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A Child's History of England

by Charles Dickens

October, 1996  [Etext #699]


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A Child's History of England by Charles Dickens
Scanned and Proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk


A Child's History of England


CHAPTER I - ANCIENT ENGLAND AND THE ROMANS


IF you look at a Map of the World, you will see, in the left-hand 
upper corner of the Eastern Hemisphere, two Islands lying in the 
sea.  They are England and Scotland, and Ireland.  England and 
Scotland form the greater part of these Islands.  Ireland is the 
next in size.  The little neighbouring islands, which are so small 
upon the Map as to be mere dots, are chiefly little bits of 
Scotland, - broken off, I dare say, in the course of a great length 
of time, by the power of the restless water.

In the old days, a long, long while ago, before Our Saviour was 
born on earth and lay asleep in a manger, these Islands were in the 
same place, and the stormy sea roared round them, just as it roars 
now.  But the sea was not alive, then, with great ships and brave 
sailors, sailing to and from all parts of the world.  It was very 
lonely.  The Islands lay solitary, in the great expanse of water.  
The foaming waves dashed against their cliffs, and the bleak winds 
blew over their forests; but the winds and waves brought no 
adventurers to land upon the Islands, and the savage Islanders knew 
nothing of the rest of the world, and the rest of the world knew 
nothing of them.

It is supposed that the Phoenicians, who were an ancient people, 
famous for carrying on trade, came in ships to these Islands, and 
found that they produced tin and lead; both very useful things, as 
you know, and both produced to this very hour upon the sea-coast. 
The most celebrated tin mines in Cornwall are, still, close to the 
sea.  One of them, which I have seen, is so close to it that it is 
hollowed out underneath the ocean; and the miners say, that in 
stormy weather, when they are at work down in that deep place, they 
can hear the noise of the waves thundering above their heads.  So, 
the Phoenicians, coasting about the Islands, would come, without 
much difficulty, to where the tin and lead were.

The Phoenicians traded with the Islanders for these metals, and 
gave the Islanders some other useful things in exchange.  The 
Islanders were, at first, poor savages, going almost naked, or only 
dressed in the rough skins of beasts, and staining their bodies, as 
other savages do, with coloured earths and the juices of plants.  
But the Phoenicians, sailing over to the opposite coasts of France 
and Belgium, and saying to the people there, 'We have been to those 
white cliffs across the water, which you can see in fine weather, 
and from that country, which is called BRITAIN, we bring this tin 
and lead,' tempted some of the French and Belgians to come over 
also.  These people settled themselves on the south coast of 
England, which is now called Kent; and, although they were a rough 
people too, they taught the savage Britons some useful arts, and 
improved that part of the Islands.  It is probable that other 
people came over from Spain to Ireland, and settled there.

Thus, by little and little, strangers became mixed with the 
Islanders, and the savage Britons grew into a wild, bold people; 
almost savage, still, especially in the interior of the country 
away from the sea where the foreign settlers seldom went; but 
hardy, brave, and strong.

The whole country was covered with forests, and swamps.  The 
greater part of it was very misty and cold.  There were no roads, 
no bridges, no streets, no houses that you would think deserving of 
the name.  A town was nothing but a collection of straw-covered 
huts, hidden in a thick wood, with a ditch all round, and a low 
wall, made of mud, or the trunks of trees placed one upon another.  
The people planted little or no corn, but lived upon the flesh of 
their flocks and cattle.  They made no coins, but used metal rings 
for money.  They were clever in basket-work, as savage people often 
are; and they could make a coarse kind of cloth, and some very bad 
earthenware.  But in building fortresses they were much more 
clever.

They made boats of basket-work, covered with the skins of animals, 
but seldom, if ever, ventured far from the shore.  They made 
swords, of copper mixed with tin; but, these swords were of an 
awkward shape, and so soft that a heavy blow would bend one.  They 
made light shields, short pointed daggers, and spears - which they 
jerked back after they had thrown them at an enemy, by a long strip 
of leather fastened to the stem.  The butt-end was a rattle, to 
frighten an enemy's horse.  The ancient Britons, being divided into 
as many as thirty or forty tribes, each commanded by its own little 
king, were constantly fighting with one another, as savage people 
usually do; and they always fought with these weapons.

They were very fond of horses.  The standard of Kent was the 
picture of a white horse.  They could break them in and manage them 
wonderfully well.  Indeed, the horses (of which they had an 
abundance, though they were rather small) were so well taught in 
those days, that they can scarcely be said to have improved since; 
though the men are so much wiser.  They understood, and obeyed, 
every word of command; and would stand still by themselves, in all 
the din and noise of battle, while their masters went to fight on 
foot.  The Britons could not have succeeded in their most 
remarkable art, without the aid of these sensible and trusty 
animals.  The art I mean, is the construction and management of 
war-chariots or cars, for which they have ever been celebrated in 
history.  Each of the best sort of these chariots, not quite breast 
high in front, and open at the back, contained one man to drive, 
and two or three others to fight - all standing up.  The horses who 
drew them were so well trained, that they would tear, at full 
gallop, over the most stony ways, and even through the woods; 
dashing down their masters' enemies beneath their hoofs, and 
cutting them to pieces with the blades of swords, or scythes, which 
were fastened to the wheels, and stretched out beyond the car on 
each side, for that cruel purpose.  In a moment, while at full 
speed, the horses would stop, at the driver's command.  The men 
within would leap out, deal blows about them with their swords like 
hail, leap on the horses, on the pole, spring back into the 
chariots anyhow; and, as soon as they were safe, the horses tore 
away again.

The Britons had a strange and terrible religion, called the 
Religion of the Druids.  It seems to have been brought over, in 
very early times indeed, from the opposite country of France, 
anciently called Gaul, and to have mixed up the worship of the 
Serpent, and of the Sun and Moon, with the worship of some of the 
Heathen Gods and Goddesses.  Most of its ceremonies were kept 
secret by the priests, the Druids, who pretended to be enchanters, 
and who carried magicians' wands, and wore, each of them, about his 
neck, what he told the ignorant people was a Serpent's egg in a 
golden case.  But it is certain that the Druidical ceremonies 
included the sacrifice of human victims, the torture of some 
suspected criminals, and, on particular occasions, even the burning 
alive, in immense wicker cages, of a number of men and animals 
together.  The Druid Priests had some kind of veneration for the 
Oak, and for the mistletoe - the same plant that we hang up in 
houses at Christmas Time now - when its white berries grew upon the 
Oak.  They met together in dark woods, which they called Sacred 
Groves; and there they instructed, in their mysterious arts, young 
men who came to them as pupils, and who sometimes stayed with them 
as long as twenty years.

These Druids built great Temples and altars, open to the sky, 
fragments of some of which are yet remaining.  Stonehenge, on 
Salisbury Plain, in Wiltshire, is the most extraordinary of these.  
Three curious stones, called Kits Coty House, on Bluebell Hill, 
near Maidstone, in Kent, form another.  We know, from examination 
of the great blocks of which such buildings are made, that they 
could not have been raised without the aid of some ingenious 
machines, which are common now, but which the ancient Britons 
certainly did not use in making their own uncomfortable houses.  I 
should not wonder if the Druids, and their pupils who stayed with 
them twenty years, knowing more than the rest of the Britons, kept 
the people out of sight while they made these buildings, and then 
pretended that they built them by magic.  Perhaps they had a hand 
in the fortresses too; at all events, as they were very powerful, 
and very much believed in, and as they made and executed the laws, 
and paid no taxes, I don't wonder that they liked their trade.  
And, as they persuaded the people the more Druids there were, the 
better off the people would be, I don't wonder that there were a 
good many of them.  But it is pleasant to think that there are no 
Druids, NOW, who go on in that way, and pretend to carry 
Enchanters' Wands and Serpents' Eggs - and of course there is 
nothing of the kind, anywhere.

Such was the improved condition of the ancient Britons, fifty-five 
years before the birth of Our Saviour, when the Romans, under their 
great General, Julius Caesar, were masters of all the rest of the 
known world.  Julius Caesar had then just conquered Gaul; and 
hearing, in Gaul, a good deal about the opposite Island with the 
white cliffs, and about the bravery of the Britons who inhabited it 
- some of whom had been fetched over to help the Gauls in the war 
against him - he resolved, as he was so near, to come and conquer 
Britain next.

So, Julius Caesar came sailing over to this Island of ours, with 
eighty vessels and twelve thousand men.  And he came from the 
French coast between Calais and Boulogne, 'because thence was the 
shortest passage into Britain;' just for the same reason as our 
steam-boats now take the same track, every day.  He expected to 
conquer Britain easily:  but it was not such easy work as he 
supposed - for the bold Britons fought most bravely; and, what with 
not having his horse-soldiers with him (for they had been driven 
back by a storm), and what with having some of his vessels dashed 
to pieces by a high tide after they were drawn ashore, he ran great 
risk of being totally defeated.  However, for once that the bold 
Britons beat him, he beat them twice; though not so soundly but 
that he was very glad to accept their proposals of peace, and go 
away.

