My father and mother both sleep the sleep of the just.  They lived to see their children happy and prosperous, and then departed amidst the lamentations of all who had known and loved them.  Taken from the evil to come, we cannot mourn them, nor would we call them back, although we sorely missed their loved forms.  They were full of years, yet age had not dimmed their faculties.  My father died in the year 998, my mother the following year.  They rest by the side of their ancestors in the priory church.

My brother Elfwyn married Hilda, the daughter of Ceolfric, a Thane of Wessex, in the year 985.  He has two children—­Bertric, a fine lad of twelve, and as good as he is manly; and Ethelgiva, a merry girl of ten.  His household is well-ordered and happy—­nurtured in the admonition of the Lord.

For myself I have had many offers of promotion in the brotherhood of St. Benedict, but have refused them.  I was once offered the high office of abbot in one of our great Benedictine houses, but I wished to be near my own people and my father’s house, and here I trust I shall stay till I seek a continuing city, whose builder and maker is God.

And now a little about the state of the country round us.  In this neighbourhood we have as yet been preserved from the evils of war, but for many years past the Danes, those evil men, have renewed their inroads, as they used to make them before the great King Alfred pacified the country.  They began again in the year 980, and, with but slight intermission, have continued year by year.

The awful prophecy which God forced from the lips of Dunstan {ii}, at the coronation of our most unhappy king, has been too sadly fulfilled.  Ah me!  I fear the curse of the saints is upon him.  When the holy bishop departed this life, I was one of the few who stood round his bed, and as he foretold of the evil to come, he bade us all bear our portion manfully, for the time, he said, would be short in which to endure, and the eternal crown secure.

Many of those to whom he spoke have since died the martyr’s or the patriot’s death, but as yet no evil has reached us at Aescendune, although many parts of Wessex, nay, all the sea coast and the banks of the great rivers have been wasted with fire and sword, and the money which has been given the barbarians has been worse than wasted, for they only come for more.

Our armies seem led by traitors; our councils, sad to say, by fools.  Nothing prospers, and thoughtless people say the saints are asleep.  Every day we say the petition in our Litany, “That it would please Thee to abate the cruelty of our pagan enemies, and to turn their hearts; we beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord,” and we must wait His time, and pray for strength to submit to His will.

Around the priory live the serfs, the theows, and ceorls of the estate, each in his own little cottage, save the domestics, who live at the Hall, which is only half-a-mile distant.