CHAPTER I: THE FUGITIVES

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THE DRAGON AND THE RAVEN:

Or The Days of King Alfred

By

G. A. Henty

C O N T E N T S

PREFACE

I. THE FUGITIVES

II. THE BATTLE OF KESTEVEN

III. THE MASSACRE AT CROYLAND

IV. THE INVASION OF WESSEX

V. A DISCIPLINED BAND

VI. THE SAXON FORT

VII. THE DRAGON

VIII. THE CRUISE OF THE DRAGON

IX. A PRISONER

X. THE COMBAT

XI. THE ISLE OF ATHELNEY

XII. FOUR YEARS OF PEACE

XIII. THE SIEGE OF PARIS

XIV. THE REPULSE OF THE NORSEMEN

XV. FRIENDS IN TROUBLE

XVI. FREDA

XVII. A LONG CHASE

XVIII. FREDA DISCOVERED

XIX. UNITED

PREFACE

MY DEAR LADS,

Living in the present days of peace and tranquillity it is difficult to

picture the life of our ancestors in the days of King Alfred, when the

whole country was for years overrun by hordes of pagan barbarians, who

slaughtered, plundered, and destroyed at will. You may gain, perhaps, a

fair conception of the state of things if you imagine that at the time

of the great mutiny the English population of India approached that of

the natives, and that the mutiny was everywhere triumphant. The

wholesale massacres and outrages which would in such a case have been

inflicted upon the conquered whites could be no worse than those

suffered by the Saxons at the hands of the Danes. From this terrible

state of subjection and suffering the Saxons were rescued by the

prudence, the patience, the valour and wisdom of King Alfred. In all

subsequent ages England has produced no single man who united in

himself so many great qualities as did this first of great Englishmen.

He was learned, wise, brave, prudent, and pious; devoted to his people,

clement to his conquered enemies. He was as great in peace as in war;

and yet few English boys know more than a faint outline of the events

of Alfred's reign--events which have exercised an influence upon the

whole future of the English people. School histories pass briefly over

them; and the incident of the burned cake is that which is, of all the

actions of a great and glorious reign, the most prominent in boys'

minds. In this story I have tried to supply the deficiency. Fortunately

in the Saxon Chronicles and in the life of King Alfred written by his

friend and counsellor Asser, we have a trustworthy account of the

events and battles which first laid Wessex prostrate beneath the foot

of the Danes, and finally freed England for many years from the

invaders. These histories I have faithfully followed. The account of

the siege of Paris is taken from a very full and detailed history of

that event by the Abbe D'Abbon, who was a witness of the scenes he

described.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY

CHAPTER I: THE FUGITIVES

A low hut built of turf roughly thatched with rushes and standing on

the highest spot of some slightly raised ground. It was surrounded by a

tangled growth of bushes and low trees, through which a narrow and

winding path gave admission to the narrow space on which the hut stood.

The ground sloped rapidly. Twenty yards from the house the trees

ceased, and a rank vegetation of reeds and rushes took the place of the

bushes, and the ground became soft and swampy. A little further pools

of stagnant water appeared among the rushes, and the path abruptly

stopped at the edge of a stagnant swamp, though the passage could be

followed by the eye for some distance among the tall rushes. The hut,

in fact, stood on a hummock in the midst of a wide swamp where the

water sometimes deepened into lakes connected by sluggish streams.

On the open spaces of water herons stalked near the margin, and great

flocks of wild-fowl dotted the surface. Other signs of life there were

none, although a sharp eye might have detected light threads of smoke

curling up here and there from spots where the ground rose somewhat

above the general level. These slight elevations, however, were not

visible to the eye, for the herbage here grew shorter than on the lower

and wetter ground, and the land apparently stretched away for a vast

distance in a dead flat--a rush-covered swamp, broken only here and

there by patches of bushes and low trees.

The little hut was situated in the very heart of the fen country, now

drained and cultivated, but in the year 870 untouched by the hand of

man, the haunt of wild-fowl and human fugitives. At the door of the hut

stood a lad some fourteen years old. His only garment was a short

sleeveless tunic girded in at the waist, his arms and legs were bare;

his head was uncovered, and his hair fell in masses on his shoulders.

In his hand he held a short spear, and leaning against the wall of the

hut close at hand was a bow and quiver of arrows. The lad looked at the

sun, which was sinking towards the horizon.

"Father is late," he said. "I trust that no harm has come to him and

Egbert. He said he would return to-day without fail; he said three or

four days, and this is the fourth. It is dull work here alone. You

think so, Wolf, don't you, old fellow? And it is worse for you than it

is for me, pent up on this hummock of ground with scarce room to

stretch your limbs."

