EDWARD AND HIS SONS.
With the death of Alfred and the accession of his son EDWARD (called
in later times “the Elder,” to distinguish him from his descendants,
“the Martyr” and “the Confessor”) we enter upon a new century. Like
its predecessor, the tenth century was for Europe generally a time of
gloom, dismay and depression. The break-up of the empire of Charlemagne
went on with increasing rapidity, the imperial title itself becoming
the prize of obscure Italian princes until, about the middle of
the century, the great Otto I. of Saxony (962–73) did something to
restore its lustre and to bring back the Italian peninsula within the
sphere of the imperial unity. In some measure, too, he succeeded in
rehabilitating the office of the papacy, cruelly discredited by the
intrigues of two profligate women, Theodora and Marozia, who had placed
their lovers, their husbands and their young and licentious sons on
the most venerated throne in Christendom. In France the Carolingian
line was yielding to the same process of decay which had destroyed
its Merovingian predecessor; and thirteen years before the end of the
century Hugh Capet followed the example of Pippin and, thrusting the
descendants of Charlemagne into the background, became the acknowledged
king of the diminished territory of France; a position in which he was
somewhat overshadowed by the greatness of his nominal vassals, the
Norman dukes descended from Rollo. For France and Germany it is true
that the invasions of the Northmen had practically ceased, but the
ravages of the Hungarians during the first half of the century were a
terror to Europe. In England, however, this age was not nearly so dark
a time as many of its predecessors. In fact the tenth century saw the
Anglo-Saxon monarchy attain its highest point of power and prosperity,
though it also before its close saw it sink to the lowest depths of
misery and degradation.
The first five years of Edward’s reign[155] were disturbed by the
rebellion of his cousin Ethelwald, son of Ethelred. According to the
theories of strict hereditary succession which have since prevailed,
Ethelwald’s title as representative of an elder son was incontestable,
and in fact Alfred himself according to these theories was but a
usurper, yet it need hardly be said that these theories had no place in
the Anglo-Saxon polity. The son, if a minor, or for any other reason
unsuitable, had no indefeasible right to wear his dead father’s crown.
Among the Saxons, as with most of the other Teutonic nations, the two
principles of inheritance and election were closely, we are inclined to
say illogically, blended. The new king must be of the royal race; in
the case of Wessex his line must “go unto Cerdic”; but he must also be
“chosen and raised to be king” by the _witan_, the wise men or senators
of the kingdom. This ceremony had been duly complied with at Edward’s
accession, and therefore he was rightful king though sprung from a
younger branch of the royal house. Moreover it was a matter of reproach
against Ethelwald that he had “without the king’s leave and against the
bishop’s ordinance married or cohabited with a woman who had before
been hallowed as a nun”. Yet for all this he did not lack adherents,
some of whom probably held that he was wrongfully excluded from the
throne.
Ethelwald’s rebellion was announced to the world by his occupation of
a royal vill at Badbury in Dorsetshire, near his father’s sepulchre
at Wimborne. Thither rode the new king with a portion of the local
_fyrd_, but found all the approaches to the place blocked by order
of the insurgent Etheling. It was rumoured that Ethelwald had said
to his followers, “Here will I die or here will I lie”: nevertheless
his heart failed him when it came to the pinch, and he stole away by
night to Northumbria, vainly pursued by the men of King Edward. The
Danish army in the northern realm accepted him for their king; the men
of East Anglia joined them, and after three years all marched through
Mercia, ravaging as they went, as far as Cricklade in Wiltshire. At
the approach of Edward with his _fyrd_, the insurgents moved rapidly
northwards with the spoil which they had gathered. Edward pursued,
and ravaged all their land between the Cambridgeshire dykes and the
river Ouse, as far northward as the fens. He then sounded a retreat,
but the men of Kent, eager for the fight, though seven times ordered
to withdraw, continued to face the enemy. The battle which ensued was
evidently a defeat of the Saxons, and cost the lives of two ealdormen
and many distinguished nobles of Kent. Practically however it was as
good as a victory, since Ethelwald, “who enticed the Danes to that
breach of the peace,” lay dead upon the field. Peace seems naturally to
have followed upon his death, and thus was ended in 905 what might have
been a dangerous civil war.
The chief work of Edward’s reign was the conquest of the new
Danish kingdoms of East Anglia, Essex and the remainder of Mercia.
The settlement which followed the Peace of Wedmore, a wise and
statesmanlike compromise at the time, had ceased to be applicable to
the existing state of affairs. At every serious crisis of the West
Saxon state the Danes beyond Watling Street at once broke the _frith_,
and their dreaded “army” crossed the Saxon border. It was time that
this intolerable state of things should be brought to an end, and to
its termination Edward, himself “a man of war from his youth,” and
with an army of Saxon veterans at his back, now successfully devoted
himself. We hear of him in 910 beating the Danes at Tettenhall in
Staffordshire; in 911, at some place unnamed, winning a great victory
over the Northumbrian Danes--a victory in which two kings, many _jarls_
and _holds_ (earls and chief captains) and thousands of soldiers of
meaner rank were slain. Then, in 912, he “took possession of London
and Oxford, and all the lands thereto belonging”. This however was
apparently no fresh conquest, but only a peaceful resumption of
territories previously appertaining to Mercia. In 913 he fortified
Hertford, encamped at Maldon in Essex, and received the submission of
the greater part of that kingdom. In 914 and 915 the chief victories
seem to have been won not by the king in person, but by the warlike
energies of the local militia. In the former year they defeated a
plundering host of Northamptonshire and Leicestershire Danes at
Leighton Buzzard, and stripped them of their accumulated spoil. In the
latter, operations after a long interval were begun anew by marauders
from beyond sea. A _scip-here_, or naval armament, from the coast of
Brittany, made its unwelcome appearance at the mouth of the Severn
and captured a Welsh bishop whom Edward ransomed for forty pounds
(of silver); and then the men of Hereford, of Gloucester and of all
the nearest _burhs_ came out against them, slew one of the two jarls
who commanded them and the brother of his colleague, and drove them
into a “park” or enclosed space, which the men of the _fyrd_ beset
so closely that the Danes were forced to give hostages for their
peaceable departure from the country. Apparently, however, they broke
their promises, stole away by night and made two hostile descents on
the coast of Somerset, one at Watchet and one at Porlock, both of
which were successfully repulsed. After betaking themselves to the
two islands of Flatholme and Steepholme, in the middle of the Bristol
Channel, and seeing many of their number die of sheer starvation on
those desolate islands, the remnant departed, first to South Wales and
then to Ireland, and were heard of no more.
