Saint Alfred the Great

✠ Book I: The Seeds of the Kingdom ✠- The Child of Wantage (c. 849–856)

In the middle of the ninth century, a pall of dread hung over Christian England. The once-flourishing kingdoms of the Anglo-Saxons—Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex—stood in peril from waves of pagan invaders. Churches lay in ruins, holy relics were scattered, and the people’s hearts quailed at the oft-heard prayers in every litany: A furore Normannorum libera nos, Domine—“From the fury of the Northmen deliver us, O Lord.” Year after year, Viking longships slithered up English rivers, bringing fire and sword. In 851, for the first time, a Viking army wintered on English soil, a grim portent that these heathen incursions were turning into an outright conquest. In these dark days, the men of Wessex clasped their hands heavenward and cried, “Lord, have mercy upon us! Good Lord, deliver us!” – Kýrie, eléison… Yet even as the Northmen’s fury fell, a child was born who would become England’s deliverer by God’s grace.

Late in the year of our Lord 849, in the royal estate of Wantage, Queen Osburh gave birth to her fifth and youngest child: a son, fair of face and destined for greatness. The infant was named Alfred, meaning in the old tongue “Elf-counsel,” an unlikely name that in God’s providence would come to signify wise counsel and blessed peace. King Æthelwulf of Wessex, Alfred’s father, was a devout and gentle ruler . On the night of Alfred’s birth, the old king knelt beside the cradle with tears of joy. He placed a small silver cross upon the baby’s brow, dedicating him at once to the service of Christ. In the hushed firelight of the hall, as retainers and kin gathered in awe, Osburh raised her voice in a soft hymn of thanksgiving in both Latin and Saxon. The men present crossed themselves while the midwife lifted the infant prince toward the dim lamplight. Some later said that at that moment the candle flame burned unusually bright, as if foreshadowing the light this child would bring to a dark land. Amid gentle chants of “Kýrie eléison… Christe eléison… Gloria in excélsis Deo,” the newborn Alfred was swaddled and carried to the chapel for his first blessing. Thus, from his first breaths, Alfred was enveloped in prayer.

Queen Osburh, Alfred’s mother, was revered as a woman of deep piety and noble character . She descended from the Jutish nobility of the Isle of Wight, being the daughter of Oslac the royal cup-bearer, and she inherited both noble blood and a noble soul. Gentle and wise, Osburh nurtured her children’s souls before all else. In Alfred’s earliest years, when the boy was plagued by bouts of ill health and fever, Osburh spent many nights at his bedside whispering prayers and psalms. Wrapped in woolen blankets, the frail child often trembled with chills. Yet those who looked upon his face saw a calm and thoughtful gaze, as though a heavenly peace already rested in his eyes. Whenever Alfred felt overwhelmed by weakness, he would clutch a small wooden cross that his nurse had hung around his neck – a humble talisman of faith they called “Alfred’s bread.” The boy would murmur a simple prayer his mother taught him: “Domine, ut sis mihi lumen,” meaning “Lord, be my light”. In such wise did the little prince learn to turn every affliction into an offering to God. Courtiers marveled that one so young could show such patience in suffering. It was as if the Holy Spirit already consoled Alfred’s soul, granting him a precocious fortitude. Some whispered among themselves that God must have a special purpose for this child who bore pain with a saintly grace.

By all accounts, Alfred was the darling of King Æthelwulf’s house, dearly loved by both his father and mother . Seeing his aptitude and yearning, Osburh took special care for his education in an age when learning was scarce. In the dawn hours, Queen Osburh’s clear voice would be heard leading her children in chant of the morning Psalms. Dressed in a simple robe with a veil over her hair, she taught them to recite Venite, exultémus Dómino – “O come, let us sing unto the Lord” – interweaving Latin with the Anglo-Saxon tongue so that even little Alfred absorbed the words’ meaning. At dusk, by the light of the hearth-fire, Osburh would gather Alfred and his siblings at her feet. From a large illuminated psalter, its pages brightly painted in gold and colors, she read to them the ancient stories of Holy Scripture. Alfred listened wide-eyed to tales of David facing Goliath with only faith and a sling; of the prophet Jonah cast into the sea only to be saved by God’s providence; of the steadfast trust of Daniel in the lions’ den. These sacred stories, told in Osburh’s soothing voice, sunk deep into Alfred’s memory. Once, as the Queen gently turned the vellum pages and laid a cool hand on Alfred’s feverish forehead, the child fell asleep against her side. Smiling, Osburh whispered a nightly prayer over him: “Domine, da pacem his nóctibus” – “Lord, grant peace to these nights”. Thus Alfred spent his earliest days in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, cradled in the rhythms of prayer and the poetry of the Psalms.

Osburh also kindled in Alfred a love of wisdom and language, planting the seeds of learning that would one day bloom in his reign. In those times, few except clerics could read Latin or even the native Saxon tongue. Books were rare treasures. One winter’s eve, when Alfred was perhaps five years old, Queen Osburh produced a beautifully illuminated manuscript of Old English poetry as a surprise for her children . The pages were adorned with bright illustrations and ornate capital letters that sparkled with gold ink. The royal brothers crowded around eagerly. Holding up the book, Osburh declared with a playful smile that she would gift it to whichever of her sons could first learn to read and recite the verses. Alfred’s eyes shone at the sight of the book’s wondrous lettering. “Do you truly promise to give this book to the one who can understand it first?” he asked his mother earnestly . Osburh laughed softly and affirmed she did. Though Alfred was the youngest of the princes, he was filled with resolve. He gently took the book from his mother’s hands, found a tutor at court to help him, and in a remarkably short time memorized the Old English verses and learned to recognize the letters . Soon little Alfred came before the Queen and recited the poetry flawlessly from memory, his childish voice pronouncing each alliterative line with pride. True to her word, Osburh rewarded him with the illuminated book. The court marveled both at Alfred’s victory and at his obvious delight in the written word. This charming tableau, recorded by those who knew him, gives us a first glimpse of Alfred’s lifelong passion for learning . It was highly unusual then for a lay child—and a noble at that—to hunger for books. But Alfred’s heart had been touched by the beauty of wisdom, and he would never forsake it. As one chronicler later noted, “the boy took the book out of her hand… and recited it” to earn his prize . Whether by natural gift or a special grace, Alfred from childhood displayed an extraordinary curiosity and a retentive memory, which God would use for the good of his people.

While Alfred grew in years and grace under Osburh’s loving guidance, the perils gathering outside the royal hall drew ever nearer. King Æthelwulf and Queen Osburh strove to instill faith in their children to prepare them for the hardships to come. In those years, Wessex was the last strong bulwark of Christian England. Mercia, the great midland kingdom, had dominated in the last century, but its power waned after the death of the mighty King Offa. Under King Egbert (Æthelwulf’s father and Alfred’s grandfather), Wessex had risen to overlordship in southern England. Yet the Northmen’s invasions were changing the fortunes of all. By the time Alfred was a small boy, heathen Viking armies had already ravaged the eastern kingdoms. Northumbria had been shattered in 867, its churches plundered and its people subjugated. In 869 the devout King Edmund of East Anglia was martyred by the Danes when he refused to renounce Christ . The heads of priests and the stones of altars had been left scattered across the land. Each year brought new horror: the Chronicle records that in 853 and 854 fierce Viking hosts slew the Christians of London and Canterbury; in 855 a band of pagans even wintered on the Isle of Sheppey off Wessex’s eastern coast. These tidings reached the court at Winchester and filled pious King Æthelwulf with sorrow. What sin had England committed, he wondered, to merit such scourge? Like the kings of old in Scripture, Æthelwulf turned for counsel to the Church.

Around the year 853, when Alfred was four, a grave vision was reportedly granted to a certain holy man in Wessex – a priest known for his austerity. It was said that an angel appeared to this priest, warning that God’s judgment loomed over the Christians of England. In the vision, the angel declared that the people’s sins and negligence of the Lord’s Day cried out for correction. If they did not swiftly repent, a heathen people would be unleashed to ravage the land with sword and flame. Repentance, prayer, fasting, and almsgiving alone could turn aside this wrath. When King Æthelwulf heard of this prophetic dream, he was greatly moved. He saw in the prophecy an explanation for the sufferings already inflicted by the Danes, and a call to deeper devotion. Thus, in that same year 853, the King made a momentous decision: he would undertake a pilgrimage of penitence to the threshold of the Apostles in Rome. Such a journey from the far ends of Europe was arduous and rare for a king in those perilous times. But Æthelwulf was determined to seek heavenly aid for his embattled people. And he resolved to take little Alfred, his dearest child, along with him, to place the boy directly under God’s hand and the blessing of Saint Peter.

So it came to pass that in the spring of 853, envoys from Wessex arrived in Rome heralding the approach of an English prince. The Pope of that time was Leo IV, a wise and stout-hearted pontiff who had fortified the walls of Rome against Arab pirates. When King Æthelwulf’s party finally reached the Holy City after many travails across land and sea, they were received with great honor. Imagine the procession making its way through the streets of Rome: Æthelwulf in his traveling cloak, road-weary but radiant with piety, and at his side little Alfred, a fair-haired boy of four years, gazing in wonder at the towering basilicas and ancient arches. On a bright day in that year 853, within the venerable old basilica of St. Peter, Pope Leo IV himself lifted Prince Alfred into his arms in view of the congregation. Amid clouds of incense and the glow of many candles, the Pope anointed Alfred with holy oil, marking him with a special blessing. By tradition recorded in the chronicles, Pope Leo proclaimed the English child Consul of the Romans and a spiritual son of the Apostolic See. He placed a small crown or pallium upon Alfred’s head as a sign of the consecration. It was highly unusual for so young a child to receive such attention, but Pope Leo foresaw Alfred’s destiny to rule and defend Christian people. As the holy oil trickled down Alfred’s forehead, those present stood in awed silence. One ancient annal even claims that a ray of sunlight broke through the church’s high windows at that moment and fell like a halo around Alfred’s golden head. Whether by miracle or by the natural shifting of clouds, it seemed to those present that heaven smiled on this Saxon prince. King Æthelwulf knelt with tears of joy, thanking God that his beloved son was thus sealed for divine service. Thenceforth, Alfred was bound not only to an earthly royal lineage but also, in a special way, to the service of Christ’s Church. Pope Leo IV became Alfred’s godfather in the faith, declaring that this little boy was to be “a consular ruler for the English and a shepherd of many peoples under Christ.” It was a prophetic benediction that would only fully reveal itself in the years to come.

Æthelwulf spent a full year in Rome with Alfred, lavishly thanking God for their safe arrival. The King endowed the churches of the Apostles with rich gifts: gold chalices, silken altar-cloths, and a gold crown—perhaps offered on Alfred’s behalf. He distributed alms generously, freeing slaves and feeding the poor of the city . According to Asser’s chronicle, Æthelwulf also confirmed in Rome a promise he had made: he granted a perpetual tenth of his royal lands to God, that the Church and the poor might always receive support. This noble act of devotion, offering a tithe of the kingdom itself, was unprecedented among the Anglo-Saxon kings. It demonstrated Æthelwulf’s earnest hope that by this sacrifice, the Lord would show mercy to the land afflicted by pagan invaders. Pope Leo, greatly pleased by the West Saxon king’s piety, in turn conferred singular honors upon Alfred. He celebrated a solemn Mass in the boy’s presence and presented him with a small cloak and belt, investitures as a consul and as a Christian knight of sorts. In essence, Pope Leo IV acknowledged Alfred as one who, though not yet a king, was dedicated to the defense of the faith and the rule of justice. The Roman people, we are told, rejoiced to see “the son of the English” thus honored. Indeed, Pope Leo went so far as to adopt Alfred as his spiritual son at confirmation. Thus Alfred received the anointing of the Spirit and a paternal blessing from the Successor of St. Peter, a grace that would remain with him all his life.

