Chapter V (5)

The throne was now again vacant; England was at last set free from the worst and weakest of her native Kings. Æthelred had misgoverned his kingdom till the rule of heathen invaders was felt to be at least not worse than his. He had been deposed and driven out; his kingdom had been reduced to the decks of a few hired Danish ships. He had been restored; adversity had wrought no lasting reform; he had thrown away every advantage, and his kingdom was again confined within the walls of London. That true-hearted city was once more the bulwark of England, the centre of every patriotic hope, the special object of every hostile attack. Beyond its walls, all was either actually in the hands of the invader or exposed to his power. The Witan of England, Bishops, Abbots, Ealdormen, [Sidenote: Double election to the crown of Cnut and Eadmund. April, 1016.] Thegns, all who were without the walls of London, met in full Gemót, and chose Cnut to the vacant throne. They may well have deemed that further resistance was hopeless, and it should not be forgotten that the full glory of the character of Eadmund had not yet displayed itself. He had shown a gallant spirit, but he had as yet achieved no signal success; the harrying of the three Mercian shires was, to say the least, a very harsh measure; and he may have shown somewhat of turbulence and self-will in the affair of his marriage and settlement in the Five Boroughs. The assembly therefore passed him by; they chose—perhaps they could hardly help choosing—the Conqueror; they hastened to Southampton, they abjured the whole house of Æthelred, they swore oaths to Cnut and received oaths from him that he would be a good and faithful lord to them before God and before the world. It was perhaps at this time that he received baptism or confirmation at the hands of Æthelnoth the future Archbishop; but he does not seem to have received the ecclesiastical rite of coronation.[766] And even his election did not represent the voice of all England. We now meet with, what is so common in German, and so rare in English, history, a double election to the crown. Cnut was chosen at Southampton, but the citizens of London, with such of the other Witan as were within the city, held a counter Gemót—no doubt the earlier of the two in date—and with one voice[767] elected the Ætheling Eadmund. His coronation at the hands of Archbishop Lyfing followed. The town which had been of late the usual place for the consecration of Kings, Kingston in Surrey, was probably in possession of the enemy; at all events the rite was done within the walls of the city, no doubt in the minster of Saint Paul, where the late King had just been buried. Whether Eadmund was the eldest surviving son of Æthelred is uncertain;[768] there could be no doubt as to [Sidenote: Short and glorious reign of Eadmund.] his being the worthiest. Now, after the long and dreary reign of his father, England had once more at her head a true King of Men, a hero worthy to wield the sword of Ælfred and Æthelstan. The change came at once; with her new King England received a new life; after twenty-eight [Sidenote: 988–1016.] years of unutterable weakness and degradation, we now come to seven months of almost superhuman energy. [Sidenote: Change wrought by a single worthy leader.] We see that all that had been wanting through that long and wretched time was a worthy leader; we see that, without such a leader, the English people were helpless; we see that, under such a leader, even after all that they had gone through, they were still capable of exertions which, twenty or even ten years before, would have driven back the invaders for ever. Everything that could weaken and demoralize a people, everything that could thoroughly weigh down and dishearten them, had fallen on the English nation during the long misgovernment of Æthelred. A generation had grown up which had been used from its childhood to see invaders land and ravage at pleasure. They had seen the noblest local efforts thwarted by incompetence and treachery at head-quarters. They had seen a King and his counsellors incapable of any better device than that of buying off the heathen invader for a moment. They had seen the strength of the nation, while the enemy was preying on its vitals, wasted on distant, bootless, and unrighteous enterprises. They had seen the basest of traitors basking in the royal smiles, while the true and valiant defenders of their country were left unrewarded and unnoticed. Such had been the unvaried course of English history for eight and twenty years. But, even after all this, the heart of the English people still was sound. The wretched Æthelred had ended his days, and under his glorious son hope and courage woke to life again. In the days of the father, one shire would no longer help another; in the days of the son, the most distant parts of the land sent their contingents to the national armies of England. Those armies, instead of flying at the first blow, instead of disbanding before a blow was struck, could now face the enemy in pitched battle after pitched battle. The standard of England again waved over fields on which the English arms were often crowned with victory, and where defeat at least never was disgrace. Once only in the course of his long reign had Æthelred dared to meet a Danish King in open fight. Now six great battles in seven months showed what Englishmen could still do under a King worthy of his people. The year of the battles of Eadmund is worthy to [Sidenote: 871.] be placed alongside of the year of the battles of Ælfred. But the traitor still lived to thwart the noblest efforts of the hero; Eadric still remained the evil genius of the reign of Eadmund no less than of the reign of his father.

