nd down Wessex, thrashed and trodden out as the nation is by this
time, there are other good men and true, who will neither cross the sea
nor the Welsh marches nor make terms with the pagan; some sprinkling of
men who will yet set life at stake, for faith in Christ and love of
England. If these can only be rallied, who can say what may follow? So,
in the lengthening days of spring, council is held in Selwood, and there
will have been Easter services in some chapel or hermitage in the
forest, or, at any rate, in some quiet glade. The "day of days" will
surely have had its voice of hope for this poor remnant. Christ is risen
and reigns; and it is not in these heathen Danes, or in all the Northmen
who ever sailed across the sea, to put back his kingdom or to enslave
those whom he has freed.

The result is that, far away from the eastern boundary of the forest, on
a rising ground--hill it can scarcely be called--surrounded by dangerous
marshes formed by the little rivers Thone and Parret, fordable only in
summer, and even then dangerous to all who have not the secret, a small
fortified camp is thrown up under Alfred's eye, by Ethelnoth and the
Somersetshire men, where he can once again raise his standard. The spot
has been chosen by the King with the utmost care, for it is his last
throw. He names it the Etheling's _eig_ or island, "Athelney." Probably
his young son, the Etheling of England, is there among the first, with
his mother and his grandmother Eadburgha, the widow of Ethelred Mucil,
the venerable lady whom Asser saw in later years, and who has now no
country but her daughter's. There are, as has been reckoned, some two
acres of hard ground on the island, and around vast brakes of
alder-bush, full of deer and other game.

Here the Somersetshire men can keep up constant communication with him,
and a small army grows together. They are soon strong enough to make
forays into the open country, and in many skirmishes they cut off
parties of the pagans and supplies. "For, even when overthrown and cast
down," says Malmesbury, "Alfred had always to be fought with; so, then
when one would esteem him altogether worn down and broken, like a snake
slipping from the hand of him who would grasp it, he would suddenly
flash out again from his hiding-places, rising up to smite his foes in
the height of their insolent confidence, and never more hard to beat
than after a flight."

But it was still a trying life at Athelney. Follower