"It was richly carved about the handle. The letter E is stamped upon it, with a crown."

"Whence did the prisoner obtain it?"

"The king gave it him." (Sensation.)

"Did you see it on the night of the murder?"

"I did."

"Under what circumstances?"

"The accused held it dripping with blood in his hands, and said he found it sticking in the corpse."

Other witnesses were also called to prove these facts.

The accused was then heard in his own defence, and he repeated with great simplicity and candour the circumstances so well known to our readers; and concluded:

"I can say no more. None who knew the love he bore me, and that I bore him, could suspect me."

The bishop here spoke.

"It is my office," said he, "by the canons of King Athelstane, to assist secular judges in purging away accusations, therefore I will ask the accused a few questions."

"Had you any cause of suspicion against any other person—anything to point out the doer of this evil deed?"

"All men loved him save one."

"And who was that one?"

"He sits to judge me."

"Nay," cried the bishop, "we all beheld the reconciliation in St. Frideswide's church."

"The king himself was warned not to trust to the reconciliation."

"By whom?"

"His brother sovereign."

"Canute?"

And here Edric perceptibly changed colour.

"Even so."

"Your proofs," said the bishop—"nay, my lord Edric, trust your reputation to the justice of God and the court."

"The messenger from Canute, who came here on the vigil of St. Andrew."

"Where is he?"

"He has returned to Canute," said Elfwyn.

"Aught else?"

"Only I would bid you remember that the ealdorman Edric sought in like manner reconciliation with Elfhelm of Shrewsbury, and all men know what followed."

Here Edric interrupted—"I do not sit here to be judged, but to judge. These accusations cannot be heard."

"There is a judgment seat above where you will not be able to make that plea," said the prisoner solemnly.

"Alfgar," said the bishop, "this counter-accusation cannot be received; have you aught else to urge?"

"None. I commit my cause to God."

The court retired.

The pause was long and painful. It afterwards transpired that the bishop pleaded in Alfgar's favour, while Herstan ably seconded him; but all was in vain. Edric's eloquence, and the strong circumstantial evidence against the prisoner, carried the day, and the ealdorman even proposed that execution should be speedy, "lest," he whispered, "Canute should interfere to screen his instrument."

It was a dangerous game, but he thought the services he had rendered the Danish cause enabled him to play it safely.

They returned. All men saw the verdict in their faces. Edric spoke with great solemnity.

"We find the prisoner guilty."

There was a dead pause.

"I appeal to the judgment of God. I demand the ordeal cf fire," said Alfgar {xix}.

"It cannot be denied," said the bishop, who had anticipated the appeal. "I myself will see to the preliminaries; and it may take place tomorrow morning in St. Frideswide's church."

Edric and his sympathisers would fain have denied the claim, but they could not resist the bishop, backed as he was by the popular voice, for the cry, "The ordeal! yes, the ordeal!" was taken up at once by the populace.

While he was hesitating, his brother Goda appeared amongst the crowd.

"Canute," he whispered, "draws nigh Oxenford. He has heard what is going on."

Edric trembled, but soon recovered himself. However, it was not a time to deny justice.

The following morning the church of St. Frideswide was crowded at the early mass. All the friends of the accused were there, and Edric with all his party. The holy service was about to commence, when the crowd at the church door moved aside; a passage was speedily made though the crowd, and three or four ecclesiastics, one habited as a royal chaplain, escorted a stranger, to whom all paid instinctive reverence, yet hardly knowing why, for he was only clad in the ordinary robes worn by noblemen amongst the English.

He was led to the choir, and placed where Edmund had knelt by Edric's side some days previously. Edric saw him, and exchanged glances, after which the ealdorman looked uneasy.

On the other side knelt the prisoner, with Elfwyn and Herstan on either side, and his colour heightened. Well it might. He had last seen that figure when he fought by Edmund's side at Penn. But it was not that meeting. Words spoken ten years before came back to him with marvellous force:

"Tell me what is the secret of this Christianity?"

And Alfgar knew that Canute had found that secret at last.

"Why was he here? Did he come as his friend or foe?"

The mass was over. Alfgar had followed the whole ceremony with rapt attention, for it was in God alone that he could now put his confidence.

Then a furnace was placed in the church, containing nine bars of iron of red heat, and the fire was blown till the bars, quivering with heat, glittered in the sight. The bishop approached, and said the appointed prayers, that God would detect the innocence or guilt of the prisoner by their means, and reveal the truth known only to Him.

Then a lane was formed up the church, and the friends of Alfgar kept one side, while those of Edric kept the other, after which the bars of iron were laid down about two feet apart.

The bishop approached.

"Are ye all fasting with prayer?" he inquired.

The friends of accused and accuser from either side replied:

"We are."

"Humble yourselves, and pray to God to reveal the truth," said he, and sprinkled them with holy water, after which the book of the Gospels was passed all round to be kissed.

"Pray that God may reveal the truth," said he again.

"We do so pray."

Then Alfgar, who felt full of divine confidence, took his place at the end nearest the porch. He was given the book of the Gospels.

"Swear thy innocence upon the holy Gospels," said the bishop.

"I do swear that I am innocent of the crime they lay to my charge;" and he kissed the book; then holy water was sprinkled upon his feet, and given him to drink.

The decisive moment approached. He looked round, he saw Ethelgiva, her eyes full of tears, her lips moving in prayer.

All fear departed from him.

The bishop blindfolded him.

