CHAPTER XXI. EDMUND AND CANUTE.
The watch was duly set; campfires were lighted, and joints of meatsuspended over them; barrels of wine and mead were broached, for allthe country around contributed with loving willingness to the supportof its defenders; and when hunger was appeased the patriotic songarose from the various fires, and stirring legends of the gloriousdays of old, when Danes and Norsemen fled before the English arms,nerved the courage of the men for the morrow's stern conflict.
Around the fire kindled next the tent of Edmund sat the warriormonarch himself, with all the chieftains, the ealdormen, and lesserthanes who shared his fortunes.
The minstrels and gleemen were not wanting here, but none could touchthe harp more sweetly than Edmund himself; and, the banquet over, hesang an ancient lay, which kindled the enthusiasm of all his hearers,and nerved them to do or die, so that they longed for the morrow.
Before it was over the trumpet announced some event of importance, andsoon a messenger brought the tidings to Edmund that a large force wasadvancing from the west.
All rose to look at them, not without anxiety; as yet they were fardistant, across a wild moor, but as they drew nearer, and theirstandards could be more clearly discerned, it became gradually evidentthat it was a reinforcement; and so it proved, for heralds, gallopingforward, announced the men of Dorsetshire.
They were most gladly received, for now the English forces were equalin number to their adversaries, and every man felt the hope of victorystrong within him.
At length Edmund bade messengers go through the camp, and cause everyman to retire to rest, for they must all be stirring by dawn on themorrow.
He himself, with Alfgar, went through the host and then inspected thewatch. When he came to the outpost nearest the foe he found Hermann onduty as officer of the watch, and spoke earnestly to him and his men.
"Be on your guard," he said, "as men who know that the welfare ofEngland depends upon them; if you see the least movement on the partof the crafty Canute, rouse the camp at once; they are not unlikely toattack us by night if they can surprise us, not otherwise."
Alfgar was standing on a low mound contemplating the opposite camp,that of his own countrymen, attentively.
"Well, Alfgar, my son, do you see aught?" said Edmund approaching him.
"I fancied I saw some figures seek the hollow where the ditch passesfrom us to them."
"We will wait and see whether aught comes of it," said the king; "howdo you like our prospects?"
"Well, my lord, I would sooner be with you at this moment than in anyother place in England."
"Even than in Aescendune?"
"Yes; just now."
"Alfgar, do you think your father yet lives?" said Edmund, as he againgazed upon the Danish camp.
"I think not; I fear he is numbered amongst the dead; I have over andover again inquired of Danish prisoners whether they knew aught ofhim; they all said he had not been known in their ranks for years."
"The chances of a warrior's life are so many that he may notimprobably be gone, but remember you found another father atCarisbrooke."
"I shall never forget that, my lord."
Here Hermann interrupted them.
"My lord, would you look closely at that little clump of furze uponthe banks of the brook?"
"By St. Edmund, there they are! now to catch Danish wolves in a steeltrap; creep back within the mound."
The whole guard was speedily aroused.
"Shall we alarm the camp?" said Hermann.
"Not for the world, they want all the sleep they can get; this willonly be a reconnoitring party; did they find us asleep they would ofcourse cut our throats, and then bring their brethren to attack thecamp. As it is, I think we shall cut theirs instead."
"They have disappeared."
"Only to appear with more effect; they will be creeping like snakescoming to be scotched; they won't find a man like Edric at the head ofthe English army now--one who always chose the sleepiest and deafestmen for sentinels. Ah, well! he is openly with the enemy now; I onlyhope he will come within swing of my battle-axe tomorrow.
"Ah! There they are."
"Where?" inquired two or three low voices eagerly.
"Creeping up the slope; now get your arrows to your ears; take theopposite men when they arise."
A few moments, during which men could hear their own hearts beat, whenup rose the Danes from the grass like spectres, and rushed for themound. A storm of arrows met them, to which nearly half succumbed.
Swinging his axe, Edmund, followed, by the rest, jumped from the moundto meet the survivors; numbers were nearly equal, the English nowslightly superior. Each man met his individual foe. Young Hermann'ssword broke against a Danish axe; he rushed in and got within theswing of the weapon; both wrestled for the deadly steel, they fell,rolled over and over on the grass; at length Hermann grasped hisopponent's throat like a vice with his mailed hand, and held till thearms of his foe hung nerveless by the side and the face grew black,when, disengaging his right hand, he found his dagger, and drove it tothe victim's heart.
