St. Alban--or Albon, as this life has it--is typically considered Britain's proto-martyr. This life recounts the story typically heard, of how Alban, while hiding a Christian priest (later given the name Amphibalus) from Roman persecutors, was converted and gave himself up to death in the priest's place. His traditional place of martyrdom was near Verulamium, an ancient town from Roman Britain, which the spot now home to the eponymous city of St. Albans, in Hertfordshire; for some reason, this life gives the location as Winchester (widincestre). As with most early martyrs, there is debate about Alban's historicity; at the least, he seems to have been known by St. Germanus of Auxerre (c. 378 - c. 448), and the primary account of his life dates from around the 6th century. The life given below is from the South-English Legendary, a collection of saints' lives in Middle English verse, written in the 13th and 14th centuries (or at least compiled then). The original is rhyming couplets, with a kind of caesura in the middle of each line; I have kept the caesuras in the appropriate place, and I have tried to keep as close to the original as possible, adding and changing the fewest words. The arrangement of words will still seem somewhat foreign--partly due to the poetic style, partly due to the grammar of the time--but I have tried to make it understandable. It still will take some effort from those not used to reading English of this age, but I think it is worth it to keep the feel of the text. I have also tried to keep as many words, even when archaic, as possible (such as "hight" for "named" or "called").
Saint Albon the holy Man: was here in England, Martyred he was for God’s love: through Jesus Christ’s message. Formerly he was a heathen man: and of heathen men he came, And since, as our Lord it willed: he turned to Christendom. The wicked prince that was there: Diocletian, And another that was also: that was hight Maximian, That they might know Christian men: they brought all to ground; In each land they made them search: where they might be found, And to strong death gave them: so many and much; They spared none that they might find: neither great nor small. A wicked Justice that was with them: to England he came, To Martyr all Christian men: and destroy Christendom. A clerk, a good Christian man that was: heard it tell wide Of torments that they gave other men: he did not want to long abide, So he fled elsewhere: that he not be martyred; To Saint Albon’s house he came: and was bade in there. Saint Albon, the while he with him was: waited and saw How he was in his prayers: both night and day: He thought that he was a fool: that he was heathen so long, He began to warm on Jesus Christ: and Christendom to follow. The Justice then made search for the clerk: so that it was learned How at Saint Albon’s house: with him he was hid. Knights he sent to fetch him: if he were found. To Saint Albon they came: and asked after him there. They came and found Saint Albon: and asked him anon Whether any such there were: “For good,” quoth this holy man, “For good,” said this good Man: “I will not him forsake, Such a Man I am myself: I will you none other take.” “Ah, thief,” said these wicked men: “art thou come thereto, When thou would for that stronger thief: to death be done?” This holy man they bound fast: and to the Justice brought him, And told him that he put himself forth: for that other thief that they sought. “Bel ami,” quoth the Justice: “say what is thy name And of what kin thou art come: that our gods dost so shame.” “To this Asking,” quoth Saint Albon: “I shall answer soon. Of what kin I am come: light thou hast done; Albon is my name, I wit: and I honor also God that shapes all things: and evermore will do.” “Ah, traitor,” quoth the Justice: “art thou come thereto, I shall give torment to thy body: from head to thine toe. Hast thou hid that thief at home: that doth us so much shame, And put forth thyself, thou captive: to death in his name: Honor our gods, I say, anon: and sacrifice to them, Otherwise I shall torment thee so: that men shall shudder from thee.” “For nought thou speakest,” quoth Albon: “thereabout thou spillest thy breath, I shall never thine devil honor: for dread of the death.” Then was the Justice so wroth: that holy man he named, Naked, and made him fast bound: and gave him soon his doom: With scourges he made his tormentors: lay on him enough. On him they laid so that they were weary: and all his body dried out. The hard scourging in his tender flesh: was gone deep; The more that they tormented him: the gladder it made him; He thanked God that he must: there for His love To the state of Christendom: through his torment come. Then the wicked Justice saw: that it was all for nought, That he could not from Jesus Christ: for anything turn his thought, He had him bound without turn: and his head smote off soon. Ready were the tormentors: for to do his boon, They handled him well viciously: that shame it was to see, So that they came to that place: where he should martyred be. They came to a running brook: there they must wade over: The tormentors went over all abroad: and made no strength thereof. But our Lord, for Saint Albon’s love: did a miracle there, Anon, as the shrewd tormentors: were waded over: Then when this holy Man came to the water: that water withdrew from him And over the brook made a way: dry and clean enough That he went over as dry: as if it were on land; And all that water behind him: smote together there And came all again as it was before: then he came to land. Lord, much is Thy might: how so, he would understand! The master of the tormentors: to whom he was betoken, When he saw the fair miracle: then the devil he began to forsake, And said he would to Jesus Christ: all his heart render, For the Miracle that he saw there: that so fair was and noble; His sword that he bore in hand: well far from him he cast And at Saint Albon’s feet he fell down: and cried him mercy fast, That he must die for him: otherwise, if it were other, That he must in that place: follow his death there. Upon a hill they went on high: as they were signaled to This holy Man Saint Albon: to do the death. Saint Albon willed after water: there upon the hill on high; He beheld that there might not: no water came there nigh: Our Lord he bade with good heart: that He send His grace That some water must come to him: in that like place. Our Lord heard his boon: there right anon Before all the tormentors: in all their sight: For when he had said his prayer: and our Lord bid, There sprung out of that hill: a fair well in that place, Of such good water as might be--: that still lasteth, I ween. Ever was there, and also now: our Lord’s might is seen. This good knight that believed on God: for that he saw it, Well more he cried then on Him: for such a miracle there, And willed to give what he must: to die for him there. So that, in our Lord’s name: martyred they both were. But the tormentor that smote off: Saint Albon’s head, Light he thought the boast thereof: it were better had he believed: For when he smote off his head: right in that place His own eyes out of his head: there fall right to the ground. Lord, much is Thy might: how so, he would understand, As men can by his enemy: God’s might find. Saint Albon was martyred: here in England Beside a town that Winchester: man called, I understand. There is now a church reared: and a great Abbey also, That man call Saint Albon’s: as he was done to death. Bid we ask Jesus Christ: and Saint Albon well fast That we might to the Joy come: that ever shall last.
Source: The Early South-English Legendary, or Lives of Saints, ed. Carl Horstmann, Early English Text Society, Original Series 87 (London: N. Trübner & Co., 1887), 67-70.