"My son, trust in God, and in His strength go forward," he whispered.

Alfgar could see nought now. A line of red string was stretched from the bishop's hand to that of a priest at the other extremity, to guide him. Canute advanced, took the end from the priest's hand and held it.

Alfgar started one step. The first iron is passed safely—two, the second cleared. The excitement is intense. Three cleared—four, five. Ah, he nears the sixth! No, he misses it!—seven, eight—one more—nine! SAVED BY GOD!

Ethelgiva fainted. A deep sound of applause, not even suppressed by the character of the place. Elfwyn received his adopted son in his arms:

"Saved, saved!" he cried.

"Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory!" replied Alfgar.

When the first congratulations were over, and Alfgar had somewhat recovered from the excitement of the shock, and from the congratulations which were heaped upon him upon all sides, he was told that Canute awaited him in the audience chamber, and at once repaired to the presence of his future king with less emotion than may be imagined; for he was worn out by sensation, and becoming callous to impressions.

He was formally introduced by the officer in waiting, and the king at once dismissed that functionary.

"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, we have met before," observed the monarch.

"We have, my lord."

"I did not refer to later occasions, when we have met on the battlefield, but to a far earlier one. Need I recall it? Surely there are some moments in one's life never to be forgotten."

"There are indeed, my lord. Pardon my confusion. You refer to a scene in Carisbrooke."

"Yes. When I asked you, 'What is this Christianity?' you had not much time given you to answer me then, but your deliberate choice of a bitter death, in preference to abandoning it, showed me there was somewhat deeper in it than I had imagined. Alfgar, there are seeds lightly sown which bear fruit hereafter, and your words were of such a character—so that I, your future monarch, owe you already a debt of gratitude, and I had come hither to fulfil it when you saved me the task by appealing to the ordeal. I for one had full faith in the justice of God. But had you not so appealed, I should have stepped in between Edric and his victim."

"You did not then, my lord, believe in my guilt?"

"Not for one moment. The lad who defied my unhappy father in the frantic fury of his power—the warrior I had seen fighting by the side of his king—the faithful attendant of many years?—Nay, it was monstrous; who could believe it?"

"Many, alas! found it possible to believe it, my lord. But who has been the murderer? You will not permit your brother's blood to fall on the earth unavenged."

"Wait. Be patient. God, in whom you trust, will direct the bolt in His own time. Edmund's blood will not be unavenged. And now, farewell! Remember, if you have lost one royal friend, you have found another."

And Alfgar left the presence.

The next day the whole party from Aescendune returned home. Oxenford was too full of bitter memories now. One grief of Alfgar was this—he had not been able to stand by Edmund's grave.



CHAPTER XXV. FATHER CUTHBERT'S DIARY.

CHRISTMASTIDE 1017.

Ten years ago, this very day, God in His mercy delivered us from the raging Danes at Cliffton, on Tamesis, and now He hath delivered us again out of the hands of the raging lion, even of Edric Streorn, and we are all spared to keep our Christmas in peace in the woods of Aescendune.

It is probably the last I shall keep in this place, for the hall and priory are fast rising from their ruins, and we shall soon return to our old home, from which we have been banished ten years and more. It will be sweet to be there once more, serving the Lord in peace, with none daring to make us afraid.

Here we are, all of us who are near and dear by the ties of blood, in this woodland Zoar, which hath indeed been a Zoar in the late troublous years, utterly untouched, which again we regard as a proof that Anlaf does not live, for he could have found us out had his revenge led him to do so when Sweyn was in Mercia. Neither has he appeared to claim his own estate, which he might easily regain now a Dane is king.

Alfgar and Ethelgiva are now speedily to be united. Theirs is to be the first marriage solemnised in the new minster church by my unworthy hands. To see them now, one would think they had forgotten all the past peril. The old people do not mean to abandon their woodland abode; they love it all too well, and call it the Happy Valley. But they say that a good road, now the times are safer, shall be made to the old site, where we are again rearing hall and priory.

There is now quite a colony here, nearly 300 people. The church is very commodious, and every day, for the whole period of these late dreadful wars, mass has been said therein for our suffering brethren "contra Paganos." Thank God that he hath at length heard our prayers; our late foes are no longer Pagans but Christians, and are as eager to build up as they were to cast down; in fact, several of them have offered their zealous aid in the rebuilding of our priory.

We had such a happy Christmas evening. We sat by the fire, and Alfgar was made to relate the whole story again of his escape with Edmund from Carisbrooke, of his imprisonment by Edric in the Synodune woods, of the attack and defence of Clifton. We had all heard it before, but still we wanted to hear it again, just to contrast present peace and joy with the danger and trials of those days, and to make them sweeter by the contrast. Truly our Christmas worship had need to be praise and thanksgiving, not only for the great mystery the church commemorates, but also for present mercies so freely bestowed upon us all.

Second Sunday after Easter, 1017.—

We have just received intelligence that Canute has been solemnly crowned at St. Paul's Church, in London, by Archbishop Lyfing. He called a council of the whole kingdom previously, to which both my brother and I were summoned, but I cared not to attend. Elfwyn, however, went, and wanted Alfgar to go, but he begged hard to be excused, I imagine for two reasons. First of all, he laments Edmund too deeply to welcome his former enemy as his successor; and secondly, he does not care to leave Ethelgiva again.

