Part 2

But despite its castle, its battles, and its legends, Bamburgh slowly declined in importance. As the capital of Northumbria it had been one of the chief towns in England. But the gallant Northumbria of the Saxons was more open to enemies than any other part of the country; Cumbrians were on the west and Scots on the north, and this was of all Saxon kingdoms the most exposed to the ravages of the Danes. From the capital of a kingdom it became the capital of a county (Bamburghshire), returning two members to Parliament in the reign of Edward I.; but it grew of less and still less importance, till at last it was known only to the student of history. It shared this fate with Lindisfarne, called Holy Island, once the Canterbury of the North, on whose rocky shores still stand the ruins of the fine Norman cathedral which took the place of the old Saxon one. Lindisfarne and Bamburgh--neighbours, divided only by a narrow belt of sea--two names that conjure up vivid pictures of romantic history. Yet suddenly, early in the nineteenth century, the great deed of a splendid heroine lent new glory to the wild, sea-girt town.

Grace Darling was born at Bamburgh in 1817, in a cottage on the south side of the village street, which can still be seen to-day. Her father became keeper of the lighthouse on the Langstone, a rocky islet five miles from the coast, guarding ships from the dangerous Farne Islands, a group of iron-bound rocks where seabirds dwell. In the early morning of September 7, 1838, during the raging of a most terrible storm, she heard the crash of a ship dashed upon the rocks, and anguished cries; as soon as dawn enabled them to see, the girl and her father made out the dark outline of the wreck, and the miserable forms of the mariners crouching on rocks from which the rising tide would sweep them inevitably to death. With superb heroism Grace and her father pushed their small boat into the furious waters, and after strenuous and dauntless efforts, always at the peril of their own lives, they saved the whole ship's company, nine souls in all. So fierce was the storm that it was three days before a boat dared take them from the Langstone to the mainland.

The roar of approbation which greeted her from the whole country found her as modest as she was brave. But for all her courage, this noble girl was not strong. She died four years later, and lies buried at Bamburgh, within sound of the sea. And the Langstone is known to-day as "Grace Darling's Island," and the tomb of the brave girl rouses sweeter memories than the frowning fortress of Bamburgh.

*Chapter II*

*Athelstan at Vinheath*

Famous among the old Norse sea-rovers was Egil, son of Skallagrim. In the course of his many voyages, he visited all the lands between the White Sea and the Bay of Biscay, and when at last he settled down in his Iceland home, where he lived on till well past the age of eighty, he loved to gather his children and grandchildren around him by the fireside during the long Icelandic winter, and to tell the story of his adventures. He was a true Norseman, fond of the sea and the fight, fond of his wife and children, fond of song, at which he was highly skilled. His songs and his stories of adventure were listened to with eagerness, and they were repeated after him, and were at last written down, probably between one hundred and fifty and two hundred years after his death. Books were scarce in those days, and stories were treasured and faithfully re-told. So this story of Egil was probably written out very much in the simple, vigorous style in which the old warrior would have told it to his grandchildren, as they listened to him with wide-open, wondering eyes. And as the old man had taken part in an early battle between Saxon-English and Scots, upon the Border, we have here a fine picture of how fights were fought in the reign of King Athelstan.

Egil was speaking to Icelandic children who knew little about England, so he began by telling how in the days when Harold Fairhair was king of Norway, Alfred the Great was the first supreme king over all England. When Alfred died he was succeeded by his son Edward, who was followed by Athelstan the Victorious. In Egil's day Athelstan was young and had but just been made king, and many chieftains, who had kept quiet before, now thought that the time had come when they could do as they pleased again. But Athelstan meant to show them that he too could rule England strongly and wisely.

These were the days of brute force, and the king had first to get an army together. Besides his own English folk, many roving Norsemen came to take his pay, and among the number were Egil and his elder brother Thorolf, with their men. They saw the king himself, who received them well. Athelstan was a good Christian, known as the Faithful, and he desired that Thorolf and Egil should submit to be marked with the Cross, that they might take their place by his Christian soldiers without quarrel. This they agreed to, and the king gave them command over three hundred men. Now Olaf the Red was king in Scotland. His father was a Scot, but his mother was a Dane of the family of Ragnar with-the-hairy-breeches, that savage old viking. Northumberland, which in those days extended to the Humber, and included York as its chief city, was half-full of Danes, and King Olaf wished to claim it for his own, and add it to Scotland.

Athelstan had set Earl Alfgeir and Earl Gudrek to rule Northumberland and defend it from the Scots. But Olaf of Scotland came south with his mighty host; there was a fierce battle; Earl Gudrek was slain and Earl Alfgeir fled. When Athelstan heard of the triumph of Olaf, he began at once to march northward with all the men he could get together; but he was yet young, and some of the treacherous earls, hearing that Olaf had so far been victor, deserted King Athelstan. Chief among these traitors were Earl Hring and Earl Adils, who should have been in the very front of the English army, but who basely went over to the Scots. Thus Olaf's host became exceeding great, greater by far than the English army.

