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Alfred, finding it was in vain to conclude treaties with such a perfidious race of people, resolved to take more effectual measures to secure himself from their treachery. For this purpose he convened a general assembly. He represented to them that they had nothing to trust to but their own valour and courage, to deliver them from their miseries, and urged upon them the absolute necessity of venturing their lives in defence of their country, and of sacrificing part of their estates to preserve the remainder. His eloquent remonstrances having produced the effect he expected, a force was levied, with which he went after the enemy, who had taken Exeter. Finding that they could not be dislodged from the castle, he was once more constrained to treat with the invaders; and though he could place no great dependence upon their promises, it was the only way by which he could put an end to a disastrous war. The new treaty, in which the Danes undertook not to return any more into Wessex, was somewhat better kept than the former one.

The respite, however, was an exceedingly brief one, and in the year 878 Alfred's fortunes were at their lowest ebb. In the beginning of the year the Danes fitted out an expedition with great secrecy, the object of which was to overwhelm Wessex. The attack took place so suddenly that Alfred was ill prepared to meet it. Chippenham was taken, and the dispirited English no longer felt courage to prosecute the war. Many fled, whilst others (and of them not a few) leagued themselves with the Danes, swearing allegiance to them.

So general was the defection, that the unhappy monarch found himself deserted by all but a few domestics and faithful friends, who still adhered to his fallen fortunes. In this extremity, he showed himself greater, perhaps, than when on the throne, and acted with a prudence and wisdom which few princes would have found courage to imitate. He dismissed them all; and, with no other support than his courage and patriotism, set forth a wanderer, alone, and on foot, in the kingdom he had so lately reigned over.

Such was his poverty that the uncrowned king was compelled to solicit shelter in the hut of a neat-herd in the island of Athelney, in Somersetshire, a remote spot, surrounded by a dangerous marsh, wild and desolate as his own fortunes, and only to be approached by a single path, and that but little known. Here the fugitive had time to repair his shattered health, collect his thoughts, and meditate on plans for the future delivery of his oppressed and outraged country. Savage and uninviting as was his retreat, it afforded that which he had most need of, safety.

It is recorded that, whilst Alfred was an inmate of this abode, the neat-herd's wife, who did not know him, having occasion to quit the cottage for a time, set him the task of watching the cakes of rye-bread which were baking on the fire. The king, whose mind was distracted by far more important subjects, neglected his instructions, and when the woman returned she found the cakes blackened and burnt. If tradition speaks truly, the virago chid him soundly, reproaching him that he was more ready to eat than to work.

In this miserable concealment the fugitive remained six months, when fortune, tired of persecuting him, appeared to relent, and once more smiled upon the efforts of the brave, but hitherto unlucky, English.

Hubba, who had been entrusted by his brother Ingvar with the command of his troops, had invaded Wales, laying the country in flames, ravaging, and destroying. He afterwards penetrated into Devonshire, in the kingdom of Wessex, with a similar intent. At his approach the Alderman of Devon retreated with a body of determined men to Kenworth Castle, on the river Taw, in order to withstand them. The Danish chief not long before had decided on attacking the fortress, believing that the scanty garrison would surrender at his first summons; in which opinion, however, he was doomed to find himself mistaken, for the earl, seeing that it was impossible to defend the place with so few men, however devoted, told them frankly that one only course was left for them, to conquer and live free men, or die beneath the swords of their relentless enemy. His harangue had the desired effect: the English, animated by his words, sallied forth, and fell upon the Danes so unexpectedly, that before they could recover from their panic their leader was slain; on seeing which, his followers fled in all directions. The spot where Hubba fell was afterwards called Hubblestain, or Hubblelaw, from the monument raised over his remains by his countrymen.

On hearing the joyful intelligence of this victory, Alfred left his concealment, and called his friends once more to arms. They assembled in separate bodies in various parts of the kingdom, establishing such means of communication as might enable them to join their forces together at the shortest notice; and here a somewhat mythical story is told. It is said that the great difficulty was to ascertain the position of the enemy, which dangerous task the patriot king undertook himself. The story runs that, disguised as a harper, he made his way into the Danish camp, and stayed there several days, secretly noting the disposition of their forces all the while. Having acquainted himself with all he wished to learn, Alfred returned to his countrymen, and named Selwood Forest for the general place of meeting. His directions were carried out so expeditiously, that in a comparatively brief space of time the English monarch was enabled to attack his enemy at the head of a powerful army, consisting of the inhabitants of Somersetshire, Wiltshire, and Hampshire. The Danes, though unexpectedly assailed, defended themselves with their usual bravery, but at last were entirely routed. They attributed their defeat to the loss of the raven standard, which had been taken when Hubba fell, and to which they superstitiously attached magical powers—that it indicated victory and defeat by clapping or depressing its wings. This battle was fought at Edington, not far from Trowbridge, in 878.

The consequence of this victory for the English was the Treaty of Wedmore. By it England was divided between Alfred and Guthrum, the Danish king of East Anglia, the latter receiving by far the larger part of England, but the former keeping London. The boundary line ran along the Thames to the mouth of the Lea, thence to Bedford and the Ouse to Watling Street. Thus Alfred retained Wessex and the south-west of Mercia, where he established an alderman, called Ethelred, who married his daughter, Ethelflæd, shortly to become famous as the "Lady of the Mercians." Guthrum at this time became a convert to Christianity, and was baptised under the name of Athelstan. It was not a glorious peace; but the terms were as good as could be expected, and England was at peace for several years.