_Of the Slaying of Edmund, the King of the East Saxons_
Then the war-horns sounded their harsh defiance, and the vikings gave a
great shout of glee, and threw themselves into the shallow water, and
rushed to meet the Saxons, who also ran to drive them back.
And the battle was fierce, and great deeds were done; and from least to
greatest every man was a hero. Yet the fight was with the Danes; and
when the evening came the conquered Saxons broke and fled, and the sons
of Regner encamped with their men on the field of slaughter not far
from the coast.
And what happened in East Anglia happened elsewhere also; for the
people of Angleland were divided amongst themselves, and one king
warred with another, and each was jealous of his neighbor; so that they
were like a bundle of sticks when the binding is broken, and each fell
away from the rest. But the Danes came in mighty hosts, and if one
host was beaten then two came in its place; and all through the land
they carried fire and sword and death.
For these Danes were cruel and terrible, and knew nothing of mercy;
and neither youth, nor age, nor weakness appealed to them. The young
and the old they slew, and the fair maiden, and the old wife; and they
took the tender babes and beat out their brains, or cast them from one
to the other upon their spears. Death, and death alone, marked out the
pathway which they had trod.
Nor was this done in Angleland alone, but in every country where
the White Christ was worshipped. For these Danes were pagans, and
they looked upon those who had forgotten the old gods of the North
as nithings fit only for death, and despised them for the Lord they
worshipped, and for the priests they obeyed; and they had sworn that
they would sweep over the whole world, and wherever the worship of the
Christ was found, there they would stamp it out, and make all men bow
to Odin and swear by Thor--the gods of the North.
And near to doing this they were in Angleland and, indeed, they would
have done it but for one man, who was strong enough and patient enough
to resist them; and of that man Gyso the Gleeman speaks in his song of
Wulnoth.
Twenty thousand chosen warriors were in the camp of the sons of
Regner that night, and deep they drank and well they feasted; yet the
sentinels kept ward, and each man slept with his weapons by his side.
And Wahrmund and Wulnoth lay side by side by the fire, and talked of
the deeds that had been done that day; and from the distance, through
the night air, and above the sound of the sea, there came the ringing
of a deep-voiced bell and, faint and sweet, the singing of a solemn
song; and Wulnoth asked his companion what these strange sounds might
mean.
"'T is the calling of the Christians to prayer," the Dane said
carelessly. "And the song you hear is that which they sing to their
God, that He may give them the victory on the morrow. By Thor, I had
rather trust to a good sword and to a strong arm than to any god that
rides the storm wind."
"Yet these men fought well to-day, comrade," Wulnoth answered; "though
they were few in numbers, compared to our host."
"Ay, they fought well," replied Wahrmund. "But now let us sleep,
for there will be work to do when the day dawns. The air is shrewd
to-night."
"Take my cloak," answered Wulnoth. "For I have no mind for sleep, and
will watch by the fire."
"More fool you," replied the other; yet he took the cloak and wrapped
himself up and was soon asleep, while Wulnoth sat listening to the
distant song, and wondering where Guthred could be and what could have
become of Edgiva the Beautiful.
And then he arose and went to the edge of the wood and listened again;
and he thought that surely Wyborga the Wise had been wrong, for how
could this Lord, Whom the Saxons worshipped, be strong, when He let
His people be put to the sword?
And while he mused thus, sleep began to steal upon his eyes, until it
seemed to him that a voice spoke, and it was the voice of Edgiva crying
to him to awake; and he opened his eyes and saw a man's form bending
over his comrade Wahrmund, and holding a knife high in the air.
"Wahrmund, awake!" he cried, in warning, and the man started up.
But then like a flash Wulnoth cast his spear and smote the midnight
wanderer fair in the chest, and he fell back dead.
And Wahrmund started to his feet, and others of the soldiers, and
looked to see who this might be; and lo, it was Wiglaf the Boxer, the
man of Jarl Hungwar!
"That knife was meant for thee, Wanderer," Wahrmund said; "and I, by
wearing thy cloak, came nigh to getting it in my ribs. I owe my life to
thee, Wanderer, and I shall not forget it."
Then when the morning broke, the war-horns sounded and the men prepared
for battle; and the great ships, with their crews, stood off to go back
to Denmark; and the vikings laughed and said--
"There is no going back now. Go forward we must; and if we conquer not,
then we perish."
And it was told to Hungwar concerning Wiglaf, and he laughed darkly,
and said that Wiglaf was ever good at paying his debts, and that he was
a good man slain; but he said nothing of the shame of the nithing's
deed.
Now in the morning came messengers to the Danish camp, saying that they
were sent by Edmund, the King of East Anglia, to demand why strangers
came to his country with fire and sword, and what was the cause of
quarrel between them.
"King Edmund seeks not war," they said. "So now either give hostages
that you will dwell peaceably during your stay, or else begone."
