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

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The news of the approaching conflict caused considerable
excitement in the Danish camp, and Edmund's figure
was narrowly scrutinized as he wandered through it. All who
had been engaged in the war in Wessex had heard of Edmund,
and there was no slight curiosity, when the news went abroad
that the Saxon leader was a captive in the camp, to see what
he was like.

At first when it was bruited abroad that Sweyn, the son
of Jarl Bijorn, was to fight this noted Saxon champion the
idea was that the enterprise was a rash one, strong and
valiant as Sweyn was known to be for a young man; but when it
was seen that Edmund was no older than he, and to the eye
less strong and powerful, they felt confident in the power of
their champion to overcome him.

Siegbert spared no pains to see that his guest had an
even equal chance. He procured for him a strong and well-made
helmet which fitted him comfortably, and gave him
the choice out of a large number of shields and swords.
Edmund selected a weapon which answered nearly in weight
and balance that which he was accustomed to wield. There
was feasting again that night in Siegbert's tent; but he did
not allow Edmund to join in it, insisting after the meal was
over that he should retire to a small hut hard by.

"You will want your head and your nerves in good order
to-morrow," he said. "Feasting is good in its way, and the
night before battle I always drink deeply, but for a single
combat it were best to be prudent." As Edmund left the tent
Freda, who had not appeared at dinner, came up to him.

"I have been crying all day," she said simply. "I know
not why, for I have often seen my father go out to battle
without a tear. I think you must have upset me with your talk
this morning. I hope that you will win, because it was wrong and
unfair of Sweyn to force this battle upon you; and I hate him
for it! I shall pray Odin to give you victory. You don't believe
in him, I know; still my prayers can do you no harm."

"Thank you," Edmund said. "I shall pray to One greater
and better than Odin. But weep not any longer, for I trust
neither of us will be killed. I shall do my best to guard myself,
and shall try not to slay him; for this fight is not for my
nation or for my religion, but concerns myself only."

The following morning the Northmen assembled. The
jarls and other leading men formed the inner line of a circle
some thirty yards in diameter, the others stood without; Jarl
Eric entered the ring with Sweyn, while Edmund, accompanied
by Siegbert, entered at the other side of the circle.

"I protest," Siegbert cried in a loud voice, "against this
conflict taking place. Edmund the Saxon is no captive here,
but a free man, and my guest; moreover, being a Saxon, the
issue of this fight between him and a Northman can serve no
purpose as an augury as to the success of our expedition
against the Franks. Therefore do I protest against
the conflict."

There was again a consultation between the leaders, for
a murmur of approbation had run round the ranks of the
spectators, who it was evident were impressed in favour of
the young Saxon, and considered that the jarl's words were
just and reasonable. Eric spoke for a minute with Sweyn.

"I feel," he said in a loud voice, "that what Jarl Siegbert
says is reasonable, that no augury can be drawn from the
fight, and that, since Edmund is no longer a captive, and a
friend of Siegbert's, he cannot be forced into fighting in
order that we may have an augury. But the Saxon, though so
young, has won a reputation even among us, the enemies of
his race; and my friend Sweyn, who has shown himself one of
the bravest of our young men, considers that he has cause of
quarrel with him, and challenges him to fight--not necessarily
to the death, or till one is slain, but till the jarls here
assembled do pronounce one or the other to be the victor.
This is a fair challenge--first, there is a private quarrel;
next, there is emulation between these young men, who may
fairly claim to be the champions of the youth of the two races.
Such a challenge the Saxon will hardly refuse."

In accordance with the customs of the day it would have
been impossible for Edmund to have refused such a challenge
without disgrace, and he did not for a moment think of
doing so.

"I am ready to fight Sweyn," he said. "I have no great
cause of quarrel with him; but if he conceives that he has
grounds of quarrel with me, that is enough. As to championship
of the Saxons, we have no champions; we fight not for
personal honour or glory, but for our homes, our countries,
and our religion, each doing his best according to the strength
God has given him, and without thought of pride on the one
hand or envy on the other because the strength or courage
of one may be somewhat greater than that of another. Still,
as a Saxon standing here as the only representative of my
nation in an assembly of Northmen, I cannot refuse such a
challenge, for to do so would be to infer that we Saxons are
less brave than you. Therefore I am ready for the combat."

The Northmen clashed their weapons against their shields
in token of their approval of the young Saxon's words, and
the young champions prepared for the combat. They were
naked to the waist save for shield and helmet; below the waist
each wore a short and tightly-fitting garment covered with
plates of brass; the legs were naked, and each wore a pair of
light sandals; their weapons were long straight swords. The
weapon Edmund had chosen was considerably lighter than
that of his opponent, but was of toughest steel, on which
were engraved in rough characters, "Prayers to Woden for
victory."