[Sidenote: Eadmund acknowledged in Wessex.]

Eadmund, surnamed Ironside,[769] was now King in London; but Cnut, by virtue both of his election and of military possession, was King over at least the whole of Wessex, Mercia, and Northumberland. The first act of Eadmund was to go forth from London to try to win back the immediate realm of his forefathers, the kingdom of the West-Saxons. He was at once acknowledged, and English troops flocked to him from all quarters.[770] Meanwhile the rival King, having received the homage of the Witan at Southampton, continued his voyage towards London. He [Sidenote: Cnut besieges London, May 7, 1016.] halted at Greenwich,[771] and prepared to form the siege of the city. The course of the ships up the river was checked by the bridge—a wooden forerunner, no doubt, of that London bridge which lasted down to our own times, and which was no doubt made the most of as part of the defences of the city. But Cnut dug a deep ditch to the south of the river, so that the ships evaded the obstacle, and sailed round to the west side of the bridge.[772] He then dug another ditch round that part of the city which was not washed by the Thames, so that London was again hemmed in on every side. But every attempt on the walls was again baffled by the valour of the citizens, and at last Cnut found it more to his interest to check the progress of his rival in the West than to go on with an [Sidenote: He raises the siege.] undertaking which seemed utterly hopeless. He raised the siege, and marched after Eadmund. The English King was now collecting troops on the borders of the three shires of Somerset, Wiltshire, and Dorset. Cnut had followed so fast that Eadmund had had time to gather only a small force; still he did not fear to meet the enemy in battle.[773] The armies met at a point near the border of the three shires, but just within the bounds of Somerset, on the edge of the high ground covered by the forest of Selwood. The place is spoken of as the Pens, a Celtic name which describes the lofty position of the ground, and which is appropriately found in the immediate neighbourhood of large traces of præ-Teutonic [Sidenote: _First battle_, at Pen Selwood; victory of Eadmund.] antiquity.[774] Here, on a spot which perhaps had been the scene of West-Saxon victories over an earlier enemy, did Eadmund, with his small force, formed mainly no doubt of the levies of the district, venture to give battle to the tried troops of his rival. He put his trust in God; he boldly attacked the enemy, and he defeated [Sidenote: _Second battle_, at Sherstone (July 1016); victory doubtful.] him. Eadmund then collected a larger army, and on Monday in July[775] he again engaged the enemy in another border district, at Sherstone in Wiltshire, just on the marches of Wessex and Mercia. Of this battle fuller details have been preserved. The eastern shires of Wessex were in the possession of Cnut, so that the men of Hampshire and part of Wiltshire fought on the Danish side. With the Danes also were, not only the traitor Eadric, but at least two other English Ealdormen, Ælfmær, surnamed Darling,[776] and Ælfgar the son of Meaw. With Eadmund were the men of Devonshire, Dorset, and part of Wiltshire—those of Somerset are not mentioned, but they can hardly fail to have been on the English side. At any rate, while the pure Saxons of Hampshire were arrayed on the side of Cnut, the army of Eadmund must have largely consisted of men of Welsh descent. The King placed his best troops[777]—no doubt mainly his own followers—in front, and the inferior part of his army in the rear. He exhorted them in a speech setting forth the motives obvious at such a time, and led them to the place of action. The trumpets sounded; the battle began; the javelins were hurled at the onset, and the close combat was still carried on, as at Maldon, with the sword.[778] King Eadmund fought in the front rank, doing the duty alike of a general and of a private soldier.[779] The two hosts fought for a whole day, without any marked advantage on either side. The next day the fight began again; the English had now plainly the better, when a new act of treachery on the part of Eadric for a while threw their ranks into disorder. Smiting off the head of a man whose features were much like those of the English King, he held it up, calling on the host of Eadmund to flee. The English wavered, and some were on the point of flight, when Eadmund, like William at Senlac, tore off his helmet, showed himself alive to his army, and hurled a spear at Eadric. He unluckily missed the traitor, and slew another soldier who was near him.[780] The English then took heart again; they attacked the Danes with still greater vigour, and kept up the battle till twilight, when the two hosts again separated. Neither side had gained any decided success; neither host, it would seem, kept possession of the place of slaughter. But if neither side could claim the formal honours of victory, the practical advantage was [Sidenote: Cnut again besieges London.] clearly on the side of the English. For in the night Cnut marched stealthily away from his camp, went back to his ships, and again began the siege of London. Eadmund [Sidenote: Eadmund reconciled with Eadric.] then crossed into Wessex to gather fresh troops; and now his faithless brother-in-law Eadric came to him, as to his natural lord,[781] made his peace with him, and swore oaths of future fidelity. Eadmund, unconquered by the arms of Cnut, was not proof against the kind of warfare in which Eadric was so skilful. The hero had the weakness again to admit the traitor to his favour and confidence. [Sidenote: Eadmund wins the _third battle_, and delivers London; he] At the head of his new troops,[782] Eadmund marched towards London, and in a third battle he drove the Danes to raise the siege and go back to their ships. Two [Sidenote: then wins the _fourth battle_, at Brentford.] days afterwards he fought his fourth battle at Brentford, where the Danes were again defeated, but many of the English were lost in trying to ford the river without due heed. Eadmund now returned to Wessex to gather [Sidenote: Cnut besieges London in vain the third time.] fresh troops, and meanwhile Cnut sat down, for the third time within these few months, before London. The city was again attacked on every side; but again all attacks by land and by water were in vain. Almighty God, say the Chroniclers, saved the city.

