Between Twelfth Day and Easter Day of the year 878 there were barely eleven weeks, for Easter fell early that year, namely on March 23. Of Alfred’s doings in that interval we have no information, except in so far as it seems to be indicated that the affair of Cynwit was not conducted without his intervention. And we may add the traditional story of the cakes, a story which probably dates from Alfred’s day, as we have reasonably good evidence that it was current in the tenth century. Nor may we omit his espial of the Danish camp in minstrel guise, a legend which, though not found in early authorities, yet does claim some credit from the book in which it is narrated, namely the Book of Hyde—a book in which we might expect to find some early traditions of New Minster, one of king Alfred’s foundations.
But while we desire to make the most of these items, it must be admitted that they constitute an inadequate furniture for eleven weeks of Alfred’s time in the most intense crisis of his life. At any other point in Alfred’s career, the silence of so many weeks might not provoke remark, but at this moment it makes a sensible void. If, however, we rightly apprehend the situation of the fugitive king, his hopes and his fears, his aims and his resources, we may (in the light of the great result) indulge a sober imagination without fear of considerable error.
Among the pieces of genuine tradition which seem to greet the explorer in Asser’s Life, there is perhaps none on which we may more confidently lean than a certain fragment in the paragraph beginning ‘Interea tamen rex[42].’
The drift of this context is that with all his wars and frequent interruptions, Alfred ruled his kingdom, and ‘practised every branch of the craft of venery; directed his goldsmiths and all his artificers; did moreover instruct the falconers and hawk-catchers and dog-trainers; and by his own novel engineering constructed buildings beyond all former wont, statelier and more costly; had Saxon books read to him, and commanded others to learn Saxon poems by heart, &c.’
In this passage I seem to recognize a true historic note; and I think that in this picture of the range of his powers, and the roll of his accomplishments, his vast activity and versatility, we have some genuine reminiscences of the personality of Alfred. In the emphasis here laid on hunting, we may recognize the king who, some years later, sent a present of wolfhounds to the archbishop of Rheims, and such dogs, too, that their quality and breed was accentuated by the receiver in his grateful acknowledgement[43]. And when to this we add that he could make and sing a song, could tell a good tale, could make choice of men and win their confidence, we need little aid from imagination to perceive how this mysterious visitor might captivate the British hearts of all Somerset like one man, and perhaps set them wondering whether it could be their own ideal king Arthur come back to them again.
During nearly three months of that eventful year his aim was to cultivate closer relations with the people of that outlying territory, desiring that they might become attached to him with sentiments of loyalty and friendship. To devote himself to this undertaking was at once his duty, his interest, and his delight. For such an achievement as this he had advantages both natural and acquired. Apart from war, there is nothing like hunting for making comrades, if a man have a genial soul and be himself a mighty hunter. Alfred was a mighty hunter and a genial soul, and close at hand there was one of the finest hunting-grounds in the world.
Immediately from the Pedridan swamp the ground began to rise to north and north-west towards a run of hilly and woodland country forty miles long, and from ten to twenty miles broad; a country which remains singular to this day for its natural breed of red deer and its chase of the great game. This royal sport survives on Exmoor and in the Quantocks, and there are Minehead people who can tell you that they have seen the stag-hunt scamper through their main street in full cry.
At the entrance of this country, at a point which is conveniently situated for uniting activity inland with a constant observation of the line of Pedrida, is a village which is now called North Newton, with which Petherton Park had been so long and closely linked that it went by the popular name of Newton Park. I am led by a number of small indications to infer that this is the place where Alfred had his chief residence during those early months of the year 878.
When Easter came, his action began to be overt; he dropped personal disguise, and stood forth as Ælfred cyning. ‘When Easter came, king Alfred, with a small force, constructed a fort at Athelney, and out of that fort was warring against the invading host, he and the men of Somerset, that portion of them which was nighest[44].’ This is the action of a commander who has made sure of his following, and is now beginning his operations against the enemy. He fortifies himself on the east side of the bridge, where a conical hill offers an opportune position; and from that basis he opens a guerilla warfare with the invaders. He does not show his hand: he rather wants to be thought weak. This naturally draws away from head quarters more and more of the hostile force, who think that they shall presently deal a last blow to the Saxon resistance. And so with a petty and apparently futile display of military force, he continues to amuse and distract the enemy for the next six weeks.