
alternations of war and peace, been settled in various parts of
England long before the star of Alfred the Great rose up and
illumined the dark night of our history. A new enemy was now,
with slow and silent step, coming stealthily into England; he
had already obtained a footing in the palace and in the church;
he had left his slimy trail in the camp, and on the decks of the
Saxon vessels; he had come with a strange voice, and muttered
words which they could not understand.</p>

<p>Those who had often quarrelled were now neighbours; the
difference in language and manners was beginning to disappear;
for as they, to a certain extent, understood each other's
dialect, the Saxon and the Danish idioms began to assimilate;
they, with few exceptions, lived under the same common law;
their children mingled and played together in the same streets,
in the same fields and forests, became men and women, married,
and forgot the quarrels of their forefathers, and at last began to
settle down like one nation upon the soil. Thus, each party
looked upon the Norman favourites with the same jealous eye.</p>

<p>With the exception of the bickerings both on the part of the
Saxon and Danish chiefs against the Normans whom Edward
countenanced, all went on in tolerable order at the Saxon court
for seven or eight years; for Leofric and Siward were ever
throwing their formidable weight into the opposite scale, and thus
keeping an even balance between the power of Godwin and the
throne. Edward had rendered himself popular with both the Danes
and the Saxons; he had revived the old laws of his ancestors,
abolished the odious tax of Dane-geld, without retaliating upon
such of his subjects as belonged to that nation, as Canute and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span>
Harold had beforetime done while lording it over the Saxons. An
event at last occurred which scarcely any one would have foreseen
or have guarded against, and which reads more like a drunken
frolic, or a common street brawl, than the grave record of
history, although it ended by embittering the feelings of the
Saxons against the Normans, and was another of those almost
invisible steps which eventually led to the conquest of England.
Amongst the foreigners who came to pay their court at this
time to the king of England, was Eustace, count of Boulogne,
who had married a sister of Edward, but whether maid or
widow at the time of her union with the French count, is not
very clearly made out; nor is it recorded whether she was the
daughter of Emma of Normandy, though she laid claim to
Ethelred as her father. Eustace, proud to claim such a relationship,
whatever it might be, mounted the two slips of feathered
whalebone in his helmet, and with a showy train of followers
visited the English court, where he and his retinue were hospitably
entertained by Edward. Here he met with Normans and
French who spoke nearly the same language as himself, and
there is but little doubt that such an assembly did not fail to
show their contempt for everything that was Saxon, voting
vulgar a court in which a cowherd had risen to the rank of earl;
and probably extolling their own ancestry, who, time out of
mind, had been brought up to the more "polite" profession of
murder and robbery both by sea and land. While returning on
his visit from Edward, he commanded his train to halt before
they entered Dover, and putting on his coat of mail, ordered
his followers to do the same; and thus armed, they entered the
town. They then commenced riding up and down the streets,
insulting the inhabitants, and selecting the best houses in which
to take up their quarters for the night; for such had been the
custom of the Danes, who made the houses of the Saxons their
inns, sometimes permitting, as a great favour, the owner and his
family to share the meal which they had compelled them to provide.
It is pretty clear that the deeds of these "good old
times" had furnished the topic of conversation amongst the
visitors at the Saxon court, made up as it would be of Normans
and Northmen, and descendants of the Vikingrs, who now found
it dangerous to follow the "honourable" employment of their
ancestors&mdash;men who mourned over the changes which no longer
allowed them with impunity to insult the wife and daughter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span>
the Saxon, whom they compelled to be their host&mdash;to eat the
meal which they forced him to provide, and for which they considered
they made him an ample return if they did not stab him
upon his own hearth, and then set fire to his house. These
cruel and bloody deeds, which had been counted valorous, had
often, doubtless, furnished the midnight conversation of the cruel
sea-kings, as they congregated around their fire, seated <span class="locked">upon&mdash;</span></p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">"A dismal circle<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of Druid stones upon the forlorn moor,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the chill rain begun at shut of eve<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In dull November; and their chancel-vault<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The heaven itself was blinded through the night."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Keats.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Alas! such horrors were again to be renewed; though there
were but few at this time who foresaw the storm which was
now slowly heaving up, and was ere long doomed to burst with
renewed fury upon England.</p>

<p>While the French count and his followers were prancing
through the streets of Dover, full, perhaps, of the thoughts of
such scenes as we have faintly pictured, one of them alighted
upon the threshold of a sturdy Saxon, who, considering his
house was his castle, refused to allow the insulting foreigner to
enter. The Frenchman or Norman instantly drew his sword
and wounded the Saxon, who in his turn slew the aggressor.
The count and his followers attacked the Englishman, and put
him to death upon his own hearth. All Dover was instantly in
arms, for the foreigners now rode through the town sword in
hand, striking at all they came near, and trampling every one
they could ride over under the hoofs of their horses. They
were at last met by an armed body of the townsmen. A severe
combat took place, and it was not until nineteen of his followers
were slain, that the count of Boulogne took flight with all the
speed he could; and not venturing to embark, he hastened back,
with such of his train as remained, to the court of the English
king.</p>

<p>Edward at once forgave his brother-in-law, and, on his bare
assertion, believed that the inhabitants of Dover were wholly
to blame; he then sent for earl Godwin, within whose governorship
Dover was included, and ordered him without delay to
attack the town, and punish all who had risen up in arms
against the count of Boulogne and his followers. But the Saxon
earl was loath to appear in arms against his countrymen on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span>
mere report of a stranger, and reasonably enough suggested
that the whole affair should be investigated by competent judges;
"for it ill becomes you," replied Godwin, "to condemn without
a hearing the men whom it is your duty to protect." Urged on
by the clamours of his favourites, Edward insisted upon immediate
vengeance being executed upon the inhabitants of Dover;
and when the Saxon earl refused to fulfil his commands, he
then cited him to appear before the council at Gloucester, where
the court was then held. Godwin was well acquainted with the
characters who would preside at the court before which he was
summoned, and well knew that, right or wrong, sentence of
banishment would be proclaimed against him, as it consisted
chiefly of Normans, who were his sworn enemies, and who
would not hesitate, by any means, to lessen the power he possessed:
so, seeing the foreign enemies that were arrayed against
him, and the unfair trial that awaited him, he resolved to overthrow
this corrupt court by an appeal to arms, and, without
offering any violence to the king, rescue both himself and
England from the "cunning of the Normans." For as an old
writer observes, while describing the events which preceded and
were followed by those which took place about this period,
"The all-powerful God must have proposed to himself at once
two plans of destruction for the English race, and must have
framed a sort of military ambuscade against it: for, on one hand,
he let loose the Danish invasion; on the other, he created and
cemented the Norman alliance; so that, if we escaped the blows
aimed at our faces by the Danes, the cunning of the Normans
might be at hand to surprise us."</p>

<p>When Godwin refused to be tried by the corrupt and packed
court of Gloucester, he commenced assembling his forces together;
for he was governor over the whole of the extensive
country south of the Thames, and the popularity of his quarrel
caused numbers to flock to his standard, as he was now looked
up to by the Saxons as the defender of their rights. Harold,
his oldest son, also collected a large army from the eastern
coast between the Thames and Boston Wash; while Sweyn, his
second son, mustered many followers along the banks of the
Severn and the frontiers of Wales. The three armies commanded
by Godwin and his sons united, and drew up near
Gloucester, when the earl sent messengers to the king, demanding
that the Count of Boulogne, with his followers, together with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span>
such of the Normans and Frenchmen as had rendered themselves
objectionable, should be given up to the justice of the
English nation.</p>

<p>Meantime, Edward had not been idle, but had despatched
messengers to Siward and Leofric, with orders to muster all the
forces they could without loss of time, and during the interval
that preceded their arrival, he kept up a seeming negotiation
with Godwin; but no sooner did he find himself surrounded by
a powerful army, headed by his own chosen leaders, than he
refused boldly to give up his Norman and French favourites.
But a great and unexpected change had taken place in the spirit
of the people; for although Edward had followed that cruel
policy which kings have too often had recourse to, that of
setting one nation against another, the Danes of Mercia and
Northumberland which had marched up under the banners of
their earls, when confronted together, refused to make war upon
the Saxons. They now considered them as their countrymen&mdash;so
would not shed their blood for Edward and his foreign favourites;
a strong proof how popular the cause was which Godwin
had taken up; whilst neither the Saxon nor Danish chiefs would
draw their swords in such a quarrel.</p>

<p>When on neither side parties could be found who were willing
to shed each other's blood, peace was at once agreed upon, and
it was decided that the dispute should be investigated by an
assembly in London. Hostages and oaths were exchanged,
both swearing to maintain the peace of God, and perfect friendship.
On the side of Edward this solemn promise does not
appear to have been sincere, as he availed himself of the interval
between taking the oath and the appointed time on which the
assembly was to take place, in levying a powerful army from
every available source, and in nearly every instance giving the
command of the various troops to his Norman and French
favourites. This immense army was quartered in and around
London, so that the appointed council was held in the very
heart of a strongly fortified camp, the leaders of which
were the enemies of Godwin. Before this council Godwin
and his sons were summoned to appear without an escort,
and unarmed. The earl, in return, demanded that hostages
should be given for their safety; for he well knew that they had
but few friends in the council. Edward refused to furnish
hostages, or to guarantee their safety either in coming or going;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span>
and after having been twice or thrice summoned, and refused the
unconditional terms of surrender, sentence of banishment was
pronounced against earl Godwin and his sons, and only five days
allowed them to quit England, with all their family. Even
before the expiration of that period, king Edward, instigated
doubtless by his favourites, who thirsted both for the blood and
the estates of the Saxon earl, ordered a troop of horse to pursue
the banished nobleman and his family, but the command of the
party was fortunately entrusted to a Saxon, who was in no hurry
to overtake them. Godwin, with his wife, and three of his sons,
Sweyn, Tostig, and Gurth, with such treasure as they could
amass, sailed for Flanders, and were kindly received by earl
Baldwin; while Harold and Leofwin, his other sons, embarked
from Bristol, and escaped into Ireland. All their broad lands were
confiscated; the high situations they had held were given to the
Norman favourites; the castles they had inhabited, with all they
contained, fell into the hands of their enemies; and Godwin
found himself, in his old age, and after a busy life spent in the
service of courts and camps, but little richer than, when a humble
cowherd, he led Ulfr through wild forest paths to the Danish
camp.</p>

<p>Editha the queen was now left alone in the midst of her
father's enemies; nor was she long before she felt the weight of
their hatred and vengeance. "It was not right," the Norman
favourites said, "that while her family was in exile, she herself
should sleep upon down." She was also deprived of all the
possessions which on her marriage had been bequeathed to her
by her father, and then shut up in a nunnery. Calm and passionless
as an historian ought ever to be, he would scarcely feel any
regret if the Norman invasion had taken place in the life-time
of such a weak-minded monarch as this Edward the Confessor,
were it only for his conduct to the beautiful and highly-gifted
Editha, whose character Ingulphus has so delicately drawn. Still
less do we admire the forbearance by which he obtained his
much-lauded sanctity, which was but a species of "refined cruelty"
towards a lady whose very soul must have been a shrine fit for the
purest affection to dwell in. But, after all, we feel a pity for
Edward. His life was uncheered either by the affection of
father or mother, excepting in the very early years of childhood.
As he grew up, he became a prey to false friends and unprincipled
priests, who, while they pretended to draw his attention to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span>
treasures "which neither rust nor moth doth corrupt," were themselves
revelling in the very heart of vile and selfish corruption.
Ambitious as Godwin might be, there was much more of the nobleness
of human nature in his character than existed in the soul of
Edward; and, although we feel sorry for the king's weakness, we
can never pardon him for leaving that lovely lady alone in the cold
grey cloisters of a nunnery, where, to use the words of one of
our old chroniclers, she "in tears and prayers expected the day
of her release," doubtless looking beyond the grave for that
happiness which it was never her lot to know on earth. But
we have now arrived at the fall and banishment of earl Godwin,
and must leave him for awhile in exile, to glance at the merry
doings in the English court during his absence.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"As I was banished, I was banished,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But as I come, I come.&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will you permit that I shall stand condemned<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Plucked from my arms perforce, and given away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To upstart spendthrifts?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What would you have me do? I am a subject,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And challenge law; attornies are denied me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And therefore, personally, I lay my claim<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To my inheritance."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">After the banishment of earl Godwin, the English court must
have resembled the joyous uproar which often breaks out in a
school during the absence of the master, for the days which followed
are described as "days of rejoicing and big in fortune
for the foreigners." The dreaded earl in exile&mdash;his warlike
sons far away from England&mdash;and the beautiful queen Editha
weeping among the cold cloisters&mdash;left nothing more to do but
revel in the triumph of the victory thus attained. There was
now a Norman archbishop of Canterbury, a Norman bishop of
London, and in nearly every fortress a Norman or French governor;
and, to crown all, William, duke of Normandy, called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span>
alike the Bastard and the Conqueror, came over with a numerous
train to visit king Edward, and to see how matters stood
in England. It is difficult to prove now, whether the duke
of Normandy was invited by Edward, or came over at
the suggestion of his countrymen, "to see how the land lay;"
the latter is the more probable; and we can imagine the picture
which must have been drawn of England, either in the letter
sent, or by the messenger who went over; and how the son of
Robert the Devil (for such was the surname his father bore in
Normandy) must have smiled at the ascendancy his countrymen
had obtained over the weak-minded king of England. We can
fancy some such gentleman as the count of Boulogne, full of
"smart sayings," recounting how he and his followers "amused"
themselves at Dover; and how the few trifling murders they
committed were instrumental in driving out the family of Godwin;
in a word, that do whatever they might, Edward would stand up
to support them, and that they could now ride rough-shod over
the Saxons.</p>

<p>Before proceeding further, it is necessary that we should give
some account of this new guest; who, either by good fortune,
cunning, or valour, changed the whole face of England, and
shook into dust the power from which, through a succession of
many centuries, had sprung a race of powerful kings.</p>

<p>This William, who will ever bear the proud title of the Conqueror,
was the natural son of Robert duke of Normandy, who
was nearly allied to Emma, the queen of both Ethelred and
Canute, and the mother of Edward. William's mother was the
daughter of a tanner, or some one humbly situated in the town
of Falaise, and was one day busily engaged in washing clothes
at a brook, when the eye of duke Robert chanced to alight upon
her as he was returning from hunting. Pleased with her beauty,
he sent one of his knights to make proposals to her father,
offering no doubt, on pretty liberal terms, to make her his mistress.
The father received the proposition coldly, but probably
dreading that his daughter might be carried off by force&mdash;and
our only wonder is that she was not&mdash;he went to consult his
brother, who is said to have lived in a neighbouring forest, and
to have stood high in the estimation of all around for his sanctity.
The "pious" brother gave his opinion, and said that in all things
it was fitting to obey the will of the prince. So Arlette, or
Harlot, as her name is sometimes spelt, was consigned to duke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span>
Robert, who, we must conclude, was already married. Illegitimacy,
as we have shown in several reigns, was thought but
little of at this period, many of our own Saxon kings having had
no better claim to the crown than William had to the dukedom of
Normandy. However, Robert the Devil, as he was called from
his violent temper, was greatly attached to both the tanner's
daughter and the child she bore him, whom he brought up with
as much affection as if he had been the son of a lawful <span class="locked">wife.<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</a></span></p>

<p>When William was only seven years old, his father was
seized with a fit of devotion, and resolved to make a pilgrimage,
on foot, to Jerusalem, to obtain forgiveness for his sins. His
chiefs and barons rightly argued that such a journey was not
free from danger, and that if he chanced to die, they should be
left without a ruler. "By my faith," answered the duke, "I
will not leave you without a lord. I have a little bastard, who will
grow up and be a gallant man, if it please God. I know he is
my son. Receive him, then, as your lord, for I make him my
heir, and give him from this time forth the whole duchy of
Normandy."</p>

<p>The Norman barons did as duke Robert desired; and placing
their hands between the child's, acknowledged him as their
ruler. The duke did not live to return from his pilgrimage;
and although some opposition was offered to the election of
William, and a civil war ensued, the adherents of the bastard
were <span class="locked">victorious.<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">12</a></span> Nor was William long before he gave proofs
of that daring and valour which form so prominent a feature in
his character; he was soon able to buckle on his armour, and
mount his war-horse without the aid of the stirrup; and on the
day when he first sprang into his saddle without assistance, the
veterans who had drawn their swords in defence of his claim to
the dukedom made it a day of great rejoicing. Bold, fearless,
and determined, and as if resolved to triumph over those who had
objected to his election on the ground of his birth, he occasionally
issued his commands, and put forth his charter with the bold
beginning that proclaimed his origin, and wrote, "We, William
the Bastard, hereby decree, &amp;c." He soon evinced a love for
horses and military array, and while yet young made war upon
his neighbours of Anjou and Brittany. Nor did he fail to punish
those who made any allusion to his birth; although he himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span>
at times made a boast of his illegitimacy, yet to none others
would he allow that privilege in his hearing without resenting it
as an insult; and his vengeance was at times accomplished with
the most merciless cruelty. While attacking the town of Alençon,
the besieged appeared upon the walls, and beating their
shields, which were covered with leather, exclaimed, "Hides!
hides!" in allusion to the calling of his mother's father. The
cruel Norman immediately ordered the hands and feet of the
prisoners he had captured in an attempted sally to be cut off,
and thrown over the walls into the town by his slingers. Such
was the inhuman act committed by the savage who now came
as a spy and a guest to the court of England.</p>

<p>Great must have been the delight of duke William to see,
wherever he moved, his own countrymen at the head of the
navy and army. If he visited a fortress, a Norman was ready
as governor to receive him; if he entered a church, a Norman
bishop stood forth to meet him; if he remained in the palace,
Norman friends surrounded him; and he heard only the language
of his own country spoken, and was acknowledged by all who in
England approached him (excepting the king, and a few Saxon
chiefs) as their lord and governor. Wherever he moved, he was
met by Normans, and bowed down to, as if he had already been
England's king; for nearly all the high offices in the kingdom
were either in the hands of the Norman or French favourites.
What secret consultations he had with his friends, what notes
were made on the strength of the fortresses, the safest roads, the
best landing places, is not recorded, although it is evident that
the Norman duke had already fixed his eye upon the crown of
England, and but waited for a favourable pretext to seize upon it.</p>

<p>Edward, beyond doubt, received his cousin William kindly,
perhaps more so than he had done any other Norman; for all
his affections seemed planted in the land where he had spent
the years of his youth; beside, William's father had been kind
to him and his brother Alfred, when they had no friends in
England whom they knew of. Nor could William well allude to
the English throne becoming vacant on the death of Edward, nor
deplore that he left no son behind to reign in his stead, for Edward,
the son of his half-brother, Edmund Ironside, was still alive; so
William wisely held his peace, and left all to time and chance&mdash;taking
care to watch both. Previous to his return, Edward
presented him with arms, horses, dogs, and falcons, loaded his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span>
attendants with presents, and gave the duke every proof of his
sincere affection. After his departure, the Norman favourites
became more arrogant than ever; for there is but little doubt
that they now began to look upon England as their own, and
but waited for the death of the weak-minded king, and the
return of duke William, to take possession. All this seems
secretly and silently to have been arranged. These plans, however,
were for a time doomed to be frustrated. Earl Godwin
and his powerful sons were still alive, and making such preparations
as the court parasites had never dreamed of for returning
to England, and avenging themselves upon their enemies. Still,
the cunning of duke William failed him not. Chances favoured
him; and we seem as we were now about to weave and unweave
the web of a wild romance, instead of recounting the
truthful events of history.</p>

<p>Yet, in the great drama which we are about to open, popes,
and crowned kings, and mitred bishops, princes, and priests, are
the actors; and the prize contended for is that England which
now claims the proud title of "Queen of the World"&mdash;that little
island which has dwarfed ancient Rome and classic Greece by
its gigantic grandeur.</p>

<p>Earl Godwin during his exile had not remained idle; he had still
a few friends in England who would take care to acquaint him with
all that was going on at court. Here and there a Saxon had also
managed to retain the command of a fortress, and but few of his
countrymen now remained that were not heartily disgusted with
the arrogance and tyranny of the Norman favourites. Such
wealth as Godwin had carried out with him, or been able to
muster, he had made good use of; and having got together a
powerful fleet, he, in the summer of 1052, ventured once more
upon the English court. He had taken the precaution to despatch
faithful emissaries before him, and thousands of the Saxons
and Danes had sworn an oath, that they would take up arms,
and "fight until death for earl Godwin." His first attack was
not very successful; for although he managed to elude the fleet,
which was commanded by his enemies the Normans, he was at
last discovered, pursued, and compelled to shelter in the Pevensey
Roads. A tempest arose while Godwin lay at anchor, and dispersed
the royal fleet.</p>

<p>Near the Isle of Wight he was joined by his sons, Harold
and Leofwin, who had returned from Ireland, and brought with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span>
them both men and ships&mdash;a clear proof that Godwin had carefully
arranged his plans. Wherever the Saxon fleet now moved
along the coast they met with a warm welcome; wherever they
chose to land, armed bands appeared, and joined with them;
the peasants brought in stores of provisions; and the name of
earl Godwin was again proclaimed with as much heartiness and
sincerity as when he alone dared to beard the Norman favourites
in the palace&mdash;the current of popularity had every way set
in his favour. Part of his forces he landed at Sandwich, then
daringly doubled the North Foreland, and sailed like a conqueror
up the Thames, to the very foot of the grey wave-washed wall
where Edmund and Canute had carried on the struggle, when
London was besieged and defended. What a buzzing there
would again be in the old city throughout all that summer night!
what whispering in the secret corners of the old-fashioned streets!
for Godwin had managed to land many of his followers, and they
had friends on shore, and appointed places of meeting and passwords,
by which they could recognise each other in the dark;
and arms would be seen glancing, half concealed by short Saxon
and Danish cloaks, and treason be as rife in every hole-and-corner
as it ever was in any of the centuries which have since elapsed.
From the royal army, troops were deserting every hour, and all
around the coast, and up the Thames, the ships that were sent
out to oppose him turned round their heads, and either willingly,
or through fear, followed in his wake, and, instead of becoming
enemies, strengthened his formidable fleet.</p>

