despatched emissaries to gather information; he sent an embassy to
India, and had messengers continually passing to and from Rome. The
Danes, whom he had permitted to settle down peaceably in his dominions,
he placed upon the same footing as the Saxons, giving to them equal
laws, and punishing the criminals of both nations with the same
impartial rigour, which many historians have considered to be somewhat
too severe. Justice was then but little understood; and when the
judges came to such decisions as Alfred considered unfair to the party
injured, he occupied the tribunal, and had the matter brought before
him, and according to his own judgment decided the case. He caused one
of his own judges, named Cadwine, to be hanged, for having condemned a
man to death without the consent of the whole jury. Freberne he also
ordered to be executed, for sentencing one Harpin to suffer death, when
the jury were undecided in their verdict; for when there was a doubt,
Alfred concluded it was but just to save the accused. He would neither
permit the jury to return an unjust verdict, nor the judge to influence
their decision; but where there was doubt and difficulty to contend
against, he brought the whole weight of his own clear, unbiassed
intellect to bear upon the subject.

Without breaking down the warlike spirit of the people, he by a
salutary law checked the thirst of personal revenge, permitting no man
to slay his enemy in secret, not even if he knew that that enemy was
seated at home beside his own hearth, he was not allowed to fight with
him until he had publicly demanded redress. If the body of a murdered
man was found, the penalty, which, considering the value of money in
those times, was heavy, fell upon the whole hundred or tything in
which the dead body was discovered. By this means, the innocent had
the powerful motive of self-interest to induce them to give up the
murderer. Rude and primitive as such a system may at first appear,
these laws were well adapted to the spirit of the barbarous age in
which he lived, when a pagan Dane considered it a meritorious work
to slay a Saxon Christian, and the latter thought that he was doing
Heaven service when he sent the spoiler of its monasteries, and the
slayer of its priests, to revel in the halls of the blood-stained
gods he worshipped. Elders were appointed over each hundred, and were
answerable for the conduct of all who belonged to them. If a crime
was committed, the roll was called over, and suspicion naturally fell
upon the missing man who had fled. No other hundred could register his
name until he had dwelt a given time amongst them; and through this
strict system of espionage, pardonable only in such turbulent times,
the land, as it were, was engirded with a continuous chain, not a link
of which could be broken without the gap becoming visible. Alfred not
only introduced the decalogue into his laws, but so adapted the Mosaic
code to the habits of the age in which he lived, as to render it as
effective amongst the Anglo-Saxons as it had been with the Israelites
of old. His witena-gemot, or assembly of nobles, or parliament, or
by whatever name we choose to designate the council of the land, was
called upon to give its consent to these enactments, before they
were put into operation, and such clauses as it objected to, Alfred
blotted out from his Dom-boc. He first drew the bold outline of our
present mode of government; and limned with his hand, though rudely,
the grand form of our glorious constitution. He was proverbially known
amongst his subjects by the title of the "Truth-teller;" and it was a
saying during his reign, that golden bracelets might be hung upon the
landmarks beside the common highways without a fear of their removal,
such a vigorous watch did the law keep.

In the character of Alfred was embodied all the elements which the
poet, the dramatist, and the novelist attempt to throw around their
most perfect ideas of a hero. He was a warrior, a statesman, and a
scholar, and as perfect in each of these capacities as if he had spent
his whole life in the battle-field, had dedicated his days and nights
to law and politics, or been only a fond dreamer amongst books in the
flowery fields of literature. He would have taken the lead in any age
as the commander of an army; have either risen to the dignity of a
chancellor or a premier in civil government, or have stood first in
the high and ambitious rank of authorship. In him were beautifully
blended courage and tenderness, perseverance and patience; justice
which would have been stern, but for the softening quality of mercy,
high-mindedness, and humbleness, and, above all, a universal love for
his fellow men, not disfigured by the weak partiality of unworthy
favouritism. He found England in a state of despondency, raised and
cheered her, and then elevated her to a much higher station than that
from which she had fallen. But for Alfred the Great, England would have
been a desert, and never have recovered from the destructive fires and
desolating ravages of the Danes. His name will be revered until time
shall be no more.

CHAPTER XXIV.

EDWARD THE ELDER.

 "Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,
  And with your puissant arm renew their feats;
  You are their heir, you sit upon their throne;
  The blood and courage that renowned them
  Runs in your veins.----
  All do expect that you should rouse yourself,
  As did the former lions of your blood."--SHAKSPERE.

