Chapter IX: Part 9

Instantly with a wild yell the whole twenty men sprang up, clashing their arms, and rushing upon the column not more than ten yards from them. Athelhune had ordered them to strike first at the horses, and then, when the riders were down, if time were left, to attack the riders. In between the first and second ranks Athelhune forced his way, striking furiously at the hind legs of the horses of the leading rank, and the forelegs of the horses of the rank behind. He was ably supported by his followers, who plunged in behind him. The confusion and uproar were terrific; the frightened horses reared, plunged, and neighed horribly with pain, many came down bringing their riders with them, and in some few instances crushing their assailants in their fall. The horses of the front rank sprang madly forward, and such as had been hamstrung, struggled wildly with their forelegs, and then sank helplessly down. Many of them that had only received slanting slashes and had had no tendons severed, galloped madly away, in most cases throwing their riders at the first plunge. Hitherto the attack had been very successful, fortune, as usual, favouring the bold. Arwald had been one of those whose horse had fallen, and that burly chieftain had come heavily to the ground; but the fall of his horse had also saved his life, for Athelhune, determining to kill him, if possible, before they retreated, aimed a terrific blow at the Wihtwara's head, but the wounded horse at the same moment gave one despairing plunge, and kicking violently with its hind leg, it happened to strike Athelhune and break his leg with the force of the blow; seeing their leader fall, the few men who were behind him shouted to the others to escape while there was yet time, and such as were able to do so, extricated themselves from the plunging, writhing, mass of men and horses, and sped away towards the homestead. The success of this desperate onslaught was dearly purchased by the fall of Athelhune; it was true the onward march of Arwald and his men was delayed some few moments, and much damage was done to the horses, while some two or three of the men had been killed outright, and about ten more seriously wounded, either by cuts from the axes, or by bruises from their falls, several having had their legs broken by their falling horses; but the attacking party had also suffered severely, some having been crushed under the horses, and others having been kicked by the affrighted animals, as Athelhune had been. So that the sum total of the success of this act of devotion on the part of the West Saxon chieftain was the giving time for Wulf the Atheling to form his men, and evacuate the homestead, and the death or putting _hors de combat_ of some dozen of their enemy. But these advantages were more than counterbalanced by the capture of Athelhune, and the desperate feeling of furious wrath now doubly aroused in the fierce Arwald.

Rising from the ground with difficulty, the chief of the Wihtwaras looked a truly awful spectacle. He was covered with blood; not that he had received any wound, but the blood from his fallen horse had flowed copiously over him as he lay on the ground. His eyes were red and fiery, like the wicked eyes of a furious wild boar. His first thought was to dash out the brains of his helpless assailant as he lay on the ground; but while watching his opportunity, for the struggling mass all round rendered a certain blow a matter of difficulty, a cruel thought crossed his mind, and he determined to spare Athelhune's life for the present. By this time the confusion had become a little less wild. The loud voice of Arwald shouted directions to the eorls who were nearest him, and in a little while something like order was restored. The mounted men were drawn up on one side, and the infantry were ordered to march past and then form up beyond, and halt until the casualties were counted up and fresh dispositions made. Athelhune was not forgotten. Arwald with a wicked light in his eye, had him seized by two fierce-looking Wihtwaras, and strict orders were given them to answer for him with their lives. It was found that fifteen horses were incapacitated or missing, and twelve men, among whom were five eorldomen and three ceorls of importance. More furious than ever, and burning to come to close quarters with AElfhere's men, Arwald gave the order for the column to advance, but this time he took the precaution to send out some of the horsemen on either flank to act as scouts, and a small body some distance ahead as an advance guard. Arwald himself took the best horse he could find among those left, and the eorldoman who was thus compelled to give up his animal contented himself by taking another from one of the ceorls, who had to become a foot soldier, and was naturally very sulky in consequence. The whole episode, which has taken so many words, to describe, really only occupied a quarter of an hour but every moment was of importance, and the march was pressed on more rapidly to make up for lost time. In a few minutes more the advanced guard turned the foot of the hill, and came in sight of AElfhere's house. At the same moment Wulf's men were descried hastening down to the ford, which was fast becoming impassable, owing to the rapidly rising tide. All the fugitives from Athelhune's force had not yet reached him, nor had all the tenants and dependants of AElfhere yet got across the Yare. The news of the sudden approach of Arwald had caused the greatest consternation among these poor people, and all were hurrying down to get over the ford before it was too late. The position of affairs was at once reported to Arwald, who galloped up instantly to inspect the situation, giving orders for the rest of his men to come on at the double. With the quick glance of an experienced warrior, he decided that they must attack at once. He gave his men no rest, therefore, until he had brought them down to within a short distance of Wulf's men, who had not yet been able to cross the Yare, blocked as the ford was with fugitives.