<p>Before a blow was struck by his impatient followers, Godwin
sent a respectful message to the king, requesting the revision of
the sentence which had been passed against him, and demanding
a restitution of his property and honours; in return for which
he promised to become a true and faithful subject in all duty to
the king. Edward refused the proffered submission, though
every hour saw his forces thinned, and, with the exception of his
foreigners, those who remained appeared unwilling to fight.
Other messengers were despatched to Edward, for Godwin was
reluctant to employ the large force under his command against
the weak and wavering followers of the king, whose numerical
strength bore no comparison to his own; for he clearly
saw that, if his army would but have the patience to wait, he
should obtain a bloodless victory; it was, however, with great
difficulty that he could restrain them, so eager were they to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span>
revenged on the Normans. Nor were the latter at all backward
in urging Edward to commence the attack, for they well knew
that concession on the king's part would be their ruin, while, in
the chances of a fight, Godwin might probably be killed, or if
even victorious there would be something for all who ventured
into such a scramble. But the few ships which Edward had
drawn up above London-bridge could not be depended on; the
king knew that a battle on his part was a hopeless affair, yet still
he remained unbending and obstinate. There were still a few
Saxon nobles true to Edward; they were of those whose ancestors
had followed Alfred, and Athelstan, and Ethelred through
good and through evil report; and who, like the nobles that have
for centuries succeeded them, resolved to remain true subjects
while ever one sat upon the throne in whose veins the blood of
Hengist or Horsa flowed. To such as these in the hour of real
danger Edward was still wise enough to listen. He for once
disregarded the advice of his Norman favourites, and leaving
Stigand, his bishop, to act as president, permitted the Saxon
chiefs who belonged to his own party to meet those who came
over in the favour of earl Godwin, with the mutual intention of
effecting a reconciliation. Where both parties were anxious for
peace, there was but little probability of a war; this the Normans
saw, and well knew that there was not a moment to be lost.
And now our old English chroniclers fairly lose themselves in
the feelings of delight with which they describe the hasty departure
of the Norman favourites. Never before was there
amongst them such packing and saddling! at every little portal-gate
they were seen sallying out of London; in his hurry to
escape, the Norman archbishop of Canterbury left behind his
pallium. Stigand found it, threw it over his own shoulders,
and on the strength of the sanctity which it was supposed to contain,
set up archbishop on his own account. Some galloped off
and left all their effects behind, glad to get to the seaside at
any price, and to creep into little dirty fishing-boats, filled with
"ancient smells," and there concealing themselves, crept over to
the opposite coast as speedily as possible. Others, following the
example set them on a former occasion by Eustace of Boulogne,
trampled underfoot the children that were playing in the summer
twilight in the streets of London, and thus slew by proxy earl
Godwin's Saxons, for of such metal were these foreign favourites
made of. We can picture the Saxon wives of that day picking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span>
up their dead and wounded children, and cursing the cowards
as the thunder of their horses' hoofs died away in the dim distance.</p>

<p>The witena-gemot again assembled in London for the trial of
earl Godwin; the balance of power was this time in his own
hands&mdash;there were no Norman enemies to fear&mdash;and the Saxon
boldly defended himself; his sons also showed that they were
justified in acting as they had done, and "all the great men and
chiefs of the country," before whom they appeared, were satisfied.
The sentence of banishment was recalled; their honours and estates
restored; and it was then decreed that all the Normans should
be banished from England, as "promoters of discord, enemies of
peace, and calumniators of the English to their king." A son and
grandson of Godwin's were then given up to Edward as hostages;
and, for better security, the king sent them over to duke William
of Normandy&mdash;these we shall have to return to again as our plot
deepens, and we draw nearer to the end of the bloody tragedy
which ended in the destruction of the Saxons. Editha left her
convent, and the family of earl Godwin were once more triumphant
at the English court. An exception was made to one of the
old earl's sons, named Sweyn, not for the part he had taken
in ousting the Norman favourites, but for offences of a graver
nature. He, however, became penitent, donned a pilgrim's garb,
walked barefooted to Jerusalem, and died, as Robert the Devil
had done before him, on his way home.</p>

<p>A few exceptions of but little note were made to this decree
of banishment against the Normans; the archbishop, who had
run away without his pallium, was restored; and a few others,
who appear to have stood aloof from the quarrels fomented by
their countrymen, or who, at least, had the tact to steer clear of
open danger, were, at the intercession of Edward, permitted to
remain in England.</p>

<p>We have attempted a sketch of the English court after the
exile of Godwin's family&mdash;of the joy and triumph that reigned
in Edward's palace: the picture reversed must have presented a
faithful representation of the rage and hatred of the Normans,
when, after their hasty flight, they again assembled at duke
William's court. What raving and storming must there have
been amongst the disappointed courtiers, what a stamping of
armed feet and dropping of sabres, as they swore what they
would do if ever they met the Saxon earl in arms! Above all,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span>
what curses loud and deep must have been vented against
Godwin and all his family! We can picture duke William
biting his lip, and walking moodily apart, until the two hostages
arrived; and then his cunning eye would brighten for a moment,
as he felt he had still a hold, though but a slender one, upon the
weak-minded monarch of England.</p>

<p>Godwin, who was now an old man, did not long survive his
triumph. The account of his death is given in various ways
by the old chroniclers. It appears to have taken place at the
Easter festival, in the year 1053; and although not so sudden
as some of the monkish writers have described it to be, the
earl never rallied again from the hour when he first fainted at
the banquet table in the presence of the king. One of the
servants, while in the act of pouring out a cup of wine, stumbled
with one foot, and would have fallen but for the dexterity with
which he advanced the other. Godwin raised his eyes, and,
smiling, said to the king, "The brother has come to assist the
brother." "Ay," answered Edward, looking with a deep meaning
on the Saxon chief, "brother needs brother, and would to
God mine still lived!" "Oh, king," exclaimed Godwin, "why
is it that, on the slightest recollection of your brother, you
always look so angrily on me? If I contributed even indirectly
to his death, may the God of heaven grant that this piece of
bread may choke me!" Godwin put the bread in his mouth, say
the authors who relate this anecdote, and was immediately
strangled. His death, however, was not so sudden; for, falling
from his seat, he was carried out by his two sons, Tostig and
Gurth, and expired five days after. But the account of this
event varies, according as the writer is of Norman or English
race. "I ever see before me two roads, two opposite versions,"
says an historian of less than a century later; "I warn my
readers of the peril in which I find <span class="locked">myself."<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">13</a></span></p>

<p>Siward, the chief of Northumberland, who had at first followed
the royal party against the Saxon earl, but eventually
assisted in expelling the foreign favourites, expired soon after
Godwin. He was by birth a Dane, and the population of the
same origin over whom he ruled gave him the title of Siward-Digr,
Siward the Strong; a rock of granite was long shown,
which he is said to have split with one blow of his axe. Feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span>
his end approach, he said to those who surrounded him, "Raise
me up, and let me die like a soldier, and not huddled together
like a cow; put me on my coat of mail, place my helmet on my
head, my shield on my left arm, and my gilt axe in my right
hand, that I may expire in arms." Siward left one son, named
Waltheof, who being too young to succeed to his government, it
was given to Tostig, Godwin's third son. Harold, who was the
eldest son, succeeded Godwin to the government south of the
Thames; and Edward showed more kindness to the son than he
had ever done to the father, for on him there rested no suspicion
connected with the death of Alfred, a subject which was ever
settling down like a dark cloud upon the sunniest moments that
Godwin and Edward enjoyed. Harold was the most gifted
of all Godwin's sons, and soon became as popular with the
people as his father; having, moreover, no enemies in the court,&mdash;for
to such favourites as the king wished to retain Harold
offered no opposition; nor was it necessary, for Edward was
now fast verging into dotage; his intellect, which, at best, was
never very brilliant, now became clouded, and he passed a
greater portion of his time amongst his priests. No one ever
sat upon the Saxon throne worse adapted to play the part of a
king than Edward the Confessor; he was not cut out for the
rough business of this work-a-day world. To a peasant who
once offended him, he said, "I would hurt you if I were able;"
an exclamation, as Sharon Turner observes, "which almost
implies imbecility."</p>

<p>For some time there was a dispute between Harold and Algar,
the son of Leofric, the governor of Mercia. Godwin, on succeeding
to the earldom, had either voluntarily, or at the request
of Edward, given up the command of East Anglia to Algar; but
no sooner did Harold find himself in full power, than he compelled
the son of Leofric to give up the governorship, and, accusing
him of treason, made war upon him. Nothing daunted
by his first defeat, Algar went into Wales, and obtaining
assistance of Griffith, one of the Welsh kings, and mustering
many powerful allies amongst his own connexions, he returned,
ravaged Hereford, burnt the abbey, and slew several priests;
and Raulf, who commanded the garrison, being a Norman,
rather encouraged than opposed the ravages of Algar. It is said
that he caused the Saxons to fight on horseback, a mode of warfare
to which they were unaccustomed. But Harold was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span>
long before arriving at the scene of action, when he soon defeated
Algar and his Welsh allies, driving them back into their
mountain fastnesses, and, it is said, compelling the Welsh chiefs
to swear that they would never again pass the frontier of Wales.
Harold granted the prisoners he had taken their lives, on the
condition that the oath was kept, while on his part he solemnly
vowed, that if a Welshman was taken in arms on the English side
of Offa's-dyke, he should have his right hand cut off. To Algar
these terms extended not, and Harold was at last compelled to
negotiate with him, and restore him to his former dignities.
Meantime Tostig but succeeded indifferently in the governorship
of Northumbria. Siward, who had so long had the command
over them, was himself a Dane; and as the inhabitants of the
North, with but few exceptions, were of Danish origin, they took
a dislike to the son of Godwin. He imposed heavy taxes upon
them, violated their ancient privileges, and seems, in fact, to
have rendered himself as unpopular as the Norman governors
had ever been with the Saxons. Worn down by oppression, the
Anglo-Danes at last rebelled, attacked the city of York, in
which the chief residence of Tostig stood, and put many of his
principal followers to death, amongst whom were several of their
own countrymen. Although Tostig escaped, and the Danes
seized upon his treasures, they rested not satisfied with such a
victory, but assembling a great council they pronounced sentence
of banishment against him, and elected Morkar, one of the
sons of Algar, governor in his stead. Morkar took the command
of the rebel army, and drove Tostig into Mercia; he was also
strengthened by the Welsh force, who, led on by his brother
Edward, had, in despite of their oath, once more ventured across
Offa's-dyke in arms. The old feeling was not yet dead amongst
the ancient Cymry, who seem to have been as eager as ever they
were before time to fight against the Saxons.</p>

<p>There is considerable confusion in the time and dates of these
attacks upon the Welsh, by Harold and his brother Tostig, and
it is difficult to separate one invasion from the other, although it
seems evident that the Welsh king, Griffith, fell in the latter,
and that his head was sent to Harold. But though the Welsh
were defeated, terms of negotiation were entered into with the
Anglo-Danes. Harold required of them to state their grievances.
They did; and boldly told him that his brother's tyranny
was the cause of their appearing in arms. Harold tried to exculpate
his brother, and promised that he should rule better for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span>
future, if they would again accept him as their governor. They
refused. "We were born free," said one of the Danish leaders,
"and brought up free, a haughty chief is insupportable to
us; we will, like our ancestors, live or die free. We have no
other answer to give to the king." Harold not only delivered
the message, but dissuaded Edward from protracting the war,
and on his return ratified their rights with his own signature, as
representative of the king; sanctioning the election of the son of
Algar, and the rejection of his brother. Tostig, in a rage, departed
to Flanders to his father-in-law, vowing vengeance
against Harold and his countrymen.</p>

<p>As the tax called Peter-pence began to fail, so did the friendship
of the church of Rome towards England abate; there was
no longer any law in existence to enforce the payment, all that
was sent over being a voluntary contribution. It was then that
the mother church began to complain of simony being practised
in England, of Saxon bishops who had purchased their sees; not
that the church of Rome was herself guiltless of such transactions,
but that she objected to a system in which she partook
not of the profits. The storm first broke over the head of
Eldred, archbishop of York, who, when he went to Rome to solicit
the pallium, was refused, and it was only through the interference
of a Saxon nobleman that he at last obtained it. Robert,
the Norman archbishop of Canterbury, had again been driven
from his see by the Saxons; and Stigand, who had before
snatched up the pallium, which the archbishop had left behind
in his eagerness to escape, again officiated in the place of the
banished primate. But Robert this time flew to Rome, and
there branded the Saxon bishop as an usurper. The result
was, that the archbishop returned with a letter from the pontiff,
commanding Stigand to resign. But before Robert reached
England another pope had been chosen by the principal Roman
families, and to Benedict the Saxon bishop appealed, who granted
him permission to wear the pallium. The election of Benedict
was the signal for an army to advance upon Italy, and enforce
another election which the king of Germany approved of. Two
popes could not reign; the last was victorious. Benedict was
defeated, and excommunicated, and the pallium he had given to
Stigand was now useless. Had Benedict been victorious, it
would have been as good a pallium as ever pontiff blessed;
packed up, and despatched from the eternal city, as it was, "it
was a thing of naught."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span>
Trifling, as matters of history, as such petty squabbles must appear,
they, nevertheless, had their weight and influence&mdash;widening
the breach which had already been made between the church
of Rome and England; and when the time arrived, and the
vindictive mother saw the opportunity of striking a blow effectually,
she did so, and brought all the power she possessed to
aid William the Norman when he attacked England. Norman
Robert and Saxon Stigand, though but feathers floating in the air,
showed unerringly that the wind which blew from Rome was unfavourable
to the interests of England. While Britain also seemed
drifting away daily wider and further from Rome, William of Normandy
was still drawing nearer to the eternal city, and constantly
seeking its favour and protection. Alexander the Second, who
had driven out and excommunicated the anti-pope, Benedict, had
refused to sanction duke William's marriage with Matilda, a refusal
which was countenanced by the learned monk, Lanfranc, then
resident at the Norman court. Although the fiery duke dared
not do more than murmur at the opposition of the pontiff,
which was grounded on the near relationship of William to
Matilda, still he was resolved not to brook the reproaches of
Lanfranc, much as he valued the monk as a councillor; so he
banished him from his court. Lanfranc went to Rome, grew in
favour with the new pope, and, instead of resenting William's
harsh treatment, the monk obtained from the pontiff a dispensation.
Alexander the Second acknowledged the marriage of
William of Normandy and Matilda, and Lanfranc was the bearer
of the good tidings to the Norman court. Who so grateful as
duke William&mdash;who so highly honoured as the monk, Lanfranc,
the man who had more power over the pontiff than the duke
himself? Who so blind, that he cannot see the chain which now
reached from Normandy to Rome&mdash;the links, William, Lanfranc,
and all the friends of the pope? We must bear in mind
that on every mount in Normandy were perched those ill-omened
birds of prey, who were wetting their beaks, and looking
with hungry eyes towards England, from which they had
been driven by Godwin and his sons, just as they were about
to gorge themselves. On the coast of France, also, many a
disappointed cormorant might be seen, looking eagerly in the
same direction.</p>

<p>About this period, Edward sent over to Hungary for his
nephew, the son of Edmund Ironside, who must by this time
have been a man far advanced in years, as Edmund himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span>
died about 1016, and it seems to have been some time between
the year 1057 and 1060, when Edward the son of Edmund
arrived in England, at the invitation of his uncle. It appears
to have been the intention of Edward the Confessor to have
appointed his nephew Edward successor to the throne of
England; but this was prevented by the death of the son of
Edmund Ironside. Dark hints are thrown out respecting the
death of this prince, and Harold is hinted at as having hastened
his end; but there seems to be no solid ground for such suspicion,
and the rumour was probably circulated by the Normans, whom
Edward still retained, and who were envious of the power the
son of Godwin had acquired. There still remained Edgar, the
grandson of Edmund Ironside, and the son of Edward, who
died soon after his arrival in England; but the king does not
appear to have turned his eyes towards him as his successor.</p>

<p>As the end of Edward the Confessor draws nigh, our attention
is divided between William of Normandy and earl Harold,
the son of Godwin; and as we may consider the king as already
dead, for his name scarcely appears again, unless as connected
with the events which succeeded his death, we will leave him
to his devotions, and take up the clue which leads us through
the dark labyrinths to the gloomy end of this portion of our
history. The clearest light which has been thrown upon the
mysteries of this period, and the best reason given for Harold's
visit to Norway, will be found in the following extract from
Thierry's "Norman <span class="locked">Conquest:"&mdash;</span></p>

<p>"For two years internal peace had reigned in England without
interruption. The animosity of king Edward to the sons of
Godwin disappeared from want of aliment, and from the habit
of constantly being with them. Harold, the new chief of this
popular family, fully rendered to the king that respect and
deferential submission of which he was so tenacious. Some
ancient histories tell us that Edward loved and treated him as
his own son; but, at all events, he did not feel towards him
that aversion mingled with fear with which Godwin had ever
inspired him; and he had now no longer any pretext for retaining,
as guarantees against the son, the two hostages whom he
had received from the father. It will be remembered that these
hostages had been confided by the suspicious Edward to the care
of the duke of Normandy. They had, for more than ten years,
been far from their country, in a sort of captivity. Towards
the end of the year 1065, Harold, their brother, and their uncle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span>
deeming the moment favourable for obtaining their deliverance,
asked permission of the king to go and demand them in his
name, and bring them out of exile. Without showing any
repugnance to release the hostages, Edward appeared greatly
alarmed at the project which Harold had formed of going in
person to Normandy. 'I will not compel you to stay,' said he;
'but if you go, it will be without my consent; for your journey
will certainly bring some evil upon yourself and upon your
country. I know duke William and his crafty mind; he hates
you, and will grant you nothing unless he gain greatly by it;
the only way safely to obtain the hostages from him were to send
some one else.'"</p>

<p>Harold, however, went, in spite of this friendly warning,
with his hawk on his wrist, and his hounds baying at his heels,
hunting and hawking on his way, until he arrived at Bosham in
Sussex, where he quietly embarked with his followers to visit
William, duke of Normandy, and fetch back his brother and
nephew. We must now follow the perilous footsteps of earl
Harold, and for a short period draw the attention of our readers
to duke William and the court of Normandy.</p>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">EARL HAROLD'S VISIT TO NORMANDY.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container"><div class="poem">
<dl>
  <dt class="iq"><span class="smcap">"Richard.</span></dt>
    <dd>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; Now do I play the touch,</dd>
    <dd>To try if thou be current gold, indeed:&mdash;</dd>
    <dd class="bpad">Edward lives:&mdash;Think now what I would speak.</dd>
  <dt><span class="smcap">Buckingham.</span></dt>
    <dd class="bpad">Say on, my loving lord.</dd>
  <dt><span class="smcap">Richard.</span></dt>
    <dd>I say I would be king&mdash;"</dd>
</dl>
</div></div>

<p class="in0">We have already given what we believe to be the real motive
of Harold's visit to Normandy. That he went at the request of
Edward to announce the king's intention of appointing William
as his successor, the incidents which we shall record, on Harold's
arrival, clearly disprove; for if such were the case, what occasion
would there have been for the duke to entrap the son of
Godwin into taking the oath on the relics as he did?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span>
The Saxon earl had not been long out at sea before a contrary
wind arose; and after buffeting about for some time, he was at
last driven upon the opposite coast of France, near the mouth
of the river Somme, and upon the territory which was then held
by Guy, count of Ponthieu. Adhering to the maxims of the
old sea-kings, the count considered all his own that he either
found upon the ocean or picked up along the coast; so he seized
Harold and his followers, and held them prisoners until they
could pay the ransom he demanded. The captives were taken
to the fortress of Beaurain, near Montreuil. Harold communicated
with William of Normandy, and the latter speedily sent
messengers demanding the release of the prisoners, under the
plea that they were sent on matters of business to his own court,
and, for that reason, he was bound to protect them. The duke
is said to have accompanied his message with a menace. This
the count paid no regard to, and William, who had many reasons
for keeping on good terms with his French neighbours, was too
wary to execute the threat he had thrown out; so he paid the
ransom, and liberated Harold, whom he was anxious to have in
his own possession.</p>

<p>When the Saxon earl reached Rouen, William received him
with an apparent warmth, and a cordiality, that looked as if he
had some end to obtain. He overwhelmed him with kindness,
declared that the hostages were his, and might accompany him
back at once; but, as a courteous guest, he trusted Harold would
remain a few days with him, visit the country, and join in the
festivals which he had prepared for his welcome. It would have
required a clearer-sighted and more suspicious man than earl
Harold appears to have been, to have seen into duke William's
motives through all this professed friendship; but the Saxon's
eyes were opened at last; William did not lead him from castle
to castle for nothing; he well knew the price he had fixed upon
the knighthood he conferred upon Harold, and never was a glittering
sword, a silver baldric, and a bannered lance, purchased
more dearly than those the son of Godwin received from the
son of Robert the Devil. Harold went gaily with his brother
and nephew to war against the Bretons, at William's request;
the Saxons distinguished themselves by their valour, and no one
was praised more in the camp than Harold the Saxon, who,
with his own hand, had saved several Norman soldiers when
they were nigh perishing amongst the quicksands of Coësnon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span>
While the war lasted, it is recorded that William and Harold
slept in the same tent, and ate at the same table. This was the
first act of the drama in which William played so masterly a
part.</p>

<p>The curtain again draws up, and we behold the duke and the
earl riding lovingly side by side on their way to the castle of
Bayeux. William begins to talk about his youthful days, of the
happy hours he had spent with Edward of England, when he was
in Normandy; no doubt he mentioned some of their boyish pranks,
told anecdotes that drew a peal of laughter from the unsuspicious
Saxon, when all at once he said, "When Edward and I lived
under the same roof, like two brothers, he promised me, that if
ever he became king of England, he would make me heir to his
kingdom." No doubt the son of Robert the Devil looked down
upon his saddle-bow, or out of the corner of his keen cunning
eye, or threw off the sentence as if he had no meaning in it;
then made some passing remarks upon his horse, or any object
near at hand. After he had done speaking, Harold, it appears,
was taken by surprise, and either made no reply, or merely
uttered some such unmeaning word as "indeed!" when William,
having ventured one foot upon the ice, tried the other, and thus
proceeded: "Harold, if thou wouldst aid me in realising this
promise, be sure that if I obtain the kingdom, whatever thou
askest of me that shalt thou have."</p>