Well, Elfwyn tells us that when all were present—bishops, ealdormen, thanes, and the noblest of the people—Canute solemnly proposed that they should accept him as their king, giving them to understand that, by a tacit understanding with Edmund, it had been agreed that the kingdom should not be permanently divided, but that the survivor should inherit and govern the whole realm.

The wise men replied that, since Edmund's children were too young to govern, they could not desire a better monarch than Canute; they committed the little ones to his care, and acknowledged him as king of all England.

And on the morrow Archbishop Lyfing, who had so shortly before crowned Edmund, placed the emblem of regal dignity on the head of Canute in St. Paul's Cathedral.

I hear Edric Streorn is confirmed in the earldom of Mercia. I still fear that man.

Sunday after Ascension, 1017.—

On this happy Sunday it has pleased God to restore us to our home once more. The priory is rebuilt in more than its former beauty, and the hall beside it stands conspicuous in its splendour. They have not changed the appearance much, for it was the especial wish of every one concerned that it should remind one of old associations as much as possible.

The good bishop of Dorchester, the abbot of Abingdon, and many others of my friends amongst the brethren there, the neighbouring clergy and thanes, all met together to dedicate the new house to God. High mass was solemnly sung in the minster church, and the whole building was hallowed with psalm and prayer to God; after which followed a temperate banquet.

The bishop was very kind and loving, and spoke most affectionately to our poor people on the subject of their past trials; especially he commended their new lord, Alfgar, to their allegiance, saying that in all his deep trials he had shown himself a most perfect Christian, doing his duty both to God and man.

Monday.—

The abbot and brethren from Abingdon are gone back, and we poor happy brethren have entered again upon our regular duties. Ah me! what a gap time has made in our ranks. Of the twenty brethren who were driven out by the Danes eleven years ago, only twelve yet live, and eight brethren from Abingdon supply the place of the others. God be praised that Father Adhelm yet lives! He has been my right hand in so many perils and trials.

It is so delightful to be at home once more. Surely never were monks happier. My heart swells when each morning we sing the three last joyful psalms at lauds.

It is settled that Alfgar and Ethelgiva are to be married on the Monday after the Whitsun octave. O happy pair! O ter felices et nimium beati! I only hope they will not love earth too well.

Octave of the Ascension.—

Today we have had a special messenger from Canute, who is in the neighbourhood, to express his royal intention to grace the approaching marriage with his presence. It will indeed be an honour. Ah! but if Edmund could be there.

Whitsunday.—

I hardly know how to express my intense surprise and joy. Alfgar's father has returned—a Christian.

While all the people were assembling for mass this morning, an aged man, clad in palmer's weeds, evidently worn by toil and travel, came from the bridge over the river, which has been rebuilt, towards the minster church, and entering, knelt down wrapt in devotion. Many remarked his quaint attire; his face, once stern, now softened by grace; his hair, once black as the raven's wing, now white as snow; his dark eyes gleaming beneath thick white eyebrows. I fear he caused many wandering thoughts, and he would have caused yet more, could they have known that they beheld the penitent destroyer of the old hall and priory.

Now I preached, not knowing at the time who was amongst my hearers, from the words of Isaiah, "For thy waste and desolate places, and the land of thy destruction, shall even now be too narrow, by reason of the inhabitants, and they that swallowed thee up shall be far away. The children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other, shall say again in thine ears. The place is too strait for me; give place to me, that I may dwell."

Oh, how touching the words seemed; for our waste and desolate places are indeed peopled with joy and gladness, and many must have thought of dear Bertric, our martyr boy, when they heard those words, "the children which thou shalt have, after thou hast lost the other." They seemed a divine prophecy of joy and gladness unto us.

And so I preached after this manner, and as I did so I saw the stranger was deeply moved, and marvelled who he could be, that he entered so deeply into so personal a sermon, which treated of a peculiar joy which a stranger intermeddleth not with.

Now after the mass was ended, we came forth from the church, and Alfgar, with Ethelgiva, walked down the path to the Lychgate, when Alfgar's eyes fell upon the stranger, whereupon, to our astonishment, he started, then stepped forward, fell on his knees, and cried, with a choked voice, "Father, your blessing!"

At first we thought it was reverence, somewhat exaggerated, to a pilgrim, but when the aged man cried aloud, "The God of Abraham bless thee, even thee, O my son!" and the tears streamed down the furrows of his aged cheeks, we knew it must be something more than this, and so it proved.

It was none other than Anlaf—Anlaf who had disappeared from all the knowledge of friend or foe for ten years!

We all received him, especially my brother Elfwyn, with great joy—for we shared Alfgar's happiness—and we led him into the house, where we tendered him all the offices of hospitality.

It was by degrees that we learned his story. He was really converted to Christianity by the example of his son, whose words produced a far deeper effect upon him than either he or Alfgar suspected at the time.

And when he saw that son prefer a cruel death to apostasy, his heart was moved—deeply moved, so that he pondered over all he had heard from him and from a once loved wife, whose words had seemed lost, but whose prayers perhaps watered them into growth after she was dead and gone. So he left the army without telling any one whither he went, and sought instruction from a Christian.

And he found a Christian priest hidden in the woods, where he administered the word and sacraments to a starving few, but secretly, for fear of the Danes; and from him he learned the truth and was baptized.

Then, feeling himself unhappy in this distracted land—separated from the English by blood, from the Danes by religion—he determined to go on pilgrimage.