Wulf, the Atheling, now that he saw his own supineness was likely to cause a great catastrophe, did all he could to remedy the evil. He drew up his men in the best way he could, and determined to stand on the defensive, for he saw that with so powerful a force within striking distance of him, if once he attempted to retire, destruction would await him. There was one thing in his favour--his men were all fresh, while Arwald's people were tired with their long march.

Arwald halted his men as they came up, and gave them time to recover their breath, an ominous sign to Wulf, who, seeing how leisurely Arwald was now going to work, knew that his foe felt sure he had caught them in his toils. Their position was very critical, almost desperate. In front, was a powerful force of nearly four hundred men led by a determined and infuriated chief; behind them, was an impassable stream, and no succour to come to them. Seeing the desperate nature of their plight, Wulf thought he would try what a parley would do. He called, therefore, to Arwald, and invited him to settle the dispute by a single combat with himself, "for," he said, "these men are all kinsfolk. Why should they shed each other's blood?"

Arwald only laughed a jeering laugh. "Young man," he said, "thou shalt fight fast enough, if that is what thou wantest. My men are thirsting for blood, but no power on earth can save these doomed slaves of the rascal AElfhere. Before another sun sets I have vowed to have their lives."

"Thou hearest that, my men," said Wulf calmly, to his followers. "Arwald always was a liar and a villain. Let us show him once more as he really is."

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

*"LET'S WHIP THE STRAGGLERS O'ER THE SEAS AGAIN."*

All Arwald's men having now come in, that chieftain quickly drew them up ready for attack. His object was to let none escape; indeed, there was not much chance of any of them doing so, even if he had not taken especial precautions against it. The sea had by this time come up, and all the waste mud of Braedynge Haven was a glittering, sparkling lake. Wulf's little boat was floating not far off, dancing to its moorings on the rippling wavelets. A few despairing fugitives were sitting near the now impassable ford, awaiting the issue of the fight, with a listless expectancy. Their own fate would soon be settled, and the only doubt was how they would be killed. Some, however, who still kept their wits about them, were slipping away towards the other ford nearer Sandown Bay, where Ceolwulf had first crossed, and which was some two miles distant.

The few moments of suspense before the fight began, were demoralising to Wulf, the Atheling's, handful of men. To stand still to be attacked is at all times a trying business when the force to be attacked is equal, or larger, than the assailing force; but when the latter is four times the number of the former, and the fight is to be a desperate hand-to-hand _melee_, with such formidable weapons as axe and broad sword, the trial to the nerves is naturally very much greater, and Wulf the Atheling would have acted much more wisely if he had charged the enemy before they had recovered their breath, or were drawn up in order. The one important thing was to keep his men's courage up, and for that there was nothing like action, and there Athelhune had shown better generalship, although the fortune of war had gone against him. Had Wulf possessed Athelhune's decision, he might have broken Arwald's men for a time, and then been able to cross the ford before they could rally again; but unfortunately, Wulf was only a handsome, careless, thoughtless fighter, of no more use than any other brave thrall or ceorl there. He had no judgment, no decision, no head.

Arwald, without further delay, gave the order to fall on, and rode straight for Wulf the Atheling. There was no indecision now on Wulf's part, the fight was coming; there was nothing more to do but use arm, and back, and foot--no head to direct others was now required; each man must fight his own way, and sell his life as dearly as possible. Calmly awaiting the charge of the heavy horseman, Wulf looked his antagonist straight in the face, and never blenched. The spear-point of Arwald's weapon came swiftly towards him, the powerful horse sprang, with long strides, to bear him to the ground; another second and Wulf would be transfixed, trampled on, dead. His axe flashed, his strong and active figure sprang aside; another gleam of the axe and Arwald was toppled off his horse. The first blow sheared off the spear-point, and the second, swung round at Arwald as he was carried past his victim, caught the chieftain between the shoulders, and rolled him over his horse's neck to the ground. But the blow had done no further injury, given as it was at an object that was retiring; it only had sufficient force to knock Arwald off, there was not power enough to cut through his mail shirt. Before Wulf could follow his blow by a second, he received a swinging cut on his helmet, which caused sparks to dance before his eyes, and his head to buzz with humming dizziness; instinctively striking straight before him, his axe clove the thigh of a horseman in the act to pierce Beornwulf, who was by his side. But blows were raining on all sides: the clash of sword and axe, the smashing sound of crashing wood, or sharp swish of cloven iron, as blows went home; the groan of sorely-stricken men, or the shriek of some agonised fallen one, as the combatants trode upon his prostrate body, wild yells and muttered oaths, and dust and ruin; so went on the dreadful work for some few minutes. So thick was the _melee_ that friend blindly hit friend, and no man could tell how the battle was going. Arwald had risen to his feet, more mad with rage than ever, and struck wildly, and with prodigious force, now right, now left, now down, hewing a way through the men opposed to him. Several heavy blows he received, but none that incapacitated him, and at last it dawned upon him that he was striking at empty air. Before him was the river Yare, behind him was the fight, he had cut right through the little force. Grimly he turned and looked at the raging mass. Savagely he smiled as he rested on his gory axe, and watched the wild and ghastly murder.