But, in the spring of the next year, he came back; this time, with 
eight hundred vessels and thirty thousand men.  The British tribes 
chose, as their general-in-chief, a Briton, whom the Romans in 
their Latin language called CASSIVELLAUNUS, but whose British name 
is supposed to have been CASWALLON.  A brave general he was, and 
well he and his soldiers fought the Roman army!  So well, that 
whenever in that war the Roman soldiers saw a great cloud of dust, 
and heard the rattle of the rapid British chariots, they trembled 
in their hearts.  Besides a number of smaller battles, there was a 
battle fought near Canterbury, in Kent; there was a battle fought 
near Chertsey, in Surrey; there was a battle fought near a marshy 
little town in a wood, the capital of that part of Britain which 
belonged to CASSIVELLAUNUS, and which was probably near what is now 
Saint Albans, in Hertfordshire.  However, brave CASSIVELLAUNUS had 
the worst of it, on the whole; though he and his men always fought 
like lions.  As the other British chiefs were jealous of him, and 
were always quarrelling with him, and with one another, he gave up, 
and proposed peace.  Julius Caesar was very glad to grant peace 
easily, and to go away again with all his remaining ships and men.  
He had expected to find pearls in Britain, and he may have found a 
few for anything I know; but, at all events, he found delicious 
oysters, and I am sure he found tough Britons - of whom, I dare 
say, he made the same complaint as Napoleon Bonaparte the great 
French General did, eighteen hundred years afterwards, when he said 
they were such unreasonable fellows that they never knew when they 
were beaten.  They never DID know, I believe, and never will.

Nearly a hundred years passed on, and all that time, there was 
peace in Britain.  The Britons improved their towns and mode of 
life:  became more civilised, travelled, and learnt a great deal 
from the Gauls and Romans.  At last, the Roman Emperor, Claudius, 
sent AULUS PLAUTIUS, a skilful general, with a mighty force, to 
subdue the Island, and shortly afterwards arrived himself.  They 
did little; and OSTORIUS SCAPULA, another general, came.  Some of 
the British Chiefs of Tribes submitted.  Others resolved to fight 
to the death.  Of these brave men, the bravest was CARACTACUS, or 
CARADOC, who gave battle to the Romans, with his army, among the 
mountains of North Wales.  'This day,' said he to his soldiers, 
'decides the fate of Britain!  Your liberty, or your eternal 
slavery, dates from this hour.  Remember your brave ancestors, who 
drove the great Caesar himself across the sea!'  On hearing these 
words, his men, with a great shout, rushed upon the Romans.  But 
the strong Roman swords and armour were too much for the weaker 
British weapons in close conflict.  The Britons lost the day.  The 
wife and daughter of the brave CARACTACUS were taken prisoners; his 
brothers delivered themselves up; he himself was betrayed into the 
hands of the Romans by his false and base stepmother:  and they 
carried him, and all his family, in triumph to Rome.

But a great man will be great in misfortune, great in prison, great 
in chains.  His noble air, and dignified endurance of distress, so 
touched the Roman people who thronged the streets to see him, that 
he and his family were restored to freedom.  No one knows whether 
his great heart broke, and he died in Rome, or whether he ever 
returned to his own dear country.  English oaks have grown up from 
acorns, and withered away, when they were hundreds of years old - 
and other oaks have sprung up in their places, and died too, very 
aged - since the rest of the history of the brave CARACTACUS was 
forgotten.

Still, the Britons WOULD NOT yield.  They rose again and again, and 
died by thousands, sword in hand.  They rose, on every possible 
occasion.  SUETONIUS, another Roman general, came, and stormed the 
Island of Anglesey (then called MONA), which was supposed to be 
sacred, and he burnt the Druids in their own wicker cages, by their 
own fires.  But, even while he was in Britain, with his victorious 
troops, the BRITONS rose.  Because BOADICEA, a British queen, the 
widow of the King of the Norfolk and Suffolk people, resisted the 
plundering of her property by the Romans who were settled in 
England, she was scourged, by order of CATUS a Roman officer; and 
her two daughters were shamefully insulted in her presence, and her 
husband's relations were made slaves.  To avenge this injury, the 
Britons rose, with all their might and rage.  They drove CATUS into 
Gaul; they laid the Roman possessions waste; they forced the Romans 
out of London, then a poor little town, but a trading place; they 
hanged, burnt, crucified, and slew by the sword, seventy thousand 
Romans in a few days.  SUETONIUS strengthened his army, and 
advanced to give them battle.  They strengthened their army, and 
desperately attacked his, on the field where it was strongly 
posted.  Before the first charge of the Britons was made, BOADICEA, 
in a war-chariot, with her fair hair streaming in the wind, and her 
injured daughters lying at her feet, drove among the troops, and 
cried to them for vengeance on their oppressors, the licentious 
Romans.  The Britons fought to the last; but they were vanquished 
with great slaughter, and the unhappy queen took poison.

Still, the spirit of the Britons was not broken.  When SUETONIUS 
left the country, they fell upon his troops, and retook the Island 
of Anglesey.  AGRICOLA came, fifteen or twenty years afterwards, 
and retook it once more, and devoted seven years to subduing the 
country, especially that part of it which is now called SCOTLAND; 
but, its people, the Caledonians, resisted him at every inch of 
ground.  They fought the bloodiest battles with him; they killed 
their very wives and children, to prevent his making prisoners of 
them; they fell, fighting, in such great numbers that certain hills 
in Scotland are yet supposed to be vast heaps of stones piled up 
above their graves.  HADRIAN came, thirty years afterwards, and 
still they resisted him.  SEVERUS came, nearly a hundred years 
afterwards, and they worried his great army like dogs, and rejoiced 
to see them die, by thousands, in the bogs and swamps.  CARACALLA, 
the son and successor of SEVERUS, did the most to conquer them, for 
a time; but not by force of arms.  He knew how little that would 
do.  He yielded up a quantity of land to the Caledonians, and gave 
the Britons the same privileges as the Romans possessed.  There was 
peace, after this, for seventy years.

Then new enemies arose.  They were the Saxons, a fierce, sea-faring 
people from the countries to the North of the Rhine, the great 
river of Germany on the banks of which the best grapes grow to make 
the German wine.  They began to come, in pirate ships, to the sea-
coast of Gaul and Britain, and to plunder them.  They were repulsed 
by CARAUSIUS, a native either of Belgium or of Britain, who was 
appointed by the Romans to the command, and under whom the Britons 
first began to fight upon the sea.  But, after this time, they 
renewed their ravages.  A few years more, and the Scots (which was 
then the name for the people of Ireland), and the Picts, a northern 
people, began to make frequent plundering incursions into the South 
of Britain.  All these attacks were repeated, at intervals, during 
two hundred years, and through a long succession of Roman Emperors 
and chiefs; during all which length of time, the Britons rose 
against the Romans, over and over again.  At last, in the days of 
the Roman HONORIUS, when the Roman power all over the world was 
fast declining, and when Rome wanted all her soldiers at home, the 
Romans abandoned all hope of conquering Britain, and went away.  
And still, at last, as at first, the Britons rose against them, in 
their old brave manner; for, a very little while before, they had 
turned away the Roman magistrates, and declared themselves an 
independent people.

Five hundred years had passed, since Julius Caesar's first invasion 
of the Island, when the Romans departed from it for ever.  In the 
course of that time, although they had been the cause of terrible 
fighting and bloodshed, they had done much to improve the condition 
of the Britons.  They had made great military roads; they had built 
forts; they had taught them how to dress, and arm themselves, much 
better than they had ever known how to do before; they had refined 
the whole British way of living.  AGRICOLA had built a great wall 
of earth, more than seventy miles long, extending from Newcastle to 
beyond Carlisle, for the purpose of keeping out the Picts and 
Scots; HADRIAN had strengthened it; SEVERUS, finding it much in 
want of repair, had built it afresh of stone.

Above all, it was in the Roman time, and by means of Roman ships, 
that the Christian Religion was first brought into Britain, and its 
people first taught the great lesson that, to be good in the sight 
of GOD, they must love their neighbours as themselves, and do unto 
others as they would be done by.  The Druids declared that it was 
very wicked to believe in any such thing, and cursed all the people 
who did believe it, very heartily.  But, when the people found that 
they were none the better for the blessings of the Druids, and none 
the worse for the curses of the Druids, but, that the sun shone and 
the rain fell without consulting the Druids at all, they just began 
to think that the Druids were mere men, and that it signified very 
little whether they cursed or blessed.  After which, the pupils of 
the Druids fell off greatly in numbers, and the Druids took to 
other trades.

Thus I have come to the end of the Roman time in England.  It is 
but little that is known of those five hundred years; but some 
remains of them are still found.  Often, when labourers are digging 
up the ground, to make foundations for houses or churches, they 
light on rusty money that once belonged to the Romans.  Fragments 
of plates from which they ate, of goblets from which they drank, 
and of pavement on which they trod, are discovered among the earth 
that is broken by the plough, or the dust that is crumbled by the 
gardener's spade.  Wells that the Romans sunk, still yield water; 
roads that the Romans made, form part of our highways.  In some old 
battle-fields, British spear-heads and Roman armour have been 
found, mingled together in decay, as they fell in the thick 
pressure of the fight.  Traces of Roman camps overgrown with grass, 
and of mounds that are the burial-places of heaps of Britons, are 
to be seen in almost all parts of the country.  Across the bleak 
moors of Northumberland, the wall of SEVERUS, overrun with moss and 
weeds, still stretches, a strong ruin; and the shepherds and their 
dogs lie sleeping on it in the summer weather.  On Salisbury Plain, 
Stonehenge yet stands:  a monument of the earlier time when the 
Roman name was unknown in Britain, and when the Druids, with their 
best magic wands, could not have written it in the sands of the 
wild sea-shore.


CHAPTER II - ANCIENT ENGLAND UNDER THE EARLY SAXONS


THE Romans had scarcely gone away from Britain, when the Britons 
began to wish they had never left it.  For, the Romans being gone, 
and the Britons being much reduced in numbers by their long wars, 
the Picts and Scots came pouring in, over the broken and unguarded 
wall of SEVERUS, in swarms.  They plundered the richest towns, and 
killed the people; and came back so often for more booty and more 
slaughter, that the unfortunate Britons lived a life of terror.  As 
if the Picts and Scots were not bad enough on land, the Saxons 
attacked the islanders by sea; and, as if something more were still 
wanting to make them miserable, they quarrelled bitterly among 
themselves as to what prayers they ought to say, and how they ought 
to say them.  The priests, being very angry with one another on 
these questions, cursed one another in the heartiest manner; and 
(uncommonly like the old Druids) cursed all the people whom they 
could not persuade.  So, altogether, the Britons were very badly 
off, you may believe.

