We drew up on the roadside to let this train pass, though I suppose that by all right the archbishop might have claimed the crown of the way for himself, had he been other than the humble-minded man that he was. As the leading guards passed us they saluted in all due form; and then one of the ladies knew who was here, and bent to the litter, and so turned and spoke to the captain, who straightway called a halt, and came, helm in hand, to the archbishop, praying him to speak with the lady who was in his charge.
Who this was I did not hear, but I saw the face of the good man change, and he hurried to dismount and go to the litter. And thence, after a word or two had passed, came the priest I had seen; and when he uncowled I knew him for my friend Selred, and glad I was to see him.
"Why, how goes it, father?" I said, as my hand met his. "You were not in the wood of our tryst, and I feared that you were in trouble."
Very gravely he shook his head, looking sadly at me.
"There is naught but trouble in all this place," he said. "I could not come to you, for the gates were closed early, that Gymbert might be taken. He was not taken. And yet I have heavier trouble to tell you than you can think."
"No, father," I said quickly, seeing that he had learned too little, and doubtless believed Hilda either drowned or else in the hands of Gymbert and his men--whichever tale Quendritha had been told or chose to tell him.
"I was in the wood, and thither came the lady we ken of when she was set forth from the place. I was in time to get her away, and she is safe."
It was wonderful to see the face of the chaplain lighten at this.
"Laus Deo," he said under his breath, and his hand sought mine again and gripped it. "That is a terrible load off my heart," he said. "Yet I have heard that our good Sighard is slain. They have burned the hall of honest Witred over his head, and he is gone, and it was said that Sighard fell there with him."
"It is not half an hour ago that I heard how he fled to the west, where the Welsh saved him, for hatred of Offa and pity for the betrayed Anglian king. He is safe, if a little hurt."
Now the horse of Erling reared suddenly, and I looked up. It was still in a moment, and he spoke to it without heeding me. But as soon as he caught my eye when I first turned, he set his hand carelessly across his lips, and I knew what he meant. I had better say no more of where Sighard was or how I hoped to see him.
So I said what I had to tell him of the finding of the king, and how we had come to tell Offa thereof; and as he heard, Selred the chaplain knelt there by the roadside and gave thanks openly, with the tears of joy in his eyes. The rough housecarls heard also, and there went a word or two among them; and their grim faces lightened, for one shame, at least, had been taken from the house of their master.
Now there was a sound as of a woman's weeping from the litter, and Selred heard it and rose to his feet.
"It is Etheldrida the princess," he whispered to me. "She is flying to some far nunnery--mayhap to Crowland--that there she may end her days in what peace she may find. It is well, for here with her mother is but terror for her."
The archbishop signed to me, and I went to the side of that litter, unhelming, while Erling took my horse's bridle. There I knelt on one knee, and waited for what I was to hear. It was a little while before that came, but the sobs were at length stilled. I heard one of the ladies, who were those who came from East Anglia, say to the other that it was good that she had wept at last.
And presently from behind the curtains of the litter the princess spoke to me, very low, and I do not think any other heard.
"Good friend of him whom I loved, I thank you for your loyalty to him. The archbishop has told me, and you have given me back a little of my trust in men. I had deemed that all were false for aye, but for you, I think. Now I go hence, and beyond the walls of some nunnery I shall never pass, and there I will pray for you also. And for you there shall be happy days to come, in the meed of utmost loyalty."
I could not answer her, and still I knelt, for there was somewhat needed to come ere I could part from her without a word. But before I could frame aught she set her hand through the curtains, and in it was somewhat small, as it were a silken case cunningly woven round a little jewel, perchance.
"There was none whom I would ask to do what I longed for," she said; "but now it will be done. I pray you set this on his heart, that it may go to his grave with him."
"There it shall most surely be, lady," I said. "I am honoured in the duty."
"Go!" she said faintly; "and farewell."
I rose up hastily, and went back to my horse, while the lady who had spoken just now busied herself in caring for her mistress. Selred took my arm and walked aside with me.
"You must not come back to East Anglia," he said. "I know that you would fain see the lady of Thetford, but it were useless danger for you. I will tell her all that you have done, now; and if in after days you may come to us, do so. Bide and tend Sighard and Hilda, and mind that there is sore peril to both of them so long as Quendritha lives. She is shut up now, but all the more has her mind freedom to plan and plot the fall of those who have seen her at her worst. One cannot shut up such a woman as she, but she will have her ways of learning all she will, and her tools are many."
"I would that you could bide here," I said.
"I also; but I must pass eastward with this poor lady and these others. Yet I am sure that Offa will do all honour to our king. He has been seen by none as yet save his pages. They whisper that he is fasting, and bowed with shame and grief."
For a little longer we spoke, and then we must part. The sad train of the princess went on, and swung into the eastward track which she would take, and the archbishop signed to us to follow him. And that was the last which any man in Mercia saw of the fair princess who had been the pride of the land, for she came safely to far Crowland, in the fenland, and there pined and died.
