West Wales (Dorset, Devon, and Cornwall), also the same chronic strife existed, and the stubborn defence of the native Romanised population was only slowly driven back. In summarising our national history, the fact is often imperfectly recognised, in the long perspective of time, that the Anglo-Saxon conquest lasted over about two hundred years, and that no part of the Roman Empire made so stubborn and prolonged a resistance to the Barbarian conquest as the ex-province of Britain. Indeed, the natives of the Cornish peninsula did not lose their independence till the reign of Athelstane, in the tenth century; Wales did not finally submit to the conqueror till the fourteenth century, and we are the witnesses of a recrudescence of the national spirit in the contemporary demand for Welsh Home Rule.

We have already had occasion to notice that Ethelbert had sought to ally himself in marriage with the house of Clovis, and that Bertha, the daughter of Charibert, had been given to him, on condition that she should retain the free exercise of her religion, and that Liudhard, Bishop (of Senlis ?), had accompanied her to Kent. The Queen would probably have some Frank female attendants, and the bishop would very likely be accompanied by a deacon at least, so that there was a little group of Christians already at the Kentish court. Their personal influence ensured a friendly reception to the Italian visitors; but even without it, Ethelbert was sufficiently civilised, and sufficiently in touch with the social and political life of the Continent, to have offered no violence to a company of peaceful men sent by the illustrious Bishop of Rome, and with the good wishes of the Frank kings.

Accordingly, the messengers to the King sent by the man in authority at Ebbe's Fleet, to know what was to be done about these bands of Italian strangers, brought back a peaceful reply; they were to remain for the present where they were, and to be supplied with all which was necessary, until the King should come and hear what they had to say.

After a short delay, Ethelbert came to the island and gave Augustine and his companions audience. The King arranged that the interview should take place in the open air, from a superstitious belief that any magical influence which the strangers might possess would be less effectual in the open air than in a house. It is the unaccustomed which creates fear. The imagination of the dweller in cities peoples the weird heath and the silent forest with shapes of fear; the dweller in the open country fears the cramping labyrinth of the streets, and the darksome nooks and corners of houses built by men. A very ancient oak, on a rising ground about the middle of the Isle of Thanet, was for centuries believed to be the very tree under whose spreading boughs the momentous interview was held; an obelisk now marks the spot. We may picture the Kentish King seated on his chair beneath the oak, and Queen Bertha would not be absent on an occasion of so great interest to her; about the King, his counsellors and armed attendants; about the Queen, her bishop-chaplain, and her female attendants; and a crowd of Kentish people-men, women, and children-as spectators. The strangers

came upon the ground in a way which must have made a strong impression upon the imagination of the beholders. When we pictured them as leaving their

monastery at Rome, it was a picture reflected back from this occasion, on which we are expressly told that they came to the interview in procession. A tall silver cross preceded them; the picture of the Saviour -the solemn Byzantine type of face which we still see in the ancient mosaics-was carried like a banner in the midst; the forty monks, in their russet robes and cowls, walked with slow step, two and two; Honorius, the youthful chorister, first, and the tall form of Augustine closing the procession; and as they approached they sang a litany, in which they prayed for the salvation of those to whom they had come.

But

Augustine sat down at the King's command, and, through the medium of the Frank interpreters, preached to the listening people the Word of Life. The King's reply was not wanting in dignity and good sense: "Your words and promises," he said, "are plausible, but since they are new and doubtful, I cannot at once assent to them, and leave the customs which I have so long observed with the whole English race. since you have come hither, strangers from a great distance, and I see clearly that what you yourselves believe to be good and true, you wish to impart to us, we do not wish to molest you; nay rather, we are anxious to receive you hospitably, and to give you all that is needed for your support, nor do we hinder you from doing all you can to win people to the faith of your religion." If the words of the King were full of encouragement, his actions more than fulfilled the promise of his words, for he directed the strangers to go to his capital, and made arrangements there for their lodging and maintenance.

They would be ferried across the strait to Rich

borough, and accomplish the last stage of their long journey on foot, along the Roman road. At length, from the summit of St. Martin's Hill, they would come in sight of their future home; a city in the meadow, beside the little river Swale, surrounded by Roman walls, with some Roman buildings of mixed brick and stone, standing lofty and massive among the low timber houses of the English. A little to the left, outside the city, they would see the recently repaired Roman Church of St. Martin, in which Bishop Liudhard maintained the divine service for Queen Bertha and her people. Here they again. formed themselves into procession, and entered the city amidst the wonder of the townspeople, singing: "We beseech Thee, O Lord, in all Thy mercy, that Thy anger and wrath be turned away from this city, and from Thy holy house, because we have sinned. Hallelujah!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE RECEPTION OF THE MISSION

THE boundaries of the Kingdom of Kent were the same as those of the modern county, but the condition of the country was very different. The extensive forest of Andred covered a great part of the south-west of the country, dense woods fringed the borders of Romney Marsh, another great tract of woodland spread beyond Canterbury to the north. The Weald of Kent, a ridge of hills covered with scrub, extended through the middle of the country.

Only a small portion of the land was occupied, and it is hard to realise how small was the population.1 The Roman fortresses, by which the coast had been protected from the Saxon pirates, Rutupia (Richborough), Dubræ (Dover), and Portus Lemanis (Lymne), must have been in good preservation then, and possibly garrisoned; the other Roman towns of Regulbium (Reculver), Durovernum (Canterbury), and Durobrivæ (Rochester), seem to have survived storm and sack, and perhaps still existed partly in ruins, but more or less inhabited. Roman roads ran from Richborough, through Canterbury and Rochester, to London; others from Canterbury to Dover and to Lymne, and from 1 The population of all England four centuries later was only two millions.