Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune<br />A Tale of the Days of Edmund Ironside by A. D. Crake (books like harry potter .TXT) 📕

Ethelgiva have been accepted suitors so long that he thought it time to propose marriage. She referred him, with her own full consent, to her father; and Elfwyn says, not unwisely, that he cannot consent until the land is at peace; that it is currently reported that Thurkill, a Danish earl, is at hand with an immense fleet, and that to marry might both hamper a warrior's hands and be the means of bringing up children for the sword. He fully accepts Alfgar's suit, but postpones the day till peace seems established, that is "sine die." It is very hard to make Alfgar reconciled to this. I try to do so.

July 1009.--

Bad news. Thurkill's fleet has landed at Sandwich.

August 1009.--

Worse news. Another fleet of Danes, under Heming and Eglaf, has joined the former fleet, and both together are ravaging Wessex as far northward as Berkshire; we have sent all the men we can spare to join the army, but the king, persuaded by Edric, will not give the Etheling Edmund any command therein.

St. Martin's Mass,--

One of our men has returned from the army. He states that forces being gathered from all parts of England, the Danes were waylaid, and must have been beaten, but that Edric persuaded the king not to fight when the victory was in his hands, and so they escaped.

St. Brice's Day, 1009.--

This ill-omened anniversary we sang dirge and mass for the souls of those who were slain by treachery seven years ago. Our forces have returned from the south. They say the Danes have gone into winter quarters on the Thames, and that all the neighbourhood pays them tribute.

London has hitherto gallantly resisted their attacks.

Edric Streorn has married the king's daughter, Edmund's half-sister, Elgitha. Is this a time to be "marrying and giving in marriage"? Edmund is frantic about it.

February 1010.--

Woeful news. Herstan and all his family, who had returned in peace to their dwelling, have come to us homeless and destitute. The Danes, as in 1006, suddenly issued from their ships. They took their way upwards through Chiltern, and so to Oxford, burning the city. Then they returned all down the river, the infantry in boats, the cavalry on horseback, burning on every side.

But, worst of all, Abingdon is destroyed; the holy house which has been a house of prayer so many generations! Keeping in their course, they burned Clifton; but the alarm was given in time, and the people escaped. There was no chance of defence this time.

Then they attacked Dorchester, and burned part of the city, but retired before all was consumed, hearing that a large force was marching against them; so onward past the ruins of Wallingford, which had not yet been rebuilt, destroying Bensington on their road. Thus they went on to Staines, when, fearing the forces of London, they returned through Kent to their ships.

Our brethren who took refuge in Abingdon have just arrived. We must find them room here; they tell a piteous story.

Ascension Tide, 1010.--

A sorrowful Ascension Tide indeed! They have landed in East Anglia. A battle has been fought and lost. Nearly all the English leaders slain.

Whitsuntide.--

We can hardly keep the festival, the people are so excited by the news; all Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire (once more) are laid waste. They are on the road to Bedford.

Edmund and Alfgar, with young Hermann, and all our fighting men, have gone out on their own account against them.

July.--

The Danes elude all our troops. Edric persuades the king to go eastward, and the Danes are westward. They go westward, and the Danes are eastward. There is no chieftain. A witan is summoned; it will do no good.

November.--

Northampton has fallen, cruelly fallen. The town is burned, and all therein slain.

Edmund and Alfgar, with not more than half our men, have returned with the news. Hermann is seriously wounded, but bears it bravely. He is only sixteen now. There is mourning over all our fallen heroes; but they have died so bravely. Edmund says they have slain far more than twice their number of the marauders. Still his father will give him no command. It is like private war so far as he is concerned; but many fresh recruits have joined his standard, and will go out with him in spring.

March 1011.--

The king and witan have again offered tribute to the Danes; it is accepted. I do not think the peace will last long.

Michaelmas, 1011.--

Woe is me! the Danes have broken the peace; and Canterbury, the chief seat of English Christendom, whence came to us the blessed Gospel, is taken and burnt. Elfmar, the abbot of St. Augustine's-- O false shepherd! O wolf in sheep's clothing! betrayed it. The archbishop is prisoner. God and the blessed saints preserve him!

Easter, 1012.--

Another saint is added to the calendar; the Archbishop Elphege has suffered martyrdom. On Easter eve they told him he must find ransom or die. But he not only firmly refused to give money, but forbade his impoverished people to do so on his account. Then, on the following Saturday, they led him to their hustings (or assembly), and shamefully slaughtered him, casting upon him bones and the horns of oxen. And then one smote him with an axe iron on the head, and with the blow he sank down. His holy blood fell on the earth, and his soul he sent forth to God's kingdom.

On the morrow they allowed the body to be taken to London, where the bishops, Ednoth of Dorchester and Elfhelm of London, received it, with all the townsmen, and buried the holy relics in St. Paul's minster, where they say many miracles have already been wrought at his tomb.

Tribute has again been paid, and there is peace awhile. Thurkill, with forty ships, sweareth to serve King Ethelred and defend the country if he will feed and pay them.

Oh that the martyr's intercessions may be heard for his afflicted country {xiii}.

August 1013.--

This fatal month our own neighbourhood, indeed nearly all Mercia, has suffered the extreme horrors of war. Sweyn came along Watling Street, perpetrating the most monstrous cruelties; in short, he and his committed the worst evil that any army could do.