It is said that the parting between her and her terrible mother was such that men will tell little thereof. I know that in that time some strange gift of prophecy came over the maiden, and she foretold the death of her who planned the deed, even to the day, and the awesome manner of it; and that also she wept for the knowledge given her that the deed should bring the end of the line of Offa and the fall of Mercia--things which no man could think possible at this time, so that she seemed to rave. More things strange and terrible, I heard also, but them I will not set down. Mayhap they were not true.
Now we went on slowly up the hill, and at last rode into the gates. There men loitered idly, as yesterday; for the head of the house sat silent and moody in his chamber, and none had orders for aught. Across the court we went to the priests' lodgings, and thence came the chaplains to meet their lord, and with him I was taken into the house.
"I have come to see the king," said the archbishop; "take me to him straightway."
"He will see none," they said; "it is his word that no man shall disturb him."
"If he will hear what shall make his heart less heavy, he will see me," said the archbishop. "Tell him that I have news for him. Or stay; I will go to him myself."
The priests looked at one another, but they could not stop their lord; and with a sign to us to follow, he passed across the court again, up the long hall, and so into the council chamber. At the door which led to Offa's apartments there was a young thane on guard, but no others were to be seen. I suppose that never before had Offa been so ill attended, for the very courtiers feared what curse should light on the place and all who bided in it.
"Tell your lord that I demand audience with him," said the archbishop to this thane. "The matter will not wait; it is urgent."
The youth rose and bowed, and passed within the door. In a moment or two he was back again, throwing the door open for us.
"Yourself and no other, lord," he said.
"I take these two," answered Ealdwulf the archbishop. "I will answer to the king for their presence."
So we two, Erling and I, followed him into the chamber of the king; and with my first glance at Offa there fell on me a great pity for him.
He sat at a great heavy table in a carven chair, leaning his crossed arms before him on the board, and staring at naught with hollow, black-ringed eyes, as of sleeplessness and grief. His face was wan and drawn, so that he seemed ten years or more older than when last he sat in hall with us; and he was clad in the same clothes which he wore when he came forth to us on the morning of terror. None had dared to touch aught in his room; and bent and soiled among the rushes on the floor lay the little gold crown which he wore at the last feast, as if he had swept it from the table out of his sight, and had spurned it from him thereafter in some fit of passion. Hard by that lay a broken sword, and its hilt flashed and sparkled with the gems I had noted in the hall. It was his own.
On the table was neither wine nor food, but there was a great book, silver covered and golden lettered, and it was open at a place where a wondrous picture in many hues showed a king who seemed to humble himself in fear before a long-robed man priestlike.
He did not stir when we came in, nor did he say a word. Only he looked at Ealdwulf, as it were blindly, waiting what he should hear from his lips. And into his look there crept somewhat like fear.
But there was naught terrible or hard in the face which he looked on; it had but deepest sorrow and pity.
"My king," said Ealdwulf, seeing that he must needs speak first, "here is one who has a word for you. I think that you will be glad to hear it. Know you where the body of Ethelbert was hidden?"
"No," said the king in a dull voice. "My men search even now. It is all that I can do."
Then Ealdwulf bade me tell the story of the finding, and I did so. Yet the look of Offa never brightened as he heard, nor did he ask me one question.
"It is well," he said, when I had no more to say, and his fingers moved restlessly on the table.
But he did not look in my face, nor had he done so since I came before him. I stood back, and Ealdwulf was alone near him.
"My son," said the old man, "my son, this has not been your doing. I will not believe that."
Offa set his hand on the great book with its picture.
"As much my doing as the slaying of the Hittite by David the king. It was planned, and I hindered it not."
Then he set his hands to his face, and his voice softened. And at that I passed silently from the room, leaving those two together, for this was not a meeting in which I had wish to meddle. Erling came with me, and we sat in the council chamber for half an hour, waiting.
Presently--after the young thane had told us how that Quendritha was closely guarded, and that the voice of all blamed her utterly for every wrong that had been wrought in Mercia for many a long year, now that the fear of her was somewhat passed--Erling rose up.
"With your leave, thane," he said to me, "we have a few things left here, and our other horses still stand in the stable. It is in my mind to see what I can take back with me."
We went out together, for the stillness and waiting grew wearisome. There were none of the pleasant sounds of the household at work or sport in all the palace. It was as a place stricken with some plague.
So we passed through the church to our lodging, and took our few goods, and Sighard's, and so went with them to the long stables where our two spare horses stood in idleness. The rows of stalls were well-nigh empty now, those who had gone having taken their steeds.
"I wonder ours are left," quoth Erling. "These Mercians are more honest than some folk I know."
He called the grooms, and we made ready, taking the horses out to where the folk of the archbishop waited in the sunny courtyard, and there leaving them. Then we went back to the council chamber, and again waited for what seemed a long time. The young thane had a meal brought for us there.
Presently Ealdwulf himself came to the door and called me softly, and I followed him back to the presence of the king. I cannot tell what had passed between those two, nor do I suppose that any man will ever know; but Offa was more himself, save that on his face was a deep sadness, and no trace of hardness or pride therewith.
"Friend," he said, "is it your duty to go back to Carl the Great?"
"I have left his service, King Offa; I am on my way homeward. It was but by the kindness of Ethelbert, to whom I helped bear messages, that I came hither."
