In the morning King Alfred took us to the southern end of his
island, and there told us what his plans were. And as we listened
they seemed to us to be wiser than mortal mind could have made, so
simple and yet so sure were they, as most great plans will be. It
is no wonder that his people hold that he was taught them from
above.
He bade us look across the fens to the wooded heights of Selwood
Forest, to south and east, and to the bold spur of the Polden Hills
beyond the Parret that they call Edington. There was nought but fen
and river and marsh between them and us--"impassable by the Danes
who prowled there. Only at the place where the two rivers join was
a steep, rounded hill, that stood up strangely from the level--the
hill that they call the Stane, on Stanmoor; and there were other
islands like this on which we stood, unseen among the thickets, or
so low that one might not know of them until upon them.
"Now," he said, "sooner or later the Danes will know I am here,
where they cannot reach me. Therefore I will keep them watching
this place until I can strike them a blow that will end the trouble
once for all. They will be sure that we gather men on the Quantock
side, whence Heregar can keep them; and so, while they watch for us
to attack them thence, we will gather beyond Selwood, calling all
the thanes from Hants and Wilts and Dorset and Somerset to meet me
on a fixed day, and so fall on them. Now we will build a fort
yonder on Stane hill that will make them wonder, and so the plan
will begin to work. For I have only told you the main lines
thereof; the rest must go as can be planned from day to day."
Then he looked steadfastly at the Selwood heights, and added:
"And if the plan fails, and the battle I look for goes against us,
there remain Heregar's places yet. Petherton, Combwich, and
Dowsborough are good places, where a king may die in a ring of
foes, looking out over the land for which his life is given."
"We shall not fail, my king," said Heregar. "Devon will gather to
you across the Quantocks also."
"Ay," he said; "and you will need them with you."
Then said I:
"Hubba is in Wales, and is likely to come here when he hears that
his fellows are gathering against us. Then will Devon be needed at
Combwich in Parret mouth, or at Watchet."
"That will be Devon's work," the king said. "If Hubba comes before
your ships are ready to meet him, he must at least be driven to
land elsewhere, or our stronghold is taken behind us."
Now I was so sure that Hubba would come, that this seemed to me to
be the weakest part of the king's plan. But Alfred thought little
of it.
"My stronghold seems to be on Quantock side; it is rather beyond
Selwood, in the hearts of my brave thanes and freemen. Fear not,
cousin. Hubba will come, and you and Heregar will meet him; and
whether you win or not, my plan holds."
Then I knew that the king saw far beyond what was plain to me, and
I was very confident in him. And I am sure that I was the only man
who had the least doubt from the beginning.
Now, after all was planned, Heregar and I rode back to his place,
and sent word everywhere that the king was safe, though he
commanded us to tell no man where he lay as yet. None but thanes
were to be in the island with him; and from that time the name we
knew it by began, as one by one the athelings crossed the fen paths
thereto, and were lost, as it were, in the hiding place.
Then we wrought there at felling timber and hewing, until we had
bridged the river and made a causeway through the peat to Stanmoor
hill, and then began to make a triple line of earthworks around its
summit. No carelessly-built fort was this, for the king said: "If
the nobles build badly, there will be excuse for every churl to do
the like hereafter. Therefore this must needs be the most
handsomely-wrought fort in all Wessex."
There came to us at this fort many faithful workmen, sent from the
towns and countryside, until we had a camp there. But every night,
after working with us and cheering all with his voice and example,
Alfred went back to Athelney with us; and none would seek to
disturb him there, so that for long none quite knew, among the
lesser folk, where he bided. Presently the queen and athelings came
there to him, and were safe.
That time in the fens was not altogether unpleasant, though the
life was hard. Ever was Alfred most cheerful, singing and laughing
as we wrought, and a word of praise from him was worth more than
gold to every man. And then there were the hunting, the fishing,
and the snaring of wild fowl, that were always on hand to supply
our wants, though now we had plenty of food from the Quantock side.
I know this, that many a man who was in Athelney with Alfred was
the better therefor all the days of his after life. Men say that
there is a steadfast look in the faces of the Athelney thanes, by
which they can be well known by those who note the ways of men.
The frost lasted till February went out in rain and south winds.
And then the Danes began to gather along the southern hills,
watching us. By that time we had made causeways to other islets
from the fort, and the best of these was to Othery, a long, flat
island that lay to the east, nearer to the Polden Hills and
Edington.