There was fierce fighting still going on, and it was difficult to see the extent of the loss; many men were down; some were trying to crawl from among the legs of the combatants, others lay still; while others again, in whom the fierce spirit of the fight still glowed in spite of their desperate wounds, clutched at the legs of their antagonists and brought them to the ground. But the fight was too fierce to last long, and they were too crowded to ply their ghastly blows with sufficient effect. Seeing this, Arwald shouted in a stentorian voice, when a lull in the murderous din allowed him a chance for his words to be heard, that all his men were to fall back and rally around him; at the same moment he cleft to the chin a wounded Wihtwara, who was trying to crawl down to the waterside to hide among the sedgy banks. Pleased with this dastardly stroke, he strode past the writhing, struggling mass, and took up his position some little way off on the right of the fight. His own men sullenly obeyed, drawing off from their antagonists reluctantly. It was then seen how terrible had been the few minutes of that cruel work. The ground was strewn with dead, the nature of many of their wounds was awful--too awful to be described--and the scanty remnant of Wulf's little force remained resting on their axes or their swords. The combatants were now able to judge of their losses, and the effects of the fight. Very few of Arwald's horsemen remained mounted, and many of his best warriors were lying on the ground; but Wulf's men were greatly reduced. About two-thirds were still left, and the Atheling himself was able to wield his axe; but many had received desperate wounds, and in several cases the power to use axe or sword was entirely gone, as from the close nature of the fighting, and the absence of any guard to sword or axe, the fingers had suffered severely; and the maimed appearance of the men told how hopeless the next struggle must be, for of the two-thirds that survived, at least half were disabled in either one hand or the other, while many had lost all four fingers of one hand, and a thumb off the other, and in some instances both hands were shorn off at the wrists. Arwald's people had suffered in the same way, but the proportion of fighters remained about the same as before.

Wulf the Atheling saw that their hours were numbered; each man of his force felt the same. He himself was bleeding profusely from a large gash in his shoulder, and one arm was nearly useless. His axe was notched, and stained deep-red. His helmet was deeply dented, and he looked faint and ghastly; but the spirit of his race was in him, and he prepared to sell his life as dearly as might be. Turning to his men he said briefly:

"Comrades, we shall meet ere long in Valhalla; remember, the more we slay, the happier we shall be; rejoice then, that we shall so soon live for ever, and shall have so many to meet us there."

Then turning to Arwald, he cried tauntingly:

"Boaster that thou art, where are thy young men? Look at the ground in front of thee. Who measured his length upon it? Dastard and villain, no wonder thou darest not fight it out with me, but must bring four to one to the fight, and yet canst not beat us. Are the Wihtwaras no better than this? But yesterday, an old woman--a bald-headed one--and a child, killed six of your warriors. Go bring thy women to kill us, they will fight better than thou."

Arwald, disdaining to reply, led his men nearer to the Yare, and advanced once more to the attack. Wulf and his men grimly awaited them. Suddenly the Atheling heard his name called, and looking across the Yare, he saw old Ceolwulf standing by the water's edge, and at the same moment a whizzing sound rushed through the air, followed by a yell from one of Arwald's men:

"Make for the boat, Prince Wulf; thou canst reach her if thou makest a dash for it; at least some of ye can be saved!" shouted Ceolwulf, pointing to the boat which rode at her moorings not more than a few hundred yards away.

The advice was good, but could Prince Wulf act on it? Could he leave his men to be slaughtered, and seek safety in flight? Life was dear to him: he was handsome, young, and loved pleasure. He could do more good with a few men to defend the stockade, than by dying there, he thought. Fresh hope came to him, he wavered, and as Arwald's advance seemed unaccountably checked, he determined to take advantage of the moment, and make a rush for the boat. Instantly the whole band broke up. The faith in the pleasures of Valhalla was overbalanced by the desire to realise those of this earth a little longer; and each man as he was able ran for dear life. Arwald gave a yell of rage, and shouted to his men to follow at the top of their speed; but as he started at a run to set the example himself, he received a violent blow on the side of his forehead, that for a moment stunned him; many of his men were falling, or were receiving severe cuts. What was it? Where did these invisible blows come from?