They were in such distress, in short, that they sent a letter to 
Rome entreating help - which they called the Groans of the Britons; 
and in which they said, 'The barbarians chase us into the sea, the 
sea throws us back upon the barbarians, and we have only the hard 
choice left us of perishing by the sword, or perishing by the 
waves.'  But, the Romans could not help them, even if they were so 
inclined; for they had enough to do to defend themselves against 
their own enemies, who were then very fierce and strong.  At last, 
the Britons, unable to bear their hard condition any longer, 
resolved to make peace with the Saxons, and to invite the Saxons to 
come into their country, and help them to keep out the Picts and 
Scots.

It was a British Prince named VORTIGERN who took this resolution, 
and who made a treaty of friendship with HENGIST and HORSA, two 
Saxon chiefs.  Both of these names, in the old Saxon language, 
signify Horse; for the Saxons, like many other nations in a rough 
state, were fond of giving men the names of animals, as Horse, 
Wolf, Bear, Hound.  The Indians of North America, - a very inferior 
people to the Saxons, though - do the same to this day.

HENGIST and HORSA drove out the Picts and Scots; and VORTIGERN, 
being grateful to them for that service, made no opposition to 
their settling themselves in that part of England which is called 
the Isle of Thanet, or to their inviting over more of their 
countrymen to join them.  But HENGIST had a beautiful daughter 
named ROWENA; and when, at a feast, she filled a golden goblet to 
the brim with wine, and gave it to VORTIGERN, saying in a sweet 
voice, 'Dear King, thy health!' the King fell in love with her.  My 
opinion is, that the cunning HENGIST meant him to do so, in order 
that the Saxons might have greater influence with him; and that the 
fair ROWENA came to that feast, golden goblet and all, on purpose.

At any rate, they were married; and, long afterwards, whenever the 
King was angry with the Saxons, or jealous of their encroachments, 
ROWENA would put her beautiful arms round his neck, and softly say, 
'Dear King, they are my people!  Be favourable to them, as you 
loved that Saxon girl who gave you the golden goblet of wine at the 
feast!'  And, really, I don't see how the King could help himself.

Ah!  We must all die!  In the course of years, VORTIGERN died - he 
was dethroned, and put in prison, first, I am afraid; and ROWENA 
died; and generations of Saxons and Britons died; and events that 
happened during a long, long time, would have been quite forgotten 
but for the tales and songs of the old Bards, who used to go about 
from feast to feast, with their white beards, recounting the deeds 
of their forefathers.  Among the histories of which they sang and 
talked, there was a famous one, concerning the bravery and virtues 
of KING ARTHUR, supposed to have been a British Prince in those old 
times.  But, whether such a person really lived, or whether there 
were several persons whose histories came to be confused together 
under that one name, or whether all about him was invention, no one 
knows.

I will tell you, shortly, what is most interesting in the early 
Saxon times, as they are described in these songs and stories of 
the Bards.

In, and long after, the days of VORTIGERN, fresh bodies of Saxons, 
under various chiefs, came pouring into Britain.  One body, 
conquering the Britons in the East, and settling there, called 
their kingdom Essex; another body settled in the West, and called 
their kingdom Wessex; the Northfolk, or Norfolk people, established 
themselves in one place; the Southfolk, or Suffolk people, 
established themselves in another; and gradually seven kingdoms or 
states arose in England, which were called the Saxon Heptarchy.  
The poor Britons, falling back before these crowds of fighting men 
whom they had innocently invited over as friends, retired into 
Wales and the adjacent country; into Devonshire, and into Cornwall.  
Those parts of England long remained unconquered.  And in Cornwall 
now - where the sea-coast is very gloomy, steep, and rugged - 
where, in the dark winter-time, ships have often been wrecked close 
to the land, and every soul on board has perished - where the winds 
and waves howl drearily and split the solid rocks into arches and 
caverns - there are very ancient ruins, which the people call the 
ruins of KING ARTHUR'S Castle.

Kent is the most famous of the seven Saxon kingdoms, because the 
Christian religion was preached to the Saxons there (who domineered 
over the Britons too much, to care for what THEY said about their 
religion, or anything else) by AUGUSTINE, a monk from Rome.  KING 
ETHELBERT, of Kent, was soon converted; and the moment he said he 
was a Christian, his courtiers all said THEY were Christians; after 
which, ten thousand of his subjects said they were Christians too.  
AUGUSTINE built a little church, close to this King's palace, on 
the ground now occupied by the beautiful cathedral of Canterbury.  
SEBERT, the King's nephew, built on a muddy marshy place near 
London, where there had been a temple to Apollo, a church dedicated 
to Saint Peter, which is now Westminster Abbey.  And, in London 
itself, on the foundation of a temple to Diana, he built another 
little church which has risen up, since that old time, to be Saint 
Paul's.

After the death of ETHELBERT, EDWIN, King of Northumbria, who was 
such a good king that it was said a woman or child might openly 
carry a purse of gold, in his reign, without fear, allowed his 
child to be baptised, and held a great council to consider whether 
he and his people should all be Christians or not.  It was decided 
that they should be.  COIFI, the chief priest of the old religion, 
made a great speech on the occasion.  In this discourse, he told 
the people that he had found out the old gods to be impostors.  'I 
am quite satisfied of it,' he said.  'Look at me!  I have been 
serving them all my life, and they have done nothing for me; 
whereas, if they had been really powerful, they could not have 
decently done less, in return for all I have done for them, than 
make my fortune.  As they have never made my fortune, I am quite 
convinced they are impostors!'  When this singular priest had 
finished speaking, he hastily armed himself with sword and lance, 
mounted a war-horse, rode at a furious gallop in sight of all the 
people to the temple, and flung his lance against it as an insult.  
From that time, the Christian religion spread itself among the 
Saxons, and became their faith.

The next very famous prince was EGBERT.  He lived about a hundred 
and fifty years afterwards, and claimed to have a better right to 
the throne of Wessex than BEORTRIC, another Saxon prince who was at 
the head of that kingdom, and who married EDBURGA, the daughter of 
OFFA, king of another of the seven kingdoms.  This QUEEN EDBURGA 
was a handsome murderess, who poisoned people when they offended 
her.  One day, she mixed a cup of poison for a certain noble 
belonging to the court; but her husband drank of it too, by 
mistake, and died.  Upon this, the people revolted, in great 
crowds; and running to the palace, and thundering at the gates, 
cried, 'Down with the wicked queen, who poisons men!'  They drove 
her out of the country, and abolished the title she had disgraced.  
When years had passed away, some travellers came home from Italy, 
and said that in the town of Pavia they had seen a ragged beggar-
woman, who had once been handsome, but was then shrivelled, bent, 
and yellow, wandering about the streets, crying for bread; and that 
this beggar-woman was the poisoning English queen.  It was, indeed, 
EDBURGA; and so she died, without a shelter for her wretched head.

EGBERT, not considering himself safe in England, in consequence of 
his having claimed the crown of Wessex (for he thought his rival 
might take him prisoner and put him to death), sought refuge at the 
court of CHARLEMAGNE, King of France.  On the death of BEORTRIC, so 
unhappily poisoned by mistake, EGBERT came back to Britain; 
succeeded to the throne of Wessex; conquered some of the other 
monarchs of the seven kingdoms; added their territories to his own; 
and, for the first time, called the country over which he ruled, 
ENGLAND.

And now, new enemies arose, who, for a long time, troubled England 
sorely.  These were the Northmen, the people of Denmark and Norway, 
whom the English called the Danes.  They were a warlike people, 
quite at home upon the sea; not Christians; very daring and cruel.  
They came over in ships, and plundered and burned wheresoever they 
landed.  Once, they beat EGBERT in battle.  Once, EGBERT beat them.  
But, they cared no more for being beaten than the English 
themselves.  In the four following short reigns, of ETHELWULF, and 
his sons, ETHELBALD, ETHELBERT, and ETHELRED, they came back, over 
and over again, burning and plundering, and laying England waste.  
In the last-mentioned reign, they seized EDMUND, King of East 
England, and bound him to a tree.  Then, they proposed to him that 
he should change his religion; but he, being a good Christian, 
steadily refused.  Upon that, they beat him, made cowardly jests 
upon him, all defenceless as he was, shot arrows at him, and, 
finally, struck off his head.  It is impossible to say whose head 
they might have struck off next, but for the death of KING ETHELRED 
from a wound he had received in fighting against them, and the 
succession to his throne of the best and wisest king that ever 
lived in England.


CHAPTER III - ENGLAND UNDER THE GOOD SAXON, ALFRED


ALFRED THE GREAT was a young man, three-and-twenty years of age, 
when he became king.  Twice in his childhood, he had been taken to 
Rome, where the Saxon nobles were in the habit of going on journeys 
which they supposed to be religious; and, once, he had stayed for 
some time in Paris.  Learning, however, was so little cared for, 
then, that at twelve years old he had not been taught to read; 
although, of the sons of KING ETHELWULF, he, the youngest, was the 
favourite.  But he had - as most men who grow up to be great and 
good are generally found to have had - an excellent mother; and, 
one day, this lady, whose name was OSBURGA, happened, as she was 
sitting among her sons, to read a book of Saxon poetry.  The art of 
printing was not known until long and long after that period, and 
the book, which was written, was what is called 'illuminated,' with 
beautiful bright letters, richly painted.  The brothers admiring it 
very much, their mother said, 'I will give it to that one of you 
four princes who first learns to read.'  ALFRED sought out a tutor 
that very day, applied himself to learn with great diligence, and 
soon won the book.  He was proud of it, all his life.