Edward the Elder, in the year 901, was, by the unanimous consent of
the Saxon nobles, elected king of Wessex. He had already distinguished
himself for his valour, as he fought by the side of his father Alfred
against Hastings. Although he was the son of Alfred, and elected by
the consent of the whole witena-gemot, his cousin Ethelwold laid claim
to the crown, and took possession of Wimburn, which he vowed death
alone should compel him to give up. No sooner, however, did Edward
appear before the gates of the town with his army, than Ethelwold
fled; and escaping by night, reached Northumbria, where he was gladly
received by the Danes, who, doubtless, thinking that they should have
a better claim to the land of England, if a Saxon prince reigned over
them, chose him for their sovereign, and at York he was appointed
head monarch over all the sea-kings and their chiefs. With the Saxon
king at their head, the Danes were not long before they aspired to
the sovereignty of the whole island. But Ethelwold could not remain
long amongst his subjects without partaking of their piratical habits,
so he set up sea-king; and finding that the ocean yielded but a poor
harvest, he visited the coast of France, and, either by promises or
presents, mustered such a force as enabled him to man a considerable
fleet, with which he returned to England and ravaged Mercia. As he
landed in Essex, the East Anglian Danes readily joined him. Edward led
his army into Lincolnshire in pursuit of Ethelwold, and overtook him a
little below Gainsborough. The battle appears to have been fought on
a small island, still called Axeholme, which is situated beside the
river Trent, and the inhabitants of which are still called "The men of
the Isle." Edward, having ravaged the neighbourhood around the isle of
Axeholme, ordered his forces to retreat slowly, but on no account to
separate. This order the Kentish troops neglected to obey, and either
took a different route from the rest of the army, or remained behind to
plunder, when Ethelwold, at the head of a superior force, rushed upon
them, and they were defeated. Although it appears to have been more of
a skirmish than a pitched battle, victory was purchased, on the part of
the Danes, by the death of Ethelwold, and England then enjoyed a two
years' peace.

After this brief interval, war again broke out. Edward, at the head of
his Saxons and Mercians, over-ran and plundered Northumbria. In the
following spring, the Danes retaliated, and attacked Mercia on each
side of the river Trent. While Edward was busy on the south-eastern
coast, repairing and collecting together his ships, a rumour circulated
amongst the Danes that he had gone over to the opposite shore with his
fleet. Misguided by these tidings, the Danish army passed across the
country in the direction of the Severn, plundering every place they
approached, and moving about in that irregular manner which showed that
they were not apprehensive of any attack. Great was their surprise when
they saw a powerful army approaching them; they discovered not the
danger until it was too late to fly from it, for Edward was upon them,
and there was no alternative but to fight. The battle took place at
Wodensfield, and thousands of the Danes were slain, for, beside many
earls and chiefs, they left two of their kings dead upon the field. The
result of this battle established the power of Edward, and insured the
safety of the Saxon kingdom. Like his father Alfred, he trusted not to
the chances of war alone for security, but protected his frontiers by a
line of strong fortresses, and placed a powerful guard over such weak
points as had been most open to the invasion of the enemy. He filled
these garrisons with chosen soldiers, who, united with the provincials
or militia which Alfred had established, rushed out upon the Danes the
moment they approached, without either awaiting the command of the
king or of his earls, and by such watchful energy they ever kept the
enemy in subjection. Inheriting her father's bravery, Ethelfleda, who
was now a widow, acted in concert with her brother Edward, and made
her name a terror to the Danes on the frontiers of Mercia, so that the
governorship which had been intrusted to her husband Ethelred lost none
of its power in her hands.

