Edmund spent a month on his lands, moving about among his vassals and
dwelling in their abodes. He inspired them by his words with fresh
spirit and confidence, telling them that this state of things could not
last, and that he was going to join the king, who doubtless would soon
call them to take part in a fresh effort to drive out their cruel
oppressors. Edmund found that although none knew with certainty the
hiding-place of King Alfred, it was generally reported that he had
taken refuge in the low lands of Somersetshire, and Athelney was
specially named as the place which he had made his abode.
"It is a good omen," Edmund said, "for Athelney lies close to the
Parrot, where my good ship the Dragon is laid away."
After visiting all the villages in his earldom Edmund started with
Egbert and four young men, whom he might use as messengers, for the
reported hiding-place of the king. First they visited the Dragon, and
found her lying undisturbed; then they followed the river down till
they reached the great swamps which extended for a considerable
distance near its mouth. After much wandering they came upon the hut of
a fisherman. The man on hearing the footsteps came to his door with a
bent bow. When he saw that the new-comers were Saxons he lowered the
arrow which was already fitted to the string.
"Can you tell us," Edmund said, "which is the way to Athelney? We know
that it is an island amidst these morasses, but we are strangers to the
locality and cannot find it."
"And you might search for weeks," the man said, "without finding it, so
thickly is it surrounded by deep swamps and woods. But what want ye
there?"
"Men say," Edmund replied, "that King Alfred is hidden there. We are
faithful followers of his. I am Ealdorman Edmund of Sherborne, and have
good news for the king."
"If ye are indeed the Ealdorman of Sherborne, of whose bravery I have
heard much, I will right willingly lead you to Athelney if you will,
but no king will you find there. There are a few fugitives from the
Danes scattered here and there in these marshes, but none, so far as I
know, of any rank or station. However, I will lead you thither should
you still wish to go."
Edmund expressed his desire to visit the island even if the king were
not there. The man at once drew out a small boat from a hiding-place
near his hut. It would hold four at most. Edmund and Egbert stepped in
with one of their followers, charging the others to remain at the hut
until they received further instructions. The fisherman with a long
pole took his place in the bow of the boat and pushed off. For some
hours they made their way through the labyrinth of sluggish and narrow
channels of the morass. It was a gloomy journey. The leafless trees
frequently met overhead; the long rushes in the wetter parts of the
swamp rustled as the cold breezes swept across them, and a slight
coating of snow which had fallen the previous night added to the dreary
aspect of the scene. At last they came upon sharply rising ground.
"This is Athelney," the fisherman said, "a good hiding-place truly;
for, as you see, it rises high over the surrounding country, which is
always swampy from the waters of the Parrot and Theme, and at high
tides the salt water of the sea fills all these waterways, and the
trees rise from a broad sheet of sea. No Dane has ever yet set foot
among these marshes; and were there but provisions to keep them alive,
a safe refuge might be found on this island for hundreds of fugitives.
Will you be returning to-night?"
"That I cannot tell you," Edmund replied; "but at any rate I will hire
you and your boat to remain at my service for a week, and will pay you
a far higher price than you can obtain by your fishing."
The fisherman readily agreed, and Edmund and his companions made their
way into the heart of the island. It was of some extent, and rose above
the tree-tops of the surrounding country. Presently they came to a
cottage. A man came out.
"What do you seek?" he asked.
"You have fugitives in refuge here," Edmund said. "Know you if among
them is our good King Alfred?" The man looked astonished.
"A pretty place to seek for a king!" he replied. "There are a few
Saxons in hiding here. Some live by fishing, some chop wood; but for
the most part they are an idle and thriftless lot, and methinks have
fled hither rather to escape from honest work or to avoid the penalties
of crimes than for any other reason."
"How may we find them?" Edmund asked.
"They are scattered over the island. There are eight or ten dwellers
here like myself, and several of them have one or more of these fellows
with them; others have built huts for themselves and shift as they can;
but it is a hard shift, I reckon, and beech-nuts and acorns, eked out
with an occasional fish caught in the streams, is all they have to live
upon. I wonder that they do not go back to honest work among their
kinsfolk."