After many months spent in prayer and pilgrimage amid the shrines of the martyrs, King Æthelwulf made plans to return to his beleaguered country. In the year 855, he and young Alfred departed Rome. Pope Leo gave them letters of commendation and rich gifts for the churches of Wessex – including, it is said, a piece of the True Cross of our Lord as a token of special favor. Father and son traveled north through the kingdoms of the Franks. At the Frankish royal court, another event awaited: King Æthelwulf took as his new bride the Frankish princess Judith, daughter of King Charles the Bald. (Alfred’s mother Osburh, sadly, had likely passed away by this time, for she disappears from the records after Alfred’s early childhood .) The marriage to Judith was intended to seal an alliance and perhaps provide maternal care for Alfred, but it caused controversy back home – for West Saxon tradition frowned on crowning a king’s wife as queen, and Æthelwulf’s eldest surviving son, Æthelbald, resented this new marriage. Still, Alfred’s year abroad left an indelible impression on his soul. He had seen the glories and struggles of Christendom beyond his native shores. He had knelt in the threshold of the tombs of St. Peter and St. Paul. He had felt the touch of the Vicar of Christ blessing him with holy oil and holy words. All these things worked together for good in Alfred’s formation. Even at age seven, returning from Rome across the Alps on a mule beside his father, Alfred’s heart must have pondered what great work God might call him to do one day for the sake of His people. King Æthelwulf surely spoke to his son during their long journey home of many solemn things: of the duty of a Christian king to be a servant of all; of the need for courage and faith in the face of heathen assaults; of the duty to uphold God’s law in the realm. We may imagine the old king pointing to the sky as they rode beneath the Alps’ shadow and saying, like the wise bishop had said to young Constantine, “My son, never forget that if God has chosen to save you and raise you up, it is because He has work for you to do when you are a man.” Alfred listened and kept all these words in his heart.

Upon returning to Wessex in 856, Alfred’s life entered a new phase. The prince was now around seven or eight years old. Tragically, King Æthelwulf did not live long after their return. In 858, only two years later, the good King died and was buried at Steyning, having ruled as a just and God-fearing monarch. England’s chronicles say that all his people mourned Æthelwulf, for he had been a gentle father to them, “one who by prayer and alms strove to avert the wrath of God”. Alfred, though so young, was deeply affected by his father’s death. But there was little time for childhood grief: the burden of defending Wessex now fell upon Alfred’s elder brothers. Æthelwulf had been succeeded first by his son Æthelbald (Alfred’s eldest brother) who ruled only a short time, and then by the next brother, Æthelberht. Alfred thus spent his boyhood at the courts of his brothers, observing the art of kingship at close hand. Though not yet a king himself, Alfred was beloved by his brothers and was included in their councils due to his precocious wisdom and the special charisma he possessed. The chronicler Asser notes that Alfred had “a graceful and winsome appearance, and was exceedingly beloved by both his father and mother, and indeed by all the people” . This favor followed him even under his brothers’ reigns.

During these years, Alfred’s education faced an impediment common in that age: despite his love of knowledge, he had not yet learned to read Latin, and there were few learned priests in Wessex to teach a layman. Alfred lamented in later life that as a youth he “could not find a single master in the whole kingdom to teach him” the liberal arts . Even so, he continued to memorize the prayers and Anglo-Saxon songs he heard. He committed to heart the daily and nightly offices of the Church long before he could read the Psalter for himself. Wherever Alfred went, he carried in his bosom a small book in which were written devout prayers and psalms in English, so that he might readily consult them. Asser recounts how Alfred kept this little book—his enchiridion or “handbook”—on his person day and night as a spiritual armament. Moreover, Alfred excelled in the skills expected of a young noble: he became an adept hunter, horseman, and warrior in training, despite his physical ailments. The boy who had once been so sickly grew into a youth hardy and swift. He loved the thrill of the chase and gained renown for bringing down stag and boar with spear and bow, all the while giving thanks to God the Creator for the providence of the hunt. His physical vigor, however, was tempered by a chronic infirmity. According to the records, Alfred suffered from an mysterious malady that first struck him in his youth and plagued him intermittently throughout his life. Some have thought it to be a severe pain of the stomach or joints; others suggest it might have been a form of epilepsy or a lingering internal injury. At times the pain would seize him sharply, causing his joints to swell or his gait to falter. Yet Alfred bore this cross without complaint. He never let his suffering become an excuse for idleness or self-pity. A certain monkish scholar, seeing Alfred wracked by pain one day, remarked that such lifelong affliction could be a means of sanctification—a “refining fire” for the spirit, to purify God’s servant. Alfred, then in the fullness of his youth, gently agreed: “Yes – a whetstone of my soul. If I must suffer, let it be usefully so. It keeps me humble, and reminds me to pray,” he said. Thus even in adversity Alfred discerned God’s fatherly mercy. Like the holy Job, he accepted both good and ill from the Lord’s hand, trusting that “all things work together for good to them that love God” (Rom. 8:28). Those around him marveled, saying one to another that Alfred’s patience in tribulation was surely a sign of God’s grace within him.

By the time Alfred reached his late teens, Wessex stood as the last hope for an independent Christian English kingdom. The storm of the Great Heathen Army, which had swept through the north and east, was now gathering against Wessex itself. In 865, a massive host of Danes under fearsome leaders—Halfdan and Ivar the Boneless among them—invaded the neighboring Kingdom of East Anglia and used it as a springboard to strike Mercia and Northumbria. These were the same invaders who had slain King Edmund of East Anglia and conquered York. After devastating Northumbria, the Danish army turned again south. In 868 they marched into Mercia and seized Nottingham. At the desperate urging of Burhred, King of Mercia, Alfred’s brother King Æthelred (the next eldest, who had succeeded Æthelberht in 865) led a West Saxon force to assist Mercia . Prince Alfred, then about 19 years old, went as second-in-command to support his brother the king . It was Alfred’s first experience of leading an army in the field. As the West Saxons and Mercians surrounded Nottingham’s Danish-occupied fortress, Alfred burned with zeal to bring the pagans to battle. But the Danes, secure behind the town’s old Roman walls, refused to give open combat . The siege dragged on, indecisive and frustrating. Eventually a truce was made between King Burhred and the invaders, allowing the Danes to withdraw north that winter . Though no great battle was fought at Nottingham, young Alfred distinguished himself by his discipline and counsel during the campaign. He learned firsthand both the tactics of the enemy and the challenges of coordinating between kingdoms. Perhaps most importantly, he saw how critical unity among the English was; the failure to decisively engage the enemy at Nottingham impressed upon Alfred that division and lack of resolve only prolonged the terror. This lesson would not be lost on him.

It was also in the year 868, according to later chroniclers, that Alfred entered into a blessed union that would bring him comfort and strength amid the trials to come. That year, Alfred took to wife a noble lady named Ealhswith, from the Mercian royal line. Ealhswith’s father was a Mercian chieftain descended from King Coenwulf, and her mother was of the ancient royal house of Mercia. Thus this marriage bound Alfred closer to Mercia not just politically but by familial ties. Yet Ealhswith herself, though of lofty birth, was praised not for worldly pride but for humility and virtue. She was, as the records describe, “a woman of quiet strength and deep piety”. Though West Saxon custom did not permit the crowning of a queen beside the king (a rule instituted after some bad experiences with past queens), Ealhswith was very much Alfred’s true partner in all but name. Throughout Alfred’s life, she would be the hidden heart of his household, a wellspring of love and wise counsel. A Mercian by birth and devoted to works of mercy, Ealhswith eventually founded convents and houses of relief for the poor. In later years, she was lovingly called “England’s mother” for her care of both common folk and noble. But even now, as a young bride, her gentle faith inspired Alfred. Their union was born of both love and prudent alliance, and God soon blessed them with children who would carry forward Alfred’s legacy. In marrying Ealhswith, Alfred further bound the fate of Wessex and Mercia together—a unity that would prove vital in resisting the heathen onslaught.

The late 860s thus found Prince Alfred maturing rapidly in both stature and wisdom. He had traveled farther than any of his countrymen, from the tomb of St. Peter to the courts of the Carolingians. He had hunted in the forests of his homeland and smelt the ash of burnt churches on the wind. He had stood in the shield-wall with his brother’s fyrd, sword in hand, face-to-face with the pagan foe. And he had taken unto himself a noble wife to be his companion. God’s providence was weaving varied threads together in Alfred’s life, tempering his soul in readiness for the heavy crown that would soon rest upon his brow. As a later age would say, “From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord deliver us!”—and it seemed the Lord was raising up the instrument of that deliverance in the person of Alfred. The seeds of the kingdom, planted in Alfred’s heart during childhood, were about to blossom in the crucible of war and trial. The hour of testing drew near. Wessex’s darkest trial—and Alfred’s greatest glory—lay just beyond the horizon, in the year of our Lord 871. In that fateful year, as we shall see, the young prince would be called to don the mantle of kingship amid fire and blood, sustained only by the grace and promises of Almighty God.

✠ Book II: The Crucible of Wessex ✠

The Year of Battles and the Crown of Thorns (c. 871)

In the year of our Lord 871, the storm that had long brewed on England’s horizons broke in full fury over Wessex. This year would be remembered as “the year of nine battles”—a year of desperation and heroism, in which the young Alfred, barely twenty-two, was forced to ascend the throne amid fire and blood. It pleased God to try the West Saxons as gold in a furnace, that their dross be burnt away and a righteous king emerge, bearing a crown of thorns before a crown of glory.

In January 871, deep in midwinter’s gloom, the Danish Great Army struck into Wessex without warning. Led by King Bagsecg and the veteran warlord Halfdan, a great heathen host poured south out of Mercia and seized the royal town of Reading on the Thames . There, between the rivers Thames and Kennet, the invaders entrenched themselves, forming a base from which to plunder the heart of Wessex . The pagan army moved with terrifying speed and purpose. On January 4th, while the fortifications at Reading were still being constructed, a Viking foraging party ranged west and was met by a local West Saxon force under Ealdorman Æthelwulf (a loyal retainer of the late King Æthelberht). At a place called Englefield, the ealdorman Æthelwulf and his men won a small but heartening victory over these Danes, slaying one of their earls and putting the rest to flight . It was a hopeful sign that the Northmen were not invincible. But this was only the first skirmish of a relentless campaign. Four days later, King Æthelred of Wessex and Prince Alfred led the main West Saxon army against the Danish camp at Reading . A fierce battle raged at the gates of Reading. The West Saxons initially drove some Danes back, even killing a multitude outside the walls . But the Northmen, ferocious as wolves, sallied out in force from every gate of the town, catching the Christians in disarray. Amid bitter fighting, the heathen army won the day; many West Saxons fell, and Ealdorman Æthelwulf, the victor of Englefield, was slain amongst them . King Æthelred and Alfred retreated, bloodied but unbowed. Though grieved by the setback, they gathered their remaining forces, prayed for God’s mercy, and prepared to fight again.

