King Athelstan the Great
(925–940)
England was fortunate in having three great kings in succession at this
critical period, all alike bent upon strengthening and advancing the
prosperity of the kingdom.
Athelstan, who came to the throne on the death of his father Edward,
had been a favourite grandson of Alfred, and people said that he
resembled his grandfather in many ways. When he was only a little
fellow, Alfred, delighted with his beauty and graceful manners, had
affectionately embraced him, and prayed for the happiness of his
future reign, should he ever come to the crown of England. He had
presented him at an early age with a scarlet cloak, a belt studded
with brilliants, and a Saxon sword with a golden scabbard, thus, as
was customary among many nations at this time, calling him even in
boyhood to prepare himself for war and admitting him into the company
of the King’s own pages. Alfred then placed him with his daughter
Ethelfled, the “Lady of Mercia,” to be brought up in a fitting way for
the future care of the kingdom. The young prince could not have had
a better instructress. Ethelfled’s liberal spirit, high courage, and
good understanding were passed on to her pupil. William of Malmesbury,
who had a great admiration for this prince and gives us an excellent
account of his reign, tells us that there was a strong persuasion among
the English that one more just and learned never governed the kingdom;
all his acts go to show that this praise was well deserved. He was
of a good height and slight in person, with fair hair that seemed to
shine with golden threads. Beloved by his subjects, he was feared and
respected by his enemies. He obliged the warlike tribes of Wales and
Cumberland to pay him tribute, “a thing that no king before him had
even dared to think of,” and he forced them to keep within limits west
of the Wye, as he forced the Cornish Britons to retire to the western
side of the Tamar, fortifying Exeter as a post of strength against
them. Not long after his consecration at Kingston-on-Thames, in 925,
amid the happy plaudits of the nation, Athelstan received from abroad
many marks of the esteem in which he was held by foreign princes. Among
others, Harald Fairhair sent him as a gift a ship with a golden prow
and a purple sail, furnished with a close fence of gilded shields. This
splendid present was received by Athelstan in state at York, and the
envoys who presented the gift were richly rewarded by him, and sent
home with every mark of respect and friendliness.
There are two events in Athelstan’s reign that are of great importance
to us in connexion with Norse history in these islands, the first
being his wars in Northumbria, the second his accepting Hakon, Harald
Fairhair’s son, as his foster-child, and bringing him up in England
under his own charge and tuition. We will deal with these two events in
separate chapters.
It was part of Athelstan’s fixed policy, when coming to the throne,
to bring into subjection to himself those outlying portions of
England which up to that time had stood aloof as determined enemies
to the central power and as absolutely independent kingdoms. Nothing
would induce the Welsh or Cornishmen to yield, and we have seen that
Athelstan was reduced to penning them up, as far as he could, into
their own districts, beyond rivers which he endeavoured to make
the borders of their respective countries. But in the north he had
yet a harder task in his endeavour to reduce the Danish kingdom of
Northumbria to submission.
At this time the kingdom of Northumbria was ruled by two of the
fiercest and most renowned of all the Danish chiefs who at different
times made England their home. The names of these chiefs were Sitric
Gale, or “The One-eyed,” and his son and successor, Olaf Cuaran, or
“Olaf o’ the Sandal,” both men of wild and romantic careers. Some think
that the old romance of “Havelok the Dane” really describes the history
of Olaf Cuaran, but this I myself do not think to be likely, although
Havelok also is called Cuaran in the story. But the name in his legend
seems to mean a “kitchen-boy,” because he was at one time so poor and
needy that he was forced to act as messenger to an earl’s cook, whereas
Olaf’s title is an Irish word, meaning “a sandal.” We do not know
exactly why he was so named.
