CHAPTER XX. THE MIDNIGHT FLIGHT.
So soon as the news of the death of Ethelred travelled abroad, thebishops, abbots, ealdormen, and thanes of southern England, despairingof the cause of the house of Cerdic, met together at Southampton, andrenouncing Ethelred and his descendants, elected Canute to be theirking, while he swore that both in things spiritual and temporal hewould maintain their liberties.
But the citizens of London were of nobler mould, and, disdainingsubmission, chose Edmund to be their king. A council was at once held,and it became apparent that the allegiance of the greater part ofWessex depended upon Edmund's prompt appearance amongst them, while,on the other hand, the rapid approach of Canute made his presence inthe city very essential to the safety of the inhabitants.
Up rose a noble thane, and spake his mind.
"Surely we can defend our own city until the valiant Edmund brings usaid. We have kept off Canute before, and his father before him, and wecan do as much again. Meanwhile Edmund will soon have all Wessex athis back, and Canute will find his match for once."
The words of the gallant speaker found their echo in many a breast,and it was decided that Edmund should be advised to hurry into Wessex,and leave London to defend itself.
A deputation from the council at once waited upon Edmund, and in thename of the city, and, as they took the liberty of adding, of everytrue man in England, they proferred him his father's crown. Like thecitizens of a certain modern capital, they constituted themselves therepresentatives of the nation.
Edmund, who certainly did not lack confidence, and who could not helpknowing that he alone was able to cope with the Danes, took scant timeto consider their proposal.
"I accept the crown," he said; "a thorny one it is like to prove, butI thank you for your love and trust."
In the course of a day or two Ethelred the Unready was buried byArchbishop Lyfing in St. Paul's minster, with the assistance of thecathedral body. Emma and her children, as also Edwy, the son ofEthelred by his first wife, were the chief mourners, nay, the onlyreal ones. Most men felt as when a cloud passes away. The sadprocession passed through the streets, the people flocked into thechurch, and in the presence of all the "wise men" of London, theysolemnly committed the frail tabernacle in which the living spirit hadsinned and suffered to the parent earth, where the rush and roar of amighty city should ever peal around it.
A few days later the archbishop was called upon to perform a verydifferent ceremony, the coronation of King Edmund, which also tookplace in St. Paul's Cathedral, amidst tears of joy, and cries whicheven the sanctity of the place could not wholly restrain, "God blessKing Edmund!" The solemn oath of fidelity was administered, and whenall was over, with mingled tears and acclamations, those who had metto bury the late king greeted with joy his son and successor.
It yet remained to be seen whether the choice of the realm wouldratify this decisive step on the part of the citizens of London.
Emma, the queen dowager, was deeply mortified, even while sheconfessed the heritage was hardly worth having. Still her boy Alfredseemed slighted by the choice, and she left England at once, withAlfred and Edward, for Normandy, while Elgitha departed secretly fromLondon to join her husband Edric, and tell him all that had been done.
Edmund delayed his journey into Wessex until he had duly provided forthe defence of the capital, and had personally examined all thedefences with a warrior's eye. At length the messengers who watchedthe Danish fleet announced its arrival at Greenwich, and that bands ofwarriors, numerous as locusts, were issuing thence, and advancing uponLondon.
Reluctant as Edmund was to leave the city, it was evident that if hedelayed another day he might indeed share the perils of theinhabitants, but would probably lose Wessex, where his immediatepresence was all-important. Therefore he called Alfgar, and bade himprepare at once for a journey to the west.
Their intended route led them, in the first instance, to Dorchester,where a large force from Mercia, including most of the men whom Edmundhad so long disciplined himself, and who were under the temporarycharge of Hermann, were to meet him. However, it was late before theirfinal arrangements could be made, and the sun had already set when thecitizens accompanied them to the Ludgate, and bade them an earnestfarewell.
They were both clad in light defensive armour, such as could be wornon a rapid journey, and armed with sword and battle-axe. Their ownsteeds, two of the finest horses England could produce, famous forspeed and bottom, awaited them at the gate. Edmund criticised theircondition with a jealous eye, and then expressed approval.
"Farewell, Englishmen of the loyal and true city! Until we meet inhappier times, farewell! You will know how to guard hearths and homes.Till we return to aid you, farewell!"