The largest share of the credit for the conquest of Danish Mercia
must be given to Edward’s manlike sister, Ethelfled, “lady of the
Mercians”. Daughter herself of a Mercian princess and married to a
husband (Ethelred) who was probably related to the royal line of Offa,
she seems after her husband’s death in 911 to have still commanded, to
an extraordinary degree, the love and loyalty of the Mercian people,
and to have wielded the warlike resources of the Midland kingdom
with wonderful energy and success. Each year she struck a heavy blow
either at the men of the Danelaw, on her right, or at the Welsh of
Gwynedd--now no longer friendly to the Saxon--on her left. With her,
as with her brother, the plan of campaign, generally centred round
some _burh_ which the English ruler built in the hostile territory and
defended against all comers. After Chester had been repaired, probably
by Ethelred, the chief fortresses built and defended by his widow were
Bromesberrow, near Ledbury in Herefordshire, Shrewsbury, Bridgnorth,
Stafford, Eddisbury in the forest of Delamere, Warwick, Chirk in
Denbighshire, Warburton and Runcorn in the south of Lancashire. While
some of these forts were within, most of them were decidedly beyond
the Watling Street line, and their erection betokened the recovery for
the English of an important portion of the Danelaw. The Denbighshire
fort is evidence of the determination of the high-hearted “lady of the
Mercians” to reduce her Welsh neighbours to obedience; a determination
which was shown still more plainly when in June 19, 916, she sent the
Mercian _fyrd_ into South Wales, took Brecon by storm and captured the
wife of the Welsh king with thirty-four other persons, probably nobles
of his court.
By this time, however, the conquering career of Ethelfled was drawing
to a close. Towards the end of July, 917, she “with the aid of God
obtained the _burh_ which is called Derby, with all pertaining
thereto”. The victory, however, was not bloodless. “There were slain
within the gates four of her thegns, of those who were dearest unto
her.” The next year by the same Divine aid “she gained peaceable
possession of the _burh_ of Leicester and subdued to herself the
largest part of the _here_ that owned allegiance thereto. Also the men
of York promised obedience, and some gave bail, while others confirmed
with oaths their covenant to be under her rule.” Apparently the Lady
of Mercia was destined to become also Lady of Northumbria. Not so,
however. “Very swiftly after this covenant was made, twelve nights
before midsummer (918) she died at Tamworth, in the eighth year that
she had held power with right lordship over the Mercians. And her body
lieth at Gloucester in the east porch of St. Peter’s Church.” From this
entry it appears probable that Tamworth was the favourite residence of
the Lady of the Mercians as it had been of her royal predecessors.[156]
What was the precise nature of the political relation between
Ethelfled and her royal brother, it is perhaps impossible to discover.
Clearly the status of Ethelred and his wife was not kingly. He is
correctly spoken of as _ealdorman_ and as _hlaford_ (lord), while she
is described as _hlæfdige_ (lady); yet in all her actions, in her
military movements, her sieges and her treaties, she seems to act as
independently as Penda or Offa. Probably the term which is sometimes
used in the Chronicle, _mund-bora_ (protector), most fittingly
expresses the relation which during Ethelfled’s lifetime Edward held
toward his sister. She is not absolutely independent, yet she governs
her subjects, marches her armies about, and promotes her well-beloved
thegns to honour, as seems meet to her. She is a subject-ally, most
faithful and most valiant of all allies, and he, should she ever need
to call upon him for help, will not fail as her “protector”.
Whatever may have been the precise nature of the peculiar relation
between Wessex and Mercia, it came to an end soon after the death of
Ethelfled. She left, indeed, a daughter named Elfwyn, who seems for
about eighteen months to have wielded her mother’s authority, but in
919, “three weeks before mid-winter,” she was deprived of all power
over the Mercians and led away into Wessex. There are some slight
indications in the Chronicle that this obliteration of Mercia as a
semi-independent state was not altogether acceptable to the people of
the middle kingdom. However this may have been, Edward, now sending
forth into the field the united armies of Wessex and Mercia, carried
forward with irresistible might the process of the unification of the
kingdom. The _burhs_ which he erected between 913 and 924 rounded
off the work of Ethelfled. These were Hertford, Bedford, Huntingdon
and Towcester in the East Midlands, Maldon and Colchester in Essex,
Stamford in Lincolnshire, Nottingham and Bakewell in the country of the
Peak, Thelwall in Cheshire, and Manchester, the last being expressly
stated to have been “in Northumbria”. The work of subduing and
over-aweing the Welsh was not forgotten. In 921 Edward built a _burh_
at Wigmore in Herefordshire, in sight of the long range of Radnor
Forest, and another at the mouth of the Cleddau in Pembrokeshire, a
proof that his arms had penetrated as far as to Milford Haven.
Round all these newly built _burhs_ the tide of battle fiercely ebbed
and flowed ere the people whom they were meant to hold down patiently
submitted to their domination. Thus we hear of an unsuccessful assault
by “the army” of East Anglia and Mercia on the _burh_ at Wigmore;
of “the army” breaking the _frith_ and marching against Towcester.
“And they fought against it all day and thought to carry it by storm,
but the folk that were therein defended it till help came, whereupon
they departed ravaging as they went.” In consequence of this attack,
unsuccessful as it was, Edward surrounded Towcester with a stone wall
which it had not previously possessed. The enemy vainly endeavoured
to imitate Edward’s castle-building policy. The Danes of Huntingdon
and East Anglia built a great fort at Tempsford on the river Ouse (a
little south of St. Neots), “and thought that they should therefrom
with battle and un-peace win back to themselves more of this land”. But
they were disappointed, for the people from the nearest _burhs_ having
gathered themselves together, fought against Tempsford and overthrew
it, slaying the Danish king and two of his jarls, and all who were
found fighting therein.
The year which is marked in the chief manuscript of the Chronicle as
921 but which probably was in truth 918, saw the full tide of English
successes, and in consequence we now hear of the complete submission
of East Anglia and Essex to the rule of Edward. “To him submitted much
folk both of the East Angles and the East Saxons, who had been erewhile
under the Danish power, and all the ‘army’ in East Anglia swore to
oneness with him, that they would all will that which he willed, and be
at peace with those with whom he was at peace, whether by sea or land.
