December 1013.—­

Ethelred has fled to Normandy.  He sent Queen Emma and her children before him.  Sweyn, the Dane, is now King of England.  There seems no resource but submission.  We are told Edric Streorn is in high favour in the Pagan court; and still is ealdorman of Mercia.  Alas! what a Christmas!

Candlemas, 1014.—­

God has at length bared His arm:  Sweyn is no more.  The blasphemer and parricide is gone to his dread account.  On the eve of the festival he filled up the measure of his damnation by daring to exact an enormous tribute from the town where rests the uncorrupt body of the precious martyr St. Edmund, which even the pagan Danes had hitherto feared to do.  He said that if it were not presently paid he would burn the town and its people, level to the ground the church of the martyr, and inflict various tortures on the clergy.  Not content with this, he disparaged the blessed martyr’s merits, daring to say there was no sanctity about him.  But, thus setting no bounds to his frowardness, Divine vengeance did not suffer the blasphemer to prolong his miserable existence.

Towards evening of the day when he had held a “thingcourt” at Gainsborough, where he had repeated all these threats amongst his warriors, he, alone of the crowd, saw St. Edmund approaching him with a dreadful aspect.

Struck with terror, he began to shout, “Help! comrades, help!  St. Edmund is at hand to slay me!”

While he spoke, the saint thrust his spear fiercely through him, and he fell from his war horse.  They bore him to a bed, whereon he suffered excruciating agonies till twilight, when he died the third of the nones of February.  From such a death, good Lord, deliver us!  The bloodthirsty and deceitful man shall not live out half his days; nevertheless, my trust shall be in thee, O Lord {xiv}!

Lent, 1014.—­

Ethelred has returned, and is again king; he has promised to amend his evil ways, and to be ruled by faithful and wise counsellors.  All England has rallied round the descendant of Edgar.  Canute has fled.

Eastertide.—­

Edmund has returned to court.  His father has received him graciously.  Alfgar is with him.  Elfwyn will not even yet consent to the marriage, saying, “Wait a little while; we have not yet done with the Danes.”  I fear he is right.

June 1015.—­

Herstan is here, and has brought us sad news.  A great council has just been held at Oxford, whereat Edric Streorn, to the indignation of all men, sat at the king’s right hand.  Would this had been all!  He invited Sigeferth and Morcar, two of the chief Thanes in the seven burghs, to supper with him; and there, when he had made them heavy with wine, he caused them to be cruelly murdered by hired ruffians.  Instead of punishing him, the king sanctioned the deed, took all their possessions, and sent Sigeferth’s widow to be kept prisoner at Malmesbury.  Alas! such deeds will call down God’s vengeance upon us.