Then Athelstan called together his captains and his counsellors; Egil was there, and heard all the grave talk as to what should be done. At last a plan was made that all thought good, and this is what followed.

First, messengers were sent to King Olaf, saying that King Athelstan would meet him in fair fight at Vinheath by Vinwood, in Northumberland, where he would mark out the field of battle with rods of hazel. He who won the battle should be king over all England. The armies should meet a week hence, and whichever was first on the ground should wait a week for the other. King Olaf should bide quiet, and not harry the land till the battle was ended. North of the heath was a town; there King Olaf stayed, for there he could best get provisions for his army. But some of his men he sent to the heath, to view it.

The hazel-poles were already set up on the large level plain. A river was on one side, and a wood was on the other. And where river and wood were nearest to one another, there King Athelstan's tents were pitched.

Many tents there were, but the front line of tents stood high, so that the Scots could not see how many were behind. Every third tent was empty, but many men were sleeping on the grass in the open, so that the Scots might think that the English had a large army there. Every day more English troops came in, and when the time was come that was fixed for the battle, English envoys went to the King of the Scots asking if there need be the great fight and bloodshed that threatened; if Olaf would go peaceably home, Athelstan would give him a shilling of silver for every plough that ploughed in England. The Scots took counsel together and said they must have more than this. Then the messengers begged a three days' truce to consider this. On the third day they came again, saying that King Athelstan would give what he offered before and also to the Scottish army a silver shilling for every freeman soldier, a silver mark for every lesser officer, a gold mark for every captain, and five gold marks for every earl. But the Scots asked not only for this, but also for Northumberland to be yielded to them. Then the English messengers answered that Scottish messengers must ride back with them, to take the answer from Athelstan himself.

Now the truth is this: that the Scottish king had taken Athelstan by such surprise that he needed time to get his men together; all these messages were but a trick to gain time till the king should come up himself with all the men he could gather. When, therefore, the messengers rode up to King Athelstan, he had but just arrived on the scene of battle. And when he heard the message he said: "Tell King Olaf this, that I will give him leave to return to Scotland safely if only he give back all he has unjustly taken from this land, and if he own himself my under-king, holding Scotland for me and at my behest."

This proud answer made the Scottish messengers at once see what had been going on. So they hastened back to their king to tell him how they had been received and what the meaning of it was.

When the Scots found that the English had thus outwitted them, they took counsel together in some anger. Earl Adils, he who had deserted the English, said that he and his brother, Earl Hring, would that very night make a surprise attack; if it succeeded, well and good; if not, then they could easily withdraw, and the main battle could begin in the morning. This the King of Scots held to be good advice.

So the two traitor earls and their men moved southward under cover of the darkness. But Thorolf the Norseman was used to the ways of war, and his sentries were alert and blew a great war-blast on their horns. And thus the fight began.

Thorolf was armed with a massy halberd that stood taller than a man; broad was its blade and thick its socket, and it ended in a four-edged spike. He had a strong sword by his side and a big, heavy shield on his left arm; he had a helmet but no shirt of mail. His brother Egil was armed in much the same way. The Norsemen's standard was borne by Thorfid the strong.

Next to the Norsemen, in the first rank also, was the division led by Earl Alfgeir, he who had once before fled from the Scots. King Athelstan gave him this chance to redeem himself. Now when the first onslaught of the Scots took place, Earl Adils came against Earl Alfgeir, while Earl Hring came against the Norsemen.

And now the battle began. The two traitor earls urged on their men, who charged with spirit. The fight was fierce, and soon Alfgeir gave ground; this made the foe press on the fiercer, and before long Alfgeir was in full flight. He avoided the town where Athelstan was, and fled night and day to the coast, where he took ship out of the country he had served so ill.

Adils did not dare to pursue him far, for fear of being himself cut off from his friends. So he returned to help his brother Hring against the Norsemen. Thorolf, like a true general, saw the danger of this, and at once told Egil to turn aside with half their force to prevent Adils from joining his brother. The Norsemen fought a grand fight, but were badly outnumbered, and the battle seemed to be going against them. Then Thorolf became furious. Disdainful of life, he cast his shield behind his back, grasped his great halberd with both hands, and sprang forward, hacking down all who opposed him. Straight for Hring's standard he went, nothing could stop him. He slew the standard-bearer, cut through the standard-pole, and with a mighty stroke thrust his halberd right through the body of Hring, the traitor earl, and lifted him up in the air that all might see that he was slain. Then Adils and the rest of the men fled to the wood, and thus ended the first part of the fight. More was to come on the morrow.