So one day the king sent for me as we wrought at the fort, and both
he and I were horny handed and clay stained from the work. I came
with spade in hand, and he leaned on a pick. Whereat he laughed.
"Faith, brother king, now can I speak in comrade's wise to my
churls as you speak to your seamen. Nor do I think that I shall be
the worse ruler for that."
Then he took my arm, and pointed to Edington hill.
"For many nights past I have seen watch fires yonder," he said;
"and that is a place where I might strike the Danes well. So I
would draw them thither in force. Do you feel as if a fight would
be cheerful after this spade work?"
Now I could wish for nothing better, and I said so.
"Well, then," he went on, laughing at my eagerness, "go to
Ethelnoth, and take twenty men, and do you and he fall on that post
from Othery by night; and when you have scattered it, come back
into the fen. I would have you lose no men, but I would make the
Danes mass together by attack on some one point, and that as soon
as may be, before Hubba comes. I do not want to hold their place."
Now that was the first of daily attacks on the Danish posts, at
different places along the Selwood and Polden hills, until they
thought that we wished to win Edington height, where we began and
annoyed them most often. So I will tell how such a raid fared.
Good it was to lay aside pick and spade and take sword Helmbiter
again, and don mail and helm; and I made Harek fence with me, lest
I should have lost my sword craft through use of the weapons
whereby the churl conquers mother earth. But once the good sword
was in my hand I forgot all but the warrior's trade.
So Ethelnoth and I and twenty young thanes went in the evening to
Othery island, and there found a fenman to guide us, and so went to
the foot of Edington hill just as darkness fell. The watch-fire
lights, that were our guide, twinkled above us through the trees
that were on the hillside; and we made at once for them, sending on
the fenman to spy out the post before we were near it. It was very
dark, and it rained now and then.
When he came back to where we had halted, he said that there were
about twenty tents, pitched in four lines, with a fire between each
line; and that the men were mostly under cover, drinking before
setting watch, if they set any at all.
So we drew nearer, skirting round into cover of some trees that
came up to the tents, for the hilltop was bare for some way. The
lighted tents looked very cheerful, and sounds of song and laughter
came from them, and now and then a man crossed from one to another,
or fed the fires with fresh wood, that hissed and sputtered as he
cast it on.
"How shall we attack?" said Ethelnoth.
"Why, run through the camp in silence first and cut the tent lines,
and then raise a war shout and come back on them. Then we may slay
a few, and the rest will be scared badly enough."
Thereat we both laughed under our breath, for it seemed like a
schoolboy's prank. Well, after the long toil in the fen, we were
like boys just freed from school, though our game was the greatest
of all--that of war--the game of Hodur's playground, as we Norse
say.
Then I said:
"After we come through for the second time, we must take to this
cover, and so get together at some place by the hill foot. There is
a shed by a big tree that can be found easily."
So we passed the wood, and our comrades chuckled. It was good sport
to see the shadows of the careless Danes on the tent walls, and to
know that they dreamed of nothing less than that Saxons were on
them. Four rows of tents there were, and there were twenty-two of
us; so we told off men to each row, and then made for them at a
moment when no man was about--hacking at the ropes, and laughing to
see the tents fall. It was strange to watch the shadows start up
and stand motionless, as the first patter of feet came and the
first blows fell, and then bustle, helpless and confused, with
savage shouts and curses, as the heavy canvas and skins fell in
upon them.
Now we were through the camp, and the outcries were loud behind us.
Two or three tents did not fall, and from them the men swarmed,
half armed and startled, not knowing if this was not some sorry
jest at first; and then rang our war cry from the dark, and we were
back upon them. We were but two-and-twenty to a hundred, but they
knew not what was on hand, while we did; and so we cut through them
without meeting with any hurt. Two tents were on fire and blazing
high, and blackened men cut and tore their way out of them howling;
and I think that more than one Dane was cut down by his comrades in
the panic that fell on all.
Yet even as we passed into the cover and went our way back towards
the fen, some bolder spirits began to rally, and a horn was blown.
But we were gone, leaving six slain and many more wounded among
them, while not one of us was scratched.
They did not follow us, and we heard the clamour we had caused
going on for some time after we had gained the fen. Presently, too,
when we reached Othery, we saw a fire signal lit to call for help,
and we were well content. Doubtless those Danes waked under arms
all that night through.
After that these attacks were seldom so easy, for the Danes kept
good watch enough; but they were ever the same in most ways.