"Ah!" Edmund said, "you do not know here how cruel are the ravages of
the Danes; our homes are broken up and our villages destroyed, and
every forest in the land is peopled with fugitive Saxons. Did you know
that you would speak less harshly of those here. At any rate the man I
seek is young and fair-looking, and would, I should think"--and he
smiled as he remembered Alfred's studious habits--"be one of the most
shiftless of those here."
"There is such a one," the man replied, "and several times friends of
his have been hither to see him. He dwells at my next neighbour's, who
is often driven well-nigh out of her mind--for she is a dame with a
shrewish tongue and sharp temper--by his inattention. She only asks of
him that he will cut wood and keep an eye over her pigs, which wander
in the forest, in return for his food; and yet, simple as are his
duties, he is for ever forgetting them. I warrant me, the dame would
not so long have put up with him had he not been so fair and helpless.
However bad-tempered a woman may be, she has always a tender corner in
her heart for this sort of fellow. There, you can take this path
through the trees and follow it on; it will take you straight to her
cottage."
The description given by the man tallied so accurately with that of the
king that Edmund felt confident that he was on the right track. The
fact, too, that from time to time men had come to see this person added
to the probability of his being the king. Presently they came upon the
hut. A number of pigs were feeding under the trees around it; the door
was open, and the shrill tones of a woman's voice raised in anger could
be heard as they approached.
"You are an idle loon, and I will no longer put up with your ways, and
you may seek another mistress. You are worse than useless here. I do
but ask you to watch these cakes while I go over to speak with my
neighbour, and inquire how she and the child born yestereven are
getting on, and you go to sleep by the fire and suffer the case to burn.
"You were not asleep, you say? then so much the worse. Where were your
eyes, then? And where was your nose? Why, I smelt the cakes a hundred
yards away, and you sitting over them, and as you say awake, neither
saw them burning nor smelt them! You are enough to break an honest
woman's heart with your mooning ways. You are ready enough to eat when
the meal-time comes, but are too lazy even to watch the food as it
cooks. I tell you I will have no more of you. I have put up with you
till I am verily ashamed of my own patience; but this is too much, and
you must go your way, for I will have no more of you."
At this moment Edmund and Egbert appeared at the door of the hut. As he
had expected from the nature of the colloquy Edmund saw King Alfred
standing contrite and ashamed before the angry dame.
"My beloved sovereign!" he cried, running in and falling on his knees.
"My trusted Edmund," Alfred exclaimed cordially, "right glad am I to
see you, and you too, my valiant Egbert; truly I feared that the good
ship Dragon had long since fallen into the hands of our enemy."
"The Dragon lies not many miles hence, your majesty, in the hole in
which she was built, by the river Parrot; she has done bravely and has
brought home a rich store of booty, a large share of which has been
hidden away for your majesty, and can be brought here in a few hours
should you wish it."
"Verily I am glad to hear it, Edmund, for I have long been penniless;
and I have great need of something at least to pay this good woman for
all the trouble she has been at with me, and for her food which my
carelessness has destroyed, as you may have heard but now."
Edmund and Egbert joined in the king's merry laugh. The dame looked a
picture of consternation and fell upon her knees.
"Pardon me, your majesty," she cried; "to think that I have ventured to
abuse our good King Alfred, and have even in mine anger lifted my hand
against him!"
"And with right good-will too," the king said laughing. "Never fear,
good dame, your tongue has been rough but your heart has been kindly,
or never would you have borne so long with so shiftless a serving-man.
But leave us now, I pray ye, for I have much to say to my good friends
here. And now, Edmund, what news do you bring? I do not ask after the
doings of the Dragon, for that no doubt is a long story which you shall
tell me later, but how fares it with my kingdom? I have been in
correspondence with several of my thanes, who have from time to time
sent me news of what passes without. From what they say I deem that the
time for action is at last nigh at hand. The people are everywhere
desperate at the oppression and exactions of the Danes, and are ready
to risk everything to free themselves from so terrible a yoke. I fled
here and gave up the strife because the Saxons deemed anything better
than further resistance. Now that they have found out their error it is
time to be stirring again."
"That is so," Edmund said; "Egbert and I have found the people
desperate at their slavery, and ready to risk all did a leader but
appear. My own people will all take up arms the instant they receive my
summons; they have before now proved their valour, and in my crew of
the Dragon you have a body which will, I warrant me, pierce through any
Danish line."