This great king, in the first year of his reign, fought nine 
battles with the Danes.  He made some treaties with them too, by 
which the false Danes swore they would quit the country.  They 
pretended to consider that they had taken a very solemn oath, in 
swearing this upon the holy bracelets that they wore, and which 
were always buried with them when they died; but they cared little 
for it, for they thought nothing of breaking oaths and treaties 
too, as soon as it suited their purpose, and coming back again to 
fight, plunder, and burn, as usual.  One fatal winter, in the 
fourth year of KING ALFRED'S reign, they spread themselves in great 
numbers over the whole of England; and so dispersed and routed the 
King's soldiers that the King was left alone, and was obliged to 
disguise himself as a common peasant, and to take refuge in the 
cottage of one of his cowherds who did not know his face.

Here, KING ALFRED, while the Danes sought him far and near, was 
left alone one day, by the cowherd's wife, to watch some cakes 
which she put to bake upon the hearth.  But, being at work upon his 
bow and arrows, with which he hoped to punish the false Danes when 
a brighter time should come, and thinking deeply of his poor 
unhappy subjects whom the Danes chased through the land, his noble 
mind forgot the cakes, and they were burnt.  'What!' said the 
cowherd's wife, who scolded him well when she came back, and little 
thought she was scolding the King, 'you will be ready enough to eat 
them by-and-by, and yet you cannot watch them, idle dog?'

At length, the Devonshire men made head against a new host of Danes 
who landed on their coast; killed their chief, and captured their 
flag; on which was represented the likeness of a Raven - a very fit 
bird for a thievish army like that, I think.  The loss of their 
standard troubled the Danes greatly, for they believed it to be 
enchanted - woven by the three daughters of one father in a single 
afternoon - and they had a story among themselves that when they 
were victorious in battle, the Raven stretched his wings and seemed 
to fly; and that when they were defeated, he would droop.  He had 
good reason to droop, now, if he could have done anything half so 
sensible; for, KING ALFRED joined the Devonshire men; made a camp 
with them on a piece of firm ground in the midst of a bog in 
Somersetshire; and prepared for a great attempt for vengeance on 
the Danes, and the deliverance of his oppressed people.

But, first, as it was important to know how numerous those 
pestilent Danes were, and how they were fortified, KING ALFRED, 
being a good musician, disguised himself as a glee-man or minstrel, 
and went, with his harp, to the Danish camp.  He played and sang in 
the very tent of GUTHRUM the Danish leader, and entertained the 
Danes as they caroused.  While he seemed to think of nothing but 
his music, he was watchful of their tents, their arms, their 
discipline, everything that he desired to know.  And right soon did 
this great king entertain them to a different tune; for, summoning 
all his true followers to meet him at an appointed place, where 
they received him with joyful shouts and tears, as the monarch whom 
many of them had given up for lost or dead, he put himself at their 
head, marched on the Danish camp, defeated the Danes with great 
slaughter, and besieged them for fourteen days to prevent their 
escape.  But, being as merciful as he was good and brave, he then, 
instead of killing them, proposed peace:  on condition that they 
should altogether depart from that Western part of England, and 
settle in the East; and that GUTHRUM should become a Christian, in 
remembrance of the Divine religion which now taught his conqueror, 
the noble ALFRED, to forgive the enemy who had so often injured 
him.  This, GUTHRUM did.  At his baptism, KING ALFRED was his 
godfather.  And GUTHRUM was an honourable chief who well deserved 
that clemency; for, ever afterwards he was loyal and faithful to 
the king.  The Danes under him were faithful too.  They plundered 
and burned no more, but worked like honest men.  They ploughed, and 
sowed, and reaped, and led good honest English lives.  And I hope 
the children of those Danes played, many a time, with Saxon 
children in the sunny fields; and that Danish young men fell in 
love with Saxon girls, and married them; and that English 
travellers, benighted at the doors of Danish cottages, often went 
in for shelter until morning; and that Danes and Saxons sat by the 
red fire, friends, talking of KING ALFRED THE GREAT.

All the Danes were not like these under GUTHRUM; for, after some 
years, more of them came over, in the old plundering and burning 
way - among them a fierce pirate of the name of HASTINGS, who had 
the boldness to sail up the Thames to Gravesend, with eighty ships.  
For three years, there was a war with these Danes; and there was a 
famine in the country, too, and a plague, both upon human creatures 
and beasts.  But KING ALFRED, whose mighty heart never failed him, 
built large ships nevertheless, with which to pursue the pirates on 
the sea; and he encouraged his soldiers, by his brave example, to 
fight valiantly against them on the shore.  At last, he drove them 
all away; and then there was repose in England.

As great and good in peace, as he was great and good in war, KING 
ALFRED never rested from his labours to improve his people.  He 
loved to talk with clever men, and with travellers from foreign 
countries, and to write down what they told him, for his people to 
read.  He had studied Latin after learning to read English, and now 
another of his labours was, to translate Latin books into the 
English-Saxon tongue, that his people might be interested, and 
improved by their contents.  He made just laws, that they might 
live more happily and freely; he turned away all partial judges, 
that no wrong might be done them; he was so careful of their 
property, and punished robbers so severely, that it was a common 
thing to say that under the great KING ALFRED, garlands of golden 
chains and jewels might have hung across the streets, and no man 
would have touched one.  He founded schools; he patiently heard 
causes himself in his Court of Justice; the great desires of his 
heart were, to do right to all his subjects, and to leave England 
better, wiser, happier in all ways, than he found it.  His industry 
in these efforts was quite astonishing.  Every day he divided into 
certain portions, and in each portion devoted himself to a certain 
pursuit.  That he might divide his time exactly, he had wax torches 
or candles made, which were all of the same size, were notched 
across at regular distances, and were always kept burning.  Thus, 
as the candles burnt down, he divided the day into notches, almost 
as accurately as we now divide it into hours upon the clock.  But 
when the candles were first invented, it was found that the wind 
and draughts of air, blowing into the palace through the doors and 
windows, and through the chinks in the walls, caused them to gutter 
and burn unequally.  To prevent this, the King had them put into 
cases formed of wood and white horn.  And these were the first 
lanthorns ever made in England.

All this time, he was afflicted with a terrible unknown disease, 
which caused him violent and frequent pain that nothing could 
relieve.  He bore it, as he had borne all the troubles of his life, 
like a brave good man, until he was fifty-three years old; and 
then, having reigned thirty years, he died.  He died in the year 
nine hundred and one; but, long ago as that is, his fame, and the 
love and gratitude with which his subjects regarded him, are 
freshly remembered to the present hour.

In the next reign, which was the reign of EDWARD, surnamed THE 
ELDER, who was chosen in council to succeed, a nephew of KING 
ALFRED troubled the country by trying to obtain the throne.  The 
Danes in the East of England took part with this usurper (perhaps 
because they had honoured his uncle so much, and honoured him for 
his uncle's sake), and there was hard fighting; but, the King, with 
the assistance of his sister, gained the day, and reigned in peace 
for four and twenty years.  He gradually extended his power over 
the whole of England, and so the Seven Kingdoms were united into 
one.

When England thus became one kingdom, ruled over by one Saxon king, 
the Saxons had been settled in the country more than four hundred 
and fifty years.  Great changes had taken place in its customs 
during that time.  The Saxons were still greedy eaters and great 
drinkers, and their feasts were often of a noisy and drunken kind; 
but many new comforts and even elegances had become known, and were 
fast increasing.  Hangings for the walls of rooms, where, in these 
modern days, we paste up paper, are known to have been sometimes 
made of silk, ornamented with birds and flowers in needlework.  
Tables and chairs were curiously carved in different woods; were 
sometimes decorated with gold or silver; sometimes even made of 
those precious metals.  Knives and spoons were used at table; 
golden ornaments were worn - with silk and cloth, and golden 
tissues and embroideries; dishes were made of gold and silver, 
brass and bone.  There were varieties of drinking-horns, bedsteads, 
musical instruments.  A harp was passed round, at a feast, like the 
drinking-bowl, from guest to guest; and each one usually sang or 
played when his turn came.  The weapons of the Saxons were stoutly 
made, and among them was a terrible iron hammer that gave deadly 
blows, and was long remembered.  The Saxons themselves were a 
handsome people.  The men were proud of their long fair hair, 
parted on the forehead; their ample beards, their fresh 
complexions, and clear eyes.  The beauty of the Saxon women filled 
all England with a new delight and grace.

I have more to tell of the Saxons yet, but I stop to say this now, 
because under the GREAT ALFRED, all the best points of the English-
Saxon character were first encouraged, and in him first shown.  It 
has been the greatest character among the nations of the earth.  
Wherever the descendants of the Saxon race have gone, have sailed, 
or otherwise made their way, even to the remotest regions of the 
world, they have been patient, persevering, never to be broken in 
spirit, never to be turned aside from enterprises on which they 
have resolved.  In Europe, Asia, Africa, America, the whole world 
over; in the desert, in the forest, on the sea; scorched by a 
burning sun, or frozen by ice that never melts; the Saxon blood 
remains unchanged.  Wheresoever that race goes, there, law, and 
industry, and safety for life and property, and all the great 
results of steady perseverance, are certain to arise.

