Chapter M: H. B. = Monumenta Historica Britannica, vol. i (all published) (3)

The best authority for the date of Alfred’s birth has been generally overlooked. This is the genealogical preface prefixed to MS. A of the Chronicle. This is a strictly contemporary document, being drawn up during Alfred’s reign, as is proved by the fact that, though it gives Alfred’s accession, it does not, as in the case of all preceding kings, give the length of his reign. According to this authority Alfred ‘took to the kingdom when there were gone of his age three and twenty winters.’ In other words, Alfred was ‘turned’ twenty-three, as we say, at his accession in 871. This fixes his birth to 848[335]. The place, according to Asser, was Wantage.

[Sidenote: Alfred’s first visit to Rome. Question of the Roman unction. Something more than confirmation implied. The consular diadem. Possibly titular royalty conferred on him.]

§ 54. The earliest event recorded in the life of Alfred is his being sent to Rome in 853, when he would be, according to this, five years old. Of the fact there can be no possible doubt. It is not only mentioned by the Chronicle and Asser; but we have the actual letter which Leo IV wrote to Æthelwulf announcing Alfred’s safe arrival[336]. Considering the child’s tender age, I can hardly think that the object of the journey was educational, as is very commonly supposed; to say nothing of the fact that Rome, at this time, had very little to offer in the way of education, being far outstripped in this respect by the Carolingian schools of Germany and Gaul[337]. The motive was, I think, much more religious than intellectual. I see no reason to doubt Asser’s statement that Alfred was, from the very first, a child of singular promise and attractiveness[338]; and his parents, who were both conspicuous for their piety[339], may well have wished to secure for their favourite child[340], in his earliest years, those spiritual advantages which were believed to attend a pilgrimage to Rome, and contact with the visible head of the Church. The passion for pilgrimages and relics was indeed at its height in the ninth century[341]. So far there is no difficulty. The difficulty is as to what took place at Rome. Not only Asser, but the Chronicle, assert that the pope ‘hallowed Alfred as king, and took him as his bishop’s son.’ The latter phrase clearly points to confirmation. We have seen by the case of Anaraut of North Wales, that it was no unusual compliment for one exalted person to act as sponsor to another at his confirmation[342], or, as in the case of Guthrum, at his baptism. And in some cases the confirming or baptising prelate acted also as sponsor, as we see in the case of Birinus and Cuthred of Wessex, mentioned in the Chronicle at 639. There is therefore some plausibility in the suggestion, that the unction which formed part of the rite of confirmation was afterwards misinterpreted as a royal anointing. This theory was put forward as early as the seventeenth century, as appears by Sir John Spelman’s life of Alfred[343], and has been accepted by many subsequent writers, myself included. I confess it fails to satisfy me now. The statement of the Chronicle seems to me too explicit to be lightly set aside. Dr. Liebermann indeed argues[344] that the Chronicle cannot have been drawn up under Alfred’s influence, because of the gross improbability of this very statement. I am inclined to turn the argument round the other way. I think that Alfred must have understood the ceremony to mean something more than confirmation, especially as the two ceremonies, the hallowing as king, and the reception as ‘bishop’s son,’ are in the Chronicle clearly distinguished. In the letter of Leo IV alluded to above the words run thus: ‘We have affectionately received your son Erfred … and have invested him as a spiritual son with the girdle (or office), insignia, and robes[345] of the consulate, as is the manner of Roman consuls.’ It is certain that Clovis wore a diadem after receiving the consular insignia from Constantinople[346]; and in these ceremonial matters the Papacy largely inherited the traditions of the Byzantine Court. If then the imposition of a diadem of some kind on the child’s head formed part of the ceremony of the consular investiture, this would come very near to a royal coronation. I am however inclined to go a step further in the way of suggestion. Ailred of Rievaulx indeed, who compares the anointing of David by Samuel, supposes the pope to have been endowed with the gift of prophecy[347]. And a spurious charter[348] represents Alfred as making promises to the pope, as if it was then certain that he would one day become king. But, humanly speaking, it was of course impossible that Alfred’s succession to the West Saxon throne should have been foreseen in 853, seeing that he had three brothers living, all older than himself. But is it not possible that he may titularly have held some subordinate royalty conferred on him by his father for this very object? Athelstan, the under-king of Kent, disappears from history after 851. Æthelberht, Alfred’s second brother, was appointed to that under-kingdom when Æthelwulf went to Rome in 855[349]. Is it not just possible that in the interval it may have been titularly conferred on Alfred? What emboldens me to make this suggestion is the curiously interesting parallel of Louis the Pious, who, at the age of three, was crowned by Pope Hadrian I in 781 as king of Aquitaine[350]. But if this be thought too bold a theory, then I should fall back on the diadem as one of the consular insignia. When in the course of years Alfred inherited his father’s throne, he, and others, may well have seen in the action of him who was ‘high priest that same year,’ a prophetic significance; just as St. John traces a higher inspiration in words[351], which, in the intention of the speaker, simply laid down the doctrine of political expediency in its most brutal form.

[Sidenote: Æthelwulf’s visit to Rome.]

