Chapter X

Byrthnoth, the leader of the East Angles against Anlaf the Dane. Refusal
to pay unjust tribute. Heroic fight.

We have in the "Battle of Maldon" a great patriotic poem, written about the "ealdorman"[H] of the East Angles, Byrthnoth, or Brihtnoth, who stood so valiantly against the Danes. It was he who was so good to the monks, helping to defend them against the "ealdorman" of the Mercians, and others who were turning them out: he also helped to found the Abbey of Ely. He was buried there, we are glad to know. Anlaf, known as Olaf Tryggvesson, afterwards King of Norway, came with two other Northmen, and harried Ipswich and other places, and then sailed up the Pant or Blackwater to Maldon, where the river divides into two parts. The beginning and end of the poem have been lost, and, as we have it now, it opens with the command of Byrhtnoth that every man should let his horse go, and march afoot to meet the enemy and strive with him hand to hand.

[Footnote H: "Alderman" is the modern form, but it does not mean the same thing.]

Then Byrthnoth 'gan array his men; he rode and gave the rede,
He shewed the fighters how to stand and keep the place at need,
Fast with their hands to hold the shields, nor be afraid indeed.

He took his place among his own bodymen, his immediate followers. On the other side of the stream the herald of the vikings (or pirates) stood, and with a loud voice gave the scornful message of the sea-folk to the English leader. If Byrhtnoth would be in safety he must quickly send treasure to the foe.

"And better 'tis for you buy off this onset of the spear
With tribute than that we should deal so sore a combat here;
We need not spill each other's lives if ye make fast aright
A peace with us; if thou agree, thou, here the most of might,
Thy folk to ransom, and to give the seamen what shall be
Right in our eyes, and take our peace, make peace with told money.
We'll haste to ship, we'll keep that peace, and go upon the sea."

This was Brythnoth's answer:

Dost hear, thou dweller on the sea, what this my people saith!
Their tribute is the spear, the sword, the arrow tipt with death;
War-harness that for you in fight full little profiteth.

Not he. He stood for his own soil, his prince's earth, the people and the land. We may compare with this St Ælfeah's (Alphege) splendid stand even to death against unjust payment of tribute.

Byrthtnoth ordered his men to march on till they all stood on the bank of the river. The flood flowed in after the ebb, and the hostile armies could not reach each other, and it seemed too long to wait for the water to let them meet. Wulfstan, by race a warrior bold, held the bridge for his chief, and Ælfhere and Maccus with him, the undaunted mighty twain. The Danes begged to be allowed to overpass the ford, and Byrhtnoth in his scorn allowed this.

Too much the earl in his disdain to that ill folk gave heed.
The wolves of slaughter strode along, nor for the water cared;
The host of vikings westward there across the Pante fared.

Byrhtnoth was awaiting them, and the fight began.

Then rose a cry as round and round the ravens wheeled in air,
The erne all greedy for his prey. A mighty din was there.
Oh, bitter was the battle-rush, the rush of war that day,
Then fell the men; on either hand the gallant young men lay.

The battle-rage grew stronger and keener; the din of war grew louder and louder. Byrhtnoth fought hand to hand with a strong viking, and with yet another, dealing death to both.

The blither was the earl for that, out laughed the warrior grim,
Thanked God because of that day's work which God had given to him.

But the brave man's time was come, and a dart pierced him, and he fell; and as he lay on the ground a young lad, a boy who stood beside him, drew the spear from his lord's body and cast it back to pierce the foe who had sorely hit his lord. An armed man came to the death-stricken leader of the English to rob him of his jewels and his warrior's gear and fretted sword of fame. The dying man struck him on the corslet, but

Too soon a seaman hindered him; that good arm's strength he marred.

The leader drops his gold hilted sword, no longer able to wield the weapon, powerless to hold the keen-edged falchion. No more deeds of valour for him; only to urge on his men, and to commend his soul to God.

Yet spake the word that warrior hoar, the young men's hearts he cheered,
Bad the good comrades forward go, nor ever be afeard.
No longer could he firmly stand on's feet; to heaven looked he--
"Thanks, Lord of hosts, for these world-joys Thou here didst give to me.
Now, merciful Creator, now, I stand in deepest need
That Thou shouldst grant my spirit good, that thus my soul indeed
Fare forth to Thee, travel with peace, O King of Angels, so:
I pray Thee that the hell-spoilers nor work her hurt nor woe."
The heathen varlets smote him down, and those that stood him by,
Ælfnoth and Wulfmaer, by the side of him in death did lie.

Then, alas! came the shameful flight of some whom he had loved and trusted, and graced with noble gifts. One Godric, to whom he had given many a goodly steed, leapt upon the horse in his trappings which his lord had owned, and his two brothers fled with him.

And with them more than had behoved if these had thought upon
The gifts and goods so free bestowed by him, their mighty one.

But there were but few cowards and mean. Of his own hearth-comrades there went forth men, hasting eagerly,

One of two things their heart's desire, to avenge their lord or die.

Young Ælfwine heartened them with noble words, and gave them the example of noble deeds. And Offa, and Leofsunu, and Dunnere, the old man, fought stubbornly. And a hostage from among the Northumbrian folk, a man come of gallant kin, helped them; and Edward the Long, and many another.

Then Bryhtwold spake, that comrade old, he raised the shield on high
He shook the ashwood spear, he taught the men unfearingly:
"The braver must our spirit be, our hearts the stronger far,
The greater must our courage wax, the fewer that we are.
Here lies our prince all pierced and hewn, the good one in the clay;
Aye may he mourn who thinketh now to leave this battle-play.
I am old in life; I will not hence; I think to lay me here,
The rather by my chieftain's side, a man so lief and dear."

And the men grew bold in heart at his words and fought on. Godric full often sent the spear flying among the vikings, and fought till he too was laid low in the battle.

'Twas not that Godric who had turned his back upon the fight,

says the poet--and the end is lost! It will help us in appreciating this poem to remember that the battle of Maldon took place in the reign of that poor weak king Æthelred, known as the "Unready," or the Man of no Counsel. As Freeman the historian says, "No doubt he had to struggle with very hard times, but the times now were no harder than the times which Ælfred had to struggle against, and we know how much he could do."