<p>Harold, be it remembered, was in the enemy's country, surrounded
by those who had ever been foes to his family; his brother
and nephew were also, like himself, in duke William's power;
and there cannot be a doubt but that, if he had openly declared
himself opposed to the duke's views, neither he nor they would
again have set foot upon the shores of England. The Saxon
had no alternative but to appear to acquiesce to his wishes,
though we can fancy with what an ill grace he seemed to comply.
It was the armed ruffian alone with the victim in his
power, who, thinking that he can borrow more than he shall get
by murdering his companion, boldly asks for the loan, and, having
through fear extorted the promise, presents a bond, gets it
signed, then appoints the time and place where it is to be paid;
and should the victim seek to evade the responsibility which
self-preservation alone compelled him to incur, the other upbraids
him as a perjurer and a villain, proclaims to the world
what he has done, and gets the consent of all his creditors, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span>
hoped to be enriched by the loan, to assist in murdering the
helpless and unfortunate wretch he has entrapped.</p>

<p>Having extracted something like a vague promise, William
then presented the bond, and said, "Since thou consentest to
serve me, thou must engage to fortify Dover castle, to dig there
a well of fresh water, and deliver it up, when the time comes, to
my people. Thou must also give thy sister in marriage to one
of my barons" (Did he mean queen Editha?) "and thyself
marry my daughter, Adeliza; moreover, on thy departure, thou
must leave me, as guarantee for thy promise, one of the two
hostages thou claimest, and I will restore him to thee in England
when I come there as <span class="locked">king."<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">14</a></span></p>

<p>So far the wily Norman duke had succeeded, and he was now
resolved to make assurance doubly sure. In both instances he
had won. And now we see the third act of this "eventful
history" revealing duke William seated upon his throne in the
castle of Bayeux; he is surrounded by his nobles. Harold, who
is ushered into his presence, has not a friend amongst the number.
William does not yet want "his pound of flesh;" but he is
resolved to test the validity of the bond he has possessed himself
of. He objects not to the signature, but wishes others to be witness
that it is the handwriting of Harold&mdash;this admitted, he is
willing to await the time of payment, and lock it up in that great
iron-safe&mdash;his heart. Not content with living witnesses, this
ancient Shylock summoned the dead to add solemnity to the oath
he was about to administer. Had the bones of Godwin been
in Normandy, there is but little doubt William would have dug
them up as dumb witnesses. They were not; so he collected all
the bones of the reputed saints that could be found in the neighbouring
churches. He summoned the priests to strip their shrines;
a bone or a body was all one to William; a tooth or a toe-nail
came not amiss to the Norman&mdash;all were emptied into the great
vessel he had prepared for their reception; and how each church
would pick out its own again concerned not the son of Robert
the Devil.</p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Finger of birth-strangled babe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ditch-delivered by a drab."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">So that "the charm was firm and good," was all the duke cared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span>
for; and when the relics were ready, the unsuspecting Saxon
earl was called in. How the Norman thieves, who had
been kicked out of England, and been witness to what was prepared
and covered carefully up against Harold's coming, must
have grinned when they saw the son of Godwin enter. William
sat upon a throne, holding a drawn sword in his hand. A crucifix
was placed upon the cloth of gold that covered the relics,
and concealed them entirely from the eyes of Harold; the whole
formed, no doubt, to resemble a table, when the duke, bowing to
the Saxon, began thus: "Harold, I require of thee, before this
noble assembly, to confirm by oath the promises thou hast made
to me, to aid me to obtain the kingdom of England after the
death of Edward, to marry my daughter Adeliza, and to send thy
sister, that I may wed her to one of my barons." Harold swore
to do all&mdash;he had no alternative&mdash;so he "grinned and bided his
time," no more meaning to keep his promise than a man would to
send a fifty pound note by return of post to the address of the
ruffian who had met him on a lonely moor at midnight, and presented
a pistol to his ear. When Harold had sworn, the assembled
nobles exclaimed, "God aid him!" The third act was
then over, and again the curtain fell; the figure of William was
seen near the foot-lights, the cloth of gold lying at his feet, and
Harold looking on the relics on which he had unconsciously
sworn. Well might the Saxon shudder. William had shown
himself worthy of the name his father had borne. We
want but the thunder and the lightning, the red fire and
the grey spirits, to outdo all that the presiding genius of
scenic horrors ever invented. Were not the motives so deep,
devilish, and villanous, we might sit as spectators, and enjoy
the horrors; but when we know that the whole was real&mdash;that
the motive was serious&mdash;that the death's head and cross bones
were real representatives of the red warm human blood that was
doomed to flow, ere the terrible tragedy ended; we turn
away, like Harold, pale and trembling; and as we retreat, we
look round in affright, and are still followed by the skeletons of
the dead.</p>

<p>From a land filled with such plots and pitfalls, Harold was
glad to escape under any promise or at any price, and though
he brought away his nephew with him, he was compelled to
leave his younger brother in the hands of the Norman.</p>

<div id="ip_300" class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"><img src="images/i_336.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Harold swearing on the Relics of the Saints.</i></div></div>

<p>The duke of Normandy was a man who boggled at nothing, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span>
long as it aided him in accomplishing his ends. Whether he attempted
to win a kingdom or a wife, he considered all means
fair that he could avail himself of. Thus, after having for some
time courted Matilda, daughter of Baldwin, earl of Flanders,
and found himself objected to by the father on account of his
birth, and by the maiden because she was already in love with
another, he hit upon the strangest stratagem that a lover ever
had recourse to, to make his way into a fair lady's affections.
Weary of sighing and suing, of continued entreaty which was
only met by successive rejections, he resolved boldly to win the
inner fortress by battering down the outward walls, and carrying
by force that citadel, the lady's heart, which he had so long
besieged. Any other lover would have been content with
carrying off his fair captive. Duke William acted very differently.
He began by beating his prisoner into compliance,
leaving it to herself to decide between another thrashing and
surrendering at once; neither did he take her in her dishabille,
but waited until the lady was very neatly attired; and
lest he should kill her in the strange way he took of displaying
his affection, he first permitted her to attend mass. This over,
he began his suit in downright earnest. He waylaid her in the
street of Bruges, and after rolling her very lovingly in the dirt,
and making her, as a lady might say, a perfect fright, he then
by way of finish, and as a proof of the strength of his affection,
administered to her a few good solid hearty cuffs, and without
either stopping to pick her up or wishing her good-bye, he
mounted his horse and galloped off. This new mode of wooing
had its desired effect. Matilda had often been threatened by
Love, but never before had he visited her in such a substantial
shape. She little dreamed that the fluttering of his purple
pinions after such soft hoverings, and gentle breathings, would
end in downright hard blows from his clenched fists, but finding
such was the case, she went home, rubbed her bruises, changed
her attire, and got married as quickly as possible.</p>

<p>Matilda herself, taking a lesson out of the same book, resolved
that the lover who had so long stood between herself and William's
affections, should not escape scathless, after what she had
suffered for his sake; and, although it was long after her marriage,
she obtained possession of the estates of the Saxon nobleman,
Brihtric, who had had the misfortune to be sent ambassador
to her father's court when she first fell in love with him;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span>
and the pretty tigress, now finding that her claws were full-grown,
in revenge for the slight she had endured, and the
thrashing she had borne, after having robbed him of all he possessed,
threw him into prison, and was the cause of his death.
A frail fair maiden, the niece of a Kentish nobleman, whom
Matilda suspected of conquering the heart of her husband while
he was conquering England, it is believed fared little better
in her hands, but that she caused her to be mutilated like
Elgiva of old, and either ham-strung her, or slit open the beautiful
mouth which had won the Conqueror from his allegiance to
his savage lady. For this cruel deed, Matilda is said to have
received another beating from her husband, and this time from
a bridle which he brought in his hand for the <span class="locked">purpose.<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">15</a></span></p>

<p>When Harold returned to England, he presented himself
before king Edward, and made him acquainted with all that had
occurred between duke William and himself in Normandy.
The king became pale and pensive, and said, "Did I not forewarn
thee that I knew this William, and that thy journey
would bring great evils both upon thyself and upon thy nation?
Heaven grant that they happen not in my time." These words,
which are given both by Eadmar and Roger of Hovedon,
although they prove that it was far from the wish of Edward
that duke William should be his successor, still leave the matter
doubtful, whether or not in his younger years he had rashly
promised to leave him the crown at his death. William, however,
had already obtained a great advantage. An oath, sworn
upon relics, no matter under what circumstances, was sure, if
violated, to be visited with the fullest vengeance of the ecclesiastical
power; and we have already shown that England at this
time was looked upon with an unfavourable eye by the church
of Rome. The rumour of the oath which Harold had taken
was soon made known in England. "Gloomy reports flew from
mouth to mouth; fears and alarms spread abroad, without any
positive cause for alarm; predictions were dug up from the
graves of the saints of the old time. One of these prophesied
calamities such as the Saxons had never experienced since their
departure from the banks of the Elbe; another announced the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span>
invasion of a people from France, who would subject the English
people, and abase their glory in the dust for ever. All these
rumours, hitherto unheeded or unknown, perhaps indeed purposely
forged at the time, were now thoroughly <span class="locked">credited."<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">16</a></span></p>

<p>In addition to all these imaginary terrors, and before the monarch
was borne to his tomb, a large comet became visible in
England. The greatest Danish army that ever landed upon our
island never spread such consternation as was produced by this
fiery messenger. Such a phenomenon as this was but wanted to
crown their superstitious horrors. The people assembled to gaze
on it with pale and terror-stricken countenances in the streets
of the towns and villages. In their eyes it denoted death, desolation,
famine, invasion, slaughter, and "all the ills which flesh is
heir to." A monk of Malmesbury, who professed the study of
astronomy, gave utterance to the following ominous declaration:&mdash;"Thou hast,
then, returned at length; thou that wilt cause so
many mothers to weep! many years have I seen thee shine; but
thou seemest to me more terrible now, that thou announcest the
ruin of my country."</p>

<p>Edward never held up his head again, nor uttered another
cheerful word after the return of Harold. From that time, until
he expired, he scarcely ever ceased to reproach himself for
having caused the war which hung so threateningly over
England, by entrusting foreigners, instead of his own countrymen,
with the affairs of his government. Day and night
these thoughts beset him, and he endeavoured in vain to drive
them away by religious exercises, and by adding donation upon
donation to the churches and monasteries. In vain did the
priests pray&mdash;in vain did he seek respite by listening to the
Bible, which was read to him, for those passages of sublime and
fearful grandeur which figuratively announce the coming of the
Most High, to punish the nations who had rebelled against His
commandments, fell upon his ear like an ominous knell. Writhing
upon his death-bed, he would exclaim, "The Lord hath
bent His bow&mdash;He hath prepared His sword, and hath manifested
his anger." Such words struck horror into the souls of
all who surrounded his bed, with the exception of Stigand, the
archbishop of Canterbury, who, it is said, smiled with contempt
upon those who trembled at the ravings of a sick old man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span>
According to the authority of the Saxon Chronicle, Eadmar,
Roger of Hoveden, Florence of Worcester, Simeon of Durham,
and partially by William of Malmesbury, and Thierry, a careful
ransacker of ancient chronicles, it is said, "However weak the
mind of the aged Edward, he had the courage, before he expired,
to declare to the chiefs who consulted him as to the choice of his
successor, that, in his opinion, the man worthy to reign was
Harold, the son of Godwin." Edward just lived to see the
opening of the most eventful year in our annals&mdash;that in which
England was invaded by the Normans. He expired on the eve
of Epiphany, in the sixty-sixth year of his age, and was buried
in Westminster Abbey, where his shrine, though mutilated by
time and rude hands, still remains standing in that edifice which
his own piety caused him to rebuild, and which illness alone prevented
him from being present to witness its consecration. He
was long remembered by the Saxons for the body of laws he
compiled, which his oppressed countrymen made their rallying
cry, whenever they gained an ascendancy over their stern task-masters,
the Normans. His conduct to Editha, doubtless, arose
from his dislike to earl Godwin, and the persuasions of his
Norman favourites, for he seems to have ever been a man of a
wavering mind, and who seldom acted from an opinion of his
own. With him perished the last king who was legitimately
descended from the great Alfred; for although Harold was a
Saxon, and displayed as much military and political genius as
any (excepting Alfred) in whose veins flowed the blood of kings,
he was still the son of the cowherd Godwin, a humble, but more
honourable line of descent than that of William the Bastard,
against whom he was so soon to measure his strength, for he
was at this period busily though silently preparing for the invasion
of England.</p>

<p>The Danes were heathens; they professed not Christianity&mdash;this
Norman did; yet when England was ruled over by a king
who had been elected by the voice of the whole witena-gemot,
an election that had scarcely ever been disputed, this Norman
bastard, this son of Robert the Devil, came over with his hired
cut-throats, and armed robbers, and having drenched a once
happy country with blood, he covered its smiling shores and
cheerful fields with desolation and blackened ashes.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ACCESSION OF HAROLD, THE SON OF GODWIN.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"You have conspired against our royal person,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Joined with an enemy proclaimed, and from his coffers<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Received the golden earnest of our death;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His princes and his peers to servitude,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His subjects to oppression and contempt,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And his whole kingdom unto desolation."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Harold, the last Saxon who sat upon the throne of England,
was elected king by a large assembly of chiefs and nobles in
London, on the evening of the very day which saw the body of
Edward the Confessor consigned to the tomb. He was crowned
by the archbishop Stigand, who, although labouring under the
ban of the court of Rome, boldly officiated at this important
ceremony. The archbishop is represented in the Bayeux tapestry
as standing on the left hand of Harold, who is seated upon the
throne, on the day of his coronation. Edgar Atheling, the
grandson of Edmund Ironside, was still alive, and was the undoubted
heir to the crown, though none of the nobles appear to
have advocated his claim. Harold was honourably and legally
elected by the witenagemot, which, as we have shown on several
occasions, had by its unanimous consent frequently set the rightful
heir aside, and placed upon the throne such a successor as
was considered most competent to govern. One of our old
chroniclers, Holinshed, says, "He studied by all means which
way to win the people's favour, and omitted no occasion whereby
he might show any token of bounteous liberality, gentleness, and
courteous behaviour towards them. The grievous customs, also,
and taxes which his predecessor had raised, he either abolished
or diminished; the ordinary wages of his servants and men of
war he increased; and, further, showed himself very well bent
to all virtue and goodness." Sharon Turner wisely and cautiously
observes, that "the true character of Harold cannot be
judged from his actions in the emergency of competition; as he
perished before the virtues of his disposition could be distinguished
from those of his convenience." Harold commenced his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span>
reign by restoring things to their old Saxon forms; he affixed
Saxon signatures to his deeds, instead of the Norman seal. Although
he did not go so far as to banish all the Normans from his court,
it is not improbable that such as were permitted to remain did so
at the intercession of Edward on his death-bed. It was a Norman
who bore the tidings of the death of Edward to duke William.</p>

<p>The duke was engaged in his park near Rouen when he received
the news of Harold's accession; he was busy trying
some new arrows when the messenger arrived. In a moment
he became thoughtful, crossed the Seine, and hastened to his
palace; when he entered the great hall, he began to pace hurriedly
to and fro, occasionally fastening and untying the cord
that secured his cloak, then again sitting down for a moment,
and the next instant hastily arising. He was evidently staggered
by Harold's boldness; not probably that he expected his
aid, but at the suddenness with which he had assumed the crown.
For some time no one dared speak to the "fiery duke;" all
stood apart, either in silence or conversing in subdued whispers.
An officer at last entered, who either being admitted to more
familiarity, or possessing more courage than the rest, thus
accosted the angry Norman: "My lord," said he, "why not communicate
your intelligence to us? It is rumoured that the
king of England is dead, and that Harold has broken his
faith to you, by seizing the kingdom." "They report truly,"
answered the duke, sternly and briefly; "my anger is touching
his death, and the injury Harold has done to me." This courtier
must have been well acquainted with William's designs, and we
can readily fancy the grim smile that faded over the duke's countenance
when the officer had completed his harangue, which was
as follows: "Chafe not at a thing that may be amended. There
is no remedy for Edward's death; but for the wrong which
Harold has done, there is. Yours is the right. You have good
knights; strike boldly&mdash;well begun is half <span class="locked">done."<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">17</a></span> No one knew
this better than the duke himself; he now found that he could
not obtain the kingdom by trickery&mdash;that all the trouble he had
taken to muster the relics together had been labour in vain,&mdash;that
fighting in a distant country was an expensive business,&mdash;so
he went in to consult with his councillors&mdash;to consider the
ways and means, to reckon up the cost of this great expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span>
gain, and to see which would be the best and cheapest way of
executing the few thousands of murders which it was necessary
to perpetrate before he could gain possession. The evil genius
of the son of Robert the Devil was equal to the emergency.</p>

<p>We must now return to Tostig, who, it will be remembered,
when Harold advocated the cause of the oppressed Danes, fled
to Flanders, and found shelter at the court of earl Baldwin,
whose daughter, Judith, he had married. Earl Baldwin, it will
be borne in mind, was the father of Matilda; thus, William the
Norman, and Tostig, the son of Godwin, and brother to king
Harold, had married two sisters. Tostig seems never to have
forgiven his brother for deciding in favour of Morkar, the son
of Algar,&mdash;who had supplanted him in the government of
Northumbria; and no sooner did he hear that Harold was seated
upon the throne of England, than he hastily left Flanders, and
hurried to Normandy to urge his brother-in-law, duke William,
to commence hostilities against England. Although the plans
of the Norman duke were not yet matured, William had
no objection to set brother against brother; thinking, no doubt,
that any attack would serve to divert the attention of Harold
from the main invasion, and give him a better opportunity of
striking the meditated blow. William supplied Tostig with
several vessels, promising him also, as soon as he was prepared,
to come to his assistance. With these ships, which were insufficient
for the attack, Tostig sailed into the Baltic in search
of allies, promising the kingdom to any one who would assist
him to conquer it. For this purpose, he sought out the king of
Denmark, who was related to him on his mother's side; but the
Danish sovereign, well aware that thousands of his subjects were
then living peacefully and happily in England, reprimanded him
sternly for attempting to invade his brother's dominions, and
refused to assist him. Nothing daunted by his ill success,
Tostig next steered to the coast of Norway, where Harald
Hardrada, the last of the bold Scandinavian sea-kings, reigned.</p>

<p>Few men of that day had seen more service than the Norwegian
king, Harald; he had fought endless battles, both by
sea and land,&mdash;had, in turn, set out to pillage as a pirate, and to
conquer and subdue with all the right and might of a sea-king.
He had fought in the east, visited Constantinople, enrolled himself
in a troop of his own countrymen who, by their valour
and daring, had already distinguished themselves both in Asia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span>
and Africa; and, though brother to a king, he had, with his
battle-axe on his shoulders, timed his footsteps to a march as
he mounted guard, like a humble sentinel, at the sculptured
gates of the Asiatic palaces. Having enriched himself by
serving as a "soldier of fortune," he became weary of the outward
grandeur and internal languor of these effeminate courts,
pined for the fresh air which blew about his own bluff headlands,
and longed again to feel the cold sea spray beating upon
his sun-tanned cheeks, and to guide his sea-horse over the ever-moving
billows. So one day he entered the palace with his
battle-axe over his shoulder, and said that it was his intention
to return to Norway. His resignation was received with
reluctance: the Asiatic king would rather have parted with a
hundred of his followers than with Harald Hardrada. The
Norwegian soon found it was his intention to detain him by
force; so, seizing a ship, he carried with him a beautiful princess
whose affections he had won, and left the imperial palace to
guard itself. Once upon the sea, Harald was in no hurry to
reach home. He had still room in his ship for more treasures,&mdash;he
had his beautiful and willing captive for a companion,&mdash;his
ship filled with grim warriors, who, at his bidding, were
ready to grapple with the most formidable dangers; so, after a
long piratical cruise along the coast of Sicily, during which he
had laden his vessel with treasures, he returned home, raised an
army, and laid claim to the throne of Norway. He soon succeeded
in obtaining a share of the dominions. To this valorous
vikingr, so renowned for his perilous adventures and daring
deeds, Tostig came for assistance, promising him England if he
could but win it. Hardrada was easily persuaded; he loved to
be where blows rained heavily, where dangers hemmed him in&mdash;he
seemed to breathe more freely where the current of air
was stirred by the struggle of arms,&mdash;so promised that, as soon
as the ice melted and liberated his fleet, he would set sail for
<span class="locked">England.<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">18</a></span></p>

<p>Impatient to commence the attack, Tostig landed upon the
northern coast of England, at the head of such adventurers as
he could muster, and began to pillage the towns and villages
north of the Humber. He was opposed by Morkar, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span>
governor of Northumbria, and compelled to retreat into Scotland,
where he awaited the arrival of Harald Hardrada.</p>

<p>While these events were in progress, the duke of Normandy
was not inactive, but despatched a messenger to England, who,
arriving at the court of Harold, thus addressed the Saxon king:
"William, duke of Normandy, reminds thee of the oath which
thou didst swear to him, by mouth and by hand, on good and
holy relics." The son of Godwin answered,&mdash;"It is true that I
swore such an oath to duke William, but I swore it under compulsion;
I promised that which did not belong to me, and which
I could not perform; for my royalty is not mine, and I cannot
divest myself of it without the consent of my country, nor, without
the consent of the country, can I marry a foreign wife. As
to my sister, whom the duke claims, to marry her to one of his
chiefs, she died this year:&mdash;would he have me send him her
body?"</p>

<p>William, who was not yet ready to commence operations
against England, after having received Harold's answer, sent the
Saxon king another message, requesting him to fulfil at least a
portion of the promise he had made, and if he would not enter into
all the conditions he had sworn to, to marry his daughter, according
to promise. But Harold was resolved not to fulfil a single
promise which had been forced from him under such circumstances,
therefore sent back a flat refusal, and a few days after
married a Saxon lady, the sister of Morkar, governor of Northumbria.</p>

<p>From the very moment that the news of this marriage reached
the Norman court, all concession was at an end. William swore
a solemn oath, and vowed, by the splendour of God, that within
a year he would appear in person, and demand the whole of
the debt, and "pursue the perjurer to the very places where
he thought he had the surest and firmest footing."</p>