And the _here_ that belonged to Cambridge chose him specially for lord
and protector (_mund-bora_) and confirmed this by oaths as he commanded
them.” In 919, the year after the death of Ethelfled, three kings of
North Wales and all the North Welsh kin sought Edward to be their lord.
His conquest of Nottingham followed, and here we observe with interest
that he garrisoned the newly captured fort with Danes as well as with
Englishmen; also that all the folk that were in Mercia submitted to his
rule, whether they were Danes or Englishmen.
Thus then we now have Edward not wielding the shadowy power of a
Bretwalda, but actual king, personally ruling over all the lands south
of the Humber, acknowledged as over-lord by North Wales, probably
also by Northumbria. Did his overlordship extend yet farther north?
Did Scotland recognise him as supreme king? That question seems to be
answered decisively in the affirmative by the celebrated entry in the
Chronicle for the year 924 which probably should be corrected to 921.
After describing Edward’s operations in the midlands, his building a
bridge over the Trent between the two _burhs_ of Nottingham, his going
from thence into the Peak country and ordering a _burh_ to be built as
near as possible to Bakewell, the chronicler thus proceeds: “Him chose
as father and lord the Scottish king and all the Scottish people; and
Raegnald, Eadulf’s son [king of Northumbria], and all the dwellers in
Northumbria whether they were Englishmen or Danes or Northmen or any
others, and eke the king of the Welsh of Strathclyde and all his people
[did the like]”. The facts here related, as far as they concern the men
of Strathclyde and Northumbria, are not seriously disputed, though one
may note in passing the distinction now first met with between “Danes”
and “Northmen” or Norwegians. But how as to Edward’s over-lordship
of Scotland, which seems to be vouched for by the beginning of the
sentence, and which was made, four centuries later by his namesake,
Edward Plantagenet, the basis of a claim to exercise the rights of lord
paramount? The answer to that question has involved historians on both
sides of the Border in fierce debate. It is, of course, impossible here
to do more than sketch the bare outline of the controversy, but so much
as this must be attempted.
The champions of the English claim to supremacy over Scotland[157]
maintain that “in 921 Edward received--what no West Saxon king had
ever before received--the submission of the Scots and the Strathclyde
Welsh.... In the Latin phrase they _commended_ themselves to him; they
promised him fidelity and put themselves under his protection.” “There
was nothing strange or degrading in this relation; it was the relation
in which in theory all other princes stood to the Emperor.”[158] “From
this time to the fourteenth century the vassalage of Scotland was an
essential part of the public law of the isle of Britain. No doubt
many attempts were made to cast off the dependent relation which had
been voluntarily incurred; but when a king of the English had once
been chosen ‘to father and to lord,’ his successors never willingly
gave up the position which had thus been bestowed upon them.”[159]
On the other side, Scottish historians[160] naturally point to the
fact that it is a Saxon chronicler who makes the statement from which
such mighty consequences are deduced. The law does not allow a suitor
to make evidence for himself; but here is an alleged “commendation”
of which we have no hint in the records of the king and the nation
by whom it is alleged to have been made; only in the chronicles of
the pretended receiver. They further throw doubt on the genuineness
of the passage and suggest that it may be a late interpolation. One
argument against its genuineness is that it seems to represent the
“commendation” as taking place in the heart of Derbyshire, whereas such
a transaction would naturally have been performed on the boundary of
the two kingdoms. Another and more serious objection is that Raegnald
of Northumbria is here named as taking part in the “commendation”
in the year 924, whereas “in the Irish annals, at this period most
accurate and trustworthy authorities for all that relates to the family
of Raegnald,”[161] the death of this chieftain is assigned to a date
three years earlier, 921.
The question at issue, now merely academic but once of vital
importance to the two countries, has been much complicated by
subsequent transactions, alleged cessions of Lothian and Strathclyde
on terms of feudal dependence, homage rendered by Scottish kings for
possessions in England and so forth. The allegation of fact made by
the English chronicler seems entirely worthy of credit. Doubtless for
polemical purposes such a statement if made by a Scottish authority
would have been more valuable; but the writer of the Chronicle was a
contemporary; his work though not very luminous and often careless of
strict chronological accuracy, certainly impresses one’s mind with
a general feeling of its honesty and good faith; there is no trace
of interpolation in the manuscripts (which are all long antecedent
to the reign of Edward I.); nor is there any very obvious reason why
a monastic scribe writing at Winchester or Canterbury should have
invented the transactions here detailed if they never happened. When
the entry is carefully examined and compared with similar passages in
the same Chronicle, it is seen that the writer is not committed to
the statement that the interview took place at Bakewell. Nor will the
objection drawn from the date of Raegnald’s death appear formidable
to any one who knows how loose is the chronology of the Chronicle
everywhere, but especially in this part of it, in which, for reasons
quite unconnected with this controversy, its latest editor considers
that all the events are post-dated by three years.
If then we accept as probably true the statement that “the Scottish
king [Constantine II.] and all the Scottish people chose Edward as
father and as lord,” what does that statement imply? It is perhaps a
mistake to introduce the word “commendation,” though that word may
pretty nearly describe the nature of the transaction. But the word
itself, though known to the Franks and occurring in the Bavarian
law-book, does not seem to have been ever used by our Anglo-Saxon
ancestors. The Teutonic word _mund-byrd_ (protection), which most
nearly corresponds to it, is not used of the transactions of 921,
though it is used shortly before concerning the men of Huntingdon
who “bowed to King Edward and sought his _frith_ (peace) and his
_mund-byrd_”. In such a difficult and obscure discussion, it is surely
better to keep quite close to the original words of the historian,
avoiding all mention of “commendation” and far more of “vassalage,”
which last term, as all agree, does not correctly represent any
relation established in Britain early in the tenth century. Let us
repeat simply that the King of Scots “chose Edward as father and as
lord”.
What then was the meaning of that choice? Did it make “the vassalage of
Scotland an essential part of the public law of the isle of Britain”?