A great wolf-hound, who was lying with his head between his paws by the

embers of a fire in the centre of the hut, raised his head on being

addressed, and uttered a low howl indicative of his agreement with his

master's opinion and his disgust at his present place of abode.

"Never mind, old fellow," the boy continued, "we sha'n't be here long,

I hope, and then you shall go with me in the woods again and hunt the

wolves to your heart's content." The great hound gave a lazy wag of his

tail. "And now, Wolf, I must go. You lie here and guard the hut while I

am away. Not that you are likely to have any strangers to call in my

absence."

The dog rose and stretched himself, and followed his master down the

path until it terminated at the edge of the water. Here he gave a low

whimper as the lad stepped in and waded through the water; then turning

he walked back to the hut and threw himself down at the door. The boy

proceeded for some thirty or forty yards through the water, then paused

and pushed aside the wall of rushes which bordered the passage, and

pulled out a boat which was floating among them.

It was constructed of osier rods neatly woven together into a sort of

basket-work, and covered with an untanned hide with the hairy side in.

It was nearly oval in shape, and resembled a great bowl some three feet

and a half wide and a foot longer. A broad paddle with a long handle

lay in it, and the boy, getting into it and standing erect in the

middle paddled down the strip of water which a hundred yards further

opened out into a broad half a mile long and four or five hundred yards

wide. Beyond moving slowly away as the coracle approached them, the

water-fowl paid but little heed to its appearance.

The boy paddled to the end of the broad, whence a passage, through

which flowed a stream so sluggish that its current could scarce be

detected, led into the next sheet of water. Across the entrance to this

passage floated some bundles of light rushes. These the boy drew out

one by one. Attached to each was a piece of cord which, being pulled

upon, brought to the surface a large cage, constructed somewhat on the

plan of a modern eel or lobster pot. They were baited by pieces of dead

fish, and from them the boy extracted half a score of eels and as many

fish of different kinds.

"Not a bad haul," he said as he lowered the cages to the bottom again.

"Now let us see what we have got in our pen."

He paddled a short way along the broad to a point where a little lane

of water ran up through the rushes. This narrowed rapidly and the lad

got out from his boat into the water, as the coracle could proceed no

further between the lines of rushes. The water was knee-deep and the

bottom soft and oozy. At the end of the creek it narrowed until the

rushes were but a foot apart. They were bent over here, as it would

seem to a superficial observer naturally; but a close examination would

show that those facing each other were tied together where they crossed

at a distance of a couple of feet above the water, forming a sort of

tunnel. Two feet farther on this ceased, and the rushes were succeeded

by lines of strong osier withies, an inch or two apart, arched over and

fastened together. At this point was a sort of hanging door formed of

rushes backed with osiers, and so arranged that at the slightest push

from without the door lifted and enabled a wild-fowl to pass under, but

dropping behind it prevented its exit. The osier tunnel widened out to

a sort of inverted basket three feet in diameter.

On the surface of the creek floated some grain which had been scattered

there the evening before as a bait. The lad left the creek before he

got to the narrower part, and, making a small circuit in the swamp,

came down upon the pen.

"Good!" he said, "I am in luck to-day; here are three fine ducks."

Bending the yielding osiers aside, he drew out the ducks one by one,

wrung their necks, and passing their heads through his girdle, made his

way again to the coracle. Then he scattered another handful or two of

grain on the water, sparingly near the mouth of the creek, but more

thickly at the entrance to the trap, and then paddled back again by the

way he had come.

Almost noiselessly as he dipped the paddle in the water, the hound's

quick ear had caught the sound, and he was standing at the edge of the

swamp, wagging his tail in dignified welcome as his master stepped on

to dry land.

"There, Wolf, what do you think of that? A good score of eels and fish

and three fine wild ducks. That means bones for you with your meal

to-night--not to satisfy your hunger, you know, for they would not be

of much use in that way, but to give a flavour to your supper. Now let

us make the fire up and pluck the birds, for I warrant me that father

and Egbert, if they return this evening, will be sharp-set. There are

the cakes to bake too, so you see there is work for the next hour or

two."

The sun had set now, and the flames, dancing up as the boy threw an

armful of dry wood on the fire, gave the hut a more cheerful

appearance. For some time the lad busied himself with preparation for

supper. The three ducks were plucked in readiness for putting over the

fire should they be required; cakes of coarse rye-flour were made and

placed in the red ashes of the fire; and then the lad threw himself

down by the side of the dog.