"Well done!" said Edmund; "you are the last, Hermann; Alfgar hasfinished some time; we have been watching you; this little beginningpromises luck tomorrow.
"You and I must retire now, Alfgar.
"Good night, Hermann; good night, my men; wipe your swords on thegrass; keep them bright."
The morning dawned bright and radiant; and with the first appearanceof the sun the horns of the English blew their shrill summons, and thewhole army awoke as a man. A hurried meal was partaken of, hurried ofnecessity, for the Danes were already emerging from their camp, andforming their lines in order of battle. They evidently meant, asusual, to take the initiative; in fact, in the recent reign, had theynot done so, there would never have been any fighting at all.
Every one, both friend and foe, expected that Edmund would await theonset in his entrenched camp. Great, therefore, was the surprise, whenhe led his forces without the entrenchments, with the observation thatthe breasts of Englishmen were their best bulwarks.
He knew his forces, that they had confidence in him; and he could nothave shown better his confidence in them, and his feeling that thetime had now at length come to assume the offensive.
Canute was doubtless somewhat surprised, yet he was learning to knowEdmund.
The English hero divided his army into three divisions: The rightwing, where he posted around his own person the chosen band whom hehad trained during the last few years of retirement; the left wing,chiefly composed of the men of Wessex; the centre, the weakest andnewest recruits, whom he posted there with as deep a design as ledHannibal to use the same strategy at Cannae.
The Danes advanced impetuously to the attack, led by Canute himself,somewhat similarly divided, and Edmund at once advanced his forces tomeet them. One hundred yards apart, both armies paused, and glaredupon each other. There was no flinching. With teeth firmly set, lipscompressed, and the whole body thrown into the attitude of a tigerabout to spring, each warrior gazed upon the foe.
The Danes, clad in black armour, with their ponderous battle-axes, andfierce visages, upon which no gentle ray of mercy had yet shone; theEnglish, their minds set upon avenging the outraged national honour,the desolated homes, the slaughtered families: the Danes bent onmaintaining their cruel superiority; the English bent on reversing itor dying: the Danes hitherto victorious on nearly every field; theEnglish turning upon their oppressors as men to whom the only thingwhich could make life tolerable was victory.
Canute's voice was heard crying, "Now, warriors, behold the hounds yehave so often chastised await your chastisement once more."
Edmund, on the other hand, "Victory, my men, or a warrior's grave! Wewill not live to see England prostrate beneath the tyrant any longer."
Then came the rush: the crash of steel upon steel, the hideous melee,where friend and foe seemed blent in one dense struggling mass; thecries which pain sometimes extorted from the bravest; the shouts ofthe excite
d combatants, until Edmund's centre gave way.
He had expected this, and desired nothing more. The Danes pressed ondeeply into the core of the hostile army, when they found theirprogress stopped by some of the bravest warriors who formed the rear,and at that moment the wings curved round upon them.
"Come, my men!" shouted Edmund; and with Alfgar by his side, followedby the whole of the English cavalry, burst upon the rear of the Danes.He and his cleft their way in--hewed it through living masses offlesh; trampled writhing bodies under foot; their very horses seemedto laugh at the spear and sword, until before him Edmund saw Canutehimself. He struggled violently to reach him; slew two or three livingimpediments, and the two rivals faced each other for one moment; thencame Edmund's ponderous blow. Canute avoided it, but his horse fellbeneath it; the spine severed near the neck. He was dragged upinstantly by his armour bearer, who attended upon him, as Alfgar uponEdmund, and before the attack could be renewed a living torrentseparated the combatants.
The victory was won; the Danes were in full flight.
O joy for England! the day of her captivity was turned; henceforwardshe might hope. The foe, the invincible foe, was flying before anEnglish king and an English army.
For while on the one side Edmund had charged the foe on their leftflank, on the other side the men of Wessex had imitated his example,and the foe yielded.
Still, terrible in defeat, more than half fought their way out of thetrap into which they had fallen, and retired upon their camp, closelypursued, until the trump of Edmund recalled the pursuers, anxious lestthey should in turn fall into an ambuscade, for reinforcements wereawaiting the Danes behind.