<p>Leaving duke William busily preparing for his invasion, we
must again glance at England, which Harald Hardrada was
already on his way to attack, with a large fleet. A feeling of
fear and discontent seems to have reigned amid the Norwegian
soldiers. Many of them were disturbed by signs and omens&mdash;others
believed that they had prophetic revelations during their
sleep. "One of them," says Thierry, "dreamed that he saw
his companions land on the coast of England, and in the presence
of the English army; that in the front of this army,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span>
riding upon a wolf, was a woman of gigantic stature; the wolf
held in his jaws a human body, dripping with gore, and when
he had devoured it, the woman gave him another. A second
soldier dreamed that the fleet sailed, and that a flock of crows,
vultures, and other birds of prey, were perched upon the masts
and sails of the vessels. On an adjacent rock a woman was
seated, holding a drawn sword in her hand, and looking at and
counting the vessels. She said to the birds, 'Go without fear,
you shall have enough to eat, and you shall have plenty to choose
from, for I go with them.'" After the relation of such dreams
as these had cast a gloom over the whole fleet, every petty disaster
which would have passed unnoticed at another time, was
construed into an evil omen. Thus, when Harald Hardrada,
who was a tall, heavy man, placed his foot on board the royal
vessel, they fancied that the weight of his body either tilted it
aside, or pressed it down more than usual; and such a trifling
incident as this could not be viewed without disheartening the
soldiers.</p>

<p>But the bold sea-king was not to be affrighted by such airy
shadows as these. He sailed along the eastern coast of Scotland,
until he came to where Tostig's vessels were anchored;
when uniting their forces, they made their way to Scarborough,
and attacked the town. Here Hardrada was again in his element.
The Saxon and Danish inhabitants made a bold defence.
In vain did the sea-king thunder at the gates with his battle-axe&mdash;he
could not gain admission. A portion of the town of
Scarborough at this time lay stretched out at the foot of a high
and commanding rock. The bold Norwegian had stormed too
many towns to be daunted by trifles; so summoning his followers
to cut down all the trees which grew at hand, he raised
an enormous pile of trunks and branches upon the summit of
the rock, and firing it, with the stubble and dried grass which
he had placed below, he raised such a conflagration as the inhabitants
had never before witnessed. While the high pile
was crackling, and blazing, and lighting up the country for
miles around, he ordered his soldiers to roll down the burning
mass upon the houses at the foot of the rock. The gates were
speedily opened; and as the inhabitants rushed out, the sea-king
and his followers entered to pillage the town.</p>

<p>Leaving Scarborough behind, they quitted the German ocean
and entered the Humber, and sailed round the wolds of Yorkshire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span>
into the Ouse, for Tostig was eager to reach York, and
instal himself once more in the seat of his former government.
Morkar, who had succeeded him, and whose sister king Harold
had married, mustered his forces together, and gave battle to
the invaders; he was, however, compelled to retreat, and escaping
into York, which was strongly fortified, he shut himself up,
and left the besiegers encamped around the walls.</p>

<p>Meantime king Harold was in the south, waiting the arrival
of duke William, for with a powerful army he had kept a watch
upon the coast nearest Norway night and day. But the summer
was now over, and autumn having set in, Harold, it is said,
misled by a message which he is reported to have received from
Baldwin, earl of Flanders, was led to believe that the duke of
Normandy would not commence his threatened invasion until
the following spring. But whether this report was true or not,
the son of Godwin well knew that his kingdom would be exposed
to greater danger if he allowed two armies to march
upon him at once; that with the Norwegians advancing from
the north, and the Normans from the south, he should be
hemmed in between two enemies; so turning his face towards
York, he resolved to attack those who had already landed, to
clear the ground, and make more space for the new comers.
Having once decided, Harold lost not a moment, but riding
himself at the head of his chosen troops, he by rapid marches
reached York, on the evening of the fourth day after his departure.
The next day was appointed for the surrender of the
city; for many of the inhabitants, fearful that the enemy would
assail their city as they had before done Scarborough, had resolved
to throw open the gates on the following morning, and
accept again their ancient governor Tostig. Harold, apprised
of this, ordered such of the citizens as were faithful to resume
their arms, keep a close guard over the gates, and on no account
to allow any one to pass over to the Norwegian camp during
the night. Encouraged by the tidings of the arrival of the
Saxon army, the citizens remained true to their trust; nor were
Hardrada nor Tostig aware, until the next day, that Harold was
encamped in the neighbourhood.</p>

<p>The morning ushered in one of those bright and beautiful
days, which look as if summer had come back again to peep at
the earth before her final departure; for although it was now
near the close of September, and the harvest-fields were silent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span>
the sunlight broke as brilliantly upon the grey old walls of the
city of York as ever it had done while the green old waysides
of England were garlanded with the wild roses of June. The
day being hot and bright, the Norwegians, unconscious that
they were so near an enemy, had left their coats of mail on
board of the ships, which were at some distance from the city.
As they were marching up to enter the gates, as they supposed,
peaceably, and in accordance with the terms which were agreed
upon the previous day, the king of Norway beheld a cloud of
dust rising in the distance, amid which his experienced eye
instantly detected the glittering of arms in the sunshine. "Who
are these men advancing towards us?" said Hardrada to Tostig.
"It can only be Englishmen coming to demand pardon and implore
our friendship," answered Tostig; but scarcely had he uttered
the words, before a large and well ordered body of men in
armour stood out clear and distinct in the distance, headed by
Harold, the last king of the Saxons. "The enemy&mdash;the enemy!"
resounded from line to line; and three horsemen were instantly
despatched with all speed to bring up the remainder of the army,
who were behind in the camp; and the king of Norway, unfurling
his banner, which he called the "Ravager of the world!"
drew up his army around it in the form of a half moon, the
outer verge of which extended towards Harold, while the
rounded wings, which bent back, were filled up with the same
strength and depth as the centre. The first line stood with
the ends of their lances planted in the ground and held in an
upward and slanting direction, with the points turned towards
the Saxons. The second line held their spears above the
shoulders of the first, ready to plunge them into the riders when
their horses had rushed upon the points of the foremost spears.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, and shield to shield, while the
king of Norway, on his black charger, rode along the ranks,
encouraging his men to stand firm, and, although without their
cuirasses, to fear not the edges of blue steel. "The sun glitters
upon our helmets," said he; "that is enough for brave men."
While Hardrada was riding round, and encouraging his men,
his heavy black war-horse stumbled, and he fell to the ground;
but he sprang up again in an instant, and leaped into his saddle.
Harold, who stood near enough to see his fall, inquired who that
large and majestic person was. When answered that it was the
king of Norway, Harold replied, "His fortune will be disastrous."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span>
The sea-king wore on that day a blue tunic, while his head was
surmounted by a splendid helmet, both of which had attracted
the attention of the Saxon king.</p>

<p>Before the battle commenced, Harold ordered a score of his
warriors, who were well mounted, and armed from head to heel,
to advance towards the front of the Norwegian lines, and summon
his brother Tostig to appear. The Saxon rode out of the
Norwegian ranks, when one of the horsemen exclaimed, "Thy
brother greets thee by me, and offers thee peace, his friendship,
and thy ancient honours." Tostig replied, "These words are
very different from the insults and hostilities they made me submit
to a year ago; but if I accept them, what shall be given to my
faithful ally, Harald Hardrada, king of Norway?" "He,"
answered the Saxon messenger, "shall have seven feet of ground,
or, as he is a very tall man, perhaps a little more." Tostig
bade the messengers depart, and tell his brother Harold to prepare
for fight; for, true to his word, the Saxon was resolved to
stand or fall with the brave Norwegian <span class="locked">sea-king.<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">19</a></span></p>

<p>Near the commencement of the battle, the Norwegian king
was slain by a random arrow, which pierced his throat. The
first charge of the Saxon cavalry was received firmly on the
points of the implanted spears, and it was not until the English
horsemen began to retreat in some confusion, when the Norwegians
were tempted to break through their hitherto impenetrable
ranks, that the Saxons obtained any advantage. While
the combat still raged fiercely under the command of Tostig,
Harold once more singled out his brother in the battle-field,
dispatched to him a messenger, and again offered him both
peace and life, with permission to the Norwegians to return to
their own country unmolested; but Tostig had resolved to
win either death or victory. He was determined to accept
no favour from his brother's hands, and the arrival of fresh
troops from the ships, who were completely armed, seemed to
revive fresh hopes in his bosom. But these new troops were
not in a fit state to enter the field. Heated with the rapidity
with which they had marched, under a weight of heavy armour,
that the sun seemed to burn through, they offered but a feeble
resistance to the charge of the Saxon cavalry; and when a
rumour ran through the field that their standard was captured,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span>
Tostig and most of the Norwegian leaders slain, they gladly
accepted the peace which king Harold for the third time offered
them. Olaf, the son of the king of Norway, having sworn
friendship to Harold, returned to his own country with the sad
remnant of his father's fleet. "The same wind," says Thierry,
"which swelled the Saxon banners, as they fluttered over a
victorious field, filled the Norman sails, and wafted a more
formidable enemy towards the coast of Sussex." The ominous
curtain was drawn up for the last time, which in a few days was
doomed to fall down, and shut out for ever the last of the
Saxons that ever wore the crown of England.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span></p>

<h2 class="part"><a name="The_Norman_Invasion" id="The_Norman_Invasion">The Norman Invasion</a></h2>

<hr />
<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">ENGLAND INVADED BY THE NORMANS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Down royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And to the English court assemble now,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From every region, apes of idleness!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Be happy, he will trouble you no more:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">England shall double gild his treble guilt;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">England shall give him office, honour, might."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shakspere.</span><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">We must now carry our readers to Normandy, to the life and
stir, and busy preparation which nearly eight hundred years
ago took place in that country. We must waft their imagination
across the ocean to those masses of living and moving men who
then existed, and endeavour to look at them, as if they still lived,
and were actuated then as now. At the busy workmen who were
employed in building ships, labouring all the more eagerly in
hopes that amid the scramble of the war they might become the
commanders of the vessels they were helping to construct&mdash;at
the smiths and armourers, who were then forging lances and
swords, and coats of mail, trusting that when their work was
done, and the victory won, they should in England become great
lords, and have a score or two of followers to carry before them
the very lances which their own hard hands had hammered out.
At the tailor, who sat hemming gonfannons, and the embroiderer
who worked the figures of lions' and bulls' heads, dragons, and all
imaginable monsters, upon pennon or banner, fondly dreaming
they should one day sit in the lordly halls of England with
the banner, the cunning workmanship of their hands fluttering
above their heads, while they, no longer "knights of the shears
and thimble," should throw aside the goose and needle, and become<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span>
great rulers in conquered England. At the cooper, who thundered
away cheerfully as he drove his hoops down the casks, believing
that when his work was finished, he should on the other side of
the ocean become a count; the shoemaker, who hammered and
stitched for every shoeless vagabond who came toiling up the
dusty roads from Maine and Anjou, under promise that he should
have the fairest Saxon wife he could capture. The tinker, who
had clouted pots and pans, but now turned his hand to the
riveting of helmets, under the hope of becoming a rich thane
when he landed in Britain. For hedgers and ditchers, weavers,
and drovers&mdash;all the scum and outcast of Poitou, and Brittany,
France, and Flanders, now came in rags and tatters&mdash;the "shoeless-stocracy"
from Aquitaine and Burgundy, hurried up
under the hope of one day becoming the aristocracy of England&mdash;some
offered to murder and burn for their food and lodging only&mdash;others
brought their bread and cheese and garlic, ready bundled
up, and were willing to slay and desolate, and do any damnable
deed for their passage alone, so that they might be allowed to
pick up a stray Saxon princess or two, or take possession of any
old comfortable castle, when the burning and murdering were
over. Such a collection of thieves and vagabonds, and un-hung
rascals, were never covered in under the hatches of all the ships
that have carried out convicts since the day that England first
discharged its cargoes of vice and wretchedness upon the shores
of Australia. All these ragged and unprincipled rascals&mdash;no
matter from what quarter they came&mdash;were instantly set at
work; some, who were fit for nothing else, rubbed and scrubbed
and polished corslets and helmets, shields and spurs; others
sharpened spears and pikes and javelins, grinding and rubbing
the points upon any stone they could find; many were beasts of
burthen, and toiled from morning till night, in carrying stores
to the ships; and all these ragamuffins were destined to sail
under a banner, which the pope himself had consecrated, and
under a bull to which a ring was appended, containing one of
the hairs of St. Peter set in a diamond of great value. All
these dogs in doublets, hounds in armour, murderers in mail,
cut-throats in corslets, and robbers at heart, were, about eight
hundred years ago, congregated on that great mustering-ground
of villany, Normandy; and there they matured their plans for
breaking into the peaceful homes, and slaying the unoffending
inhabitants of England.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span>
The Evil One, doubtless, cast his triumphant eye over that vast
assembly, then hurried off to enlarge his fiery dominion against
their coming.</p>

<p>Before setting out on his invasion, the crafty Norman had, by
laying an accusation of sacrilege against Harold, at the court of
Rome, obtained permission to bring back England to the obedience
of the holy church, and to enforce the payment of the tax
of Peter's-pence. Added to this, he got a bull of excommunication
against the Saxon king and his adherents; and armed with
such credentials, he set out to murder, burn, and desolate, under
the sanction of the holy church. Thus, William was armed with
a power more dreaded, in that superstitious age, by the blinded
and ignorant multitude, than the edge of the sword. Nor is it
probable, considering the breach which existed between England
and Rome, that the pontiff for a moment took into consideration
the circumstances under which William extorted the oath from
Harold. Besides obtaining the vindictive sanction of that church
which professed only peace and good-will towards all mankind&mdash;whose
harshest emblem was a pastoral crook, with which to
draw back tenderly the sheep that had wandered from the fold&mdash;but
who, instead of this, consecrated (solemn mockery!) the banner
which was so soon to wave over a field steeped with the
blood of Christians. Besides obtaining this unholy power, the
Norman duke made use of all the duplicity he was master of, to
persuade and compel his subjects to furnish the funds which were
so necessary to fit out his expedition. He summoned his brothers,
by the mother's side, Eudes and Robert, sons of the old tanner
of Falaise, who had now turned down the sleeves of their doublets,
cast aside their leathern aprons, and having got rid of the
aroma of the tan-pit, one had become bishop of Bayeux, and
the other count of Mortain. These, together with his barons,
summoned to the conference, pledged themselves, not only to
serve him with their body and their goods, but even to the
selling or mortgaging of their estates, although they were pretty
sure, in case of success, of having whatever they might advance
returned to them an hundred-fold. They were of opinion, that
those who were not so likely to become partakers of the spoil,
should be compelled to contribute to the cost. On this hint,
which was probably his own, duke William convoked a large
assembly of men from all professions and stations of life in Normandy,
amongst whom were many of the richest merchants in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span>
his dominions. When they met, he explained his wants, and
solicited their assistance. They listened, then withdrew, in order
to consult each other as to what measures should be taken.</p>

<p>Seldom had there been such a hubbub in Normandy as this
assembly presented. Some, whom there is but little doubt had
previously made their arrangements with either the duke or his
officials, were ready to give ships, money, or anything they possessed;
others, who had come to no understanding as to what
return was to be made, would give nothing, but said that they
were already burthened with more debts than they could pay.
In the midst of this confusion, when fifty were talking like one,
and they could scarcely hear each other speak for their own
clamour, William Fitz-Osbern, the seneschal, or ducal lieutenant
of Normandy, entered the hall, and raising his voice high above
the rest, he exclaimed, "Why dispute ye thus? He is your
lord&mdash;he has need of you; it were better your duty to make your
offers, and not to await his request. If you fail him now,
and he gain his end, he will remember it; prove, then, that
you love him, and act accordingly." "Doubtless," cried the
opponents, "he is our lord; but is it not enough for us to pay
him his dues? We owe him no aid beyond the seas; he has
already enough oppressed us with his wars; let him fail in his
new enterprise, and our country is <span class="locked">undone."<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">20</a></span></p>

<p>It was at last resolved that Fitz-Osbern should lead the way,
and make the best terms he could with the duke. He did; and
they followed him probably not further than the next apartment,
where William was awaiting their decision; and great must have
been their astonishment when the seneschal commenced his oration.
In vain did they shrug up their shoulders, lift up their
eyes, and exclaim, "No, no! we did not say this; we will not
do that." Onward plunged Fitz-Osbern deeper and deeper,
declaring that they were the most loyal and zealous people in
the world&mdash;that they were ready to serve him here, there, and
everywhere,&mdash;that they would give him all they possessed; and,
more than that, that those who had supplied him with two
mounted soldiers would now furnish four. In vain they roared
out, "No, no! we will serve him in his own country, but nowhere
beside." Fitz-Osbern had in his imagination jerked them
across the ocean, and furnished William with an army in no time;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span>
and when he had finished, he left them to settle as they best
could with the duke,&mdash;for there is no doubt the matter had been
previously concocted between the seneschal and William.</p>

<p>The duke of Normandy either was, or pretended to be surprised
and enraged beyond measure. Could his seneschal have
deceived him, or could they be so disloyal as to refuse to furnish
him with the aid he required? Such a matter must be looked into&mdash;and
it was. He sent separately for the most influential of the
leaders; had a private conference with each; and, when they
came out, they were ready to grant him everything. He gave
them sealed letters for security; and what they contained we may
readily guess&mdash;for the man who consented to portion out England
to his followers before they had conquered it, was not likely to
stick at giving away all Europe [on parchment] to secure his
ends. By such tricks as these, sorry are we to write it, he obtained
the aid of many brave and honourable men. But for this,
we might have ranked his invasion with an army of unprincipled
adventurers, amongst the ravages of those Goths and Vandals
who in the darker ages overran Greece and Rome. "He published
his proclamation," says Thierry, "in the neighbouring
countries, and offered good pay and the pillage of England to every
man who would serve him with lance, sword, or cross-bow; and
multitudes accepted the invitation, coming by every road, far
and near, from north and south. All the professional adventurers,
all the military vagabonds of western Europe, hastened to
Normandy by long marches; some were knights and chiefs of
war, the others simple foot-soldiers and serjeants-of-arms, as they
were then called. Some demanded money-pay, others only their
passage, and all the booty they might make. Some asked for
land in England, a domain, a castle, a town; others simply required
some rich Saxon in marriage. Every thought, every
desire of human avarice presented itself; "William rejected no
one," says the Norman chronicle, "and satisfied every one as
well as he could."</p>

<p>From spring to autumn, Normandy was the great rallying point
for every one who had strength enough to wield arms, and were
willing to dash out the brain of his fellow-men. The three-lion
banner threw its folds over more crime and cruelty than was,
perhaps, ever found amongst the same number of men; and the
doors of this huge inhuman stye were about to be opened, and
the grim, savage, and tusked herd turned loose, to slay, root-up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span>
overrun, and desecrate a country to which Alfred the Great
had given laws&mdash;a kingdom that already stood second to none in
the wide world for civilization. These man-slayers ran together
to hunt in couples&mdash;they became sworn brothers in arms&mdash;they
vowed to share all they gained&mdash;they made these promises
in churches&mdash;they knelt hand in hand before the holy altars, and
blasphemously called God to witness that they would equally
divide what they obtained by bloodshed and robbery. Prayers
were said, and psalms chaunted, and tapers burnt in churches for
the success of these armed marauders; yet neither the thunder
nor the lightning nor an avenging arm descended to strike dead
the impious priests who thus dared to invoke His sacred name
in so unholy a cause; and for ages after, many a golden cross
and sacred vessel of gold or silver, which had once decorated
the altars of the English monasteries, were seen in the mis-called
sacred buildings of Normandy&mdash;rewards which were given by
the Norman Bastard to these mitred blasphemers. Some were
honourable enough to refuse to co-operate with the Norman on
any terms, like the high-minded Gilbert Fitz-Richard, who came
over with the duke because he was his liege lord; and when
the period of his servitude had expired, returned again to his
own country, no richer than when he came. But there were
few, we fear, like him. Thierry says, "He was the only one
among the knights who accompanied the Norman that claimed
neither lands nor gold." Many, we know, while the army was
encamped near the river Dive, did homage for the lands which
were then in the peaceable possession of the Saxons, who little
dreamed, while they were superintending the gathering in of
their harvest, that the Norman Bastard was already portioning
out their fair domains amongst men who had sworn to do his
"bloody business."</p>

<p>When William applied to Philip of France for his assistance&mdash;and
in the most humiliating terms offered to do homage for
England, and to hold it as the vassal of France&mdash;Philip refused
to assist him. With the count of Flanders, his brother-in-law,
he fared no better; and when Conan, king of Brittany, heard
that duke William, whom he looked upon as an usurper, and
the murderer of his father, was preparing for the invasion of
England, he sent him the following message by one of his chamberlains:&mdash;"I
hear that thou art about to cross the sea, to conquer
the kingdom of England. Now, duke Robert, whose son<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span>
thou pretendest to be, on departing for Jerusalem, remitted all
his heritage to count Allan, my father, who was his cousin; but
thou and thy accomplices poisoned my father. Thou hast appropriated
to thyself his seigneury, and hast detained it to this
day, contrary to all justice, seeing that thou art a bastard.
Restore me, then, the duchy of Normandy, which belongs to me,
or I will make war upon thee to the last extremity with all the
forces at my disposal."</p>

<p>The Norman historians state that William was somewhat
alarmed at this message, as such an attack must have prevented
his meditated invasion; but the king of Brittany did not survive
his threat many days. The Norman succeeded in bribing the
chamberlain to murder his royal master, and this he accomplished
by rubbing the mouth-piece of his hunting horn with deadly
poison, so that when Conan next rode to the chase, he blew his
last blast. Many of William's enemies were at this time, beyond
doubt, removed by similar means. Nor do such deeds
startle the historian as he draws nearer to that land of horrors;
to the threshold of that country which, by his command, was
stained with the blood of a hundred thousand murders. The
successor of Conan, warned by the fate of father and son,
patched up a peace with the Norman, and allowed many of his
subjects to accompany the expedition.</p>

<p>When all was in readiness for this long threatened invasion,
a contrary wind set in, and kept the large fleet, which amounted
to many hundred sail, for nearly a whole month at the mouth of
the Dive, a river which falls into the sea between the Seine and
the Orne. After this a southerly breeze sprang up, and wafted
the mighty armament as far as the roadsteads of St. Valery, near
Dieppe; then the wind suddenly changed, and there they were
compelled to lie at anchor for several days. Many of the
vessels were wrecked; and lest an alarm should spread amongst
his troops, William caused the bodies of the drowned men to be
buried with speed, and in privacy. Nor did such disasters fail
in producing their effects upon his superstitious followers. Some
deserted his standard, for they thought that an expedition,
which the very elements seemed to oppose, could only be
attended with evil. Murmurs broke out in the fleet&mdash;the
soldiers began to converse with each other, and to exaggerate
the number of dead bodies which had been buried in the sand&mdash;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span>to
conjure up perils and difficulties which they had never before
seen. "The man is mad," said they, "who seeks to seize the land
of another. God is offended with such designs, and proves it by
refusing us a favourable wind." In vain did William increase
the rations of provisions, and supply them with larger portions
of strong liquor&mdash;the same low feeling of despondency reigned
along the shore and in the ships. The soldiers were weary of
watching the monotonous waves that ever rolled from the same
quarter&mdash;they were tired of feeling the wind blow upon their
faces from the same direction&mdash;but there was no help&mdash;no change;
the breeze shifted not; and they paced wearily! wearily! along
the shore; reckoning up again the number of dead bodies which
had already been buried in the sand, then shaking their heads,
and muttering to each other, "So many have perished, and yet
we are no nearer the battle than when we set out." Others deserted
on the morrow.</p>