Once in the Holy Land, he had to undergo much contumely from the pagan Saracens, who, to the disgrace of Christendom, defile the Holy City by their presence, and maltreat the blessed pilgrims; but he had learned to glory in humiliation. At last he retired to the woods on the sources of the Jordan, weary of earth, and there he joined an aged hermit, with whom he lived for two years, and when the hermit died he took his place, and dwelt as an ascetic, ministering, however, to the necessities of pilgrims who journeyed that way to the Holy Land.

From some of these pilgrims he learned, at length, that English and Danes were united in peace, and a great desire of revisiting England and searching out his son seized upon him. On the road he heard that Edmund was dead and Canute reigned alone, and so he came hither at once, and has arrived, God so willing it, in time to see his son married to the heiress of Aescendune.

We have provided him lodgings in the priory. The new hall is not to be dwelt in till the night when the happy pair enter it and make it their home.

Alfgar's cup of joy is full.

Monday after the Whitsun Octave.—

At last it is over. The weary waiting of ten years is ended. Alfgar and Ethelgiva are man and wife.

Canute gave away the bride in person. Elfwyn, Hilda, Herstan, Bertha, and Hermann, with his sisters—indeed all the kindred of the bride were there. Of the kindred of the bridegroom but one, so far as we know, is living—his father Anlaf. It has been a warlike race, and nearly all the members of the family have found a warrior's grave.

I performed the ceremony, assisted by all the brethren in the choral portions of the mass and the order of the marriage service. Ethelgiva was pale and composed although she shed a few natural tears, but wiped them soon. Alfgar was simple and unaffected, as he always is. All he does is so naturally done. Like Nathaniel, he is a man without guile.

The church was crowded. All the retainers and all the neighbours were present, and when the bride and bridegroom left the sacred building, they saluted them with cheers which made the welkin ring.

Then the whole party adjourned to the hall, which was crowded to the fullest extent. And for the poorer guests, who could not find admittance, tables were spread in the open air, beneath the shade of spreading trees, for the day was lovely even for June.

Canute remained throughout the entertainment, and, by his unaffected condescension and his cheerful sympathy, won the hearts of all. His general demeanour tends to efface his foreign descent from the mind. Yet we sighed for Edmund, for which even Canute would pardon us. He should have presided at the board.

When the night was far advanced the whole party broke up and retired to rest, after a day calculated to efface the recollection of many a hardship past.

For my part, when I returned to the priory, I mused for a long time on the dark paths through which our Lord has conducted us to this happy day. I thought of the period of Alfgar's conversion and baptism, of St. Brice's night, for which England has paid so heavy a penance, now, we trust, happily over. And while I thus thought, my musings led me to the tomb of Bertric, whose sacred relics, as those of a martyr, now lie interred beneath our high altar, and I wondered whether his blessed spirit could sympathise in our earthly joy. Yes; I doubt it not; and that he witnesses it from above. Through suffering to joy has been our lot; through suffering to glory his.

Tuesday.—

The king left this morning. His engagements are too numerous to permit him to give much space to recreation. Before he left he summoned Alfgar, Anlaf, and Elfwyn, to a conference in the library—for they have a library as of old in the hall—and then he told Alfgar that he had talked with Anlaf who wished to convey the manorial rights of his former patrimony, and all its revenues, to his son, and to join our brotherhood, and that he desired him to witness the deed. Now, all the former charters of Aescendune were destroyed in the old hall, and the king had caused a new one to be drawn up, supplying all the defects caused by the loss of the earlier documents; conferring and securing, by royal charter, all the lands of Aescendune, and those formerly appertaining to Anlaf, upon Alfgar, and his successors for ever, not, as he said, as a deed of gift, but as a charter securing and defining their rights and liberties, for him and his successors, to all future generations; and adding all the waste land of the adjacent forest, formerly holden of the crown, to their domains, with right of all temporal jurisdiction, and with the title of Earl, which title is common in the northern and more Danish districts, more so than ealdorman, which obtains in the south.

"Thus much," said he, "I know my brother Edmund would have done for you, and in his place it has fallen to my lot.

"Would," he added, "I could be all to you which Edmund would have been had he lived; that, perhaps, is not possible; but I know, Alfgar," he added, "how to esteem faithfulness, even when it has been sometimes exercised at my expense, for one once a rival, now only thought of as a brother."

Then he turned to Anlaf.

"Old companion in arms," he said, "this makes up for Carisbrooke; well, Alfgar, hadst thou yielded then, thou hadst not been here now. Thy father and I owe thee something for the example thou didst set us."

And then he turned to Elfwyn and wished him joy of his son.

After that he came to the priory and prayed awhile in front of the altar; his devotions ended, he came to my cell and made me a startling offer of a bishopric in Denmark, saying he thought there was much work to be done for God there, and he thought Englishmen would do it best; and thus, he added, after their Master's example, return good for evil {xx}.

But an old oak such as I am cannot be uprooted, and perhaps it is a carnal feeling, but I fear my earthly affections bind me here while life lasts, so, thanking him warmly for the distinction implied in the offer, I respectfully but firmly declined it.

And so the king and his retinue left Aescendune. Elfwyn and Hilda return in a few days to their happy valley; men have been at work for weeks making a good road there from the hall, and the journey will only occupy two or three hours to a good walker.

Herstan and his family leave for their home on the Thames (which has been rebuilt, together with the little church of St. Michael) tomorrow. Anlaf takes his vows as a novice next Sunday, his novitiate will be as short as the rules of our order allow; we shall all then welcome him as a brother.