"Well," he said, "I will not hinder you. Had you gone back, I would have asked you to tell him plainly all of this. As it is, Ealdwulf shall send churchmen to tell him; I would have him know the truth. Now I must thank you for this that you did last night, and tell you what shall be done in atonement for the death of your friend."
There he checked himself and bit his lip.
"Nay," he said unsteadily, "there is no atonement possible. There is but left to me the power of showing that I do repent, and will have all men know it for aye. There shall be at Fernlea, where he will lie in his last sleep, the greatest cathedral that has been seen or heard of in this land, and men shall hail him as the very saint that you and I knew him to be; and after his name shall it be called, and in it shall be all due service of priest and choir for him till time shall end it. What more may I do?"
"I think that the place where his body lay should not be left unmarked," I said boldly, for so it had seemed to me. "May not somewhat be done there, that the spot may be kept?"
"Ay, at Marden," he said eagerly, as if he did but long to do all that he might, "there also shall be a church, that it may be held holy for all time. It shall be seen to at once."
After that promise Offa bade me farewell sadly enough, and I was glad to leave the chamber. Nor had we long to wait before Ealdwulf came out, and we were once more turning our backs on the palace of Sutton. On its walls I never set eyes again, nor did I wish to do so.
As we went in leisurely wise back to Fernlea, the archbishop told me those few things which I have set down concerning the way in which Quendritha had beguiled the king into suffering the thought of this deed of shame. No more than was needful for me to understand how little part, indeed, Offa had had in the matter did he tell me, for all else that had passed between those two was not to be told. Both he and I think that had the evil queen left the doing of her deed until morning it had never been wrought, for Offa would have come to himself.
Yet one cannot tell. What Quendritha had set her heart on was apt to be carried through, even to the bitterest of endings for those who were in her way thereto. How she would fare now Ealdwulf could not tell me. It was true that she was almost imprisoned, as I have said, but none could tell whether that would last. Yet he thought, indeed, that Offa would have no more to do with her.
So we came back to Fernlea, and when I saw the little church I minded once more that strange dream of the poor young king's. I had heard the words which told that it would come to pass. Nor was there any doubt now in my mind that all those things which we had deemed omens were indeed so. The fears we had tried to laugh at were more than justified.
Now I went straightway to Hilda with the news of her father, telling her that it seemed almost the best for us to trust to the word of the Welsh prince, and go to him, rather than to risk a journey hither for the thane if he was wounded.
"I trust you altogether, Wilfrid," she said. "Take me to him. I know that you have bided here in sore risk for me, and maybe you also will be safer if once we are across the Wye. The Welsh are not the foes of East Anglia."
I did not tell her that they were very much so of Wessex, on our western border; for at all events ours were Cornish, who had not so much to do with their brothers beyond the Channel here. So, having bidden her keep up heart, I sought the wife of the reeve, and would have given her gold to buy such things as she might think Hilda needed for travel.
"Dear heart!" she said, bridling, "set your gold back in your pouch. May not the reeve's wife of Fernlea give of her plenty to one so fair and hapless? I will see to that in all good time."
She stood by a great press against the wall, and as she spoke, as if by chance, she swung the door open, so that I had a glimpse of the mighty piles of homespun cloth and linen, her pride, which lay therein, Truly she had to spare, and I laughed.
"Mistress," I said, "be not offended. I am in haste, for we must go hence tonight. There is no time for planning and cutting and making."
She turned, swinging the heavy press door to and fro.
"Tonight!" she said, with wide eyes; "why so hasty?"
"Because her father lies wounded across the Wye, and we have to go to him. Maybe we shall have to ransom him."
"Man," she cried, "those Welsh are swarming beyond the river. Ken you what you are doing with this poor damsel?"
"Ay," answered I plainly: "I am taking her out of the way of Quendritha and of Gymbert. I have the word of Jefan the prince for our safety."
"Get to him," she said at once, "get to him straightway; he is honest. And on my word, if Gymbert is the man you saved her from last night, there is no time to be lost."
"He does not know where she has gone."
"Did not," she said. "By this time he kens well enough. Go, and all shall be ready."
I thanked her heartily, for she was a friend in need in all truth. And then I sought her husband, and told him what we must do. I do not know if I were the more pleased or disquieted when he said much the same as his wife. He would have us go from the town after the gates were shut, and he himself would see us across the ford. Once beyond that he did not think there was any risk. Most likely Jefan and his men were on Dynedor hill fort, their nearest post to the river, for he had seen a fire there. What he did fear was that Gymbert had his spies in the town, and would beset all the roads.
"He cares naught for reeve--or for archbishop either, for that matter," he said. "He has half the outlaws on these marches at his beck and call, and one has to pay him for quiet. Nor dare any man complain, for he is the servant of Quendritha."
So his advice also was that the sooner we were gone the better. I have somewhat of a suspicion that he half feared that his house should be burned over his head, like Witred's. It seems that when the archbishop came back here from Sutton he excommunicated, with all solemnity, every man who had aught to do with that deed of which he had been told. Wherefore Gymbert, if he cared aught for the wrath of the Church, might be desperate, and would heed little whom he destroyed, so that he ended those he meant to harm.
