Eandun: Epic Poem (eBook)
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EPUB
2021
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1. Auflage
117 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-7101-2 (ISBN)
117 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-7101-2 (ISBN)
Epic poem of the struggle of young King Alfred and his wife Lady Ealhswith with the pagan Danish invaders in 878 AD.
Packed with sharp depictions of combat, prayer, debate, and natural beauty, this epic poem recreates the physical and mental world of the Christian West Saxons and the pagan Danish invaders. Centered on southwestern Britain in the 9th century, the story shows young King Alfred and his wife Lady Ealhswith struggling for survival in the face of the Northmen's onslaught, while Jarl Gormr tries to found a new kingship on a council of headstrong warlords. Driven into the wilderness, Alfred seeks in vain for Ealhswith and Bishop Athelheah, then infiltrates the Danish court and serves Gormr as a trusted cunning man. He escapes and raises a small army. History unfolds, as it does, in calamity and miracle.
Packed with sharp depictions of combat, prayer, debate, and natural beauty, this epic poem recreates the physical and mental world of the Christian West Saxons and the pagan Danish invaders. Centered on southwestern Britain in the 9th century, the story shows young King Alfred and his wife Lady Ealhswith struggling for survival in the face of the Northmen's onslaught, while Jarl Gormr tries to found a new kingship on a council of headstrong warlords. Driven into the wilderness, Alfred seeks in vain for Ealhswith and Bishop Athelheah, then infiltrates the Danish court and serves Gormr as a trusted cunning man. He escapes and raises a small army. History unfolds, as it does, in calamity and miracle.
I. The Wiltshire Front
The Danes’ conquest of Northumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia has left West Saxon Alfred the sole independent native king. Alfred and his thanes are discussing whether to pay an agreed indemnity when a guardsman announces a visitor. Athelnoth and Wulfhere interview the newcomer, who breaks free and attacks the king. Alfred orders Ealhswith to take their children to Frome for safekeeping.
Pour your glory, Lord, on the struggling king,
who by your hand ransomed the ravaged land;
illuminate the faces of your people,
who bled for you on every slaughterfield;
and kindle, Comforter, our uncouth hearts
that we may burn to do your will and earn
the blessings, not the curses, of our ancestors.
The pagan Danes had conquered the four kingdoms.
Clerics and kings, churls and thanes they’d slain,
while the living they plundered and enslaved.
Alfred, caked with the blood of friend and foe,1
tasted the dregs of that envenomed horn,
but, granted faith and craft by our dear Savior,
he steeped old Godrum’s host in faith and fear2
and steered the stubborn oarsmen from our soil.
Long years the heathens raged, led by strong kings.
They splashed ashore and seized Northumbria3
and crowned a puppet king, who purchased peace.
They martyred Edmund rex and set a puppet4
on the East Anglian seat. He purchased peace.
They maimed the Mercian host at holy Repton;
their new-made puppet, quaking, purchased peace.
Alone the West Saxons kept their cyning,5
whose throne Woden-descended Cerdic reared6
when Arian Theodoric ruled Rome.7
Alone the tender mercies of our Father
spared Alfred’s people from the sword of Gorm,
though Alfred too had purchased peace at Wilton,8
at Wareham, and again at Exeter.9
After seeing the Danes across his border,
trailing them up the Fosse Way to the Thames,
King Alfred, pious Athulf’s youngest son,10
retired with his troops to Chippenham,
where Athelwulf had built a hunting lodge.
The Saxon captain loved that timbered den
surrounded by tall trees, where as a boy,
when Osburh lived, his godly Jutish dam,
he’d seen his sister marry Mercian Burgred,11
and where his children now scrapped and scrabbled.
The meadows round about fed browsing cattle,
the neighboring woodlands pastured deer and swine,
and brown hares could be taken everywhere.12
Standing at ease in his scriptorium,
a beechwood fire crackling at his back,
West Saxon Alfred beamed at Athelnoth,
his minister in Somerton, and said,
“Carissime, companion in our wars,
whose war-lamp lighted heathen fiends to hell,
I plan to put you up for alderman
of Somerset, the land of milk and must.
These slopes and moors that nourish sheeted cattle,
these harbors, markets, turbaries, and mines,
all these we lease to you, which you’ll confirm
with lump amounts I don’t doubt you’ll find.
Werwulf has prepared this charter here,
which only lacks your handwrit or cross.”
As Athelnoth imbibed these heady words
Lord Wulfhere, long-time alderman of Wiltshire13
glared at the king from under tangled brows.
“Illustrissime rector,” Wulfhere said,
“son of Athelwulf and seed of Ingeld,14
the silver you exact from this young thane15
to execute these kingly, lavish grants
will sap the very lifeblood of his office.
Consider sending flooded Somerset
a prince unfettered by such debts and rents,
to wit, my son, the uncle of your nephews.”16
King Alfred eyed the graduated candle
as a hound gnawed a loud bone at his feet.
A widow and two sons survived his brother,17
King Athelred, who perished after Merton.
She was Wulfhere’s daughter, they his grandsons—
her brother thus was quasi-royalty.
“Eala, these heathen fiends,” said Alfred,
“even in victory, I’m still their slave.
Their lying chief, who breached the peace at Wareham,18
punctiliously expects his promised pence.
And I have thirty growing guards to feed.”
“Send twenty of them home,” said prudent Wulfhere.
“And let my Wiltshiremen depart in peace.
As for your payment due, damp Somerset
encompasses the Glastonbury hoard,
including Saint David’s giant sapphire.”
The Saxon captain turned to Athelnoth,
a native of the yearly flooded moors.
“Shall we lay hands,” he asked, “on means amassed
for seven centuries by Joseph’s monks?19
Demand a gift from Abbot Herefrith?
A sportula to prove his loyalty?”
But Athelnoth was in no mood for jokes.
“Do we defend our altars with our arms,”
he asked, “or yield their riches on demand?
Come spring, old Godrum’s crews will gather here
with whetted shares to plow our people’s flesh.
So why augment the coffers of the devils
with silver you can use to feed your sheep?
Is my lord more honorable than God?”
His features darkening, one finger pointing
upwards like an apostle’s, Alfred said,
“The Romans, hedged about with strangers, found
a haven in their fathers’ treasury.
The Hebrew kings, we read, likewise appeased
the Syrians and fierce Assyrians
with precious metals fetched from the Lord’s temple.20
Men pay the stipulated price of peace
to spare themselves the punishments of war.”
“The peace of Wilton,” Wulfhere said, “endured
four priceless years.21 However much we spent,
the men whose blood we bought must count it cheap.”
Here entered the senior hoard-guard and bowed.
“An East Angle is come from Lundenburg
with gifts, he says, for our anointed king.”
The Athulfing (that’s Alfred) gave a smile.
“Ask and you shall have,” he said. “A wise man
from the east. Invite him back tonight to feast
the first appearance of our living Lord.”22
The guardsman paused, then stammered out, “The Angle,
the Angle begs an audience with my lord.
He has a plan to magnify your throne.”
“Don’t see him, Lord,” the Somersetan warned.
(That’s Athelnoth.) “The town is thick with Danes.”
But Wulfhere welcomed gifts from wheresoever
to resupply the king’s depleted means.
“All of you, go, and grill this visitor,”
the Saxon chief impatiently replied.
“But if it’s just another dun from Gorm—
just promise him his patron will be...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 17.5.2021 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Lyrik / Dramatik ► Lyrik / Gedichte |
| ISBN-10 | 1-0983-7101-1 / 1098371011 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-0983-7101-2 / 9781098371012 |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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