Soon our days will flow tranquilly on. May God mercifully continue peace in our days.

"Stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us."

Christmas, 1017.—

Strange news greet our festival. Edric Streorn has gone suddenly, unhouselled, unanointed, unabsolved, to his great account. Hermann, who is now an officer in the royal hus-carles, has arrived from court, and from him we have learnt all particulars.

Edric was alone with the king in a chamber overlooking the Thames. Hermann was on duty without, with some of the guard, when he heard voices within in hot contention.

"You will grant me no favour, not even the life of this traitor, who, I tell you, is conspiring against you, and desires to place Edwy, the Etheling, Edmund's brother, on the throne in your place."

"Your proof lies, I suppose, in the hatred you have always borne him," was the king's reply.

Hermann could not help hearing, they spoke so loudly, but the next words enchained his attention.

"I tell thee the name 'Alfgar' is first and foremost amongst the signatures of the men who have conspired to cast thee from the throne."

"Then I conclude you placed it there; tush, man, I know thee of old!"

"Why should you suspect this? was not he Edmund's faithful friend, worshipping him as a god, and would he not do all he could for his brother?"

"I thought you held him guilty of Edmund's murder."

"That was only because I wished to remove two enemies from your path instead of one you will not remove one from mine; lo! I forsook Edmund my king for thy sake, and for thy sake I slew him, and thus thou rewardest me."

Then Canute waxed furious, and he shouted, "Guard! guard!"

Hermann rushed in; and amongst others Eric, the Earl of Northumbria.

"What, wretch! murderer! apostate blasphemer of the saints! didst thou murder Edmund, my brother Edmund, who was dear to me as Jonathan to David, seeing we were bound to each other by an oath! Thou didst stretch thy hand against the Lord's anointed, and thou shalt die the death.

"Cut him down! cut him down, Eric! cut him down, Hermann."

Eric stepped forward in an instant, and with his huge battle-axe cleft the unhappy traitor, who had fallen to his knees to obtain mercy, from the head to the shoulders.

"Throw the carcase out of window," cried the furious king; "let the fishes have the carrion. Never shall he find a grave, the vile regicide; and that he should think I would reward his guilt! Nay, I have served him as David did the Amalekite."

Eric and Hermann, between them, raised the corpse, and flung it, all bleeding and disfigured, into the Thames, the tide just running out beneath the walls.

I ought to write, "So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord!" But the awful doom of his unrepentant soul saddens me, much as he has hated me and mine.

Lent, 1018.—

A strange discovery has been made which interests us all greatly. At the time of Alfgar's trial at Oxford, Herstan fancied there must be a secret staircase communicating with Edmund's room, but sought it in vain. Now that Edric has avowed the deed, Hermann has obtained the king's permission to make a thorough search all through the house, and in the thickness of the huge stone chimney a secret staircase has been found, with a door opening through the thickness of the wall and panelling into the room in which Edmund slept, as well as another door opening into the banqueting hall, where Sigeferth and Morcar were murdered. It is all clear as day now. Edric must have entered the royal chamber from the banqueting hall in the dead of the night, and thus, when no human eye beheld, have accomplished his evil deed. Ah, well! he could not escape the eye of Him who has said "Vengeance is mine, I will repay."

Eastertide, 1018—

A son is born to Alfgar and Ethelgiva; and today, Low Sunday, they presented their babe to Him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me." They have named him Edmund. The grandparents, both well and happy, were present; and the proud and happy father's eyes sparkled with joy over his little Edmund, glistening from the baptismal font. It fell to my happy lot thus to enrol the dear child amongst the lambs of Christ's fold. God grant him length of days here, and endless length of days beyond the skies when time shall be no more!

. . . . . .

Here we close our extracts from Father Cuthbert's Diary; but; before taking leave of him, we are sure our readers would like to hear a few more words about his future fortunes, and those of the house of Aescendune.

Better king than Canute, saving only the great Alfred, and perhaps Edgar, had never sat on the English throne. Under his auspices a change became visible throughout the whole country: villages again gladdened the blackened wastes; minsters and churches were rebuilt, whose broad, square Saxon towers yet hand down the memory of our ancestors. Agriculture revived; golden corn covered the bloodstained scenes of warfare; men lived once more in peace under the shadow of their homes, none daring to make them afraid. Peace, with its hallowed associations, gladdened England for fifty long years {xxi}.

Anlaf was the first of the group we have introduced to our readers to leave this transitory world for a better one. He died a few years after the accession of Canute. Father Cuthbert survived him many years, and died honoured and lamented in the last year of the great king.

His brother Elfwyn, and the lady Hilda, full of years, having outlived the natural span of man's appointed years, followed him shortly—not till they had seen their grandchildren, a numerous and hopeful progeny, grow up around them, and so perpetuate their race upon earth.

And for Alfgar and Ethelgiva, they lived to see a their children's children, and peace upon Israel, surviving until the close of the reign of Edward the Confessor, the son of Ethelred and Emma. Their days were days of peace, in strange contrast to their youthful years.

"Peace! and no more from out her brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies; But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy harmonies of peace arise." —Longfellow.

THE END.

i Genealogy of Aescendune.

The reader may be glad to have the genealogy of the family in whom it has been the author's aim to interest him placed clearly before him. The following genealogical table, including the principal names in "The First Chronicle of Aescendune," as well as those in the present book, may suffice, the date of decease being given in each case.

