Encouraged by these words of the monk and the smiles and praises of the
Queen, Alfred made rapid progress, which, oddly enough, grew quicker
still from the way in which Bald and his brothers ridiculed him and
laughed at his attempts, for their gibes angered him, but only made him
work the harder, and with results which Swythe told the Queen were
wonderful. Six long weary weeks had passed away since Ethelwulf had
gone with his little army against the Danes, and only once had news been
received, so that Queen Osburga's face grew whiter, thinner, and more
sad day by day, till one evening when, after a long hard day's work with
the monk, the pair went up to the top of the highest hill near to watch
for the appearance of a messenger. Swythe could see no sign of
anything.
"There is no news," he said sadly. "Let us go back. The Queen is
waiting to hear what we have found."
"There is news," cried the boy excitedly. "I can see the points of
spears right away there in the valley. Look, the sun shines upon them
and makes them glitter."
"Yes, I see now," cried Swythe excitedly. "Quick, let's try and run,
boy. The Danes! The Danes! We must get the Queen away into the woods
so as to be safe."
"Why not stop in the big house, and shut up every window and door? We
must fight. You can fight, Father Swythe?"
"I, my boy?" said the monk sadly. "Yes, with my tongue. No, I am only
a man of peace. All we can do is to fly for our lives. There are not
twenty strong fighting-men, Fred, my son, and those who are coming
against us must, from the spears and shining iron caps with wings like
the Norsemen wear, be quite a thousand. Quick! You can go faster than
I. Run on first and warn the good Queen that it is time to fly!"
Alfred nodded his head quickly and started off to run; but at that
moment it struck him that it would be foolish to run and give the alarm
without being sure. The monk had declared the force to be the enemy,
but the boy wished to see for himself, and, darting sidewise, he ran
down the hill, bearing to his right, till by stooping he could keep
under cover of the gorse-bushes and approach quite near to the coming
army.
It was a daring thing to do, for it might have ended in being made a
prisoner without the chance of giving the alarm; but the brave act
turned out to be quite wise, for when at last the boy had drawn near to
the great body of armed men and crouched lower till he found a place
through which he could peer cautiously, he sprang to his feet with a
shout of joy.
For there in front rode his father, King Ethelwulf, mounted upon a
sturdy horse, but so changed that he hardly knew him, for he was wearing
a Danish helmet ornamented with a pair of grey gull's wings, half-opened
and pointed back, while in his left hand he carried a Danish shield
painted with a black raven, and in his right was a shining double
battle-axe.
Alfred's cry was answered by a shout from the men, and Ethelwulf rode
forward to meet his son, who grasped his extended hands and sprang up to
sit in front of him upon the horse.
"Your mother--Osburga?" said the King hoarsely.
"Ill, father, because you do not come," cried the boy excitedly.
"Hah! Then she will soon be well," said the King, with a sigh of
content. "Yonder is plump little Swythe coming to welcome me, I see,"
he continued; "but where are your brothers?"
"I don't know, father," replied the boy, innocently enough. "They have
not come back from hunting, I think."
King Ethelwulf frowned, but said no more then, contenting himself with
pressing forward to give his hand to Swythe, who had followed the boy as
soon as he saw him change his course; and soon after the King's heart
was gladdened by seeing Osburga with her train of women and serfs coming
to meet them, answering the Saxon soldiers' cheers. But Bald, Bert, and
Red had even then not come back from the chase.
That night the King told of the great victory which he had at last
gained over the Danish invaders, who had been defeated with great
slaughter near Farringdon, and it was in memory of that victory that the
King returned to the battlefield with his men on a peaceful errand, and
that was to use the spade instead of the battle-axe and sword, while
they cut down through the green turf on one hill-side, right down to the
clean, white, glistening chalk, after the lines had been marked out and
the shape cleverly designed, working for weeks and weeks till there, on
the slope they had carved out a huge white horse over a hundred yards in
length--the Great White Horse of the Berkshire downs, which has remained
as if galloping along until this day.
Year after year the scouring of that horse, as it is called, takes
place, when men go and clear out the brown earth that has crumbled
through frost and rain into the ditch-like lines which mark the horse's
shape on the green hill-side, and make it stand out white and clear as
ever.
No one will think it strange after what has been told that the youngest
of those four boys grew up under Swythe's teaching wise and learned, and
as brave as, or braver than, either of his three brothers, who, when at
last King Ethelwulf died, succeeded in turn to be King of England. They
each sat on the throne--Ethelbald, Ethelbert, and Ethelred; but their
reigns were short, for in twenty years they too had passed away, to be
succeeded by the strong, brave, and learned man who drove the Danish'
invaders finally from the shores of England, or forced them to become
peaceful workers of the soil. He was the brave warrior who never knew
what it was to be conquered, but tried again and again till the enemy
fled before him and his gallant men.
Old chronicles tell many stories of his deeds--stories that have grown
old and old--and they tell too that the studious boy's teacher Swythe
became Bishop of Winchester and was called a saint, while old writers
have worked up a legend about the rain christening the apples on Saint
Swithin's Day, and when it does, keeping on sprinkling them for forty
days more; but, like many other stories, that one is not at all true, as
any young reader may find out by watching the weather year by year.
But that does not matter to us, who have to deal with Alfred the Little,
and who willingly agree that as he grew up he was worthily given the
name of Alfred the Great.