Suddenly in the night would come the war cry and the wild rush of
desperate men on some Danish outpost, and before they knew what to
do we were away and into the fen again. We grew to know every path
well before long, and sometimes we would fall on small parties of
our foes when they were on the march or raiding the cattle, and cut
through them, and get back to our fastness.
Once or twice we were followed in the grey of early morning; but
few Danes ever got back from that pursuit. We would cut them off
amid the peat bogs, or they would founder therein, and sink under
the weight of armour.
Then they tried to force some fenmen they caught to guide them to
us at Othery. Once the brave fenman led them to where they dared
not move till daylight came, while the blue fen lights flitted
round them like ghosts in the dark; and then the fen people swarmed
round them, and ended them with arrows and sling stones from a
distance. They tried no more night attacks on us after that. But
again they came in some force by daylight, and we had a strange
fight on a narrow strip of hard land in Sedgemoor, with all
advantage on our side. No Danes won back to the Polden Hills.
Then they dared not try the fens any more, and daily we kept their
sentries watching, and nightly we fell on outposts, until at last
they thought our force grew very great, and began to gather on
Edington hill, even as Alfred wished. And this saved many a village
and farm and town from plunder, for the fear of Alfred the king
began to grow among his foes.
Then the king made his next move; for, now that the way was open,
he sent to Odda at Exeter, bidding him move up to Taunton by some
northerly road, gathering what Devon men he could on the way. There
is hardly a stronger town in Wessex than the great fortress that
Ine the king made.
At this time I began to be full of thoughts about my ships. But
they could hardly be built as yet; and most of them were in
southern havens, whence, even were they ready, one could not bring
them round the stormy Land's End in early March. Yet the weather
was mild and open, and I began to think that at any time Hubba
might bring his Danes across the narrow Severn sea to join his
kinsmen at Edington. We heard, too, that Guthrum, the king of East
Anglia, was there now, and that he had summoned every warrior who
would leave the land he had won to come to him.
Men have blamed Guthrum for treachery in this; but seeing that the
peace was broken, and that he must needs fight for the peace at
least of his kingdom, I hold that this is not right. At all events,
Alfred blamed him not in the time to come. Nevertheless, I suppose
that in men's minds he always will be held answerable for what the
other chiefs wrought of ill, because he bore the name of king from
the first, and ruled East Anglia. No Saxon, who is used to hold his
king as over all, will understand how little power a host-king of
the north has.
Now all this while my good ship lay at Bridgwater, and with her
were fifty of my men, who were well quartered among the townsfolk,
and helped to guard the bridge. And, as I have said, two ships were
being built there. So one day in the third week in March I rode
away with Kolgrim from Athelney, to see how all things were going
on there, meaning also to go to Heregar's place for a time, having
messages to give him from the king.
Harek was coming with me; but Alfred asked me to spare him for this
time.
"I have to learn somewhat from the scald," he said.
"Wizardry, my king?" I asked, laughing, for that was ever a jest at
the scald's expense after it was known how we found out that Alfred
was at Denewulf's house.
"Nay, but song," he answered. "Now I see not why I should not tell
you who put the thought into my mind; but I am going, as you did,
to spy out the Danish camp. And I will go as a gleeman, and be
welcome enough as a Saxon who has enough love of Danes to learn
some northern sagas for them!"
"My king," I cried, "this is too perilous altogether."
He looked quaintly at me.
"Go to, cousin; are you to have all the glory? If you went, why not
I? Maybe I too may find a chance of helping some fair maiden on the
way back."
Then I prayed him to do nothing rash, for that he was the one hope
of England.
"And maybe the one man in England who can do any good by going,
therefore," he answered. "And neither you nor I would ask any man
to do for us what we durst not do ourselves."
"You will be known, my king," I said.
Whereon he held out his hands, which were hard and horny now with
hard work, and he laughed as he did so.
"Look at those," he said, "and at my unkempt hair and beard! Verily
I may be like Alfred the king in some ways, but not in these. They
will pass me anywhere."
So I could not dissuade him, and ever as I tried to do so he waxed
more cheerful, and made sport of me, throwing my own doings in my
teeth, and laughing about Thora. So I was fain to get away from his
presence, lest I should grow angry at last. And when I was going he
said:
"Have no fear, cousin; I will not go unless I am well prepared."