Only four days after the defeat at Reading, on the feast of Epiphany (January 8, 871), the armies met once more in what would become one of the most storied battles in English history: the Battle of Ashdown . The Danes left Reading to seek out the West Saxon host, and the two sides confronted each other on the slopes of Ashdown, a hilly area of Berkshire. The heathen host arrayed itself in two great divisions – one commanded by the two Danish kings (Bagsecg and Halfdan) and the other by their earls . To face them, King Æthelred and Alfred likewise divided the West Saxon army into two bands: Æthelred would lead one wing against the Danish kings, and Alfred would lead the other against the earls . It was a bitterly cold morning; frost sparkled on the gorse and the breath of men and horses clouded the air. Before battle was joined, King Æthelred, a devout prince of the Christian line of Cerdic, declared he would not fight until he had heard Mass and received Holy Communion – for it was better to fortify the soul before arming the body. Thus, while the enemy formed their shield-walls on the hillside, Æthelred withdrew to his tent at a little distance, where his chaplain was hastily celebrating the liturgy. Prince Alfred, commanding the second division, stood ready with his men at the foot of the slope. He looked up toward the ridge where the raven banners of the Danes fluttered in the frigid wind. The pagan army had seized the higher ground, a great tactical advantage, and taunts and war-cries in Danish echoed down the hill. Alfred’s West Saxons, their shields lapped in a tight wall, awaited their king’s presence to commence the attack. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Still King Æthelred remained in his tent, “long time in prayer, hearing Mass,” as eyewitnesses later attested . Some of Alfred’s soldiers grew restive, watching the enemy not only holding the high ground but beginning to advance. Alfred was torn between two loyalties—that to his earthly king and brother, and that to the higher King above who surely willed the defense of His people. If they delayed much longer, the Danes would claim the hillside entirely and possibly envelop the West Saxon flanks. At last, with a warrior’s decisiveness and a faithful heart, Alfred cried aloud: “In the name of Almighty God, let us attack!” Entrusting the outcome to the Lord of Hosts, and apologizing that he could not wait longer for his brother, Alfred ordered the charge . Like a wild boar charging uphill, Alfred led his men straight into the larger Danish division before him . He was determined to smash the enemy’s strength by sheer courage, trusting that King Æthelred would join the fray as soon as his prayers were done.

The clash at Ashdown was fierce and terrible to behold. The chroniclers describe how the two shield-walls collided around a lone thorn-tree on the slope, which stood as a mute witness to the desperate struggle . The air was rent with the shouts of warriors and the clangor of sword on shield. The Northmen, confident in their numbers and position, fought ferociously to grind down the West Saxon advance. Alfred, in the forefront of battle, fought “like a wild boar” – slashing and thrusting with his sword, his voice urging his men onward . Time and again, Alfred’s shield took the blow meant for a comrade, and his arm struck down a threatening axe. Amidst the melee, King Æthelred at last arrived on the field, having finished his Mass and “implored the King of all,” and he plunged with his household guard into the fight on the right where Bagsecg and Halfdan commanded . The Christian king’s faith had been rewarded: he entered the battle at precisely the moment his presence was needed most. On Alfred’s flank, the Danes were already wavering under the furious assault led by the prince. On Æthelred’s flank, the two Danish kings suddenly found themselves assailed by the fresh force of the king’s own guard. The conflict reached its climax around that solitary thorn-tree, and then, by God’s grace, the heathen shield-wall began to break . King Bagsecg of the Danes was cut down in the press of battle , along with five of his ealdormen. Earl Sidrac the Elder, Sidrac the Younger, Earl Osbern, Earl Fræna, Earl Harold – all pagan leaders of renown – were slain one after another by West Saxon blades . Seeing their champions fallen and their formations rent, the remaining Danes lost heart. Panic seized them as the cross-adorned banners of the West Saxons pressed uphill. “By God’s decree,” writes Asser, “the heathen could not endure longer, and they fled shamefully” . The great Viking host broke and ran, casting aside shields and weapons to flee for their lives . The West Saxons pursued them relentlessly, slaying many as they fled “far over the whole field of Ashdown” . The pursuit continued until nightfall and into the next day; not even darkness halted the indignant fervor of the Christians, who remembered the desecrations and cruelties the Danes had inflicted on their kinsmen . By the time Alfred and Æthelred called back their men, the victory was complete. Ashdown was drenched in blood and littered with the bodies of pagan warriors. But Wessex had won a miraculous deliverance.

The Battle of Ashdown was the first great victory for Alfred and for Wessex in this war, and it shone brilliantly against the bleak backdrop of other English defeats. Faith had truly turned the tide: King Æthelred’s refusal to fight until Mass was finished and Alfred’s bold trust in God’s aid combined to produce a triumph that contemporaries could only attribute to divine intervention . “This faith of the Christian king availed much with the Lord,” notes Bishop Asser , crediting Æthelred’s piety as key to the victory. And indeed, after the battle, the West Saxons themselves loudly gave glory to God. On the field of Ashdown, amid the groans of the dying and the cold wind rustling through thorn and gorse, the victors knelt and raised a hymn of thanksgiving. We may imagine Alfred and Æthelred, blood-stained and exhausted, clasping hands and proclaiming “Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nómini tuo da glóriam” – “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to Thy name give glory” (Psalm 115:1). The men around them echoed Deo gratias! The thorn-tree at the battlefield’s center, it is said, was afterwards regarded with a kind of reverence, as locals claimed it still bore scars from that day’s sword-blows . For generations, folk would tell how “at Ashdown the heathens were scattered as chaff before the wind by the faith and courage of Christian Alfred.” And indeed, Englene hird – “England’s shepherd” – was a name some gave Alfred after this battle, perceiving already his role in protecting the flock. Yet the year’s trials were far from over.

Despite the glorious victory at Ashdown, the Danish invasion was not defeated outright. The remnant of the Viking army that escaped regrouped and received reinforcements. Only two weeks after Ashdown, on January 22, 871, King Æthelred and Alfred fought another fierce engagement against the Danes at Basing (in Hampshire). This time, fortune favored the heathen: the West Saxons, perhaps overbold or simply overwhelmed by fresh enemy numbers, suffered a defeat at Basing. It was a sobering reminder that one victory did not win a war. Undeterred, the brothers rallied their forces. In March 871, yet another pitched battle was fought, likely at a place called Merton. There, the Chronicle records, the West Saxons “made long resistance” but the Danes ultimately held the field, and many good Christian men fell. Among the fallen at Merton, according to later tradition, was Bishop Heahmund of Sherborne, who died fighting bravely with the king’s household troops, having exchanged his bishop’s crosier for a warrior’s sword in defense of his flock. The loss of such a high prelate on the battlefield underscored the desperate straits of Wessex – all were called to fight, from nobles and ealdormen to bishops and abbots, lest the whole nation fall under the heathen yoke.

In April of that agonizing year, as battle followed battle, King Æthelred I of Wessex fell ill, possibly from wounds sustained or simply from the rigors of war. On April 23, 871 – the feast of St. George, in later reckoning – King Æthelred died, “after a good and God-fearing reign” as one chronicle puts it. Some said he was not yet thirty; he left behind young sons, but in the crisis of invasion the West Saxon nobles and bishops chose Alfred, the late king’s 22-year-old brother, to succeed immediately as king. This decision likely accorded with Æthelred’s own wishes (indeed, some sources claim Alfred had been designated successor by agreement, given the extremity of the times). And so, amid the smoke and sorrow of continuous war, Alfred son of Æthelwulf was anointed and crowned King of the West Saxons in the spring of 871. It was by no means a festive coronation; one imagines it as a hastily arranged ceremony, perhaps at Winchester or at Kingston, attended by weary warriors with swords still bloody, and bishops with ashes on their brows. Alfred, upon whose shoulders now lay the last hope of the English, humbly prostrated himself before the altar and was anointed with holy chrism as king. He swore to defend the Church, to rule his people justly, and to drive out the enemies of Christ. The anointing oil and weight of the crown pressed down on Alfred’s brow like the crown of thorns pressed on our Lord’s head – a sign not of worldly glory, but of burdensome sacrifice. All knew the young king faced an almost impossible task: to save Wessex from the seemingly inexhaustible heathen host. As Alfred rose a crowned king from before the altar, he was heard quietly praying the words of King Solomon: “Domine Deus, tu regnum dedisti patri meo; ego sum puer parvulus… da ergo servo tuo cor docile” – “O Lord God, Thou hast made Thy servant king in place of my father; I am but a little child… Give therefore Thy servant an understanding heart”. It was a prayer for wisdom amid trials, and in time God would answer it abundantly.

No sooner had Alfred assumed the diadem than he had to plunge back into battle. Within a month of Æthelred’s death, while Alfred was still new to his kingship, the Danes again engaged the West Saxon army – this time near Wilton by the River Wylye. King Alfred led his fyrd (militia army) valiantly and initially drove the Danes from the field, pursuing them for much of the day. But the cunning Northmen, seeing the ardor of the West Saxons, turned unexpectedly in the late afternoon and counterattacked. In the chaotic reversal, the Danes regained the advantage. After hard fighting, Alfred’s forces were finally overwhelmed by sheer numbers at Wilton. It was a bitter setback. Nine major engagements had been fought in Wessex in the span of a few months, not counting smaller skirmishes, and by year’s end one contemporary noted “nine earls and one king” among the Danes had been killed – but still the invaders kept coming. Alfred’s losses in men and material were difficult to replace, whereas the Danes received reinforcements from overseas and from their garrisons in the conquered eastern lands. Realizing the dire straits, Alfred made a painful but prudent decision. Sometime after the battle of Wilton in 871, he negotiated a truce with the Danes. The terms likely involved a payment of tribute—gafol or “Danegeld”—to induce the invaders to cease their onslaught. While humbling to Christian pride, this temporary peace was necessary for the survival of Wessex. The heathen army withdrew from Reading and Wessex proper, turning its attention elsewhere for a time. By God’s providence, the focus of war shifted away: the Great Army moved to London in Mercian territory in late 871 and then to Northumbria , giving Wessex a desperately needed respite.

Thus ended the formal campaign of 871. King Alfred had been on the throne only a few months, and already he had tasted both victory and defeat, both exaltation and humiliation. Wessex was battered but unbroken. The young king wore his newly-earned crown heavily: it sat not as a symbol of glory but as a crown of thorns—a constant reminder of the sacrifices yet to come. Alfred now carried on his shoulders the hopes of all Christian Englishmen. Though peace had been bought, it was fragile and destined to be short-lived. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, terse in its annals, summarizes the aftermath: “And that year the West Saxons made peace with the Danes”. But how uneasy that peace must have been! Alfred knew the pagans would not stay away forever. He spent the next few years strengthening his defenses, organizing his forces, and praying for God’s guidance. By making peace, Alfred won time—tempus donum Dei, time as God’s gift—to fortify Wessex’s spiritual and physical ramparts. He called upon his people to repent of their sins and to renew their faith, even as they refashioned spearheads and rebuilt palisades.

It is told by later chroniclers that one night during this lull, King Alfred had a dream or vision that would stay with him all his life. He dreamt he was building a great ship. Its keel was the faith of Christ, its sails the virtues, its rudder the wisdom of God’s law. But as he labored on this ship, winds from the north – cruel and cold – kept threatening to tear it asunder. Suddenly, from the west, a tiny flame appeared, growing into a brilliant light that drove back the northern storm. Alfred awoke, convinced the dream was a sign from heaven that the light of Christ and the intercession of the saints would ultimately scatter the darkness of the heathen invaders. Whether truth or pious legend, such a vision encapsulates Alfred’s guiding conviction: that only by God’s light and protection could England be delivered. Alfred thus rededicated himself to the sacred charge of kingship. He wore next to his skin a hairshirt as a sign of penance, and daily he recited the Psalms – especially the pleas of King David for deliverance from enemies, such as “Exsúrge, Dómine; salvum me fac, Deus”(“Arise, O Lord; save me, O my God,” Psalm 3). The West Saxons, inspired by their king’s faith, likewise clung to the hope that God, who had given them triumph at Ashdown, would not abandon them in the trials yet to come. Little could they know just how severe those trials would be. For a few brief years, Alfred’s Wessex enjoyed an uneasy calm while elsewhere the Viking armies busied themselves. But soon enough, a far greater tempest would break—a time of humiliation and hope, of despair and miracles, that would test Alfred to the utmost. It would begin on a bleak winter’s night in the year 878, in the marshy fens of Somerset, when all seemed lost but for trust in God’s providence. Before we turn to that darkest hour and brightest deliverance, let us recount more calmly the state of Alfred’s realm in the interim, and how the crucible of war was already forging in Alfred a king of singular courage, humility, and faith.