"No, Wolf, it is no use your looking at those ducks. I am not going to

roast them if no one comes; I have got half a one left from dinner."

After sitting quiet for half an hour the dog suddenly raised himself

into a sitting position, with ears erect and muzzle pointed towards the

door; then he gave a low whine, and his tail began to beat the ground

rapidly.

"What! do you hear them, old fellow?" the boy said, leaping to his

feet. "I wish my ears were as sharp as yours are, Wolf; there would be

no fear then of being caught asleep. Come on, old boy, let us go and

meet them."

It was some minutes after he reached the edge of the swamp before the

boy could hear the sounds which the quick ears of the hound had

detected. Then he heard a faint splashing noise, and a minute or two

later two figures were seen wading through the water.

"Welcome back, father," the lad cried. "I was beginning to be anxious

about you, for here we are at the end of the fourth day."

"I did not name any hour, Edmund," the boy's father said, as he stepped

from the water, "but I own that I did not reckon upon being so late;

but in truth Egbert and I missed our way in the windings of these

swamps, and should not have been back to-night had we not luckily

fallen upon a man fishing, who was able to put us right. You have got

some supper, I hope, for Egbert and I are as hungry as wolves, for we

have had nothing since we started before sunrise."

"I have plenty to eat, father; but you will have to wait till it is

cooked, for it was no use putting it over the fire until I knew that

you would return; but there is a good fire, and you will not have to

wait long. And how has it fared with you, and what is the news?"

"The news is bad, Edmund. The Danes are ever receiving reinforcements

from Mercia, and scarce a day passes but fresh bands arrive at

Thetford, and I fear that ere long East Anglia, like Northumbria, will

fall into their clutches. Nay, unless we soon make head against them

they will come to occupy all the island, just as did our forefathers."

"That were shame indeed," Edmund exclaimed. "We know that the people

conquered by our ancestors were unwarlike and cowardly; but it would be

shame indeed were we Saxons so to be overcome by the Danes, seeing

moreover that we have the help of God, being Christians, while the

Danes are pagans and idolaters."

"Nevertheless, my son, for the last five years these heathen have been

masters of Northumbria, have wasted the whole country, and have

plundered and destroyed the churches and monasteries. At present they

have but made a beginning here in East Anglia; but if they continue to

flock in they will soon overrun the whole country, instead of having,

as at present, a mere foothold near the rivers except for those who

have come down to Thetford. We have been among the first sufferers,

seeing that our lands lie round Thetford, and hitherto I have hoped

that there would be a general rising against these invaders; but the

king is indolent and unwarlike, and I see that he will not arouse

himself and call his ealdormen and thanes together for a united effort

until it is too late. Already from the north the Danes are flocking

down into Mercia, and although the advent of the West Saxons to the aid

of the King of Mercia forced them to retreat for a while, I doubt not

that they will soon pour down again."

"'Tis a pity, father, that the Saxons are not all under one leading;

then we might surely defend England against the Danes. If the people

did but rise and fall upon each band of Northmen as they arrived they

would get no footing among us."

"Yes," the father replied, "it is the unhappy divisions between the

Saxon kingdoms which have enabled the Danes to get so firm a footing in

the land. Our only hope now lies in the West Saxons. Until lately they

were at feud with Mercia; but the royal families are now related by

marriage, seeing that the King of Mercia is wedded to a West Saxon

princess, and that Alfred, the West Saxon king's brother and heir to

the throne, has lately espoused one of the royal blood of Mercia. The

fact that they marched at the call of the King of Mercia and drove the

Danes from Nottingham shows that the West Saxon princes are alive to

the common danger of the country, and if they are but joined heartily

by our people of East Anglia and the Mercians, they may yet succeed in

checking the progress of these heathen. And now, Edmund, as we see no

hope of any general effort to drive the Danes off our coasts, 'tis

useless for us to lurk here longer. I propose to-morrow, then, to

journey north into Lincolnshire, to the Abbey of Croyland, where, as

you know, my brother Theodore is the abbot; there we can rest in peace

for a time, and watch the progress of events. If we hear that the

people of these parts are aroused from their lethargy, we will come

back and fight for our home and lands; if not, I will no longer stay in

East Anglia, which I see is destined to fall piecemeal into the hands

of the Danes; but we will journey down to Somerset, and I will pray

King Ethelbert to assign me lands there, and to take me as his thane."

While they had been thus talking Egbert had been broiling the eels and

wild ducks over the fire. He was a freeman, and a distant relation of

Edmund's father, Eldred, who was an ealdorman in West Norfolk, his

lands lying beyond Thetford, and upon whom, therefore, the first brunt

of the Danish invasion from Mercia had fallen. He had made a stout

resistance, and assembling his people had given battle to the invaders.