[Sidenote: Great plundering expedition of the Danes.]

King Eadmund was now gathering a greater force than ever from all parts of England.[783] Meanwhile the Danes, finding all their attempts on London fruitless, set out on a plundering expedition on a great scale. They sailed away from London, they coasted along the shores of Essex; they then entered the Orwell, and thence they marched across East-Anglia and spread themselves over Mercia, plundering, burning, slaying, according to their wont. Then, gorged with plunder, those who were on foot went back to their ships, and sailed up the Medway, the fierce and swift-flowing stream which washed the fair walls of Rochester.[784] Those who had horses seemed to have reached the same trysting-place by land. But King Eadmund followed them with his fourth army, which must have been partly at least levied in Mercia, as he was [Sidenote: _Fifth battle_, at Otford; victory of Eadmund.] now north of the Thames. He crossed the river at Brentford, the scene of his last success, he followed the Danes into Kent, met them at Otford, and gained an easy victory. The Danes fled with their horses into Sheppey—the [Sidenote: 855.] corner of England in which a Danish host had first wintered.[785] The King pressed on and slew as many as he could; but his evil genius Eadric now again appeared [Sidenote: Further treasons of Eadric; he saves the Danes from destruction.] in his old character. By the same incomprehensible means of which we have so often heard, Eadmund was hindered from following up his victory. The traitor contrived to detain the King at Aylesford, and the Danish army was saved from utter destruction.