The fortresses which Edward thus reared, in time, became inhabited
towns; around them sprung up human habitations and cultivated fields,
for the soldiers had their allotted hours of duty and recreation, and
when not employed in keeping a watch over the enemy, they followed the
more peaceful occupations of agriculture. Many of these fortifications
were placed in commanding situations; of such were Wigmore in
Herefordshire; Bridgnorth and Cherbury in Shropshire; in Cheshire,
Edesbury; in Staffordshire, Stafford and Wedesborough; all admirably
adapted to coerce the Welsh upon the western boundaries; while Runcorne
and Thelwall in Cheshire, and Bakewell in Derby, served to protect the
northern frontier of the Saxon kingdom from the invaders. Manchester,
Tamworth, Leicester, Nottingham, and Warwick, also formed strong
barriers of defence to that portion of Mercia, while other places
guarded the entrance of important rivers, which the Danes had never
failed to avail themselves of, when they poured their forces over the
land. Never in Alfred's time had the Saxon states presented such an
impenetrable frontage as they did during the reign of Edward, and the
governorship of his sister Ethelfleda; for the Saxon princess hesitated
not to head the forces intrusted to her command, whenever the enemy
appeared: since she had shared in all the hardships of those stormy
times, and proved herself a worthy daughter of Alfred. Edward was
not long before he was again compelled to take up arms against the
northmen, who, after having entered the Severn and ravaged North Wales,
carried their devastation into Herefordshire. But the military force
established in the fortresses of Hereford and Gloucester, joined by the
neighbouring inhabitants, rushed upon the Danes, and compelled them
to seek shelter in an adjacent wood. They soon made head again; but
Edward, who had by this time drawn his army together, kept so narrow
a watch over them, that they despaired of escaping, and were fearful
of again measuring their strength with the Saxons. In the night they
separated into two divisions and began to retreat. Edward divided
his army, pursued and defeated them. Such as escaped the slaughter,
fled into Wales, where they for a short time found shelter, and at
last sailed over into Ireland. But it is wearisome to run over such
a catalogue of combats--of fortresses attacked and defended--of the
victors of to-day who were vanquished on the morrow--of battles fought
under commanders whose names have many ages ago perished--of castles
besieged, the very sites of which are now unknown, and over whose ruins
a thousand harvests have probably been reaped. Suffice it, that Edward
so far secured his dominions, that the East Anglian Danes chose him
for their "lord and patron"--that the Welsh princes acknowledged and
submitted to his power, while the king of the Scots addressed him by
the title of "father and lord," and the Danes of Northumbria looked
up to him as their supreme sovereign. Such acknowledgments as these
are proofs that he left the Saxon monarchy established on a solid
foundation, and that he had not neglected the wise plans which his
father had drawn out for the better security of his kingdom.

Edward died in Berkshire, about 924, after having reigned for nearly
a quarter of a century, and though he had several sons and daughters
both by his first and second wife, he appointed by his will his
illegitimate son, Athelstan, as his successor to the throne. The Saxon
nobles confirmed his choice. Edward had never to contend with such
difficulties as beset his father, yet, had he not possessed a great
share of the same military talent, the fabric which Alfred had erected
might, if less skilfully defended, have again been overthrown. His
character would have stood out more boldly on the page of history, had
it not been placed by the side of Alfred the Great.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE REIGN OF ATHELSTAN.

               "Clamour was on the earth.
  They darted from their hands many a stout spear;
  The sharpened arrows flew--the bows were busy--
  The buckler's received the weapon's point.
  Bitter was the fight--warriors fell on either side.
  The youths lay slain."

        DEATH OF BRYHTNOTH, 991.

Although Athelstan was the illegitimate son of Edward the Elder, and
his mother, a woman of surpassing beauty, only the daughter of a humble
shepherd, yet he was in his thirtieth year elected to the crown, by the
consent of the whole witena-gemot, or Saxon parliament, in accordance
with the will left by his father. While but a child, his beauty and
gentle manners had interested his grandfather Alfred, and the great
king, as if foreseeing the splendid station to which the future monarch
would one day rise, had with his own hand invested the boy with the
honours of knighthood; had doubtless many a time placed him upon his
own knee, and as he sat in childish pomp, in his purple garment,
jewelled belt, and with his Saxon sword, buried in its golden sheath,
dangling by his side, had instilled into his youthful mind those
precepts which had guided his own career, and shown him how he should
think and act when he became king. When Alfred died, his daughter
Ethelfleda took Athelstan with her into Mercia, and joined with her
husband Ethelred in watching narrowly over his education; so that when
he was called upon to ascend the throne of Wessex, there could be
but few found in that day whose scholastic and military attainments
excelled those of Athelstan.

