In the year 1010 the Danes were in possession of sixteen English counties, and they exacted forty-eight thousand pounds for sparing the rest. But such moderation was not in their policy; and no sooner was the money theirs, than their atrocities recommenced. The condition of Kent—which was that of half England—is more graphically described by the biographer of St. Elphege, archbishop of Canterbury, than by all the chronicles of the period. When that city was first besieged, there was some prospect of a defence; the walls were strong, and there were many strong arms eager to defend their cathedral, their bishop, their wives and children. But a traitor (and England was full of them) set fire to about twenty different houses: to extinguish the flames many of the defenders left their posts; one of the gates was broken open, and the pirates rushed into the city, while the flames spread on every side. The men were cut down in the streets, or they were thrown into the devouring fire; women were violated and speared; children were tossed like balls from the points of the lances. As a last resource, St. Elphege and his clergy had taken refuge in the cathedral; but he could not hear of these excesses without endeavouring to stop them. Rushing from the sacred pile into the midst of the pirates, he exclaimed, “Spare the city! at least, if you are men, spare the helplessness of infancy! Turn your weapons against me, only, who have always condemned your crimes!” They gagged him, bound him, and led him to witness the fate of his church, to which thousands of the people had now resorted in the vain hope that its sanctity would impress even pagans. It was soon on fire; the smoke ascended in clouds; the flames spread; and as the unfortunate people, forced by the burning liquid lead, issued from the building, they were cut down by the ferocious pirates. Of eight thousand inhabitants, about a tenth of the number were spared, in the hope of ransom; and such as were unable or unwilling to pay it were put to a cruel death. Among them was St. Elphege, who might have raised the sum demanded for him—three thousand pieces of gold—had he signed an order to the churches of his diocese to pay the money from their treasuries. But he refused to allow that which had been raised for the poor to be expended on him: he would not, he said, purchase life on terms so disgraceful. He who, throughout life, had begged for the indigent, would not be the means of plundering them in his old age. After being detained for some time, kept in a loathsome dungeon, starved, tormented, beaten, in the view of subduing his inflexibility, he was martyred, his last ejaculations being for his flock, his country, his very enemies.[114] [Sidenote: 1013 to 1014.]