Then I called Erling, and we planned all that we might for going, and after that we two went into the little church where lay Ethelbert the king. There was silence in it, and little light save for two tall tapers which burned at the head of the bier on which he lay, but I could see that all had been made ready against his showing to the people on the morrow. A priest sat on either side of the bier's head, and one of them read softly, so that I had not heard him at first. So I stood and looked in the face which was so calm, and then knelt and prayed there for a little time.
When I rose I was aware for the first time that behind me knelt Erling, but he did not rise with me. He stayed as he was, and in the light of the tall tapers was somewhat which glistened on the rough cheeks of the viking. I knew that he had been mightily taken with the way of Ethelbert on our long ride with him; but he was silent, and said little at any time of what his thoughts were. I had not thought to see him so moved. Now he looked up at me as it were wistfully, and spoke to me, yet on his knees:
"Master, this poor king, who talked with me as we rode, bade me be a Christian man, that hereafter we might meet again. And you ken that I saw him, and how he spoke to me, that night when he was slain, so that from me you learned his death. Now I would do his bidding, and so be christened straightway, if so it may be."
I did not know what to answer, for it was sudden.
Not that I was much surprised, for Erling had ever been most careful of all that might offend in his way when he came into a church with me, but that here in the dim church the question came so strangely and, as it were, fittingly. I held out my hand to him, and looked round to the priests, who had heard all. One of them was that elder man who went to seek the king's body with us, and he rose up and came to us, and bade us into the little bare sacristy apart.
"My son," he said to Erling, "it is a good and fitting wish; yet I would not have you do aught hastily. How long has this matter been in your mind?"
"I think that it indeed began long years ago, when my lord here kept his faith with Thorleif when he might have escaped. That made me think well of Christian men. He had not so much as taken oath."
"Carl the Great would christen a heathen man first and teach him afterward," said I, meaning indeed to help on Erling's hope without bringing my own name into the matter thus, and minding Carl's rough way with the Saxon folk.
"Carl's man has taught first, and that all unknowing," he said, smiling. "I do not know what he speaks of, but it has been worth doing."
"I only kept my word, father, as a Saxon should."
"As a Saxon Christian has been taught to keep it, by his faith, rather," he answered, smiling at me. "Well, well, so may it be.
"Now, my son, you will need many a long day's teaching, mayhap."
"I think not, father," said Erling. "I have been in Wales, and there I learned well-nigh enough. They gave me the prime signing there. You have but my word for it, but Ethelbert himself said that an I would be baptized he would stand sponsor for me. He said it as we rode on the day of the great mist, when it chanced that all of us must pray together. He saw me make the holy sign, and asked presently if it was that of Thor. And I told him that in Wales I was what they call a catechumen. I mind me that so ran the word for one prime signed."
"And thereafter he spoke to you?"
"He said many and wondrous things to me."
I minded how often Ethelbert had spoken with Erling. I had deemed that he did but ask him questions of Denmark, as once he did in my hearing at the first.
So I wondered. But the old priest asked Erling to say the creed, and that he did well, and with a sort of gladness on him. After which the good father said that tomorrow should surely be the baptism, in all form.
"Nay, but here and now," begged Erling. "Tomorrow I must be away with my master beyond the river, and I would fain be christened here--in yon presence."
"Ay; why not," said the old priest, half to himself, "why not? Yet I will fetch the archbishop."
He led the way back into the church, and we entered just below the sanctuary steps. In the little chancel lay the king; and almost in shadow, for no window light fell on it, the font stood at the entering in of the nave, opposite the one south door.
"See," said the priest, "some one has come in. Maybe he seeks you twain."
I looked toward the door, and dimly I saw a tall figure standing close to the font, but I could not see who it was. Erling knew him.
"It is Ethelbert," he said very quietly; "he said he would be my godfather."
The priest set his hand on my arm and half shrank back. The other priest lifted his eyes from his book, and so bided, motionless. But I did not rightly take in what they meant, and looked more closely. Then some stray gleam of light from the broken sky overhead came into the door, and it shone round the tall and gracious figure--and it was that of Ethelbert himself.
I saw him, and there he bided while he turned his face to us, smiling at us. And so he set his hand on the font, and smiled again, and was gone.
"Brother," said the seated priest, "did you see?"
"I saw, and I think it is but the first of many wonders which we may see here."
Now we stayed there still and hardly daring to move, looking yet for the king to be yonder again, but we saw no more. Then at last the priest begged me to go to the archbishop and bring him, telling him what had happened. I went, and when Ealdwulf came there was no more delay, but where the form of Ethelbert had stood there stood Erling, and was baptized by the archbishop, I and the old priest standing for him. And thereafter he knelt at the steps of the sanctuary, and on him the hands of the archbishop were laid in his confirmation.
That was the most wonderful baptism I have ever seen, and it bides in my mind ever as I see another, even if it be but of a little babe of thrall or forester, so that for a time I seem to stand in the church at Fernlea once more, and hear the voice of Erling as he made his answers firmly and truly. Betimes it seems to me that it was but longing and the work of minds in many ways overwrought which showed us the form of the dead king there by the font--and I cannot tell. Yet the watching priest saw, besides us three who had searched for him.