At the time of Athelstan's accession, Sigtryg, a grandson of Ragnar
Lodbrog's, reigned over a portion of Northumbria, and although, like
all the rest of the sea-kings, he was a bold and fearless pirate,
and still worse, was guilty of the murder of his own brother, yet
Athelstan gave to him his own sister in marriage, and the nuptials of
the Danish king and the Saxon princess were celebrated with all the
barbaric pomp of the period at Tamworth. What motive Athelstan had
for establishing this union, we are at a loss to divine. It has been
attributed to fear--a wish to conciliate a powerful enemy. This could
not be the case: for we find the Saxon king preparing to invade his
dominions a few months after he had married his sister. The conditions
of the marriage were that Sigtryg should renounce his idolatry, and
become a Christian--propositions which he swore to accede to by his
own heathen oath on the bracelets; and, with his heart still clinging
to the altars of Odin, he was baptized and married. He soon grew
weary of his new wife and his new religion, put on his golden armlets
again, and, solemnly swearing by his heathen gods, renounced them
both: for, reigning over a land inhabited solely by unbelieving Danes,
we can scarcely marvel at such an act when performed by a pagan, who
understood not the attributes of the true God. Athelstan lost no time
in preparing to resent the insult offered to his religion and to his
sister, but began at once to march his forces towards Northumbria.
Eager, however, as he had been to arm, when he reached the Danish
dominions he found that death had stepped in before him; for Sigtryg,
after renouncing both his Christian and his heathen creed, had died,
and the sons whom he had had by a former wife fled at the approach of
Athelstan. Anlaf, in his ship, escaped to Ireland; and Godifrid sought
shelter and protection under Constantine, the king of the Scots. To
the latter, Athelstan sent messengers, demanding of him to deliver
up the Danish prince. Constantine prepared to obey the peremptory
summons, but during the journey Godifrid escaped. After enduring
many perils both by sea and land, he at last fell into the hands of
Athelstan, whose anger had by that time subsided, for he received
the poor fugitive courteously, and treated him kindly, and gave him
a warm welcome to his own court. But four days of princely ease in a
Saxon palace were quite enough for the great grandson of the stormy
old sea-king, Ragnar Lodbrog, and on the fifth he fled, seized a ship,
and set up pirate, as his forefathers had formerly done; for "he was,"
says one of the old chroniclers, "as incapable as a fish of living out
of water." Although Athelstan added Northumbria to his dominions, the
Danes were resolved not to give up a country of which they had so long
retained possession without a struggle. Many a Vikingr still existed,
who claimed kindred with the grandsons of Ragnar Lodbrog; and tidings
soon reached the rocky coast of Norway, that the Saxon king had laid
claim to the Anglo-Danish territories, over which their brethren
had ruled as kings; and though the ivory horn of Hastings no longer
summoned their sea-horses from the creeks and harbours in which they
were stabled, they soon again began to ride over the road of the swans,
and to climb the stormy waves of the Baltic in their armed ships. Such
formidable preparations were made for the invasion as threatened at
last to overwhelm for ever the Saxon monarchy. The rumour of such a
victory rang through England, and arrested the gaze of the neighbouring
nations. We will briefly glance at the cause of this great commotion.

It appears that Constantine had violated the treaty which he had made
with Athelstan, and that the latter ravaged the Scottish dominions both
by sea and land, carrying his army among the Picts and Scots, and the
ancient Cymry, who inhabited the valley of the Clyde, and his ships
as far north as Caithness. Unable to compete with the Saxon forces,
Constantine began to look abroad for assistance, and formed a league
with Anlaf, who, as we have before stated, had escaped to Ireland,
where he was made king over some little state. He, it will be borne
in mind, had fled from Northumbria at the approach of Athelstan, and
doubtless considered that he had as just a claim to the throne of
Northumbria as Athelstan had to that of Wessex. The Welsh princes, who,
still settled down as petty sovereigns, had felt the weight of the
strong arm of Athelstan, and readily confederated with Constantine and
Anlaf--the Danes of Northumbria, East Anglia, and Cumbria, had so long
been settlers in the country, that self-defence alone compelled them to
league themselves against a king who threatened ere long to reduce the
whole of Dane-land to his sway. Added to these, were the ships already
fitting out in Norway, or breasting the billows of the Baltic. Thus
were arrayed against Athelstan and his handful of Saxons, the whole
forces of Scotland--the Irish fleet commanded by Anlaf--the remnant of
the ancient Britons--the Danes of East Anglia and Northumbria--together
with the legions who were hourly pouring in from Norway and the
Baltic--a force formidable enough to have blanched the cheek of the
great Alfred himself, had he lived to have looked upon it.