At dawn next day King Athelstan came forward with his main army. He had heard of the great deeds of the brothers Thorolf and Egil; most courteously he thanked them, and said that he would always reckon them as his friends. Then with his captains he made his plans for the battle. Egil he put in command of the front ranks of his men, and Thorolf he set aside to face those of the Scots who might charge the English in loose array.

"For this is the way of the Scots," he said; "they dash to and fro, rush forward and hither and thither, and are dangerous except to a commander who is both wary and bold."

Egil said, "I would rather that Thorolf and I were near together"; but Thorolf answered, "As the king commands, so will we do."

The battle began, and soon waged furiously. Thorolf and his men pressed forward along the woodside, hoping to take the enemy on the flank. Now, unknown to him, Adils and his followers were hiding among the trees, and of a sudden Adils sprang out and smote him down. Thorfid, too, the brave standard-bearer, was pressed back, but rallied the men, who fought desperately.

The Scots had raised a great shout at the fall of Thorolf, and this was heard by Egil, who, when he saw the standard forced back, feared that his brother was dead, for Thorolf had never drawn back from any foe. So with a fierce cry Egil hacked his way through to that part of the field, and when he learnt the truth from his men, he never rested till he had slain Adils with his own hand.

The followers of Adils then fled, and Egil and the Norsemen hewed their way through the flank of the Scottish force towards the place where King Olaf's standard was. Noting this, King Athelstan, that wary general, caused his own standard to be set forward and all his army to attack at once. Fierce and furious was the fight, and great was the slaughter. King Olaf was slain, with great numbers of his men, and the rest fled in confusion. The English victory was complete.

As soon as Athelstan saw that victory was his, he left the pursuit to his captains and hastened to the town to make his arrangements. Egil pursued far and fiercely, and when at last he came back to the battlefield his first thought was for his dead brother. Worn out though he was, he would take no rest until he had buried the warrior with full honours, with his arms and his raiment; and before the sad farewell was said Egil clasped a gold bracelet on both of Thorolf's wrists to show his deep love. Then they buried the hero deep and put a high cairn of stones over him.

Then one last tribute Egil paid to his brother, the greatest of them all. Among these old Norse warriors there existed a great love of song; the great fighters strove also to be great song-makers, and Egil was famous above most for this power. The Norsemen's poems had not rhymes like ours; they had short vigorous lines, and in each pair of lines three of the important words had to begin with the same letter. Wild strong chants they were. This is the song that Egil sang at the burial of his brother, Thorolf Skallagrimsson:--

"The halberd of the hero Hewed down the foe before him; Then in the brunt of battle Was spilt brave Thorolf's blood. The grass is green on Vinheath Where sleeps my great-souled brother; But death, in doubled sorrow, Our doleful hearts must bear."

When Egil got to the town he found the king and his army making merry over their victory at a huge feast. The courteous king saw Egil and bade him come and sit near to him. The king watched the burly Norseman, who was tall, with broad shoulders, a powerful head and mighty strength; but now his head was bent forward, and he kept his sword across his knees, and now and again half drew it and then clashed it back into its scabbard like a man who fights with heavy thoughts. He ate little and drank less. Then King Athelstan, watchful and courteous, took a gold ring from his arm, and placing it on his sword-point, handed it thus to where Egil sat. At this mark of honour the Norseman's face grew brighter. Then the king sent round his own horn for Egil to drink; so he drank to the king and sang a verse of wild poetry in his praise, made on the spur of the moment; and with this the king was much pleased.

Then the king sent also for two chests full of silver, and said to Egil:--

"These chests carry to thy father; it is fitting that King Athelstan make him some gift for the loss of his son. And do thou stay with me long, and I will give thee honour and dignity."

Thus the great king in kindness and courtesy did what he could to soothe the grief of the warrior; and Egil stayed the winter with Athelstan, but when the summer came he wished to go back to his own people. But he had much respect for King Athelstan, and ere he bade him farewell he made a long poem to his glory.

_From the Song of Egil Skallagrimsson, to the Glory of King Athelstan._

"See how the kingly warrior, Land-warder, battle-wakener, Smites even to the earth The earls who rise against him! Glad is now Northumberland, This the king she needed, Wise and bold of race and blood, Dauntless in the battle-field!"

Many were the verses of this stirring song; and after each came the refrain:--

"Scottish hills where reindeer roam Own the rule of Athelstan!"

The king gave Egil two heavy gold rings and a handsome cloak that he himself had worn; then the Norseman sailed away, for always near to his heart was the welfare of his dead brother's wife and child. Yea, for the rest of his long life he loved this child even as he loved his own.

*Chapter III*

*Monks and Minstrels*

The wild Borderland was the scene of the labours of many ol the first great Christian leaders. Where the arts of war were so much practised, it was needful that the arts of peace should flourish also. Great was the influence, even in the wildest times, of these able, serious, devoted leaders of early religious thought, men like Ninian and Kentigern.