. . . . . .
From this time the prospects of Edmund and England brightened. Dayafter day fresh reinforcements came into his camp, until he followedCanute, who had retreated into Wiltshire. There, a few days later, asecond battle was fought at Sceorstan {xvi}, wherein much braverywas shown on both sides. On Monday the two armies fought all daywithout any advantage on either side. On the Tuesday the English wererapidly getting the better, when the traitor Edric, severing the headof a fallen Englishman named Osmaer, held it up, shouting:
"Flee, English! flee, English! Edmund is dead."
They began to yield; and it was as much as Edmund himself could do, bylifting his helmet, exposing his features, and shouting, "I live tolead you to victory!" to restore the battle.
Canute retired upon London, followed closely by Edmund. Upon the roadmessengers came from Edric imploring the forgiveness of his injuredbrother-in-law, and offering to join him with all his forces. Therewas long consultation over this in the English camp; but in spite ofEdmund's own feelings it was decided to receive Edric, since Canute'sfate would seem to be quite decided if England were united by theunion of those southern English who had fought under Canute withEdric, and the men of Mercia and Wessex who had won the previousvictories.
So the two armies met together. The men of Hampshire, who had followedthe Dane, were welcomed as returning to their true allegiance by theircountrymen; and Edmund did violence to his feelings by receiving Edricto his council board, if not to his friendship.
It was a joyous day when Edmund approached London, and thus fulfilledthe promise of his coronation. Canute, who had made another attempt onthe city, fled before him, but hovered around until two days later.Edmund engaged him the third time at Brentford, and defeated himagain. Then Edmund retired into Wessex to raise more troops, andduring his absence the Danes took the offensive again, once morebesieging London in vain, while they harried all the neighbouringdistricts until Edmund returned with a large army, drove them intoKent, and gave them such a fearful defeat at Otford that they fled indespair to the Isle of Sheppey, and all men said Edmund would havedestroyed them utterly, had not Edric persuaded him to stop thepursuit at Aylesford.
The Danes soon emerged again, and, crossing the Thames, commencedplundering Essex, when Edmund and Edric, with all the flower of theAnglo-Saxon race, advanced to meet them once more. Nearly all the menof note in England followed Edmund's banner, for, now that hisabilities were proved, there was a general enthusiasm in his favour.So all the rank and title of the realm stood by him when he drew uphis army hard by the little river Crouch, near Assingdun, in Essex,then called Assandun.
There, by his side, when the tents were pitched the evening before thebattle, stood many a brave ealdorman,--Godwin of Lindsey; Ulfketyl,the hero of the East Angles; Ethelweard, the son of the piousEthelwine, whom men called the "Friend of God." And present at thatlast banquet were Ednoth, the bishop of Dorchester, and otherecclesiastics, who had come to pray for the host and to succour thedying with ghostly aid. Well nigh all the great men of England werehere. But Edric supped in their midst. Their spirits were high thatnight, and while Edmund drank to their success on the morrow, each manresponded with a fervour which augured confidence in that morrow'sissue--all save the wicked Edric, whose heart seemed far from hiswords.
The events of that fatal morrow are matter of history. The armiesjoined battle. Victory seemed to favour Edmund. The Danes were alreadygiving way, when Edric turned and fled, with his whole division, whomhe had corrupted. After that all was disorder amongst the English; butthey continued fighting bravely until the moon arose, and they werebecoming surrounded on all sides, when, in sheer desperation, they atlast gave way.
Edmund would not yield until Alfgar seized the bridle of his horse,and almost by violence caused him to turn his steed, bidding him livefor England, for he was its hope. It was growing dark rapidly, and thedarkness alone saved Edmund and the relics of the English army.
With a faithful few, including both Alfgar and Hermann, nearly all ofthe party wounded, the English king rode sadly from the scene,groaning bitterly in spirit.
"Why did I trust him again? Why did I trust him?" he kept muttering tohimself.
"You did not trust him. The council overruled you. I was present,"said Alfgar.
"But I might have resisted."
And he persisted in his unavailing regret.
It was a sad sight to see the field of battle strewn for miles withthe dead and dying, while gangs of plunderers swarmed in alldirections. One sharp encounter with such a party served to warmEdmund's blood, after which he was a little more cheerful.