§ 55. Two years later, in 855, Æthelwulf went to Rome himself[352]. As early as the year of his accession, 839, he had formed the plan, and had sent an embassy to the emperor, Louis the Pious, to prepare the way[353]; and now at last, after sixteen years, he was able to accomplish it. How much the subject filled his thoughts seems to be indicated by the fact that a charter of this year is dated: ‘when I set out to go beyond the sea to Rome[354].’ He hardly left ‘composito regno’ as William of Malmesbury states[355], for in 855 the Danes for the second time wintered in the island[356], and a Mercian charter of this very year is dated: ‘when the Pagans were in the country of the Wrekin[357]’; though that concerned Mercia more immediately than Wessex. Before leaving England Æthelwulf entrusted his dominions to his two eldest sons in the way in which they were ultimately divided at his death; Æthelbald receiving Wessex, and Æthelberht Kent with its dependencies[358]. The spirit of family partitions, which wrecked the Carolingian empire, threatened the house of Wessex also. Happily the evil consequences were averted, as we shall see[359], by the patriotic unselfishness of the two youngest brothers, Æthelred and Alfred.

[Sidenote: He takes Alfred with him. Æthelwulf’s reception on the Continent.]

Æthelwulf took Alfred with him on this journey to Rome. This fact is not mentioned in the Chronicle, and rests only on the authority of Asser[360], and those writers who have copied him. But on the whole the statements are too precise to be set aside, and we may accept Dr. Stubbs’ decision: ‘there is no possibility that a single visit has been broken into two[361].’ That the child returned to England after his visit in 853, and did not wait at Rome till his father came, is proved by the fact that his signature is affixed to the charter of 855, already cited, which Æthelwulf executed when setting out for Rome[362]: and this is better authority than that of the two recensions of Simeon of Durham; which however both state the fact very distinctly[363].

The continental authorities do not mention Alfred; but they tell how honourably the emperor Charles the Bald received Æthelwulf, and escorted him to the borders of his kingdom[364]; while the Roman historian gives lists of the offerings which the pious monarch made at the holy places[365]. Gregorovius indeed says that he came ‘to be anointed and crowned by the pope[366].’ But he gives no authority, and I do not believe that any exists. Some authorities transfer to this visit the royal unction of Alfred[367], while another places it at Æthelwulf’s death, January, 858[368]. But there is no reason to believe that Alfred remained at Rome after his father left. The object of both versions is to make the story of the unction rather more probable; but both alike are inconsistent with the fact that Leo IV, who is always represented as the anointing pontiff, died July 17, 855[369].

[Sidenote: State of Rome at this time. The Saracens.]

§ 56. According to the Chronicle and Asser, Æthelwulf remained a year in Rome, and according to William of Malmesbury he restored the ‘Schola Saxonum[370]’ or English hostelry there, which is probable enough, as early in Leo’s reign it had suffered much from fire[371]. It is worth while to take a glance at the state of Rome at this time. Only nine years before, under Sergius II, a Saracen fleet had entered the Tiber and sacked the papal suburb, though they probably did not capture Rome itself. St. Peter’s, the centre of Western Christendom, the archive, the museum, the treasury of five centuries of Christian devotion, became their prey. The church of his brother apostle St. Paul, scarcely less rich, shared a like fate[372]. The conquest of Sicily, 827-832, had thrown down the last barrier against Islam[373]. The Mediterranean was indeed fast becoming a Saracenic lake; and the Saracens were, as has been well said[374], to the dwellers on its coasts very much what the Danes and Northmen were to the dwellers on the coasts of Northern Europe, a haunting ever-present dread, which would not let men sleep. Some parts indeed suffered from both plagues alike[375]; and in Spain we find Saracen and Christian combining against the Dane[376], much as we have seen Celt and Saxon combining in England[377]. It was to prevent a repetition of the disaster of 846 that Leo IV, with the help of the emperor Lothair[378], built the fortifications which have ever since given to the papal suburb the name of ‘the Leonine city.’ These fortifications were solemnly consecrated by the pope just a year before Alfred’s former visit, viz. on June 27, 852[379].

[Sidenote: Æthelwulf’s second marriage.]

§ 57. It was on his way home in 856 that Æthelwulf and, presumably, Alfred also, stayed once more at the court of Charles the Bald; and here at Verberie on October 1 the elderly Æthelwulf was married to the emperor’s daughter Judith, a child of twelve or thirteen[380]. The motive of this ill-assorted match is thought to have been to cement an alliance between the two monarchs against the wikings, who were the common foes of both. If this was its object, it was a conspicuous failure. As far as I can read the history of the succeeding years, whenever the wikings were defeated on the Continent they threw themselves on England, and conversely[381]. So that the success of one kingdom was the disaster of the other. There is no trace of any joint action beneficial to both. And indeed Charles the Bald, a typical Frenchman in many respects, intellectually clever, but caring only for the outward pomp and circumstance of empire, without the strength of character to grasp and hold the reality of power[382], was hardly the man to carry out a consistent policy.

[Sidenote: Æthelwulf’s return. Alleged conspiracy against him.]

‘And afterwards he came home to his people, and they were fain thereof,’ says the Chronicle; using, in regard to Æthelwulf’s return, almost the same simple and expressive words which it uses afterwards to describe the joy of the people when Alfred emerged from his retreat at Athelney. This seems to me to give the lie direct to Asser’s story[383]—in itself most suspicious—that Æthelwulf on his arrival was greeted by a conspiracy of his eldest son Æthelbald, Ealhstan, bishop of Sherborne, and Eanwulf, ealdorman of Somerset, to exclude him from the throne, and that Æthelwulf, sooner than allow a civil war, consented to accept the subordinate kingdom of Kent, &c., leaving Wessex to the rebellious son. We have seen that Æthelwulf, on his departure, had divided his kingdoms between his two eldest sons, and it is possible that Æthelbald was less willing than Æthelberht to resign the delegated power. The joy at Æthelwulf’s return may point to trouble in his absence; and the same may be hinted at where it is said of Æthelberht, that he reigned ‘in all good quietness and peace[384].’ This cannot refer to exemption from Danish attacks, for it was in his reign that Winchester, the capital of Wessex, was captured[385]. One is almost tempted to think that the writer, struck, as everyone must be struck[386], with the parallel between Æthelwulf and Louis the Pious, wished to create an English counterpart to the Lügenfeld, or Field of Lies, where Louis was betrayed into the hands of his rebellious sons[387] (June 30, 833). Asser’s quaint characterisation of an atrocious conspiracy as a ‘misfortune’ (infortunium), reminds one of Gibbon’s immortal description in the autobiography of the gentleman who ‘was always talking about his faults, which he called his misfortunes.’ Here, too, I seem to see traces of the conflation of two different traditions[388], which might point to the possibility of interpolation. But even if the story be all Asser’s own, we must remember that he was writing at least thirty-eight years after the event; and surely we in Oxford know that a legend may grow up in a shorter time than that.

