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.