Then loud and long laughed the viking chiefs; and Hungwar answered--
"This Edmund of thine will treat us as churlishly as he did the son of
Sigurd! Now go and bid him come and do homage to us. And tell him to
pull down his churches, and to scourge his priests away and to worship
Thor; or, by Odin and his friends, there shall be ruin and death in all
the land; and what we have done elsewhere, that will we also do here."
And then Hubba spake, and said--
"This Edmund desires hostages, and hostages shall he have"; and he
commanded that the heads of all the messengers save one should be
struck off and put in a sack. Then he cut off the ears of the last one
and bade him go back and give the heads to his king, as a present from
the sea-kings, and tell him that so he would be served, if he gave not
up his false god.
But the Saxon was noble and brave; and, though he was alone and in sore
pain, and the vikings all around, he cast the shame in Hubba's teeth,
and he said that neither the King nor his subjects would worship pagan
gods or turn from the Lord Christ, let what would follow.
"Drive him from the camp," said Hubba; and the brave messenger was
scourged away, amidst the vikings' laughter.
But Wulnoth did not laugh, for his soul was heavy and his heart
troubled; for it seemed to him that this was a shame deed to slay
messengers who did but their duty; and he could not but think that
the Saxon who had thus answered seemed nobler and grander than the
mightiest of the vikings.
Then the Danes put the battle in order, and they marched inland; and on
the next day they saw the army of the East Saxons drawn up, and they
waved their weapons, and cried in joy--
"Greeting, worshippers of the White Christ. Let Him fight for you this
day, for you need aid."
But the Saxons answered not; only as their priests passed along their
ranks they bowed their heads in prayer, while the Danes mocked.
Then the battle commenced, and the slingers cast their stones, and the
archers sped their arrows, and the light spears whistled as they were
hurled; and then the ranks of the warriors closed, and the sword sang,
and the shield received the blow, and fierce the fight raged; but still
the Danes were victorious, and drove the forces of the Saxons back,
so that they were scattered like the leaves before the wind; and at
last King Edmund himself took to flight, while the vikings, with many
shouts, spread over the land, slaying all whom they found and sending
the red flames through many a roof.
And some chosen warriors pursued the King, and Wulnoth was amongst the
number; and so hard did they press him that, at last, he sprang from
his horse and sped down the bank of a stream, and hid beneath a bridge,
hoping that the foe would pass on without seeing him.
And now happened a sad thing for Edmund the King; for there came a
young man and his wife, and they had but been married that day; and
as they crossed the bridge, seeking to escape from the Danes who were
everywhere, they espied the moonlight shining on the golden spurs of
the King; and the man crept down and saw who thus lay in the water; but
the man was a nithing who knew no shame.
For the King made him swear that he would not betray his hiding-place;
but the man and his wife fell in with the pirates, and they were seized
and brought before Hungwar who questioned them, whether they had seen
the King; and the man, to save his life and the life of his wife, led
them to the place where King Edmund lay hidden, and there the Danes
caught him and made him prisoner.
And the King when he knew who had betrayed him spoke, and laid a curse
on the bridge, and said that whoever crossed it to get married should
have that curse fall on their shoulders.
But the man who had betrayed the King did not escape, for Hungwar
ordered both him and his wife to be slain--so little was the word of
the viking to be trusted.
Then the Danes carried King Edmund back to their camp, and heavy
chains were placed upon his arms and legs, though he was a king; and
he was placed in the holdas' hall, where the chief jarls and the kings
gathered; and there they made mock of him and laughed him to scorn, and
asked him where was his Christ in Whom he trusted?
And Wulnoth was there, leaning on his spear nigh the door; and he
looked upon the face of the King standing there amidst his foes, and
thought how calm and noble he looked.
For this Edmund had the blue eyes of the Saxon, and the long yellow
hair that Wulnoth remembered so well; and his mien was lofty and calm,
and his manner that of one who feared no death, though he grieved for
the loss of his people.
And when they asked him where his Lord was,[3] Edmund the King looked
up and smiled, and his smile was one of peace, and he pointed to the
sky and made answer--
"There, in His glory, sits the Lord," he said, "and He alone is God";
and at that Hungwar cast his glove and smote him in the face.
"Thy God cannot deliver thee from even that; and how shall He deliver
thee from our wrath?" he shouted. "Now, Edmund, who wast king of this
land, I am minded to spare thy life on certain conditions. First, thou
shalt strip all thine altars and cast them down, and give the gold to
me; and if thou do it not, then be sure that I shall. Then shalt thou
do homage to me here in my camp, and call me thy overlord; and, lastly,
thou shalt sing a song to Odin and to Thor, and to the gods which were
worshipped from of old by the people of the North. How sayest thou?"
"Thus do I say, O Hungwar," answered the King calmly. "I will do none
of these things. I will not give thee the gold from God's altar; and be
thou sure that though He holds me unworthy to guard His house, He will
find a champion to do so. I will not call thee my king; and I will not
worship Thor or any false gods, for there is one God alone, and the
Lord Christ is His Son."
"Now," thought Wulnoth, "this man is mad; for what does it matter what
god a man calls on so long as he saves his life?" Yet, for all that, he
thought it shame that his captors should treat the King so.