[Sidenote: Question of Judith’s marriage with Æthelbald.]

§58. If Judith’s marriage to her step-son Æthelbald rested only on the authority of this early part of Asser[389], I should reject it with equal decision; and with the same sort of inclination to regard it as a fabricated pendant to the second marriage of Louis the Pious to her grandmother, the elder Judith, which caused so much dissension in the Carolingian empire[390], and was freely labelled by its opponents as ‘incestuous,’ because the parties to it were said to be within the prohibited degrees[391]. But the marriage of Judith to Æthelbald is vouched for by strictly contemporary continental authorities[392], one of them being Hincmar, the prelate who blessed the ceremony of her coronation[393], so that it is hard to set it aside. And yet it is hard to accept it. One of the few charters of Æthelbald’s reign[394] bears as its first three signatures, ‘Eðebald rex, Iudith regina, Swithun episcopus.’ Did Swithun condone a flagrant case of incest, or does ‘regina’ only mean queen-dowager? Once more: is it not just possible that the whole story may have grown out of a confusion of Æthelbald with Eadbald, the son of Æthelberht of Kent, whose incestuous marriage with his step-mother is mentioned by Bede[395]? The difference between Eadbald and Æthelbald would not be very serious, especially to continental ears and pens. Anyhow, we shall hardly acquiesce in the verdict of a later continental chronicler: ‘nor did the king’s crime seem grievous to the English, to whom the worship of God was much unknown[396].’

[Sidenote: Story of Alfred learning to read.]

§ 59. Apart from his signatures to charters[397], there is no mention of Alfred in our authorities after his second return from Rome till he takes his place upon the stage of history by the side of his brother Æthelred. But no account of Alfred’s early years could be regarded as complete which did not include a discussion of the famous story about his learning to read. I venture to think that a good many unnecessary difficulties have been made about the matter.

The common view may be expressed in the quaint words of Robert of Gloucester’s rhyming Chronicle[398]:—

‘Clerc he was god ynow, and yut, as me telþ me,
He was more þan ten yer old, ar he couþe is a be ce.’

[Sidenote: _Illiteratus_ = ignorant of Latin.]

The original source of all this is of course the well-known passage of Asser[399], where it is said that Alfred ‘remained illiterate’ up to his twelfth year or more, though he learned many Saxon poems by heart. Then, after an intervening sentence on his skill as a hunter, comes the pretty story of the book of Saxon poems which he won by learning to read it to his mother. Here there are several points to be noticed. In the first place I believe that ‘illiteratus permansit’ means nothing more than that he was ignorant of Latin. If we consider that Latin was at this time the universal vehicle of culture in Western Europe, that ‘legere’ is constantly used, and notably in Asser[400], of reading Latin; that all through the Middle Ages the decision ‘legit ut clericus,’ which entitled an accused person to benefit of clergy, meant that he could read Latin, this interpretation will seem quite natural. Nor does the contrasted statement that Alfred had picked up many Saxon poems by heart oblige us to believe that he could not read his own language in his thirteenth year. Asser is not so logical in his use of conjunctions; and besides this, many, perhaps most, Saxon poems could be acquired in no other way; since they only existed in oral tradition. Alfred’s thirteenth year, according to Asser’s date for his birth, would point to 861. If we remember that we have Alfred’s own statement that only ten years later, at his accession in 871, there was scarcely a priest south of the Humber who knew any Latin[401], we shall easily see that Alfred would have little opportunity of making good the defects of his early education on this side before he came to the throne; and the complaints which Asser puts in his mouth, that when he had leisure to learn, he could find no one to teach him, though rhetorical in form, are true enough in fact[402].

[Sidenote: Chronology of the incident of the poetry book.]

§ 60. Secondly, I can see nothing in the passage which obliges us to put the incident of the poetry book in Alfred’s thirteenth year. It is true that Asser introduces it with an ‘ergo.’ But when we have once grasped the thoroughly aimless way in which Asser sprinkles his conjunctions about, we shall not be inclined to lay much stress on this. And, if we are to construe so strictly, the ‘ergo’ couples the incident, not to the statement of Alfred’s want of literature, but to the sentence about his skill in hunting[403]. The incident may belong therefore to any period anterior to Alfred’s second visit to Rome in 855. This at once gets rid of all the chronological difficulties which have been evolved from the passage.

[Sidenote: Other misconceptions refuted.]

Nor is it necessarily implied that the reading of the poetry book was Alfred’s first essay in reading. It is only said that he went to a master and learnt to read that particular book. But a child would need help in mastering a new work, even if he could read to some extent before.

Again, the suggestion of Pauli[404] and others that even in this case Alfred was merely taught to say the poems by heart, and then repeated them to his mother, is based simply on a piece of bad scholarship. Because in the modern languages recitation means repeating by heart, it does not follow that that is the meaning of the Latin word. ‘Recitare’ means ‘to read aloud’; it occurs no less than seven times in Asser, and that is the meaning of the word in every case[405].

