hosts closed on London, and at last even the brave citizens were
forced to yield to him. Then Ethelred our king must needs fly from
his throne, and leave the land to its Danish master.

Yet it was true, as Eadmund the Atheling said, that the Dane was
but master of the land, and not of the English people. Even today
my mind is full of wondering honour for those sullen Saxon levies
of ours who for three years bore defeat after defeat at the hands
of the trained and hardened veterans of the north, uncomplaining
and unbent. What wonder if at last we were wearied out and must
hold our hands for a while?

So now when I was nineteen, and looking and feeling many years
older by reason of the long stress of warfare and trouble, I was at
Rouen, in Normandy, at the court of our queen's brother, Richard
the Duke. To him Ethelred had fled at the last and there, too, were
the queen and the athelings, good Abbot Elfric of Peterborough, and
a few more of the court, besides myself. Ethelred had hoped to gain
some help from the duke; but he could only give us shelter in our
need, for he had even yet to hold the land that Rolf, his
forefather, had won against his neighbours, and could spare us not
one of his warriors.

So in Rouen we waited and watched for some new turn of things that
might give us fresh hopes of regaining our own land. Yet it was a
weary waiting for one knew not what; and Ethelred the king grew
moody and despairing as the days went on, and there seemed to be no
help.

But Eadmund was ever planning for return, and was restless, riding