King Alfred's Viking: A Story of the First English FleetWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
King Alfred's Viking: A Story of the First English Fleet
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Great Britain -- History -- Alfred, 871-899 -- Juvenile fiction
Presently we turned aside to a little woodland chapel that had
escaped the sight of the Danes, and from a hut beside it came out
an old priest, white-bearded and bent with age and scanty fare. At
first he feared that the heathen had found him at last; yet he
looked bravely at us, catching up the crucifix that hung at his
side and clasping it in both his hands as he stood in the open
doorway of his church, as if to stay us from it.
Alfred rode forward to him when he saw his fear.
"Father, I am Alfred the king," he said. "Far have I ridden on this
holy day. Now I would fain hear mass and have your blessing before
we go on."
Thereat the old priest gave thanks openly to the King of kings, who
had brought Alfred again into the land, and hastened to make ready.
So that was the king's Whitsuntide mass, and we three heathen and
our few men must bide outside while the others went into the holy
place and returned with bright faces and happy; for this was a
service to which we might not be admitted, though all knew that we
would be Christians indeed ere long.
So at last we came to the ancient castle, and saw the valley to
north and east beneath its height, bright everywhere with sparkling
arms that gleamed from lane and field and forest glade, as all
Wessex gathered to meet their king.
Then the Golden Dragon that we had lost and won was unfurled; and
the war horns blew bravely enough to wake the mighty dead whose
mounds were round about us; and soon the hillside was full of men
who crowded upwards and filled the camp and ramparts and fosse, so
that before sunset Alfred had a host that any king might be proud
to call his own. Yet he would call it not Alfred's force, but
England's.
Standing on the old ramparts, he spoke to them, while all the great
gathering was silent. And the words he said sank into the heart of
every man who heard, so that he felt as if on his arm alone it
rested to free England, and that his arm could not fail. Not long
did the king speak, but when he ended there rose a cheering that
was good to hear, for it came from hearts that had been made strong
to dare aught that might come.
After that he spoke to the thanes, giving each one his place, and
telling them all that he had planned, so that each knew what was
looked for from him. It seemed that he had forgotten nothing, and
that the day must go as he said he thought it would.
Men slept on their arms that night, without watch fires, lest any
prowling Danes should see that somewhat was on hand, although
Guthrum had drawn to him every man from out of Wessex, as was said,
and as seemed true. I have heard tales from some that in the night
the warriors who lie resting in the mounds around their old
stronghold came forth and wandered restless along the ramparts,
longing to take their part again in the mighty struggle they knew
was coming. I saw nothing, but Harek the scald says he saw.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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