My name is Edmund, now called Saint Edmund, the mart-year. I was born in Surrey in 841. My mother was thought to have been royalty and my father died at a young age in was. When I was fourteen, I became the youngest King of the Anglo-Saxton Kingdom of East Anglia. When I first met King Offa, he was taken by my devout faith, sincerity, and virtues. He had no heirs and so he adopted me. Soon after, he died and I became king. The people of my kingdom thought I was sent from God because of Christianity. They thought I had come to rescue His faithful people and save them from poverty and dispair. I was marked from the start to become king and destined for sainthood. Because I sailed by boat to my new kingdom, the people thought I had come from a mysterious land of myth. I was their hero and savior. My reign as king saw a massive invasion of the Vikings, which I fought valiantly.
The end was near, but I was not afraid. I believed God was with me. My troops were defeated and I was taken prisioner by the Vikings, but I still did not lose my faith. On November 20, 870, the Danish leader, Ingwar, ordered his men to tie me to a tree and torture me, to denounce my God and my faith. They first stripped me of my royalty. Surrounded by several groups of cheering, ugly men, they shot at me with arrows, whipped, and clubbed me. I did not waiver, but became stronger in my beleif in God and salvation. I would make the ultimate sacrifice for my God, a sacrifice of love and life, and so I prayed. The Danes soon tired of my undying faith and courage, and beheaded me. My body was to be tossed in to the underbrush to be forgotten, but my head they continued to abuse because I would not say the words they wanted to hear. Originally, I was buried in Hoxne, but in 1055 my relics were moved to what is now called Bury Saint Edmunds. My shrine has become a famous pilgrimage site. The monks declared me a martyer. My feast day, November twentieth, became a Holy Day of Obligation. Here is one of many poems written about me by Lydagate: Hail, King of Angels, Soldier of the King of Angels. O, Edmund, flower of martyers. Like to the rose and the the lily.