<p>In vain did duke William attend the church of St. Valery
daily, and pray before the shrine of the saint&mdash;the little weathercock
on the bell-tower still pointed in the same direction day
after day&mdash;his prayers were of no avail; and sometimes he came
out of the church with such an expression on his countenance, as
led the beholder to conclude that, from the bottom of his heart, he
wished the wind, the weathercock, and the saint, with that dusky
gentleman after whom the Normans had nicknamed his father.
Weary and disheartened, like his followers, at this long delay,
William at last hit upon a device, that at least served to arouse
the spirits of his soldiers from the state of despondency into which
they had sunk, and to chase from their minds the gloomy doubts
and forebodings with which they had been so long overcast.
To accomplish this, he took from the church of St. Valery the
coffer that contained the relics of the patron saint, and this
he had carried with great ceremony through the camp in the
centre&mdash;it was at last set down; and prayers having been
offered up for a favourable wind, the soldiers in procession
passed by the relics of the reputed saint, each throwing upon it
what he could best afford, until the "shrine was half buried in
the heaps of gold, silver, and precious things, which were
showered upon it. Thus artfully did he, instead of interposing
the authority of a sovereign and a military leader, to punish
the language of sedition and mutiny among his troops, oppose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span>
superstition to superstition, to amuse the short-sighted instruments
of his <span class="locked">ambition."<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">21</a></span></p>

<p>On the following night the wind chanced to change, to the
great delight of the priests who attended the camp, and who,
while they packed up the rich offerings which had been thrown
over the dry and marrowless bones of a good and pious old man,
failed not to attribute the natural change in the current of the
atmosphere to the intercession of St. Valery. At daybreak,
on the twenty-seventh of September, the sky was bright and
beautiful&mdash;the wind blowing in a favourable direction from the
south, and the sun, which had for many days been enveloped in
mists and clouds, now rose with a summer-like splendour, throwing
long trails of golden light over the green and ridgy sea.
The camp was immediately broken up, the sails were hoisted,
and in a few hours the large fleet, which contained upwards of
sixty thousand men, launched forth into the open sea amid the
deep braying of the Norman trumpets. Foremost in the van
rode the beautiful vessel which contained William, duke of
Normandy. At its mast-head fluttered the consecrated banner
which had been sent by the pope, and below this streamed out
another flag, marked with the cross of Calvary, for so was the
emblem of our salvation profaned. The sails were of various
colours, and on them were emblazoned in gold the three lions,
the haughty arms of Normandy. The prow of the vessel was
decorated with the figure of a child, bearing a bent bow in its
hand, as if in the act of discharging an arrow. When night
closed in over the sea, a large lantern was hoisted to the mast-head
of this magnificent vessel, and through the hours of darkness
that vast fleet marched from wave to wave, every billow
rolling it nearer to the shores of England. When the grey
morning again dawned upon the sea, the Norman chief, finding
that he had far outsailed his fleet, sent one of his sailors up the
mast to see if he could descry the lagging ships in the distance.
At first, the man who was despatched to look out saw nothing
but sea and sky; but on his third ascent, he exclaimed,
"I see a forest of masts and sails!" William then either dropped
his anchor, or took in his canvas, until the foremost vessels
approached, and in a few hours after, the vast armament was
riding safely in Pevensey Bay; only one or two vessels having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span>
been lost, while crossing the English channel, and in one of
these was a famous astrologer who had predicted that the
voyage would terminate without a disaster; but when William
heard of his death, he shrewdly remarked, "that he who could not
foresee his own fate, was ill adapted to foretel the fate of others."</p>

<p>It appears that the Saxon vessels which had so long been
cruising upon the coast of Sussex, awaiting the arrival of the
Normans, had returned to port from want of provisions. Thus
William was enabled to land his troops without opposition; and
on the 28th of September, his forces disembarked at Pevensey,
on the coast of Sussex. The archers, who wore short coats,
and had their hair cut close, were the first to land. They were
followed by the knights, who wore corslets of burnished mail,
and conical shaped helmets of glittering steel; each bore in
his hand a strong lance, while at his side hung a long, straight,
double-edged sword. Then came the pioneers, the carpenters,
and the smiths, each wheeling up and forming themselves into
separate divisions, until the whole shore was covered with armed
men and horses, above whose heads fluttered the gonfannons
and the larger banners, which were so soon to serve as beacons
in the rallying points of battle. William was the last to land,
and his foot had scarcely touched the sandy shore before he
stumbled and fell. A murmur arose amid the assembled host,
and voices were heard to exclaim, "This is an evil sign." But
the duke, with that ready talent which enabled him to give a
favourable appearance to serious as well as trifling disasters,
suddenly sprang up, and showing the sand which he had grasped
in his fall, exclaimed, "Lords, what is it you say? What, are
you amazed? I have taken seizin of this land with my hands,
and, by the splendour of God, all that it contains is ours."
One of the soldiers then ran hastily forward, and tearing a
handful of thatch from the roof of a neighbouring cottage, an
ancient mode of conveyance, which still exists, he presented it
to the duke, saying, "Sire, I give you <i>seizin</i>, in token that the
realm is yours." William answered, "I accept it, and may God
be with us." Refreshments were then distributed to the soldiers
as they rested upon the beach.</p>

<p>The army moved a little onward in the direction of Hastings,
a spot favourable to encamp upon having been selected, two
strong wooden fortresses, which had been prepared in Normandy,
were erected; and thus strongly fortified, William<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span>
awaited the coming of the Saxons. On the following day, the
work of pillage commenced. Troops of Normans over-ran the
country&mdash;the whole coast was in a state of alarm; the inhabitants
fled from their houses, concealing their cattle and goods,
and congregating in the churches and churchyards, as if they
trusted that the dust of the dead would be a protection to them
against their foreign invaders. The peasants assembled on the
distant hills, and looked with terror upon the strong fortresses,
and the immense body of men which they could see moving about
the coast. A Saxon knight mounted his horse, and hurried off,
without slackening his rein, to carry the tidings to Harold. Day
and night did he ride, scarcely allowing himself time for either
food or refreshment, until, reaching the ancient hall at York,
where Harold was seated at his dinner, he rushed into the
presence of the Saxon king, and delivering his message in four
brief ominous words, exclaimed, "The Normans are come!"<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">22</a></p>

<h2 class="vspace"><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a><br />

<span class="subhead">BATTLE OF HASTINGS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"'Tis better to die at the head of the herd,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than to perish alone, unmourned, uninterred;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be bound with the brave amid summer's last sheaves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than be left, the last ear that the reaper's hand leaves;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis better to fall grasping arrow and bow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amid those whom we love, than be slave to a foe;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For life is the target at which Death's shafts fly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If they miss us we live&mdash;if they hit us we die."<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Royston Gower.</span><br />
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">Elated by the victory which a hasty march and a sudden
surprise had enabled him to obtain more easily over the
Norwegians, the brave Harold again, without a day's delay,
proceeded to advance rapidly in the direction of the Norman
encampment, wearied and thinned as his forces were by the late
encounter; hoping by the same unexpected manœuvre and
headlong attack, to overthrow at once this new enemy. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span>
sanguine was the Saxon king of obtaining the victory, that he
commanded a fleet of seven hundred vessels to hasten towards
the English Channel, and intercept the enemy's ships if they
should, on his approach, attempt to return to Normandy. The
force thus despatched, to remain idle and useless upon the ocean,
greatly diminished the strength of the army which Harold was
about to lead into the field. Added to this, many had abandoned
his standard in disgust, because he prohibited them from
plundering the Northmen, whom they had so recently conquered&mdash;an
act of forbearance which, when placed beside his generous
dismissal of the vanquished, shows that Harold, like Alfred,
blended mercy instead of revenge with conquest. Too confident
in the justice of his cause&mdash;brave, eager, impetuous, and
burning with the remembrance of the wrongs which he had endured,
while he lay helpless at the foot of the Norman duke in
his own country, the Saxon king hastened with forced marches
to London; where he only waited a few days to collect such
forces as were scattered about the neighbourhood, instead of
gathering around him the whole strength of Mercia, and the
thousands which he might have marshalled together from the
northern and western provinces. Those who flocked to his
standard came singly, or in small bands; they consisted of men
who had armed hastily, of citizens who lived in the metropolis,
of countrymen who were within a day or two's march of the
capital, and even of monks who abandoned their monasteries to
defend their country against the invaders. Morkar, the great
northern chieftain, who had married Harold's sister, mustered
his forces at the first summons, but long before he reached
London, Harold was on his way to Hastings. The western
militia, and such straggling bands as we have already described,
were all that made up for the losses he had sustained
at York&mdash;for the many who had deserted him because he forbade
them to plunder the Norwegians&mdash;and the numbers whom
he had so unwisely sent away to strengthen the fleet&mdash;so that
the Saxon king, by his precipitate and ill-timed march, reached
the battle-field with a tired and jaded force, which scarcely
numbered twenty thousand; and with these he was compelled to
combat a practised and subtle leader, who had sixty thousand
men at his command, and who, excepting their plunder and
forages in the surrounding neighbourhood, had already rested
fifteen days in their encampment. The haste that Harold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span>
made was increased by the rumours he heard of the ravages
committed by the Normans. It was to put a check to the sufferings
which his countrymen were enduring in the vicinity of
the Norman encampment, that caused the Saxon king to ride
at the head of his brave little army, and to leave London in the
twilight of an October evening; and, though so ill prepared, to
endeavour to check the insolence of the rapacious invaders.
Harold possessed not the cool cunning and calculating foresight
of his crafty adversary, but trusted to the goodness of his cause;
no marvel then that he evinced the impatience which is so characteristic
of a wronged and brave Englishman. It is on record,
that the Norman duke forbade his soldiers to plunder the people,
but his future conduct is marked by no such forbearance,
and we have proof that the inhabitants in the neighbourhood
of the encampment abandoned their houses and fled; nor
is it probable, for a moment, that such a rabble as he had
brought over would rest, for fifteen days, without molesting the
English, whose country had already been divided, in promise,
amongst them.</p>

<p>Harold found the Norman outposts stationed at some distance
from Hastings, and therefore drew up his forces on the range of
hills which stand near the site of Battle-abbey. It is said the altar
of the abbey was afterwards built on the very spot where the
Saxon king planted his standard. Duke William drew up his army
more inland, and occupied the opposite eminence. The features of
the country have undergone so many changes, that it would almost
be impossible to point out the identical hills on which the opposing
armies took up their stations, although it seems pretty clear that
the place which still bears the name of Battle was that on which
the struggle took place. The hills on which the Saxon forces
stood arrayed were flanked by a wood. A great portion of this
they felled, to strengthen their position by palisades and breastworks,
and redoubts, formed by stakes, hurdles, and earth-works,
which they hastily threw up, although the soldiery were wearied
with their rapid march from London. Messengers had already
passed between Harold and William. The latter had offered
the Saxon king all the lands beyond the Humber, if he would
abandon the throne; or, if he preferred it, to leave the matter to
the pope, or to decide the quarrel by single combat. Harold
answered, that the God of battles should decide between them.
It is said that the Saxon king offered the Norman a large sum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span>
to quit the kingdom: but it is difficult to reconcile such a statement
with that of his having despatched seven hundred vessels
to prevent the invaders from escaping. A whole day is said to
have been wasted in useless messages; and, at length, the
Norman went so far as to offer Gurth, Harold's brother, the
whole of the lands which had been held by earl Godwin. These,
with such as extended beyond the Humber, and which he was
willing that the Saxon king should retain, would have left the wily
Norman in possession of a much greater portion of England than
he was able to obtain until long after that sanguinary struggle
had been decided. Harold was firm to his country. He rejected
all offers of concession, and was resolved either to rid
England of so dangerous an enemy, or perish in the field, and
by his example to show those into whose hands the freedom of
England might be entrusted, that if he could not conquer he
would die as became a brave Saxon, in the defence of his
country. Harold seems to have been well aware that the battle
would be boldly contested; for when the spies he had sent out
to reconnoitre returned with the tidings, that there were more
priests in the Norman encampment than soldiers&mdash;they having
mistaken for monks all such as shaved the beards, and wore the
hair short&mdash;he smiled, and said, "They whom you saw in such
numbers are not priests, but warriors, who will soon show us
their worth:" a clear proof that he well knew the valour of
the Norman chivalry.</p>

<p>When duke William found that Harold was resolved to fight,
he, as a last resource, sent over a monk to renew his offer, and
to proclaim that all who aided him were excommunicated by the
pope, and that he already possessed the papal bull which pronounced
them accursed. Many of the English chiefs began to
look with alarm on each other when they heard themselves
threatened with excommunication. But one of them, according
to the Norman chronicle, boldly answered, "We ought to fight,
however great the danger may be; for the question is not about
receiving a new lord, if our king were dead&mdash;the matter is far
different. This duke has given our lands to his barons, knights,
and people, many of whom have already done homage for them.
They will demand the fulfilment of his promises: and were he
to become our king, he would be compelled to give to them our
lands, our goods, our wives and our daughters; for he has
beforehand promised them all. They have come to wrong both us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span>
and our descendants&mdash;to take from us the country of our ancestors;&mdash;and
what shall we do, or where shall we go, when we
have no longer any country?" After such an answer as this, the
Norman must have been satisfied that all further attempts at
concession were useless&mdash;that his real motives were unveiled,
that they knew he had abandoned England to the mercy of the
armed marauders, who were already drawn up to "kill and take
possession,"&mdash;and that the army opposed to him consisted of men
who were resolved to conquer or die. Nor was he mistaken;
for, by the time that the messengers had regained the Norman
encampment, the Saxons had vowed before God, that they would
neither make peace, nor enter into treaty with such an enemy,
but either drive the Normans out of England, or leave their
dead bodies in the battle-field.</p>

<p>We wonder not that men who had formed such a resolution
should spend the night in chaunting their ancient national songs,
and in pledging each other's health, as they passed the cup from
hand to hand for the last time&mdash;that the bravest of this sworn
brotherhood in arms should boast how they would hew their
way into the enemy's ranks on the morrow&mdash;that many had
made up their minds that they should fall&mdash;that they had recounted
the number of battles they had fought in, the omens
they had witnessed, and which foretold their deaths, (for such
superstitions were firmly believed by our Saxon ancestors)&mdash;that
with such feelings as these the ale cup circulated until
that clear, cold October midnight had rolled into the heavens
all its host of stars. Their talk would be of victory or death&mdash;of
the hard blows that would be dealt before the moon again
climbed so high up the blue steep of midnight&mdash;of the friends
who were far behind&mdash;of the many who, in the face of such an
enemy, would be certain to fall;&mdash;and, ever and anon, a few
stragglers would come dropping in, and welcome recognitions be
given. The Normans, who had no new arrivals to pledge,
betook themselves to confessing their sins, and preparing for
the death they so richly merited. They who were about to
bleed for the defence of their country, had already offered up
their hearts on freedom's holy altar&mdash;the blow only had to be
struck, and the blood to flow, and the sacrifice was ended.
They had sworn in solemn league, that liberty was to them
dearer than life, and such a vow had divested death of all its
terrors. In the defence of their homes, their wives, and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span>
children, they had come forth resolved to leave them free or
perish. The valley beneath yawned like a newly made grave, and
many a brave Saxon, as he looked into it, knew that there "the
wicked would cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest."
They who had made up their minds to die in such a cause
needed no confession to men&mdash;they had registered their vows in
heaven; and if the Recording Angel might be pictured as looking
down upon the Saxon encampment, it would be with a face
pale with pity, and a tear-dimmed eye. What true English
heart would not sooner have pledged the healths of the brave
Saxons on that eventful night, as they were assembled around
their watch-fires, than have bowed amongst the guilty Normans?&mdash;have
shared death in the glorious halo which the former threw
above the grave, rather than have groped their way thither
amid the groans and sighs of that great band of meditative
murderers, who must have trembled as the hour of danger and
death drew nearer.</p>

<p>Gurth had endeavoured in vain to dissuade his brother Harold
from taking part in the combat. The Saxon king was deaf to
all intreaties; he was too brave to abandon a field, and give up
a kingdom with which he had been entrusted, because an oath
had been extorted from him on the relics. Such an act would
have consigned his name to endless infamy. The morning sun
found Harold beside his standard, in the centre of his brave
Saxons, which the enemy outnumbered by nearly four to one,
besides possessing a formidable army of cavalry; the Saxons
appear to have been wholly without such a force, for no mention
is made of their horsemen.</p>

<p>It was on Saturday morning, the 14th of October, nearly
eight hundred years ago, when the grey dawn, which many a
sleepless eye had so anxiously watched, broke dimly over the
rival armies, as they stood ranged along the opposite heights;
and as the faint autumnal mist passed away, the sun rose
slowly upon the scene, and gilded the arms of the combatants,
falling upon the large white horse on which the bishop of
Bayeux was mounted, as, with a hauberk over his rochet, he
rode along the Norman ranks, and arranged the cavalry. The
Norman duke, not less conspicuous, was seen mounted on a
Spanish charger, accompanied by Toustain the Fair, who bore
in his hand the banner which the Roman pontiff had consecrated;
the duke wore around his neck a portion of the relics<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span>
on which Harold had sworn; for he well knew that the remains
of dead men strangle not. His face was flushed; in his
haste he had at first put on his hauberk the wrong way;
some had remarked that it was an evil omen, and, as yet, he
had scarcely regained his composure, though there was a restlessness
about his eyes which bespoke great excitement&mdash;he sat
gallantly in his saddle&mdash;the haughty charger neighed and curvetted
as it sniffed the morning air. He divided his army into
three columns, and these solid bodies he flanked with light infantry,
who were armed with bows, and steel cross-bows. The
adventurers he left to the command of their own leaders, placing
himself at the head of his own Norman soldiers. When all
was ready for action, he addressed them nearly as follows&mdash;for
the meaning has been better preserved than the precise words
he uttered.</p>

<p>"Fight your best, and put every one to death; for if we
conquer, we shall all be rich. What I gain, you gain; if I conquer,
you conquer; if I take the land, you will share it: know,
however, that I am not come here merely to take that which is
my due, but to revenge our whole nation for the felon acts, perjuries,
and treason of these English. They put to death the
Danes, men and women, on the night of Saint Brice. They decimated
the companions of my relation Alfred, and put him
to death. On, then, in God's name, and chastise them for all
their <span class="locked">misdeeds."<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">23</a></span></p>

<p>There is scarcely throughout the whole range of English history
a more cruel and merciless command to be found than this
which issued from the lips of the vindictive Norman. Slay,
spare not, and take possession, is the sum and substance of his
speech. As for his pretended sympathy for the Danes, we have
proof that after the battle they were doomed to share the same
misery and death which alighted upon the Saxons. But unerring
justice at last avenged these wrongs, and there were but
few death-beds more melancholy than that of William the Norman.
On the opposite hill the Saxons were also ranged ready
for the combat. They were drawn up in a compact, wedge-like
body behind their palisades and trenches; the foremost
rank, which consisted of the warlike men of Kent, standing
shoulder to shoulder, and shield to shield. Beside the Saxon
standard stood Harold and his two brothers, Gurth and Leofwin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span>
supported by the most renowned of the Saxon chiefs. They
were surrounded by the brave citizens of London, a select portion
of whom formed the king's body-guard. As the Normans
advanced, they uttered their war-cry of "God help us! God
help us!" To which the Saxons answered, "The Holy Cross!
The Cross of God!" The staff which supported the Saxon
banner was planted in the ground, for on that day there remained
not an idle hand to bear it. On its folds were emblazoned
the figure of a man in combat, woven in threads of
gold and jewels, which glittered in the morning sun. A Norman,
named Taillefer, who on that day played the part of both
warrior and minstrel, advanced first, chaunting the ballad of
Charlemagne and Roland; and as he continued to sing, and urge
his charger onward, he threw up his sword in the air, and
caught it in his right hand, while the Norman chivalry joined
in the burthen of the song. The minstrel obtained permission
to strike the first blow, and, having slain one Saxon, and felled
another to the ground, he was, while in the act of attacking a
third, himself mortally wounded. Before the ranks closed, William
glanced his eye up the neighbouring slope, which was filled
with armed men, and inquired of a warrior who rode near him,
if he knew which was the spot that Harold occupied. The
soldier pointed to where the Saxon standard was stationed near
the summit of the hill, as being the spot most likely to be occupied
by the English king. William appeared surprised that
Harold was present at the conflict, muttered something about the
oath which he had extracted from him, and said that his perjury
would be that day punished.</p>

<p>The Saxons had no cavalry; all who had joined Harold on
horseback, dismounted, to fight on foot, following the example
which the king himself had set them. The general action was
commenced by the archers first discharging their arrows, and
the cross-bowmen their heavy headed bolts; but these the Saxons
either received upon their shields, or they fell nearly harmless
upon the defences they had hastily thrown up; no effect was
produced: scarcely a wavering motion was seen along the front
of that impenetrable phalanx. The Norman infantry armed
with lances, and the well-mounted cavalry next advanced, to the
very foot of the Saxon trenches; but the Saxons hewed off the
heads of their javelins, and cut through the Norman coats of
mail with a single blow of their heavy battle-axes. They had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span>
also prepared themselves with heavy stones, which they hurled
at the invaders. Many of the Normans fell in the first charge;
but all their attempts to carry the redoubts were useless: they
might as well have wheeled up their horses against the great
cliffs which overlook our sea-girt coast, and tried to bear
them down, as to make any impression upon that brave band,
who stood shoulder to shoulder, as if they were consolidated
into one mass. Breathless and wearied, the Normans fell back
again upon the main body, which was commanded by the duke,
who had beheld with astonishment the impenetrable front which
the Saxons presented.</p>