But the saddest scene in the flight lay on a gentle eminence,commanding a view of the field, whose deformities night mercifullyshrouded from view, although the murmurs of the wounded reached themeven there in one long subdued wailing moan.
There, on that little hill, lay bishops and abbots in their sacerdotalapparel. Where they had met to pray, there they lay in death! With adeep sigh Edmund recognised Ednoth, bishop of Dorchester, lying starkand stiff in his bloody robes. A troop of Danish horsemen hadsurrounded the hill and massacred them all. The assassins had evenhewn Ednoth's finger off for the episcopal ring.
Yet, even at this awful crisis, Edmund's lion heart did not whollyfail him, as he left the field where lay all the flower of theAnglo-Saxon race: the brave and faithful Ulfketyl, Earl Ethelweard,Earl Godwin, Elfric the ealdorman, and well nigh all the great men ofEngland, all sleeping in death. He rode to the south till he reachedthe vale of the Thames, which he pursued until he reached theneighbourhood of Gloucester--Alfgar and Hermann still by his side. Andnow it was seen how his merits were recognised, and how he had alreadygained the love of his people, for, from the territory of the Hwiccas,and all the extreme west of Mercia, men flocked to his standard untilhe was at the head of an army almost as numerous as that he had lostat Assingdun, only less perfectly disciplined and officered.
But Canute followed hard upon his heels, hoping to crush him while yetweak in numbers, until he discovered, to his great mortification, hisrival's camp on the banks of the Severn, and saw that the forces wereagain nearly equal.
Then even the Danish chieftains shuddered at the thought of anotherbattle. Five great battles had been fought, in three of which they hadbeen defeated. There was no Edric now with Edmund to play into
theirhands, and they hesitated to engage a sixth time.
At this moment an embassy was seen approaching from Edmund's army.Alfgar bore Edmund's personal defiance to Canute, offering to sparethe effusion of blood, and settle their differences by single combat.
Canute's brave and impetuous temper caught the suggestion at once.Such appeals to the God of battles were common in the north, and heaccepted the challenge.
There is an island in the Severn, then called Oleneige, now calledOlney Island. The following day both armies gathered together onopposite banks, and the two kings, clad in splendid armour, werewafted thither. Alfgar, having landed his lord, retired with beatingheart to the English bank. Edmund and Canute were alone on the island.
The battle began; no words can describe the dread emotion with whichthe two nations watched the event.
They continued a long time without any apparent advantage; at length,King Edmund's fury adding strength to him, his blows were so thick andweighty, that Canute, perceiving his own strength to diminish,conceived a resolution to attempt ending the quarrel by a treaty.
But being crafty, and fearing lest his disadvantage should be apparentto Edmund, he collected all his energies and rushed furiously uponhim, then withdrew himself aside, and desired Edmund to suspend theconflict for a while.
"Generous prince," said he, "hitherto I have had a covetous desire ofyour kingdom, but now I do yet more earnestly covet your friendship;your father and my father have each reigned over the land, let usdivide the inheritance like brothers."
Edmund's generous spirit led him to accept the offer, and he threw hisbattle-axe to the ground and extended his right hand, which Canuteeagerly grasped {xvii}.
So the land was divided; Edmund was to be head king and to haveWessex, Sussex, Kent, East Anglia, and Essex, with the city of London;while Canute had Northumbria and Mercia.
Canute professed himself a Christian, and swore to govern his peopleaccording to the old English laws, and to preserve their temporal andspiritual privileges, a promise which, upon the whole, he wellobserved.
And so England entered upon a peace of fifty years, only broken by anevent yet in the womb of time, the Norman Conquest.
"Come, Alfgar," said Edmund, one day soon after these events, "let usgo to Aescendune and fix thy wedding day; Elfwyn need fear no longerthat the sword will be the portion of his grandchildren."
Peace! sweet, sweet peace! oh how joyful it was to be once more in thedeep woods of Aescendune, to hear the sweet song of the birds, and tofear no evil! Sweet, ineffably sweet were those days to Alfgar andEthelgiva!
So the day was at length appointed; it was to be the feast of St.Andrew, and to take place at Oxenford, which had been assigned toEdmund's dominions; for he insisted that it should be celebrated withall the pomp the presence of a king could lend.
It was now the season of the falling leaf and there were only a fewweeks longer to wait.
Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Page 22