University of Virginia Library

ACT IV

SCENE I

[The Camp of Guthrum at Ethandune. Guthrum, Oskytel, and their Jarls are feasting in Guthrum's tent.]
OSKYTEL.
Out of the skull of the foe the mead smacks sweet.
Taste of it, Guthrum.

GUTHRUM
(drinking).
Honey-sweet and strong!
For ale-feasts is there no such land as this,
And now 'tis ours to brew with. Do you mind
The day we fired the shrine at Huntingdon,
And supped amid the smoke? I see them now
Lean shavelings huddled round about the shrine
Clutching the silver beakers set with gems,
And yielding but with life the shining robes,
Woven of silk and gold, that in their coffers
Lay thick as leaves fresh ruddled by the frost.

OSKYTEL.
Aye, but at Lindsey was there fatter fare.
Your shrivelled friar is well enough to slay,
But worthless after slaying. Buxom maids,
To while away the weariness of peace,
And fair-haired boys to hand the mead-bowl round,
These are the boons of battle!

GUTHRUM.
This to Woden!
Whose day will dawn with morrow! This to Thor,
Who hammers out the thunder and the flash,
And slays the dragon!

OSKYTEL.
This to boar-helmed Freyr,
The sender of the needfire and the rain! [Turning to the Jarls.]

Why quaff you not?

FIRST JARL.
Because of Weird at hand.
Ask them that read the staves. This crimson-dawn,
The beechen slips on the white cloth spelled out
The runes of death.

SECOND JARL.
And the Shieldmaidens fled
Dim to the wood.

THIRD JARL.
Aye, and the snow-white steeds,
Lashed to the holy chariot, neighed of doom,
Then reared and snorted backward to the stall.

FIRST JARL.
I mind me of the day my lord me gave
Folkright and homestead, and I will not now
Hold back if need befall him, for unmeet
It were that I should homeward bear my shield.
But woeful are the lots.

SECOND JARL.
I mind the time
I in the timbered beer-hall pledged my lord,
When gave he me both helm and ring, that I
Would pay him back my war-gear at his need.
So surely will I. But the runes are foul.

GUTHRUM.
We know it, trusty Jarls! You all speak sooth.
The ebon Raven which the daughters three
Of Regnor Lodbrog in one morning wove
For Hingvar and for Hubba, will not flap
Its wings for war, but droopeth listlessly,
Forewarning rout. So will we not now fight,
But hang our axes on the wall till Thor
Shine on their faces. Meanwhile, let us feast
Blithe in the land we have won.
“I trust my sword, I trust my steed:
But most I trust myself at need.”
He's no true Jarl that doth not drink with me.

FOURTH JARL.
An agëd gleeman, with his daughter, craves
To cheer the night with song. His thews hang loose,
His back is bent like to a bow that keeps,
Unstrung, the bias of its former strain,
And wan as winter is his flaky hair.
But the unwedded helpmeet at his side,
A very bud of freshly-burgeoned May,
Vows in his voice that manhood lingers still,
And he can sing of war, and love, and aught
That's bidden of his craft.

GUTHRUM.
Then bring him in.

SCENE II

[Alfred and Edgiva are led in, and placed, side by side, on a high settle near the opening of the tent, opposite Guthrum and Oskytel.]
OSKYTEL.
Give him to quaff, out of this cup of mine.
He'll troll the lustier if first warmed with ale.

GUTHRUM!
Now for brave singing!

ALFRED.

GUTHRUM.
How lustily he trolls! A glee like this
Would stave off bane and death.

OSKYTEL.
Look on him now!
He gleams as though to-day and yesterday
Had with to-morrow trysted in his gaze.
A Seer! A Seer! Jarls! Drink unto the Seer!

JARLS.
Aye, and to his fair daughter must we quaff!

ALFRED.
But onward and forward,
In far days fairer,
I see this England
Made one and mighty:
Mighty and master
Of all within it.
Mighty and master
Of men high-seated,
Of free-necked labour,
Lowland and upland,
And corn and cattle,
And ploughland peaceful,
Of happy homesteads
That warmly nestle
In holt and hollow.
This is the England,
In fair days forward,
I see and sing of.

GUTHRUM.
And who shall have this England?

JARLS.
Aye, who shall have this England?

ALFRED.
Then, mighty and master of all within her,
Of Celt and Briton,
Angle and Frisian,
Saxon and Norseman,
Shall England plough, like the whale and walrus,
The roaring ridges
Of foam-necked water,
With long-oared warships
And keels high-beakëd;
And never a foeman,
Eastward or westward,
Shall dare to raven
Her salt-sea inlets,
Her grim gray nesses,
But, swift at the sight of her rearing cradles,
Shall scud and scatter,
Like wild geese fleeing
'Twixt wave and welkin,
Away from the dread of the shrilling weapons
Of foam-fenced England!