The last act of this great drama was now drawing near. Since the end of April, Eadmund had gathered four armies; he had fought five pitched battles; he had been decidedly victorious in four of them, and he had, to say the least, not been decidedly defeated in any. Never had the efforts of one man been greater or more successful; Ælfred himself, in his most hard-fought campaigns, had not worked for England with a truer heart [Sidenote: Eadmund collects a fifth army from all England.] than his valiant descendant. Eadmund again marched westward, he gathered a fifth army, and made ready for a sixth battle. The war, which in the beginning might have almost passed for a local struggle, had now become thoroughly national. Cnut had now to fight, not against Wessex, but against England, and there is nothing which leads us to think that he now had any English followers under his banners. Eadmund’s new host was gathered from all parts of England, even from districts whose inhabitants were largely of Danish origin. We have no complete list of the shires which sent contingents, but we incidentally find that men came from districts as far apart from each other as Herefordshire, East-Anglia, and Lindesey. The Danes meanwhile sailed along the coast of Essex, and entered the estuary of the Crouch. There they left their ships, while the army went on a plundering expedition into Mercia, which is spoken of as being more fearful than any that had gone before it. After this they returned towards their ships, the latter part of their course leading them along the high ground [Sidenote: _Sixth_ and last battle, at Assandun.] which lies south of the Crouch. Along these heights Eadmund followed them, and at last overtook and engaged them in the sixth and last battle of this wonderful year, the memorable fight of Assandun.[786] At the end of the range, two hills of slight positive height, but which seem lofty in the low lands of the East of England, look down on the swampy plain watered by the tidal river. Between the hills and this lowest ground lies a considerable level at an intermediate height, which seems to have been the actual site of the battle. Of the two hills one still keeps the name of Ashington, an easy corruption of the ancient form, while the other, in its name of Canewdon, perhaps preserves the memory of the Danish conqueror himself. On Assandun then, a site marked by entrenchments which are perhaps witnesses of that day’s fight, perhaps of yet earlier warfare, Eadmund drew up his forces in three ranks, he made the speech usual before action, and at first seemed disposed to await the attack of the enemy.[787] The King took the post which immemorial usage fixed for a royal general, between the two ensigns which were displayed over an English army, the golden Dragon, the national ensign of Wessex, and the Standard, seemingly the personal device of the King.[788] But Cnut had no mind to attack; most likely he wished to avoid a battle altogether, and merely sought to get back to his ships with his plunder. At all events he had no mind to attack the English as long as they were posted on a spot where the ground gave them the advantage. Yet the moment was favourable for battle; the Raven fluttered her wings, and Thurkill, overjoyed at the happy omen, called for immediate action.[789] But Cnut, young as he was, was wary, and would fight only after his own fashion. He gradually led his troops off the hills into the level ground,[790] that is, the intermediate height between the hills and the swampy plain. The main object of Eadmund was to cut off the Danes from their ships; he had therefore no choice but to leave his strong post and to come down to the lower ground. This movement differed from that of those English troops at Senlac, who, in defiance of Harold’s orders, left the hill to pursue the Normans in their real or pretended flight. At Senlac, in withstanding horsemen, the one thing to be done was to keep the strong post against all assaults; at Assandun, English and Danes, using much the same tactics and the same weapons, could meet on equal terms on the level ground. If Eadmund gave up the advantage of his strong position for defence, he gained the advantage of the charge down hill for his [Sidenote: First attack of the English.] attack. He accordingly began the battle with a furious assault upon the Danes; he even forsook the royal post, and, charging sword in hand in the front rank, he burst like a thunderbolt upon the thickest of the enemy.[791] The Danes held their ground manfully, and the fight was kept up with equal valour, and with frightful slaughter, on both sides. But on the whole the Danes had the worse, and they were beginning to give way, when Eadric again betrayed his lord and King and all the people of English kin.[792] He was in command of the Magesætas or men of Herefordshire and of the forces of some other parts of his [Sidenote: Treacherous flight of Eadric.] old earldom; at the head of these troops, according to a previous agreement with Cnut, the English Ealdorman, the brother-in-law of the King, took to flight. The battle however was kept up till sunset, and even by the light of the moon; but, after the flight of Eadric, the English had to maintain the struggle on very unequal terms. All England fought against Cnut; but Cnut had the victory.[793] [Sidenote: Slaughter of the English nobility.] The slaughter of the English nobility,[794] of the chief leaders and of the King’s own following, was fearful. There died Godwine, Ealdorman of Lindesey, wiping out, it may be, by a valiant death the errors of an earlier stage of his life.[795] There died the hero Ulfcytel, brave and faithful as ever; the first English leader who had checked the career of Swegen, and who now ended his glorious life by dying sword in hand in fight against the son of his old enemy.[796] There died one of the many Ælfrics of our story, redeeming on this hard-fought field the infamy which his more celebrated namesake had brought upon his very name. There died one personally unknown to us, but a scion of a house than which none has been more famous in our history, the East-Anglian Æthelweard, the son of Æthelwine the Friend of God.[797] And, in times like these, not only the temporal chiefs, but Bishops and Abbots also, had not scrupled to take the field against the invader. Wulfsige of Ramsey came with the heir of the great house to which his monastery owed so much. Five and twenty years before he had played the churl towards the host of Brihtnoth on its march to Maldon.[798] Like Godwine of Lindesey, long years of national wretchedness had brought him to a more patriotic frame of mind, and he now, in his old age, came to give to his King and country such help as his years and calling allowed him. Eadnoth of Dorchester,[799] once Provost of Wulfsige’s minster, came, either through love of his old companions or in the train of Godwine and the valiant men of his own diocese. These holy men, we are told, came only to pray and not to fight,[800] and in the case of the aged Wulfsige we may well believe that it was so. But we cannot forget that other English prelates, before and after, did not shrink from wearing weapons and commanding armies. We have seen that, in this age, Archbishop Ælfric not only bequeathed ships to his dioceses, but personally commanded fleets,[801] and it may well be that the arm of Eadnoth, if not that of Wulfsige, was found as strong as those of Ealhstan in an earlier, and of Ealdred in a later, generation.[802] At all events, whether they came to pray or to fight, the prelates met with no more mercy from [Sidenote: Victory of the Danes.] the Danish sword than the lay chieftains. At last, under cover of night, the King and the remnant of his army escaped; Eadmund Ironside, for the first time in this year of battles, was a fugitive. The Danes hardly dared to pursue; but they kept possession of the place of slaughter. They tarried on the field all night; in the morning they buried their own dead; they gathered the spoils of the slain English, and left their bodies to the fowls of the air and to the beasts of the land.[803] They then went to their ships and sailed towards London,[804] most likely meaning to begin the siege a fourth time. When they were gone, some of the scattered English ventured to return and carry off the bodies of the slain leaders. Æthelweard and Wulfsige found an honourable grave in their own church at Ramsey; the body of Eadnoth lay in the rival minster of Ely, the resting-place of Brihtnoth.[805]