Presently, on the morrow, and again in days later, when the body of the king lay for the people to pass and see, and when it was taken with all pomp to its resting in the great new cathedral which men call that of Hereford, there were many healings and the like, as they tell me. And at Marden, where Offa built at once the little church which should mark where Ethelbert was hidden, that water which welled from the place whence we took him healed many.
Now we went forth from the church for a little while, and presently I went back alone and placed the little gift which Etheldrida had given me on the breast of the king, hiding it next his heart in his robes. I had learned that they would not be moved again. Ealdwulf knew that I had done it, and when I came back to him, where he talked yet with Erling in the reeve's chamber, he asked me if I knew what the little case held. I did not, and that is known to none save to her who gave it me.
"I think that you two will value this more than other men," he said then.
And with that he gave us each a little silken bag, square, with a cross and a letter E worked thereon. He had cut for us each a lock from the head of Ethelbert, and had it set hastily thus for us. And he was right as to the way in which we held it of more worth than aught else. Hilda wrought the little cases as she sat waiting in the house. It is my word that mine shall go to my last resting with me.
Now all too soon the dusk came, and we must set ourselves back from these wondrous things that had been to the ways of hard warriors again, with a precious charge in our keeping. With Hilda we supped, and then it was dark. Out in the stables the horses stood ready, my brown second steed being made ready for the lady, and Erling's second carrying the packs, as on our first journey from Norfolk. And then we heard the last words of farewell from the archbishop, and knelt for his blessing, even as the watch mustered outside in the street, and the last wayfarer hurried into or from the gates, and I heard the horns which told their closing. It was dark overhead, and the moon had not yet climbed far into the sky; which was as well for our passing the ford unseen, if Gymbert had it watched.
Then the reeve came in, armed and ready, and we must go. There was a little sobbing from the good wife, as was no doubt fitting, but by no means cheering; and so we passed from the warmly-lit little hall into the street, and mounted, clattering away toward the westward gate of the town, with the reeve ahead and two of his men after us.
The gates swung open for us, and two wayfarers took advantage thereof to get inside, which was to their good fortune. Then we had a quarter of a mile of road to pass before we came to the ford below the field where our camp had been when we came. After us the gates were shut again, and we rode on.
Then befell us a wonderful bit of good luck. There came the quick tramp of a horse coming toward us, and out of the gloom rode a man in haste. He pulled up short on seeing us, and I heard another horse stop and go away directly afterward. It was too dark to see much against the black trees and land among which we rode, and the plainest thing about this comer was the little shower of sparks which flew now and then from the paving of the old way and from his horse's hoofs.
"Ho," said the reeve, with his hand on his sword hilt, "who comes?"
"Is that you, reeve? Well glad am I. Are you out with a posse against those knaves at the ford?"
"Eh," said the reeve, while we all halted, "is the ford beset with the Welsh?"
The man laughed somewhat.
"Not Welsh, but thieves of nearer kin. I ride homeward along the river bank, and they stop me. It seemed to put them out that my horse is not skew-bald, and that I am alone. However, they would rob me."
The reeve whistled under his breath.
"How have you got away?" he asked.
"Rode over one of them who held my horse. There was one after me, or more."
Now the reeve turned to me.
"What is to be done?" he said blankly. "This is what we had to fear most of all. This is surely Gymbert with his men."
"How many may there be?" said I.
"Ten or a dozen, and mostly mounted," the stranger told me.
Now I had no time to think of aught, for the men who waited for us heard the voices, and had been told that we had halted; whereon here they came up the road at a hand gallop, in silence. The two men of the reeve made no more ado, but fled townwards, and after them, swearing, went their leader. With him the stranger went also, shouting, and we three were left in the road with plunging horses; and then, with a wild half thought that we might meet and cut our way through these knaves ere they knew we were on them, I bethought me of somewhat. I cried to Erling, and caught Hilda's bridle, and so leaped from the road to the meadow, and held on straight across it toward the dim outlines of bush and furze clumps which I remembered as being close to our first camp.
I suppose that against the black woodland, with the town rampart beyond us, we were hardly noted, or else those who came made sure that we must try to get back to the town. At all events along the road they thundered, past where we had stopped, and on after the reeve and his men, who were shouting for the guard to open to them.
So we did not turn to right or left, but rode our hardest across the soft turf, among the ashes of our camp fires, until we were close on the place where Ethelbert had dreamed his dream of Fernlea church under the riverside trees, by the pool where I had bathed and frightened the franklin by my pranks. That schoolboy jest had flashed into my mind with the memory of the shallows and half-forgotten ford across them. I thought I might find it again.
"They are after us," said Erling. "Whither now?"
Hilda drew her breath in sharply, but made no more sign of fear.
"There is a ford here," I said, "if I can but find it. Let the packhorse go, if need be."
"No need yet; they are at fault," my comrade answered.
Now I saw the tree which had sheltered the king, and close to it was the ford, and already I scanned the surface of the swirling water for the breaks in its flow which would mark the shallows. The pursuers had spread abroad somewhat, and were keeping on a line that would lead them past us, for we had turned down to the river somewhat sharply.
