, to protect the island party against a
Danish incursion.

Such was the state of Alfred's fortunes and of England's hopes in the
spring of 878. Three months before, all southern England, with the
exception of Gloucester and its surrounding lands, had been his. Now his
kingdom was a small island in the heart of a morass, his subjects a
lurking band of faithful warriors, his subsistence what could be wrested
from the strong hands of the foe.

While matters went thus in Somerset, a storm of war gathered in Wales.
Another of Ragnar's sons, Ubbo by name, had landed on the Welsh coast,
and, carrying everything before him, was marching inland to join his
victorious brother.

He was too strong for the Saxons of that quarter to make head against
him in the open field. Odun, the valiant ealderman who led them, fled,
with his thanes and their followers, to the castle of Kwineth, a
stronghold defended only by a loose wall of stones, in the Saxon
fashion. But the fortress occupied the summit of a lofty rock, and bade
defiance to assault. Ubbo saw this. He saw, also, that water must be
wanting on that steep rock. He pitched his tents at its foot, and waited
till thirst should compel a surrender of the garrison.

He was to find that it is not always wise to cut off the supplies of a
beleaguered foe. Despair aids courage. A day came in the siege in which
Odun, grown desperate, left his defences before dawn, glided silently
down the hill with his men, and fell so impetuously upon the Danish
host that the chief and twelve hundred of his followers were slain, and
the rest driven in panic to their ships. The camp, rich with the spoil
of Wales, fell into the victors' hands, while their trophies included
the great Raven standard of the Danes, said to have been woven in one
noontide by Ragnar's three daughters. This was a loss that presaged
defeat to the Danes, for they were superstitious concerning this
standard. If the raven appeared to flap its wings when going into
battle, victory seemed to them assured. If it hung motionless, defeat
was feared. Its loss must have been deemed fatal.

Tidings of this Saxon victory flew as if upon wings throughout England,
and everywhere infused new spirit into the hearts of the people, new
hope of recovering their country from the invading foe. To Alfred the
news brought a heart-tide of joy. The time for action was at hand.
Recruits came to him daily; fresh life was in his people; trusty
messengers f