Offa, 940 * Oswald, 937. * Redwald, 959. * Ella, 959, m. Edith. + Elfric, 960. + Alfred, 998, m. Alftrude. o Elfric, 975. o Elfwyn, 1086, m. Hilda. # Bertric, 1006. # Ethelgiva, 1064 m. Alfgar. o Cuthbert, 1034. o Bertha, 1050 m. Herstan. + Edgitha, 990.

ii Curse of Dunstan.

"In the year of our Lord's incarnation 979, Ethelred, son of Edgar and Elfrida, obtaining the kingdom, occupied, rather than governed it, for thirty-seven years. The career of his life is said to have been cruel in the beginning, wretched in the middle, and disgraceful in the end. Thus, in the murder to which he gave his concurrence he was cruel, base in his flight and effeminacy, miserable in his death.

"The nobility being assembled by the contrivance of his mother, and the day being appointed for Dunstan, in right of his see, to crown him, he, though he might be ill-affected to them, forebore to resist, being a prelate of mature age well versed in secular matters. But, when placing the crown on his head, he could not refrain from giving vent, with a loud voice, to that prophetic spirit which he so deeply imbibed. 'Since,' said he, 'thou hast aspired to the kingdom by the death of thy brother, hear the word of God. Thus saith the Lord God: The sin of thy abandoned mother, and of the accomplices of her base design, shall not be washed out but by much blood of the wretched inhabitants; and such evils shall come upon the English nation as they have never suffered from the time they came to England until then.' Nor was it long after, that is in his third year, that seven piratical vessels came to Southampton, a port near Winchester, and having ravaged the coast fled back to the sea. This I think right to mention, because many reports are circulated among the English concerning these vessels."—William of Malmesbury, English Chronicle, Bohn's Edition, pp.

165-166.

iii See "First Chronicle of Aescendune."

iv Chronology of Father Cuthbert.

The Christian era did not come in use until about the year 532, when it was first introduced in the code of canon law compiled by Dionysius Exiguus, and, even then, the year of the world was still frequently used, as in some cases in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. When at length the Christian computation became universal, some began the year with the Incarnation (Christmas), others with the Annunciation; a custom not wholly abolished in England till 1752, when the "New Style," or Gregorian Calendar, was introduced.

But in the latter part of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and the portion upon which our tale is based, the year invariably opens with the Nativity—hence this reckoning has been used in the text, and the Christmas day in chapter 3 begins a new year.

v Now Banbury.

vi Death of St. Edmund.

There are two stories (or more) concerning the Danish invasion in which the saintly Edmund met his death; the first, alluded to in the song of the Etheling (chapter 11), tells how Ragnar Lodbrog, a great sea king, invaded England, but his fleet being shattered by a storm, fell into the hands of Ella, King of Northumbria, who threw him into a pit full of toads and serpents, where he perished, singing his death song to the last, and calling upon his sons to avenge his fate. Those sons were Hinguar and Hubba. They invaded East Anglia after they had avenged their father upon Ella, and King Edmund fought against them, but was taken prisoner. They offered him his life and throne if he would forsake Christianity, and reign under them. But he steadfastly refused, whereupon they put him to death after the manner described in the tale in the case of Bertric, while he called steadfastly upon Christ until his latest breath.

The other tale, given at length by Roger Wendover, tells that Ragnar Lodbrog, with only his hawk in his hand, was driven by a storm to the coast of East Anglia, that King Edmund made him his huntsman, but the former huntsman, Beorn, slew him through jealousy; that King Edmund put Beorn bound in the boat which had brought Lodbrog over, and sent him adrift to perish at sea. But the storm in turn blew him to Denmark, where he told the sons of the man he had slain that Edmund had murdered their father. Hence they came to avenge him. The remainder of the tale agrees with the former narrative, and is the only portion which certainly possesses historical truth.

St. Edmund has been much venerated in the eastern counties, and his shrine at Edmundsbury was greatly reverenced. The tale of the death of Sweyn, given in chapter 18, is a proof of this feeling, in which perhaps the legend partly originated.

vii The Rista Oern.

This punishment was usual among the Northmen, and was called "at rista oern," from the supposed resemblance of the victim to the figure of an eagle. The operation was generally performed by the chief himself. It is thus described by Snorre:

"Ad speciem aquilae dorsum ita ei laniabat, ut adacto ad spinam gladio, costisque omnibus ad lumbos usque a tergo divisis, pulmones extraheret."—Snorre, p. 108.

viii First appearance of Edmund.

The first mention of Edmund in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as the commander of the English forces is A.D. 1015, where he was joined with Edric in the command, as related in the text, chapter 18. The date of his birth is uncertain, but the comparison of authorities appeared to the author to justify the ascription of the character and actions, with which he is credited in the tale, to the English hero who first taught his generation to assert their equality with the fierce Danish invaders.

ix The appellations Wiltshire and Berkshire are of course of later date.

x The early name of Abingdon.

Johnson, the compiler of the famous collection of English canons, is of opinion that Cloveshoo, where the famous provincial council was held A.D. 803, is identical with Abingdon, and that the town lost its ancient name simply owing to the growing notoriety of the famous abbey; for "no one," says he, "can doubt that the name Abingdon was taken from the abbey." The first memorial, he adds, in which he finds the name Abingdon, is in the Chronicle wherein the burial of Bishop Sidesman, A.D. 977, in St. Mary's Minster, "which is at Abingdon," is mentioned, who was honourably buried on the north side of that fane in St. Paul's Chapel.