But that was not the worst that the Danes did to Edmund of East Anglia;
for, after his words, they led him out into the midst of the camp,
and, though he was a king, they beat him and scourged him with whips
till the flesh was torn and the blood flowed; and then they asked him
whether he would deny his Lord and worship Odin as Hungwar ordered. But
the King spoke, and his voice was heavy with pain, but his reply was
without hesitation--
"My Lord was scourged for my sins," he said, "and I will be scourged
for His sake, and rejoice that it is so."
"Now," thought Wulnoth, "this beating of a brave man is a nithing
deed, and these Danes are but as ravening beasts, while this is a man
indeed." Yet he was powerless to do aught, for he was one amongst
twenty thousand.
And when the reply of the tortured King was heard, then Hungwar added
torture to torture. And they twisted his chains and placed sticks
beneath the links, until the flesh was all bruised and the bones broke;
yet still the King would give no answer, but that he bore all for his
Lord's sake.
"Surely the man is a fool," growled Wahrmund; "for why else would he
bear this torture?" But Wulnoth answered--
"Surely the man is a hero, and he defies his enemies and will not let
them triumph over him; while, as for these holdas who stand by and see
a man put to such shame, I think little of them."
"Thou hadst best say less than thou thinkest, then," said Wahrmund
significantly, "or we may have thee taking thy place beside yonder
tortured man."
"Is there no pain can wring consent from thee?" said Hungwar darkly
when again he knew that King Edmund had defied him; and the King
answered him bravely--
"There is no pain shall make me deny my Lord."
"Now be not foolish, man," cried Guthrun, who liked not this sport. "A
word will save thee." But the King answered--
"That word I will never speak."
Then Hungwar the Dane gave command, and they carried King Edmund out
and tied him to a great tree; and the vikings took their bows and their
casting spears and made him their target; and the task was to wound the
King and bring blood with each arrow or spear cast, yet not to hurt him
so that his life would be endangered.
From the morn till the afternoon did they thus torture him, until his
poor body was so cut and marred that it could not be seen for wounds
and blood; and the King's head drooped, and his eyes closed from
weariness and pain.
Now Wulnoth stood near the King, and he was filled with wonder, and
with pity, and with disgust that a brave man should be so treated; and
when the vikings rested from their sport he drew near, and he said in
low tones--
"Listen to me, O King. Save thee I cannot; but I can make an end for
thee. I will stand and cast my spear, and I will take care that it
pierces thy heart, and so sleep shall come to thee."
But the King lifted his head, and opened his patient eyes, and said--
"Nay, friend. I know that to do this would cost thee thy right hand;
and for me the end is not far off, and I can be patient. My Lord was
smitten with a spear for me, and I will suffer the spear for His glory;
He Who is stronger than the strongest will strengthen me; and from my
death will good come, for the Holy Church is watered with the blood of
her sons."
Now all this was as a dark saying to Wulnoth, and he could make nothing
of it. Only he knew that this man, who was now no more a king, and who
was now nigh to death, had something which he possessed not, something
which made him grand and glorious, and strong even in weakness, and
patient in suffering; and the King looked at him again, and spoke once
more--
"Seek thou unto Him, friend," he said. "For He giveth peace and joy for
sorrow and labor, and with Him death's darkness turneth to light."
And then Wulnoth looked again, and he saw that around the King's neck
a little cross hung. And the King asked him to lift it to his lips
that he might kiss it ere he died, and Wulnoth, wondering and fearing,
obeyed.
Then from his hall came Hungwar, and with him came Biorn Ironsides, and
Sidroc, and Frena, and many jarls, and he stood before the King and
asked him again whether he would agree to worship Odin and deny the
White Christ.
But the King opened his eyes again, and he said calmly--
"Trouble me no more, Hungwar, son of Regner. Thou hast done thy worst,
and thou hast had thy pleasure, and I have borne in silence. Now make
an end and trouble me no more, for, had I fifty lives, and each could
take a lifetime in dying, I still would not do this thing which thou
dost command, thou bloodthirsty and wicked pirate of the Northland."
Then Hungwar stamped his foot, and he dashed his fist in the calm face,
and he ordered his men to take the King and smite off his head.
For Hungwar was weary of seeing King Edmund resist, and moreover some
of the Danish holdas who were more noble of heart than he, said that
this was a shame deed which was being done in their midst, while
Guthrun said openly that though he loved to slay a man in fair fight,
he had no love for serving a hero shamefully, and that if Hungwar liked
not his words then they two would go hold holmgang together.
But that was no part of Hungwar's plans. He had no wish to have his
force divided and quarrelling as did the Saxons, and so he gave the
word; and Wulnoth was amongst those who saw the King die.
"You are to die," they told him, and King Edmund answered--
"To die is to live again."
Then they smote off his head, and so sleep came for the King of the
East Saxons.
Now, this is how the Danes beat the men of East Anglia, and put their
king to the torture.[4]