We found now how wisely we had decided not to rebuild Aescendune. Not a hall, farm, or cottage, escaped fire and sword, save those hidden in the forest like us. Edmund has lost many men in the course of the last few months; and with the remainder he hid in our woods, ready to protect us "to the last breath," as he said, "in his body." Alfgar and Hermann, who have both been wounded (the latter for the second time), are with him still. But the enemy never discovered our retreat. Praise be to God for sparing this little Zoar! The saints are not unmindful how we protested against the iniquity of St. Brice's day. But of one thing we all feel sure; Anlaf cannot be alive, or revenge would lead him here.

December 1013.--

Ethelred has fled to Normandy. He sent Queen Emma and her children before him. Sweyn, the Dane, is now King of England. There seems no resource but submission. We are told Edric Streorn is in high favour in the Pagan court; and still is ealdorman of Mercia. Alas! what a Christmas!

Candlemas, 1014.--

God has at length bared His arm: Sweyn is no more. The blasphemer and parricide is gone to his dread account. On the eve of the festival he filled up the measure of his damnation by daring to exact an enormous tribute from the town where rests the uncorrupt body of the precious martyr St. Edmund, which even the pagan Danes had hitherto feared to do. He said that if it were not presently paid he would burn the town and its people, level to the ground the church of the martyr, and inflict various tortures on the clergy. Not content with this, he disparaged the blessed martyr's merits, daring to say there was no sanctity about him. But, thus setting no bounds to his frowardness, Divine vengeance did not suffer the blasphemer to prolong his miserable existence.

Towards evening of the day when he had held a "thingcourt" at Gainsborough, where he had repeated all these threats amongst his warriors, he, alone of the crowd, saw St. Edmund approaching him with a dreadful aspect.

Struck with terror, he began to shout, "Help! comrades, help! St. Edmund is at hand to slay me!"

While he spoke, the saint thrust his spear fiercely through him, and he fell from his war horse. They bore him to a bed, whereon he suffered excruciating agonies till twilight, when he died the third of the nones of February. From such a death, good Lord, deliver us! The bloodthirsty and deceitful man shall not live out half his days; nevertheless, my trust shall be in thee, O Lord {xiv}!

Lent, 1014.--

Ethelred has returned, and is again king; he has promised to amend his evil ways, and to be ruled by faithful and wise counsellors. All England has rallied round the descendant of Edgar. Canute has fled.

Eastertide.--

Edmund has returned to court. His father has received him graciously. Alfgar is with him. Elfwyn will not even yet consent to the marriage, saying, "Wait a little while; we have not yet done with the Danes." I fear he is right.

June 1015.--

Herstan is here, and has brought us sad news. A great council has just been held at Oxford, whereat Edric Streorn, to the indignation of all men, sat at the king's right hand. Would this had been all! He invited Sigeferth and Morcar, two of the chief Thanes in the seven burghs, to supper with him; and there, when he had made them heavy with wine, he caused them to be cruelly murdered by hired ruffians. Instead of punishing him, the king sanctioned the deed, took all their possessions, and sent Sigeferth's widow to be kept prisoner at Malmesbury. Alas! such deeds will call down God's vengeance upon us.

Nativity of St. Mary (Sept. 8).--

The Etheling went with Alfgar to Malmesbury a few days ago. We now hear that he has released Sigeferth's widow, and that he has married her. We know not what to think of the step. It is a bold defiance of his father's cruel policy. He knew the widow before she was the wife of Sigeferth, when Alfgar says he made honourable love to her. But it is a very sudden step.

October 1015.--

Alas! the Divine vengeance has not slumbered long after the late cruel deed. Canute is in England again. Edmund brought his wife here, asking us to take care of her. She is a gentle lady, worn down with care. He has gone, in conjunction with Edric, to fight Canute. I dread this conjunction. Edmund would have gone alone, but his father insisted on joining Edric in the command, saying two heads were better than one.

November 1015.--

Alfgar has come home, bringing messages from Edmund, with sad but not altogether unexpected news. Edric, who is steeped in stratagems and deceit, plotted against his life again and again, whereupon Edmund broke up the camp in indignation, and took a separate course with all the warriors who would follow his standard. Edric took the rest, went down to the seacoast, seduced the crews of forty ships, and then joined Canute with his whole forces. Alas! there seems no hope now.

Epiphany, 1016.--

There is war all over the land--civil war. It is not to be wondered at. But many Englishmen have given their allegiance to Canute, who now professes himself a Christian, saying they will not serve Ethelred any more. So Edmund and Canute are both, I fear, ravaging the land, for Edmund has threatened more than once to regard those people as foes who refuse to fight against the Danes. Men know not what to do.

Eastertide, 1016.--

We have received strange news. Ethelred is dying. He has summoned his son. The tidings reached Edmund here. He had only been with us a single day, and was about to depart again for the war, for Canute threatens to attack London. It is there Ethelred lies sick unto death. Edmund seemed more moved than I should have expected. He has departed in all haste, taking Alfgar with him.

CHAPTER XIX. THE ROYAL DEATHBED.

It was the evening of a stormy day in April when a band of five hundred men, well armed and equipped, were seen approaching the Moor Gate of London. Their leader rode in front, a stalwart warrior, whose eagle eye and dauntless brow told of one born to command. By his side rode a younger warrior, yet one who had nearly reached the prime of life, and who bore the traces of a life of warfare most legibly stamped upon him. There was this difference between them, that men would have recognised the elder at once as an Englishman, while the younger had all the outward physiognomy of a Dane.

"Look, Alfgar, and see whether you can see the flag of Wessex floating over the gates; your eyes are better than mine,"