[Sidenote: The mother in the story is Osburh.]

Once more, the mother mentioned in the story is unquestionably Alfred’s own mother Osburh. That he should ever have spoken to Asser of Judith, who was only some four years older than himself, with all her doubtful after-history, as his mother, is, as Dr. Stubbs says[406], absolutely inconceivable.

[Sidenote: Theory of Osburh’s divorce refuted.]

Lastly, an emphatic protest must be entered against the abominable theory put forward by Wright[407] and Lappenberg[408], and accepted by Freeman[409], without a shred of evidence, that Æthelwulf had divorced his noble wife Osburh—noble in character as in race—as Asser excellently says[410], in order to marry the child Judith. The object of the theory is to get over the supposed chronological difficulties of the incident of the poetry book. I have tried to show that those difficulties are imaginary. But no amount of chronological difficulties would induce me to accept a moral impossibility like this. It would be better to give up the story altogether. When Osburh died we do not know. Her name does not occur in the Chronicle or in charters. If she died in 854 or 855[411], grief for her loss may have been an additional motive for Æthelwulf to seek the spiritual consolations associated with a visit to the holy places.

[Sidenote: Æthelwulf’s death. Limitations of his power. Character of Æthelwulf’s reign. Question of Æthelwulf’s will.]

§ 61. Æthelwulf did not long survive his return from the Continent, dying about fifteen months later, January 13, 858[412]. Looking back over his reign of eighteen and a half years we seem to see that Wessex had hardly maintained the advance which she had made under Egbert; and indeed in some respects that advance was probably greater in appearance than in reality. There is no trace of any exercise of superiority on Æthelwulf’s part in regard to Northumbria or East Anglia; and though it is unsafe to argue absolutely from silence, especially where our authorities are so meagre, the inference seems confirmed by the title which Æthelwulf gives himself in one of his charters, ‘Rex Australium populorum[413],’ a district coincident with that denoted by Asser’s Saxonia, as explained above[414]. While a Mercian charter which makes special provision for the entertainment of heralds (_praecones_) on their journeys between Mercia and Northumbria, and Mercia and Wessex[415] seems to indicate that those kingdoms existed on a footing of equality and mutual independence. If Burgred of Mercia’s application to Æthelwulf in 853 for help against the Welsh implies that he regarded the latter in any way as his over-lord, it equally shows that Egbert’s reduction of the Welsh had not been permanent. But on the whole I agree with Mr. Green[416] that the facts of Æthelwulf’s reign do not bear out that character of weakness commonly ascribed to him, which rests, I think, largely on the idea that a reputation for piety is incompatible with mental vigour. The hold of Wessex on Kent and its dependencies was not relaxed. Egbert himself had found it expedient to conciliate local feeling by making his son Æthelwulf under-king of these districts[417], a system for which he could have pleaded the example of the great Charles, with which he must have become acquainted in the days of his exile[418]. The same system was continued at Egbert’s death, and again at Æthelwulf’s departure for Rome, and at his death; the latter division being prescribed, according to Asser[419], by the terms of Æthelwulf’s will. Whether Æthelwulf really did venture to fly so much in the face of Mr. Freeman, as to dispose of his dominions by will, cannot be certainly known, as the will is not in existence. Anyhow, in view of the earlier precedents, I hesitate to accept the theory of Lappenberg and Pauli, that Æthelwulf intended definitely to sever Kent, &c., from Wessex, entailing it on the descendants of Æthelberht, who in turn were to remain excluded from the Wessex succession[420]. Possibly Kent was not at once ripe for incorporation with Wessex, and the arrangement may have been justified as a transitional measure. Happily it came to an end on Æthelbald’s death in 860; Æthelberht retained Kent on his accession to Wessex[421]; Æthelred on this occasion, and Alfred, on the death of Æthelberht, patriotically abstaining from pressing the claims to Kent, which they might have based on the recent precedents. And this I take to be the residuum of fact in Asser’s rhetorical statement[422] that Alfred might, if he liked, have assumed the royal power during his brother’s lifetime.

[Sidenote: Reign of Æthelbald. New phase of the Danish struggle under Æthelberht.]

§ 62. Of Æthelbald’s short reign of two and a half years nothing is recorded in the Chronicle; Asser’s statement[423] that his government was ‘unbridled,’ I regard as a mere flourish, based on his alleged incestuous marriage; while Henry of Huntingdon’s pathetic sigh that ‘at his death England realised how much she had lost[424],’ I take to be an equally valuable piece of rhetoric on the other side. With Æthelberht’s reign of rather over five years the Danish struggle[425] enters on a new and more serious phase. Under him, as we have seen[426], Winchester was taken in the year 860, and though the assailants were ultimately driven off, a severe blow must have been struck at the prestige of Wessex by the capture of her capital[427]. The wintering of the Danes in Thanet in 865, marks, according to Steenstrup[428], the beginning of the deliberate and systematic attempt to conquer England. The recent incorporation of Kent with Wessex did not prevent the Kentishmen from making a separate agreement with the foe. The next year, 866, the Danes wintered in East Anglia, and there too a separate peace was made, to be followed, four years later, by the definite conquest of that land, and the death of its martyr-king, St. Edmund. In 867 the never-ending civil discords of Northumbria opened that country also to the invaders; and there too a separate peace was made, and a puppet king, Egbert, was set up by the Danes[429] in the district north of the Tyne, just as they set up Ceolwulf, a few years later, in Mercia. Mercia’s turn was to come the following year.

