Conquest does not appear to have been yet in Sweyn’s thoughts. In the spring of 1004 he returned home; but the wretched country, though free from foes, was stricken with famine during that year, and in 1006 Sweyn was back again. He landed at Sandwich, and swept unopposed through Wessex to Reading, defeated some local troops, and thence turned back to the sea. Aethelred fled to Shropshire, and the Witan decided that ‘they must needs bribe the army with a tribute, though they were all loth to do it.’ In the spring of 1007 36,000 pounds of silver were paid, and the satiated Danes retired for two years. The respite was utilized for an apparently determined attempt to organize a great fleet. Every three hundred ‘hides’ of land was assessed at a ship; each ten hides at a boat, and for every eight hides a fully equipped soldier was to be furnished. In 1009 a vast armament assembled at Sandwich, but to no purpose. Perhaps owing to the treachery of Eadric Streona, Aethelred’s favourite, at any rate on account of disgraceful dissension among the leaders, the huge force broke up. The miserable story is told at length by the Chronicler, with bitter denunciation of Eadric. The Vikings were led this year by Thorkil ‘the Tall,’ of Jomsborg, a famous Viking settlement on the Baltic coast of Germany. The beginning of the end was seen when Kent and Canterbury ransomed themselves from pillage. The Danes then raided Wessex as far as Oxford, and laid Essex and Hertfordshire under contribution, but were stoutly repulsed in an attack on London. They wintered in Kent, and, as usual, the wretched King began to contemplate another payment of tribute. Meanwhile Thorkil left his quarters in Kent and invaded East Anglia. Ipswich was sacked, the county levies defeated, and the countryside wasted ruthlessly. ‘Redeless’ in everything, Aethelred did not open negotiations until 1011, by which time the raiders were completely out of hand. They disregarded their nominal chief Thorkil, and ‘went everywhere in troops, plundering and slaying our miserable people.’ They captured Canterbury through the treachery of the Abbot Aelfmar, and carried off Archbishop Aelfheah (Alphege), Godwin, Bishop of Rochester, and a multitude of captives. Not until the spring of 1012 was the huge ‘gafol,’ or ‘Danegeld’--48,000 pounds of silver--collected, and a hideous tragedy marked the final payment. A horde of drunken Danes dragged Archbishop Aelfheah, who had nobly refused to ransom himself, before their ‘husting’[E] at Greenwich, and pelted him to death with the bones of the beasts which they had devoured. It may be questioned whether any deed more foul is recorded in history. And yet the brutality of these semi-savage destroyers has too frequently been held up to unstinted admiration. Thorkil himself was innocent of the Archbishop’s blood, and next day he sent his body with honour to London. Soon after, oddly enough--perhaps the deed had sickened him--he entered Aethelred’s service.