[Sidenote: Results of the battle.]

The real blow to England in this battle was the loss of so many of the chief men whom it was hard to replace. This remarkable slaughter of the nobility is emphatically pointed out in all our narratives,[806] and it is not unlikely that it had a real political effect, like the cutting off of the mediæval baronage in the Wars of the Roses. But as a mere military success, Cnut’s victory at Assandun does not seem to have been very decisive. At any rate, instead of being followed up by any vigorous blow, it led only to a conference and a compromise between [Sidenote: Eadmund prepares for a seventh battle.] the contending Kings. Neither the spirit nor the resources of Eadmund were worn out. Indeed he seems to have been readier than his rival to try his fate once more in a seventh battle. As undaunted as ever, he made his way into Gloucestershire, and there began gathering recruits for a new campaign.[807] He seems to have been actually ready with a fresh army, when Cnut, with his victorious host, came after him. But no battle took place. Eadric—still, strange to say, in the King’s confidence—and the other Witan who were with him, the relics of Assandun, persuaded Eadmund, much against his will,[808] to consent to a conference and a division of the kingdom. The two Kings drew near to the Severn from opposite sides, Eadmund from the west, Cnut from [Sidenote: Conference of Olney.] the east. They met in an island of the river, called Olney,[809] to which the Kings were, seemingly together with chosen witnesses,[810] rowed over from their several banks of the river. The meeting was a friendly one; we can well believe that two such valiant captains as Cnut and Eadmund might, in the course of their warfare, conceive a real respect for each other. But, among the many great qualities which Cnut, in after times, gradually developed out of his original barbarism, this particular virtue of generosity towards personal rivals is one of which we see few signs. Without imputing to Cnut any actual treachery, we may feel sure that in this, as in most other acts of his life, he was guided by policy rather than by sentiment. Still, from whatever motives, the two Kings treated one another with the utmost courtesy. [Sidenote: Division of the kingdom between Eadmund and Cnut.] A division of the kingdom was the essential principle of the treaty; the two Kings now agreed on details. They settled the extent of their respective dominions, and also the amount of money which, as a necessary consequence of any treaty with Danes, was to be paid to the Danish fleet. They moreover swore oaths of friendship and brotherhood, and, like the heroes of Homer,[811] they exchanged arms in token of mutual good will.[812] The terms of the treaty, indeed the fact of Cnut’s consenting to any treaty at all, show how formidable the power of Eadmund must still have seemed. The Imperial dignity remained to the English King, who, unlike his rival, was already a King in the fullest sense of the word, a King crowned and anointed. With this over-lordship of the whole realm, Eadmund kept the immediate dominion of all England south of the Thames, together with East-Anglia, Essex, and London. Cnut took the remainder, the larger portion of the kingdom. As compared with the division between Ælfred and Guthrum, the dominions of Eadmund were larger on one side and smaller on another. Eadmund gained Essex and East-Anglia, which, in the earlier division, fell to the lot of the Danes, while he lost the part of Mercia which was kept—or, more strictly, won back—by Ælfred. It would seem that each prince was to succeed to the dominions of the other, at all events if he died childless. The brothers of the two Kings seem to have been formally shut out. The sons of Eadmund were left in the usual position of minors. No immediate provision or stipulation was made for them; but their position as Æthelings, entitled to a preference on any future vacancy, seems to have been distinctly acknowledged. It is hardly possible that a lasting separation of the two parts of the kingdom was seriously meant. Such a division could not have lasted longer than the joint lives of the two reconciled competitors, and it would probably have been annulled at no distant time by the first quarrel between them.[813]