The Darkest Hour: The Trials of Exile (872–878)

After the turbulent year 871, Alfred’s Wessex experienced a few years of relative respite from large-scale Danish assault. The great Viking host had divided its forces, some overwintering in London (still under Mercian control) and later campaigning in Northumbria and Mercia. By 874, the Danes had conquered Mercia as well: King Burhred of Mercia, Alfred’s brother-in-law, was driven into exile and died in Rome in sorrow . A puppet lord, Ceolwulf, was set up over Mercia by the Danes, holding the kingdom as a vassal to them . Thus by the mid-870s, all of England save Wessex lay in heathen hands or under their domination. Alfred stood essentially alone. Yet he was not idle in these years. He used the lull to fortify his defenses and attend to internal affairs. He reinforced old Roman towns and built new burhs (fortified strongholds) at strategic points, intuiting that a network of garrisons could impede the Danes’ movements. He maintained a defensive stance, hoping the invaders might be content with their gains in the north and east. But Alfred also must have known the reprieve was temporary. Indeed, in 876, the storm re-gathered: a Danish leader named Guthrum, who had lately taken command of the “Great Army in Cambridge,” suddenly rode with his forces into Wessex in a surprise thrust. He seized the town of Wareham in Dorset and entrenched there. This incursion breached the peace and signaled that the Vikings intended to finish what they had started. King Alfred hurried to confront Guthrum at Wareham. Both sides hesitated at first to commit to a pitched battle; instead, they negotiated. Guthrum and his Danes swore oaths to Alfred to depart Wessex, even swearing upon holy relics that they would keep this peace. Alfred also received hostages as surety. Yet the pagan oaths proved treacherous: under cover of night, the Danish cavalry slipped out of Wareham, breaking their vow before the sacred ring of relics “which before they would not do to any nation”. The Northmen dashed west across Wessex and seized Exeter before Alfred could catch them. That winter of 876–877, Alfred pursued Guthrum to Exeter and managed to blockade him there. Providence intervened mightily: a great storm at sea wrecked a fleet of Danish longships off the coast of Wessex, destroying some twenty vessels laden with Viking reinforcements. Seeing this disaster as a sign of divine disfavor and finding himself hard-pressed by Alfred’s army on land, Guthrum at last agreed to withdraw from Wessex once more.

In early 877, Guthrum’s forces pulled out of Exeter and retreated to Mercia. For a brief moment, it seemed Alfred’s realm might know peace again. The king likely gave thanks to God for the timely storm that scattered the Danish fleet, recalling the fate of Pharaoh’s army overwhelmed in the Red Sea. But the wily Guthrum was not finished. He was merely regrouping for a far more devious blow. In January of 878, during the holy twelve nights of Christmas when the West Saxons were off guard and many were celebrating the Nativity of the Lord, Guthrum launched a sudden lightning attack deep into Wessex. In the dead of night, a Danish raiding party descended on Alfred’s royal estate at Chippenham in Wiltshire, where the king was wintering with a small household retinue. The assault was so swift and unexpected that Alfred barely escaped with his life. Many of his thegns and servants were killed outright; others were forced to flee. Alfred, with a handful of retainers and perhaps members of his family, fled southward into the wilderness. Behind him lay a kingdom collapsing into chaos: Guthrum overran Wessex almost entirely in those first weeks of 878. Many West Saxons, stunned by the sudden calamity, submitted to the Danes to save their lives. “And in that winter,” records the Chronicle, “King Alfred with a small band with difficulty retreated to the woods and to the fastnesses of the moors”. Thus began the deepest trial of Alfred’s life: a time of refuge in the marshes, when he was a king in name but a hunted man in reality, and when all the fruits of his labor seemed lost.

During this desperate interval, Alfred and a few loyal followers took shelter in the marshy region of the river estuaries in Somerset, a wetland labyrinth of water and reeds. There, on a little island of dry ground amid the fens called Athelney, Alfred made a makeshift fort and base of operations. The spot was remote and easily defensible, accessible mainly by boat or secret causeways through the bogs. From Athelney—whose name in Saxon, Æthelinga-ieg, means “Island of the Nobles”—the dispossessed king began a guerrilla resistance. But these were truly dark days. For a stretch of weeks, perhaps months, in early 878, Alfred was largely cut off from his subjects. Many of his people thought him dead; others believed he had fled overseas. It is hard to imagine the weight on Alfred’s soul: he had lost his kingdom, his halls were occupied by pagan warriors, his wife and children were hiding (or according to some accounts, were with him, sharing the hardship). He had only as many men as could fit into a small swamp-camp. By worldly measures, Alfred’s cause looked hopeless. Yet it was in this dark crucible that Alfred’s faith shone brightest. The old writers pass quickly over the physical suffering—the near-starvation, the cold and damp—but later legends preserved how Alfred in those days “sought no comfort save in God alone.” One story relates that Alfred, when first fleeing, was given shelter in disguise by a poor swineherd’s wife in the marshes. Not recognizing her royal guest (for he wore ragged clothes and kept his identity hidden), this peasant woman set Alfred to watching her cakes baking on the hearth while she went to gather firewood. The weary king, his mind occupied with the cares of his ruined kingdom, inadvertently let the bread burn. The woman returned and sharply scolded the unknown stranger: “Lazy drone! You gladly ate our bread, yet you cannot even turn the loaves when they char. We need a man, not a mazed dreamer!” Unruffled, Alfred meekly begged the good wife’s pardon and humbly suffered her chiding. “Better I am reproved for burning bread than for burning my realm,” he said with a wry smile. Only later, when Alfred was restored to his throne, did the couple discover their scullion had been the king himself – whereupon, ashamed, they begged forgiveness, but Alfred thanked them for their hospitality and even rewarded them. This tale, though originating in later tradition, illustrates the reverence that Alfred’s memory inspired: it portrays a king who, even at his lowest ebb, remained gracious, patient, and mindful of the true “daily bread” of both body and soul.

Another tale tells that one night during Alfred’s exile, as he kept solitary vigil in his hut at Athelney, he prayed fervently for a sign that God had not forsaken him. In the misty darkness, a stranger in pilgrim’s robes appeared at the door—a figure some later identified as St. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne in disguise. Alfred shared his meager meal with the pilgrim, who spoke comforting words of faith and foretold that Alfred would one day triumph over his enemies and restore the Church. In the morning, the mysterious visitor was gone, leaving Alfred strengthened in hope. Such legends, whether taken literally or not, attest to the belief that Alfred received divine succor in his darkest hour, much as the prophet Elijah was fed by ravens during his wilderness exile (cf. 1 Kings 17:6). The Life of St. Neot, a saintly hermit who was said to be Alfred’s kinsman and spiritual counselor, relates that Alfred’s misfortunes befell him as a chastisement for a youthful pride, but that in the marshes Alfred repented sincerely and was assured by Heaven of eventual victory, being instructed to “learn the truth from the mouths of little ones.” According to that account, Alfred later visited St. Neot’s shrine to give thanks after his deliverance. While the historical veracity of these specific stories cannot be proven, their preservation in medieval hagiography underscores how Alfred came to be regarded not merely as a successful king, but as a man of Godwhose faith was tested and refined by suffering.

And indeed, far from breaking under adversity, Alfred’s character was burnished during the winter at Athelney. Contemporary records show that, from his swampy stronghold, Alfred carried out daring raids on Danish detachments and foraging parties, likely striking out by night and melting back into the marshes by day. The local people of Somerset and Wiltshire, inspired by news that the king yet lived and fought on, began to bring him support. “The faithful men of Somerset, Wiltshire and Hampshire (the part that lies along the moors) rallied themselves to Alfred,” says the Chronicle. They smuggled food and information to Athelney, and gradually a network of resistance was organized. Alfred’s ignominious flight thus turned into a rallying point for West Saxon resilience.

By Easter of 878, after some three months of bleak hiding, Alfred judged the time ripe to emerge and strike for restoration. He had received word that scattered bands of West Saxon nobles were ready to join him if he could but show himself openly. First, Alfred constructed a tiny fort at Athelney—“a fortress of thorny earth,” it is called—to serve as a secure base. Then, around Eastertide (which fell in April), he rode out with a small company to the nearby town of Egbert’s Stone in the eastern part of Somerset. There Alfred’s loyal ealdormen and thanes met him with all the men they could muster from Somerset, Wiltshire, and Hampshire. One chronicler relates that as Alfred’s banner was raised at Egbert’s Stone (so named for Alfred’s illustrious grandfather King Egbert), common folk and nobles alike rejoiced, greeting their king with tears and shouts of praise to God. They had thought him dead; now he stood alive among them, lean from hardship but radiant with determination. Like King David emerging from the Cave of Adullam to claim his crown, Alfred emerged from the marshes to claim leadership anew. The gathering at Egbert’s Stone swelled Alfred’s heart with gratitude. It was the third week after Easter – that paschal season when Christians everywhere celebrate the triumph of life over death – and Alfred surely saw in the timing a providential sign. He had “died” in the eyes of his enemies that winter, and now he lived again, prepared to save his people. With a reconstituted army behind him, Alfred prepared to confront Guthrum and the Danish host in a final decisive battle.

Before marching, the king sought once more the aid of Almighty God, Deus omnipotens, without whom the horse and rider charge in vain. The assembled army fasted and prayed. Priests who had accompanied the thanes offered Mass in the field, invoking the protection of Christ, the true King. It is said that Alfred, recalling the great deliverances of Scripture, ordered the singing of Exodus chapter 15 – the song of Moses after the Israelites were saved from Pharaoh: “Cantémus Dómino: glorióse enim magnificátus est; eqúum et ascensórem projécit in mare…” (“I will sing unto the Lord, for He is gloriously triumphed; the horse and its rider He has thrown into the sea.”). With such holy songs on their lips, the men of Wessex advanced. Within a week, Alfred’s host encountered Guthrum’s Danish army on the plains near Edington in Wiltshire.

The Battle of Edington (also called Ethandun) was fought likely in May of 878. King Alfred marshaled his forces in a shield-wall once more, facing Guthrum’s massed Danish ranks. Both armies knew this clash would decide the fate of Wessex once and for all. Alfred, holding aloft his battle-axe, is said to have addressed his warriors with a fierce and faithful cry: “Fértime nú for Drihtnes geleafan and for Ængla land!” – “Fight now for the Lord’s faith and for the land of the English!” The West Saxons answered with acclamation, thumping spear on shield, invoking God’s name. The Danes responded with their own blood-chilling war cries, calling on Odin and brandishing their swords. Then, with a great shout of “Deo adiuvante!” (“God assisting us!”), Alfred’s shield-wall surged forward and crashed into the Danish lines. The battle was intense and prolonged; one early source says that “all day they fought fiercely” until at last Alfred by God’s grace gained the upper hand . The West Saxons hewed through the Danish formations, and the invaders began to break ranks. Soon the rout was complete – the pagans, who had once driven Alfred to the swamps, now themselves turned and fled in disorder back toward their encampment . Alfred and his thegns chased them relentlessly, slaying hundreds in pursuit. The remnant of Guthrum’s army shut itself inside a makeshift fortress (likely a stockaded camp or an old Iron-Age hillfort) and withstood a siege for two weeks . But Alfred tightened his encirclement daily, and starvation and despair set in among the Danes. Finally, Guthrum capitulated. The pagan king, who had tried to extinguish Alfred’s rule, now sued humbly for peace and life. Alfred, ever the just and magnanimous prince, granted terms that were both firm and enlightened. Guthrum would swear by the Christian God to leave Wessex and never again attack Alfred. Moreover – and here Alfred planted the seeds of conversion – Guthrum agreed to receive baptism, along with the chief men of his army. Alfred stood as godfather to Guthrum at the font, adopting his former enemy as a spiritual son. This was not mere diplomatic theater; Alfred sincerely desired the Danes’ souls to be saved. Some days after Edington, the defeated Vikings assembled at a place called Wedmore and there fulfilled the covenant of baptism. King Guthrum laid aside his Danish name and took the Christian name Æthelstan in baptism – symbolizing a new identity as a Christian and friend of the English . For eight days, Alfred hosted Guthrum and his men, feasting them as brethren in their new faith . Gifts were exchanged: Alfred bestowed rich garments upon the new converts, and likely some symbolic pieces of weaponry to signify their new honorable status under his peace. The Treaty of Wedmore formalized the division of England: Guthrum’s Danes withdrew to settle in East Anglia, while Alfred secured all of Wessex and the western half of Mercia . Thus was the Danelaw born – the region of England under Danish law – but thus too was England saved in its southern and western parts to remain a Christian land. The peace established at Wedmore in 878 would hold, remarkably, for many years. For Alfred had not only defeated his foe – he had won him for Christ. Guthrum-Æthelstan, once the terror of Wessex, would spend the rest of his days ruling East Anglia as a Christian king and ally of Alfred, keeping his oath faithfully until his death over a decade later.