These, however, were too strong and numerous, and his force having been

scattered and dispersed, he had sought refuge with Egbert and his son

in the fen country. Here he had remained for two months in hopes that

some general effort would be made to drive back the Danes; but being

now convinced that at present the Angles were too disunited to join in

a common effort, he determined to retire for a while from the scene.

"I suppose, father," Edmund said, "you will leave your treasures buried

here?"

"Yes," his father replied; "we have no means of transporting them, and

we can at any time return and fetch them. We must dig up the big chest

and take such garments as we may need, and the personal ornaments of

our rank; but the rest, with the gold and silver vessels, can remain

here till we need them."

Gold and silver vessels seem little in accordance with the primitive

mode of life prevailing in the ninth century. The Saxon civilization

was indeed a mixed one. Their mode of life was primitive, their

dwellings, with the exception of the religious houses and the abodes of

a few of the great nobles, simple in the extreme; but they possessed

vessels of gold and silver, armlets, necklaces, and ornaments of the

same metals, rich and brightly coloured dresses, and elaborate bed

furniture while their tables and household utensils were of the

roughest kind, and their floors strewn with rushes. When they invaded

and conquered England they found existing the civilization introduced

by the Romans, which was far in advance of their own; much of this they

adopted. The introduction of Christianity further advanced them in the

scale.

The prelates and monks from Rome brought with them a high degree of

civilization, and this to no small extent the Saxons imitated and

borrowed. The church was held in much honour, great wealth and

possessions were bestowed upon it, and the bishops and abbots possessed

large temporal as well as spiritual power, and bore a prominent part in

the councils of the kingdoms. But even in the handsome and well-built

monasteries, with their stately services and handsome vestments,

learning was at the lowest ebb--so low, indeed, that when Prince Alfred

desired to learn Latin he could find no one in his father's dominions

capable of teaching him, and his studies were for a long time hindered

for want of an instructor, and at the time he ascended the throne he

was probably the only Englishman outside a monastery who was able to

read and write fluently.

"Tell me, father," Edmund said after the meal was concluded, "about the

West Saxons, since it is to them, as it seems, that we must look for

the protection of England against the Danes. This Prince Alfred, of

whom I before heard you speak in terms of high praise, is the brother,

is he not, of the king? In that case how is it that he does not reign

in Kent, which I thought, though joined to the West Saxon kingdom, was

always ruled over by the eldest son of the king."

"Such has been the rule, Edmund; but seeing the troubled times when

Ethelbert came to the throne, it was thought better to unite the two

kingdoms under one crown with the understanding that at Ethelbert's

death Alfred should succeed him. Their father, Ethelwulf, was a weak

king, and should have been born a churchman rather than a prince. He

nominally reigned over Wessex, Kent, and Mercia, but the last paid him

but a slight allegiance. Alfred was his favourite son, and he sent him,

when quite a child, to Rome for a visit. In 855 he himself, with a

magnificent retinue, and accompanied by Alfred, visited Rome,

travelling through the land of the Franks, and it was there, doubtless,

that Alfred acquired that love of learning, and many of those ideas,

far in advance of his people, which distinguish him. His mother,

Osburgha, died before he and his father started on the pilgrimage. The

king was received with much honour by the pope, to whom he presented a

gold crown of four pounds weight, ten dishes of the purest gold, a

sword richly set in gold, two gold images, some silver-gilt urns,

stoles bordered with gold and purple, white silken robes embroidered

with figures, and other costly articles of clothing for the celebration

of the service of the church, together with rich presents in gold and

silver to the churches, bishops, clergy, and other dwellers in Rome.

They say that the people of Rome marvelled much at these magnificent

gifts from a king of a country which they had considered as barbarous.

On his way back he married Judith, daughter of the King of the Franks;

a foolish marriage, for the king was far advanced in years and Judith

was but a girl.

"Ethelbald, Ethelwulf's eldest son, had acted as regent in his father's

absence, and so angered was he at this marriage that he raised his

standard of revolt against his father. At her marriage Judith had been

crowned queen, and this was contrary to the customs of the West Saxons,

therefore Ethelbald was supported by the people of that country; on his

father's return to England, however, father and son met, and a division

of the kingdom was agreed upon.