"There, there, from the other side of the water!" shouted one of his men, pointing to a large party of boys led by Wulfstan, who was plying his sling with delighted vigour. The speaker was unable to finish his sentence, for he received a crashing blow on his mouth which knocked several of his teeth down his throat. Arwald's rage was frightful to see, and the pain of his cut forehead, combined with the partial blindness which resulted from it, for the blood from the wound ran down over his eye, made him dangerous to approach. But he still pressed on after the fugitives, hoarsely shouting to his people to hasten up. But Wulfstan and his troop of boys kept plying the solid mass with stones, and richly they enjoyed the fun, for almost every stone took effect. Arwald's force was compelled to draw farther away from the water's edge. Unfortunately for the full success of the diversion, where the boat was riding at anchor was out of reach of the stones, and now that Arwald's people saw where the galling flights of stones came from, they kept out of range and continued the pursuit of Wulf and his men.

But the check the enemy had received gave a long start to the fugitives, which they had done their best to improve, and Wulf had reached the water's edge and was hastily splashing through the shallow sea; he was now wading out to the boat and was scrambling in, followed by two or three others, the rest were crowding behind; it was clear the boat would not hold more than nine or ten, and what would become of the others? Therefore each man ran, and splashed, with desperate haste; many had fallen as they ran, dizzy with loss of blood; one or two, sullenly desperate, giving up all hope and determined to die hard, turned to face the enemy, prepared to brain the first man that dared to come near them; a few even did not await the foe, but rushed fiercely to meet him, shouting their death song, and met their end like ancient northern heroes. Beornwulf and Osborn and two of the Boseham men, who had fought gallantly, still survived; the two latter were close beside Wulf the Atheling, and all three had now clambered into the boat. The breeze was blowing fresh off the land; one of the South Saxons ran to the bows, and with a blow of his axe severed the moorings, and instantly the boat drifted away from the shore. Wulf had lost so much blood that the moment he had climbed into the boat he fell into the bottom of it, and lost all consciousness. The two South Saxons were both wounded, one had lost three fingers off one hand, and the other had a terrific gash in his forearm, so that they were not able to do much in the way of rowing; indeed, they did not attempt it, but were content to sit down and let the boat drift before the wind, merely steering her by an oar over the stern.

Beornwulf and Osborn shouted to them to come back and take in more, but with the callousness of utter weariness and exhaustion, they paid no attention, scarcely looking up or heeding anything, and thus drifted far down the broad Braedynge haven towards the entrance.

When the fugitives saw that they were abandoned, and no hope left, they uttered yells of execration on their leader, and stood helpless and stunned for a moment. One or two tore off their armour, and began to wade out as far as they could, and then swam for the opposite shore. The shallowness of the water greatly aided them, and many more followed their example. In this way about twenty reached the shore of Binbrygge-ea, and were helped up to the stockade by Ceolwulf and the boys, many of whom, however, with the curiosity of their age, waited to see what would become of those left.

There were not many now; Osborn had swum across, Beornwulf was too much exhausted. He and three more stood gloomily resting on their notched swords awaiting their death.

Arwald, and some three or four others, had reached the edge of the sea. Grimly the wounded warriors in the sparkling water eyed them.

"Run to water at last," cried Arwald; "Look at the water rats that are afraid even of their own water."

"But we are not afraid of thee, thou nithing," shouted Beornwulf, "come and kill us if thou darest."

Whatever faults Arwald had, he certainly was not a coward; but the day was his, he had done enough fighting, and he saw no reason why he should risk his life in a desperate encounter with reckless men who must die sooner or later. He gave orders, therefore, for some of his people to sit down on the shore, and wait until the wounded men should be tired of standing in the water. He himself then drew off with the rest of his followers, and gave orders for all to repose, and get what refreshment they could, until the tide had gone down sufficiently to allow them all to cross the Yare at the ford, and advance upon the fugitives.

Beornwulf, seeing that he could not entice any of the men to come out to him in the water, where he hoped, from the unsteady nature of the foothold, to be able to obtain an advantage over his adversaries, felt it was no use standing there to slowly die a miserable death. He turned, therefore, to the two or three who still stood with him, and declared his intention of returning to the shore to sell his life as dearly as might be. The others gave a sullen assent, and without giving their wounds any more time to stiffen, they waded back to the land. Arwald, before he left the men on the shore, had given orders to take the West Saxon and the rebel Wihtwaras, alive if possible. He intended, when the rest of AElfhere's men were taken, to have all the prisoners brought before him and his eorls at a banquet, and then put them to death. As Beornwulf and his companions therefore, approached the shore, Arwald's followers got up and warily awaited them, and no sooner had they emerged from the water than all the enemy hurled themselves upon them. Beornwulf had only time to whirl his sword round his head, severely wounding one of his adversaries, when he was borne to the ground, pinioned by four men, and bound hand and foot in a moment. One of his companions was, more fortunately, slain, but the other two shared the same fate as Beornwulf; faint, weary, and despondent, they were conveyed in triumph to the main body, and were placed beside Athelhune to await their fate.

The afternoon was now far advanced; but Arwald was so inflamed with rage against his opponents, that he did not intend to give his men much rest, only sufficient to allow them to get such fresh vigour as would enable them to overcome any further resistance with certainty.