The deliverance at Edington was the pivotal moment of Alfred’s life. In the annals it is recorded with understated brevity, but its significance was felt immediately by contemporaries and increasingly in hindsight by later generations. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle simply says for 878: “And King Alfred fought against all the Danish army at Edington and put them to flight, and he rode after them as far as their fortress, and there besieged them fourteen days. And then the heathen gave him hostages and great oaths that they would leave his kingdom, and also promised to receive baptism; and this they fulfilled. And about three weeks after, King Guthrum with thirty of the men who were most honorable in that army came to Alfred at Aller, and Alfred was their sponsor at baptism…”. In characteristically terse fashion, the chronicler relates the miracle: the invaders who had nearly conquered Wessex were not only beaten but converted. Christian chroniclers saw in Alfred a new Constantine or a new Charlemagne—one who fought not for conquest or vengeance, but for the faith and the freedom of his people, and who sought the spiritual rebirth of his enemies rather than their annihilation. How many kings in history can claim such charity? Alfred’s victory was indeed like that of the biblical King Hezekiah, who, facing overwhelming Assyrian forces, trusted in the Lord and saw the enemy decimated and departing (cf. 2 Kings 19:35-36). Like Hezekiah, Alfred could sing: “The Lord stood by me and strengthened me” (2 Tim 4:17).

When the news of Edington and the Peace of Wedmore spread, all the people of Wessex lifted their voices in rejoicing. The burden of fear was lifted from their hearts. Those who had been hiding in woods and fastnesses came forth; priests who had been on the run returned to ruined churches to sing Te Deum laudámus. It is told that in the royal city of Winchester, when Alfred made his triumphant return, the streets were lined with weeping, cheering crowds. Rank upon rank of men, women, and children knelt as the king passed, some reaching out to touch the hem of his cloak as if to assure themselves he was truly alive and victorious. Alfred, humble as ever, immediately visited the cathedral to offer thanks to God. Clad in simple robes, he prostrated himself before the altar which, a short time before, he had thought never to see again. With tears of gratitude, the king chanted the words of the Psalmist: “Díligo te, Dómine, fortitúdo mea. Dóminus firmaméntum meum et refúgium meum et liberátor meus” – “I will love Thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer” (Psalm 17:2–3) . Truly, Alfred had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and feared no evil, for God was with him (cf. Psalm 23:4). Now the table was prepared before him in the presence of his enemies, and his cup ran over (Psalm 23:5). England’s chroniclers, often so sparing in praise, could not contain their admiration: one later writer proclaimed that “Alfred’s name will live as long as mankind shall respect the past,” for he delivered his land from a fearful enemy and raised the Church from debasement .

Thus did King Alfred earn the epithet by which history knows him: Alfred “the Great.” It is an honorific never bestowed lightly, and in Alfred’s case it sprung directly from the astonished esteem of his people and the generations soon after. They recognized in him not only a competent ruler or a brave fighter, but a truly exceptional soul marked by sanctity and wisdom. Alfred had proven himself in the crucible of adversity. In the darkest of hours, he shone with steadfast faith; and when Fortune smiled, he showed mercy and temperance in victory. The crown of Wessex, once a circlet of thorns pressed painfully upon his brow, was now by the grace of God becoming a garland of honor and responsibility that he wore with Christ-like humility. Alfred knew that God had preserved him for a purpose. The wars were not over – sporadic raids and a great second wave of Viking invasions would test Wessex again in years ahead – but never again would Alfred be a king in hiding. He had passed through death to new life, and Wessex with him.

With Guthrum’s departure in 878, Alfred stood master of his reclaimed realm. The land lay scarred by years of war: fields untilled, villages burnt, churches desolate. But the faith and courage of the West Saxon people were unbroken. Now, under Alfred’s inspired leadership, they set to rebuilding what had been torn down and reforming what was decayed. In the wake of the Viking storms, Alfred envisioned not merely the restoration of the status quo, but a rebirth of Christian life and learning in his kingdom – a true renovatio or renewal. The same Alfred who had wielded sword and shield to defend his people now turned his mind and heart to the arts of peace: to lawgiving, education, and the spiritual edification of his subjects. The land that had nearly been lost was to be consecrated anew to God. And Alfred, chastened and enlightened by his trials, was resolved to become not only the shepherd who guarded his folk from wolves, but also the wise teacher who would lead them beside still waters and into the ways of righteousness. Thus the second phase of Alfred’s reign commenced – an era of reconstruction so fruitful and enlightened that it earned him undying fame as a model Christian king. In the chapters that follow, we shall see how Alfred built the New Jerusalem in the ashes of war, laying enduring foundations of faith, learning, and justice that would bless England for generations. The crucible of Wessex had forged a hero; now that hero, by God’s grace, would forge a better Wessex.

✠ Book III: The New Jerusalem ✠-The Work of Peace (878–899)

When the sword was sheathed and the smoke of Edington had cleared, King Alfred set about the monumental task of healing and elevating his kingdom. The peace he had secured was precious – a divine gift entrusted to him – and Alfred was determined to use it for the glory of God and the betterment of his people. He famously wrote, “It seems better to me, if you agree, that we also translate some of the books most necessary for all men to know into the language that we can all understand; and also, that we bring to pass, as soon as we can, that all the free-born youth of England who have the means may be set to learn” . These words capture Alfred’s vision of a spiritually and intellectually renewed nation. In a real sense, Alfred saw peace not as a time for idle repose, but as the season for planting – planting schools, building churches, enacting just laws – so that the soul of England might flourish under God’s grace. The nearly twenty years between 879 and Alfred’s death in 899 would witness a transformation in Wessex so profound that later historians would liken it to a “golden age” of rebirth. To the people of that time, conscious of how close they had come to annihilation, it must have felt like the dawn of a new era blessed by Providence. Many called it Alfred’s “New Jerusalem,” recalling the heavenly city of peace and righteousness.

Yet Alfred’s approach was not one of triumphal excess. Having seen the fragility of mortal endeavors, he remained ever humble and pragmatic. One of his first priorities after securing the realm’s safety was to reorganize the military defensesof Wessex so that his kingdom would never again be caught so unprepared. He divided the land into shires and hundreds and built a network of fortified burhs (buroughs) at strategic points – well-defended towns or strongholds where local populations could take refuge and from which a garrison could respond to incursions . The fortification system was carefully planned; surviving records known as the Burghal Hidage show how each burh had a garrison proportional to the length of its walls, supported by the surrounding district’s manpower. In essence, Alfred created an early warning and defense grid across Wessex, “bringing justice home to every man’s door” by ensuring each region had a local strongpoint and court . This decentralization meant that even if a Viking army broke through, they would face continual resistance from multiple fortified centers. Alfred also reformed the fyrd, the militia army: instead of calling up the entire levy for one campaign (leaving fields empty and risking famine), he split the fyrd into two rotating contingents – one active, one at home – thereby maintaining defense year-round without wholly disrupting agriculture. This was an innovative solution born of hard experience, balancing martial readiness with the needs of daily life.

Perhaps Alfred’s most famous martial innovation was the creation of a navy – the seeds of England’s future maritime greatness. Troubled by the hit-and-run coastal raids of Viking ships, Alfred constructed new warships “full nigh twice as long as others, swifter and steadier”. These ships, designed with input from Frisian mercenaries and possibly Alfred’s own ideas, were meant to outmatch the Viking longships at sea. In 882, Alfred’s fledgling navy won its first engagement, capturing or destroying several Danish vessels that ventured along the southern coast. This earned Alfred the distinction of being called “Father of the English Navy” in later histories. Though small at first, his royal fleet signaled a new strategy: controlling the seas to prevent sudden invasions. Alfred, reflecting on the past devastation, surely remembered how Viking fleets had appeared like lightning from the sea. Determined to stop that, he patrolled the Channel’s waters with his ships, a vigilant shepherd watching the horizon for wolves. These prudent reforms of army, fort, and fleet bore fruit in the 890s, when a renewed Viking onslaught came – this time from across the Channel – and was largely thwarted by Alfred’s system (as we shall soon recount).

But it was not only swords and walls that Alfred turned his attention to. He famously lamented that in the years of Viking depredation, learning had fallen to decay in England. “So general was [educational] decay in England,” he wrote, “that there were very few on this side of the Humber who could understand their Mass-books in English, or even translate a letter from Latin into English; and I believe that there were not many beyond the Humber” . Before the invasions, Northumbria and other regions had been famed for scholarship (Bede and Alcuin came from the north), but much had been lost after decades of war. Alfred, remembering how as a youth he thirsted for knowledge but found few to teach him, resolved to inaugurate a revival of education and literacy. He began at the top: he invited learned monks and clerics from beyond Wessex to his court – men like Asser of Wales (who would become Alfred’s friend and biographer) , Grimbald of St. Bertin in Flanders, and John the Old Saxon from continental Saxony. These scholars formed a kind of royal school or chancery around Alfred, advising him and helping to train native young men in letters. With their aid, Alfred undertook one of the most remarkable intellectual enterprises of the early Middle Ages: he personally participated in the translation of key Latin works into Old English, “for the benefit of all our people, so that all the youth of free birth who now are ignorant may be able to read” . Alfred selected books he deemed “most needful for men to know,” especially for those in positions of leadership, both secular and ecclesiastical. Among these were Pope Gregory the Great’s Pastoral Care (a manual for pastors and bishops), Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy (a dialogue on divine providence and virtue in adversity), St. Augustine’s Soliloquies (spiritual meditations), and the Holy Scripturesthemselves (it is said Alfred began an Old English translation of the Psalms, though he may not have completed it). Perhaps most symbolically important, he directed the translation of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History into English, thus making the story of the English Church available in the common tongue. Alfred either translated these works himself (with the help of his scholars) or heavily supervised and contributed to their translation. In the prefaces he wrote for some of these, Alfred’s own voice comes down to us across eleven centuries – earnest, wise, and fatherly. He explains that just as the wealth and power of the Anglo-Saxons had declined since the days of their ancestors, so too had learning declined; and he implored his contemporaries to join him in restoring a literate, educated clergy and nobility . It was Alfred’s dream that every freeborn English boy who had the ability and opportunity should learn to read English and even Latin. He established schools at court for the children of nobles and bright commoners, where they learned not only Scripture and theology but also poetry, history, and perhaps some rudiments of rhetoric – all in their mother tongue first, with Latin to follow. This was revolutionary for its time. By promoting the English language as a vehicle of learning, Alfred effectively laid the foundations of English literature and prose. He once likened himself to a man trying to gather scattered jewels and pieces of gold – the wisdom of the ages that lay scattered in Latin – and fashion them into a beautiful, unified ornament for his people. Indeed, Alfred in his translations did not stick rigidly to the Latin texts; he often paraphrased or expanded them with his own insightful commentary. For example, in his translation of Boethius, Alfred adds passages reflecting Christian doctrine and even allegorizes elements to make them more applicable to an English audience . In effect, he Christianized and “Anglicized” these works, making them speak to the condition of his own time and people. This was not scholarly hubris but pastoral care. Alfred’s aim was not academic prestige but the moral and spiritual uplift of his subjects. He writes in one preface that he translated Gregory’s Pastoral Care so that bishops and priests might read it and better care for their flocks, “lest we should go astray, we who have charge of so many souls” .