And, striking spurs into his steed, he and Alfgar rode across theFleet river, and, ascending the rising ground, pursued their coursealong the Strand.
"We shall have a moonlight ride," said the king. "Look, Alfgar, 'tisnearly full."
"My Lord, do you see those dark spots on the river near Thorney Isle?"
"Ah! I see them, and recognise the cutthroats. They are the Danes, whoare bent on surrounding the city. Had I my five hundred, I would soongive some account of that detachment."
"But now, my Lord, had we not better strike into the northern road atonce, before they see us? We are but two."
"No; I should like to see them a little closer, and then across theheath for Windsor. They must have fleet steeds that catch us."
So they persevered until they had attained a rising ground from whichthey perceived the whole force, nearly a thousand strong, of whom onehalf had crossed the stream. But the figures of our two adventurers,outlined on the hill, were too distinct to elude their observation,and a dozen dark horsemen rode after them at full gallop.
"Now for a brisk ride," said Edmund; and the two dashed wildly onward,clearing ditch or hedge until they attained the rising groundafterwards known as Hounslow Heath, still followed by their pursuers.
Here Edmund paused and looked round. The speed at which they rode hadseparated their pursuers, as he had expected, and one was far theforemost.
"Stand by, Alfgar," he said; "two to one is not fair. I thirst for theblood of this accursed Dane."
Alfgar knew that he must not dispute the royal will, although hethought the risk of delay very perilous, with a crowd of foes upontheir track. While he waited up came the Dane, powerfully mounted,swinging his heavy battle-axe. He swooped upon Edmund, who caused hishorse to start aside, avoided the stroke, and then, guiding his horseby his knees, and raising his axe in both hands, cleft his antagonistto the chin before he could recover.
"Here come two more. Now, Alfgar, there is one apiece. The rest are amile behind them. You may take the one on the light grey, I will takethe rascal on the dark steed."
Another moment and they were both engaged. Alfgar foiled hisopponent's first stroke, and wounded him slightly in return. Now thebattle became desperate, attack succeeding attack, and parry, parry.Meanwhile Edmund had again laid his foe prostrate in the dust, but didnot interfere; such was his chivalrous spirit in what he considered anequal combat, although he cast anxious looks behind, where two orthree other riders were rapidly approaching.
At last victory inclined to Alfgar's side. Parrying a tremendousstroke with his axe, he returned it with such vigour that the nextmoment the Dane lay quivering in the dust.
"There appear to be only three or four more. I think we might engagethem. By the by, Alfgar, you missed one splendid chance through yoursteed not answering your guidance to the moment. But I am tired of thebattle-axe, and shall use my sword for a change.
"Ah! there come half-a-dozen more round those firs. We must rideforward and give up the sport."
Their enemies saw them and quickened their pace. They came to the spotwhere their countrymen lay prostrate, and the cry of revenge theyraised, and the manner in which they urged their steeds forward,showed how strongly the sight appealed to their feelings.
Onward f
lew pursuers and pursued--onward till Windsor's height, withits castled hall, appeared in sight, and tempted them to seekrefreshment for man and beast. But they dared not linger on theirjourney, and passed the town without entering.
They rode all night through a most desolate country, wasted by fireand sword in all directions. Only in a few spots was there anyappearance of cultivation, for who would sow when they knew not whoshould reap? Not one lonely country house, such as abounded in thedays of Edgar the Pacific, did they see standing, although they passedthe blackened ruins of many an abode, showing where once the joys ofhome held sway. Here and there they came upon the relics of strife, inthe shape of bodies of men and horses left to rot, and in one spot,where a ford had been defended, the rival nations had left theirfallen representatives by hundreds. It must have been months before,yet no one had buried the bodies. Such people as still existed withoutthe fortified towns had betaken themselves to the woods, or therecesses of the deep swamps and forests, as the people of Aescendunehad done.
As they drew near Dorchester, they found yet more sanguinary traces ofrecent war, for the Thames had been the scene of constant warfare.Bensington, half burned, had partially recovered, and had renewed herfortifications; Wallingford, hard by, had never risen since thefrightful Christmas of 1006.
Dorchester now rose before them. They had accomplished fifty miles ofhard riding that night. They were seen, challenged, and recognised, bya patrol without the gates, and the cry, "Long live King Edmund!"echoed from all sides. A thousand gallant Mercians, the nucleus of anarmy, each man fit to be a captain, awaited them there, and Edmundfelt his spirits revive within him, and his hope for England; andAlfgar met Hermann with great gladness.