The word “vassalage” no one would insist upon; but may we not also
demur to the expression “the public law of the isle of Britain” at this
period of its history? Where is there a trace in that age of such a
refined juristic conception? Is not everything in the relation between
the races and kingdoms of Britain vague, ill-defined, anarchic? The
Danes make a _frith_ and break it; the West Saxons establish some kind
of supremacy over the Mercians; Edward’s personal rule is advanced as
far as the Humber; he becomes thereby undoubtedly the most powerful
man in Britain; Scots, Northumbrians and Britons of Strathclyde take
note of the fact and desire to become allies--we may safely say
subject-allies--of so mighty a prince, whom they accordingly take
“as father and as lord”. That is all that has yet happened. There
was something here which on the one hand, as the current of the age
swept on towards feudalism, might have been developed into lordship
and vassalage, or, on the other, might have utterly disappeared. In
the next reign the very districts which have thus acknowledged the
superiority of Edward are found fighting against his son. Under such a
weak king as Ethelred the germ involved in the transaction of 921 must
have disappeared altogether. No one can suppose that the Redeless King,
who could not defend his own throne against the attacks of the Danes,
was in any sense “father and lord” of Scotland. Thus the question,
which is academic to us now, was or should have been equally academic
in the thirteenth century. Whatever other grounds Edward I. might have
for claiming high-lordship over Scotland, the dead and buried rights or
duties or courtesies of 921 ought not to have been imported into the
controversy.
Shortly after the events last described, at the end of 924 or the
beginning of 925, King Edward died at Farndon[162] in Mercia. Only
sixteen days after his death his son Elfweard died also, and father and
son were both buried in the New Minster at Winchester. Edward, though
one of the noblest of his race, was a man much less richly endowed
with intellectual gifts than his father. We cease to hear of works
undertaken for the instruction of his subjects, and the great Chronicle
begins to languish in his reign. His character also seems to lack some
of the beauty of his father’s; one can hardly imagine Alfred dealing
with Ethelwald or with Elfwyn exactly in the same manner as his son.
But he was essentially a soldier, probably a strict disciplinarian,
and he, with the help of that Amazon, his sister, carried strongly
and steadily forward the great work which their father had begun, the
recovery of England for the English.
* * * * *
ATHELSTAN, who now succeeded to the throne, and who reigned, probably,
from 924 to 940, was much the eldest of the remaining sons of Edward.
The others were but children, while he was thirty years of age at his
father’s death. Although he cannot have been more than six years old
when Alfred died, we are told that his comely face and winning ways so
endeared him to his grandfather that the latter made him “a premature
soldier,” robing him in a scarlet mantle and girding him with a little
sword, golden-scabbarded, and hung round his neck by a jewelled
baldric. Moreover, Alfred is said to have prayed that the royal child
might one day have a prosperous reign. It is not very easy to reconcile
these stories with the fact, alleged by William of Malmesbury, that the
stain of illegitimacy rested on his birth. The same authority tells
us that he was the son of Egwinna, a noble lady, and then in another
place describes her as the daughter of a shepherd, marked out by a
dream for high destiny, and introduced to Edward by his old nurse, at
whose cottage he was visiting. It is difficult entirely to reject the
statement that there was something irregular about Athelstan’s birth
which caused difficulties about his accession even in that age, not
fastidious about the strict principles of legitimacy. There is also
something slightly suspicious about the emphasis which the chroniclers
lay on the premature death of his half-brother, Elfweard, as if, had
that event not occurred, he would have been at least a partner in the
throne, if not its sole occupant. We need not, perhaps, greatly concern
ourselves with William of Malmesbury’s story of a certain Alfred, the
rival of Athelstan, who opposed his elevation to the throne on the
ground of his illegitimacy, went to Rome to state his case before the
Pope and died in the act of taking an oath, presumably a false oath,
in its support. All this, though it raises a suspicion that for some
reason or other the accession of Athelstan was not wholly unopposed,
is too doubtful and legendary to be made the ground-work of serious
history. We can only say that Athelstan’s day was a glorious one,
if there were some clouds which hung round its sunrise. It should,
perhaps, also be mentioned that Athelstan when a boy had been entrusted
by his grandfather to the care of Ethelred and Ethelfled, and seems
before his accession to the West Saxon throne to have been specially
connected with Mercia.
The coronation of Athelstan took place at Kingston-on-Thames, which
for the rest of this century was the chief crowning place of English
kings. In the new king, whatever may have been the clouds overhanging
his birth, or the difficulties attending his accession, we have a more
splendid type of English royalty than has yet been displayed even by
the great kings of Northumbria. By his family alliances, by the renown
which he inherited from his father, and by that which he achieved
for himself as the successful champion of his people, he obtained a
commanding position among the rulers of western Europe, and he early
assumed and not doubtfully vindicated for himself the proud title of
“lord of the whole of Britain”.
By the marriages of his half-sisters, the daughters of Edward,
Athelstan was brought into close connexion with the most powerful
rulers of France and Germany. Not powerful it is true, though highly
placed, was his brother-in-law, the unfortunate Charles the Simple,
King of France (893–929), who married Edgiva, was dethroned and died in
a dungeon; but his son, Louis IV. (“_d’outre mer_”), after having been
smuggled out of Laon in a truss of straw, was brought to England by his
devoted mother; was reared at the court of Athelstan; recalled to his
native country and played the part of the king of France not altogether
unsuccessfully for eighteen years (936–54). A too powerful subject of
these Carolingian kings, one whose greatness overshadowed their throne
and whose son eventually succeeded in winning it for himself, was Hugh
the Great, Duke of France. This nobleman sought another of Athelstan’s
sisters in marriage, even the Lady Eadhilda, in whom as a chronicler
says “all the elements of beauty which other women have in part,
naturally flowed together in one”. The messenger who came to urge this
suit, and who was himself Athelstan’s first cousin,[163] brought with
him gorgeous gifts, precious relics, consecrated swords, lances and
banners. Among the presents may be specially noted an onyx vase (surely
of antique workmanship) so skilfully carved that on it you seemed to
see the corn waving, the vines putting forth their shoots, the figures
of men moving, and swift horses prancing in their golden trappings. The
pleadings of the ambassador or the splendour of the gifts prevailed.
The lovely Eadhilda became the wife of Hugh the Great, though not for
her but for a successor was reserved the honour of being the mother of
the new line of kings of France. When German Otto, the future Roman
emperor, wished to wed one of the same royal sisterhood, he seems
not to have proffered so humble a request, but in lordly fashion to
have signified his pleasure that a princess should be sent unto him.