On the other hand, some learned antiquarians have maintained the opposite opinion, that the name Abingdon existed even prior to the foundation of the monastery; thus the Rev. Joseph Stevenson, in his edition of the "Chronicle of the Abbey of Abingdon," says—"Abingdon derives its name, not, as might at first sight be supposed, from the abbey there founded—Abbey dune or Abbots dune: philology forbids it. The place was so called from Abba, one of the early colonists of Berkshire."

xi Bishops of Dorchester.

There appears to have been much uncertainty concerning the succession of the bishops of this important see, owing, perhaps, to the confusion caused by its having been the seat of two totally distinct jurisdictions—the one over Wessex, the other over great part of Mercia.

The names of the bishops in the narrative are taken from a list kindly furnished by the Rev. W. Macfarlane, the present vicar of the Abbey Church, whose indefatigable efforts have restored to the ancient fane much of the glory of its ancient days.

According to this list, Ednoth was bishop from 1006 to 1016, when he was slain by the Danes as recorded in the text; and Ethelm succeeding, ruled the see till A.D. 1034, through the comparatively happy days of Canute.

xii End of the Campaign of 1006.

The following extract from the "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" gives the further history of the campaign very concisely:

"Then went the Danes to Wallingford, and that all burned, and were then one day in Cholsey: and they went then along Ashdown to Cuckamsley hill, and there abode, as a daring boast; for it had been often said, if they should reach Cuckamsley hill, that they would never again get to the sea: then they went homewards another way. Then were forces assembled at Kennet, and they there joined battle: and they soon put that band to flight, and afterwards brought their booty to the sea. But there might the Winchester men see an army daring and fearless, as they went by their gates towards the sea, and fetched themselves food and treasures over fifty miles from thence. Then had the king gone over Thames into Shropshire, and there took up his abode during the midwinter's tide. Then became the dread of the army so great, that no man could think or discover how they could be driven out of the land, or this land maintained against them; for they had every shire in Wessex sadly marked by burning and by plundering. Then the king began earnestly with the witan to consider what might seem most advisable to them all, so that this land might be saved, before it was utterly destroyed. Then the king and his witan decreed, for the behoof of the whole nation, though it was hateful to them all, that they needs must pay tribute to the Danish army. Then the king sent to the army, and directed it to be made known to them that he would that there should be a truce between them, and that tribute should be paid, and food given them. And then all that they accepted, and then were they victualled from throughout the English nation."—Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Bohn's Edition.

xiii This is copied almost verbatim from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

xiv The account is taken almost verbatim from Florence of Worcester.

xv Children of Ethelred.

By his two wives—(1) Aelfleda—(2) Emma, Ethelred had fourteen children, of whom only four or five have been mentioned in this narrative, or are of importance to the student—Edmund Ironside and his brother Edwy (chapter 25), by Aelfleda, and Alfred and Edward by Emma—the last well known in history as Edward the Confessor, and introduced in Chapter XIX. of this tale. The following genealogical table from Edgar to the children of Edmund may be of use. It will be remembered that the lineage of the present royal house passes through the last-named son of Edmund Ironside to Egbert:

Edgar * Edward the Martyr, d. 979. * Ethelred the Unready, d. 1016. + Edmund Ironside, 1016. o Edmund. o Edward, who became the great-grandfather of Henry the Second. + Edwy. + Elgitha. + Alfred, 1036. + Edward the Confessor, 1066.

xvi Sceorstan.

Antiquarians differ much about the site of this famous battle. Sharp thinks it was near Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire, and Thorpe, in his notes to "Florence of Worcester," says—"May not Chimney be the spot, a hamlet in Oxfordshire, in the parish of Bampton-in-the-Bush, near the edge of Gloucestershire, the name of Chimney being merely a translation, introduced after the Norman Conquest, of Sceorstan, which may probably have owed its origin to a Saxon house or hall, conspicuous for having a chimney when that luxury was of rare occurrence?" Others say that Sceorstan was not in Anglo-Saxon "a chimney," but "a graven stone," and make the site that of a boundary stone, still separating the four counties of Oxford, Gloucester, Worcester, and Warwick, near Chipping Norton. Bosworth says it is Sherston in Wilts.

xvii Single Combat between Edmund and Canute.

The following account is from Roger of Wendover:

"A few days after this lamentable battle (Assingdun), in which so many nobles fell, King Edmund pursued Canute, who was now committing ravages in Gloucestershire. The said kings therefore came together to fight at a place called Deerhurst, Edmund with his men being on the west side of the river Severn, and Canute with his men on the east, both preparing themselves manfully for battle. When both armies were now on the point of engaging, the wicked Earl Edric called together the chiefs and addressed them as follows: 'Nobles and warriors, why do we foolishly so often hazard our lives in battle for our kings, when not even our deaths secure to them the kingdom, or put an end to their covetousness? My counsel then is, that they alone should fight who alone are contending for the kingdom; for what must be the lust of dominion, when England, which formerly sufficed for eight kings, is not now enough for two? Let them, therefore, either come to terms, or fight alone for the kingdom.' This speech pleased them all; and the determination of the chiefs being communicated to the kings, received their approbation. There is a small island called Olney, in the mouth of that river. Thither the kings, clad in splendid armour, crossed over, and commenced a single combat in the presence of the people. Parrying the thrust of the spear as well by their own skill as by the interposition of their strong shields, they fought long and fiercely hand to hand, his valour protecting Edmund, and his good fortune Canute. The swords rung on their helmets, and sparks of fire flew from their collision. The stout heart of Edmund was kindled by the act of fighting, and as his blood grew warm his strength augmented; he raised his right hand, brandished his sword, and redoubled his blows on the head of his antagonist with such vehemence, that he seemed rather to fulminate than to strike. Feeling his strength failing him, and unable long to endure such an onset, Canute meditated peace; but as he was crafty, and afraid lest if the youth perceived his weakness he would not listen to his words of peace, drawing in all his breath he rushed on Edmund with wonderful valour, and immediately drawing back a little, he asked him to pause awhile and give him audience. The latter was of a courteous soul, and, resting his shield on the ground, he listened to the words of Canute, who thus proceeded: 'Hitherto I have coveted thy kingdom, bravest of men; but now I prefer thyself not only to the kingdom of England, but to all the world. Denmark serves me, Norway yields me subjection, the King of Sweden has shaken hands with me; so that, although Fortune promises me victory everywhere, yet thy wonderful manliness hath so won my favour, that I long beyond measure to have thee as friend and partner of my kingdom. I would that thou in like manner wert desirous of me; that I might reign with thee in England, and thou walk me in Denmark.' Why should I add more? King Edmund most graciously assented and yielded to his words, though he could not be forced by arms. The kingdom was therefore, by Edmund's direction, divided between the two, the crown of the whole kingdom reverting to King Edmund. The whole of England, therefore, to the south of the river Thames, was ceded to him, with Essex and East Anglia, and the city of London, the capital of the kingdom, Canute retaining the northern parts of the kingdom. Laying aside, therefore, their splendid armour, the kings embraced each other amidst the rejoicings of both the armies. They then exchanged their garments and arms in token of peace, and Edmund became Canute, and Canute Edmund."—Roger of Wendover, Bohn's Edition.

xviii The Death of Edmund.

This lamentable occurrence is involved in much mystery. Edric Streorn was generally credited with the deed, although some writers, e.g. William of Malmesbury, think he used the aid of attendants on the king, whom he bribed. The Chronicle is silent as to details. Henry of Huntingdon ascribes the deed to a son of Edric. Roger of Wendover agrees with him, adding the facts that the place was Oxford, and the time St. Andrew's night, as in the text. Amidst these conflicting statements fiction perhaps most legitimately takes its place.

xix The Ordeal.

This ancient custom was observed by Simplicius, Bishop of Autun, so early as the fourth century, and was very generally in use during the period of our tale. Although never formally recognised by the Church of Rome, and forbidden by many edicts on the Continent, it was administered in England under the direction of the clergy, and its details prescribed by the canons during a period extending from the laws of Alfred to the directions given in the ecclesiastical laws of Edward the Confessor, the year before the Norman Conquest, A.D. 1065. The first prohibition of its use in England is in the third year of Henry the Third.

There were three principal modes of its administration. In the first, the ordeal by water, the accused had to take a heavy piece of iron from a boiling cauldron placed in the church—in the second, to carry a bar of heated iron nine feet. The hand or arm was bound in linen, the bandage sealed by the priest, and on the third day the limb was uncovered. If the burn or scald had healed the prisoner was pronounced innocent, otherwise he had to suffer the punishment due to his offence.

The details given in the text are chiefly taken from the Canons of Athelstane; but the mode of purgation therein described is similar to that by which it is said Queen Emma repelled an accusation made by Robert, Bishop of London, in the year 1046. This mode of administration was perhaps more frequently used when a prompt appeal was needed to the judgment of God, or in the case of persons of rank, were they ever, as was seldom the case, compelled to appeal to its decision.

xx It was a subject of complaint against Canute in Denmark that he gave away most of the bishoprics to Englishmen.

xxi Character of Canute.

The great change in Canute's character after his accession to the throne has been noticed by all writers. Each year he seemed to grow in self-command and in the practice of virtue, while all men were edified by his strict attention to his religions duties. Later in life he made a pilgrimage to Rome, and a letter written thence gives a good idea of his general affection for his people. It is addressed to the archbishops and bishops and great men, and to all the English people, and is written in the familiar style a father might use to his children, especially telling them all he had seen at Rome, and about the way in which he spent Easter with Pope John and the Emperor, whom he persuaded to abolish certain dues exacted from English pilgrims. In the last portion of the letter he tells them how he has made up his mind to amend his life in every way, and to atone for all the wrongs committed in the violence of youth. He forbids any person to use violence or to make the royal needs an excuse for wrongdoing, saying, "I have no need of money gathered by unrighteousness." He concludes by saying that he is sure they will all be glad to hear how he has fared, and that they know he has not spared himself any trouble, and never will, to do all that lies in his power for the good of his people.

There is something in the whole tone of the letter which warms one's heart towards the writer, and one cannot help contrasting the reigns of the two conquerors, Canute and William: the first, beginning with violence and bloodshed, grew daily in justice, mercy, and the love of God, and so passed lamented to his grave; the latter, promising at first to govern justly, grew worse and worse in oppressive cruelty and all sorts of wrongdoing, until the sad and hopeless death scene in the abbey of St. Gervase. But the delineation of the latter period must be reserved, all being well, for the "Third Chronicle of Aescendune."

THE END