Then the river water flashed white suddenly, and I pulled up. This ford was beset also, for across it, waist deep in the middle, hustled and splashed a line of men whose long spears lifted black lines against the gleam of the pool below. And I suppose we were seen at the same time against the white water; for there came a yell from behind us, and the hoofs which followed us trampled wildly after us.
At that the men in the water hurried yet more, passing to the Welsh side, and that struck me as unlike the men who would seek to stay us. And Erling knew what it meant.
"Welshmen," he said--"raiders! After them, and call to them."
With that I lifted my voice, and spurred my horse at the same time.
"Ho, men of the Cymro!" I cried in Welsh. "Ho! we are beset. Ho, Jefan ap Huwal!"
The Welsh stayed in a moment, with a roar and swinging round of weapons. Not fifty yards behind us, as the horses plunged into the ford, there was a shout for halt, and Gymbert's men reined up with a sound of slipping hoofs and clattering weapons on the steep bank above us. A sharp voice from the other bank called to know who we were and who after us.
"The Anglians!" I cried back. "Gymbert and ten men in pursuit!"
Then was a yell from the Welsh, and past us back they came with a rush that told of hate for Gymbert. For a moment the longing to get but one blow at that villain took hold of me, and I half turned also.
"No, no," said Hilda at my side, and I remembered I might not go from her.
So I passed through the water, and on the far bank turned to see what I might. The white-clad Welsh were still swarming back, and their leader began to try to stop them. I heard, as did he, the sound of retreating horsemen as Gymbert found out the trap into which he had so nearly fallen, and made haste to get out of it.
Now we were safe, and a tall Welshman came to me and welcomed us. All this far bank was like a fair; for it was full of cattle, and sheep, and horses, with a gray dog or two minding them.
"Jefan told us you were to come," he said; "but we looked for you to cross at the great ford. We thought none knew of this now."
I told him how I found it, and thanked him for timely help. His men were coming back, laughing and talking fast over the scare they had given their enemy. They had taken one horse also, in the first rush, but Gymbert had escaped.
The chief gave a short laugh.
"We were in time, indeed," he said; "but your coming fairly frightened our rearguard across the water more quickly than our wont. We could not tell who was coming. A wise man runs first and looks round afterward, when he is in this sort of case."
"It seems to me that you have been somewhat bold tonight," I said.
"Yes, indeed; which made us fear the more. But we have had a fair lifting, as you may see, dark as it is. Save that Offa has gone to sleep, as men say, we might not have come. We have lifted every head of stock well-nigh up to Sutton walls since dusk," and he chuckled. "There was no man to hinder us."
Then he told us that we were all bound for Dynedor hill fort together, and that there we should find Jefan. And so we went slowly, with the herd of raided cattle before us, with a silence which made me wonder. Presently I said as much, and the chief chuckled again.
"'Tis practice," quoth he. "An you had had as much raiding as we borderers, you would have learned the trick of quiet cattle droving. I doubt if ever you had need to lift a herd."
I heard Erling laugh, and he answered for me.
"The paladin has most likely stolen as many head in a day as you may find in a year. And I ken somewhat of the trade myself: I was driving his countryside when I first met him. But we have both done it with the high hand, and I think that yours is like to be the best sport. You are first-rate drovers!"
That pleased the raiders, and there was pleasant talk enough of old days as we went on. Presently the moon came out, and we went quicker. It shone on the white faces of the great Hereford oxen and kine, and showed us the keen dogs herding them skilfully as men.
So at last the black hill of Dynedor, crested with its works, rose before us, and from it shone a score of watch fires.
"See, Hilda," I said, "yonder is your father, and all will be well."
She answered me cheerfully, with a little shake of the reins, as if she longed to hurry on; and I told her that now I must keep her back, as she had kept me just now.
"Each to their own way," she said, sighing somewhat: "the man to his weapon, and the woman to the sickbed that comes thereafter. See what one evil deed has let loose on this land. It is terrible to me. And how long it seems since we came to Fernlea in the bright sunshine, deeming that all was to go well!"
"Yet all is not so much amiss," said I, seeing that the fears of the day had hold of her.
And so I told her of Erling's christening, and of what we saw in the church; for of this I had had no time to tell her before, save when Erling himself had been with us.
Then in very gladness, for she liked my comrade, she lost her gloomy thoughts, and would tell him softly of her pleasure. And so we climbed the steep of the hill, and were met at the gate by Jefan himself, with a frank welcome.
There were rough huts across the camp, set more or less at random, and among them burned the fires which we had seen. There would be about fifty men at most in the place, now that all had returned; but the prince told me presently that he had had more when first the alarm had been raised that Offa was summoning his thanes to him for some unknown reason; whereby I gathered that here he had waited for us.
"Lady," he said, as he helped Hilda from her horse, "your father is but weak. I think that he began to mend when I told him that doubtless you would be here tonight. I hope your ride has been easy and without alarm."
"Hardly," said the chief who had rescued us. "It was a hard ride for a matter of ten minutes, and we were frightened sorely. The lady is the bravest I have ever met, for she screamed not once; and the thanes are no bad judges of cattle raiding."
"Why, you have met with men after your own heart, Kynan," laughed Jefan. "More of that tale by-and-by.