Athelstan saw the storm as it gathered about him, and knowing that it
would before long break over him, he prepared himself like a man who is
resolved to buffet it--who is determined to do his best to weather the
tempest, whatever may betide. He resolved not to sit listlessly down
with folded arms to be drenched by the overwhelming torrent, if safety
could be won by hard struggling. He offered high rewards to every
warrior who chose to fight in his cause; and Thorolf and Egil, two of
those restless sea-pirates who cared not whether they plundered or slew
for themselves or others, so long as it brought in wealth, arrived
with three hundred followers, and entered the service of Athelstan.
Another celebrated chief, named Rollo, also sent him assistance from
Normandy. The war was commenced by Anlaf, who sailed into the Humber
with a large fleet which consisted of about six hundred ships, while
the forces under his command numbered at least forty thousand men.
They overpowered the Saxon army which Athelstan had placed on the edge
of the Deira and the Northern frontier of Mercia; and the remnant
fled to the head-quarters occupied by the Saxon king. Anlaf is said
to have visited Athelstan's camp, disguised in the character of a
minstrel, as Alfred himself had before time done, when he reconnoitred
the stronghold of Godrun. Although he escaped, he was discovered, and
Athelstan was warned to remove his tent, by which means his life was
saved, as a night attack was made upon the camp, and the bishop of
Sherbourne, who had exchanged his mitre for a helmet, and who soon
after arrived with his soldiers, was stationed in the quarter which the
king had so recently quitted, and fell a victim, instead of Athelstan,
for whose destruction the attack was planned. After this night combat,
in which the enemy proved victorious, Athelstan knew that there was
no time to be lost, and therefore began to arrange the forces for the
battle, which was to decide his fate. Anlaf also drew up his large
army in readiness for the approaching affray. The Saxon king placed
his boldest troops at the front of the battle; leaving them to the
command of Egil, who, though only a hired chieftain, was a brave and
honourable soldier. To Thorolf he entrusted the followers whom he had
been accustomed to lead, mingling with them a few of his own Saxon
soldiers, who appear to have been steadier, and better able to repel
the attacks of the Irish who had come over with Anlaf, and were in
the habit of moving quickly from place to place, and by their changes
disarranging the order of battle. Over the Mercian warriors, and the
brave English hearts which London had poured forth, he placed Turketul,
the chancellor, and bade him, when the war-cry was sounded, to charge
headlong upon Constantine, and the Scots whom he commanded. Athelstan
himself headed the West Saxons, placing them opposite to the point
occupied by Anlaf, as if fearful of trusting any other than himself
in the most dangerous post. Anlaf altered not his position, but stood
front to front with his forces, drawn up opposite the Saxon monarch.

Behind the right wing of the army of Anlaf there stretched a vast
wood; facing, and nearly out-flanking it, were drawn up the soldiers
Thorolf commanded; who, eager as a hawk to rush upon the quarry, was
the first to plunge headlong upon the enemy, and in a moment he was
in the very thickest of the ranks, having far outstripped all, but a
few of the foremost of his companions. Adils, a British prince, who
fought under the banner of Anlaf, wheeled his Welsh forces round, and
severed Thorolf and his friends from the rest of their followers, and
slew them. Egil saw the standard of Thorolf surrounded by the enemy,
beheld it rocking and reeling above the heads of the combatants as it
was borne towards the wood, and conscious that his brave companion in
arms had not betrayed his trust; that the banner of Thorolf was never
seen to retreat whilst its leader was alive; he, with his shield slung
behind his back, and wielding his huge claymore, rushed on like a
dreaded thunderbolt to revenge his death. The forces which Athelstan
trusted to his command deserted him not; they hewed their way through
the enemy's ranks, they pursued them into the wood, and Adils fell in
the fight, for the Welsh wing, which occupied the front of the forest,
was defeated with terrible slaughter.

Meantime, in the centre of the plain, the combat raged with unabated
fury; arrows, darts, and javelins, were abandoned; for it was now the
close hand to hand contest, when blows were dealt at arm's length with
the sword, and the battle-axe, and the club, bristling with sharp steel
spikes, which bit through, or crushed the heaviest helmet;--when the
huge two-handed claymore was swung with giant arms, and men fell before
it like grass before the scythe of the mower in a summer field;--when
blood flowed and none heeded it, but the combatant placed his foot upon
the dead that the blow might fall with heavier force;--when vassal and
chief rolled over together;--when horse and rider fell, yet scarcely
broke for a moment the enraged ranks who passed over them--while over
all the war-cry, and the shouts of the combatants rang, drowning the
moans of the wounded and the dying. Cool and collected amid this
breathless struggle, the chancellor Turketul selected a chosen band
from amongst the Londoners and the brave men of Worcestershire, who
were renowned for their valour, and who feared nothing while Singin was
at their head. These the warlike chancellor placed in close order, and
himself leading the way, they plunged headlong upon Constantine and his
Scots, Turketul paying no more regard to the arrows that stuck in his
armour than a rhinoceros would if pierced with a dozen pins, nor did he
halt until he had dealt a heavy blow on the helmet of the Caledonian
monarch. Had not the Scots rushed up in a body to the rescue, Turketul
would have dragged their king, horse and all, into the Saxon ranks;
they, however, came just in time to save him.

