Historical Tales, Vol. 4 | Page 7

dog! and yet you
cannot watch them burning under your very eyes."
What the king said in reply the tradition which has preserved this
pleasant tale fails to relate. Doubtless it needed some of the swineherd's
eloquence to induce his irate wife to bake a fresh supply for their
careless guest.
It had been Guthrum's main purpose, as we may be assured, in his rapid
ride to Chippenham, to seize the king. In this he had failed; but the
remainder of his project went successfully forward. Through Dorset,
Berkshire, Wilts, and Hampshire rode his men, forcing the people
everywhere to submit. The country was thinly settled, none knew the
fate of the king, resistance would have been destruction, they bent
before the storm, hoping by yielding to save their lives and some
portion of their property from the barbarian foe. Those near the coast
crossed with their families and movable effects to Gaul. Elsewhere
submission was general, except in Somersetshire, where alone a body
of faithful warriors, lurking in the woods, kept in arms against the
invaders.
Alfred's secret could not yet be safely revealed. Guthrum had not given
over his search for him. Yet some of the more trusty of his subjects
were told where he might be found, and a small band joined him in his
morass-guarded isle. Gradually the news spread, and others sought the
isle of Ethelingay, until a well-armed and sturdy band of followers
surrounded the royal fugitive. This party must be fed. The island
yielded little subsistence. The king was obliged to make foraging raids
from his hiding-place. Now and then he met and defeated straggling
parties of Danes, taking from them their spoils. At other times, when
hard need pressed, he was forced to forage on his own subjects.

Day by day the news went wider through Saxon homes, and more
warriors sought their king. As the strength of his band increased, Alfred
made more frequent and successful forays. The Danes began to find
that resistance was not at an end. By Easter the king felt strong enough
to take a more decided action. He had a wooden bridge thrown from the
island to the shore, to facilitate the movements of his followers, while
at its entrance was built a fort, to protect the island party against a
Danish incursion.
Such was the state of Alfred's fortunes and of England's hopes in the
spring of 878. Three months before, all southern England, with the
exception of Gloucester and its surrounding lands, had been his. Now
his kingdom was a small island in the heart of a morass, his subjects a
lurking band of faithful warriors, his subsistence what could be wrested
from the strong hands of the foe.
While matters went thus in Somerset, a storm of war gathered in Wales.
Another of Ragnar's sons, Ubbo by name, had landed on the Welsh
coast, and, carrying everything before him, was marching inland to join
his victorious brother.
He was too strong for the Saxons of that quarter to make head against
him in the open field. Odun, the valiant ealderman who led them, fled,
with his thanes and their followers, to the castle of Kwineth, a
stronghold defended only by a loose wall of stones, in the Saxon
fashion. But the fortress occupied the summit of a lofty rock, and bade
defiance to assault. Ubbo saw this. He saw, also, that water must be
wanting on that steep rock. He pitched his tents at its foot, and waited
till thirst should compel a surrender of the garrison.
He was to find that it is not always wise to cut off the supplies of a
beleaguered foe. Despair aids courage. A day came in the siege in
which Odun, grown desperate, left his defences before dawn, glided
silently down the hill with his men, and fell so impetuously upon the
Danish host that the chief and twelve hundred of his followers were
slain, and the rest driven in panic to their ships. The camp, rich with the
spoil of Wales, fell into the victors' hands, while their trophies included
the great Raven standard of the Danes, said to have been woven in one

noontide by Ragnar's three daughters. This was a loss that presaged
defeat to the Danes, for they were superstitious concerning this
standard. If the raven appeared to flap its wings when going into battle,
victory seemed to them assured. If it hung motionless, defeat was
feared. Its loss must have been deemed fatal.
Tidings of this Saxon victory flew as if upon wings throughout England,
and everywhere infused new spirit into the hearts of the people, new
hope of recovering their country from the invading foe. To Alfred the
news brought a heart-tide of joy. The time for action was at hand.
Recruits