But besides the incitements of passionate revenge, there were other and more practical reasons why the attack should go on at once. They had brought very little food with them, hoping to take AElfhere by surprise, or, at least, capture the homestead before the cattle and provisions should have been carried off. They were now feeling strongly the calls of hunger, but there was no chance of their getting any substantial food until they had crossed the Yare and come up with the encampment of the fugitives, or discovered some of their cattle.

There was no possibility of crossing the ford for another hour at least, and Arwald and his chief eorldomen improved the occasion by inspecting the men, and appointing leaders in the place of those who had fallen, and also in having their arms and belongings collected and placed securely under the same guard which was watching the prisoners. The arms were distributed to the men who had lost their own or had them injured, and in this way a better equipped, although much smaller force, was ready once more to renew the attack. The followers of AElfhere were in a very hopeless position; all the powerful able-bodied men were either killed or prisoners, and all their arms and accoutrements had become the spoil of the conquerors. Only Osborn, and a few men, had been able to escape to join their companions on Yaver Hill, and these had been compelled to throw away their arms. The little boat, with the Atheling Wulf, when last seen, was scudding before the wind, through the narrow entrance of Braedynge haven, for they had managed to set up a sail in her, and were evidently steering straight for Selsea. They had a fair wind, but the chances were small of their ever getting there, for the men were desperately exhausted with their wounds, and had no food. Impatiently, Arwald waited for the tide to fall. He did not want the wounds of his men to become stiff, and they were all extremely hungry; besides, every minute gave the fugitives time to strengthen such defences as they could make, or contrive hiding-places for themselves in the dense scrub and bush that clothed Binbrygge-ea.

With the wind blowing right on Selsea, there was not any fear of Caedwalla coming yet; even if he had defeated the South Saxon eorls; but should the wind change--and it appeared to be getting rather more off the land--there would be every possibility of an invasion from the West Saxons: and Arwald had received news before he left Wihtgaresbyrig, that Caedwalla had given orders for a fleet to assemble at Portanceaster, which might at any moment set sail for Wihtea.

"Get in, one of you men, and see how deep that ford is!" cried Arwald, at last. And one of his men waded carefully into the water. He got on very well for a few steps, when suddenly he gave a plunge and disappeared, but reappeared again in a few moments a little lower down. Being a good swimmer he soon got out, but in a very dismal condition, for he had to land by the muddy banks of the Yare, which the rapidly falling tide was leaving bare. He had slipped off the gravelly bottom of the ford, not knowing that it turned at an angle in the middle of the stream.

"Here, blockhead!" cried Arwald, who was getting more and more savage at the delay, "try again, and feel the bottom with the end of thy spear."

The man did as he was told, and this time he got across, after carefully feeling the gravelly hard which formed the ford. He was then told to cut down with his axe some withies, and stick them on the upper side of the ford. When this was done, Arwald gave the order for all to cross. As the leading men stepped into the water they were assailed by a violent shower of stones, one or two of which took serious effect, for one man lost an eye, and the others were cut about the face. Daunted by this warm reception the men drew back, but were driven to advance again by the fierce menaces of Arwald. The main body pressed hard upon them, and they were urged on by the weight behind. All they could do, therefore, was to put their shields up in front of their faces, and make a rush for it. The effect of this blind advance was that many of the men fell into the deeper part of the stream, and several were drowned, while many more were severely cut about the face. They could not see their stinging assailants, for the banks opposite were clothed with thick bushes down to the water's edge.

When all the men had passed the ford, Arwald sent off a small party to drive away the stone throwers, who hastily withdrew through the bushes, without being caught. Wulfstan and Ceolwulf were with the boys, and all of them knew the bye-paths through the gorse and scrub, so that they were able to retire to the stockade unseen by the enemy.

Taught by bitter experience with what an active and enterprising foe he had to deal, Arwald sent out an advanced guard, and also a party on either flank, and thus effectually guarded himself from surprise. After marching for about a mile, and meeting with not a sign of any human being, Arwald began to get suspicious that all was not right.

"Where has this AElfhere betaken himself and his belongings? We may march all night, and find nothing at this rate," was the universal thought of the men, who were beginning to grow discontented at the amount of marching required of them.

It was obvious they must capture some one who should act as guide, or they would fare badly for that night. Wearily they trudged along through the narrow track, and it was getting more and more risky, penetrating such a bush with night coming on, and an active enemy near. True, Arwald had every reason to believe that scarcely any men capable of bearing arms were now left; for he knew how many had come from the mainland, and he also knew about the numbers AElfhere could muster. Had it not been for this knowledge, even he, headstrong and passionate as he was, would scarcely have dared to go so far as he had done.