Never had a warrior a narrower escape with his life than Turketul.
He was surrounded by the Scots, foremost amongst whom was the son of
Constantine--who also narrowly escaped from being captured--when,
just as the weapons were uplifted to despatch the chancellor, Singin
rushed in at the head of his Worcestershire warriors, slew the Scottish
prince with a single blow of his battle-axe, and rescued Turketul. The
well-timed attack led on by Singin completed the defeat of the Scottish
army, and they made no other attempt to rally; Constantine escaped.
Leaving Turketul, Egil, and Singin to pursue the routed forces of the
Welsh and Scots, we must now glance at that part of the field where the
opposing forces, commanded by Athelstan and Anlaf, were engaged. Here
the combat continued to rage unabated. The figure of the Saxon king
was seen in the very thickest of the fight, and while he was hemmed in
by his enemies, and showering down blows upon all who came within the
reach of his weapon, his sword suddenly broke short at the handle. To
receive the blows which were aimed at him upon his shield and snatch
up another weapon were scarcely the work of a moment; but during that
brief interval, Anlaf's troops obtained a slight advantage, and began
to press more heavily upon the Saxon ranks. It were then that Anlaf,
suddenly turning his head, beheld confusion in his rear; for Turketul
and Egil, having returned from the pursuit, had thus suddenly hemmed
in the only portion of the enemy's forces that remained upon the field.
With the powerful forces of Athelstan before, and an enemy, already
flushed with victory, attacking him in the rear, Anlaf saw his hitherto
brave soldiers wavering on all sides; the centre of his strong line was
broken, and to the left and right all was hurry, retreat, confusion,
and slaughter, while in the centre the Saxon banner waved triumphant,
and the loud cry of victory rang out in front, and was echoed back
from the rear of the defeated army:--the conflict was at an end--the
combined forces fled on every hand, and the conquerors pursued the
flying enemy until their arms became weary with slaughter. Far as the
eye could reach, it rested upon a long line of the dying and the dead.
Never during the wars of Alfred had so many fallen upon one field as
perished in the battle of Brunanburg.

But few of the poems which have been written to commemorate these
ancient victories have descended to us perfect. That which was composed
to celebrate the Saxon triumph at the battle of Brunanburg, has,
however, been more fortunate, having found a place even in the Saxon
chronicle itself. Although it has been frequently translated, and
quoted by many historians, there is something so forbidding to the eye
in the short, heavy lines, something so difficult to comprehend, in
the lengthy extension, and abrupt transition of the sentences, that we
shall venture upon a somewhat free adaptation of the literal version,
yet endeavour to preserve unaltered the original thought and spirit of
the poem:

    ANGLO-SAXON SONG ON THE VICTORY AT BRUNANBURG.

    Athelstan, king of earls, the lord, the giver of golden
    bracelets to the heroes, and his brother, the noble Edmund the
    Elder, won a lasting glory in battle by slaughter with the
    edges of their swords at Brunanburg. They, with the rest of
    the family of the children of Edward, clove asunder the wall
    of shields, and hewed down the waving banners, for it was but
    natural to them from their warlike ancestry to defend their
    treasures, their home, and their land, against all enemies in
    the battle-field.

    From the time the sun rose up in the morning hour, to when
    the great star of the eternal Lord, that noble creature,
    God's candle bright, hastened to his setting, they pursued
    and destroyed the Scottish bands, and the men of the fleet in
    numbers dying, fell, and the wide field was everywhere covered
    with the blood of warriors; many a soldier lay there dead with
    darts struck down; many heroes over whose shields the showery
    arrows were shot, whom the battle would never again weary, and
    who would never more boast that they were of the race of Mars
    the Red.

    Throughout the day the West Saxons fiercely pressed on the
    loathed bands, they scattered the rear of the army, and hewed
    down the fugitives with their strong mill-sharpened swords. The
    Mercians shrunk not from the hard-hand-play, from the men, who
    with Anlaf over the ever beating deep, in the ships sheltered,
    sought this land for the deadly fight. In that blood dyed
    battle-field, five kings in the bloom of youth did the sword
    send to slumber, also seven of Anlaf's earls, and numbers of
    the ship-borne army slept with the slain.

    The Scots with the lord of the Northmen were chased away--fate
    compelled him to seek the noisy deep, and with a small host in
    his floating ship on the felon flood he escaped with his life,
    so also Constantine with his routed remnant in hasty flight,
    hurried to the north. Silent sat the hoary hero of Hilda
    amongst his kindred, for small cause had he to boast who had
    left his friends slain in combat; and his son, the fair-haired
    youth, unused to the conflict, mangled with wounds in the
    battle-field.

    Inwood the aged, nor Anlaf, no more with the wreck of their
    armies could now exult or boast that they, on the stern
    battle-field, were better at lowering the banners, 'mid the
    clashing of spears, and the crashing of weapons, and the
    meeting of heroes on the field of slaughter, than the sons of
    Edward, whom they opposed. On the roaring sea; over the deep
    waters, a dreary and silent remnant, the northman sailed in
    their nailed ships, and sought in Dublin and Ireland to bury
    their disgrace.