"This tallies with what I have heard," Alfred said, "and in the spring
I will again raise my banner; but in the meantime I will fortify this
place. There are but two or three spots where boats can penetrate
through the morasses; were strong stockades and banks erected at each
landing-place we might hold the island in case of defeat against any
number of the enemy."
"That shall be done," Edmund said, "and quickly. I have a messenger
here with me, and others waiting outside the swamp, and can send and
bring my crew of the Dragon here at once."
"Let that be one man's mission," the king said; "the others I will send
off with messages to the thanes of Somerset, who are only awaiting my
summons to take up arms. I will bid them send hither strong working
parties, but to make no show in arms until Easter, at which time I will
again spread the Golden Dragon to the winds. The treasure you speak of
will be right welcome, for all are so impoverished by the Danes that
they live but from hand to mouth, and we must at least buy provisions
to maintain the parties working here. Arms, too, must be made, for
although many have hidden their weapons, the Danes have seized vast
quantities, having issued an order that any Saxon found with arms shall
be at once put to death. Money will be needed to set all the smithies
to work at the manufacture of pikes and swords. Hides must be bought
for the manufacture of shields. It will be best to send orders to the
ealdormen and thanes to send hither privately the smiths, armourers,
and shield-makers in the villages and towns. They cannot work with the
Danes ever about, but must set up smithies here. They must bring their
tools and such iron as they can carry; what more is required we must
buy at the large towns and bring privately in carts to the edge of the
morass. The utmost silence and secrecy must be observed, that the Danes
may obtain no news of our preparations until we are ready to burst out
upon them."
A fortnight later Athelney presented a changed appearance. A thousand
men were gathered there. Trees had been cut down, a strong fort erected
on the highest ground, and formidable works constructed at three points
where alone a landing could be effected. The smoke rose from a score of
great mounds, where charcoal-burners were converting timber into fuel
for the forges. Fifty smiths and armourers were working vigorously at
forges in the open air, roofs thatched with rushes and supported by
poles being erected over them to keep the rain and snow from the fires.
A score of boats were threading the mazes of the marshes bringing men
and cattle to the island. All was bustle and activity, every face shone
with renewed hope. King Alfred himself and his thanes moved to and fro
among the workers encouraging them at their labours.
Messengers came and went in numbers, and from all parts of Wessex King
Alfred received news of the joy which his people felt at the tidings
that he was again about to raise his standard, and of the readiness of
all to obey his summons. So well was the secret kept that no rumour of
the storm about to burst upon them reached the Danes. The people,
rejoicing and eager as they were, suffered no evidence of their
feelings to be apparent to their cruel masters, who, believing the
Saxons to be finally crushed, were lulled into a false security. The
king's treasure had been brought from its hiding-place to Athelney, and
Edmund and Egbert had also handed over their own share of the booty to
the king. The golden cups and goblets he had refused to take, but had
gladly accepted the silver.
Edmund and Egbert had left Athelney for a few days on a mission. The
king had described to them minutely where he had hidden the sacred
standard with the Golden Dragon. It was in the hut of a charcoal-burner
in the heart of the forests of Wiltshire. Upon reaching the hut, and
showing to the man the king's signet-ring, which when leaving the
standard he had told him would be the signal that any who might come
for it were sent by him, the man produced the standard from the thatch
of his cottage, in which it was deeply buried, and hearing that it was
again to be unfurled called his two stalwart sons from their work and
at once set out with Edmund and Egbert to join the army.
Easter came and went, but the preparations were not yet completed. A
vast supply of arms was needed, and while the smiths laboured at their
work Edmund and Egbert drilled the fighting men who had assembled, in
the tactics which had on a small scale proved so effective. The wedge
shape was retained, and Edmund's own band claimed the honour of forming
the apex, but it had now swollen until it contained a thousand men, and
as it moved in a solid body, with its thick edge of spears outward, the
king felt confident that it would be able to break through the
strongest line of the Danes.
From morning till night Edmund and Egbert, assisted by the thanes of
Somerset who had gathered there, drilled the men and taught them to
rally rapidly from scattered order into solid formation. Unaccustomed
to regular tactics the ease and rapidity with which these movements
came to be carried out at the notes of Edmund's bugle seemed to all to
be little less than miraculous, and they awaited with confidence and
eagerness their meeting with the Danes on the field.