Thereupon, Athelstan sent two of his sisters, Edgitha and Elfgiva,
that Otto might choose between them. He chose Edgitha, whose marriage
seems to have been a happy one, and who was much loved by the German
people. Elfgiva, who remained on the continent, had to be satisfied
with the humbler position of wife of a sub-Alpine prince.
A striking feature of Athelstan’s policy was his friendship for the
Scandinavian powers. He probably saw that notwithstanding all that
England had suffered at the hands of the Danes, the Northmen were
tending towards the condition of an organised state, and that it would
be wise for “the lord of all Britain” to cultivate their friendship.
His reign coincided with the last years of the long reign of Harold
the Fair-haired, the first king of Norway, and the legend of the
dealings of the two kings with one another, though probably untrue in
the letter, may well illustrate the relations between the two kings as
remembered by the people.
“One day a messenger of Athelstan appeared at the court of Haarfager
(the Fair-haired one) bearing a sword whose hilt was enwrought with
gold and silver and set with most precious gems. The messenger said:
‘Here is a sword which King Athelstan sendeth thee, bidding thee take
it withal’. Harold grasped the sword, and the envoy completed his
message thus: ‘Now hast thou taken the sword according to our king’s
bidding. Henceforth thou must needs be his thegn.’ Harold dissembled
his vexation and next year sent a ship to England under the command
of his favourite champion, Hawk High-breech, into whose keeping he
gave the little Hakon, the son of his old age by his bondwoman, Thora.
Norseman Hawk was hospitably entertained by the king and bidden to
a right worthy feast in the city of London. After due greetings
interchanged, the old captain took the boy and set him on Athelstan’s
knee. ‘Why dost thou do that?’ said the king. ‘Because King Harold thus
ordereth thee to foster the child of his bondwoman,’ was the reply.
The king was angry and began to feel for his sword, but the messenger
said: ‘Thou hast set him on thy knee, and now thou mayest murder him
if thou wilt, but not so wilt thou make an end of the sons of King
Harold’.”[164] These sons were in truth an almost countless throng,
and the wars and tumults of them, their sons and grandsons, kept
Norway in an uproar for a century. The little lad, however, who sat on
Athelstan’s knee at the great London banquet was actually reared at the
English court and grew up to be King of Norway, being known as Hakon
the Good, and endeavouring with no great success to convert his people
to Christianity.
The determination of Athelstan to be “lord of all Britain” naturally
urged him northwards, since all the region south of the Humber was, or
seemed to be, securely resting under the dominion of Wessex. Into the
extremely difficult and obscure history of the Kings of Northumbria
after the death of Guthred, the friend of the monks of St. Cuthbert,
it is not necessary here to enter. A variety of Sihtrics, Anlafs and
Godfreys flit across the scene, and the confusion is increased by the
fact that there are generally two contemporaneous princes bearing
the same name. It may be remarked in passing, however, that this is
the period of Danish pre-eminence in Ireland (whose capital, Dublin,
is a memorial of Danish rule), and that the fortunes of the two sets
of invaders in Northumbria and in Ireland were almost inextricably
intertwined. Also that we have traces of an Anglian dynasty still
existing at Bamburgh, though probably owning the overlordship of Danish
kings.
Almost immediately after his father’s death, Athelstan had an
interview at the Mercian capital, Tamworth, with Sihtric the Dane,
King of the Northumbrians. Sihtric received Athelstan’s sister (his
only sister of the full blood) in marriage, and probably agreed, as
part of the compact, to embrace Christianity. Next year, however, he
died, after having, according to some of the chroniclers, repudiated
both his new wife and his new religion. Hereupon Athelstan marched
northward (probably in 926), expelled Sihtric’s successor, Guthfred,
and his son, Anlaf, from the country, and “assumed the kingdom of the
Northumbrians,” thus for a time--it was only a short time--governing
directly and not as overlord the whole of what is now England except
Strathclyde.[165] The Chronicle adds that he subjugated all the kings
who were in this island--Howel, King of the West Welsh (Cornishmen);
Constantine, King of Scots; Owen, King of Gwent (North Wales); and
Ealdred, son of Eardulf of Bamburgh. One of the conditions of the peace
which was ratified (probably at Emmet in Holderness) on July 12, 926,
was that all idolatry should be strictly forbidden. Possibly we have
here a combination of the Christian powers in Britain; Saxon, Anglian
and Celtic against the heathen Danes.
If such a combination were formed, it did not long endure, for eight
years later, in 934, we find Athelstan again moving northward to fight
against the kings of Scotland and Strathclyde. The monk of Durham who
records this fact takes care to mention that on his journey Athelstan
presented the church of St. Cuthbert at Chester-le-Street with many
costly ornaments and no fewer than twelve _vills_, and that he charged
his brother, Edmund, in the event of his falling in battle, to bring
his body back to St. Cuthbert’s minster and bury it there. “Having
defeated the two kings both by sea and land, he subdued Scotland
to himself,” says the same chronicler. This was certainly a most
precarious subjugation if it ever took place, for after the lapse of
three years, in 937, Athelstan had to face the mightiest combination
of his foes that any English king had yet had to encounter; and the
very soul and centre of that combination was the hoary Scottish king,
Constantine, who had chosen Edward “to father and to lord,” and whom in
this entry he is represented as having utterly subdued.
The chief factors in this combination were besides Constantine, his
son-in-law, Anlaf (son of the Northumbrian Sihtric), king of the Danes
settled in Ireland; another Anlaf, cousin of the former, and also
king of the Irish Danes; and Eugenius, king of Strathclyde. Such a
formidable combination between two pagan and two Christian kings is in
itself a proof of the fear inspired by the growing power of Athelstan.