<p>Having recovered from the disorder, the duke commanded a
large body of archers to advance, and instead of shooting forward
to discharge their arrows higher in the air, so that in their
descent they might gall the Saxons by wounding them in the
face, neck, or shoulders. This discharge was seconded by the
advance of the infantry and cavalry, without producing any
serious effect. A few of the Saxons were wounded by this
manœuvre, but the cavalry were still unable to break through
the English line, and when they again retreated, they were
driven into a deep ravine, the edge of which appears to have
been covered with the natural growth of brushwood, and here
many of the Norman chivalry perished; for the Saxons pursued
them, and with their heavy battle-axes, which they wielded with
both hands, speedily put to death such as they had unhorsed,
who were unable to escape. Up to this time the Saxons had
succeeded in beating off the enemy. The left wing of the Norman
army gave way, and were pursued by the English. Terror
and dismay reigned in the ranks of the invaders&mdash;all was confusion
and flight; and to add to the consternation, a rumour ran
along the line, that duke William was slain. But the duke himself
appeared at this critical moment, and turned the tide of
battle. It is very probable that, during this confusion and retreat,
the horse which the duke rode was killed under him, and
that some of the soldiers who witnessed his fall, spread the
tidings that he was slain.</p>

<p>Behold him again mounted&mdash;his helmet off&mdash;his teeth clenched&mdash;his
brows knit together&mdash;and his countenance burning with
high indignation, as with his weapon he strikes at his own
soldiers, who are hurrying past him in the retreat and confusion,
exclaiming, in a voice of thunder, which rings out above the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span>
clang of arms, and the groans of the wounded and the dying&mdash;"I
am here&mdash;look at me&mdash;I still live&mdash;by the help of God I will
yet conquer&mdash;what madness induces you to fly?&mdash;what way is
there for you to escape?&mdash;they whom you are driving and destroying,
if you choose, you may kill like cattle&mdash;you fly from
victory&mdash;you run upon ruin&mdash;and if you retreat will all perish."
Between each sentence he struck at those who continued to rush
past him with his lance, until, having checked many of the fugitives,
he placed himself helmetless at their head, and compelled
the Saxons to hasten back again to the main body of their army.
Although many of the English fell in this charge, they gained
an advantage over their enemies, and there is but little doubt,
had they continued to act upon the defensive, confining themselves
to their entrenchments, or only sallying out when they
saw the Norman line giving way, that weak as they were in
numbers, they would at last have obtained the victory; for
in spite of this desperate charge, headed by the duke himself,
and all the force that he could bring to bear upon the front of
the Saxon army, they remained firm as a rock, and not a breach
could be made in that wall of iron-armed and lion-hearted Englishmen.
The archers continued to discharge their arrows in
the air, but where they alighted no gap was visible&mdash;there was
the same firm front&mdash;the same wedge-like mass&mdash;the unaltered
array of shields&mdash;the deep range of firm figures rising above one
another, which displayed neither fear nor defeat, but stood grim,
unmoved, and resolved; strong pillars, that can neither be
made to bend nor bow, until the building which they support is
destroyed, and they themselves lay broken and shapeless amid
the ruins. Such was the power duke William had still to
contend with.</p>

<p>The battle had already lasted above six hours; it was now
three o'clock, and all the success the Normans had hitherto obtained
was when they so suddenly rallied, and drove back the
Saxons within their entrenchments. Wearied with the stubborn
resistance which they displayed, the duke had at last recourse to a
stratagem, and ordered a thousand horse, under the command of
Eustace, count of Boulogne, to advance to the edge of the Saxon
lines, assail them, and then suddenly retreat as if in disorder.
This manœuvre was successful; numbers of the Saxons rushed
out eagerly in the pursuit. Another body of Norman horse
stood ready to dash in between the Saxons and separate them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span>
from the main body, who still stood firm behind the entrenchments.
They were also hemmed in by the enemy's infantry,
and thus jammed between horse and foot, they had no longer
room to wield their heavy battle-axes, which required both
hands; and few of that brave band, who had so rashly sallied
out upon the Normans, lived to boast of the deeds which they
had achieved. Not one surrendered&mdash;no quarter was given&mdash;none
asked&mdash;there was no eye, excepting the enemy's, to
look upon their valorous deeds&mdash;no one to record the brave
defence they made: Death alone was able to vanquish them,
and there they lay, grim and silent trophies of his victory.
Many a Saxon thane distinguished himself by his individual
prowess, and one among the rest achieved such deeds with his
battle-axe, that the dead lay piled around him like a wall&mdash;but
the long lances of the Normans at last reached him; he
fell, and not even his name has been preserved. Twice or thrice
was this manœuvre repeated towards the close of the day, and
each time accompanied with the same success; for the Saxons
now burned to revenge the death of their countrymen&mdash;they
rushed out of their entrenchments&mdash;they attacked the Normans
hand to hand&mdash;they plunged into the very thickest of the danger.
Those who were wounded still fought with one hand
resting upon their shields, while those who were dying strove
with their last breath to animate their countrymen. It is not
certain whether Harold was slain before or after the attack was
made upon the Saxon standard. It was, however, late in the
day when he fell; his brain pierced by a random arrow which
one of the Norman archers had shot, which goes far to prove
that his death took place before the enemy had broken through
the Saxon fortifications. He had distinguished himself by his
bravery and firmness throughout the day; had placed himself in
the most dangerous positions, and by his personal exertions set
an example of valour and vigilance to his soldiers.</p>

<p>After the Normans had broken through the entrenchments,
the English still closed firmly around their standard, which was
defended to the last by the brothers of Harold, Gurth and Leofwin,
and many of the English thanes; who, though hemmed
round by the enemy, resolved not to resign their banner, while
an arm remained capable of striking a blow in its defence.
Once Robert Fitz-Ernest, a Norman knight, approached so near
that he was within a few inches of grasping it, when he was laid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span>
dead by a single blow from a battle-axe. A score of the Normans
then pledged themselves solemnly to carry off the standard, or
perish. It was in this struggle that both the brothers of Harold
fell. Nor was the Saxon ensign torn down, and the banner
which had been consecrated by the pope raised in its place, until
many of the Norman knights were slain, who had sworn to achieve
so perilous a triumph. The sun was setting as the Saxon
standard was lowered. It was the last hard-fought field over
which the banner of Alfred floated; though many a contest
afterwards took place between the invaders and the English&mdash;yet
this was the great struggle.</p>

<p>"The wreck of the English army," says Thierry, "without
chief and without standard, prolonged the struggle till the end
of the day, until it was so dark and late, that the combatants
only recognised each other by their language. Then, and not
till then, did this desperate resistance end. Harold's followers
dispersed, many dying upon the roads of their wounds, and the
fatigue of the combat. The Norman horse pursued them, granting
quarter to none." During the day, the duke of Normandy
had three horses killed under him, and though he himself escaped
without a wound, his helmet bore the dint of a heavy blow he
had received from a battle-axe, that, but for the finely tempered
steel of which the casque was made, would have left
him to sleep his last sleep on the same battle-field where
Harold the Saxon reposed. Many of the Saxons dispersed, and
escaped through the woods which lay in the rear of their broken
encampment. They were pursued by the Normans, but wherever
a little body of the defeated had congregated they made a
stand, and many a Norman fell that night in the moonlight combat,
or returned wounded and bleeding to the camp, who had escaped
the edges of the Saxon battle-axes during the day. "Thus,"
says an old writer, "was tried by the great assize of God's
judgment in battle, the right of power between the English and
Norman nations; a battle the most memorable of all others;
and howsoever miserably lost, yet most nobly fought on the part
of England."</p>

<p>"If," says Sharon Turner, "William's wishes had been
fulfilled, and he had appeared in England a month earlier than
he did, he would have invaded Harold before the king of Norway
attacked him, and perhaps have shared his fate. For if
the English king, with the disadvantages of a loss and desertion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span>
of his veteran troops, of new levies of an inferior force was yet
able to balance the conflict with William's most concentrated,
select, and skilfully exerted strength, until night was closing;
if the victory was only decided by his casual death, how different
would have been the issue if Harold had met him with the troops
which he marched against the Norwegians! But Providence
had ordained that a new dynasty should give new manners, new
connexions, and new fortunes to the English nation."</p>

<p>Alas! for them&mdash;not us. Better would it have been had the
whole Saxon race perished in the battle-field, than that a remnant
should have survived to groan beneath the weight of the Norman
yoke. They were alone happy who perished in the combat.
We feel more pity for those who were left behind, and had to
endure the miseries that followed, than we do for the dead,
though all have, ages ago, been at rest. They have ceased
"moaningly to crave household shelter;" the "wintry winds"
will sweep over their graves no more, for even the last hillocks
that covered their remains are swept away, and they have,
centuries ago, mingled dust with dust; on the wide field not a
human bone can now be found, of "those who fought and those
who fell."</p>

<p>The solemn Sabbath day that dawned upon that battle-ground
saw the Norman Conqueror encamped amidst the living and the
dead. And when he called over the muster-roll which had been
prepared before he left the opposite coast, many a knight, who
on the day when he sailed, had proudly answered to his name,
was then numbered with the dead. The land which he had
done homage for was useless to him then. He had perilled his
life, and a few feet of common earth was all the reward that
death allotted to him. The conqueror had lost nearly a fourth
of his army&mdash;a number, from all we can gather, equal to the
whole of the Saxon force engaged in the field. Those who
survived received for their share of the victory the spoils of the
slaughtered Saxons. The dead body of Harold is said to have
laid long upon the field before any one ventured to claim it, but
at length his mother, the widow of Earl Godwin, ventured forth,
and craved permission to bury it. It is said that she offered
to give the Norman duke the weight of his body in gold,
but that he sternly refused to grant her request; and, in his
savage triumph, exclaimed, "He shall have no other sepulchre
than the sand upon the sea-shore." He, however, relented at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span>
last, says Thierry, "if we are to believe an old tradition, in
favour of the monks of Waltham abbey, which Harold had
founded and enriched. Two Saxon monks, Osgod and Ailrik,
deputed by the abbot of Waltham, demanded and obtained permission
to transport the remains of their benefactor to their
church. They sought among the mass of slain, despoiled of
arms and clothes, examining them carefully one after the other,
but could not recognise the body of him they sought, so much had
his wounds disfigured him. Despairing ever to succeed in their
research unaided, they addressed themselves to a woman whom
Harold, before he became king, had kept as a mistress, and
intreated her to assist them. She was called Edith, and surnamed
the Beauty with the Swan's Neck. She consented to
accompany the two monks, and was more successful than they in
discovering the corpse of him whom she loved."</p>

<div id="ip_338" class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><img src="images/i_376.jpg" width="400" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Discovery of the body of Harold.</i></div></div>

<p>Although the Saxon throne was for ever overthrown, many
a struggle took place, and many a concession was made, before
England was wholly in the hands of the Normans. Here, however,
the gates of history close upon our Saxon forefathers
for a long period. Their language has outlived that of the
Conqueror's; and we shall find that our island again became
Saxon, and that the laws of Edward the Confessor had to be
restored before the country could be <span class="locked">tranquillized:&mdash;</span></p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"For freedom's battle once begun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though baffled oft, is ever won."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span></p>

<h2 class="part"><a name="The_Anglo-Saxons" id="The_Anglo-Saxons">The Anglo-Saxons.</a></h2>

<hr />

<h3>THEIR RELIGION.</h3>

<p>We have already described the paganism of the Saxons, both as
it existed on the Continent, and after their arrival in England;
and we must now glance briefly at their change to Christianity,
and the early modes of worship which they adopted. When
they landed in England, they found the Britons generally worshippers
of the True Divinity. Christianity had become grafted
and grown, and overpowered and bore down the remains of
druidism, on which it was first planted. The idolatry that
existed had assumed a more classic form; and instead of the
grim wicker idols of the druids, the sightly forms of the heathen
gods, which the Romans worshipped, had usurped their places.
Among the ancient Cymry who had not come into such close
contact with the Roman conquerors, the old druidical forms of
idolatry still lingered; though through them we are enabled
to catch faint glimpses of the Deity, and to discover a slow, but
sure approach towards the Creator. We have already shown
how the Saxon invasion checked the progress of Christianity&mdash;how
the churches were overthrown, and the priests massacred,
until pope Gregory sent over Augustin, who succeeded in
converting the Saxon king, Ethelbert, to the religion of Christ.
How Paulinus accompanied Edilburga into Northumbria, and
Edwin, the king of the Deira and Bernicia, became a convert
to the holy faith. We have shown how the abbey of Croyland
rose up amid the wild marshes of Lincolnshire, and the gospel
sound was carried through the vast territory of Mercia, until
at last the whole of the Saxon Octarchy bowed before the
image of the dying Redeemer. To the forms of worship which
were adopted in these ancient Christian churches, we must now
turn.</p>

<p>A rude wooden cross, planted by the roadside, a humble cell
scooped out of the rock, or a wattled shed, thatched with the
tufted rushes or the broad-leaved water-flags, first marked the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span>
places of worship of the primitive Christians. Some came over,
and settled down upon waste and lonely places; their piety and
peaceful habits soon attracted the attention of the neighbouring
peasantry, and of the chief, who granted them permission to
reside and build upon the soil; allowed them to fell timber in the
adjacent forest, or to hew stone from the distant quarry. Nor were
they long in procuring assistance; many came and laboured for
the love of God; they dug foundations; they mixed cement; the
trees were sawn, and squared into beams; a forge was erected,
and, as the blue smoke curled above the landscape, the clattering
of the brawny smith was heard upon the anvil, as, with his
"buck-horn fist," he shaped the iron which bound together beam
and rafter. At length a tower rose up above the wild waste of
marshes, and morning, and evening, and often at intervals during
the day, the little bell was heard to toll; and as the sound fell
upon the wayfarer's ears who journeyed past, he thought of life,
and death, and heaven. Vast estates were at length given to
them; they received rich donations, houses, and lands, and
forests, which were secured by grants and charters, and attested
by the signatures of kings. These bequests were made from
love&mdash;and fear&mdash;a hope to escape future punishments, and by
the intercession of the priests to enter heaven.</p>

<p>Thus was a door thrown open, into which good and evil were
promiscuously admitted. The truly pious, and the hardened
sinner, received alike encouragement&mdash;bells were rung, and
masses said, no matter for whom, as long as the altar was piled
high with treasure&mdash;and mankind were at last wrongfully taught,
that forgiveness could be purchased by wealth. Still the knee
had to be bended, and prayers offered up, penances performed,
and fastings endured, before the conscientious priest promised
to intercede for the sinner. Then instead of the wooden cross,
the naked walls, and the floor strewn with rushes, woven tapestry,
and glaring pictures, graven images, and relics of saints,
costly vessels of gold and silver, rich vestments and dazzling
gems, and all the glitter and pomp which had hitherto been confined
to courts, or borne in triumphal processions, were called up
to decorate the buildings dedicated to God. In place of the
lowly dwelling, scarcely distinguishable from the thatched hut of
the peasant that rose above the waste, mighty fabrics were
erected by skilful architects, whose roofs seemed to rest on the
rim of the horizon, and the traveller looked in vain for those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span>
beautiful openings in the landscape which had so long been
familiar to his eye. Mighty barons, who had distinguished
themselves in many a hard-fought field, became abbots; kings
laid aside their costly robes, their crowns, and sceptres, put on
the grey homely serge of the pilgrim, and, with staff in hand,
journeyed weary miles to kneel before the shrines of saints, and
either left their bones to moulder in a foreign land, or returned
home again to die in the quiet solitude of the cloister&mdash;leaving
miles of hill and vale, and wood and river, to enrich the revenues
of the grey abbey in which they expired, amid the shady sadness
of long-embowered aisles.</p>

<p>These religious houses were happy havens for the poor and
needy, the hungry, the wretched, and the oppressed. They
became landmarks to the sick, storm-tossed, and rain-drenched
wayfarer. All who came thither were sheltered and relieved;
none were sent away empty-handed, for spiritual and bodily
comfort were alike administered to all. They were the only
resting places where the traveller could halt, and find refreshment
and welcome, where his steed was stabled, his wants
attended to, and where, without charge, he was dismissed on the
morrow with a prayer and a blessing. Nor did their works of
charity end here: they sent out missionaries to other countries,
to the benighted land from which their ancestors first came,
over the sounding billows, to many a shore whose echoes had
never yet rung back the holy hallelujah. Although there were
many things in their ancient forms of worship which in us
awaken a sigh or a smile, we must remember that religion was
then in its infancy&mdash;that they had but few guides, but few
books to instruct them. There were but few able to translate
the gospels from the Latin into the Saxon tongue; such versions
as they were enabled to make were crude and incorrect,
and many of the priests were incompetent to instruct them in
points of faith. They ventured but little further in their instruction
than to teach that the soul was immortal, and lived in
a future state, where the good were rewarded, and the evil
punished; that Christ died for our salvation&mdash;that the dead
arose, and the faithful and just would at last be admitted into
eternal glory. Into the more intricate mysteries of our religion
they ventured not. Every priest was commanded to read the
gospels, and to study well the Holy Book, that "he might
teach his people rightly, who looked up to him." Several valuable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span>
MSS. of the translation of the gospel into the Saxon language,
which were written between the reigns of Alfred and
Harold, are still in existence. Although they used the cross as
the sign of their salvation, they were taught not to reverence
the wood, but to bear in mind His form who had suffered upon
it. They held relics in high veneration; and though the remains
of good and holy men cannot be contemplated without awakening
a religious feeling, they carried their reverence to a superstitious
excess; for by them they believed that the greatest miracles
could be worked, and that they were the only safeguards against
disease, magic, and witchcraft. The priests were only allowed
to celebrate mass when fasting; nor, unless in cases of sickness,
was this ceremony to be held anywhere but upon the altar in
the church; and to this altar no woman was permitted to
approach during its celebration; neither dogs nor swine were
allowed to come within the enclosure that surrounded the holy
edifice. The purest of bread, wine, and water, were only to be
used in celebrating the Eucharist, and the sacramental cup was
to be formed of gold, or silver, glass, or tin; and none made of
earth or wood were permitted to be used. The altar was
always to be kept clean, and covered; and the mass-priest was
to have his missal, his psalter, his reading-book, penitential,
numeral, hand-book, and singing-book. He was also to learn
some handicraft, and to abolish all witchcraft. Each priest performed
his allotted duty; the ostiary guarded the church doors,
and tolled the bell; the exorcist drove out devils, and sprinkled
houses which were infested with witches and foul fiends, with
abyssum; the lector read the gospels to the congregation; the
acolyth held the tapers while the lector read; the deacon attended
on the mass-priest, placed the oblations on the altar,
baptized children, and administered the Eucharist to the people;
the sub-deacon had charge of the holy vessels, and waited at the
altar while the mass-priest preached and consecrated the Eucharist.
The bishop was looked up to as a comforter to the wretched,
and a father to the poor; the priests were forbidden to carry
their controversies before a lay tribunal, and when they could
not settle it amongst themselves, it was left to the decision of
the bishop. The high-born were taught not to despise those
that were lowly; they were ordered to teach youth with care&mdash;to
give alms, and chaunt holy hymns during the distribution; to
humble themselves, and to become examples of mildheartedness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span>
Many of the penances they inflicted were severe; he who was
guilty of any heinous offence, was to lay aside his weapons,
travel barefooted many weary miles, nor seek household shelter
during the night. He was to pay no regard to his dress, nor to
enter a bath, neither might he eat flesh, nor taste strong drink,
but fast, watch, and pray, both by day and night. The wealthy,
however, might evade the heaviest penances, by giving alms;
and the following extract will show to what useful purposes the
church applied these <span class="locked">penalties:&mdash;</span></p>

<p>"He that hath ability may raise a church to the praise of
God, and if he has wherewithal, let him give land to it, and
allow ten young men, so that they may serve in it, and minister
the daily service. He may repair churches where he can, and
make folk-ways, with bridges over deep waters, and over miry
places; assist poor men's widows, step-children, and foreigners.
He may free his own slaves, and redeem the liberty of those who
belong to other masters, and especially the poor captives of war.
He may feed the needy, house them, clothe and warm them, and
give them baths and beds."</p>

<p>Thus did our pious ancestors make crime administer to the
wants of the poor; they filtered the pure waters of charity from
these corrupt sources, and displayed a wisdom which our modern
legislators have yet to be taught.</p>