    Athelstan and his brother again sought their country, the west
    Saxon land from fight triumphant. They left behind them, to
    devour the prey, the ominous kite and the black raven, with
    horned beak, the horse-toad, and the eagle, swift to feast on
    the white flesh; the greedy battle-hawk, and the grey beast,
    the wolf of the weald.

The poem then concludes by stating "as the books of the old historians
inform us, never had there before been so great a slaughter in this
island since the Saxons first came over the sea to conquer the Welsh,
and gain the land." The victory of Brunanburg made Athelstan the
monarch of England, for not only had he subjugated the Danes in East
Anglia and Northumbria, but had compelled the Welsh also to acknowledge
his power. As the eyes of Europe had been turned upon him, before he
entered the field against the combined forces his valour defeated, so
did the different nations now rival each other in their congratulations
on his victory. England was no longer the unknown island, which in
former times the Romans had such difficulty to discover; but began to
raise her head proudly amongst the neighbouring nations. The exiles who
were compelled to flee from the ravages of the Northmen, he received
and succoured in his own court. He sheltered his sister Elgiva, and
her son Louis, when her husband, the king of France, was dethroned
and imprisoned. He was appealed to for advice and assistance, when
a dispute arose about the succession to the throne of France; and as
he adjudged, so was the matter decided. His sisters were sought in
marriage by powerful princes; his consent was courted by embassies,
backed with costly presents; and he even fitted out a fleet, and sent
it to the aid of France--thus being the first to cement a union with
that kingdom, whose history in latter days has become so closely
interwoven with our own. Even Otho, who was afterwards surnamed the
great, obtained the hand of Athelstan's sister in marriage; and there
is still in existence, in the Cotton library, a beautiful manuscript
copy of the Gospels, in Latin, which was presented by Otho and his
sister to Athelstan, on which the Anglo-Saxon kings are said to have
sworn when they took the coronation oath. He was also honoured with
the friendship of Henry the First, the emperor of Germany, and by the
alliance of his son in marriage with his sister Editha. Athelstan
also formed a league with Harold, king of Norway, and through the
instrumentality of the two kings, the system of piracy, which had long
rendered the ocean as perilous as the tempests that sweep over it, was,
by the interference of Harold, and the intercession of Athelstan, put
down: for Harold not only chased the pirates from his own dominions,
but pursued them over the sea until he overtook, and destroyed them,
and when he had cleared the ocean of these ancient robbers, he drew up
a code of severe laws for the punishment of all who dared to attack
either the British or the Norwegian fleets. In such high estimation was
Athelstan held by Harold, that he sent his son Haco over to England to
be educated in the Saxon court, and so delighted was the Norway king
with the progress the young prince made in his studies and warlike
exercises, that he presented to Athelstan a beautiful ship, with purple
sails, surrounded with shields that were richly gilt, while the prow,
or figure at the head, was wrought out of pure gold. To the prince,
the Saxon king presented a costly sword, which Haco the Good, (as he
was afterwards called, when he became king) treasured until the day
of his death. When Harold died, and some difficulty arose as to the
succession of Haco to the throne of Norway, Athelstan provided him with
soldiers and a strong fleet, and thus enabled him to take possession
of his kingdom. On the thrones of France, Bretagne, and Norway, sat
three kings who were all indebted to Athelstan for their crowns; a
strong proof of the power and dignity to which England had risen. He
is said to have restored Howel to the kingdom of Wales, and Constantine
to the throne of Scotland, after having conquered their dominions.
Having assisted to dethrone Eric, and to place the crown of Norway on
the head of Haco, he made the former king of Northumbria, as a proof
of the respect he bore to the memory of his father Harold. Nor was he
less liberal to the monks, but contributed freely to enriching the
monasteries, both with money, books, and costly vessels, while several
are said to have been built at his own expense. Like his grandfather
Alfred, he was also generous to the poor; from the royal farms he
ordered to be given to the needy every month a measure of meal, a
gammon of bacon, or a ram worth fourpence, besides clothing once a
year. These were to be distributed by the gerefa, who appears to have
stood in the same position as an overseer, or relieving officer, having
also to perform the duty of chief constable, and to warn the hundred
when the folk-mote or folcgemot was to assemble. If he neglected to
distribute the royal charity, he was fined thirty shillings, which was
divided amongst the poor of the neighbouring tything. High, however,
as the character of Athelstan stands, it is not free from the stains
which too often blotted the brightest names that adorned this barbarous
age, though we cannot tell, at this remote period, how reluctantly he
may have yielded to the stern sentence of his witenagemot, when he
consigned his brother to death. Edwin had been leagued with others to
oppose the accession of Athelstan to the throne, and the king ordered
him to be placed within the

 "Rotten carcass of a boat, nor rigged,
  Nor tackle, sail, nor mast,"

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.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE REIGNS OF EDMUND AND EDRED.

