<SPAN name="chap01"></SPAN>
<h3> CHAPTER I: THE FUGITIVES </h3>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Good!" he said, "I am in luck to-day; here are three fine ducks."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"'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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"I suppose, father," Edmund said, "you will leave your treasures buried
here?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Why, father," Edmund exclaimed in astonishment, "surely you would not
have all men free and equal."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Edmund was silent. The very possibility of a state of things in which
there should be no serfs, and when all men should be free and equal,
had never occurred to him; but he had a deep respect for his father,
who bore indeed the reputation of being one of the wisest and most
clear-headed of the nobles of East Anglia, and it seemed to him that
this strange and novel doctrine contained much truth in it. Still the
idea was as strange to him as it would have been to the son of a
southern planter in America half a century ago. The existence of slaves
seemed as much a matter of course as that of horses or dogs, and
although he had been accustomed to see from time to time freedom
bestowed upon some favourite serf as a special reward for services, the
thought of a general liberation of the slaves was strange and almost
bewildering, and he lay awake puzzling over the problem long after his
father and kinsman had fallen asleep.</p>
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