I pause to think with admiration, of the noble king who, in his 
single person, possessed all the Saxon virtues.  Whom misfortune 
could not subdue, whom prosperity could not spoil, whose 
perseverance nothing could shake.  Who was hopeful in defeat, and 
generous in success.  Who loved justice, freedom, truth, and 
knowledge.  Who, in his care to instruct his people, probably did 
more to preserve the beautiful old Saxon language, than I can 
imagine.  Without whom, the English tongue in which I tell this 
story might have wanted half its meaning.  As it is said that his 
spirit still inspires some of our best English laws, so, let you 
and I pray that it may animate our English hearts, at least to this 
- to resolve, when we see any of our fellow-creatures left in 
ignorance, that we will do our best, while life is in us, to have 
them taught; and to tell those rulers whose duty it is to teach 
them, and who neglect their duty, that they have profited very 
little by all the years that have rolled away since the year nine 
hundred and one, and that they are far behind the bright example of 
KING ALFRED THE GREAT.


CHAPTER IV - ENGLAND UNDER ATHELSTAN AND THE SIX BOY-KINGS


ATHELSTAN, the son of Edward the Elder, succeeded that king.  He 
reigned only fifteen years; but he remembered the glory of his 
grandfather, the great Alfred, and governed England well.  He 
reduced the turbulent people of Wales, and obliged them to pay him 
a tribute in money, and in cattle, and to send him their best hawks 
and hounds.  He was victorious over the Cornish men, who were not 
yet quite under the Saxon government.  He restored such of the old 
laws as were good, and had fallen into disuse; made some wise new 
laws, and took care of the poor and weak.  A strong alliance, made 
against him by ANLAF a Danish prince, CONSTANTINE King of the 
Scots, and the people of North Wales, he broke and defeated in one 
great battle, long famous for the vast numbers slain in it.  After 
that, he had a quiet reign; the lords and ladies about him had 
leisure to become polite and agreeable; and foreign princes were 
glad (as they have sometimes been since) to come to England on 
visits to the English court.

When Athelstan died, at forty-seven years old, his brother EDMUND, 
who was only eighteen, became king.  He was the first of six boy-
kings, as you will presently know.

They called him the Magnificent, because he showed a taste for 
improvement and refinement.  But he was beset by the Danes, and had 
a short and troubled reign, which came to a troubled end.  One 
night, when he was feasting in his hall, and had eaten much and 
drunk deep, he saw, among the company, a noted robber named LEOF, 
who had been banished from England.  Made very angry by the 
boldness of this man, the King turned to his cup-bearer, and said, 
'There is a robber sitting at the table yonder, who, for his 
crimes, is an outlaw in the land - a hunted wolf, whose life any 
man may take, at any time.  Command that robber to depart!'  'I 
will not depart!' said Leof.  'No?' cried the King.  'No, by the 
Lord!' said Leof.  Upon that the King rose from his seat, and, 
making passionately at the robber, and seizing him by his long 
hair, tried to throw him down.  But the robber had a dagger 
underneath his cloak, and, in the scuffle, stabbed the King to 
death.  That done, he set his back against the wall, and fought so 
desperately, that although he was soon cut to pieces by the King's 
armed men, and the wall and pavement were splashed with his blood, 
yet it was not before he had killed and wounded many of them.  You 
may imagine what rough lives the kings of those times led, when one 
of them could struggle, half drunk, with a public robber in his own 
dining-hall, and be stabbed in presence of the company who ate and 
drank with him.

Then succeeded the boy-king EDRED, who was weak and sickly in body, 
but of a strong mind.  And his armies fought the Northmen, the 
Danes, and Norwegians, or the Sea-Kings, as they were called, and 
beat them for the time.  And, in nine years, Edred died, and passed 
away.

Then came the boy-king EDWY, fifteen years of age; but the real 
king, who had the real power, was a monk named DUNSTAN - a clever 
priest, a little mad, and not a little proud and cruel.

Dunstan was then Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, whither the body of 
King Edmund the Magnificent was carried, to be buried.  While yet a 
boy, he had got out of his bed one night (being then in a fever), 
and walked about Glastonbury Church when it was under repair; and, 
because he did not tumble off some scaffolds that were there, and 
break his neck, it was reported that he had been shown over the 
building by an angel.  He had also made a harp that was said to 
play of itself - which it very likely did, as AEolian Harps, which 
are played by the wind, and are understood now, always do.  For 
these wonders he had been once denounced by his enemies, who were 
jealous of his favour with the late King Athelstan, as a magician; 
and he had been waylaid, bound hand and foot, and thrown into a 
marsh.  But he got out again, somehow, to cause a great deal of 
trouble yet.

The priests of those days were, generally, the only scholars.  They 
were learned in many things.  Having to make their own convents and 
monasteries on uncultivated grounds that were granted to them by 
the Crown, it was necessary that they should be good farmers and 
good gardeners, or their lands would have been too poor to support 
them.  For the decoration of the chapels where they prayed, and for 
the comfort of the refectories where they ate and drank, it was 
necessary that there should be good carpenters, good smiths, good 
painters, among them.  For their greater safety in sickness and 
accident, living alone by themselves in solitary places, it was 
necessary that they should study the virtues of plants and herbs, 
and should know how to dress cuts, burns, scalds, and bruises, and 
how to set broken limbs.  Accordingly, they taught themselves, and 
one another, a great variety of useful arts; and became skilful in 
agriculture, medicine, surgery, and handicraft.  And when they 
wanted the aid of any little piece of machinery, which would be 
simple enough now, but was marvellous then, to impose a trick upon 
the poor peasants, they knew very well how to make it; and DID make 
it many a time and often, I have no doubt.

Dunstan, Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, was one of the most sagacious 
of these monks.  He was an ingenious smith, and worked at a forge 
in a little cell.  This cell was made too short to admit of his 
lying at full length when he went to sleep - as if THAT did any 
good to anybody! - and he used to tell the most extraordinary lies 
about demons and spirits, who, he said, came there to persecute 
him.  For instance, he related that one day when he was at work, 
the devil looked in at the little window, and tried to tempt him to 
lead a life of idle pleasure; whereupon, having his pincers in the 
fire, red hot, he seized the devil by the nose, and put him to such 
pain, that his bellowings were heard for miles and miles.  Some 
people are inclined to think this nonsense a part of Dunstan's 
madness (for his head never quite recovered the fever), but I think 
not.  I observe that it induced the ignorant people to consider him 
a holy man, and that it made him very powerful.  Which was exactly 
what he always wanted.

On the day of the coronation of the handsome boy-king Edwy, it was 
remarked by ODO, Archbishop of Canterbury (who was a Dane by 
birth), that the King quietly left the coronation feast, while all 
the company were there.  Odo, much displeased, sent his friend 
Dunstan to seek him.  Dunstan finding him in the company of his 
beautiful young wife ELGIVA, and her mother ETHELGIVA, a good and 
virtuous lady, not only grossly abused them, but dragged the young 
King back into the feasting-hall by force.  Some, again, think 
Dunstan did this because the young King's fair wife was his own 
cousin, and the monks objected to people marrying their own 
cousins; but I believe he did it, because he was an imperious, 
audacious, ill-conditioned priest, who, having loved a young lady 
himself before he became a sour monk, hated all love now, and 
everything belonging to it.

The young King was quite old enough to feel this insult.  Dunstan 
had been Treasurer in the last reign, and he soon charged Dunstan 
with having taken some of the last king's money.  The Glastonbury 
Abbot fled to Belgium (very narrowly escaping some pursuers who 
were sent to put out his eyes, as you will wish they had, when you 
read what follows), and his abbey was given to priests who were 
married; whom he always, both before and afterwards, opposed.  But 
he quickly conspired with his friend, Odo the Dane, to set up the 
King's young brother, EDGAR, as his rival for the throne; and, not 
content with this revenge, he caused the beautiful queen Elgiva, 
though a lovely girl of only seventeen or eighteen, to be stolen 
from one of the Royal Palaces, branded in the cheek with a red-hot 
iron, and sold into slavery in Ireland.  But the Irish people 
pitied and befriended her; and they said, 'Let us restore the girl-
queen to the boy-king, and make the young lovers happy!' and they 
cured her of her cruel wound, and sent her home as beautiful as 
before.  But the villain Dunstan, and that other villain, Odo, 
caused her to be waylaid at Gloucester as she was joyfully hurrying 
to join her husband, and to be hacked and hewn with swords, and to 
be barbarously maimed and lamed, and left to die.  When Edwy the 
Fair (his people called him so, because he was so young and 
handsome) heard of her dreadful fate, he died of a broken heart; 
and so the pitiful story of the poor young wife and husband ends!  
Ah!  Better to be two cottagers in these better times, than king 
and queen of England in those bad days, though never so fair!

Then came the boy-king, EDGAR, called the Peaceful, fifteen years 
old.  Dunstan, being still the real king, drove all married priests 
out of the monasteries and abbeys, and replaced them by solitary 
monks like himself, of the rigid order called the Benedictines.  He 
made himself Archbishop of Canterbury, for his greater glory; and 
exercised such power over the neighbouring British princes, and so 
collected them about the King, that once, when the King held his 
court at Chester, and went on the river Dee to visit the monastery 
of St. John, the eight oars of his boat were pulled (as the people 
used to delight in relating in stories and songs) by eight crowned 
kings, and steered by the King of England.  As Edgar was very 
obedient to Dunstan and the monks, they took great pains to 
represent him as the best of kings.  But he was really profligate, 
debauched, and vicious.  He once forcibly carried off a young lady 
from the convent at Wilton; and Dunstan, pretending to be very much 
shocked, condemned him not to wear his crown upon his head for 
seven years - no great punishment, I dare say, as it can hardly 
have been a more comfortable ornament to wear, than a stewpan 
without a handle.  His marriage with his second wife, ELFRIDA, is 
one of the worst events of his reign.  Hearing of the beauty of 
this lady, he despatched his favourite courtier, ATHELWOLD, to her 
father's castle in Devonshire, to see if she were really as 
charming as fame reported.  Now, she was so exceedingly beautiful 
that Athelwold fell in love with her himself, and married her; but 
he told the King that she was only rich - not handsome.  The King, 
suspecting the truth when they came home, resolved to pay the 
newly-married couple a visit; and, suddenly, told Athelwold to 
prepare for his immediate coming.  Athelwold, terrified, confessed 
to his young wife what he had said and done, and implored her to 
disguise her beauty by some ugly dress or silly manner, that he 
might be safe from the King's anger.  She promised that she would; 
but she was a proud woman, who would far rather have been a queen 
than the wife of a courtier.  She dressed herself in her best 
dress, and adorned herself with her richest jewels; and when the 
King came, presently, he discovered the cheat.  So, he caused his 
false friend, Athelwold, to be murdered in a wood, and married his 
widow, this bad Elfrida.  Six or seven years afterwards, he died; 
and was buried, as if he had been all that the monks said he was, 
in the abbey of Glastonbury, which he - or Dunstan for him - had 
much enriched.

