12th-century wall-painting of St Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral
In 878, at the lowest moment in Alfred’s life, after he had been sent fleeing into the marshes of Somerset by the Viking ambush on Chippenham, the fugitive king had shared some of his scanty provisions with a passing stranger; and then, out on the waters, his men had hauled in a miraculous catch of fish. That same night, as Alfred lay in bed, the man to whom he had given hospitality had appeared in a vision, and revealed himself to be [Saint] Cuthbert. The saint had promised Alfred victory over the Vikings, and that his descendants would rule the whole of Britain. ‘Be faithful to me and to my people, then, for all Albion has been given to you and your sons.’ To Athelstan the resonance of such a message was, of course, apparent. His united kingdom of England was not merely sword-won, but blessed by Northumbria’s most powerful saint.
Athelstan, like his grandfather, never forgot that care for the wellbeing of his subjects was a charge that had been laid upon him directly by his Creator. Such a responsibility could hardly have been a more awesome one. No wonder, then, that Athelstan should have been as ready with legislation as he was with his sword. Even as his councils provided a forum in which he could make a show of all his greatness, they enabled him as well to acknowledge in public the manifold ills that afflicted his people.
—Tom Holland, Athelstan (Penguin Monarchs)