 "The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
  To hear a night shriek; and my fell of hair
  Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
  As life were in't: I have supped full with horrors;
  Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
  Cannot once start me.--Wherefore was that cry?
    The king, my lord, is dead."--SHAKSPERE.

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--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.

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 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--so much do the
accounts vary in the old chronicles, although all admit the fact.

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 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--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--"He perilled his kingdom in his youth--nobly redeemed
the false step he had taken--committed an act of inhuman cruelty--was
afterwards murdered, in the year 946."

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.

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--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 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:--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.

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 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.

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."

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

"'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.'

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

"'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.'

"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?--how many have come with thee from the combat?'

"'Five kings accompany me,' replied Eric; 'and I am the sixth.'"

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.

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.

CHAPTER XXVII.

EDWIN AND ELGIVA.

                       "He was a man
  Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
  Himself with princes;----
  His own opinion was his law,
  He would say untruths; and be ever double,
  Both in his words and meaning. He was never
  But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.

  He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
  Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading;
  Lofty and sour, to them that loved him not,
  But to those men that sought him sweet as summer."

        SHAKSPERE.

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.

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 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.

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 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.

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 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--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.

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.

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--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 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 treasure.[7] 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--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.

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,--and by such homely
facts as these are the truths of history only to be tested.

[Illustration: _Dunstan dragging King Edwy from Elgiva._]

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 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.

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--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--the lips and cheeks which
the young king had so proudly hung over and doted upon, were, by the
command of the cursed Odo, burnt by the hands of ruffianly soldiers--by
the order of this miscalled man of God--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!--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.

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,--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.

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 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.

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.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE REIGN OF EDGAR.

 "The royal letters are a thing of course;
  A king, that would, might recommend his horse,
  And deans, no doubt, and chapters with one voice,
  As bound in duty, would confirm the choice.
  Behold your bishop! well he plays his part,
  Christian in name, and infidel in heart."--COWPER.

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 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--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--the vision of his mother's
marriage with the Saviour--the song which, he said, the angel taught
him, and with which he roused every monk in the monastery, at morning
light, to learn--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.

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 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.

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."

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 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.

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 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.

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 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.

[Illustration: _The Welch tribute of Wolves Heads._]

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, 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.

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--that he punished those who
plundered the vessels of his merchants--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.

CHAPTER XXIX.

EDWARD THE MARTYR.

 "For saints may do the same things by
  The Spirit, in sincerity,
  Which other men are tempted to,
  And at the devil's instance do."--BUTLER'S _Hudibras_.

 "The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
  The most arch deed of piteous massacre
  That ever yet this land was guilty of."--SHAKSPERE.

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 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.

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--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--"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.

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-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
confess that I am unwilling that you should conquer me_. 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. BUT WHERE THE SAINT WAS RECLINING WITH HIS
FRIENDS, THERE NO RUIN OCCURRED."

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 _those who
had come together against him fell from beneath them_, and all were
alike precipitated; but where _Dunstan stood with his friends_, 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--"I confess that I am unwilling you should
conquer"--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 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--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--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 Dunstan.[8] 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--the creation of a guilty
conscience, as his friend and biographer Bridfirth has stated were ever
present before his diseased imagination.

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.

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--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.

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.

CHAPTER XXX.

ETHELRED THE UNREADY.

 "And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
  And whisper one another in the ear;
  And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
  While he that hears, makes fearful action,
  With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes."

        SHAKSPERE.

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. 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."

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.

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.

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--"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, 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 manoeuvred 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.

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, 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.

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,--who had been
trained in the barbarous school of Elfrida,--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.

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 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--a strong
proof of the disaffection that must have reigned amongst the Saxons,
and of the unpopularity of Ethelred's government.

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.

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 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.

We now arrive at one of the darkest pages of English history--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--who had, when children, played
together--who had grown up and intermarried;--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 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.

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.

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.

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."

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--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, 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 buried.[9]

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 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.

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--a savage retaliation for the Danish massacre which Ethelred
had authorized.

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--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.

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.

We find a gloomy picture of the miserable state of England, 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 comforts."[10] 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.

CHAPTER XXXI.

EDMUND, SURNAMED IRONSIDE.

 "His death, whose spirit lent a fire
  Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
  Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
  From the best tempered courage in his troops:
  For from his metal was his party steeled;
  Which, once in him abated, all the rest
  Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead."

        SHAKSPERE.

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--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.

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