King Anlaf is said[166] to have owned 615 ships with which he sailed to
join his allies of Scotland and Cumberland.[167]
The great battle of Brunanburh, in which Athelstan defeated the
confederate army, has been celebrated in a war-song which is in
some respects the most interesting relic that has been preserved of
Anglo-Saxon literature. Unfortunately a tantalising obscurity rests
upon the site of the battle. Numerous identifications have been
suggested, but without discussing or criticising these it may be
allowable here to mention one, of which it may at least be said that it
has not been proved to be impossible. On the coast of Dumfriesshire in
Scotland rises a range of mountains which look across the sandy Solway
to the mountains in Cumberland, and according to popular tradition have
strange weather-sympathy with their Cumbrian brethren. Here is the high
hill of Criffel, which whenever Skiddaw is wrapped in cloud, wears his
cloud-cap likewise, and here is the long, flat-topped, altar-shaped
hill of Burnswark which overlooks Annandale and once dominated the
old Roman road, the northern continuation of the Watling Street. This
road led in the second century from the wall of Hadrian to the wall of
Antoninus, from Carlisle to the neighbourhood of Glasgow. The multitude
of Roman camps which skirt this hill or are to be found in its near
vicinity, show that it was once a most important military position,
and such in some measure it may well have continued to be far on into
Anglo-Saxon times; the Roman roads still, after the lapse of so many
centuries, being the best, often the only, roads available for the
march of armies.
One of these Roman camps bears, and apparently has always borne since
the Anglian occupation, the name of Birrens, which is evidently
connected with the name Birrenswork or Burnswark given to the
altar-shaped hill above it. Now the scene of the great battle was
evidently close to some great hill-fortress. This is testified by the
varying forms of the name, which is called by Ethelweard _Brunandune_,
by Florence of Worcester _Brunanburgh_, by Symeon of Durham _Weondune_
or _Etbrunnanwerc_ or _Brunanbyrig_, and by Geoffrey Gaimar (a twelfth
century writer, but one who often gives us curious little scraps of
valuable information) _Bruneswerce_ or _Burneweste_. It is evident
that in these last forms the name approaches very near to the local
form, Burnswark, which has finally prevailed. It seems probable that
Athelstan, marching rapidly northward to meet the confederate hostile
armies, met them in the great north-western road in Annandale, near
the point where Anlaf Sihtricson had just landed his troops; that the
battle raged, as the ballad tells us, _ymbe Brunnanburh_, all round
the camp-scarred hill of Burnswark, and that when Anlaf fled “over the
yellow sea” (_on fealene flod_) it was the sand-laden waters of the
shallow Solway Firth that witnessed his ignominious flight.
The ballad which is here inserted in the Chronicle, lightening up its
dull pages with a gleam of Homeric brilliance, is familiar to every
English student,[168] and it will therefore not be necessary to do more
than to gather up the information--not very copious or minute--which
is vouchsafed to us by the minstrel in his rushing career of song. The
two chief English heroes were King Athelstan himself, “liberal bestower
of bracelets,” and his half-brother Edmund Atheling, a youth about
seventeen years old. Under their guidance the men of Wessex and Mercia
broke down the stubborn shield-wall of the confederate army. The battle
began at sunrise and lasted as long as the daylight.
Five young kings put asleep by the sword-stroke,
Seven strong earls of the army of Anlaf
Fell on the war-field, numberless numbers
Shipmen and Scotsmen.
The Danish leader was hard pressed by the victorious army; with few
followers he escaped to his warship and saved his life by a scurrying
voyage “over the fallow flood”. Especially does the minstrel triumph
over the humiliation of the old Scottish king, Constantine, the same
who thirteen years before had chosen Athelstan’s sire “to father and to
lord”.
Also the crafty one, Constantinus,
Crept to his North again, hoar-headed hero.
Slender reason had _he_ to be glad of
The clash of the war-glaive--
Traitor and trickster and spurner of treaties,--
He nor had Anlaf
With armies so broken a reason for bragging
That they had the better in perils of battle
On places of slaughter,--
The struggle of standards, the rush of the javelins,
The crash of the chargers, the wielding of weapons,
The play that they played with the children of Edward.
* * * * *
Never had huger slaughter of heroes
Slain by the sword-edge, such as old writers
Have writ of in histories,
Happed in this isle, since up from the East hither
Saxon and Angle from over the broad billow
Broke into Britain with haughty war-workers who
Harried the Welshman, when Earls that were lured by the
Hunger of glory gat hold of the land.
The Anglo-Saxon Tyrtaeus in this shrill song of triumph naturally makes
no mention of the losses on his own side, but we learn from another
source[169] that two of Athelstan’s cousins, Elwin and Ethelwin,
fell “in the war against Anlaf,” which probably means at Brunanburh.
However, one-sided as all our information is about the great battle,
it cannot be doubted that it was a real and important victory for the
English.
The campaigns in Northumbria were apparently the most memorable events
in the reign of Athelstan, but we hear also of his forcing the king of
Wales to pay him tribute, of his visiting Cornwall, probably in hostile
guise, of his expelling the “West Welsh” from Exeter and turning it
into a purely Saxon city. He thus fixed the Tamar as the limit against
the old British population in the south of England, as the Wye had been
fixed further north.[170] It is clear that he came somewhat nearer than
any of his predecessors to the position which would have been described
in feudal times as lord paramount over the whole island. It is not only
that he is generally described in the charters, which he granted with
lavish hand to the monasteries, as _rex totius Britanniæ_, sometimes
substituting for Britannia the half-mythical word Albion, which he must
have learned from his ecclesiastical friends. Nor is it only that he
first uses of himself the Greek word _Basileus_, which was regarded
with awe throughout Western Europe as expressing the mysterious majesty
of the Cæsars at Constantinople. These titles might be regarded as only
the ornaments of style affected by the clerks of this period, or as the
pompous assumptions of regal vanity; but when we find the meetings of
the _witan_ attended, and Athelstan’s charters signed, by Welsh kings
(Howel, Juthwal and Morcant) who are styled _sub-reguli_; when we
find, even at a meeting of the _witan_ held as far south as Buckingham
(in 934), the attesting signature of “_Ego Constantinus subregulus_,”
and when we know that this is Constantine II., King of Scots (900–43),
we feel that there was something real in Athelstan’s claim to be lord
of all Britain; and the story of Constantine’s commendation of himself
to Edward the Elder becomes decidedly more probable, even though “that
old deceiver” did afterwards break his _frith_ and stand in arms
against his patron on the field of Brunanburh.