At the end of April messengers were sent out bidding the Saxons hold
themselves in readiness, and on the 6th of May Alfred moved with his
force from Athelney to Egbertesstan (now called Brixton), lying to the
east of the forest of Selwood, which lay between Devonshire and
Somerset. The Golden Dragon had been unfurled. On the fort in
Athelney, and after crossing the marshes to the mainland it was carried
in the centre of the phalanx.
On the 12th they reached the appointed place, where they found a great
multitude of Saxons already gathered. They had poured in from
Devonshire, Somerset, and Wiltshire, from Dorset and Hants. In spite of
the vigorous edicts of the Danes against arms a great proportion of
them bore weapons, which had been buried in the earth, or concealed in
hollow trees or other hiding-places until the time for action should
again arrive.
As they saw the king approaching at the head of his band, with the
Golden Dragon fluttering in the breeze, a great shout of joy arose from
the multitude, and they crowded round the monarch with shouts of
welcome at his reappearance among them, and with vows to die rather
than again to yield to the tyranny of the Northmen. The rest of the day
was spent in distributing the newly fashioned arms to those who needed
them, and in arranging the men in bands under their own thanes, or, in
their absence, such leaders as the king appointed.
Upon the following morning the army started, marching in a
north-easterly direction against the great camp of the Danes at
Chippenham. That night they rested at Okeley, and then marched on until
in the afternoon they came within sight of the Danes gathered at
Ethandune, a place supposed to be identical with Edington near Westbury.
As the time for Alfred's reappearance approached the agitation and
movement on the part of the people had attracted the attention of the
Danes, and the news of his summons to the Saxons to meet him at
Egbertesstan having come to their ears, they gathered hastily from all
parts under Guthorn their king, who was by far the most powerful viking
who had yet appeared in England, and who ruled East Anglia as well as
Wessex. Confident of victory the great Danish army beheld the approach
of the Saxons. Long accustomed to success, and superior in numbers,
they regarded with something like contempt the approach of their foes.
In the centre Alfred placed the trained phalanx which had accompanied
him from Athelney, in the centre of which waved the Golden Dragon, by
whose side he placed himself. Its command he left in the hands of
Edmund, he himself directing the general movements of the force. On his
right were the men of Somerset and Hants; on the left those of Wilts,
Dorset, and Devon.
His orders were that the advance was to be made with regularity; that
the whole line were to fight for a while on the defensive, resisting
the onslaught of the Danes until he gave the word for the central
phalanx to advance and burst through the lines of the enemy, and that
when these had been thrown into confusion by this attack the flanks
were to charge forward and complete the rout. This plan was carried
out. The Danes advanced with their usual impetuosity, and for hours
tried to break through the lines of the Saxon spears. Both sides fought
valiantly, the Danes inspired by their pride in their personal prowess
and their contempt for the Saxons; the Saxons by their hatred for their
oppressors, and their determination to die rather than again submit to
their bondage. At length, after the battle had raged some hours, and
both parties were becoming wearied from their exertions, the king gave
Edmund the order.
Hitherto his men had fought in line with the rest; but at the sound of
his bugle they quitted their places, and, ere the Danes could
understand the meaning of this sudden movement, had formed themselves
into their wedge, raised a mighty shout, and advanced against the
enemy. The onslaught was irresistible. The great wedge, with its thick
fringe of spears, burst its way straight through the Danish centre
carrying all before it. Then at another note of Edmund's bugle it broke
up into two bodies, which moved solidly to the right and left,
crumpling up the Danish lines.
Alfred now gave the order for a general advance, and the Saxon ranks,
with a shout of triumph, flung themselves upon the disordered Danes.
Their success was instant and complete. Confounded at the sudden break
up of their line, bewildered by these new and formidable tactics,
attacked in front and in flank, the Danes broke and fled. The Saxons
pursued them hotly, Edmund keeping his men well together in case the
Danes should rally. Their rout, however, was too complete; vast numbers
were slain, and the remnant of their army did not pause until they
found themselves within the shelter of their camp at Chippenham.