So I went, and next day was back in Athelney, riding hard; for
Hubba's ships had been sighted from the Quantocks, and they were
heading for the Parret. What I looked for and feared was coming.
Then Alfred sent messengers to Odda, who had come to Taunton two
days before this. And he gathered every man from the fen, and we
went to Bridgwater, leaving our little force there, and so rode on
the way to Combwich, thinking to see the sails of the ships in
Bridgwater Bay. But a shift of wind had come, and they were yet
over on the Welsh coast, waiting for the tide to enable them to
come down on us.
By that time a fire burned on the highest spur of the Quantocks to
tell us that Odda was there, and at once another was lit on the
Combwich fort to bring him to us, for it seemed certain that here
we must fight the first battle of Alfred's great struggle.
"Here you must meet this newcomer and drive him away, if it can be
done, or if not, hinder him from coming further; or if that is
impossible, do your best. I would have you remember that defeat
here is not loss of all hope, for beyond Selwood lies our real
gathering. But victory, even if dearly bought, will almost win the
day for us."
So Alfred said, and we, who began to see what his great plan was,
were cheered.
In the evening Odda came with eight hundred men of Devon. Alfred
had two hundred maybe, and my few men and the townsfolk made
another two hundred. But Hubba had twenty-three longships, whose
crews, if up to fighting strength, would not be less than a hundred
in each.
So we watched till the tide fell, when he could not come into the
Parret, and then I went back to Heregar's hall. It seemed very
bare, for all goods had been sent up to the great refuge camp of
Dowsborough, to which all day long the poor folk had been flying,
driving with them their sheep and cattle and swine, that they might
save what they could. But with Odda had come his daughter, the Lady
Etheldreda, who would not leave him; and she and the Lady Alswythe
and Thora were yet in the house, and Osmund the jarl sat in the
hall, listless and anxious of face. It was an ill time for him; but
there were none of us who did not like him well, and feel for him
in his helplessness.
"What news?" he said, when he saw me come into the hall.
"Hubba will be here on the next tide--with early morning," I said.
He sighed, and rising up went to the doorway and looked out to the
hills.
"I would that I could make these two noble ladies seek refuge
yonder," he said; "but one will not leave her father, nor the other
her husband."
Then I said:
"At least I think you should take Thora there. This is a difficult
place for you."
"I know Hubba," he said, "and if I abide here I may be of use. I
need not tell you that you are fighting the best warrior of our
time, and that with too small a force."
"Well," I said, "you and I can speak plainly, neither of us being
Saxons. We shall be beaten by numbers, and you mean that you will
be able to save these ladies by staying?"
"Ay," he said. "And if by any chance Alfred wins, I may be able to
ask for mercy for the conquered."
Then came in Thora, and her face was troubled. She had been trying
to make Etheldreda go to the hill fort, where all the women and
children of the countryside had been sent.
"It is of no use," she said; "they will bide here."
"Well," said Osmund, "then we will stay also. I and our friend have
spoken thereof, and it seems well that we do so."
I suppose they had talked of this before, for she made no answer,
but sat down wearily enough before the fire; and Osmund and I went
out to the courtyard, for we were both restless.
Then Heregar came in on his white horse, and saw Osmund, and called
to him, asking of the same business, for he had asked the jarl to
speak about it as a friend. So I went in again, and Thora sat by
herself yet, looking up to see who came now. I went and stood by
her, staring into the fire, and feeling as if I wanted to go out
again. Restlessness was in the very air while we waited for the
coming fight.
"King Ranald," she said, after a little silence, "I wonder if ever
a maiden was in such sad doubt as I. I cannot wish that these dear
ladies, who have made a friend of me, should see their folk beaten,
and maybe slain; and cannot wish that my own kin should be beaten
either. It seems that in either way I must find heavy sorrow."
That was true; but it was certain that her own people were the
cause of all the trouble, though I could not say so. I put it this
way:
"I think that if your people are driven off there will be peace the
sooner, and maybe they will not land when they find us waiting. I
know, too, that those who have loved ones in the battle that may be
are in a harder case than yours, dear lady."
Then she looked up at me once, and a flush came slowly over her
pale face, and she answered nothing. I thought that she felt some
shame that a warrior like her father should bide here, without
moving hand or foot, when the war horns were blowing. So I said:
"Harder yet would it be if the jarl were in the battle against our
friends. Then would the fear of his loss be a terror to you also."