Athelstan does not seem to have ever married, and we may perhaps
conjecture that he purposely abstained from leaving issue who might
contest the claims of the legitimate descendants of his father. With
one doubtful exception his relations with all his half-brothers and
sisters seem to have been not only friendly but affectionate. That
exception relates to his half-brother Edwin, as to whom the Chronicle
for the year 933 simply asserts: “Now the Etheling Edwin was drowned in
the sea”. Symeon of Durham, however, or rather the Cuthbertine annalist
from whom he quotes,[171] has this ugly entry under the same date:
“King Athelstan ordered his brother Edwin to be drowned in the sea”.
This annal grew by the time of William of Malmesbury into a long and
fanciful narrative, which William himself only half believed, and which
connected the death of Edwin with some opposition to Athelstan at the
time of his accession to the throne, on the ground of his illegitimacy.
This evidently legendary story need not weigh greatly with us, and
is at least balanced by the statement of Henry of Huntingdon, that
Athelstan “was moved to tears by the news of the drowning of his
brother, a youth of great vigour and of fine disposition”.[172]
The person and character of Athelstan are painted in bright colours
by later historians; his manly stature, his yellow hair interwoven
with threads of gold, his free and easy manner of joking with laymen,
while meek and reverent towards ecclesiastics, his majestic deportment
towards the nobles of his realm, and his condescension to the poor;
qualities all of which so endeared him to his subjects that we should
probably not err in calling him the most popular of all the West Saxon
kings. He was a most generous giver to the Church, and his martial
piety, as displayed in the curious document[173] called the Prayer of
Athelstan, breathes a spirit not unworthy of a David or a Joshua. He
died in the prime and vigour of his life, in the forty-seventh year of
his age, October 27, 940, three years after the battle of Brunanburh,
and he was succeeded by his half-brother Edmund. He was buried in the
abbey of Malmesbury, where, by his order, the bodies of his two young
cousins who fell at Brunanburh had already been laid.
Athelstan was succeeded by EDMUND, who reigned from 940 to 946, and he
by Edred, who reigned from 946 to 955. The reigns of these two young
kings, sons of Edward the Elder, will be best considered together, as
they make but one act in the drama, the struggle with Danish revolts
in the northern kingdoms. The personal history of the two brothers,
as far as we know it, is soon told. Edmund, “the dear deed-doer” of
Anglo-Saxon minstrelsy, who had already fought well at Brunanburh, was
eighteen years old when he came to the throne. He was twice married:
his first wife, Elgiva, who after her death was recognised as a saint,
bore him two sons, Edwy and Edgar, both of whom reigned after him. His
second marriage was childless. Edmund was evidently a man of much force
of character, and if his policy in some respects differed from that of
his predecessor--the _Heimskringla_, contrasting him with Athelstan,
says that “he could not away with Northmen”--still, had his reign been
prolonged for the thirty or forty years which might reasonably have
been expected, he might have rivalled the glories of Edward or of
Athelstan. In fact, however, it was prematurely cut short by a felon
stroke, the story of which gives us a strange picture of life in the
West Saxon court. It was the feast of St. Augustine, May 26, 946; the
king and his thegns were banqueting at the royal vill at Pucklechurch
in Gloucestershire. A robber named Liofa, who six years before had
been banished for his crimes, entered the hall, and striding up to an
ealdorman to whom the king had just sent a dish from the royal table,
sat himself down beside him. The guests, deeply drinking, did not
notice the intrusion, but the king’s dish-thegn bade him begone and
was at once assaulted by the robber. Enraged at the man’s insolence
the king leaped up from his seat, grasped Liofa by the hair and hurled
him to the ground. Hereupon the robber unsheathed a dagger and drove
it with all his force into the king’s heart. The royal servants rushed
upon him, and after receiving many wounds, succeeded in tearing him
limb from limb. But the robber had dealt a mortal stroke. The valiant
deed-doer, Edmund, in the twenty-fifth year of his age, was laid in
the tomb at Glastonbury, near the flowering thorn of St. Joseph of
Arimathea, and Edred, his brother, reigned in his stead.
EDRED, who was probably about twenty-three when he was solemnly
crowned at Kingston-on-Thames, suffered from chronic dyspepsia and
died when but little over thirty. Thus his reign, like that of his
great ancestor, Alfred, was one long battle with disease, but he seems
to have followed that ancestor’s example and not to have neglected
his kingly duties for all his sufferings. He came much under the
influence of the rising churchman Dunstan, and was also in some
measure guided by the counsels of his mother, the widowed Edgiva.
Faint as are the colours of Edred’s portrait, he seems to have been
not the least deserving of the princes of his line. The attitude of
these two brothers towards the other rulers of Britain is somewhat
less lordly than that of Athelstan. The proud claim to be “King of
all Britain” disappears almost entirely from their charters, and is
generally replaced by the more modest title “King of the English,”
to which, however, is often added “governor and ruler of the other
nations round about”. Thus the claim to predominance in Britain
is not wholly dropped, but it is put in a somewhat less offensive
form than by the victor of Brunanburh. The Greek word “Basileus,”
doubtless attractive by reason of its very strangeness, still sometimes
makes its appearance; but Edmund’s favourite epithet for himself is
“Industrious,” probably a translation of the Saxon “_daed-fruma_”
(deed-doer), by which the minstrels of the people sang his praises. In
a world which had seen, not long before, the degenerate race of the
_fainéant_ kings of France, deed-doer was an epithet full of meaning.
Let us pass to the history of Danish revolts and their suppression.
From the short and often obscure statements of the chroniclers, it is
hard to discover what amount of permanent success resulted from the
victories of even the most prosperous kings. It certainly seemed as
if Athelstan had made himself undisputed King of Mercia and overlord
of Northumbria, yet, if we may trust Symeon of Durham, Edmund at the
very outset of his reign had once more to accept the Watling Street
as the boundary between himself and a Danish ruler, that ruler being
apparently Anlaf Sihtricson who had been defeated at Brunanburh, but
who now reappeared in Northumbria and fixed his capital at York. In the
next year (942) a fragment of ballad assigns to “the dear deed-doer”
the deliverance of the Five Boroughs (Leicester, Lincoln, Nottingham,
Stamford and Derby) from Danish thraldom. But these very five boroughs,
though undoubtedly containing a large Danish population, were expressly
or by implication included in the conquests of Edward and Ethelfled.
Evidently much is left unwritten of this portion of English history.
