Then Ethelred our king must needs fly from his throne, and leave the land to its Danish master.
Yet it was true, as Eadmund the Atheling said, that the Dane was but master of the land, and not of the English people.

Even today my mind is full of wondering honour for those sullen Saxon levies of ours who for three years bore defeat after defeat at the hands of the trained and hardened veterans of the north, uncomplaining and unbent.

What wonder if at last we were wearied out and must hold our hands for a while?
So now when I was nineteen, and looking and feeling many years older by reason of the long stress of warfare and trouble, I was at Rouen, in Normandy, at the court of our queen's brother, Richard the Duke.

To him Ethelred had fled at the last and there, too, were the queen and the athelings, good Abbot Elfric of Peterborough, and a few more of the court, besides myself.

Ethelred had hoped to gain some help from the duke; but he could only give us shelter in our need, for he had even yet to hold the land that Rolf, his forefather, had won against his neighbours, and could spare us not one of his warriors.
So in Rouen we waited and watched for some new turn of things that might give us fresh hopes of regaining our own land.