Now came in Osmund, and straightway Thora rose up, turning away
from us both, and went from the hall. The jarl looked after her
curiously and sadly.
"This is a strange business for the girl," he said.
"She seems almost as troubled because you are not fighting as if
you were in danger by doing so," I answered, with that thought
still in my mind.
Thereat the jarl stared at me.
"What has put that into your head?" he asked.
I told him what she and I had said, adding that I feared I had
seemed to hint somewhat discomforting.
Then said Osmund, looking in my face with a half smile:
"She is glad I am honourably out of this business, and the trouble
is not that. There are one or two, maybe, whom she would like to
see as safe in the same way."
Then it flashed through my dull mind that perhaps I was one of
these, and the thought was pleasant to me.
"Well," I said, "there are the thane, and his young son, the king's
page, who is here. They have been very kind to her."
"Also a wandering king who took her out of danger," he said then.
"Ay; I shall be glad if she thinks of me."
There were a little laugh and a rustling behind us, and one said:
"Either you are the least conceited of men or the blindest, King
Ranald, or you would know what is amiss."
I turned, and saw the Lady Etheldreda herself, and I bowed to her
in much confusion.
"O you men!" she said. "Here you will let the poor girl break her
heart in silence, while you fight for glory, or somewhat you think
is glory, without a word to say that you care that she shall see
what you win. Of course she thinks of you, even night and day. How
else should it be, when you have been as a fairy prince to her?"
Then I knew for myself that among all the wild life of Athelney and
the troubles of the king the thought of Thora had been pleasant to
me; but now I was confused, having the matter brought home to me
suddenly, and, as it were, before I was ready to shape all my
thoughts towards her. So all that I could say was foolish enough.
"I am a poor sort of fairy prince, lady."
"Ay," she said; "I am as good a fairy godmother, maybe. And perhaps
I should have said nothing--at this time. But, Ranald, the maiden
weeps for your danger, for, at the very least, she owes you much."
Then I said, humbly as I felt:
"That is more honour to me than I deserve."
"That is for her to say," answered the fair lady, turning to where
Osmund had been.
But he was now in the doorway, looking out again to the hills. So
she was silent, and I thought of somewhat.
"There is none in this land or in any other--of whom I think as I
do of Thora," I said; "but my mind has been full of warfare and
trouble with the king. Now, if I may, I will ask for somewhat that
I may wear for her sake in the fight, and so she will know that I
think of her."
"Now that is well said," answered Etheldreda. "But you must ask it
for yourself."
Thereat I thought for a moment, and at last I said that I would not
do so.
"If I might, I would ask you to gain this favour for me," I said;
"for I think that a parting would be very hard, as things have come
about."
"You are a wiser man than I thought you, Ranald," she said; and so
she went from me, and I stayed by the fire, thinking thoughts that
were sweet and yet troublous, for beyond tomorrow's fight I could
not see.
Then the lady came back, and with her she brought a little glove,
worn and shapely from the hand that it belonged to.
"She bids me give this to her king and warrior," Etheldreda said.
"I did but tell her that you asked a token that she minded you."
"It was well," I answered. "What said she?"
"Nought at once. But her sadness went, and her face changed--ay,
but she is beyond any of us in beauty when her eyes light up in
that way--and she fetched this, and then said 'Say, if you think
that he will care to know it, that this is the glove wherein I rode
to Wareham.'
"Do you care to know it, Ranald?"
"Ay, with all my heart," I said.
And so I put it very carefully under the broad, golden-studded
baldric of Sigurd's sword. And it would not stay there, and
Etheldreda laughed at me, and took a little golden brooch like a
cross that she wore, and pinned it through glove and baldric,
making all safe.
"There," she said, "is a token from me also, though it was unasked.
Bear yourself well, Ranald, for our eyes are on you. If Hubba comes
indeed, we women folk will be in the fort."
Then I said, being at a loss for words enough:
"I would I had the tongue of Harek the scald, that I might thank
you for gift and words, my fairy princess."
"I have half a mind to take it back for that fine saying," she
answered.
And then she gave me her hand, and I kissed it; and she went from
me with her eyes full of tears for all the trouble that was on us,
though she had tried bravely to carry it off lightly.
Then I would stay in the house no longer, but went out to the fort,
and sat down by the great Dragon banner of Wessex, Heregar's
charge, that floated there, and ate and drank with the other
chiefs, and waited. But my mind was full of what I had heard, and
the war talk went on round me without reaching my ears.