Dacor was then, as it is now, the name of a village in a pleasant vale, on the border between the plain country of Cumberland and the mountains Lakeland. Among the mountains at that time were dwelling only wild Welsh, and still wilder fell-folk akin to the Picts of Galloway. But in the plain country were many homesteads of Anglians and Danes, dotted here and there beside the old high-road. The Danes were new comers, who had crossed the waterparting, the Keel of England one may say, as they talked of the Keel of Norway. They had invaded these western parts but fifty years since, when Halfdan laid all the inland regions under him from Carlisle to Conishead, and remained there after his power had ebbed back over the Keel again. But the Anglians were old inhabitants since the days of Ecgfrith and other great kings, whose heirs ruled at Bamborough, though in diminished splendour, until Athelstan took their kingdom to himself.

These Anglians were Christian people, and had priests and monks among them. One of their churches was at Dacor; and near by, a monastery. A church is there yet on the spot: as for the monastery nobody knows where it stood; but it was doubtless in that valley with the lovely winding beck and among the acres of corn and pleasant meadowlands which the monks had cleared and tilled, bordering on the wild home of rocks and wolves. The Welsh of Penrith and Penruddock and Blencow lived thus alongside of Danes and Anglians: not always quiet neighbours perhaps, but yet on some terms of neighbourhood: and if not good subjects to Owain king of Cumbria, still reckoned within his borders.

So when Athelstan had news about the plots of Owain and Constantine to put back Sigtrygg’s sons on their father’s throne, he marched from York by the old high-road straight over the Keel: and in three days he was here at Dacor guesting with the monks. And his foes, who had come south too late to carry the war into the country of York, found nothing left for them to do but to agree with him as best they might.

Athelstan the king sat in Dacor hall, and the kings of the north swore to him as they had sworn to his father Eadward: and they gave their hostages into his hands, and renounced their dealings with the idolaters, namely those heathen Danes, the sons of Sigtrygg. “For,” said Athelstan, “it is a shame if we, being Christian men and ruling Christian men, suffer these unbaptized pagans to ravage a Christian land, to burn the churches, and slay the monks, and rob the holy women our sisters. And if we three but stand together, we might clear the whole island of such knaves, and keep it clear for ourselves and our people, in peace and plenty.”

To such talk at that while Owain and Constantine were well agreed, and all the readier because Athelstan’s host was bigger than both of theirs.

Now Constantine had with him a young son of his, yet unchristened; and Athelstan, willing to knit himself closer to his new friends, said that he would stand godfather to the child: for in those days it was thought nearer than kinship by blood to be god-sib, or bound by holy water and the vows of baptism. So they brought the young child to Dacor church, and baptized him, and Athelstan stood his godfather.

When he was out of the water, and dressed in white, with white linen wrapped about his head, said the priest, “Here is water, king, as the Scripture says: what should hinder these from being baptized?” and he pointed to the Northmen who were standing without, and neither signed themselves with the cross nor bent the knee at prayer, but stared in through the church porch at the gilded imagery, and at the glass windows that Bishop Wilfrith had put there in ancient times.

With that there was some shrinking back among those who had been most eager to look on: and Athelstan turned and fixed his gaze upon Swein, and spoke in the Northmen’s tongue, for he knew it well.

“What sayest thou, friend? Wilt thou set the good example?”

“King,” answered he, “I am a prime-signed man and no church robber.”

(For it must be known that many of the heathen were, as one may say, half-baptized: not that they meant to change their faith, but in order to have dealings in trade and otherwise with Christians, who might have no communion with the unbelievers).

“And,” added Swein, “I have a mind to stay as I am.”

“But if I bid thee?” said the young king.

“Eadward thy father asked no such thing of me, when I took him for father and lord two years ago.”

“Why, brother, I seem to have some inkling of thy face. Wast not thou the brawler of Bakewell?”

With that they laughed and Swein reddened, and replied somewhat angrily, “Saving a king’s presence, I was no brawler, nor did Eadward call me so, to my face.”