It would seem that at the beginning of his reign, Athelstan endeavoured
by a friendly alliance to bring Northumbria back to English rule. It
was a favourite and wise plan of his to make alliances by marriage with
foreign princes, and it shows in what esteem he was held that men of
power and position were ready to unite themselves with his family. One
of his sisters he married to the Emperor Otto, the restorer of the
Roman Empire, and another he offered in marriage to Sitric Gale, after
a friendly meeting arranged by the two kings at Tamworth on the 3rd of
February in the year in which Athelstan came to the throne (925). With
Sitric Athelstan made a close and, as he hoped, a lasting covenant; but
alas! Sitric died hardly more than a year afterwards, and on his death
Athelstan, evidently in consequence of the arrangement made between
them, claimed the throne of Northumbria, where he seems to have been
peacefully received by the inhabitants. He spent this year in the
north in active endeavours to quell the last disaffected portions in
the realm. There is no doubt that at this time Athelstan designed to
unite the whole of Britain under his own sway. He at first drove Howel,
King of Wales, and then Constantine, King of the Scots, from their
kingdoms; but not long after, if we are to believe his admirer William
of Malmesbury, moved with commiseration, he restored them to their
original state, saying that “it was more glorious to make than to be a
king.” However, he obliged both these princes to accept their crowns as
underlords to himself, thus establishing a suzerainty over them.
But his plans did not suit the turbulent Danish princes. Godfrey,
brother to Sitric, was at the time of Sitric’s death reigning as King
of Dublin, but on hearing of Athelstan’s succession to the sovereignty
of Northumbria he came over hastily and claimed the kingdom. He was,
however, a man hated both in Northumbria and in Ireland, and Athelstan
was strong enough to drive him out and send him back to Dublin with his
Danes in the year 927.
But a more formidable foe than Godfrey was in the field. This was
Olaf o’ the Sandal (called Anlaf in the English Chronicle), son of
Sitric Gale, who seems to have been in Northumbria at the time, but
who was expelled with his uncle Godfrey, and went back with the Danes
to Dublin. Godfrey died soon after, as the Irish annals tell us, “of
a grievous disease,” and for ten years Olaf nursed his wrath against
Athelstan and awaited his opportunity to revenge himself upon him. He
went to Athelstan’s enemy, the Scottish King, Constantine, and entered
into a treaty with him, marrying his daughter; and Constantine never
ceased to urge him on to war with the King of England, promising to
support him in every way. Olaf remained long in Scotland, and was so
much mixed up with Scottish affairs, that some Scandinavian historians
call him “King of the Scots.”
It was in the year 937 that their preparations were at length
completed, and one of the most formidable combinations ever formed
against England came to a head. The battle of Brunanburh, or Brumby,
fought in this year, is chronicled in the Irish and Norse annals,
and the Saga of Egil Skalligrimson gives us a detailed account both
of the battle itself and of the Norsemen who took part in it. The
English Chronicle breaks out into a wild, spirited poem when describing
this battle, and we are told by one English annalist that many years
afterwards people spoke of the greatness of this fight.
The battle was probably fought not far from the Humber, though the
exact spot is not now known. From the north marched down the Scottish
King and his son, of whom the latter fell in the fight, Olaf o’ the
Sandal taking charge of a fleet of 115 ships, with which he sailed into
the Humber. From Dublin the whole force of the Danish host in Ireland
set sail to join and support their fellow-countrymen from Scotland,
Strathclyde, and Northumbria. This formidable host met the forces of
Athelstan and his brother, Edmund, and was completely overthrown. Five
kings lay dead on the field, and five of Olaf’s earls. King Olaf[16]
himself escaped to his ships and back to Ireland, with the shattered
remnant of his magnificent army, there to become a source of trouble
and terror in days yet to come. The poem in the English Chronicle thus
describes his flight:--
“There was made flee
by need constrained
the Northmen’s chief[17]
with his little band
to the ship’s prow.
The bark drove afloat,
the king departed
on the fallow flood,
his life preserved.
* * * * *
The Northmen departed
in their nailed barks;
on roaring ocean
o’er the deep water
Dublin to seek,
back to Ireland,
shamed in mind.”
