ill existed without
the fortified towns had betaken themselves to the woods, or the
recesses of the deep swamps and forests, as the people of Aescendune
had done.

As they drew near Dorchester, they found yet more sanguinary traces of
recent war, for the Thames had been the scene of constant warfare.
Bensington, half burned, had partially recovered, and had renewed her
fortifications; Wallingford, hard by, had never risen since the
frightful Christmas of 1006.

Dorchester now rose before them. They had accomplished fifty miles of
hard riding that night. They were seen, challenged, and recognised, by
a patrol without the gates, and the cry, "Long live King Edmund!"
echoed from all sides. A thousand gallant Mercians, the nucleus of an
army, each man fit to be a captain, awaited them there, and Edmund
felt his spirits revive within him, and his hope for England; and
Alfgar met Hermann with great gladness.

It was pitiful to see the blackened ruins of churches and palace,
which had not been rebuilt since the Danish raid of 1010, but the
commoner dwellings were rising with rapidity from their ashes, or had
already risen, for the shelter of the earthworks and other
fortifications was not to be despised, and prevented the place from
being utterly abandoned.

Yet it may be noted that Dorchester never fully recovered the events
of that dreadful year, and that its decay probably dates from the
period.

Resting only a few hours, during which they were the guests of Ednoth,
the bishop, they departed with his fervent blessing and earnest
prayers for their success, and rode westward, attended by their whole
troop.

Every town they reached received them with enthusiasm. They were now
near the birthplace of the great Alfred, where the hearts of the
people were all thoroughly with their native princes; and men left all
their ordinary occupations to strike one blow for King Edmund and
England. Onward, and like a rolling snowball, they gathered as they
went, until they entered Wiltshire with ten thousand men, and,
crossing the country, reached the opposite border with all the brave
men of Wilts added to their numbers.

They were now approaching Dorsetshire, and saw before them a rising
ground, with a large stone set in a conspicuous position.

"What stone is that?" inquired Edmund of a thane, whose habitation was
hard by, and who had joined him with his whole household.

"It is called the county stone. It marks the place wher