OSKYTEL.
But who shall have this England?

GUTHRUM.
Aye, who shall have this England?

[A horn sounds, and shouts are heard without. Alfred throws off his disguise, stands erect in kingly garb, and, drawing his sword, exclaims:]
ALFRED.
Alfred shall have this England!
Lord Christ shall have this England!

[Edward, Ethelred, Ethelnoth, and a body of the King's Thanes, rush in. Alfred disarms Guthrum, who has struck at him with his battle-axe. Edward fells and disarms Oskytel, and the Jarls that do not yield are slain.]
EDWARD.
The Golden Dragon floats o'er Ethandune.
We broke upon the Army in its sleep,
And bound the weaponless. Those that awoke
With battle-axe in grip, the ruffled vulture,
The swarthy raven, and the sallow kite,
Are rawly tattering with their tawny nibs;
And wealden wolves will batten on the rest.

ALFRED
(to Guthrum).
Now yet again the Lord of War hath placed
Your life within my hands. Forfeited once,
I gave it back to you, when first you swore,
Upon our sacred tokens and your own,
To dwell in peace with me and mine for aye.
Your hostages I held: I hold you now.
Why should the sword not fall upon your neck?
But, since Lord Christ hath won this fight for me,
And He is pitiful, I fain would spare
And leave you free within East Anglia,
But owning me for King and Overlord,
If you can tend me tighter pledge than that
Forsworn and broken.

GUTHRUM.
Bind me, an you will,
To Christ your King, who henceforth shall be mine.
For He is mightier than our Gods, as you
Are mightier than our Vikings!

ALFRED.
Henceforth then,
Live, like to us, at peace within this land,
Our brothers, not our bane; our were-gild yours,
Our foe your foe, our feud your feud, and you,
No less than we, English in name and heart.
Up from the mouth of Thames along the Lea
To where the Ouse leads on to Watling Street
Hold you the land, but at my bidding still
If need should rise. Beyond, is Mercia;
Which Ethelred, my sister's trusty lord,
Under my rod will rule. You, Ethelnoth,
Rebuild and strengthen London, and make good
Our name along the twistings of the Thames;
While Werefrith, helped by Plegmund, shall renew
God's House at Winchester. Thanes, Freemen, Friends,
Let each one strive to quit him worthily.
For me, I have no other wish on earth,
Save to leave long remembrance after me
Of something done for England!

OSKYTEL
(gazing hard on Edgiva, who is standing by Edward).
What is this token, wound about your wrist?
Are you Sweyne's daughter? my dead comrade's child,
Whom we left, motherless, within the fork
Of a high wychelm, thinking soon to fetch
Her safely from that cradle, on the day
That Ethelwulf and Wulfheard, Saxon Thanes,
Beset our Jarls, and over the White Horse
Drove us in headlong rout across the stream.

EDWARD.
Noble I knew her!

ALFRED.
Nobly wed her then!
And when God calls me to Himself, for men
Know not how long or little they will stay,
May offspring worthy of your fair love and you,
Saxon with Dane, hand down the English Throne!

ETHELRED
(bursting into the tent).
Great news, my Lord! The ships you bade us build
Full nigh on twice the length of pagan esks,
At Swanage on the robber swan-necks rode,
And wedged them through the waves. Their splintered planks
Are weltering with the seaweed; their snapped oars,
Like to their carcases, the gurgling ooze
Sucks down, then belches forth again, to rot
Upon the brackish furrows of the brine.

ALFRED.
Now praised be God! for this is news indeed,
And Swanage crowns us more than Ethandune.
In this strong Isle sequestered by the sea
From tread outlandish, victory upon ground
Our own to keep or lose, is half defeat;
For why on English soil should foe's foot stand?
The battlemented Sea will beat him off,
So we but man it, and our bounding prows
Scatter him flying deathward o'er the foam,
Like loose leaves harried by autumnal wind.
Aye, and in those bright bodings that high Heaven
Vouchsafes at times to man, my ken foresees
That, once this land inviolably free
From threat without, its billow-suckled breed,
Yearning beyond the narrow bonds of birth,
Wherever shine the stars or rolls the tide,
Will lay their lordship on the waves, and be
Rulers and rovers of the widening world.

ALL.
Long live Alfred!
Long rule Alfred!
England's Comfort,
England's Shepherd,
England's Oarsman,
England's Darling!