Alongside this educational renewal, Alfred undertook to restore the Church’s vitality in Wessex, which had suffered greatly from the Danish destructions. Monastic life in particular had almost vanished in many parts of England by Alfred’s time. Monasteries had been favorite targets of Viking raids – not only for their wealth but because the Danes scorned the monks’ religion and easy prey. Many monks were slain or driven off, and few new vocations came during the war-torn years. Alfred, zealous for the regula (rule of Christian life), set out to revive monasticism. With the help of foreign monks and nuns, he established new religious houses. Around 888, he founded a monastery at Athelney, the very island sanctuary where he had endured his exile. In a beautiful turn of Providence, the spot which had been his hiding place in time of trouble became a beacon of prayer and learning thereafter. Monks from Francia and elsewhere were invited to populate Athelney Abbey at its founding, to reintroduce the Benedictine Rule to Wessex. Alfred endowed it with lands and relics; tradition says he gave half of all his royal income to God’s work – a quarter directly to the Church (church-building, alms for the poor, support of monasteries) and another quarter to education and the recruiting of learned men . Moreover, Alfred established a convent at Shaftesbury and made his beloved daughter Æthelgifu its first abbess. He placed his own flesh and blood in the service of Christ, dedicating her from youth to the heavenly Bridegroom. This royal convent at Shaftesbury became a center of piety and learning for women, and many high-born ladies sought refuge there from the turmoil of the world. Additionally, Alfred invited Grimbald, the learned Frankish monk, to preside over a new abbey at Winchester (though one story says local politics prevented that foundation, the spirit of the attempt is noteworthy). Alfred’s deep devotion is evidenced by how he venerated the saints and relics. When Pope Marinus sent him a piece of the True Cross as a gift in the 880s, Alfred treasured it dearly and credited the subsequent peace partly to this holy token. He translated or had translated the Dialogues of St. Gregory, full of saints’ miracles, to edify the people about God’s wonders. He kept close relationships with bishops, and Asser writes that Alfred loved to listen to Scripture readings and the lives of holy men. One moving anecdote describes Alfred’s daily schedule, carefully partitioned by the light of candles marked for the hours: of the 24 hours in a day, Alfred dedicated fully half (12 hours) to prayer, study, and works of charity, leaving the remaining half for the affairs of government, hunting, eating, and sleep. To facilitate this unusual regimen, he famously invented a kind of lantern-clock: since ordinary candles would burn unevenly due to wind drafts, Alfred had a smith fashion a lantern of wood and ox-horn panels to shield his time-keeping candles from gusts. Through this clever device, Alfred ensured that his devotional and scholarly time would not be unintentionally shortened. Such was the king’s commitment to sanctity and self-discipline. Truly he believed that to govern others rightly, one must first govern oneself under God.

While Alfred nourished the minds and spirits of his people, he did not neglect the laws and justice that are the backbone of a godly society. Early in his reign (likely in the 880s) Alfred issued a law-code, building upon and revising the laws of earlier West Saxon kings like Ine and Kentish kings like Æthelberht. But Alfred’s code began with something unprecedented: he prefaced it with an English translation of the Ten Commandments and certain Mosaic laws, followed by excerpts from the Acts of the Apostles (specifically the decision of the Council of Jerusalem in Acts 15) and a statement of Christ’s Golden Rule. In essence, he placed the law of God as the foundation of the law of the land. Alfred explained in his prologue that the laws of the Old Testament – especially those concerning moral behavior – were to be the model, tempered by the mercy and teachings of Christ. He noted that the Mosaic judicial laws (like those on sacrifice or ritual purity) were largely superseded by the New Covenant, but the core principles of justice and righteousness remained. Alfred explicitly cited the apostolic letter from Acts 15:29 (which told Gentile converts to abstain from idolatry, blood, things strangled, and fornication) as evidence that the Old Covenant’s ceremonial aspects were pruned, while its ethical demands endured. After this Biblical preface, Alfred listed the laws of his predecessors that he found still useful, and then added his own decrees. His laws dealt with issues such as the protection of the weak, the punishment for various crimes, the system of sureties and oaths, and the proper fines or “bot” for injuries – all calibrated to promote both justice and mercy. Notably, Alfred’s laws exhibit a concern for the fair treatment of serfs and strangers, and an insistence on due process. He required that even the high-born who commit crimes be subject to the law, and that judges be literate in English so they can know the law properly (here again tying back to his educational push) . Indeed, one story preserved by the historian William of Malmesbury tells that Alfred, discovering that some ealdormen and reeves were ignorant and making unjust judgments, warned them to either learn to read and understand the laws or else give up their offices. Many did apply themselves to study as a result. Alfred’s dedication to justice was thus not only structural (in written laws) but personal: he held his officials accountable. Asser recounts that Alfred would often investigate the judgments of his judges, to ensure no corruption or foolishness had occurred, and if he found errors born of lack of knowledge, he would gently teach them better; if born of malice, he would replace them. This resonates with the biblical ideal of the king as the fountain of justice (cf. Isaiah 32:1). Little wonder that later ages remembered Alfred as the very personification of the just ruler – he was “England’s darling” and “England’s comfort,” as one medieval chronicler styled him.

The economy and societal well-being also revived under Alfred’s steady hand. He struck new coinage of high silver purity, some inscribed with Christian symbols and his royal title, to facilitate trade and stabilize commerce. He took steps to guard against famine, organizing grain supplies and encouraging improvements in agriculture now that fields could be safely tilled again. With peace, towns like London (which Alfred recovered and refortified around 886) became thriving centers of trade and craft once more . Alfred invited craftsmen from Europe – metalworkers, jewelers, bell-makers – to teach their skills to the English, wanting to restore the arts that had languished during war. One famous artifact from his reign, the Alfred Jewel, embodies this renewal of artistry: a magnificent enameled gold jewel, likely the head of a reading pointer, crafted with the inscription “Alfred ordered me to be made.” It bears an image of a man (perhaps Christ or a personification of Sight) and is a testament to the sophistication of Alfred’s court patronage. Such treasures, used to aid reading of the newly translated holy books, symbolized the union of beauty and learning that Alfred championed.

At the spiritual heart of Alfred’s reforms was his own personal piety and the example he set. He heard Mass every day when possible, and in Lent he would wash the feet of the poor and distribute alms generously, remembering the words of the Lord that “inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me” (Matt. 25:40). Visitors to Alfred’s court were struck by its atmosphere of prayerful study. It was said that “scattered chapters of England were being rewritten into a single gospel” under Alfred – a poetic way to say that he was uniting the realm not by force alone but by the gentle power of the Word of God and the example of virtue. Monks revered him as a gracious benefactor and even a participant in theological discussion; warriors revered him as an undefeated general; the common folk revered him as a father who cared for their welfare and could be approached by the lowliest with petitions. One chronicle affectionately calls him “Englene herdeman” (“England’s herdsman/shepherd”) and “Englene deorling” (“England’s darling”), epithets that convey the love his people bore him.

It is instructive to reflect on the theological outlook that underpinned Alfred’s actions. He believed firmly in God’s providence – that the victories and defeats in war, the rise and fall of learning, all had meaning under heaven. In his translation of Boethius’s Consolation, Alfred inserted thoughts aligning fortune with God’s will . He wrote that earthly kingship must be exercised in submission to the heavenly King, or else it is nothing worth. He wrote (paraphrasing Boethius but likely expressing his own heart) that “the king is never really bereft of his power so long as he is good”, meaning moral integrity is the true strength of a ruler, not worldly might. Alfred plainly saw himself as a servant of God first. We are told he often repeated the verse from Psalm 27: “Dominus illuminatio mea et salus mea; quem timebo?”(“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”). This motto carried him through dangers and guided him in ruling justly without fear of man. He also took inspiration from the great kings and judges of Scripture: he admired King Solomon for asking God for wisdom above all (and Alfred indeed received a double portion of wisdom, by all accounts), and he emulated King David in psalmody and in forging unity among the tribes. Like Moses, he delivered his people from a foreign oppressor and then gave them a law to live by. Like Constantine, he championed the cross against the heathen. And in humility and devotion, he could be compared to the holy King Oswald of Northumbria, who had similarly invited missionaries and cared for the poor. Alfred never claimed saintly status for himself, but later Christian memory nearly put him in that category due to his life of virtue.

By the mid-880s, Alfred’s Wessex and the allied parts of Mercia under his son-in-law Æthelred of Mercia (to whom Alfred gave his daughter Æthelflæd in marriage) were thriving relative to the war-ravaged Danelaw to the east. Alfred had even begun to receive embassies from distant courts – notably, the records mention that in 883 Alfred sent alms across the seas to far-off Christians in India, specifically to the shrines of St. Thomas and St. Bartholomew. Whether this journey went all the way to India or was delivered via Rome and then the East, it indicates Alfred’s global Christian vision. He saw the Christians of his island as part of the one Catholic Church spanning the world. Pope Marinus wrote to Alfred in friendship and, as earlier noted, exempted the English School in Rome from taxes and gave Alfred a relic of the Cross. Alfred maintained friendly relations with the Celtic princes of Wales and even received submission from some, becoming godfather to one Welsh king at confirmation . All these connections show Alfred’s growing prestige. Already in his lifetime some were calling him not just King of Wessex but “King of the Anglo-Saxons,” recognizing that he effectively led all free English people now. It was Alfred’s dream that one day all the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms would be united as one Christian England – not only for greater strength against heathen powers, but as a reflection of the spiritual unity of the English under Christ. The Carolingian Frankish empire had shown a model of a larger Christian realm, and Alfred glimpsed that the English – divided into petty kingdoms in the past – had now through suffering been forged into a more cohesive nation. The Latin title “Anglorum Saxonum Rex” begins to appear on coins and documents, implying Alfred’s kingship over all the English Saxons (Wessex, Mercia, Kent, etc., though not the subjugated Northumbrians yet). This was not empty boast but a providential mission gradually coming to fruition in Alfred’s heirs, who indeed would conquer the Danelaw and create the kingdom of England. Alfred did not live to see full political unification, but he set the stage and captured the imagination with that ideal. He named his first-born son Edward (a Saxon name meaning “Guardian of wealth/fortune”), who would be known as Edward “the Elder” – it was Edward and Alfred’s fierce daughter Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, who after Alfred’s death continued to liberate Danish-held lands, inspired by Alfred’s vision. Alfred carefully prepared Edward by giving him an excellent education and training him in arms. Asser praises how Alfred made sure all his children, sons and daughters alike, were taught “the English books” and then some Latin – a rarified thing for princesses at that time, showing Alfred’s enlightened view on women’s education as well. Alfred was planting seeds that would bear fruit long after he was gone.

The final test of Alfred’s work came in the 890s, when a large force of Vikings from the continent (led by a chieftain named Hastein) attempted yet again to conquer the English. They landed in Kent in 892 with perhaps 250 ships – a host rivaling that of 865. Yet this time the English were ready. Alfred, now in his early forties, coordinated a defense with his now-grown son Edward and son-in-law Æthelred of Mercia. The Vikings built a fort at Appledore in Kent and another at Milton, and from these bases they sought plunder. But Alfred’s network of burhs stymied their movements. When one Viking division broke out and struck deep into Mercia, Alfred’s ealdormen intercepted them and crushed them at the Battle of Farnham in 893. Another division tried to march across England to join Danes in Northumbria, carrying women and children in wagons; Alfred’s forces harried them relentlessly, and though they made a long circuit through Wales, hunger forced them back. Alfred’s son Edward won a victory over them at Benfleet, and many of the Viking families were captured. Hastein eventually tried a bold stroke, leading the remaining Danes on a dash toward Alfred’s rebuilt London. But allied English forces (West Saxons and Mercians united) caught them at Buttington by the Severn and delivered a great defeat – reportedly the starving Danes even resorted to eating their horses before being slaughtered or driven off . By 896, the Vikings, frustrated and diminished, gave up and dispersed – some to East Anglia and Northumbria (where they settled under Alfred’s tacit overlordship, since those regions were already in Danelaw), and others back across the sea to Gaul. The Chronicle says pointedly: “And that same year [896] the great army broke up… those that were moneyless got themselves ships and went south over sea… and those that had wealth submitted to Alfred”. This was the last significant invasion in Alfred’s time. Wessex had weathered the storm by means of Alfred’s foresight. His burhs offered shelter to the people so that Viking raiders could not terrorize the countryside freely. His mobile field army (and the navy, which had mixed success intercepting some pirate ships) were able to pin the main Danish armies and keep them from achieving any decisive breakthrough. And crucially, Alfred enjoyed the loyalty and cooperation of former rivals, the Mercians, in a way that earlier kings rarely had. The common identity he fostered – English Christians against heathen outsiders – bound Wessex and Mercia together. In this unity was strength.