England had thus once more for a moment, as in the days of Eadwig and Eadgar, two Kings. But her two Kings were this time not hostile kinsmen, but reconciled enemies. After the conference at Olney, the newly made brothers parted. Cnut’s army returned to their ships, which had doubtless stayed in the Thames near London. The citizens beneath whose walls the power of Cnut and his father had been so often shattered, now made peace [Sidenote: The Danes winter in London.] with the Danish host. As usual, money was paid to them, and they were allowed to winter as friends within the unconquered city.

[Sidenote: Death of Eadmund Ironside. November 30, 1016.]

But meanwhile a sudden event set aside all the late engagements and made Cnut master of the whole realm. On Saint Andrew’s day King Eadmund Ironside died in London. The manner of his death is uncertain.[814] Perhaps the overwhelming toil of the last seven months may have worn out the strength even of one whose vigorous frame had won him his distinctive surname. The personal exertions of Eadmund must in truth have been greater than those of any other man in the two armies. Besides actual marching and fighting, there was the going to and fro after each battle to gather fresh troops. This labour must have pressed more severely on Eadmund than on any one else, far more severely than on Cnut, who had his army always ready at hand. It is therefore quite possible in itself that the death of Eadmund was natural, and such a belief is in no way [Sidenote: Suspicions against Eadric;] contradicted by our best authorities. But, according to a report which obtained a wide belief, he died by the hand, or at least by the practice, of Eadric. The traitor, or some kindred wretch in his employ, slew the King and brother whom he had so often betrayed, and that by a specially base and treacherous form of assassination. [Sidenote: against Cnut.] That Cnut himself had a hand in the deed is an obvious surmise, and one which his conduct immediately afterwards certainly does not belie. But no English authority hints at any such suspicion; the only writers who attribute the murder to Cnut, or who even imply that he was ever accused of the crime, are to be found among the Danish King’s own countrymen. But whether the death of Eadmund was natural or violent, whether Cnut was or was not the instigator of the murder, if murder there was, he at least reaped all the advantage of the opportune end of his former rival and now sworn brother. The unbroken succession of the West-Saxon Kings, of the English Emperors of Britain, had now come to an end. The remains of the last, and one of the noblest, of that great line were carried to the common sanctuary of Briton and Englishman, and the body of Eadmund Ironside was laid by that of his grandfather [Sidenote: Eadmund’s tomb at Glastonbury.] Eadgar in the great minster of Glastonbury.[815] In later times, through all the rebuildings of that wonderful pile, the memory of the hero of Sherstone and Assandun still lived. Till men arose in whose eyes art, history, and religion were alike worthless, he held a worthy place among a galaxy of royal tombs which Winchester or Westminster could hardly surpass.[816] Behind the high altar, in his own chapel as a canonized saint, rested the body of Eadgar the Peaceful. Before the altar lay the supposed remains of the legendary Arthur and his yet more legendary Queen. North and south slept two champions of England, alike in name and in glory. On the north side lay Eadmund the Magnificent, one of the brother heroes of Brunanburh, the conqueror of Scot and Cumbrian and Northman, the deliverer of English cities from the heathen yoke. To the south lay his namesake and descendant, as glorious in defeat as in victory, the more than equal rival of the mighty Cnut, the man who raised England from the lowest depth of degradation, the guardian whose heart and arm never failed her, even if his ear lent too easy credence to the counsels of the traitor.[817]