No quarter was given by the Saxons to those who fell into their hands,
and pressing upon the heels of the flying Danes the victorious army of
King Alfred sat down before Chippenham. Every hour brought fresh
reinforcements to the king's standard. Many were already on their way
when the battle was fought; and as the news of the victory spread
rapidly every man of the West Saxons capable of bearing arms made for
Chippenham, feeling that now or never must a complete victory over the
Danes be obtained.
No assault was made upon the Danish camp. Confident in his now vastly
superior numbers, and in the enthusiasm which reigned in his army,
Alfred was unwilling to waste a single life in an attack upon the
entrenchments, which must ere long surrender from famine. There was no
risk of reinforcements arriving to relieve the Danes. Guthorn had led
to the battle the whole fighting force of the Danes in Wessex and East
Anglia. This was far smaller than it would have been a year earlier;
but the Northmen, having once completed their work of pillage, soon
turned to fresh fields of adventure. Those whose disposition led them
to prefer a quiet life had settled upon the land from which they had
dispossessed the Saxons; but the principal bands of rovers, finding
that England was exhausted and that no more plunder could be had, had
either gone back to enjoy at home the booty they had gained, or had
sailed to harry the shores of France, Spain, and Italy.
Thus the position of the Danes in Chippenham was desperate, and at the
end of fourteen days, by which time they were reduced to an extremity
by hunger, they sent messengers into the royal camp offering their
submission. They promised if spared to quit the kingdom with all speed,
and to observe this contract more faithfully than those which they had
hitherto made and broken. They offered the king as many hostages as he
might wish to take for the fulfilment of their promises. The haggard
and emaciated condition of those who came out to treat moved Alfred to
pity.
So weakened were they by famine that they could scarce drag themselves
along. It would have been easy for the Saxons to have slain them to the
last man; and the majority of the Saxons, smarting under the memory of
the cruel oppression which they had suffered, the destruction of home
and property, and the slaughter of friends and relations, would fain
have exterminated their foes. King Alfred, however, thought otherwise.
Guthorn and the Danes had effected a firm settlement in East Anglia,
and lived at amity with the Saxons there. They had, it is true, wrested
from them the greatest portion of their lands. Still peace and order
were now established. The Saxons were allowed liberty and equal rights.
Intermarriages were taking place, and the two peoples were becoming
welded into one. Alfred then considered that it would be well to have
the king of this country as an ally; he and his settled people would
soon be as hostile to further incursions of the Northmen as were the
Saxons themselves, and their interests and those of Wessex would be
identical.
Did he, on the other hand, carry out a general massacre of the Danes
now in his power he might have brought upon England a fresh invasion of
Northmen, who, next to plunder, loved revenge, and who might come over
in great hosts to avenge the slaughter of their countrymen. Moved,
then, by motives of policy as well as by compassion, he granted the
terms they asked, and hostages having been sent in from the camp he
ordered provisions to be supplied to the Danes.
The same night a messenger of rank came in from Guthorn saying that he
intended to embrace Christianity. The news filled Alfred and the Saxons
with joy. The king, a sincere and devoted Christian, had fought as much
for his religion as for his kingdom, and his joy at the prospect of
Guthorn's conversion, which would as a matter of course be followed by
that of his subjects, was deep and sincere.
To the Saxons generally the temporal consequence of the conversion had
no doubt greater weight than the spiritual. The conversion of Guthorn
and the Danes would be a pledge far more binding than any oaths of
alliance between the two kingdoms. Guthorn and his followers would be
viewed with hostility by their countrymen, whose hatred of Christianity
was intense, and East Anglia would, therefore, naturally seek the close
alliance and assistance of its Christian neighbour.
Great were the rejoicings in the Saxon camp that night. Seldom, indeed,
has a victory had so great and decisive an effect upon the future of a
nation as that of Ethandune. Had the Saxons been crushed, the
domination of the Danes in England would have been finally settled.
Christianity would have been stamped out, and with it civilization, and
the island would have made a backward step into paganism and barbarism
which might have delayed her progress for centuries.
The victory established the freedom of Wessex, converted East Anglia
into a settled and Christian country, and enabled King Alfred to frame
the wise laws and statutes and to establish on a firm basis the
institutions which raised Saxon England vastly in the scale of
civilization, and have in no small degree affected the whole course of
life of the English people.