They had now come to a more open part of the wild land; it was a sort of common, covered with furze and brambles, which, in most places, grew very high and thick. The path lay through the middle of this, and the common appeared, as far as could be seen, to extend for some distance all round. Suddenly Arwald stopped and sniffed the air. The wind had now nearly died away, the sun was setting, and there was that stillness over nature which so sweetly harmonises with a lovely sunset. The light air, which gently came from the north, brought a smell of smoke with it, which caused Arwald to stop and look in that direction.

"The knaves are cooking over there," cried Arwald, his mouth watering as the delicious smell of roasting meat reached his senses. "But they are making a big fire for it," he added, as a great volume of smoke rose up not far off. "Call in the other men. They may mean to attack us under cover of this," he shouted.

The men came in, and all the force was drawn up ready to repel any sudden onset. But no enemy appeared; all was as silent as the grave, save that a sharp crackling could be heard all round, from the north to the east side of the gorse-covered common. The common was on fire.

Volumes of smoke began to drive across their faces, the atmosphere was stifling. Ahead of them they could see the whole common in a red blaze; behind them the flames were bursting out. The dry gorse crackled and blazed, and dense masses of smoke eddied round their faces. No one paid any attention to Arwald's orders; all with one thought broke away and tried to escape the blinding, smothering smoke. They rushed into the gorse on their right, they tried wildly to run through it. Faster and faster roared the flames, louder and louder crackled the gorse. The smoke became thicker, hotter, more stifling than ever, and which way to escape Arwald and his men, for the life of them, could not tell. The gorse on their right was impenetrable, while everywhere else it was on fire.

Of that well-armed, compact little band of some three hundred men, scarcely two or three remained together. Blindly, madly, they rushed through the tangled prickly bushes; numbers fell down; many fell into the deep gullies which lay hid in the furze all over the common; and all the while the fierce, glowing flames leaped, and crackled, and revelled in their hot destruction. Swiftly the curling smoke swept over and after the fugitives, suffocating the fallen ones; pursuing with its hot, stifling breath, the frantic, scared Wihtwaras. Where could they fly? The smoke was everywhere, and behind the smoke was the devouring fire.

The few men who preserved their presence of mind aimed for the corner of the common that was nearest to the wind, and with great difficulty, and many scratches, about a hundred managed to reach a place of safety on the edge of the common under some old gnarled oaks; the flames rolled away from this part and they were able to see the awful destruction of many of their comrades. As the fierce fire swept on in its rapid course, the charred and blackened limbs of the gorse curled and twisted like a million tortured snakes, and the shrill squeaking of innumerable agonised things filled the air. Here and there an awful figure writhed and rolled on the ground, and a sharp, thin voice, shrieked tortured cries. Some of these fearful forms rose up and ran madly a few paces, gibbering horribly, and then fell in a column of sparks among the smoking embers. Others sat, a shapeless heap, rocking to and fro, moaning in unearthly sounds. The fatal element had done its ghastly work. AElfhere's followers were well avenged.

"We must return to the ford," said Arwald, sullenly. "They shall dearly pay for this."

Wearily the band retraced its steps, skirting the edge of the fire to windward; and, without further attack, reached the ford, and found the guard and the prisoners where they had left them. They then returned to the homestead, and prepared to spend the night as well as they could.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*"BE READY, CLAUDIO, FOR YOUR DEATH, TO-MORROW."*

The night was spent by the weary followers of Arwald in dismal plight. They had scarcely any food, and now experienced all the hardships Athelhune, Ceolwulf, and their party had suffered when they were cast upon the island.

Some men had been sent to bring in food from the country behind AEscing Down, and to hasten up reinforcements and more supplies from the west end of the island. During the night many of the dispersed followers came in; in fact, they kept dropping in throughout the night, so that, when day broke, there was a large muster of men around the homestead; but they were, many of them, wounded, burnt, and listless; all heart seemed to have been taken out of them by the last awful event. In order to stir them out of their lethargy, Arwald determined to have the prisoners put to death. This was not only a matter of policy, but he was longing to gratify his revenge and cruelty.

Some small amount of provisions having been brought in at early dawn, they were distributed as far as they would go, many of the men having made a hearty meal off the slaughtered horses which were lying where they fell in yesterday's conflict.

At eight o'clock, all the men, who now numbered about two hundred and fifty, were drawn up in the large yard of the homestead, the remainder of the force having been either killed, placed _hors de combat_ by their wounds, or been lost among the wild country on the other side of the Yare, while some few had deserted.

The prisoners were seated on a few logs of trees that had been rolled into the centre. Each man was placed some feet apart from his neighbours, and in his long hair was twisted a couple of tough withies, long enough for a man to hold the head steady from behind. All the men were bare-headed, stripped to the waist, and tied together. Only the chief prisoners were arranged in this way first; the common men were guarded in a crowd in a space separated from the spectators, but in full view of the ghastly proceedings.

