“I am not old enough,” said the youth scornfully. “O Egwina, it breaketh my heart that I am not yet able to strike for my country, but I will bide my time.”
So the two set forth and followed after the army. Alfred had gathered his forces first at Egbert’s stone where the whole army had collected. The Saxons received him with acclamations of joy. Moving swiftly, Alfred then fell upon the pagans at Ethandune. They were taken completely by surprise.
The chief fault of the Saxons hitherto had been that they fought in an uncompact manner, and the Danes could overwhelm them by surrounding a part at a time. This Alfred had tried to overcome by direction and drill until now they fell upon the Danes an organized, skilled force. Furiously did the Northmen receive the assault. The discharge of the Saxon arrows was succeeded by the attack of the lances, and soon it became a personal conflict of swords. The Danes resisted with their customary intrepidity, but their efforts though furious were unavailing. Closer and closer to the combatants crept Edward and Egwina. The boy’s eyes were dilated with excitement. He trembled but not with fear. Suddenly Alfred’s own standard of the golden dragon upon a white ground, which Adiva and Gunnehilde had woven, tottered and fell. The standard-bearer was struck down with his death blow.
“The standard! the king’s own standard is down!” screamed Edward, wildly. “It must not be!”
“Edward! Edward!” shrieked Egwina, but the boy heard not, or if he heard, he did not heed. Over the intervening space he flew; snatched a sword from a dead body as he went, and then right to the front he ran, and hoisted the standard on high. The flying figure of the lad as he appeared amongst them thrilled the superstitious Saxons with awe. Alfred saw his son as he dashed into the thick of the fray, and as he noted with what bravery he bore himself, a smile of pride lighted up his face.
“Marry, the boy bears himself as if he were St. Neot come to lead us to victory!”
A Saxon near heard the word St. Neot, and saw the king gazing in the direction of the boy. Instantly he sent up the cry that St. Neot was in the midst of them. Through the Saxon lines it ran and raised their spirits to fever heat. Mad with enthusiasm, their resolute attack was everywhere irresistible, and the Northmen gave way. Their bodies strewed the plain. Of those that remained living, many fled in different directions, and the rest took refuge with Guthrum in the neighboring fortifications.
Alfred was master of the field. By one decisive blow he had broken the force of the Danish invasion. The fleeing Northmen were pursued and slaughtered. Then the king sat down before the fortress, calmly awaiting the surrender that must follow. After fourteen days, Guthrum, oppressed by want, cold and despair, sent overtures of peace, which the king, being filled with pity, accepted.
The pagans promised to leave the kingdom, after giving hostages to Alfred and receiving none, which thing had never been done before. Guthrum, being moved by the noble conduct of the king, signified his intention of embracing Christianity, much to the good Alfred’s delight. Seven weeks afterward, Guthrum, accompanied by thirty of his jarls, were baptized at a place called Aller, near Athelney, and there King Alfred received him as his son by adoption.
After eight days, during which time the Danes wore, in accordance with the custom of the times, the Chrismal—a white linen cloth put on the head when the rite of baptism was performed; the eighth day what was known as the Chrism-loosing, or removal of the cloths, took place at Wedmore, into which royal vill Alfred now repaired with his family and Egwina.