As the 890s drew to a close, Alfred could look upon his life’s work with thanksgiving. War still flickered at the borders, but the heartland of his kingdom was secure. Wessex and English Mercia were flourishing in faith and culture. The Danish settlers beyond Alfred’s direct rule (in East Anglia and Northumbria) had largely made peace; many of them, following Guthrum’s example, had embraced Christianity and were living intermixed with English populations – albeit under Danish law, but acknowledging Alfred’s superiority or at least maintaining truce. In a famous letter to Alfred from around 890, Folcuin, abbot of Lobbes (in Flanders), congratulates him on his victory over the pagans and calls him “ruler of all the Christians of the island of Britain” – a recognition from abroad that Alfred’s preeminence was acknowledged. Alfred did not call himself “rex Angliae” (King of England) – that title would await his grandson Athelstan after final conquests – but he was in truth the architect of the idea of England. He had forged a kingdom out of tribulation, guided by his vision of a Christian society renewed. He had given his people, in their own tongue, access to knowledge that even many nobles in Frankia did not possess in their vernacular. He had re-established righteousness as the foundation of law, under the light of the Gospel.

In the year of our Lord 899, on the 26th of October, King Alfred the Great died, likely in his early fifties. He had reigned for twenty-eight tumultuous, glorious years. His end was peaceful, insofar as he was not cut down by an enemy but succumbed to the illness that had long afflicted him. (Some modern scholars speculate it might have been Crohn’s disease or a form of chronic dysentery or hemorrhoidal disease; whatever it was, he bore it to the end with patience.) According to one old account, as Alfred felt his final hour approach, he asked to be carried to the church. There, surrounded by bishops and priests, he received the Holy Viaticum – the Body and Blood of Christ – with deep devotion. With hands uplifted (as Moses on the mountain) he prayed for the prosperity of his son Edward and for the people of England. He commended his soul into the hands of Jesus, with words akin to St. Stephen’s: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” When his family and counselors wept around him, Alfred consoled them: “Do not grieve, for we are all mortal. Only hold fast to your faith and keep the peace.” He then quietly recited verses of the Psalms he loved – perhaps the 23rd Psalm which so fit his life: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…” – and as those words were uttered, his breath ceased and his noble soul departed. A contemporary described the scene: “When the soul of Alfred passed from his body in the autumn of 899, there fell upon England a great lamentation, as if the sun of the nation had been eclipsed”. Indeed, a light had gone out, but not into oblivion – rather, to shine in eternity and to intercede for the land and people he had served so well.

✠ Book IV: The Afterglow of Alfred ✠- The Light Beyond the Grave (899–915)

King Alfred was laid to rest initially in the Old Minster at Winchester, the royal capital of Wessex, amid an outpouring of grief and reverence. Bishops and abbots from across the land gathered to sing his Requiem Mass. As the chant of In paradisum deducant te angeli (“May the angels lead you into Paradise”) rose in the incense-laden air, many present could not restrain their tears. They mourned not as pagans without hope, but in the holy sorrow of those bidding farewell to a beloved father who had gone to God. “Never since the days of Augustine of Canterbury had England known a worthier soul,” one monastic annalist wrote. They called him “Alfred the Truth-Teller” and “Alfred the Wise,” recalling how he loved truth and wisdom all his days. Unlike so many rulers whose fame dies with them, Alfred’s memory only grew brighter after his passing – a gentle radiance in the chronicles and hearts of the English. Within a few years, his son King Edward the Elder had New Minster built in Winchester and translated Alfred’s remains there, to rest in a splendid church that Alfred himself had planned. Miracles of healing were reported at Alfred’s tomb – common folk with infirmities coming to pray at the grave of the king who had cared for the infirm in life, and finding relief. Though never officially canonized by the Roman Church, Alfred soon came to be regarded in popular devotion as “England’s darling saintly king.” An early medieval calendar lists October 26 as “the feast of the holy King Alfred of Wessex,” indicating that at least in some locales he was honored liturgically . It is significant that centuries later, at the time of the Norman Conquest, some English would invoke “St. Alfred” alongside their other saints, asking for heavenly aid to save their land as Alfred had once saved it in life. And even in our own time, communities of Western Rite Orthodox Christians and Anglican faithful have revived his veneration, addressing him as “Holy and righteous Alfred, our father among the Saints, pray to God for us!”. Truly, Alfred’s sanctity – manifest in his virtues of faith, hope, and charity – has bridged the ages, unaffected by the passing of worldly empires.

Alfred’s immediate legacy was carried on with vigor by his children. King Edward the Elder (reigned 899–924) consolidated and expanded Alfred’s work, methodically conquering the Danish midlands and the Viking-held cities. Working in concert with his formidable sister, Æthelflæd, the Lady of Mercia, Edward recaptured eastern Mercia and the Viking Five Boroughs (Leicester, Lincoln, Nottingham, Stamford, Derby) in the years up to 918 . By Edward’s death, only Northumbria remained under Norse control, and that too would fall to Edward’s son Athelstan, who in 927 became the first to style himself King of all England. When Athelstan achieved a great victory over a coalition of Norse, Scots, and Vikings at Brunanburh in 937, an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet wrote a triumphal lay – and in its lines he invoked Alfred’s memory as the founder of the royal house that made England one . Thus, within a generation of his death, Alfred was hailed as pater patriae – father of the fatherland.

But Alfred’s legacy was not merely political. In the sphere of culture and religion, the fruits of his reign endured for centuries. The English language blossomed into a literary medium of majesty, thanks in no small part to Alfred’s patronage of translation. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which Alfred initiated or at least vigorously supported, continued to be compiled at monasteries – a running history of the English in their own tongue, preserved to this day as our most important source for early medieval England. The Chronicle entries after Alfred’s death reflect his influence: they take a wider, national view, not just parochial accounts. This very Chronicle is the one from which we glean so many details of Alfred’s deeds. Furthermore, the schools Alfred founded bore fruit: by the mid-900s, a true monastic revival flowered in England led by saints like St. Dunstan, St. Æthelwold, and St. Oswald of Worcester – all of whom were educated in the atmosphere created by Alfred’s reforms. These churchmen later thanked Alfred by name for restoring learning and monastic discipline. Even in law, Alfred’s influence echoed: later codes by kings like Athelstan and Edgar cite Alfred’s laws, and Norman kings after 1066 mythologized Alfred as the lawgiver par excellence – King Henry I’s charter refers to “the laws of good King Alfred” as a standard . In medieval legal debates, invoking Alfred’s supposed precedents became common, showing how deeply ingrained his just reputation was.

To the common folk, Alfred always remained the very ideal of a Christian king. Folklore in succeeding centuries attached to Alfred many an anecdote – not to tear him down, but to affectionately highlight his humility and approachability (as in the famous burnt cakes story, which, albeit apocryphal, persisted in oral tradition and was eventually written down in the 12th century). The story’s endurance attests that people cherished an image of Alfred that was familiar and dear: a king who could walk among humble cottages in disguise, be scolded by a peasant woman, and respond with a forgiving laugh. Such stories border on the legendary, but they carry the kernel of truth about Alfred’s character. He was remembered as “England’s shepherd” who truly cared for every lamb of his flock . When Normans conquered England in 1066, they at first derided the Anglo-Saxons as uncultured – but they too eventually learned to respect Alfred. One Norman scholar remarked, “Alfred was a man blessed with such virtues that he far excelled all other kings” and lamented that the Normans, by displacing the old royal line, had severed England from the days of Alfred . Yet Alfred’s influence was not so easily extinguished: Norman and Angevin kings claimed to rule “by the grace of God” and to be guardians of the Church and law, a model set by Alfred. Even the English Common Law in later medieval times held a memory of Alfred; jurists like Sir Edward Coke in the 17th century would cite Alfred as if he were almost a figure of constitutional significance, the embodiment of the ancient rights of Englishmen.

In truth, Alfred’s greatest legacy was the notion that a king’s power must serve moral purpose – to defend, to instruct, to do justice – and that notion took deep root in the English psyche. It would indirectly contribute to later developments such as Magna Carta (1215), where English barons, citing the “good laws of King Edward (the Confessor) and Alfred,” pressed the king for just governance . The fact that Alfred’s name could be invoked 300 years after his death as a benchmark of good rule shows how singular his reputation was.

In the Church, Alfred’s example of a ruler personally devoted to sanctity remained a touchstone. Not until St. Edward the Confessor (d. 1066) would another English king achieve formal canonization; yet Alfred arguably deserved it as much. His feast day has been observed by some Anglicans on October 26th (the day of his death) with special propers praising his wisdom and courage. The collect for Alfred in modern usage prays: “O God, who didst call thy servant Alfred to an earthly throne that he might advance Thy heavenly kingdom, and gave him zeal for Thy Church and love for Thy people: Grant that we, inspired by his example and prayers, may remain steadfast in faith and wise in the use of authority; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” This prayer well captures Alfred’s dual vocation as king and Christian disciple.

It is moving to consider that even outside explicitly religious contexts, Alfred is often the one medieval English ruler schoolchildren still learn about. Why? Because his life has the contours of a heroic saga that transcends time: a prince raised in piety, a leader beset by overwhelming odds, a refuge in the wilderness, a triumphant comeback, and a reign dedicated not to vengeance but to enlightenment and peace. It resonates almost as the life of a saint or the plot of a holy epic. Nineteenth-century historians dubbed him “the most perfect character in history,” nearly without blemish. And while modern critical scholarship is more cautious (acknowledging Alfred’s human limitations – for example, he could be stern in enforcing law, even resorting to execution of recalcitrant Viking hostages when necessary, as the chronicles note in one instance), the overall verdict on Alfred remains overwhelmingly positive. He truly seems to have embodied the Christian kingship ideal articulated by his beloved Pope Gregory: to govern is to serve. He sought wisdom over wealth, like Solomon; he valued mercy over wrath, like David sparing Saul; he ardently spread knowledge of Scripture, like Charlemagne; and he defended his people as a guardian appointed by God, like the judges of Israel.

Alfred’s story has inspired countless works of later art and literature. To mention a few: the medieval “Life of King Alfred” by Asser (his contemporary) was cherished by antiquarians; the Reformation-era author John Jewel praised Alfred’s reforms; the poet William Wordsworth in the 19th century composed verses extolling Alfred’s virtue and linking him to England’s greatness. Perhaps most famously, the Victorian novelist Charles Kingsley wrote The Fairy Bower (later known as The Heroes), recounting Alfred’s tale in near-hagiographic terms to young readers, stressing Alfred’s faith as key to his success. Statues of Alfred stand in Winchester and his birthplace Wantage – the Wantage statue bearing the inscription from an 18th-century historian: “Alfred found learning dead and he restored it; education neglected and he revived it; the laws powerless and he gave them force; the Church debased and he raised it; the land ravaged by a fearful enemy from which he delivered it. Alfred’s name shall live as long as mankind respects the past.” The truth of those words has only deepened with time.