"Well, lady, you are safe, and that is the best. Now you shall see your father.
"See to our guests, brother."
Jefan took Hilda's hand and led her to the best of the huts, and, with a word to one within, entered. In a moment he was out again, with a smile on his face in the firelight. I knew from that how Sighard had met his daughter.
Kynan gave some orders to his men, and they took our horses, leading them to a far corner of the camp. After that we were set down to a great supper, and the tale of the flight and the raid was told and retold. Then at last one fetched a little gilded harp, and Kynan ap Huwal, the raider of cattle, set the whole story into song, and did it well and sweetly.
After that was done came a white-haired priest, and we knelt for the vespers; and then the watch was set under the moonlight, and Erling and I stood in the gateway of the fort, and looked out on the quiet land below us. It was no very great hill, but the place was strong. How old it may be I cannot say, perhaps no man knows; but since Offa drove the Welsh to the Wye it had been set in order, with a stockade halfway down the steep earthwork round the hill crest, so that men on its top could use their weapons on those who were trying to scale it. The dry ditch was deep and steep sided, and, so far as I could see in the moonlight, on this side at least it would need a strong force to take it by storm, were it fairly manned by say two hundred men. The gate had been made afresh of heavy timber, narrow, and flanked on either side by overhanging mounds, whence men could rain javelins on those who tried to force it; and outside the gate were slight fences, which bent in wide half circles, inside which the cattle we had driven in were penned. Peaceful enough it all was, and the stillness of this hilltop after the long unrest seemed as of a very haven after storm.
Presently Jefan and his brother came back after posting their men, and then for half an hour I sat with Sighard and Hilda in the hut. The thane had indeed had a narrow escape from the burning hall, and had been left for dead by his pursuers. However, he had been but stunned by the blow which felled him from his horse, and presently recovering, had managed to get across the river and to some Welshman's hut, whence Jefan took him.
As for those who had burnt the hall, he was sure that they were led by Gymbert, and that they were no housecarls of Offa's. They had slain Witred and another of the Mercian thanes who had fled with him.
Then I asked him of himself and of his hurt.
"I am old to have the senses knocked out of me, and a blow that you might think little of is enough to keep me quiet for a time. However, that is all. Now that Hilda and you are safe, and the king is found and honoured, I have naught to do but to get well. Trouble not for me."
It seemed to me that there was no need for me to trouble about aught either, and out in the open air, by one of the fires, I slept till the dawn woke me, without so much as stirring.
In the stir which comes with the waking of a camp, I and Erling went out of the eastward gate and watched the sun coming up over the Mercian hills across the river. The white morning mists lay deep and heavy below us, and the little breeze from the southwest drifted curls of it up the hill and across it, mixed with the smell of the newly-lighted fires; and as the sun touched the drifts they vanished. In the cattle enclosures the beasts moved restless and ghostlike, lowing for their home meadows after the night on the open hillside. Jefan had ridden out to go round his posts, and I was waiting to bid Hilda good morrow before breakfast.
"What shall you do next?" asked Erling, with his eyes on the misty treetops below us.
He was silent beyond his wont this morning, and I did not wonder at it.
"I can hardly say. I have thought that by-and-by, when Sighard is fit to move hence, we might get to one of the Welsh ports, and so cross into my own land, Wessex, unknown to any in all Mercia."
Erling nodded.
"That is good," he said. "I only wish we were a trifle farther from the Wye now, or that we had a few more men."
"You think that Gymbert is still to be feared?"
"T know it. Unless we get hence shortly we shall be fallen on. The reeve told me that he could gather five-score men of the worst sort in a day by the raising of his finger."
"It would need men of the best to take this place."
"Outlaws and suchlike I meant--men who will have Gymbert's promise of inlawing again if they will do his bidding. See, here comes Jefan!"
Up the hill from out of the mists rode the prince, and with him ran a few of his men, swiftly as mountain men will, so that the horse was no swifter up the steep. After them, through the mist, from men I could not see, sped an arrow, badly aimed, which fell short, and told of danger.
One of the two men who were at the gate on guard turned and whistled, and the rest, busy over their cooking, dropped what they held and ran to their weapons. Kynan came hastily to us, and watched his brother as he rode up.
"Jefan is in a hurry," he said. "Get your arms, thane, for there must be reason. Mayhap it is naught, however, for one is easily scared in a fog."
Still he was anxious; for if he had looked at me he would have seen that I was already armed, and that so also was Erling. We needed but our spears to complete the gear for battle--if that was to come--and they stood, each with the round shield at its foot, by the fire where we slept, twenty paces off.
Now Jefan pulled up, and tried to look back through the mists. They were thinning fast as the sun climbed higher, but were yet thick. His men came on and entered the gate, while Kynan asked what was amiss.
"There are men everywhere," one said--"Mercians. They must have slain the outpost toward the ford, and so have crept on us under cover of the thickness."
"Trying to see where their cattle are," said Kynan. "They will not come up here."
The man shook his head, but laughed.
"They are bold enough to shoot at us, however," he said.
"You would do the same if you met a Mercian cattle lifter," laughed Kynan. "That is naught."