England, in one part of this reign, was so troubled by wolves, 
which, driven out of the open country, hid themselves in the 
mountains of Wales when they were not attacking travellers and 
animals, that the tribute payable by the Welsh people was forgiven 
them, on condition of their producing, every year, three hundred 
wolves' heads.  And the Welshmen were so sharp upon the wolves, to 
save their money, that in four years there was not a wolf left.

Then came the boy-king, EDWARD, called the Martyr, from the manner 
of his death.  Elfrida had a son, named ETHELRED, for whom she 
claimed the throne; but Dunstan did not choose to favour him, and 
he made Edward king.  The boy was hunting, one day, down in 
Dorsetshire, when he rode near to Corfe Castle, where Elfrida and 
Ethelred lived.  Wishing to see them kindly, he rode away from his 
attendants and galloped to the castle gate, where he arrived at 
twilight, and blew his hunting-horn.  'You are welcome, dear King,' 
said Elfrida, coming out, with her brightest smiles.  'Pray you 
dismount and enter.'  'Not so, dear madam,' said the King.  'My 
company will miss me, and fear that I have met with some harm.  
Please you to give me a cup of wine, that I may drink here, in the 
saddle, to you and to my little brother, and so ride away with the 
good speed I have made in riding here.'  Elfrida, going in to bring 
the wine, whispered an armed servant, one of her attendants, who 
stole out of the darkening gateway, and crept round behind the 
King's horse.  As the King raised the cup to his lips, saying, 
'Health!' to the wicked woman who was smiling on him, and to his 
innocent brother whose hand she held in hers, and who was only ten 
years old, this armed man made a spring and stabbed him in the 
back.  He dropped the cup and spurred his horse away; but, soon 
fainting with loss of blood, dropped from the saddle, and, in his 
fall, entangled one of his feet in the stirrup.  The frightened 
horse dashed on; trailing his rider's curls upon the ground; 
dragging his smooth young face through ruts, and stones, and 
briers, and fallen leaves, and mud; until the hunters, tracking the 
animal's course by the King's blood, caught his bridle, and 
released the disfigured body.

Then came the sixth and last of the boy-kings, ETHELRED, whom 
Elfrida, when he cried out at the sight of his murdered brother 
riding away from the castle gate, unmercifully beat with a torch 
which she snatched from one of the attendants.  The people so 
disliked this boy, on account of his cruel mother and the murder 
she had done to promote him, that Dunstan would not have had him 
for king, but would have made EDGITHA, the daughter of the dead 
King Edgar, and of the lady whom he stole out of the convent at 
Wilton, Queen of England, if she would have consented.  But she 
knew the stories of the youthful kings too well, and would not be 
persuaded from the convent where she lived in peace; so, Dunstan 
put Ethelred on the throne, having no one else to put there, and 
gave him the nickname of THE UNREADY - knowing that he wanted 
resolution and firmness.

At first, Elfrida possessed great influence over the young King, 
but, as he grew older and came of age, her influence declined.  The 
infamous woman, not having it in her power to do any more evil, 
then retired from court, and, according, to the fashion of the 
time, built churches and monasteries, to expiate her guilt.  As if 
a church, with a steeple reaching to the very stars, would have 
been any sign of true repentance for the blood of the poor boy, 
whose murdered form was trailed at his horse's heels!  As if she 
could have buried her wickedness beneath the senseless stones of 
the whole world, piled up one upon another, for the monks to live 
in!

About the ninth or tenth year of this reign, Dunstan died.  He was 
growing old then, but was as stern and artful as ever.  Two 
circumstances that happened in connexion with him, in this reign of 
Ethelred, made a great noise.  Once, he was present at a meeting of 
the Church, when the question was discussed whether priests should 
have permission to marry; and, as he sat with his head hung down, 
apparently thinking about it, a voice seemed to come out of a 
crucifix in the room, and warn the meeting to be of his opinion.  
This was some juggling of Dunstan's, and was probably his own voice 
disguised.  But he played off a worse juggle than that, soon 
afterwards; for, another meeting being held on the same subject, 
and he and his supporters being seated on one side of a great room, 
and their opponents on the other, he rose and said, 'To Christ 
himself, as judge, do I commit this cause!'  Immediately on these 
words being spoken, the floor where the opposite party sat gave 
way, and some were killed and many wounded.  You may be pretty sure 
that it had been weakened under Dunstan's direction, and that it 
fell at Dunstan's signal.  HIS part of the floor did not go down.  
No, no.  He was too good a workman for that.

When he died, the monks settled that he was a Saint, and called him 
Saint Dunstan ever afterwards.  They might just as well have 
settled that he was a coach-horse, and could just as easily have 
called him one.

Ethelred the Unready was glad enough, I dare say, to be rid of this 
holy saint; but, left to himself, he was a poor weak king, and his 
reign was a reign of defeat and shame.  The restless Danes, led by 
SWEYN, a son of the King of Denmark who had quarrelled with his 
father and had been banished from home, again came into England, 
and, year after year, attacked and despoiled large towns.  To coax 
these sea-kings away, the weak Ethelred paid them money; but, the 
more money he paid, the more money the Danes wanted.  At first, he 
gave them ten thousand pounds; on their next invasion, sixteen 
thousand pounds; on their next invasion, four and twenty thousand 
pounds:  to pay which large sums, the unfortunate English people 
were heavily taxed.  But, as the Danes still came back and wanted 
more, he thought it would be a good plan to marry into some 
powerful foreign family that would help him with soldiers.  So, in 
the year one thousand and two, he courted and married Emma, the 
sister of Richard Duke of Normandy; a lady who was called the 
Flower of Normandy.

And now, a terrible deed was done in England, the like of which was 
never done on English ground before or since.  On the thirteenth of 
November, in pursuance of secret instructions sent by the King over 
the whole country, the inhabitants of every town and city armed, 
and murdered all the Danes who were their neighbours.

Young and old, babies and soldiers, men and women, every Dane was 
killed.  No doubt there were among them many ferocious men who had 
done the English great wrong, and whose pride and insolence, in 
swaggering in the houses of the English and insulting their wives 
and daughters, had become unbearable; but no doubt there were also 
among them many peaceful Christian Danes who had married English 
women and become like English men.  They were all slain, even to 
GUNHILDA, the sister of the King of Denmark, married to an English 
lord; who was first obliged to see the murder of her husband and 
her child, and then was killed herself.

When the King of the sea-kings heard of this deed of blood, he 
swore that he would have a great revenge.  He raised an army, and a 
mightier fleet of ships than ever yet had sailed to England; and in 
all his army there was not a slave or an old man, but every soldier 
was a free man, and the son of a free man, and in the prime of 
life, and sworn to be revenged upon the English nation, for the 
massacre of that dread thirteenth of November, when his countrymen 
and countrywomen, and the little children whom they loved, were 
killed with fire and sword.  And so, the sea-kings came to England 
in many great ships, each bearing the flag of its own commander.  
Golden eagles, ravens, dragons, dolphins, beasts of prey, 
threatened England from the prows of those ships, as they came 
onward through the water; and were reflected in the shining shields 
that hung upon their sides.  The ship that bore the standard of the 
King of the sea-kings was carved and painted like a mighty serpent; 
and the King in his anger prayed that the Gods in whom he trusted 
might all desert him, if his serpent did not strike its fangs into 
England's heart.

And indeed it did.  For, the great army landing from the great 
fleet, near Exeter, went forward, laying England waste, and 
striking their lances in the earth as they advanced, or throwing 
them into rivers, in token of their making all the island theirs.  
In remembrance of the black November night when the Danes were 
murdered, wheresoever the invaders came, they made the Saxons 
prepare and spread for them great feasts; and when they had eaten 
those feasts, and had drunk a curse to England with wild 
rejoicings, they drew their swords, and killed their Saxon 
entertainers, and marched on.  For six long years they carried on 
this war:  burning the crops, farmhouses, barns, mills, granaries; 
killing the labourers in the fields; preventing the seed from being 
sown in the ground; causing famine and starvation; leaving only 
heaps of ruin and smoking ashes, where they had found rich towns.  
To crown this misery, English officers and men deserted, and even 
the favourites of Ethelred the Unready, becoming traitors, seized 
many of the English ships, turned pirates against their own 
country, and aided by a storm occasioned the loss of nearly the 
whole English navy.

There was but one man of note, at this miserable pass, who was true 
to his country and the feeble King.  He was a priest, and a brave 
one.  For twenty days, the Archbishop of Canterbury defended that 
city against its Danish besiegers; and when a traitor in the town 
threw the gates open and admitted them, he said, in chains, 'I will 
not buy my life with money that must be extorted from the suffering 
people.  Do with me what you please!'  Again and again, he steadily 
refused to purchase his release with gold wrung from the poor.

At last, the Danes being tired of this, and being assembled at a 
drunken merry-making, had him brought into the feasting-hall.