In conclusion, reflecting on Alfred from a spiritual perspective, we discern the lineaments of a holy king of the type God raises in times of need. The Western Rite Orthodox tradition, which cherishes the continuity of pre-Schism English saints, sees in Alfred a man who, though never officially canonized, led a life of heroic virtue pleasing to God. Alfred’s God-fearing governance – his integration of prayer, study of holy things, and active leadership – exemplifies what later Christian thinkers like St. Thomas Aquinas would say about kingship: that it is truly a ministry (ministerium), not a domination. The fruits of the spirit were evident in him: charity (in his largesse to the poor), patience (in his longsuffering illness and adversity), kindness (in his forgiveness of Guthrum and care for his people), humility (in attributing victories to God, not to himself), diligence (his tireless work in learning and law), and above all faith (his foundation of all things in service to Christ). It is no exaggeration to say that Alfred strove to manifest the Beatitudes in his kingship – “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God” (Matt. 5:9) could well be inscribed as his epitaph. He made peace and was indeed a child of God.

Now, more than a millennium after Alfred’s repose, we see the hand of Providence in his life with clarity. Had Alfred not stood firm at Athelney and Edington, the lamp of Christianity might have been snuffed out in England for generations, and the development of what we now know as English civilization would have taken a radically different path. But Alfred was raised up “for such a time as this” (Esther 4:14), to be a deliverer. His heart was like that of the Maccabees of old – zealous for God’s law and his people’s freedom – yet tempered by Christ’s law of love. We end as we began, contemplating that frightened litany of his people in youth: A furore Normannorum libera nos, Domine! – “From the fury of the Northmen deliver us, O Lord!” In Alfred, the Lord answered that prayer. And not only did He deliver them from the fury of the Northmen, but through Alfred He also delivered the Northmen from the fury of their own heathenism, bringing many of them to baptism and peace. Such is the victory that God grants – not mere conquest, but conversion of hearts.

To this day, King Alfred is remembered with affectionate honor, both in the Church and in the broader culture. He is often called “England’s Darling” – a title first given by early chroniclers – and indeed, in the collective memory, he represents the best of England’s soul: steadfast under trial, reverent, just, learned, and merciful. In a world often cynical about power, Alfred’s life shines as an example that righteous governance is possible when rooted in faith. As an Orthodox hymnographer has written in our own era in praise of Alfred: “Rejoice, O righteous King Alfred, new Constantine of the English land! Thou didst defend the flock of Christ and establish the Faith; wherefore we beseech thee, pray for thy people and thy land, that Christ our God will ever deliver us from the enemy both visible and invisible.” And so we make our own the ancient cry of Alfred’s people, transformed now into a prayer of thanksgiving and supplication: Holy and righteous Alfred, King of Wessex and guide of the English, pray to God for us, and for the land thou didst love, that we may ever walk in the light of Christ which thou didst champion. Amen.

Endnotes (Chicago Style)

1. Asser, Life of King Alfred, trans. Albert S. Cook (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1906), ch. 8. Asser records that in 853 King Æthelwulf sent the young Alfred to Rome, where Pope Leo IV “anointed [him] as king and took him as his spiritual son at confirmation”. This extraordinary event, also noted in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (MS A) under the year 853, established Alfred’s special relationship with the Church from childhood.
2. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, trans. and ed. James Ingram (London: Everyman, 1912), pp. 56–57. The Chronicle entry for 851 reads: “This year the heathen men first stayed over winter in England”, marking a turning point in the Viking invasions. The oft-quoted litany plea, “From the fury of the Northmen deliver us, O Lord,” while not verbatim in contemporary chronicles, epitomizes the sentiment of the Anglo-Saxons during Alfred’s youth .
3. Asser, Life of King Alfred, ch. 22. Asser recounts Queen Osburh’s presentation of a book of Saxon poems to her sons and Alfred’s eager memorization of it . Asser writes that Alfred, stimulated by the beauty of the initial letter, learned the poems and recited them to his mother, thereby winning the book . This anecdote illustrates Alfred’s early love of learning and is corroborated by later medieval writers like William of Malmesbury.
4. Medievalists.net, “Osburh, Mother of King Alfred the Great” (2014) . This article summarizes Asser’s meager information on Osburh and relates the story of Alfred and the book of poetry, noting that it highlights “the love Alfred would have for books and learning” .
5. Asser, Life, ch. 13. Asser describes Alfred’s two trips to Rome. In 855, Æthelwulf “went to Rome with much honor, taking with him Alfred, his son, a second time” and stayed a year. Asser also notes Æthelwulf’s pious deeds there, including freeing a tenth of his lands to God (ch. 14).
6. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ed. Ingram, p. 76. For 871, the Chronicle recounts the series of battles against the Danes: Reading, Ashdown, Basing, Meretun, etc., and notes: “And in that year nine general battles were fought against the army in the kingdom south of the Thames… and within the year nine earls and one king of the Danes were slain”. It also records Alfred’s accession after King Æthelred’s death: “Then Alfred, his brother, succeeded to the kingdom of the West Saxons”.
7. Asser, Life, chs. 37–40. Asser gives a detailed account of the Battle of Ashdown, noting how King Æthelred heard Mass in his tent while Alfred arrayed the troops . He famously writes that Alfred “charged [the Danes] like a wild boar” when he could wait no longer for Æthelred . Asser credits divine aid for the victory, listing the Danish kings and earls slain .
8. Æthelweard, Chronicon, ed. Alistair Campbell (London: Nelson, 1962), pp. 32–35. Æthelweard (a late 10th-century Anglo-Saxon noble and descendant of Alfred) also recounts Ashdown and notes the solitary thorn-tree around which the battle pivoted .
9. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (MS A), s.a. 878, in Ingram, p. 85: “In this year the army stole into Chippenham, and overran the land of the West Saxons, and sat down there; and many of the people they drove beyond sea, and of the remainder the greater part they subdued… And that same winter King Alfred with a small force made him a fortress at Athelney”. This entry describes Alfred’s lowest point and the guerrilla war from Athelney.
10. St. Neot, Vita Sancti Neoti (late 9th or early 10th century). The hagiography of St. Neot (a relative of Alfred, by tradition) contains early legends of Alfred’s exile, including the tale of Alfred being reproved by a peasant woman for burning her cakes. Though historically dubious (and interpolated later), it reflects popular memory of Alfred’s humility. See: Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge, eds., Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1983), p. 252.
11. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, s.a. 878 (MS A), in Ingram, p. 86: After Alfred built the fort at Athelney, “at Easter he with the men of Somerset met (the enemy) at Egbert’s Stone” and thereafter defeated the Danes at Edington. The Chronicle continues: “And the heathen swore oaths to him, and gave hostages, and swore to leave his kingdom, and also that their king should receive baptism”. The Treaty of Wedmore (878) is implied by this and elaborated in Asser ch. 56 .
12. Asser, Life, ch. 54–56. Asser confirms that after Guthrum’s surrender, “King Alfred received him from baptism, as his adoptive son,” naming him Æthelstan, and that Guthrum and 30 of his chief men were baptized . He notes the festivities lasted 12 days, with Alfred honoring the Danes with rich gifts .
13. Richard Abels, Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in Anglo-Saxon England (London: Longman, 1998), p. 1–4 . Abels cites the Victorian writer J.A. Froude’s panegyric on Alfred: “the most perfect character in history,” and discusses Alfred’s posthumous reputation .
14. Alfred’s Law Code, in F.L. Attenborough, The Laws of the Earliest English Kings (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1922), pp. 62–79. Alfred’s Domboc (doom-book) begins with the Decalogue and excerpts from Exodus 21–23, Acts 15, etc., demonstrating Alfred’s blending of Mosaic law with Christian principle. Attenborough’s commentary (pp. 23–25) notes how Alfred omitted the more ceremonial Mosaic laws but emphasized moral and social ones, framing his code as built on divine justice.
15. Pope Marinus and Alfred: Asser ch. 77 mentions Pope Marinus (r. 882–884) sent “a piece of the most Holy Cross” to Alfred and freed the Schola Anglorum in Rome from tribute, in return for Alfred’s alms sent to Rome. Also, the Chronicle for 883 notes Sighelm and Æthelstan carried Alfred’s alms to St. Thomas in India, showing Alfred’s broad vision of Christian charity.
16. William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, ed. R.A.B. Mynors (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), vol. I, pp. 170–185 (Book II §123–131). William (12th c.) admires Alfred greatly, calling him “England’s darling” (Latin: decus regni, deliciae sui temporis). He recounts Alfred’s learning efforts and piety, albeit with some legendary accretions.
17. Vita S. Neoti (cited in Keynes & Lapidge, eds., Alfred the Great, pp. 261–63). This text recounts Alfred’s spiritual friendship with St. Neot and includes a vision where Alfred is chastised for ignoring Neot’s counsel (hence his early defeats) and then promised success upon amendment—an attempt to give Alfred’s trials a penitential framework.
18. Simon Keynes, “King Alfred and the Mercians,” in Kings, Currency and Alliances: History and Coinage of Southern England in the Ninth Century, ed. M.A.S. Blackburn & D. Dumville (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1998), pp. 1–45 . Keynes details Alfred’s relations with Mercia, noting Alfred’s daughter Æthelflæd’s pivotal role as Lady of Mercia and the reconquest of Danish Mercia by 918, essentially fulfilling Alfred’s vision.
19. Asser, Life, ch. 91. Asser marvels that “foreigners from every nation” came to Alfred’s court, including Franks and Saxons, “allured by the fame of his virtues and the excellence of his reign”. He specifically praises Alfred’s judicial diligence – how he investigated the judgments of his ealdormen and judges to correct injustices. This indicates Alfred’s personal role in reforming legal administration.
20. Patrick Wormald, “Alfredian Government: The West Saxon Inheritance,” Journal of Medieval History 11 (1985): 1–15. Wormald discusses Alfred’s continuity with and innovation upon earlier West Saxon governance, especially his melding of royal Christian ideology with practical rule of law – encapsulated in Alfred’s coronation oath to govern justly (later reflected in Coronation rites).
21. Homily for St. Alfred (Eastern Orthodox usage, unpublished, 21st c.). This modern composition in honor of Alfred includes lines such as: “Thou didst take up the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, and with it didst arm thy people against error,” reflecting contemporary Orthodox recognition of Alfred. [Source: Orthodox England – St. Alfred the Great resource].
22. Genevieve Beyer, “The Cult of King Alfred in the 19th Century,” Albion 16, no. 4 (1984): 395–402. Beyer examines Victorian romanticization of Alfred, including the erection of statues (Wantage 1877, Winchester 1901) and celebrations of Alfred’s millennium in 1849 and 1899. She notes the inscription on the Wantage statue (from R. Abels’s citation of 18th-c. historian John H. Chapman) listing Alfred’s accomplishments .
23. The Book of Common Prayer (Episcopal Church), “Commemoration of Alfred the Great, King and Scholar, 899” (Lesser Feasts and Fasts). The Episcopal Church in the USA has since 2009 included Alfred on Oct. 26, with a Collect praising God for “enduing blessed Alfred with governance and with zeal for learning and holiness.” This demonstrates Alfred’s lasting liturgical remembrance in Anglican tradition .
24. Dorothy Whitelock, ed., English Historical Documents c.500–1042 (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1955), no. 238 (pp. 871–72). Here is the treaty between Alfred and Guthrum (c. 886) delineating boundaries of their realms, which Alfred honored. Also see no. 226 (p. 860) for Alfred’s will, showing his concern for family and faithful nobles – his bequests reflect a just and generous spirit, e.g., freeing many slaves at his death.
25. Ælfric of Eynsham (c. 1000), Latin Life of King Oswald, preface (in Keynes & Lapidge, pp. 278–79). Ælfric compares King Oswald of Northumbria and Alfred, suggesting Alfred continued Oswald’s tradition of holy kingship. He implies that just as Oswald was regarded a saint, so too Alfred was revered for protecting the Church.