"Ethelbald received Wessex, the principal part of the kingdom, and

Ethelwulf took Kent, which he had already ruled over in the time of his

father Egbert. Ethelwulf died a few months afterwards, leaving Kent to

Ethelbert, his second surviving son. The following year, to the horror

and indignation of the people of the country, Ethelbald married his

stepmother Judith, but two years afterwards died, and Ethelbert, King

of Kent, again united Wessex to his own dominions, which consisted of

Kent, Surrey, and Sussex. Ethelbert reigned but a short time, and at

his death Ethelred, his next brother, ascended the throne. Last year

Alfred, the youngest brother, married Elswitha, the daughter of

Ethelred Mucil, Earl of the Gaini, in Lincolnshire, whose mother was

one of the royal family of Mercia.

"It was but a short time after the marriage that the Danes poured into

Mercia from the north. Messengers were sent to ask the assistance of

the West Saxons. These at once obeyed the summons, and, joining the

Mercians, marched against the Danes, who shut themselves up in the

strong city of Nottingham, and were there for some time besieged. The

place was strong, the winter at hand, and the time of the soldiers'

service nearly expired. A treaty was accordingly made by which the

Danes were allowed to depart unharmed to the north side of the Humber,

and the West Saxons returned to their kingdom.

"Such is the situation at present, but we may be sure that the Danes

will not long remain quiet, but will soon gather for another invasion;

ere long, too, we may expect another of their great fleets to arrive

somewhere off these coasts, and every Saxon who can bear arms had need

take the field to fight for our country and faith against these heathen

invaders. Hitherto, Edmund, as you know, I have deeply mourned the

death of your mother, and of your sisters who died in infancy; but now

I feel that it is for the best, for a terrible time is before us. We

men can take refuge in swamp and forest, but it would have been hard

for delicate women; and those men are best off who stand alone and are

able to give every thought and energy to the defence of their country.

'Tis well that you are now approaching an age when the Saxon youth are

wont to take their place in the ranks of battle. I have spared no pains

with your training in arms, and though assuredly you lack strength yet

to cope in hand-to-hand conflict with these fierce Danes, you may yet

take your part in battle, with me on one side of you and Egbert on the

other. I have thought over many things of late, and it seems to me that

we Saxons have done harm in holding the people of this country as

serfs."

"Why, father," Edmund exclaimed in astonishment, "surely you would not

have all men free and equal."

"The idea seems strange to you, no doubt, Edmund, and it appears only

natural that some men should be born to rule and others to labour, but

this might be so even without serfdom, since, as you know, the poorer

freemen labour just as do the serfs, only they receive a somewhat

larger guerdon for their toil; but had the two races mixed more closely

together, had serfdom been abolished and all men been free and capable

of bearing arms, we should have been able to show a far better front to

the Danes, seeing that the serfs are as three to one to the freemen."

"But the serfs are cowardly and spiritless," Edmund said; "they are not

of a fighting race, and fell almost without resistance before our

ancestors when they landed here."

"Their race is no doubt inferior to our own, Edmund," his father said,

"seeing that they are neither so tall nor so strong as we Saxons, but

of old they were not deficient in bravery, for they fought as stoutly

against the Romans as did our own hardy ancestors. After having been

for hundreds of years subject to the Roman yoke, and having no occasion

to use arms, they lost their manly virtues, and when the Romans left

them were an easy prey for the first comer. Our fathers could not

foresee that the time would come when they too in turn would be

invaded. Had they done so, methinks they would not have set up so broad

a line of separation between themselves and the Britons, but would have

admitted the latter to the rights of citizenship, in which case

intermarriage would have taken place freely, and the whole people would

have become amalgamated. The Britons, accustomed to our free

institutions, and taking part in the wars between the various Saxon

kingdoms, would have recovered their warlike virtues, and it would be

as one people that we should resist the Danes. As it is, the serfs, who

form by far the largest part of the population, are apathetic and

cowardly; they view the struggle with indifference, for what signifies

to them whether Dane or Saxon conquer; they have no interest in the

struggle, nothing to lose or to gain, it is but a change of masters."

Edmund was silent. The very possibility of a state of things in which

there should be no serfs, and when all men should be free and equal,

had never occurred to him; but he had a deep respect for his father,

who bore indeed the reputation of being one of the wisest and most

clear-headed of the nobles of East Anglia, and it seemed to him that

this strange and novel doctrine contained much truth in it. Still the

idea was as strange to him as it would have been to the son of a

southern planter in America half a century ago. The existence of slaves

seemed as much a matter of course as that of horses or dogs, and

although he had been accustomed to see from time to time freedom

bestowed upon some favourite serf as a special reward for services, the

thought of a general liberation of the slaves was strange and almost

bewildering, and he lay awake puzzling over the problem long after his

father and kinsman had fallen asleep.