'Now, bishop,' they said, 'we want gold!'

He looked round on the crowd of angry faces; from the shaggy beards 
close to him, to the shaggy beards against the walls, where men 
were mounted on tables and forms to see him over the heads of 
others:  and he knew that his time was come.

'I have no gold,' he said.

'Get it, bishop!' they all thundered.

'That, I have often told you I will not,' said he.

They gathered closer round him, threatening, but he stood unmoved.  
Then, one man struck him; then, another; then a cursing soldier 
picked up from a heap in a corner of the hall, where fragments had 
been rudely thrown at dinner, a great ox-bone, and cast it at his 
face, from which the blood came spurting forth; then, others ran to 
the same heap, and knocked him down with other bones, and bruised 
and battered him; until one soldier whom he had baptised (willing, 
as I hope for the sake of that soldier's soul, to shorten the 
sufferings of the good man) struck him dead with his battle-axe.

If Ethelred had had the heart to emulate the courage of this noble 
archbishop, he might have done something yet.  But he paid the 
Danes forty-eight thousand pounds, instead, and gained so little by 
the cowardly act, that Sweyn soon afterwards came over to subdue 
all England.  So broken was the attachment of the English people, 
by this time, to their incapable King and their forlorn country 
which could not protect them, that they welcomed Sweyn on all 
sides, as a deliverer.  London faithfully stood out, as long as the 
King was within its walls; but, when he sneaked away, it also 
welcomed the Dane.  Then, all was over; and the King took refuge 
abroad with the Duke of Normandy, who had already given shelter to 
the King's wife, once the Flower of that country, and to her 
children.

Still, the English people, in spite of their sad sufferings, could 
not quite forget the great King Alfred and the Saxon race.  When 
Sweyn died suddenly, in little more than a month after he had been 
proclaimed King of England, they generously sent to Ethelred, to 
say that they would have him for their King again, 'if he would 
only govern them better than he had governed them before.'  The 
Unready, instead of coming himself, sent Edward, one of his sons, 
to make promises for him.  At last, he followed, and the English 
declared him King.  The Danes declared CANUTE, the son of Sweyn, 
King.  Thus, direful war began again, and lasted for three years, 
when the Unready died.  And I know of nothing better that he did, 
in all his reign of eight and thirty years.

Was Canute to be King now?  Not over the Saxons, they said; they 
must have EDMUND, one of the sons of the Unready, who was surnamed 
IRONSIDE, because of his strength and stature.  Edmund and Canute 
thereupon fell to, and fought five battles - O unhappy England, 
what a fighting-ground it was! - and then Ironside, who was a big 
man, proposed to Canute, who was a little man, that they two should 
fight it out in single combat.  If Canute had been the big man, he 
would probably have said yes, but, being the little man, he 
decidedly said no.  However, he declared that he was willing to 
divide the kingdom - to take all that lay north of Watling Street, 
as the old Roman military road from Dover to Chester was called, 
and to give Ironside all that lay south of it.  Most men being 
weary of so much bloodshed, this was done.  But Canute soon became 
sole King of England; for Ironside died suddenly within two months.  
Some think that he was killed, and killed by Canute's orders.  No 
one knows.


CHAPTER V - ENGLAND UNDER CANUTE THE DANE


CANUTE reigned eighteen years.  He was a merciless King at first.  
After he had clasped the hands of the Saxon chiefs, in token of the 
sincerity with which he swore to be just and good to them in return 
for their acknowledging him, he denounced and slew many of them, as 
well as many relations of the late King.  'He who brings me the 
head of one of my enemies,' he used to say, 'shall be dearer to me 
than a brother.'  And he was so severe in hunting down his enemies, 
that he must have got together a pretty large family of these dear 
brothers.  He was strongly inclined to kill EDMUND and EDWARD, two 
children, sons of poor Ironside; but, being afraid to do so in 
England, he sent them over to the King of Sweden, with a request 
that the King would be so good as 'dispose of them.'  If the King 
of Sweden had been like many, many other men of that day, he would 
have had their innocent throats cut; but he was a kind man, and 
brought them up tenderly.

Normandy ran much in Canute's mind.  In Normandy were the two 
children of the late king - EDWARD and ALFRED by name; and their 
uncle the Duke might one day claim the crown for them.  But the 
Duke showed so little inclination to do so now, that he proposed to 
Canute to marry his sister, the widow of The Unready; who, being 
but a showy flower, and caring for nothing so much as becoming a 
queen again, left her children and was wedded to him.

Successful and triumphant, assisted by the valour of the English in 
his foreign wars, and with little strife to trouble him at home, 
Canute had a prosperous reign, and made many improvements.  He was 
a poet and a musician.  He grew sorry, as he grew older, for the 
blood he had shed at first; and went to Rome in a Pilgrim's dress, 
by way of washing it out.  He gave a great deal of money to 
foreigners on his journey; but he took it from the English before 
he started.  On the whole, however, he certainly became a far 
better man when he had no opposition to contend with, and was as 
great a King as England had known for some time.

The old writers of history relate how that Canute was one day 
disgusted with his courtiers for their flattery, and how he caused 
his chair to be set on the sea-shore, and feigned to command the 
tide as it came up not to wet the edge of his robe, for the land 
was his; how the tide came up, of course, without regarding him; 
and how he then turned to his flatterers, and rebuked them, saying, 
what was the might of any earthly king, to the might of the 
Creator, who could say unto the sea, 'Thus far shalt thou go, and 
no farther!'  We may learn from this, I think, that a little sense 
will go a long way in a king; and that courtiers are not easily 
cured of flattery, nor kings of a liking for it.  If the courtiers 
of Canute had not known, long before, that the King was fond of 
flattery, they would have known better than to offer it in such 
large doses.  And if they had not known that he was vain of this 
speech (anything but a wonderful speech it seems to me, if a good 
child had made it), they would not have been at such great pains to 
repeat it.  I fancy I see them all on the sea-shore together; the 
King's chair sinking in the sand; the King in a mighty good humour 
with his own wisdom; and the courtiers pretending to be quite 
stunned by it!

It is not the sea alone that is bidden to go 'thus far, and no 
farther.'  The great command goes forth to all the kings upon the 
earth, and went to Canute in the year one thousand and thirty-five, 
and stretched him dead upon his bed.  Beside it, stood his Norman 
wife.  Perhaps, as the King looked his last upon her, he, who had 
so often thought distrustfully of Normandy, long ago, thought once 
more of the two exiled Princes in their uncle's court, and of the 
little favour they could feel for either Danes or Saxons, and of a 
rising cloud in Normandy that slowly moved towards England.


CHAPTER VI - ENGLAND UNDER HAROLD HAREFOOT, HARDICANUTE, AND EDWARD 
THE CONFESSOR


CANUTE left three sons, by name SWEYN, HAROLD, and HARDICANUTE; but 
his Queen, Emma, once the Flower of Normandy, was the mother of 
only Hardicanute.  Canute had wished his dominions to be divided 
between the three, and had wished Harold to have England; but the 
Saxon people in the South of England, headed by a nobleman with 
great possessions, called the powerful EARL GODWIN (who is said to 
have been originally a poor cow-boy), opposed this, and desired to 
have, instead, either Hardicanute, or one of the two exiled Princes 
who were over in Normandy.  It seemed so certain that there would 
be more bloodshed to settle this dispute, that many people left 
their homes, and took refuge in the woods and swamps.  Happily, 
however, it was agreed to refer the whole question to a great 
meeting at Oxford, which decided that Harold should have all the 
country north of the Thames, with London for his capital city, and 
that Hardicanute should have all the south.  The quarrel was so 
arranged; and, as Hardicanute was in Denmark troubling himself very 
little about anything but eating and getting drunk, his mother and 
Earl Godwin governed the south for him.

They had hardly begun to do so, and the trembling people who had 
hidden themselves were scarcely at home again, when Edward, the 
elder of the two exiled Princes, came over from Normandy with a few 
followers, to claim the English Crown.  His mother Emma, however, 
who only cared for her last son Hardicanute, instead of assisting 
him, as he expected, opposed him so strongly with all her influence 
that he was very soon glad to get safely back.  His brother Alfred 
was not so fortunate.  Believing in an affectionate letter, written 
some time afterwards to him and his brother, in his mother's name 
(but whether really with or without his mother's knowledge is now 
uncertain), he allowed himself to be tempted over to England, with 
a good force of soldiers, and landing on the Kentish coast, and 
being met and welcomed by Earl Godwin, proceeded into Surrey, as 
far as the town of Guildford.  Here, he and his men halted in the 
evening to rest, having still the Earl in their company; who had 
ordered lodgings and good cheer for them.  But, in the dead of the 
night, when they were off their guard, being divided into small 
parties sleeping soundly after a long march and a plentiful supper 
in different houses, they were set upon by the King's troops, and 
taken prisoners.  Next morning they were drawn out in a line, to 
the number of six hundred men, and were barbarously tortured and 
killed; with the exception of every tenth man, who was sold into 
slavery.  As to the wretched Prince Alfred, he was stripped naked, 
tied to a horse and sent away into the Isle of Ely, where his eyes 
were torn out of his head, and where in a few days he miserably 
died.  I am not sure that the Earl had wilfully entrapped him, but 
I suspect it strongly.

Harold was now King all over England, though it is doubtful whether 
the Archbishop of Canterbury (the greater part of the priests were 
Saxons, and not friendly to the Danes) ever consented to crown him.  
Crowned or uncrowned, with the Archbishop's leave or without it, he 
was King for four years:  after which short reign he died, and was 
buried; having never done much in life but go a hunting.  He was 
such a fast runner at this, his favourite sport, that the people 
called him Harold Harefoot.