<h3>GOVERNMENT AND LAWS.</h3>

<p>When the Saxons first landed in England they could have
had no previous knowledge of the Roman laws, which were then
in existence in our island; for the government of the conquerors
had long overthrown the primitive customs which were in use
among the ancient Britons before the landing of Julius Cæsar.
We have already shown that the earliest of our Saxon invaders
were led on by some military chief, who claimed his descent
from Odin, and was acknowledged as leader by the consent of
his followers, also allowed the largest share of the plunder or
captives which were taken in war. Thus it would naturally
follow, that when they came to settle down upon the soil which
they had conquered, the power of the military chief would soon
be acknowledged, and that to him would be given the greatest
portion of the land; while amongst his followers such shares
would be distributed as were considered proportionate to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span>
rank. After having conquered and divided the land, they
would naturally unite together to defend the possessions they
had won, and the chief, or his descendant,&mdash;if found worthy of
being still retained at their head, by his wisdom or valour&mdash;would,
either in peace or war, continue to hold the title and
power of ruler; and thus would governments be formed, thrones
established, and laws made by the wealthy and powerful, to
keep their followers and captives in subjection. Nor would it
be probable in all instances that the conquered were made captives.
Many by their valour and opposition would still present
a formidable front to the invaders; and as both parties would in
time grow weary of a continued system of attack or defence,
concessions would be made, peace agreed upon, the land divided,
vows sworn, and penalties fixed, to be paid by those who first
broke the treaty. In such cases, war would not be entered into
by either party without their first stating the grievances. This,
again, would lead to discussions, assemblies, accusations, defences;
times and places would be allotted for meeting; and so courts
and tribunals were formed; and thus in all countries did law and
civilization commence. We have shown how England was
at first divided into separate kingdoms; how chief after chief
came over, fought, conquered, and established a separate state,
until the Octarchy was formed; and that when the whole island
was occupied, the Saxon kings began to make war upon each
other, until state after state was subdued, and one king at last
reigned over all. That governors had to be placed over different
divisions of this vast extent of territory; that these, again, placed
officers over the sub-divisions: thus there were earls or aldermen,
sheriffs, or shrieves, officers to each hundred or tithing;
headboroughs, frankpledges, who attended the court-leet which
was held at given periods, and accounted for all grievances or
violations of the law. The first laws made would naturally be
those which protected persons and property,&mdash;to punish acts of
violence and theft, and to prevent personal vengeance being
inflicted. Thus, murder might be compounded for, under certain
circumstances, at a fixed penalty, and every portion of the body
injured had its price, from the leg to the little finger, even down
to the hair, tooth, or nail. The loss of an eye and a leg appears
to have been considered the most important, and was punished
by a fine of fifty shillings. To lame a person only, the sum
exacted was thirty shillings. To wound, or strike such a blow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span>
as caused deafness, twenty-five shillings; for fracturing the
skull, twenty shillings; for cutting off the little finger, eleven
shillings; tearing off the hair, ten shillings. For tearing off a
nail, or driving out a tooth, the penalty was one shilling; but if
a front tooth, the charge was six shillings. Robbery was
punished according to the rank of the party plundered. If a
freeman committed robbery, he forfeited all his goods and his
freedom; if he was taken in the fact, and the stolen property
found in his hand, the king had the option of killing him, of
selling him, or receiving the value of his Were, which was the
sum at which his life would have been rated had he been murdered.
Even the life of the king had its Were or value. One
hundred and twenty pounds was the price fixed to be paid as
the penalty for the murder of a king. A noble's, a bishop's, an
alderman's, a thane's, a servant's, had each its fixed penalty,
according to the rank of the deceased,&mdash;from that of the king,
as above named, to the humblest hind, whose life was rated at
thirty shillings. Besides the Were, there was another protection,
called the Mund. This seems to have been a penalty paid
for disturbing the peace of a man's household; or, as Sharon
Turner has observed, "it was a privilege which made every
man's house his castle." The Saxons had also their bail or
sureties. Thus, when a man had committed homicide, he had
to find borh, or sureties for the payment of the penalty. The
time allowed for payment is not mentioned, excepting in one
case, where it appears to have been limited to forty days. The
head of every tithing, or ten families, also appears to have been
responsible for those under his jurisdiction or keeping, as we
have previously shown in the reign of Alfred. He who had no
surety, or borh, or could not pay the penalty for the crime committed,
or had no kinsman to redeem him, either became a slave,
or might be slain, according to the nature of the offence.</p>

<p>Their mode of trial was very simple, and their general method
of arriving at the innocence or guilt of the party accused appears
to have been influenced by the number and respectability of the
witnesses who swore for or against the prisoner. Thus, if a man
stood charged with any offence, and he could bring the given
number of persons to swear that he was innocent, the prisoner
was acquitted, unless the accusing party could produce a greater
number of witnesses to swear against him, and show clearer
proofs of his guilt. When this was the case, the offender either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span>
submitted to the punishment or underwent the trial of ordeal,
or, as it was considered, submitted to the "judgment of God."
The ordeal consisted either of hot water or hot iron; in some cases
the iron weighed three pounds, and was to be carried nine paces.
The ordeal appears to have taken place in the church; if the trial
was to be by hot iron, a number of men were allowed to enter
the church, and, being ranged on each side, the priest sprinkled
them with holy water; they were then to kiss the Gospel, and
were signed with the cross. The priest afterwards read a prayer,
and during this period the fire was not to be mended, and if burnt
out the iron still rested upon the staples to cool, so that in no
instance could it be red-hot; the paces were measured by the
feet of the accused, and it has been computed that the hot iron
would hardly remain in his hand beyond two seconds. Whether
the culprit moved rapidly or walked slowly, or threw the iron
upon the floor, or placed it on some allotted spot, we cannot tell;
though there is but little doubt that means were taken to render
the trial as short as possible. When the ordeal was by water,
it was sufficient if four witnesses stepped forward to state that
they had seen it boiling; whether the vessel was of iron, copper,
or clay, a stone was placed in it, which the accused with his bare
hand and arm had to take out; the vessel was shallow or deep,
according to the nature of the offence he stood charged with; in
some cases he had only to plunge in his hand to take out the
stone, in others his arm to the elbow. As in the ordeal by heated
iron, the same ceremonies were observed, and during the time
that elapsed in praying and sprinkling the witnesses the fire was
not allowed to be mended; while the act took place, a prayer
was offered up to God to discover the truth. When the trial
was over, the hand or arm was bound up, and the bandages were
not removed until the expiration of three days. It does not
appear that the marks of burning or scalding were the tests of
guilt; it was only when the wounds were found foul and unhealed
that the accused was pronounced guilty; if they looked
healthy and well, and were nearly healed, it was considered a
proof of innocence. It will be readily imagined that few who
were guilty would willingly undergo such a trial, for it must be
borne in mind that punishment still followed; and when the
signs were unfavourable, there can be but little doubt after so
solemn a ceremony that the penalty the accused was doomed to
suffer must have been severe. It could, however, like homicide,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span>
be compounded for; and capital punishment seems seldom to
have taken place amongst the Saxons, unless the crime was committed
in open day, and the culprit was caught in the fact, or
under such circumstances as were considered too clear to need
any trial; in such cases, vengeance was generally taken on the
spot, and the robber or murderer was either hanged upon the
nearest tree, or slain where he was captured&mdash;no evidence was
required,&mdash;no defence was allowed.</p>

<div id="ip_346" class="figcenter" style="width: 407px;"><img src="images/i_386.jpg" width="407" height="600" alt="" /><br /><div class="caption"><i>Trial by Ordeal.</i></div></div>

<p>There were two other forms of ordeal, called the cross and the
corsned; the former consisted of two pieces of wood, which were
covered over, one bearing the mark of the cross; if the accused
drew this, he was considered innocent; if the piece that was unmarked,
guilty. The other consisted in swallowing a piece of
bread which the priest had blessed; if it stuck in the throat, or
the culprit turned pale, or trembled, or had a difficulty in swallowing
it, he stood condemned. Besides fines, many of the
punishments they inflicted were severe; they used the whip and
the heated brand, mutilated the face, imprisoned, banished, sentenced
the guilty to slavery, or doomed them to suffer imprisonment,
while their capital punishments appear to have been
hanging and stoning to death. The land was divided into what
was called "folkland" and "bocland." The folkland was such
as belonged to the king and the people; that which was held by
agreement or charter was called "bocland," or land made over by
agreement of the book, or some written instrument, though conveyances
of land were sometimes made by the delivery of an
arrow, a spear, or any other object. The king had, however,
his bocland or private property, as is proved by the will of king
Alfred; and the word folkland in time was changed to crownland,
which, no doubt, means that the wastes and commons
which the people were allowed to make use of, and were not
private property, were considered to belong to the king or the
state. Boclands appear originally only to have been granted
during the life of the holder. It was the work of time and the
change of events which caused them to become hereditary. The
Saxons were divided into many classes or ranks; first stood the
king, then the earls, nobles, or chiefs; then came the other class
of small landed proprietors; and below these another grade, whom
we may term freemen; the theows, ceorls, or villains, came
last, and were slaves of the soil; if the estate changed hands,
the theow went to the next owner; on no account could he remove<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span>
from the land; he was, however, protected, and, so long as
he did his duty, could not be removed by the owner; neither
could more than a regular portion of labour be exacted from
him; but we have before alluded to his privileges in the laws of
Ina. The ceremonies used at their witenagemotes, guilds, moots,
and other courts, are matters of law rather than subjects suited
to a narrative and picturesque history of England.</p>

<h3>LITERATURE.</h3>

<p>We have no proof that the early pagan Saxons possessed an
alphabet, or had any acquaintance with a written language,
until the introduction of Christianity; for, unlike the Britons,
they had not the enlightened Romans to instruct them. Even
as late as Alfred's time, we have shown that but few of the
English chiefs could either read or write; and we find Wihtred,
king of Kent, as long after the Saxon invasion as the year 700,
unable to affix his signature to a charter, but causing some
scribe, who had probably drawn up the document, to add as an
explanation to the royal mark, that "I, Wihtred, king of Kent,
have put this sign of the holy cross to the charter, on account
of my ignorance of writing." As the Saxons were the avowed
enemies of the ancient Cymry, and came amongst them only to
slay, destroy, and take possession of the land, it is easy to account
for the length of time that must have elapsed before the
Britons would impart the knowledge they had gathered from
the Romans to their Saxon conquerors.</p>

<p>One of the earliest histories we possess is that to which the
name of Gildas is affixed, who appears, however, to have belonged
to the Cymry, and to have had a brother at that period
who was celebrated as one of the Welsh bards. To him we
have already alluded; also to Nennius, who is said to have been
one of the monks of Bangor, and to have had a narrow escape
from the massacre, in which so many of his brethren perished.
To his early history of Britain we have before alluded. Columbanus,
a celebrated Irishman, who died in Italy about the year
615, appears to have been well acquainted with both the Greek
and Hebrew languages. Literature at this period seems to
have been confined principally to the monasteries; and towards
the close of the sixth century, we find Aldhelm, an abbot of
Malmsbury, celebrated for his Latin writings. "But his meaning,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span>
says Sharon Turner, "is clouded by gorgeous rhetoric: his
style an endless tissue of figures, which he never leaves till he
has converted every metaphor into a simile, and every simile
into a wearisome episode." But the venerable Bede's is the
most distinguished name amongst the early Anglo-Saxon
writers. He also wrote in Latin, and his ecclesiastical history
of England still stands as the chief authority, whence we
derive the clearest knowledge of the manners and customs of
the early Anglo-Saxons. He was born about 670, or 680, at a
village named Yarrow, which stands near the mouth of the
Tyne, and was educated at the neighbouring monastery of
Wearmouth. He was acquainted with Egbert, the learned archbishop
of York, to whom he addressed a letter, which is still
extant. Egbert left behind him a famous library, mention of
which is made by the celebrated Alcuin, who proposed to Charlemagne
that the boys he was educating should be sent out of
France, to "copy and carry back the flowers of Britain, that the
garden might not be shut up in York, but the fruits of it placed
in the paradise of Tours." Though both writing in the same
language, and about the same period, no two authors out of the
thousands who have since lived and written, have ever exhibited
a greater contrast in the style of composition than that which
exists between the writings of Aldhelm and Bede. "The style
of Bede," says Turner, "in all his works, is plain and unaffected.
Attentive only to his matter, he had little solicitude for the
phrase in which he dressed it; but, though seldom eloquent, and
often homely, it is clear, precise, and useful." Alfred was
the first who translated the works of Bede into Saxon, and
made them familiar to his subjects. Alcuin, who speaks so
highly of the library collected at York by the archbishop Egbert,
was sent on an embassy by Offa, surnamed the Terrible,
to Charlemagne. Alcuin was a pupil of Bede's, and a native of
Northumbria; and while he resided in France, he was instrumental
in persuading the emperor to collect many valuable manuscripts.
His works seem to have been written for the use and
instruction of his friend and patron, the emperor Charlemagne;
and, though highly valuable in their day, they lack that living
spirit which was infused into the writings of Bede.</p>

<p>But few of the civilized nations of Europe possess works
which will bear comparison with those produced by our early
Saxon writers; nor has any other of the Gothic tribes, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span>
which our old Germanic language sprung, a literature of so old
a date, that in any way approaches to the perfection attained by
the early Anglo-Saxons. What we possess is wonderful, considering
the short time that elapsed from the first introduction
of letters amongst the Saxons, to the troubles which followed
the Danish invasion, when so many monasteries and libraries
were destroyed by those illiterate but brave barbarians. The
first business of the Saxons, after they had ceased fighting,
and settled down in England, would be to build and plant; and
much time and labour would be required in erecting their habitations,
preparing a supply of food, and defending their possessions
in a new and hostile country, before they would be enabled
to find leisure to direct their thoughts to literature, or do anything
more than establish those civil institutions which were
necessary for the protection of the colony. They had that work
to do which we find ready done to our own hands; fields to inclose,
and roads to make; and even the monks to whom we are
indebted for our earliest writings were at first compelled to
assist in building the monasteries they wrote in, and to cultivate
the waste lands which lay around them: yet, in spite of these
drawbacks, what wonderful progress was made in literature by
the close of the reign of Alfred! Though illiterate, the early
Saxons were a highly intelligent race: look at the speech of
the chieftain we have already quoted in the reign of Edwin,
the king of Deiri&mdash;the beautiful and applicable imagery of the
bird, the warm hall it enters in winter, and the cold and darkness,
which is compared to death, that reigns without; all
evince a fine appreciation of the true elements which constitute
poetry; yet we have no doubt in our own minds that this
heathen orator could neither read nor write. When the Saxons
once turned their attention to letters, none of the barbarous nations
excelled them&mdash;the progress made during the reign of
Alfred, we again repeat, is marvellous.</p>

<p>Nothing can be more primitive than our Anglo-Saxon poetry.
Every line bears the stamp of originality. The praise of brave
warriors is ever the subject. It has always been the same. They
but extolled what then stood highest in their estimation&mdash;the
brave&mdash;the giver of rewards&mdash;the terror of enemies&mdash;the leader
of battles are but the plaudits of men put into metre&mdash;the
natural outbreak of admiration. Watch a fond mother when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span>
alone, talking to her infant&mdash;nature is still the same&mdash;she
addresses it as her darling, her dearest, her life, her delight;
and when she has exhausted every endearing epithet&mdash;uttered
every fond word that her heart dictated, she evinces her affection
by caresses. To what lengths could we extend the comparison!
But neither mother nor child in those days called forth
the lavish praises which were expended on a brave chieftain.
We need only refer to the extracts we have already given in
the body of our history, from the Welsh bards, to prove this.
The literature in no country was ever built upon so original a
foundation as that of the Anglo-Saxons. Their language at an
early period was enriched by the Danish: their habits resembled
those of the sea-kings. Long before the Norman
conquest, they had melted into one; the sea-horses, and the
road of the swans, were to them familiar images; there was a
sublimity about the ocean, and the storm, and the giant headlands,
which they felt and understood; and had we the space,
we could fill pages with proofs of this grand poetical appreciation&mdash;of
this natural inspiration. The Saxon ode which
celebrates Athelstan's victory at Brunanburg bears evidence
of the fiery spirit which the Scandinavians diffused. Neither
drew from the classic stores of Rome or Greece.</p>

<p>Their homilies and graver works scarcely come within the
compass of our history; they require more serious treatment
than we are able to bestow upon them. Those attributed to
Alfric are now on the eve of becoming widely known; and we
doubt not but that, in the course of time, the study of the
Anglo-Saxon language will be pursued by every man who
aspires to literature. A few days' attention to it, renders the
reading of Chaucer easy; and although it may be long before
the student is enabled to decypher an old Saxon manuscript,
yet he will be rewarded by the facility with which he will get
through our early stores of black-letter lore.</p>

<p>Ballads were sung in the English streets before the time of
Alfred. Our music and singing-parties are nothing new. More
than a thousand years ago, the harp sounded in the festal hall,
accompanied by the voice of the singer. Look at the beauty of
the following extract. It is an old Saxon ditty, and was known
long before the Normans invaded England. Read it; then turn
to some of our specimens of modern versification. The exile is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span>
banished from his friends, and encounters many hardships. He
is doomed to dwell in a cave within the forest; and thus he
<span class="locked">complains:&mdash;</span></p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This earthly dwelling is cold, and I am weary;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mountains are high up, the dells are gloomy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their streets full of branches, roofed with pointed thorns;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am weary of so cheerless an abode.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My friends are now all in the earth&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The grave guards all that I loved;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I alone remain above, and thitherward am I going.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the long summer day I sit weeping<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Under the oak tree, near my earthly cave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And there may I long weep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The exile's path still lies through a land of troubles;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My mind knows no rest&mdash;it is the cave of care.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Throughout life has weariness ever pursued me.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p>This passage wants but the polish of Shakspere, and to be
uttered by his own mournful monarch, king Richard the Second,
to be worthy of a place in his immortal <span class="locked">writings.<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">24</a></span></p>

<h3>ARCHITECTURE, ART, AND SCIENCE.</h3>

<p>That the Saxons possessed considerable skill in architecture
before they took possession of England, we have already shown
in our description of the Pagan temple, which was erected in
their own <span class="locked">country.<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">25</a></span> It is also on record, that the Christian
missionaries sent over by Pope Gregory, converted the heathen
temples, which they found already erected in our island, into
churches, destroying only the idols they found therein; but
whether these edifices were erected by the Britons or Romans,
or by the Saxons themselves, it is difficult to decide. All we
know for a certainty is, that the church in which Augustin and
his monks were located on their arrival at Canterbury was called
an ancient British temple, and was probably built by the first
Christians who were converted by the Romans. The earliest
churches which the Saxons erected after their conversion to
Christianity were formed of wood, and covered with thatch; and
even as late as the time of Chaucer, we find mention of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span>
sacred edifices being roofed with the same substance. The celebrated
cathedral of Lindisfarne could boast of no costlier material
than sawn oak and a straw roof, until Eadbert, the seventh
bishop, removed the thatch, and threw over the rafters a covering
of lead. The minster of York, founded by Edwin, after
his marriage with Edilburga, the daughter of Ethelbert, was
built of stone; and as early as 669, we find mention of the
windows being glazed. Prior to this period, the windows consisted
of mere openings in the walls, through which the light
was admitted; they were called eye-holes, and were protected
by lattice-work, through which the birds flew in and out, and
built inside the fabric; nor was there any other means of keeping
out the rain and snow, excepting by lowering down the
simple linen blinds. The few remains we possess of Saxon
architecture display great strength and solidity without grace.
The columns are low and massy, the arches round and heavy,
seeming as if they formed a portion of the bulky pillars, instead
of springing from them with that light and airy grace which
is the great beauty of Gothic architecture. Their chief ornament
in building appears to have been the zig-zag moulding
which resembles sharks' teeth. The very word they used in
describing this form of ornament also signified to gnaw or eat;
and from the Saxon word fret, or teeth work, the common term
of fret-work arose. Towards the close of the seventh century, the
celebrated bishop Wilfrid, who had visited Rome, made great improvements
in ecclesiastical architecture. He brought with him
several eminent artists from Italy; and as he stood high in the
favour of Oswy, king of the Deiri and Bernicia, he was enabled
to reward his architects liberally. He restored the church which
Paulinus founded at York. But the most celebrated edifice
he raised, appears to have been the church at Hexham, of which
the following description is given by Richard, who was the
prior of Hexham, and who wrote while the building still existed
about the close of the twelfth century:&mdash;"The foundations of
this church," says prior Richard, "were laid deep in the earth
for the crypts and oratories, and the passages leading to them,
which were then with great exactness contrived and built under
ground. The walls, which were of great length, and raised to
an immense height, and divided into three several stories, or
tiers, he supported by square and various other kinds of well-polished
columns. Also, the walls, the capitals of the columns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span>
which supported them, and the arch of the sanctuary, he decorated
with historical representations, imagery, and various figures
in relief, carved in stone, and painted with a most agreeable
variety of colours. The body of the church he compassed about
with pentices and porticoes, which, both above and below, he
divided, with great and inexpressible art, by partition walls and
winding stairs. Within the staircases, and above them, he
caused flights of steps and galleries of stone, and several passages
leading from them, both ascending and descending, to be artfully
disposed, that multitudes of people might be there, and go quite
round the church, without being seen by any one below in the
nave." Prior Richard goes on further to state, that he also
caused several altars to be erected to the blessed saints. In 767,
the church of St. Peter's at York having been either damaged or
destroyed by fire, was rebuilt by archbishop Albert, assisted by
the celebrated Alcuin. Here, also, we find mention of lofty
arches, supported on columns, of vaultings, windows, porticoes,
galleries, and altars, richly ornamented. What additions the
genius of Alfred made to the architecture of the period we know
not. We have, however, already shown that he set apart a great
portion of his revenue to the building and repairing of churches.
But he lived amid stormy times, when the strengthening of
military fortresses was of more consequence to the welfare of
his kingdom than the erection of costly edifices; and during the
ravages of the Danes the fine arts appear not to have made any
advance.</p>

<p>We have scarcely any records of the domestic architecture of
the Saxons, but may safely infer, from the simple style of their
early churches, that their houses were built of wood, and
thatched with reeds, and we have proof that timber houses continued
until a comparatively modern period.</p>

<p>Of their painting and sculpture we know but little: the horn
of Ulphus, which is still preserved, is beautifully carved; and
we find mention of the tomb of the bishop of Hexham having
been richly decorated. Their paintings seem to have been imported
from Rome, and were principally pictures of saints and
martyrs, which appear to have formed the most attractive
ornaments in their churches. Their illuminated missals we
have already alluded to. The Saxon ladies were skilful embroiderers,
weavers, and spinners, arts in which the daughters
of Edward the Elder excelled. Even the celebrated St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span>
Dunstan, with all his surliness, deigned to draw patterns for
his fair countrywomen to copy in their embroidery. Among
other costly gifts, mentioned in a Charter relating to Croyland
Abbey, granted by a king of Mercia, we find a golden veil, on
which was enwrought the famous siege of Troy. Many of the
initial letters, already mentioned, are of the most intricate patterns,
scroll is interlaced within scroll, chain-like links, and
heads of birds and serpents, running into the most beautiful
flourishes, and compelling us to admit that the Saxons were
either excellent copyists, or gifted with considerable invention.</p>

<p>Their musical instruments consisted of horns, trumpets, flutes,
drums, cymbals, a stringed instrument not unlike the violin,
which was played upon with a bow, and the harp; and in their
churches organs which must have shaken the sacred buildings
with their powerful tones. Dunstan was celebrated for his skill
upon the harp; he also made an organ with brass pipes, and
made several presents of bells to the Saxon churches. From
the description given of a harp in an old poem, it was made of
birch-wood, with oaken keys, and strung with the long hairs
pulled from the tails of horses. The cymbals were formed of
mixed metals, and when played, struck on the concave side, as
they are now; and Bede dwells upon their beautiful modulation
in the hands of a skilful player. He describes the drum as
having been made of stretched leather, fastened on rounded hoops,
and which emitted a loud sound when struck&mdash;he mentions
tones, and semi-tones, and thus concludes his remarks on the
power of music: "Among all the sciences this is the more
commendable, pleasing, courtly, mirthful, and lovely. It makes
men liberal, cheerful, courteous, glad, and amiable&mdash;it rouses
them to battle&mdash;it exhorts them to bear fatigue, and comforts
them under labour: it refreshes the mind that is disturbed,
chases away headache and sorrow, and dispels the depraved
humours, and cheers the desponding spirits." We find the
Saxon organs described as rising high, some having gilded pipes,
and many pairs of bellows; one especially is pointed out by the
monk Wolfstan, as having stood in Winchester cathedral.
"Such a one," says the monk, "had never before been seen."
"It seems to have been a prodigious instrument," says Sharon
Turner, in a note to his History of the Anglo-Saxons. "It had
twelve bellows above, and fourteen below, which were alternately
worked by seventy strong men, covered with perspiration,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span>
and emulously animating each other to impel the blast with all
their strength. There were four hundred pipes, which the hand
of the skilful organist shut or opened as the tune required.
Two friars sat at it, whom a rector governed. It had concealed
holes adopted to forty keys; they struck the seven notes of the
octave, the carmine of the lyric semi-tone being mixed. It
must," adds the learned historian, "have reached the full sublime
of musical sound, so far as its quantity produces sublimity."</p>