[Sidenote: Accession of Æthelred; Alfred’s public life begins.]

But meanwhile, in 866, Æthelred had succeeded his brother Æthelberht on the throne of Wessex, and it is under Æthelred that the public life of Alfred begins. A late authority[430] states that Æthelred was Alfred’s favourite brother. The statement is probably a mere inference from the record of their co-operation contained in the Chronicle and Asser; but in itself it is likely enough.

In 868 the Danes invaded Mercia and wintered at Nottingham. Burgred, who with his Witan had in 853 invoked Æthelwulf’s help against the Welsh, and who that same year had married Æthelwulf’s only daughter Ealhswith, now once more with his Witan invoked the aid of Æthelred and Alfred against this newer and much more dangerous foe. The brothers obeyed the call, and marched to Nottingham, but they did not venture to attack the Danish lines, and the Mercians made peace with the invaders.

[Sidenote: Title of _secundarius_ given to Alfred by Asser. Significance of the title. Alfred’s will.]

§ 63. It will have been noticed that the Mercian application for West Saxon help is said to have been made to Æthelred and Alfred jointly[431]; and it is significant that it is just before this Mercian campaign that Asser first applies to Alfred the title _secundarius_[432] alluded to in an earlier section. This title is unique in English history. Apart from Asser and writers who copy Asser, the only instances of the use of the word given by Ducange are as the title of a monastic officer. And this to some extent confirms the suggestion already made[433], that the word is to be traced to Celtic influence; for in Irish _secnab_, literally ‘second abbot,’ is one of the regular titles of the prior of a monastery. And I look on ‘secundarius’ as the equivalent of the Irish ‘tanist,’ the person appointed or elected during the lifetime of the chief as his future successor[434]; and it is to be remarked that the Irish word _tanaise_ or _tanaiste_, anglicised ‘tanist,’ actually means ‘secundus.’ The institution of tanistry existed among the Welsh[435], though I have not come across any name for it so closely corresponding with the meaning of ‘secundarius’ as the Irish _tanaiste_. What then I take to be the significance of the title as applied to Alfred is this: that some time between Æthelred’s accession in 866 and 868 a definite agreement was come to, by which Alfred was recognised as Æthelred’s successor, to the exclusion, for the present at any rate, of the latter’s children (if at this time he had any); Alfred in return perhaps definitely abandoning any claim to Kent. This theory derives some confirmation from the very similar arrangement which was come to about this time in regard to the private landed property belonging to the brothers. In the preamble to Alfred’s will it is stated that Æthelwulf left certain property to be held in common by the three brothers, Æthelbald, Æthelred, and Alfred, the ultimate survivor to have the whole. On the death of Æthelbald, ‘Æthelred and I,’ says Alfred, ‘gave our share in trust to our kinsman[436], King Æthelberht, on condition that he restored it to us [i.e. at his death] in the same state as he received it. And he did so, not only in respect of that property which he obtained by our concurrence, but also in respect of that which he himself acquired.’ When Æthelred succeeded, Alfred suggested in the Witan a final division of the property. Æthelred pointed out the difficulty of division, and promised that, if Alfred would withdraw his proposal, he (Æthelred) would leave him not only the whole of the joint property, but also that acquired by himself separately. To this Alfred agreed. The next clause recites how certain modifications were made at a later time, because the Danish troubles had brought home to the brothers that, under the original agreement, the children of the one who died first might be left without any provision.

[Sidenote: This will refers to private property only; not to the Crown.]

§ 64. It is to be observed in the first place that this will, and the provisions of Æthelwulf’s will therein recited, have to do solely with the private property of the family; there is not a word about the royal succession. It is only in the Latin version that this is mentioned; and that the Latin is not the original, is proved by the fact that it is full of the most obvious mistranslations from the Saxon. Indeed, I am not sure that the introduction of the royal succession is not the result of a mistranslation[437]. Secondly, the inclusion of Æthelbald is rather against the story of his rebellion; while on the other hand the omission of Æthelberht is to be accounted for on the supposition that he had been provided for in other clauses of the will, not here recited; for Asser distinctly says[438] that Æthelwulf divided his private property between his sons and his daughter. However, notwithstanding the exclusion of Æthelberht from this particular portion of the inheritance, Æthelred and Alfred made it over to him, on condition that at his death they should receive, not only it, but also his separate property; in other words, they made much the same agreement as was ultimately made between Æthelred and Alfred.

[Sidenote: But analogous arrangements were probably made as to the succession. These explain the title _secundarius_.]

The latter agreement was made, says Alfred, when Æthelred had succeeded; that is, shortly after 866. It does not seem to me unreasonable to suppose that some arrangement was made at the same time with reference to the succession, and sanctioned in the same Witenagemót. Alfred’s marriage took place according to Asser in 868, the very year of the Mercian expedition. Whether at the time of the agreement about the private property any of Æthelred’s children had been born is uncertain. The subsequent modifications, providing for the children of the two brothers, would seem to suggest that they had not. Anyhow they must have been too young to be contemplated as possible successors, in the not unlikely event of Æthelred’s falling in battle; and the danger of the country required that there should be no uncertainty on the question of the succession. It is by this definite recognition of Alfred as successor that I would explain the title of ‘secundarius’ given to him by Asser. I may add that, except as to the Celtic analogies which I have suggested, this is practically the view of Dr. Stubbs[439], though I was not conscious of the fact when I worked out my own theory.

[Sidenote: ‘Alfred’s Year of Battles.’ Chronology.]