The difference in height between the combatants was
considerable. Edmund stood five feet ten, but looked shorter
from the squareness and width of his shoulders. Sweyn was
nearly four inches taller, and he too was very strongly built.
His muscles indeed stood out in stronger development than
did those of Edmund, and if pure strength was to win the day
few of those who looked on doubted that the Dane would be
the victor.

The combat was a long one. For some time Edmund contented
himself with standing upon the defensive and guarding the
tremendous blows which Sweyn rained upon him. In spite of the
efforts of the Northman, he could neither beat down the Saxon's
guard nor force him to fall back a single step.

Again and again the rattle of the spectators' arms clashed
an approval of Edmund's steady resistance to his opponent's
assaults. The Norsemen delighted beyond all things in a
well-fought encounter. Each man, himself a warrior, was able to
appreciate the value of the strokes and parries. The betting
at the commencement had run high upon Sweyn, and horses,
armour, arms, and slaves had been freely wagered upon his
success; but as the fight went on the odds veered round, and
the demeanour of the combatants had as much to do with
this as the skill and strength shown by Edmund in his defence.
The Dane was flushed and furious; his temper gave way under
the failure of his assaults. The Saxon, on the contrary,
fought as calmly and coolly as if practicing with blunted
weapons; his eyes never left those of his adversary, a half
smile played on his lips, and although drops of perspiration
from his forehead showed how great were his exertions, his
breathing hardly quickened.

Twice Sweyn drew back for breath, and Edmund each
time, instead of pressing him, dropped the point of his sword
and waited for him to renew the combat. At present he had
scarce struck a blow, and while his own shield was riven in
several places and his helmet dinted, those of Sweyn were
unmarked.

At the third assault Sweyn came up determined to end
the conflict, and renewed the attack with greater fury than
before. Three times his sword descended with tremendous
force, but each time it met the blade of the Saxon; the fourth
time his arm was raised, then there was a flash and a sudden
shout from the crowd.

With a mighty blow Edmund had smitten full on his opponent's
uplifted arm, and, striking it just above the elbow, the sword
clove through flesh and bone, and the severed limb, still grasping
the sword, fell to the ground.

A loud shout of approval burst from the Danes. Although the
conqueror was their enemy they appreciated so highly the virtues
of coolness and courage that their applause was no less hearty
than if the victor had been a countryman. Sweyn had fallen
almost the instant the blow had been struck. The ring was
at once broken up, and his friends ran to him. The Norsemen
were adepts at the treatment of wounds, and everything had been
prepared in case of emergencies.

A bandage was instantly tied tightly round the upper
part of the arm to stop the rush of blood, and the stump was
then dipped into boiling pitch, and Sweyn, who had become
almost instantly insensible from the loss of blood, was carried
to his father's tent. According to custom handsome presents
of swords and armour were made to Edmund by those who had won
by his success.

It would have been considered churlish to refuse them,
and Edmund had no thought of doing so, for he needed
money, and these things in those days were equivalent to
wealth.

"You have done well and gallantly indeed, my young
friend," Siegbert said as, followed by several slaves bearing
Edmund's presents, they returned to the tent. "I am glad you
did not slay him, for I think not that he will die. Such a blow
given in battle would assuredly have been fatal, but here the
means of stanching the blood were at hand, and I trust for
Bijorn's sake that he will recover; but whether or no he
brought it on himself."

On reaching the tent Freda ran out radiant.

"I hear that you have conquered," she said, "and I am
glad indeed; it serves him right, for all say that he forced the
fight upon you."

"I did not know that your sympathies were so strongly
against Sweyn," Siegbert said in a somewhat reproachful tone.
"He has always been your devoted follower."

"He has always been my tyrant, father, for he has always
insisted on my doing his pleasure; but if he had been ten
times my follower, and had been a valiant warrior instead of
a youth, and I a maiden of twenty instead of a girl of fifteen,
I should still be glad that he was conquered, because without
any reason for quarrel he has sought to slay this Saxon youth
who did us such great service, and to whom as he knew we were
so indebted."

Siegbert smiled. "Hitherto I have wondered, daughter
mine, at the reason which induced Sweyn to challenge
Edmund, but now methinks I understand it. Sweyn has, as
his father has told me, youth as he is, set his heart on
winning your hand when you shall reach the age of womanhood,
and it is just because Edmund has done you and me service
that he hates him. You are young, child, for your bright eyes
to have caused bloodshed; if you go on like this there will be
no end to the trouble I shall have on your account before I
get you fairly wedded."

Freda coloured hotly.

"That is nonsense, father; another five years will be soon
enough to begin to think of such things. At any rate," she
said with a laugh, "I am rid of Sweyn, for he can hardly
expect me ever to love a one-armed man."

"There have been brave warriors," Seigbert said, "with
but one arm."

"It makes no difference," Freda laughed; "if he had fifty
arms I should never love him."

Edmund now entreated Siegbert to repay himself from
the presents he had received for the goods he had the evening
before given to Bijorn as the price of his liberty, but this the
jarl would not hear of. Edmund then begged him to buy
with them, of Bijorn, the four Saxon slaves with whom he
had agreed to attempt an escape, and to expend the rest of
the presents in freeing as many other Saxon prisoners as he
could.