On the right of the prisoners sat Beornwulf, next him were three of AElfhere's chief ceorls, then came Athelhune, and next him one of the followers of Wulf the Atheling. Outside of these sat two South Saxons. Athelhune had suffered terrible pain from his broken leg, for no attention whatever had been paid him, and he had been roughly carried along with the other prisoners; but he still held up his head bravely, and smiled contemptuously at the preparations for his death. The old Teutonic spirit was strong in him, and he remembered how heroes had met their death. Although deadly pale from the sharp pain of his maimed leg, his eye was bright, and his bearing fearless. All the men preserved the most absolute composure, and did credit to the training of their race. Not a sigh or a regret seemed to announce their reluctance to leave this life; on the contrary, if there were any expression but absolute indifference to the whole proceedings, it was one of pleasure at the thought of so soon enjoying the delights of Valhalla.

The withies entwined in their hair were intended to be held by the thralls or slaves, who accompanied Arwald's force, so that the heads of the victims should not twitch, or avoid the stroke of the executioner's axe, and were long enough to allow the holders to be at a safe distance from the blow. Behind each man stood a thrall holding the withies, and these men were laughing and joking together.

When all was ready, Arwald and his chief eorldomen came out of the homestead, and seated themselves on settles placed directly opposite the victims. The Wihtwara chieftain was in high good humour: he had had an excellent breakfast, as far as quantity went, and had washed down his food with copious draughts of ale; for, however much his followers might suffer, he had no intention of being uncomfortable. He came out, therefore, with a hearty, loud laugh, as he cracked some coarse joke with one of his eorls, and took up his seat, lolling his large fat body in the most comfortable position he could. His little black eyes twinkled with cruel pleasure, and his puffy red face showed amid his large dark whiskers, beard, and hair, like a furnace against the black night. He wore his mail-linked shirt and his battered helmet, off which the heron's wings were shorn. His huge axe hung over his shoulder, but in his hand he held his hunting-knife, with which he played from time to time.

The executioner was a powerful, coarse-looking ceorl, with bare arms and legs, and holding a formidable axe, to whose edge he was giving a finishing touch with a sharpening stone.

The people were now all ready for the spectacle, and the interest was very great; but the disappointment was universal, for the victims were not apparently going to give them any sport by their cries and lamentations.

"Is all ready?" said Arwald carelessly.

"All is ready, eorldoman," said the executioner.

"Then begin, in Woden's name," answered the chieftain, and settled himself more comfortably for the better enjoyment of the tragedy.

The executioner advanced to the man seated on the log nearest to the left, looked at him, poised his axe, measured his distance, nodded to the thrall to hold the withy tight, planted his feet firmly on the ground, swung the axe swiftly through the air, and the man's head fell at some few paces from the body, which fell forward to the ground. The blow had been dealt so truly and well that the whole thing passed like an ordinary occurrence, and one could hardly realise that a man had just suffered a violent death. No sound had broken the silence of expectancy, only the whizz of the gleaming axe, and the dull thud of the head as it fell on the ground, interrupted the silence.

"Was that well done, eorldoman?" asked the executioner, turning to Arwald.

"Nothing could have been better," nodded the chieftain; "if thou doest thy work like that I will say thou art the best headsman in England."

"I hope thou wilt do something better than that," promptly replied the executioner. Arwald grunted an ambiguous reply, and bid him go on with the next man.

The executioner then stepped up to the next man and went through the ghastly preliminaries as before, performing the business as deftly as he had previously done, only the withies which were twisted into this man's hair were jerked out of the hands of the thrall, who was holding them, and struck the next thrall a stinging blow in the face, which caused him to cry out, and made all the spectators laugh.

Arwald was put into an extra good humour by this event, and he felt inclined for a little playful conversation with the victims. So addressing the West Saxon who was to be executed next, he asked him what he thought of the death he was so soon to suffer.

"We must all die some day, and as I am tired of looking at thy fat carcase, the sooner I can get away the better," answered the West Saxon contemptuously. The nearest bystanders, who had heard the remark, began to laugh, and Arwald became angry.

"What art thou waiting for, man?" he said to the executioner. "Let him have his wish at once," and the man's head fell with the others.

It was now Athelhune's turn, and Arwald, deceived by his exceeding pallor, hoped to obtain some sign of weakness from him, and asked him whether death did not look very dreadful.

"Not so unpleasant as thou dost," was the answer; "but before I die I would like to have a question settled."

"What is it?" said Arwald.

"We have often talked about death, and whether a man has any feeling after his head is off," said Athelhune. "Now, give me a knife. If I feel anything after my head is off, I will throw the knife at thee; if it falls to the ground, it will prove I have no feeling. Now strike, and see what will happen."