§ 65. For two years Wessex had a respite. The year 869 was spent by the invaders in Deira with their headquarters at York. In 870, as already mentioned, they completed their conquest of East Anglia. But in the following year the storm burst. This was indeed ‘Alfred’s Year of Battles,’ as it is called by the late Mr. W. H. Simcox in an excellent article on the subject, which he contributed to the second number of the English Historical Review[440]. Here, as seven years later, the object of the Danes seems to have been to surprise Wessex by an attack in mid-winter. Mr. Simcox, by reckoning back the intervals between the various engagements as given in the Chronicle from the death of Æthelred, which is stated to have occurred ‘after Easter,’ placed the beginning of the campaign in January. But a fact, first pointed out, as far as I know, by Sir James Ramsay[441], enables us to fix it more precisely. Heahmund, bishop of Sherborne, fell in the battle of Marton, the last engagement in which Æthelred took part. So little was his warlike activity held to derogate from his episcopal character, that his death in battle against a heathen foe won him the title of martyr[442], and a place in the calendar. His day is March 22, and that would almost certainly be the day on which he fell; and this fits in well with the statement of the Chronicle that the battle of Marton was before Easter, which fell on April 15 in 871[443]. Reckoning backward from this we get January 22 for the English defeat at Basing, January 8 for the victory of Ashdown, January 4 for the abortive attack on the Danish lines at Reading, December 31 for the successful engagement at Englefield, and December 28 for the descent of the Danes on Reading. These two last dates according to our reckoning belong to 870; but the Chronicler, who begins his year with Christmas Day[444], is quite correct in placing them in 871.

[Sidenote: The Danes at Reading. Battle of Ashdown.]

The Danes seized Reading and fortified the tongue of land between the Kennet and the Thames[445]; a large foraging party under two jarls was cut up by Æthelwulf, the ealdorman of Berkshire, at Englefield, but the main attack by the royal brothers on the Danish lines at Reading failed, and here the victor of Englefield was slain. Gaimar gives some details as to the route by which the defeated English made their escape, which seem to me perfectly genuine, though I know not whence he derived them[446]. Mr. Simcox objects to them on military grounds, of which I do not profess to be a judge. Anyhow, only four days later the English gained the brilliant victory of Ashdown, about five-and-twenty miles further to the west. I confess I find it difficult to fit into the Chronicler’s account of the battle the well-known anecdote of Asser[447], which tells how Æthelred refused to engage until the priest had finished saying mass, though Mr. Simcox accepts it as ‘perfectly historical.’ However, if true, Æthelred’s delay had no bad effect on the result of the battle; and the bringing up of a fresh body of troops after the enemy had already been disordered by Alfred’s ‘boar-like’ charge[448], may have largely contributed to the victory. So that the cheap sneers of some writers have not the merit of being even superficially effective.

[Sidenote: The Ashdown thorn.]

We have noticed[449] that among the objects of interest which Asser claims to have seen with his own eyes was the solitary thorn round which the battle of Ashdown raged. It is an interesting fact, first pointed out to me by my friend Mr. Taylor, that among the Berkshire Hundreds enumerated in Domesday is one called Nachededorn, i.e. Naked-thorn, containing within itself a manor of the same name, and also the manor of Ashdown[450]. As the name of a hundred, ‘Naked-thorn’ has perished; and the manors which it contained are by modern arrangements distributed among several hundreds. But it was suggested by Dr. Wilson, formerly President of Trinity College, Oxford[451], that the name of ‘Naked-thorn’ manor probably survived in a slightly altered form in the name of Roughthorn Farm, close to Ashdown[452]. The manor of Naked-thorn was held by the Conqueror in demesne; that of Ashdown by Henry de Ferrers. It is certainly, as Mr. Taylor remarks, an interesting fact that the site of the battle of Ashdown should have been owned by the Conqueror himself.

[Sidenote: Battles of Basing and Marton. Death of Æthelred.]

From Ashdown the beaten Danes withdrew to their lines at Reading. A fortnight later fortune turned once more, and the English were defeated at Basing. This southward movement seems to indicate that the Danes were striking for Winchester, the capital of Wessex[453]. The fact that they were unable to press the attack home, shows that the English, though defeated, were still formidable. Then for two months our authorities are silent. The Chronicler tells us that in this year of battles there were no less than nine general engagements[454], not counting minor operations. But of these nine engagements only six are actually named, Englefield, Reading, Ashdown, Basing, Marton, Wilton. It is just possible that one or more of the unnamed battles may have taken place in the interval. The next engagement, however, that we hear of was at a place called by the Chronicler Meretun, which is neither Merton in Surrey, nor Merton near Bicester, nor (as I once thought) Marden near Devizes, but, as Mr. Simcox argues with great probability, Marton, about three miles south of Great Bedwin in Wiltshire; and here the English, at first victorious, had ultimately to yield possession of the field of battle, and a month later, shortly after Easter[455], Æthelred died. Whether he was wounded in the battle[456], or whether he was simply worn out by the incessant strain and exposure of the last four months, he equally died for England and the Faith, and it is difficult to read with patience the depreciatory comments of some writers, who seem here also to assume that piety and efficiency must be mutually exclusive qualities. But with Alfred to succeed him, Browning’s noble words were certainly true of Æthelred:—

‘O soldier-saint,
No work begun shall ever pause for death[457].’

[Sidenote: Alfred’s task.]

The fate of England and of Western Europe hung, humanly speaking, on the heart and brain and arm of a young man of three-and-twenty years. That, under God, he proved himself equal to his high task, is what has justly earned for him the title of Great[458].

LECTURE IV

ALFRED’S CAMPAIGNS AGAINST THE DANES; CIVIL ADMINISTRATION

[Sidenote: Alfred’s greatness.]