<p>In arithmetic, they simply studied the division of even numbers,
separating them into those "metaphysical distinctions of
equally equal, and equally unequal," though they seem to have
attained something approaching to perfection in calculation. In
natural philosophy, Bede was far in advance of many of the
Roman writers. In astronomy, they drew their information
from such Greek and Latin treatises as chanced to fall into
their hands. They believed that comets portended war, pestilence,
and famine, and all those evils which the ignorant still
attribute to their appearance in the present day. Of geography
they knew but little, until the work of Orosius was translated
by our own Alfred. They trusted to cure diseases by charms,
though they were not without physicians, herbs being what they
principally used for medicine; and, no doubt, many of our village
herb-doctors, who trust to the full or wane of the moon, for
finding the healing virtues in their favourite plants, are fair
samples of the early Saxon practitioner in the same art; and
that many such old books, as "The Gentlewoman's Closet," &amp;c.,
contain the genuine recipes used by the Saxons. From a rare
original work, in our possession, we quote the following, whose
counterpart may be found in many a valuable Saxon MS.: "The
sixth and tenth days of March shalt thou draw out blood of the
right arm, the eleventh day of April, and in the end of May, of
which arm thou wilt, and that against a fever; and if thou dost,
neither shalt thou lose thy sight, nor thou shalt have no fever so
long as thou livest!" He who fell sick on the first day of the
month, was supposed to be in danger for three days after; on the
second day, would get well; on the third, was to be ill for twenty-eight
days; on the fourth, to escape; on the fifth, to suffer
grievously; on the eighth, "if he be not whole on the twelfth day,
he shall be dead." And so on for every day throughout the
month and <span class="locked">year.<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">26</a></span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">357</a></span></p>

<h3>COSTUME, MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND EVERYDAY LIFE.</h3>

<p>Of the every-day life and domestic manners of our Anglo-Saxon
forefathers, we possess considerable information, partly
from written records, such as charters, wills, grants, and leases,
but more especially from the drawings which we find in the
ancient manuscripts which are still preserved. Amongst the
higher classes we discover that the walls were hung with tapestry,
ornamented with gold and rich colours, for the needles of
the Saxon ladies seem ever to have been employed in forming
birds, animals, trees, and flowers, upon the hangings which were
so necessary to keep out the wind that must have blown in at
every chink of their wooden apartments. Their garments were
loose and flowing, that of the men consisting of a shirt, over
which they wore a coat or tunic, open at the neck and partly up
the sides, having wide sleeves which reached to the wrists; and
as this was ample enough to be put on by slipping it over the
head, (not unlike the common frock worn by our carters or peasantry,)
it was occasionally, and no doubt always in cold weather,
to make it sit closer, confined to the waist by a girdle or belt.
Over this they occasionally wore a short cloak, which was fastened
to the breast by a brooch or loop; they also wore drawers
or long hose, which were bandaged crosswise, from the ankle to
the knee, with strips of coloured cloth or leather. Their shoes,
which were open at the front, were secured by thongs; and
though the poorer classes are sometimes represented as bare-legged,
yet they are seldom drawn without shoes, which are
generally painted black, while many of them wear the short
stocking or sock. That their shoes were made of leather is expressly
stated by Bede, who describes St. Cuthbert, as often
keeping on his shoes for months together, and that it was with
difficulty he could be persuaded to take them off, to permit his
feet to be made clean. Hats or caps they seem rarely to have
worn, although there are one or two instances in which they
appear. They seem generally to have gone bareheaded, excepting
when in battle; then they wore a pointed helmet. In nearly all
the early illustrations, we find the hair worn long, parted in the
middle, and falling down upon the neck and shoulders. The
beard is also long and forked. Silk garments were not uncommon
amongst the nobles: as early as the time of Ethelbert, king
of Kent, mention is made of a silk dress. We also read of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">358</a></span>
coronation garment, which was made of silk, and woven of gold
and flowers. In the churches the altars were generally covered
with silk, and at his death, the body of the venerable Bede was
enclosed in a silken shroud. The Saxon noblemen seem to have
been lavish in their ornaments, and to have worn costly bracelets
on their arms, and rings upon their fingers&mdash;the ring
appears to have been worn upon the third finger of the right
hand&mdash;it was called the gold finger, and the penalty for cutting
this off was greater than for amputating any of the other fingers.
Furs of the sable, beaver, fox, martin, and other animals, were
also worn, and amongst the poorer classes the skins of lambs and
sheep.</p>

<p>The costume of the Saxon ladies seems to have varied but
little, excepting in length, from that worn by the men. The
gunna, or gown, which was worn over the skirt or kirtle, was
of the same form as the tunic already described; it was a little
shorter than the kirtle, which reached to the feet&mdash;the latter
being covered by shoes similar to those already mentioned. The
women, however, wore a head-dress, formed of linen or silk,
which looks not unlike the hood of comparatively modern times.
It was called the head-rail, and besides forming a covering for
the head, was made to enfold the neck and shoulders, not unlike
the gorget which we see in ancient armour, in appearance; but
formed by throwing fold over fold&mdash;making the face appear as
if it looked out from a close-fitting helmet or gorget. Nor were
the Saxon ladies at all deficient in ornaments. They had their
cuffs and ribbons, necklaces and bracelets, ear-rings and brooches,
set with gems&mdash;were quite adepts at twisting and curling the
hair; and, as it is the historian's duty to tell the whole truth, we
are compelled to confess, that at this early period they were also
guilty of painting their cheeks, so that England has long had its
rouged, as well as its rosy daughters. We read also of pale tunics,
of dun-coloured garments, of white kirtles&mdash;and, in the Anglo-Saxon
illustrations, we see robes of purple bordered with yellow,
of green striped with red, of lilac interlaced with green, crimson
striped with purple, all showing that a love of rich and pleasing
colours was, above a thousand years ago, common to the ladies
of England. Gloves appear to have been rarely worn. The
sleeve of the tunic was made long enough to be drawn over the
hand in cold weather; where the glove is represented, the thumb
only is separate, the remainder of the fingers are covered, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span>
any division, like the mits, or mittens, worn by children at the
present day. The military costume we have already described:
nor does it appear to have undergone any alteration until after
the Norman Conquest. They wore helmets, had wooden shields
covered with leather, rimmed, and bossed with iron, had a kind
of ringed armour to defend the breast, and such weapons as we
have frequently made mention of in our descriptions of the battles.</p>

<p>Turning to their furniture, we find, that besides benches and
stools, they had also seats with backs to them, not unlike the
chairs or sofas of the present day. Many of these are richly
ornamented with the forms of lions, eagles, and dragons; and no
better proof need be advanced than this profusion of carved
work, to show, that in their domestic comforts they had stepped
far beyond the mere wants and common necessaries of life, and
made considerable progress in its refinements and luxuries.
Their chairs and tables were not only formed of wood richly
carved, but sometimes inlaid with gold, silver, and ivory. Nor
were the eating and drinking vessels of the nobles less costly.
Mention is made of gold and silver cups, on which figures of
men and animals were engraven; and the weight of some of
these was from two to four pounds. They covered their tables
with cloths; had knives, spoons, drinking-horns, bowls, dishes,
but in no instance do we meet with a fork. The roast meat
or fowl appears to have been served on long spits; each guest
cut off what he approved of, and then the attendant passed on
to the next, who also helped himself&mdash;the bread and salt standing
ready for all upon the table. The Saxons were hard drinkers&mdash;mead,
wine, and ale flowed freely at their feasts; and it seems to
have been a common custom for the guests to have slept in the
apartment where the feast was held; for we read of the tables
being removed, of bolsters being brought into the hall, and the
company throwing themselves upon the floor, their only covering
being their cloaks or skins, while their weapons were suspended
from the boarded walls over their heads. Bedsteads were, however,
in use, though they appear to have been low; the part
where the head rested was raised like the end of a modern
couch; beds, pillows, bed-clothes, curtains, sheets, and coverlets
of linen and skins, are occasionally mentioned in the old Saxon
wills, where we also find both the words sacking and bolster.
The bed-pillows appear occasionally to have been made of
plaited straw; and in one place we find mention of bed-curtains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span>
formed of gilded fly-net, but what this may have been we are
ignorant of. We read also of candlesticks, hand-bells, and mirrors,
being made of silver. Glass appears to have been used
more sparingly, though it is mentioned by Bede as being "used
for lamps and vessels of many uses." The use of the bath is
also frequently named; and we find them using frankincense,
pepper, and cinnamon, and other spices.</p>

<p>England, at this period, abounded in woods, and the chief
meat of the Saxons appears to have been the flesh of swine.
Swine are frequently mentioned in wills. They were given in
dowries, bequeathed to abbeys and monasteries, together with the
land on which the swine fed. Oxen and sheep they used more
sparingly; and it is very probable that they were not at this
period so plentiful as swine. Deer, goats, and hares, and several
varieties of fowl, were also used for food. Of fish, the eel appears
to have been the most abundant. Eels were often received in
payment of rent; estates were held by no other form than that
of presenting so many eels annually; and eel-dykes are mentioned
as forming the boundary lines of different possessions.
Herrings, salmon, sturgeons, flounders, plaice, crabs, lobsters,
oysters, muscles, cockles, winkles, and even the porpoise, is
named amongst the fish which they consumed. Cheese, milk,
butter, and eggs, were among the common articles of the food
of the Saxons. They used also both wheat and barley bread,
and had wind and water mills to grind their corn. They appear
to have been great consumers of honey; and amongst their vegetables,
beans and colewort are frequently mentioned. In their
soups they used herbs; and amongst their fruits we find pears,
apples, grapes, nuts, and even almonds and figs were grown in
the orchards which belonged to the monasteries. Salt was extensively
used; and they seem to have slaughtered numbers of
their cattle in autumn, which they cured and salted for winter
consumption; and from this we might infer that there was a
scarcity of fodder during the winter months. They boiled,
baked, and roasted their victuals as we do now. Mention is
made of their ovens and boiling vessels, and of their fish having
been broiled. To eat or drink what a cat or dog had spoiled,
they were compelled afterwards to undergo a penance; also, if
any one gave to another any liquor in which a mouse or a
weazel had been found dead, four days' penance was inflicted;
or if a monk, he was doomed to sing three hundred psalms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span>
There seem to have been ale-houses or taverns at a very early
period; and we find a priest forbidden to either eat or drink in
those places where ale was sold. So plentiful does animal food
appear to have been, that a master was prohibited from giving
it to his servants on fast-days; if he did, he was sentenced to
the pillory.</p>

<p>Beginning with their in-door sports and pastimes, we find
games similar to chess and backgammon amongst their social
amusements, while gleemen, dancers, tumblers, and harpers, contributed
to their merriment. In the early illuminations we see
jugglers throwing up three knives and balls, and catching each
alternately, just as the same feat is performed in the present day.
The Saxons were also great lovers of the chase. Alfred, as we
have shown, was a famous hunter; and Harold received his surname
of Harefoot through his swiftness in following the chase.
Boars and wild deer appear to have been their favourite game,
and sometimes they hunted down "the grey wolf of the weald."
Wolf-traps and wolf-pits are often mentioned in the Saxon
records. England was not in those days cursed with game-laws.
Every man might pursue the game upon his own land, and
over hundreds of miles of wood and moor-hill, dale and common,
without any one interfering with him. There was no exception
made, only to the spot in which the king hunted, and this restriction
appears only to have been limited to the time and
place where he followed the chase. When the royal hunt was
over, the forest was again free. The Saxons hunted with hawks
and hounds; and Alfred the Great wrote instructions on the
management of hawks. Nets, pits, bows and arrows, and slings,
were also used for capturing and destroying game.</p>

<p>The women were protected by many excellent laws; and violence
offered to them was visited by such severe pains and penalties as
make us ashamed of the justice which the insulted female obtains
in modern times when she seeks redress. The first step towards
marriage consisted in obtaining the lady's consent, the second
that of her parents or friends; the intended husband then pledged
himself to maintain his wife in becoming dignity; his friends were
bound for the fulfilment of his engagement. Next, provision was
made for the children; and here, again, the husband had to find
sureties. Then came the morgen-gift, or jointure, which was
either money or land, paid or made over the day after the marriage.
Provision was also made in case of the husband's death,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span>
but if a widow married within twelve months of her widowhood
she forfeited all claim to the property of her former husband.
The marriage ceremony was solemnized by the presence of the
priest, who having consecrated their union, prayed for the
Divine blessing to settle upon them, and that they might live in
holiness, happiness, and prosperity. Women had property in
their own right, which they could dispose of without the husband's
consent; they were also witnesses at the signing of deeds
and charters. In the Saxon manuscripts we never meet with the
figures of women engaged in out-of-door labour; this was always
done by the men, although the wealthy classes had their slaves
of both sexes. To women the household occupation seems solely
to have belonged. Alfred the Great wrote the following beautiful
description of the love of a wife for her husband:&mdash;"She
lives now for thee, and thee only; hence she loves nothing else
but thee. She has enough of every good in this present life,
but she has despised it all for thee alone. She has shunned it
all because she has not thee also. This one thing is now wanting
to her; thine absence makes her think that all which she
possesses is nothing. Hence, for thy love she is wasting; and
full nigh dead with tears and sorrow." Who can doubt but that
this passage describes his own feelings, when he wandered
hungry and homeless about the wilds of Athelney, and thought
of her he had left weeping in solitude behind? It is one of the
many beautiful original passages which are found in his Boethius,
for Alfred was no mere translator, but enriched his author from
the storehouse of his own thoughts.</p>

<p>While pagans, the Saxons frequently burnt the bodies of their
dead, but this custom they for ever abandoned after they became
converts to Christianity. Their first mode of interment appears
to have been a grave, in which they placed the body without
any covering excepting the earth which was thrown over it.
Sometimes the body was rolled in a sheet of lead; and at Swinehead's
Abbey, in Lincolnshire, several skeletons have been dug
up lately, wrapped round with the same material, but without any
vestige of a coffin appearing; though this is no proof of wooden
coffins not having been used at the period of interment, which
through the lapse of long centuries may have decayed and
mingled with the soil. Stone coffins were commonly used by
the wealthy, and but few were at first allowed to be buried within
walled towns. By degrees the churches began to be used as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">363</a></span>
places of sepulture, though only men distinguished for their piety
and good works appear at first to have been buried in these
ancient edifices. After a time, the churches and church-yards
became crowded with graves, and then the bodies were removed
to some distance for burial. The passing-bell was rung at a
very early period; it is mentioned by Bede, and there is but
little doubt that the custom dates from nearly the first introduction
of Christianity. The clergy, on the death of a person, received
a payment, called the "soul-scot," which at times amounted
to an immense sum; even land was left by the dead, that prayers
might be offered up for the welfare of the soul; and thus in
early times the churches were enriched. The burial of Archbishop
Wilfred, in the eighth century, is thus described by
Eddius:&mdash;"Upon a certain day, many abbots and clergy met
those who conducted the corpse of the holy bishop in a hearse,
and begged that they might be permitted to wash the body, and
dress it honourably, as befitted its dignity. This was granted;
and an abbot named Baculus then spread his surplice on the
ground, and the brethren depositing the body upon it, washed it
with their own hands, then, dressing it in the ecclesiastical habit,
they carried it along, singing psalms and hymns as they proceeded.
When they approached the monastery, the monks came
out to meet it, and scarcely one refrained from shedding tears
and weeping aloud. And thus it was borne, amid hymns and
tears, to its final resting-place, the church which the good bishop
had built and dedicated to St. Peter." The Saxons had also
gilds or clubs, in which the artizans, or such as seem to have
consisted of the middle classes, subscribed for the burial of a
member, and a fine was inflicted upon every brother who did
not attend the funeral. Thus, above a thousand years ago, were
burial societies established in England&mdash;a clear proof of the
respect which the Saxons paid to their dead.</p>

<p class="p2 center">
Savill &amp; Edwards, Printers, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden.<br />
</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span></p>

<hr />

<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS.</a><br />

<span class="subhead"><span class="smaller gesperrt">BY WILLIAM HARVEY, ESQ.</span></span></h2>

<div class="center">
<table summary="Illustrations">
<tr><td class="tdr top">1.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Conversion of Ethelbert</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_1"><i>Frontispiece.</i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">2.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Combat between Romans and Britons</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_22">22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">3.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Caractacus carried captive to Rome</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_33">33</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">4.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Vortigern and Rowena</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_67">67</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">5.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Alfred describing the Danish Camp</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_180">180</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">6.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Alfred releasing the Family of Hastings</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_188">188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">7.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Dunstan dragging King Edwin from Elgiva</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_224">224</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">8.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Welsh Tribute of Wolves' Heads</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_232">232</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">9.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Canute rebuking his Courtiers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_262">262</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">10.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Harold Swearing on the Relics of the Saints</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_300">300</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">11.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Discovery of the Body of Harold</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_338">338</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr top">12.</td><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Trial by Ordeal</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_346">346</a></td></tr>
</table></div>

<div class="newpage footnotes">
<h2 class="nobreak p1"><a name="FOOTNOTES" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</a></h2>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</a>
History of Scotland, vol. i. p. 9.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="fnanchor">2</a>
Turner's "Anglo-Saxons," to which I am indebted for many of the facts
recorded in this chapter.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="fnanchor">3</a>
Turner's Anglo-Saxons, vol. i. p 293.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="fnanchor">4</a>
A Catholic History of England. By William Bernard Mac Cabe. Carefully
compiled from our earliest records, and purporting to be a literal translation
of the writings of the old chroniclers, miracles, visions, &amp;c. from the time
of Gildas; richly illustrated with notes, which throw a clear, and in many
instances a new light on what would otherwise be difficult and obscure passages.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="fnanchor">5</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest; Turner's Anglo-Saxons, and the early
English Chronicles.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="fnanchor">6</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="fnanchor">7</a>
Turner's "Anglo-Saxons," vol. 2, p. 248. Although we differ from this
honest and able historian in many of the inferences he has drawn from undisputed
facts, we believe no writer ever sat down with a firmer determination
to do justice to the memory of the dead than Sharon Turner.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="fnanchor">8</a>
At page 277 of Turner's "Anglo-Saxons," vol. ii., is the commencement
of a long and valuable note on the ancient lives of St. Dunstan, which are still
extant.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="fnanchor">9</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest. European Library edition. Vol. I. pages 82
and 83.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="fnanchor">10</a>
Turner's Anglo-Saxons, page 325, vol. ii. Edition, 1836.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="fnanchor">11</a>
William of Malmsbury.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="fnanchor">12</a>
Thierry's "Norman Conquest," p. 134, European Library edition.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="fnanchor">13</a>
Thierry's "Norman Conquest."</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="fnanchor">14</a>
Thierry's "Norman Conquest," vol. i. p. 148.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="fnanchor">15</a>
Miss Strickland's Lives of the Queens of England, vol. i. pp. 6, 49, 70.
For the love and affection which is said to have existed between William and
Matilda, we must refer our readers to the above work, to which we are indebted
for these revolting facts.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="fnanchor">16</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest, vol. i. p. 151.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="fnanchor">17</a>
Thierry, vol. ii. p. 154.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="fnanchor">18</a>
Thierry's "Norman Conquest."</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="fnanchor">19</a>
Turner's Anglo-Saxons, vol. ii. p. 396.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="fnanchor">20</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest, vol. i. p. 160.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="fnanchor">21</a>
"Lives of the Queens of England," by Agnes Strickland, vol. i. p. 31, 37.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="fnanchor">22</a>
"Lives of the Queens of England," by Agnes Strickland vol. i. p. 31, 37.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="fnanchor">23</a>
Thierry's Norman Conquest, vol. i. p. 175.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="fnanchor">24</a>
I had marked several passages in the translated poems of Beowulf, Judith,
Cedmon, &amp;c., which would require but little alteration to insure them a place
amongst our choicest extracts; but am compelled to omit them, as they would
occupy too much space, and scarcely be in keeping with the character of the
present work.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="fnanchor">25</a>
See p. <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.</p></div>

<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="fnanchor">26</a>
"A Groat's worth of Wit." No date.</p></div>
</div>

<div id="transnote" class="transnote newpage">
<h2 class="nobreak p1"><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcribers' Note</a></h2>

<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.</p>

<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unpaired
quotation marks were retained.</p>

<p>Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.</p>

<p>Two occurrences of "strown" retained; text mostly uses "strewn".</p>

<p>Two occurrences of "Welch" retained; text mostly uses "Welsh".</p>

<p>Text uses both "before-time" and "beforetime"; both retained.</p>

<p>Text uses various forms of "villan" and "villain"; all retained.</p>

<p>Text mostly uses various forms of "Vikingr", rather than "Viking".</p>

<p>Text uses both "Scearston" and "Scearstan"; both retained.</p>

<p>Text uses both "witenagemot" and "witena-gemot"; both retained.</p>

<p>Text uses both "William of Malmsbury" and "William of Malmesbury";
both retained.</p>

<p>Text mostly uses "Shakspere", so two occurrences of "Shakspeare"
were changed by Transcriber for consistency.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_43">43</a>: "Constantine, Chlorus" should not contain the comma.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_51">51</a>: "martrydom" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_56">56</a>: "tatooing" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_142">142</a>: "recal" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_160">160</a>: "marish" may be a misprint for "marsh".</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_176">176</a>: "secresy" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_235">235</a>: Unmatched quotation mark in paragraph ending "no ruin occurred."</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_250">250</a>: "develope" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_311">311</a>: "instal" was printed that way.</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_319">319</a>: Unmatched quotation mark in paragraph ending "as well as he could."</p>

<p>Page <a href="#Page_360">360</a>: "muscles" and "weazel" were printed that way.</p>
</div>

<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45366 ***</div>
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