Arwald laughed, and bid a knife be given him. The executioner approached. Athelhune held up his hand with the knife pointed at Arwald. The executioner slowly measured his distance. Flash went the axe, and at the same moment the knife flew from Athelhune's hand and pierced Arwald's burly leg, causing that stout warrior to utter a yell of pain; but Athelhune's head was on the ground, and no man could say whether he had hurled the knife while his head was still on his shoulders or no. The knife still quivered in Arwald's flesh, as the headless body fell heavily to the ground, and the brave West Saxon eorldoman was numbered with his fathers; glad enough to be away from the pain and anguish he had been suffering from his broken leg, which now, owing to the want of care and cruel treatment he had suffered, was rapidly growing black, and had swollen to a great size. He knew he never could be of any use again, and had longed for death to relieve him for some hours past.

The brave warrior died true to the instincts and noblest teaching of his race and ancestors. A faithful, devoted friend, a recklessly brave man, and a skilful chief, he came on this expedition, well knowing the desperate nature of the enterprise, without a thought which could reflect upon his friend and king Caedwalla; his king wished him to go, that was enough for him. It was not his business to question or discuss the reasonableness of the wish; such an idea never crossed his mind; it could not occur to him. His sense of duty to his chief was comprised in those lines that so beautifully describe the whole duty of a soldier:--His "not to make reply," his "not to reason why," his "but to do and die." And this idea of a soldier's duty he carried out in its entirety, both towards his king and chief Caedwalla, as well as towards those who served under him, all of whom he tried to impress with the same spirit of noble discipline and self-sacrifice. He died contentedly, nay, happily; he had done all he could. If he had not succeeded, that was no affair of his; were there not the Norns or Fates, who ruled the affairs of men? And oftentimes, he knew, even in his own experience, what looked like failure was only the seed of success. Did not men put seed into the ground, and did not the seed disappear? Who could have told that that lost seed would come out of that dry, lumpy ground, green corn good for the food of man? The doing of one's duty, even if it ended in failure, was the sowing of good seed, it must bear fruit, only it might take a longer time, as some seeds took more time than others to come up. With the noble simplicity of his character, he also accepted implicitly the creed of his ancestors. Surely there was a place of reward for honest men, who struggled to live and die full of that virtue, that [Greek: andreia], that manfulness, which all men in all ages, and of all races, have known to be the essence of a good life. Full of this hope, he rejoiced at his departure to the new life, grateful too that the last few hours of pain had made the longed-for moment all the greater relief.

There was a great shout of triumph from the prisoners when they saw the knife flying from Athelhune's hand straight for Arwald, and the disappointment was great when it was seen that the wound was not in any way dangerous, although the knife had plunged deep into the fleshy part of the leg and caused the ruler of the Wihtwaras considerable pain as it was drawn out. However, a bandage soon stopped the bleeding, and Arwald called to the executioner to go on with his work, more irritable now than ever.

The courage of the previous victims re-acted upon those whose turn was now coming, and when the executioner stepped up to the next man, and was preparing to strike him sideways, like the others, the man called out to him to strike the blow in front.

"Many is the time I have looked death in the face without blenching, and thou shalt see now if I flinch or no."

The executioner took him at his word; he placed the edge of the axe against the man's neck under his chin. Took up the proper distance, planted his feet firmly on the ground, told the man to raise his head a little higher, swung the axe swiftly back and then struck with a swish through the air forwards, and the headless trunk rolled over on the ground, while the head dropped at the feet of the thrall who held the withy. The bystanders could see no change of expression as the axe gleamed in the act of striking, not a twitch of an eyebrow, or quiver of an eyelid told that the man dreaded the blow.

"Well sped, brave soul," cried the spectators, whose interest was growing deeper as each victim met his end so nobly. Five men had now died, there remained but three more on the log, of whom Beornwulf was the last. Beornwulf was getting weary of sitting so long, and he was irritated with the thrall who held the withy entwined in his hair, which was remarkably long and bushy, and of which Beornwulf was very proud. The thrall twitched his head every time an execution took place, not intentionally, but because he kept twisting round to get a good look at the performance, while Beornwulf also wished to see how each man met his death, with the result that his neck was now very stiff, and he himself was in an impatient, irritable, frame of mind. He did not care what became of him; he knew he would die in a few minutes, but none the less, or rather because of that certainty, he wished to excite Arwald before he died.

"Hi! old Wolf's head," he shouted, "thou mountain of flesh, thou! Arwald, or whatever thy name is; how long am I to sit here and have my head twisted off my shoulders by this lubberly thrall? Send that head-cutting knave down this way, and let me get away from here."

As Arwald paid no attention, Beornwulf began again.

"I say, thou round knave, thou, dost thou not hear?" and he proceeded to string together a collection of epithets considerably more apposite than elegant, which so enraged Arwald that to stop his abuse he told the executioner to go to him next, but Beornwulf had one more idea. He called out--

"By Woden's beard, I am not going to have my fair hair touched by a base knave; let one of thy eorls come here and hold my hair."