“Nor behind thy back, believe me, good man. For I tell truth when I say that after all were gone, and we were together at supper, my father said this to me: Boy, he said, we have done a good day’s work;—and I remember well how he cracked a great nut when he said it. But, said he, the best touch of my kingcraft, for many a year, has been the winning of that stout franklin and his fellows. And he charged me to leave no stone unturned to get the love of you Northmen, such as had settled peaceably within our borders, and were busied in tilling lands hitherto waste, and in the carrying trade about our coasts. Now, what shall I give thee, since thou dost refuse the best of gifts in my keeping?”

“King,” said Swein, “they say we Northmen are greedy of gold, and of blood, and of plunder alone. But by this I know that thou art wiser than other men, and bearest a grey head on those young shoulders. Truth it is when thou sayest that we are busied in tilling waste places, and in sea-trading; and this no man can gainsay. And indeed if at times we are ready to fight, and to fight our best, it is but to keep the homes we have made with our own hands, and to give them over no less than we hold them into the safe keeping of our little ones.”

Then Athelstan thought awhile and said “It has been in my mind now these many days that it would be a wise law, if every such brave seafaring merchant who has made three voyages with his own goods in his own ship, should be called Thane of England. Will that cap fit, friend?”

“Well, king,” answered Swein, “many a voyage have I made with my own bulk in my own ship, cheaping a little and—”

“And taking what came in thy way?” broke in the king with a smile.

“That’s as you may call it,” said Swein.

“Well, for the law the Witan must look to it: and for thee, friend, come to me once again when thy mind is made up, after talk with the priest here, and with the good monks hard by.”

The priest was glad enough to talk with Swein, and so were the monks, for that matter; and they went near to tearing him in pieces between them.

First he must away to see the monastery: and in it was a carved shrine of gold and enamel, curiously worked, and holding their treasure. Swein looked for a crown of jewels at the least: but lo and behold it was only a lock of hair. But they said that this lock of hair was from the head of Cuthbert the great saint of their faith: and that it had been cut from his dead body when he was carried about by his monks for seven years, fleeing before Halfdan after Carlisle was burnt. And then they told Swein of the wonderful things which that lock of hair could do: how it had healed a young man who was diseased in his eyes, and such like, as was writ in the book of venerable Beda. Swein wondered at the casket, but he took little heed of the relic, saying he thanked them, and he would come back to them when his eyes ached, if no wise wife at home could cure him.

Then they carried him back to Dacor kirkgarth, where was lying a great pillar of sandstone foursquared: and on it, drawn with chalk, figures to carve: and the carver was already at work with mallet and chisel, for a monument of the kings’ meeting. There was the font of baptism, and over it the two kings handselling their peace. Athelstan was drawn much the greater because he was the greater king: and he seemed eager enough in his picture, while Constantine drew back like one who would gladly get his hand out of the grip of his friend. At which Swein laughed within himself, and thought that the carver was belike a true prophet.

Then there was a lamb above them, and beneath, a hart worried by a hound, so fairly drawn that it was like the life.

Under all was a tree, and a serpent at its roots, and one who plucked the apples, and one who took them to make him wise and to get knowledge.

“Nay,” said Swein, “that is no new picture: but you have not got it right. This Adam you call him,—Odin, I say as I was taught,—should be hanging in the tree, as the rhyme says:—

“Ah!” cried the priest eagerly, “thou art not far from the kingdom of God. For what saith the Scripture? As in Adam all died, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. Come with me, and the Lord open thine eyes.”

Then he took Swein into the little church, and the sunshine came through the windows upon the altar.

“Behold,” said the priest kneeling, “One hanging on the tree, wounded with the spear, very God of very God: given by himself to himself, that we who are his body might know the truth, and that the truth might make us free.”

And more he added, earnestly entreating his guest: until Swein laid his hand on the frail shoulder of the priest, and said gravely:—

“Young man, these two-score years I have followed the gods of my fathers: and one while they have been good to me, and another while they have been evilminded. Now I will not lightly take a new god at the bidding of yonder king: nay, not to be Thane or Earl. Nor do I wholly understand all thy words, though meseems they are good words, and spoken from a good heart. But this I say, that no priest nor church shall ever be the worse for me or mine: and when my day of need comes, if thy God will help me, he shall be my God.”

He took the priest’s hand, and went his way. But the priest knelt there, weeping passionately and praying, “Oh God, give me that man’s soul. Nay, not unto me, oh Lord, but unto Thy name be the glory.”