§ 66. ‘Alfred is one of the greatest figures in the history of the world.’ These are not the words of any insular patriot, but of the great German historian, Leopold von Ranke[459], who, if I may venture to criticise so great a man, is almost too diplomatic and cosmopolitan in his view of history, too little sensitive to purely national movements and aspirations.

[Sidenote: State of England at his accession. Fresh invaders. Second battle of Reading. Battle of Wilton.]

But, when Alfred ascended the throne in 871, the prospect was dark enough; and we can well believe what Asser tells us, confirmed as it seems to be by expressions of Alfred himself in the Boethius, that it was only reluctantly that Alfred undertook the burden laid upon him[460]. The earlier writer embodied in Simeon of Durham says distinctly that Alfred was elected by the chief men of the whole people[461]. Our primary authorities tell us nothing of this[462]; and though their silence is not conclusive[463], a formal election would probably be rendered unnecessary by the arrangement already come to with reference to the succession; while it certainly was no time for coronation festivities or anything of that kind. Even before Æthelred’s death a new force of wikings, ‘a summer army[464]’ as opposed to those who had wintered in the land, invaded the country. Æthelred was interred at Wimborne, where, in Asser’s words, ‘he awaits the coming of the Lord, and the first resurrection with the just[465].’ Even while Alfred was busied with his brother’s exequies, an engagement was being fought in his absence. Ethelwerd alone tells us of this engagement[466]; and at one time I supposed[467] that his account was merely a mistaken version of the battle of Wilton, but I am now convinced that his account is distinct, and that it is not improbable in itself. If I understand him rightly, and he is never very easy to understand, the new force of wikings came to Reading, where they were joined by the Danes who had wintered in the country; and together they defeated an English force, which was in no great numbers, owing to the absence of the king. If this is correct, we have here one of the unnamed ‘folc-gefeoht’ of the Chronicle[468]. But though Ethelwerd calls it a barren victory[469] for the Danes, it seems to have opened to them the heart of Wessex, for the next engagement was fought at Wilton, a month after Æthelred’s death, that is towards the end of May, where another of those enigmatic contests took place, in which the Danes are put to flight, and yet encamp upon the field of battle. Possibly the Danes, whether in real or pretended flight, turned upon their disorderly pursuers and defeated them. This seems to be distinctly suggested by Asser’s narrative[470]. After this, peace was made, probably by purchase, and a respite was well worth paying for. The Danes had suffered scarcely less than the West Saxons[471], and for four whole years they avoided Wessex. The question has been asked: Why did not Burgred of Mercia come to the help of his brothers-in-law in their hour of need, as they had come to help him three years before? Mr. Simcox points out that here too the despised Ingulf[472] supplies the right answer. Burgred was detained by an incursion of the Welsh, acting, no doubt, in concert with the Danes.

[Sidenote: The Danes at London. Their exactions. They overrun Mercia.]

§ 67. After this peace, the Danes moved from Reading, which had remained their head-quarters, to London, where they spent the winter of 871-2, and forced the Mercians once more to purchase peace. Alfred seems to have kept at any rate an army of observation in the neighbourhood. For a later annal, speaking of the alms sent by Alfred to Rome and India in 883[473], says that this was in fulfilment of a vow made ‘when they encamped against the host at London. And through God’s mercy,’ adds the pious Chronicler, ‘they fully obtained their prayer after that vow.’ Whether these last words refer to an actual defeat inflicted on the Danes by Alfred, or only to his success in keeping them out of Wessex, we cannot tell. In either case the notice illustrates very strikingly the fragmentary nature of even our best authorities. The weight of the exactions which Burgred had to impose to raise the ransom for the Danes, is illustrated by a lease executed this very year (872) of lands belonging to the see of Worcester, which was necessitated ‘owing to the enormous tribute in the year when the heathen sat in London[474].’ The next year the Danes moved northwards and wintered at Torksey, 872-3. The next winter, 873-4, was spent at Repton, and in 874, after destroying that mausoleum of the Mercian kings[475], they overran the whole of Mercia, drove out Burgred, who withdrew to Rome to die; and set up in his place for the present a puppet king in the person of ‘an unwise king’s thane,’ as the Chronicle quaintly calls him, named Ceolwulf, ‘an Englishman by race, but a barbarian in cruelty[476].’ In 875 the Danes divided their forces, and part went to the Tyne and part went to Cambridge. The only event recorded in connexion with the history of Wessex in this year is the defeat, by Alfred in person[477], as it would seem, of a small fleet of seven wiking ships.

[Sidenote: The Danes in Wareham. They make a dash for Exeter. Destruction of a Danish fleet. Mercia partitioned.]

§ 68. But in 876 the Cambridge division of the Danes managed to slip past the Saxon ‘fyrd,’ and get into Wareham, the ancient importance of which is still attested by the large quadrangular earthworks[478]. We do not know what time of year this was; but apparently the Danes stayed there till the following winter[479]; when Alfred found it expedient to make peace with them, by purchase, according to Ethelwerd; the Danes giving hostages, and swearing their most binding oaths on the sacred temple-ring, ‘on which they would never swear before to any people.’ Yet in spite of this, the negotiations were only a blind on the part of the Danes, and under cover of them they took to their horses, and slipped away by night to Exeter. This seems to have been early in 877. Alfred failed to overtake them before they reached Exeter, and he did not venture to attack them behind their fortifications[480]. But he sat down and blockaded them by land, and, if a later account may be trusted[481], his ships watched the mouth of the Exe. Meanwhile a wiking fleet of 120 sail was making its way west about from East Anglia, no doubt with the view of throwing supplies and reinforcements into Exeter. But off the coast of Swanage they were caught in a violent storm, and in Gaimar’s uncomplimentary language, who rather exaggerates the number of the fleet, ‘140 ships went to the devils[482].’ But for the wreck of these 120 ships the issue of the campaign, perhaps even of the whole war, might have been very different[483]. The motto on a Dutch medal struck to commemorate the ruin of the Armada in 1588 would apply here also: ‘Flauit et dissipati sunt[484].’ ‘Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them: they sank as lead in the mighty waters[485].’ And so the Danes in Exeter were fain to submit, and swore mighty oaths, which for once they kept, and withdrew to Mercia, which they now partitioned, dividing part of it among themselves, and restoring the remainder to their puppet Ceolwulf. This partition is of some prospective importance as being probably the origin of the distinction between English and Danish Mercia[486].