It seems probable that at the coming of Anlaf there had been a general
rising of the Danelaw, and that the suppression of this revolt, being
more complete than the earlier conquest, took a stronger hold on the
popular imagination. Hence it was that the poet chronicler of Edmund’s
reign attributes to him, not to his predecessors, the deliverance of
the native population:--
Under the Northmen need-constrained
In heathen bondage long time chained.
The result of Edmund’s Mercian campaign seems to have been a treaty of
peace, negotiated by the two archbishops Oda and Wulfstan on the lines
of the peace between Alfred and Guthrum. Anlaf and his brother-king
Raegnald were baptised, Edmund acting as their sponsor; and the Watling
Street was again made the boundary between Englishman and Dane. The
peace thus concluded lasted but a year. In 943 Anlaf and his Danes
were again in Mercia, and--ominous conjunction--Wulfstan, Archbishop
of York, was abetting the invaders. They stormed Tamworth, they took
much spoil and great was the slaughter, but on Edmund’s approach
they retired to Leicester where they were besieged by the king.
Notwithstanding the escape of Anlaf and the rebel archbishop, Edmund
was victorious, and next year (944) he invaded Northumbria and drove
out his two rebellious god-sons, who appear no more upon the scene.
In the following year, 945, Edmund ravaged all “Cumbraland,” a
region which probably included all that was left of the old kingdom
of Strathclyde south of the Solway, the northern portion having
been gradually appropriated by the Scottish kings. We now come to
another of the great academic battlefields between English and
Scottish historians. We are told by the chronicler that having
ravaged Cumberland, “he let it all to Malcolm, King of Scotland, on
condition that he should be his fellow-worker both on sea and land”.
What was the relation thus established between Edmund and Malcolm I.
who had succeeded “the hoary old deceiver” Constantine? Of course
a feudal lawyer of the twelfth century pondering these words would
discover in them a regular case of the relation of lord and vassal.
But they do not in themselves seem to imply more than friendship and
alliance, and it is admitted that the fully developed feudal theory
was not yet known in England. As with the “commendation” of 921, we
may probably conclude that the transaction would mean anything or
nothing according to the after course of events, and the shifting of
the centre of gravity between the two contracting parties. In itself
this “cession of Cumberland” was probably a politic measure, as it
enlisted the sympathies of the Scottish “fellow-worker” on the English
side and interposed a barrier between the vikings of Dublin and their
Northumbrian fellow-countrymen.
On the assassination of Edmund in 946, Edred seems to have taken up the
endless task and laboured at it successfully. “He took to the kingdom
and soon subdued all Northumbria to his power, and the Scots swore to
him oaths that they would do all his will.” Wulfstan, the turbulent or
patriotic archbishop of York, plays a prominent and singular part in
Northumbrian politics during the reign of Edred; and princes of the
royal houses of Norway and Denmark also bear a hand in the perplexing
game. One such was Eric Blood-axe, son of fair-haired Harold of Norway,
who when driven forth from his kingdom by Hakon the Good, Athelstan’s
foster-son, sailed for the Orkneys, ravaged Scotland and the northern
parts of England, but on receiving a message from Athelstan, who
reminded him of the old friendship between himself and his father,
made peace, consented to be baptised along with his wife and children,
and became for a time the peaceful under-king of Northumbria. This
settlement had endured during the life of Athelstan, but on Edmund’s
accession, Eric, knowing that he was not beloved of the new king, and
hearing a rumour that he would set another king over Northumberland,
renounced his allegiance to Winchester, resumed his viking life,
gathered together a new “_scip-here_,” chiefly from among the Irish
Danes, harried Wales and all the southern coasts of England, but ere
long fell in battle against the English.
Another Eric, the son of another Harold, then appeared upon the
scene. This was the son of Harold Blue-Tooth, King of Denmark. In
948 the _witan_ of Northumbria, headed by Archbishop Wulfstan, chose
this Danish prince for their king, though but a year before they
had solemnly plighted faith to Edred. Enraged hereat the Saxon king
marched northwards and “harried over all Northumberland”. So ruthless
or so careless was the work of destruction that even Wilfrid’s famous
minster at Ripon perished in the flames. During Edred’s homeward march
the Danish garrison of York sallied forth, and overtaking the rear of
his army at Chesterford[174] inflicted upon it grievous slaughter.
Exasperated by the defeat, Edred, whose weak health perhaps made him
exceptionally irritable, meditated a second ravage of Northumbria,
but consented to forego his revenge when the _witan_ of the northern
kingdom expelled Eric and paid compensation for the injury which had
been inflicted by their countrymen. We need not follow minutely the
fortunes of King Eric. Expelled and restored twice, if not thrice,
in the anarchy of Northumbria, he is said to have perished in 954,
“deceitfully slain” (according to Roger of Wendover) “with his son
and his brother in a lonely place which is called Stainmoor, by the
treasonable contrivance of Earl Oswulf”. This event is memorable as
finally closing the book of Northumbrian royalty. Oswulf of Bamburgh
succeeds to the chief place in the northern province with the title of
earl, and henceforth we hear no more of kings in Northumbria.
The strange career of the rebel archbishop, Wulfstan, came speedily
to an end. In 952 Edred ordered him to be imprisoned in a fortress
“because he had been often accused to the king,” or according to
William of Malmesbury, “because he meditated desertion to his
countrymen”. Probably the phrase “his countrymen” means merely the men
of Northumbria. It is, however, possible that Wulfstan may have been of
Danish descent. We have clearer information as to the Danish descent
of his contemporary Oda, Archbishop of Canterbury. It certainly throws
a strange light on the relation of the two races, as well as on the
ecclesiastical history of the period, that the first and possibly the
second of the highest places in the English Church should have been
filled by scions of that still barely Christianised stock. In 954,
the year of the extinction of the Northumbrian kingdom, Edred thought
himself safe in giving to Wulfstan the Mercian bishopric of Dorchester,
where, three years after, he died. The only other noteworthy event
in the reign of Edred was “a great slaughter” which in his usual
passionate way he ordered to be made among the inhabitants, probably
the Danish inhabitants, of Thetford in East Anglia in revenge for their
murder of the abbot Eadhelm (952). Three years after this, on Nov.
23, 955, Edred died at Frome in Somerset and was buried in the old
monastery at Winchester. No nightly appearances in his case, as in that
of his great ancestor, seem to have troubled the repose of the dwellers
in the convent.