William of Malmesbury tells us a romantic story of Olaf Cuaran on
the night before the battle. It may very well be true; it accords
with all we know of his adventurous character. The chronicler relates
that on hearing of the arrival of the Danes and Scots in the North
Athelstan purposely feigned a retreat. Olaf, who was still quite young
and absolutely fearless, wishing to discover the exact strength of
Athelstan’s forces and how they were disposed, assumed the character of
a spy. Laying aside the emblems of royalty, he dressed as a minstrel,
and taking a harp in his hand, he proceeded to the King’s tent. Singing
before the entrance, and touching the strings of his harp in harmonious
cadence, he was readily admitted, and he entertained the King and his
companions for some time with his musical performance. All the time
he was present he was carefully observing all that was said and done
around him. When the feast was over, and the King’s chiefs gathered
round for a conference about the war, he was ordered to depart. The
King sent him a piece of money as the reward of his song; but one of
those present, who was watching him closely (for he had once served
under Olaf, though now he was gone over to the side of Athelstan),
observed that the minstrel flung the coin on the ground and crushed it
into the earth with his foot, disdaining to take it with him. When Olaf
was well away this person communicated what he had seen to the King,
telling him that he suspected that the minstrel was none other than the
leader of his foes. “Why, then, if you thought this,” said Athelstan
angrily, “did you not warn us in time to capture the Dane?”
“Once,” said the man, “O King, I served in the army of Olaf, and I took
to him the same oath of fidelity that I afterwards swore to yourself.
Had I broken my oath to him and betrayed him to you, you might rightly
have thought that I would another time act in the same way toward
yourself. But now I pray you, O King, to remove your tent to another
place, and to endeavour to delay the battle till your other troops come
up.”
[Illustration: _Olaf Cuaran_]
The King approved of this, and removed his tent to another part of the
field. Well it was that he did so, for that night, while Athelstan was
still awaiting the remainder of his army, Olaf and his host fell upon
him in the darkness of the night, the chief himself making straight
for Athelstan’s tent, and slaying in mistake for him a certain bishop
who had joined the army on the night before and, ignorant of what had
passed, had pitched his tent on the spot from which the King’s tent had
been removed.
Olaf, coming thus suddenly in the darkness of the night, found the
whole army unprepared and deeply sleeping. Athelstan, who was resting
after the labours of the day, hearing the tumult, sprang up and rushed
into the darkness to arouse and prepare his people, but in his haste
his sword fell by chance from its sheath, nor could he find it again in
the gloom and confusion; but it is said that, when placing his hand on
the scabbard, he found in it another sword, which he thought must have
come there by miracle, and which he kept ever after in remembrance of
that night. It is probable that in the hurry of dressing he had laid
his hand on a weapon belonging to one of the chiefs who fought on his
side.
Thus in the darkness of night and in wild confusion began the battle
which, in spite of all, was to end victoriously for Athelstan and
disastrously for his enemies. The Northern story of the fight, which
we are now about to tell, occurs in the Saga of Egil, son of one
Skalligrim, an old man who had betaken himself to Iceland with most of
his family, from the rule of Harald Fairhair, and who stoutly opposed
him on every occasion.
Skalligrim had two strong, warlike sons, Thorolf and Egil. They found
the life in Iceland wearisome, for they preferred the turmoil of war;
so they left old Skalligrim, their father, to his seal-fishing and
whale-hunting and his shipbuilding and smith-work, for he was a man
with many trades, and able and crafty, and careful in saving his money,
and went off to fight in Norway and in England. Before the battle of
Brunanburh they had offered their services to Athelstan, for the Norse
were ever ready to war against the Danes, and they were in the fight of
Brunanburh on his side, each of them commanding a troop of Norwegian
soldiers, and did much, as the Saga will show, to help in winning the
battle for the English.
Here is the story from Egil Skalligrimson’s Saga.