This Siegbert did, and by the evening Edmund had the
satisfaction of finding around him twelve Saxons whose freedom
he had purchased. He remained as the guest of Siegbert
until the expedition sailed in the last week of March. Then
with the twelve Saxons he embarked in Siegbert's ship, which,
instead of keeping with the others, sailed for the mouth of
the Thames. The wind was favourable and the passage quick,
and three days after sailing Edmund and his companions were
disembarked on the coast of Kent. His adieus with Siegbert
were hearty and earnest.

"I would you had been a Northman," the jarl said, "for I
love you as a son, and methinks that when the time comes,
had you been so inclined, you might have really stood in that
relation to me, for I guess that my little Freda would not have
said no had you asked her hand; but now our paths are to
part. I shall never war again with the Saxons, for indeed
there is but scant booty to be gained there, while you are not
likely again to be cast upon our shores; but should the fates
ever throw us together again, remember that you have a friend
for life in Jarl Siegbert."

Freda, who had accompanied her father as usual, wept
bitterly at the parting, which, however, she did not deem to
be as final as it appeared to her father; for the evening before,
as she was standing on the poop with Edmund, he had
said to her, "You will not forget me, Freda; we are both very
young yet; but some day, when the wars are over, and England
no longer requires my sword, I will seek you again."

"Is that a promise, Edmund?"

"Yes, Freda, a solemn promise."

"I will wait for you," she said simply, "if it were till the
end of my life."

The youth and girl ratified the promise by a kiss, and
Freda, as through her tears she watched the boat which
conveyed Edmund and his companions to shore, felt sure that
some day she should see her Saxon hero again.

On landing, Edmund soon learned that the Danes were
everywhere masters, and that since the autumn nothing had
been heard of the king, who was supposed to be somewhere
in hiding.

In every village through which they passed they found
evidence of the mastership of the Danes. Many of the houses
were burnt or destroyed, the people were all dressed in the
poorest garb, and their sad faces and listless mien told of the
despair which everywhere prevailed. In every church the
altars had been thrown down, the holy emblems and images
destroyed, the monks and priests had fled across the sea or
had been slain.

The Danish gods, Thor and Woden, had become the divinities
of the land, and the Saxons, in whom Christianity
had but recently supplanted the superstitions of paganism,
were fast returning to the worship of the pagan gods. Edmund
and his companions were shocked at the change. On reaching
home they found that the ravages of the Danes had here
been particularly severe, doubtless in revenge for the heavy
loss which had been sustained by them in their attack upon
Edmund's fortification. His own abode had been completely
levelled to the ground, and the villages and farm-houses for
the most part wholly destroyed. His people were lying in
rude shelters which they had raised, but their condition was
very much better than that of the people in general.

The news of Edmund's return spread like wildfire, and
excited the most extreme joy among his people, who had
long given him up for lost. He found to his delight that the
Dragon had returned safely, and that she was laid up in her
old hiding-place. The great amount of spoil with which she
was loaded had enabled her crew largely to assist their friends,
and it was this which had already raised the condition of the
people above that of their neighbours. Houses were being
gradually rebuilt, animals had been brought from districts
which had been less ravaged by the Danes, and something
approaching comfort was being rapidly restored.

Upon the day after Edmund's return Egbert arrived.
Feeling sure of Edmund's death he had taken no steps towards
rebuilding the house, but was living a wild life in the
woods, when the news reached him that Edmund had reappeared.
His own large share of the booty with that of Edmund
he had buried, with the portion set aside for the king, in the
wood near the spot where the Dragon was laid up.

They had passed up the Parrot at night unobserved by
the Danes, and after taking the masts out of the Dragon, and
dismantling her, they had laid her up in the hole near the
river where she was built. There was little fear of her discovery
there, for the Danes were for the most part gathered in winter
quarters at the great camp near Chippenham.

Egbert's delight at the reappearance of Edmund was unbounded,
for he loved him as a son, and it was a long time before
their joy at the meeting was sufficiently calmed down to
enable them to tell each other the events which had happened
since they parted three months before. Egbert's narrative
was indeed brief. He had remained two or three days
off the coast of Norway in the lingering hope that Edmund
might in some way have escaped death, and might yet come
off and join him. At the end of a week this hope had faded,
and he sailed for England. Being winter, but few Danish galleys
were at sea, and he had encountered none from the time
he set sail until he arrived off the coast at the mouth of the
Parrot.

He had entered the river at night so as to be unseen by
any in the village at its mouth, and had, after the Dragon was
laid up, passed his time in the forest. Edmund's narration
was much more lengthy, and Egbert was surprised indeed to
find that his kinsman owed his freedom to the jarl whose
vessel they had captured at the mouth of the Humber.

CHAPTER XI: THE ISLE OF ATHELNEY

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."

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