[Sidenote: The campaign of 878. Battle of Ethandun. Submission of the Danes. Defeat of the Danes in North Devon. The Danes retire to East Anglia.]

§ 69. Of the sudden swoop of the Danes on Chippenham in January, 878, and Alfred’s retirement to Athelney I have said enough above[487]. It was at Easter, March 23, 878, that Alfred and his little band reared the fort on Athelney. Some seven weeks later, that is to say, about the middle of May, he moved out of it to Brixton Deverill near Warminster. The date of this movement must have been carefully fixed, and widely made known by Alfred’s messengers beforehand. For here he was joined at once by the levies of Somerset, Wilts., and part of Hampshire, ‘and they were fain of him,’ says the Chronicler, in words the more expressive for their extreme simplicity. How effectually the preliminary arrangements had been made, is shown by the fact that the very next day Alfred was able to continue his forward movement to Leigh near Westbury, and the next day to Edington[488]. Here a general engagement was fought with the whole Danish army under Guthrum, which had moved out of Chippenham. The result was a complete victory for Alfred: ‘he put them to flight, and rode after them to their fort, and sat down before it for a fortnight, and then the host (_here_) gave him leading hostages and swore mighty oaths that they would quit his realm. And they further promised that their king should receive baptism. And so it was performed, and three weeks later [that is, about the end of the first week in June] the king Guthrum, with twenty-nine of those that were worthiest in the host, came to him at Aller near Athelney; and the king received him at baptism, and his chrism-loosing was at Wedmore; and he was twelve nights with the king, and he honoured him much, and feed his followers.’ The ‘fort’ to which Alfred pursued his flying foes was, I think, the Danish lines at Chippenham; and though high authorities, including Professor Earle, take a different view[489], I am glad to see that I am supported by our military historian, Professor Oman[490]. The submission of the Danes would be furthered by a great disaster which befell another body of them earlier in the year. A wiking fleet, which had wintered in South Wales[491], crossed to the opposite coast of Devon; probably intending, after ravaging the southern coast of the Bristol Channel, as they had already ravaged the northern coast, to effect a junction with the Danes at Chippenham. The men of Devon, under their ealdorman Odda, took refuge in a rude fort[492], probably Kenny Castle near Appledore. The Danes, under Ubba, the brother of Halfdene and Ingwar[493], expected an easy victory, but the English, sallying out unexpectedly at early dawn, put their foes to rout, slaying over 800 of them, and driving the rest to their ships[494]. The mystic Raven Banner fell into the hands of the victors. After the ceremony at Wedmore the Danes retired, in accordance with their promise, to Cirencester[495], and the next year, 879, they withdrew altogether to East Anglia; while a body of wikings, which had gathered at Fulham, crossed to the Continent. It would seem that, whether by formal compact or no[496], not only Wessex and its dependencies but English Mercia west of Watling Street was cleared of the invader.

[Sidenote: Results of the battle of Ethandun.]

§ 70. I have said elsewhere that Alfred holds in real history the place which romance assigns to Arthur[497]; and certainly, after this mid-May victory of Alfred at Edington, his followers might well have sung the song which our late Laureate places in the mouths of Arthur’s men[498]:—

‘Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May;
Blow trumpet, the long night hath roll’d away!
Blow thro’ the living world—“Let the King reign.”

‘Blow, for our Sun is mighty in his May!
Blow, for our Sun is mightier day by day!
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.

‘The King will follow Christ; and we the King
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing.
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.’

[Sidenote: Loss and gain. The gain outweighs the loss.]

‘The long night has rolled away.’—‘Yea, even like as a dream when one awaketh, so shalt Thou make their image to vanish.’—Every historian is agreed that this is the turning-point in the history, not only of England, but of Western Europe. ‘Wessex was saved; and in saving Wessex, Alfred saved England; and in saving England, he saved Western Europe from becoming a heathen Scandinavian power[499].’ In recognising the Danish occupation of East Anglia, Eastern Mercia, and Northumbria, Alfred was hardly making a cession, for they had never been his to cede; he was at most giving up a shadowy overlordship which neither he, nor his brothers, nor, probably, even his father had ever exercised. The only district which was in strictness ceded was Essex; and it was a heavy loss that London remained for some years longer a Danish city. But the gains far outweighed the losses; and we can but ask in wonder what were the causes of so great a change. Some light is gained when we have realised that Alfred at Athelney was not burning cakes, but organising victory. Then, too, he had good helpers. We have seen what Odda did in Devonshire; and Ethelwerd lays stress on the co-operation of Æthelnoth, the ealdorman of Somerset, in the dark days of Athelney[500]. There is nothing like work in common for a great cause, in face of great difficulties, for cementing friendship[501], and perhaps it is to these days that Werferth of Worcester looks back when in one of his charters he speaks of Æthelnoth as ‘the friend of us all[502].’

[Sidenote: Mobility of the Danes.]