It was pitiful to see the blackened ruins of churches and palace,which had not been rebuilt since the Danish raid of 1010, but thecommoner dwellings were rising with rapidity from their ashes, or hadalready risen, for the shelter of the earthworks and otherfortifications was not to be despised, and prevented the place frombeing utterly abandoned.
Yet it may be noted that Dorchester never fully recovered the eventsof that dreadful year, and that its decay probably dates from theperiod.
Resting only a few hours, during which they were the guests of Ednoth,the bishop, they departed with his fervent blessing and earnestprayers for their success, and rode westward, attended by their wholetroop.
Every town they reached received them with enthusiasm. They were nownear the birthplace of the great Alfred, where the hearts of thepeople were all thoroughly with their native princes; and men left alltheir ordinary occupations to strike one blow for King Edmund andEngland. Onward, and like a rolling snowball, they gathered as theywent, until they entered Wiltshire with ten thousand men, and,crossing the country, reached the opposite border with all the bravemen of Wilts added to their numbers.
They were now approaching Dorsetshire, and saw before them a risingground, with a large stone set in a conspicuous position.
"What stone is that?" inquired Edmund of a thane, whose habitation washard by, and who had joined him with his whole household.
"It is called the county stone. It marks the place where threecounties meet--Somerset, Wilts, and Dorset; it is in the village ofPenn."
At this moment a horseman was seen riding wildly after them from thecountry in the rear.
"See that man; he brings news," said Edmund, and the whole partypaused.
"Alfgar," whispered Edmund to his confidential attendant, "there ishot work coming; I have long since scented the foe behind."
The messenger arrived, bowed low to the king, and waited permission tospeak, while his panting breath betrayed his haste and his excitement.
"Well, your message?" said Edmund; "you have ridden fast to bring it."
"My lord, Canute, with an army of fifty thousand men, is followingbehind with all his speed."
Edmund looked proudly around upon his host; it was almost equal innumber. Then he looked with a soldier's eye on the ground before him,and saw that it was the very place where a stand could be made withevery advantage of ground.
"It is well," said Edmund; "we will wait for him here."
A loud cheer from those around him showed how he had succeeded inimparting his own brave spirit to others. The trumpets commanded ahalt; and Alfgar and other riders bore the commands of the king to theextremities of the host.
Each division took up rapidly the position assigned; for in thisdomestic war men fought side by side with those they had known fromchildhood, and were commanded immediately by their own hereditarychieftains.
The broken nature of the ground protected them well from an attack oneither flank, and they strengthened this advantage by throwing up amound and digging a ditch, with the greatest rapidity.
While thus engaged, they saw the flashing of spear and shield in theeast, reflecting the setting sun, and speedily the whole countryseemed to glow with the sheen of weapons.
Edmund raised himself in the stirrups.
"Englishmen! brethren!" he cried, "you see your foe, the ruthlessdestroyers of your land and kinsfolk; the pagan murderers of yourarchbishop, the sainted Alphege. God will help them that helpthemselves. It shall be ours to strike one glorious blow for libertyand for just vengeance on this field. I vow to the God of battles Iwill conquer or die."
He took off his helmet and looked solemnly to Heaven, as he called onthe Supreme Being to register his vow, and a deep murmur of sympathyarose around, until it found loud utterance in the cry, "We willconquer with our king or die," from a thousand voices, until theglorious enthusiasm spread throughout the camp. Glorious when menfight for hearth and altar.
Edmund looked proudly around.
"With such warriors," he said, "I need not fear Canute."
The trench and mound were completed, but the enemy did not advance. Heplanted his black raven banner two miles off in the plain, arrangedhis forces, and halted for the night.
"We must fight tomorrow at dawn of day," said Edmund. "Now, bid thecampfires be lighted; we have plenty of meat and bread, mead and wine;bid each man eat and drink his fill. Men never fight well on emptystomachs. Then return yourself to my side, and share my tent thisnight; perhaps--perhaps--for the last time."
"If so, woe to England--woe!" said Alfgar. "But I have confidence thather day of tribulation is passing from her. The blood of the martyredsaints cries aloud for vengeance on the Danes."
Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Page 21
