The Dragon and The Raven: Or The Days of King Alfred

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This etext was produced by Ronald J. Goodden

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 PRIS0NER
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 ally 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."

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