Historical Tales, Vol. 4 | Page 8

came to him daily; fresh life was in his people; trusty
messengers from Ethelingay sought the thanes throughout the land, and
bade them, with their followers, to join the king at Egbert, on the
eastern border of Selwood forest, in the seventh week after Easter.
Guthrum, meanwhile, was not idle. The frequent raids in
mid-Somersetshire had taught him where his royal enemy might be
found. Action, immediate and decisive, was necessary, or Alfred would
be again in the field with a Saxon army, and the fruits of the successful
midwinter raid be lost. Messengers were sent in haste to call in the
scattered Danish bands, and a fortified camp was formed in a strong
place in the vicinity of Ethelingay, whence a concerted movement
might be made upon the lurking foe.
The time fixed for the gathering of the Saxon host was at hand. It was
of high importance that the numbers and disposition of the Danes
should be learned. The king, if we may trust tradition, now undertook
an adventure that has ever since been classed among the choicest
treasures of romance. The duty demanded was too important to trust to
any doubtful hands. Alfred determined himself to venture within the
camp of the Danes, observe how they were fortified and how arranged,
and use this vital information when the time for battle came.
The enterprise was less desperate than might seem. Alfred's form and
face were little known to his enemies. He was a skilful harper. The
glee-man in those days was a privileged person, allied to no party, free
to wander where he would, and to twang his harp-strings in any camp.
He might look for welcome from friend and foe.

Dressed in Danish garb, and bearing the minstrel's harp, the daring king
boldly sought and entered the camp of the invaders, his coming greeted
with joy by the Danish warriors, who loved martial music as they loved
war.
Songs of Danish prowess fell from the disguised minstrel's lips, to the
delight of his audience. In the end Guthrum and his chiefs heard report
of the coming of this skilled glee-man, and ordered that he should be
brought to the great tent, where they sat carousing, in hopeful
anticipation of coming victory.
Alfred, nothing loath, sought Guthrum's tent, where, with stirring songs
of the old heroes of their land, he flattered the ears of the chiefs, who
applauded him to the echo, and at times broke into wild refrains to his
warlike odes. All that passed we cannot say. The story is told by
tradition only, and tradition is not to be trusted for details. Doubtless,
when the royal spy slipped from the camp of his foes he bore with him
an accurate mind-picture of the numbers, the discipline, and the
arrangement of the Danish force, which would be of the highest value
in the coming fray.
Meanwhile, the Saxon hosts were gathering. When the day fixed by the
king arrived they were there: men from Hampshire, Wiltshire,
Devonshire, and Somerset; men in smaller numbers from other counties;
all glad to learn that England was on its feet again, all filled with joy to
see their king in the field. Their shouts filled the leafy alleys of the
forest, they hailed the king as the land's avenger, every heart beat high
with assurance of victory. Before night of the day of meeting the
woodland camp was overcrowded with armed men, and at dawn of the
next day Alfred led them to a place named Icglea, where, on the forest's
edge, a broad plain spread with a morass on its front. All day long
volunteers came to the camp; by night Alfred had an army in open field,
in place of the guerilla band with which, two days before, he had lurked
in the green aisles of Selwood forest, like a Robin Hood of an earlier
day, making the verdant depths of the greenwood dales his home.
At dawn of the next day the king marshalled his men in battle array,
and occupied the summit of Ethandune, a lofty eminence in the vicinity

of his camp. The Danes, fiery with barbaric valor, boldly advanced, and
the two armies met in fierce affray, shouting their war-cries,
discharging arrows and hurling javelins, and rushing like wolves of war
to the closer and more deadly hand-to-hand combat of sword and axe,
of the shock of the contending forces, the hopes and fears of victory
and defeat, the deeds of desperate valor, the mighty achievements of
noted chiefs, on that hard-fought field no Homer has sung, and they
must remain untold. All we know is that the Danes fought with
desperate valor, the English with a courage inspired by revenge, fear of
slavery, thirst for liberty, and the undaunted resolution of men whose
every