Hardicanute was then at Bruges, in Flanders, plotting, with his 
mother (who had gone over there after the cruel murder of Prince 
Alfred), for the invasion of England.  The Danes and Saxons, 
finding themselves without a King, and dreading new disputes, made 
common cause, and joined in inviting him to occupy the Throne.  He 
consented, and soon troubled them enough; for he brought over 
numbers of Danes, and taxed the people so insupportably to enrich 
those greedy favourites that there were many insurrections, 
especially one at Worcester, where the citizens rose and killed his 
tax-collectors; in revenge for which he burned their city.  He was 
a brutal King, whose first public act was to order the dead body of 
poor Harold Harefoot to be dug up, beheaded, and thrown into the 
river.  His end was worthy of such a beginning.  He fell down 
drunk, with a goblet of wine in his hand, at a wedding-feast at 
Lambeth, given in honour of the marriage of his standard-bearer, a 
Dane named TOWED THE PROUD.  And he never spoke again.

EDWARD, afterwards called by the monks THE CONFESSOR, succeeded; 
and his first act was to oblige his mother Emma, who had favoured 
him so little, to retire into the country; where she died some ten 
years afterwards.  He was the exiled prince whose brother Alfred 
had been so foully killed.  He had been invited over from Normandy 
by Hardicanute, in the course of his short reign of two years, and 
had been handsomely treated at court.  His cause was now favoured 
by the powerful Earl Godwin, and he was soon made King.  This Earl 
had been suspected by the people, ever since Prince Alfred's cruel 
death; he had even been tried in the last reign for the Prince's 
murder, but had been pronounced not guilty; chiefly, as it was 
supposed, because of a present he had made to the swinish King, of 
a gilded ship with a figure-head of solid gold, and a crew of 
eighty splendidly armed men.  It was his interest to help the new 
King with his power, if the new King would help him against the 
popular distrust and hatred.  So they made a bargain.  Edward the 
Confessor got the Throne.  The Earl got more power and more land, 
and his daughter Editha was made queen; for it was a part of their 
compact that the King should take her for his wife.

But, although she was a gentle lady, in all things worthy to be 
beloved - good, beautiful, sensible, and kind - the King from the 
first neglected her.  Her father and her six proud brothers, 
resenting this cold treatment, harassed the King greatly by 
exerting all their power to make him unpopular.  Having lived so 
long in Normandy, he preferred the Normans to the English.  He made 
a Norman Archbishop, and Norman Bishops; his great officers and 
favourites were all Normans; he introduced the Norman fashions and 
the Norman language; in imitation of the state custom of Normandy, 
he attached a great seal to his state documents, instead of merely 
marking them, as the Saxon Kings had done, with the sign of the 
cross - just as poor people who have never been taught to write, 
now make the same mark for their names.  All this, the powerful 
Earl Godwin and his six proud sons represented to the people as 
disfavour shown towards the English; and thus they daily increased 
their own power, and daily diminished the power of the King.

They were greatly helped by an event that occurred when he had 
reigned eight years.  Eustace, Earl of Bologne, who had married the 
King's sister, came to England on a visit.  After staying at the 
court some time, he set forth, with his numerous train of 
attendants, to return home.  They were to embark at Dover.  
Entering that peaceful town in armour, they took possession of the 
best houses, and noisily demanded to be lodged and entertained 
without payment.  One of the bold men of Dover, who would not 
endure to have these domineering strangers jingling their heavy 
swords and iron corselets up and down his house, eating his meat 
and drinking his strong liquor, stood in his doorway and refused 
admission to the first armed man who came there.  The armed man 
drew, and wounded him.  The man of Dover struck the armed man dead.  
Intelligence of what he had done, spreading through the streets to 
where the Count Eustace and his men were standing by their horses, 
bridle in hand, they passionately mounted, galloped to the house, 
surrounded it, forced their way in (the doors and windows being 
closed when they came up), and killed the man of Dover at his own 
fireside.  They then clattered through the streets, cutting down 
and riding over men, women, and children.  This did not last long, 
you may believe.  The men of Dover set upon them with great fury, 
killed nineteen of the foreigners, wounded many more, and, 
blockading the road to the port so that they should not embark, 
beat them out of the town by the way they had come.  Hereupon, 
Count Eustace rides as hard as man can ride to Gloucester, where 
Edward is, surrounded by Norman monks and Norman lords.  'Justice!' 
cries the Count, 'upon the men of Dover, who have set upon and 
slain my people!'  The King sends immediately for the powerful Earl 
Godwin, who happens to be near; reminds him that Dover is under his 
government; and orders him to repair to Dover and do military 
execution on the inhabitants.  'It does not become you,' says the 
proud Earl in reply, 'to condemn without a hearing those whom you 
have sworn to protect.  I will not do it.'

The King, therefore, summoned the Earl, on pain of banishment and 
loss of his titles and property, to appear before the court to 
answer this disobedience.  The Earl refused to appear.  He, his 
eldest son Harold, and his second son Sweyn, hastily raised as many 
fighting men as their utmost power could collect, and demanded to 
have Count Eustace and his followers surrendered to the justice of 
the country.  The King, in his turn, refused to give them up, and 
raised a strong force.  After some treaty and delay, the troops of 
the great Earl and his sons began to fall off.  The Earl, with a 
part of his family and abundance of treasure, sailed to Flanders; 
Harold escaped to Ireland; and the power of the great family was 
for that time gone in England.  But, the people did not forget 
them.

Then, Edward the Confessor, with the true meanness of a mean 
spirit, visited his dislike of the once powerful father and sons 
upon the helpless daughter and sister, his unoffending wife, whom 
all who saw her (her husband and his monks excepted) loved.  He 
seized rapaciously upon her fortune and her jewels, and allowing 
her only one attendant, confined her in a gloomy convent, of which 
a sister of his - no doubt an unpleasant lady after his own heart - 
was abbess or jailer.

Having got Earl Godwin and his six sons well out of his way, the 
King favoured the Normans more than ever.  He invited over WILLIAM, 
DUKE OF NORMANDY, the son of that Duke who had received him and his 
murdered brother long ago, and of a peasant girl, a tanner's 
daughter, with whom that Duke had fallen in love for her beauty as 
he saw her washing clothes in a brook.  William, who was a great 
warrior, with a passion for fine horses, dogs, and arms, accepted 
the invitation; and the Normans in England, finding themselves more 
numerous than ever when he arrived with his retinue, and held in 
still greater honour at court than before, became more and more 
haughty towards the people, and were more and more disliked by 
them.

The old Earl Godwin, though he was abroad, knew well how the people 
felt; for, with part of the treasure he had carried away with him, 
he kept spies and agents in his pay all over England.

Accordingly, he thought the time was come for fitting out a great 
expedition against the Norman-loving King.  With it, he sailed to 
the Isle of Wight, where he was joined by his son Harold, the most 
gallant and brave of all his family.  And so the father and son 
came sailing up the Thames to Southwark; great numbers of the 
people declaring for them, and shouting for the English Earl and 
the English Harold, against the Norman favourites!

The King was at first as blind and stubborn as kings usually have 
been whensoever they have been in the hands of monks.  But the 
people rallied so thickly round the old Earl and his son, and the 
old Earl was so steady in demanding without bloodshed the 
restoration of himself and his family to their rights, that at last 
the court took the alarm.  The Norman Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
the Norman Bishop of London, surrounded by their retainers, fought 
their way out of London, and escaped from Essex to France in a 
fishing-boat.  The other Norman favourites dispersed in all 
directions.  The old Earl and his sons (except Sweyn, who had 
committed crimes against the law) were restored to their 
possessions and dignities.  Editha, the virtuous and lovely Queen 
of the insensible King, was triumphantly released from her prison, 
the convent, and once more sat in her chair of state, arrayed in 
the jewels of which, when she had no champion to support her 
rights, her cold-blooded husband had deprived her.

The old Earl Godwin did not long enjoy his restored fortune.  He 
fell down in a fit at the King's table, and died upon the third day 
afterwards.  Harold succeeded to his power, and to a far higher 
place in the attachment of the people than his father had ever 
held.  By his valour he subdued the King's enemies in many bloody 
fights.  He was vigorous against rebels in Scotland - this was the 
time when Macbeth slew Duncan, upon which event our English 
Shakespeare, hundreds of years afterwards, wrote his great tragedy; 
and he killed the restless Welsh King GRIFFITH, and brought his 
head to England.

What Harold was doing at sea, when he was driven on the French 
coast by a tempest, is not at all certain; nor does it at all 
matter.  That his ship was forced by a storm on that shore, and 
that he was taken prisoner, there is no doubt.  In those barbarous 
days, all shipwrecked strangers were taken prisoners, and obliged 
to pay ransom.  So, a certain Count Guy, who was the Lord of 
Ponthieu where Harold's disaster happened, seized him, instead of 
relieving him like a hospitable and Christian lord as he ought to 
have done, and expected to make a very good thing of it.

But Harold sent off immediately to Duke William of Normandy, 
complaining of this treatment; and the Duke no sooner heard of it 
than he ordered Harold to be escorted to the ancient town of Rouen, 
where he then was, and where he received him as an honoured guest.  
Now, some writers tell us that Edward the Confessor, who was by 
this time old and had no children, had made a will, appointing Duke 
William of Normandy his successor, and had informed the Duke of his 
having done so.  There is no doubt that he was anxious about his 
successor; because he had even invited over, from abroad, EDWARD 
THE OUTLAW, a son of Ironside, who had come to England with his 
wife and three children, but whom the King had strangely refused to 
see when he did come, and who had died in London suddenly (princes 
were terribly liable to sudden death in those days), and had been 
buried in St. Paul's Cathedral.  The King might possibly have made 
such a will; or, having always been fond of the Normans, he might 
have encouraged Norman William to aspire to