Christianity first came into Britain in Roman times, and some of the Britons were converted. After the Romans quitted the country, King Arthur was the leader of the Christian Britons, and he is said to have fought with the pagan Britons, the pagan Picts, the pagan Saxons, who had begun their invasions, and the disorderly soldiers of various races, probably pagans whom the Romans left behind along the wall.

In due time the fight developed into a struggle between Christian Britons and pagan Saxons, and then the Saxons themselves began to accept the new religion. Oswald, a Northumbrian prince, had in a time of peril hidden in the island of Iona, to where the great Irishman Columba had come from Ireland as a missionary. When Oswald returned to power he summoned to his kingdom Aidan, a high-minded Christian teacher, whom he made first bishop of Lindisfarne (Holy Island). Aidan being a Celt, had to do his work through interpreters, but he did it well, and laid the foundations of Christianity and learning in Northumbria. Cuthbert was another famous missionary. Rising from shepherd-boy to bishop, he impressed both king and peasant by the dignified simplicity and sincerity of his life. His place of meditation was a sea-girt rock by Lindisfarne, lonely and picturesque, and still called after his name. A curious fossil, with the mark of a cross, is plentiful there, and goes by the name of St Cuthbert's beads. Other famous teachers were Wilfrid of York, who founded the churches of Hexham and Ripon; Boisil, who founded Melrose, and Biscop, who founded Jarrow.

But perhaps the most celebrated of all was Bede, the "Venerable Bede," who lived at Jarrow and wrote forty-five learned books on all subjects, including music, astronomy, and medicine. All the scholars in England flocked to hear his teachings, and he was justly called "the father of English learning." He it was who first introduced into England the art of making glass.

His last work was to translate the Gospel of St John into Northumbrian English. This was in the year 735. Being too ill to hold a pen, he dictated to his favourite pupil. "Write quickly," he said, for he felt that he was dying. "It is finished," answered the lad, and the old man's heart was satisfied. In a faint, brave voice he chanted the _Gloria_, and so died singing.

In those days there was, of course, no such thing as printing. Every manuscript was written and rewritten, carefully, by hand, and treasured as a sacred possession in the seats of learning. So proud were they of their manuscripts that they beautified them with illustrations in colour. Many of these manuscripts have, of course, been destroyed; for instance, the Danes in 875 burnt the priceless library of Bishop Acca at Hexham, destroying in one day the treasured collection of a lifetime; but many remain to show the love of learning which existed even then. Bishop Edfrid, who lived in the little rocky island of Lindisfarne, made a copy of the Gospels, which is looked upon with wonder even to-day. Strings of beautiful birds and quaint animals are drawn upon his pages; evangelists with mantles of purple and tunics of blue, pink, or green. With the writing clear and beautiful, the decorations showing the greatest care and devotion, this manuscript of one thousand two hundred years ago has been the delight of thousands, and comes down to us to witness to the loving care of the scholars of old in the days before printing was known.

Great as was their love of beautiful manuscripts, they had an equally noble passion for grand buildings. A superb monument of simple dignity and religious grandeur is the Norman Cathedral at Durham, commenced by Bishop Carilef in 1093, and finished by Bishop Flambard in 1128. Occupying a wonderful position at the top of a wooded hill, around which flows the beautiful river Wear, Durham Cathedral is in itself one of the noblest buildings in the world. While the Church in those troublous times kept thus a storehouse of learning for serious scholars, other methods kept the people informed of the more stirring events of their day.

In the old days, when no newspapers existed to tell people the news, when books were scarce and history was not taught to every lad as a part of his training, the ballad-writer and the wandering minstrel played a very important part. Ballads, sometimes really fine pieces of poetry, sometimes a mere halting troop of lame lines, were made upon every occasion of local or general interest. They were sung to simple and often beautiful tunes or chants. The best of the minstrels were welcome to the halls of the nobles, and even to the king himself; the poorest of them sang on the village green. The ballads were learnt and repeated by the folk of the country-side; some were in later times printed on loose sheets, but at first they were handed on from mouth to mouth. Alterations and errors often crept in; mistakes due to a sameness of sound. For instance, in the old ballad of _Mary Ambree_, a soldier is referred to as "Sir John Major," probably meaning Sergeant-major. In one of the versions of the battle of Chevy Chase, Henry Percy was said to have been killed there, whereas he really lived on to be slain at Shrewsbury. But, despite such occasional blunders, the ballads on the whole throw a vivid light on the manners and customs of the old days, as well as being usually stirring and sometimes strikingly noble and pathetic pieces of poetry. They deal as a rule rather with the side currents than with the main stream of history; but they express themselves with such homely force and directness that they bring home to us with wonderful clearness the character of the vigorous manly men with whose doings they are chiefly concerned.