Jefan rode in slowly, bidding us good morrow cheerfully as he came. Kynan said that he supposed the owners of the kine were about.
"They, or some others who should be on the other side of the river," answered his brother carelessly, as he dismounted. "Send a picket down on the west side of the hill, and bid them be wary. Let them eat their breakfast as they go, and send men to keep in touch with them. I can see naught in this mist, and if we have to leave here we must know in time. Come, let us get to our meal."
Plainly enough I saw that there was more in the matter than Jefan would let his men know yet; but if I was anxious, I would no more show it than he. So we sat down to the food his men had ready, and before we had half finished a man came and spoke to him quietly and went his way again.
"One of the western picket. It seems that here we must stay for a while."
So said Jefan, and laughed a short laugh. But he did not look at his brother, nor did Kynan look at him.
"That is the worst of a raid," said Kynan. "It stirs up such a hornet's nest round one's ears. However, we on the border are somewhat used to it. We can take care of ourselves."
We went on eating, and then a second man came; and Jefan told him to call in the pickets, after he had heard what was said. Then he turned to me at last.
"Thane," he said, "we seem to be beset here, but how and with what force we cannot yet tell. I am sorry, for your sakes and the lady's, that so it is. I fear our raid has made trouble for you, by bringing Offa's men on us in the hope we may be forced to return our booty."
"Our fault, I fear, for keeping you here, prince," said I. "I think that of your kindness to us you have stayed longer near the river than you might have done at any other time."
He smiled.
"That were to credit me with too much," he said. "Mostly the Mercians care little to follow us. There lies our mistake."
"Then it may be that Gymbert is after us," said I, "and this has happened because he knows that we are here. He is doing Quendritha's bidding."
"Not likely in the least," said Kynan; "it is just a cattle affair. It is my fault for suggesting a raid last evening. I would go, though Jefan had no mind for it."
"Wrong, brother.
"Do not listen to him, thanes. I did but stay here because it was his turn to go. One of us must needs bide in the camp."
Then they both laughed, and I dare say would have gone on with their jest; but there came a cry from the gate, and they both leaped up. It was the word that a man bearing a white scarf on a spear was coming.
They went to the gate, which was not yet closed, and Erling and I climbed the rampart near and looked over, bareheaded, lest our English helms should tell who we were. In my own mind I was pretty sure that we were sought.
The mists had thinned to nothing, and only lingered in the hollows and round the scattered tree clumps. Long ago the Welsh had bared all this hillside, and there was no cover for a foe as he came up the hill. Across the grass came one man alone, and that man was Gymbert, as I had half expected. It was ourselves whom he was after. Maybe his only chance of regaining favour with the king being through Quendritha, he was trying his best to pleasure her. Or else she had threatened him. Either would be enough to set him on his mettle, for none with whom I had spoken thought that the forced retirement of the queen would last long. She would soon be as powerful as ever, they said.
Now he came within half arrow shot of the gate, outside of which the two princes stood. There he halted, and lowered his spear to the ground.
"Jefan ap Huwal the prince?" he said in the best of Welsh.
"You know me well enough by sight," Jefan replied. "There needs no ceremony. Tell us what you want here."
"I bring a message from Offa the king. It is his word that, if you will give up the English fugitives you have with you, this matter of the cattle will not be noticed."
"We have no objection to its being noticed," said Jefan. "I don't know what else you could do about it. But you say this message is from Offa?"
"Ay. You have here with you a Frankish thane, so called, being a Wessex man in disguise, a heathen Dane his servant, and a girl, escaped thrall of the queen. Doubtless you have apprehended them for us, and I only need ask you to give them up."
"This needs no answering, Gymbert. You never were known as a truth teller. This is your own affair, or Quendritha's, for Offa has seen no man to give any such order to. Nor dare you go near him on your own account, or short would be your shrift. Get hence, and take your lies back to her who sent you. Mayhap you have told that queen that you have slain Sighard the thane. If so, another lie or two will make no odds."
Thereat Gymbert grew purple with passion. Plainly that was just what he had told the queen. And now he began to bluster, after his wont, stammering with rage. He had forgotten what we must have told the princes.
"You hear the message? Pay heed to it, or it will be the worse for you. Set these folk outside the walls straightway, or else--"
He shook his spear at the gate.
"I will not give them up," said Jefan; "and if--"
He set his hand on his sword hilt and laughed. Naught more was needed.
Then Kynan, who was fairly stamping, broke in, being nowise so patient as his brother:
"Hence, knave and liar! If there were naught else, it were enough that you have called a freeborn thane's daughter a thrall to your evil mistress. The truce is at an end."
His sword flashed out, and Gymbert was ware of bent bows on the rampart which had more than a menace for him. He turned his horse slowly and went his way, only quickening his pace when he was out of range. Just before that some man loosed an arrow at him, which missed him but nearly; and at that Jefan's pent up rage found a vent.
"Take that man and bind him!" he cried to those on the rampart. "Shame on us that a truce bearer should be shot at. Bind him, and set me up a gallows that the country round may see."
I saw the man throw down his bow and hold out his hands.
"The prince is right," he said in a dull voice.
Jefan walked up to him and looked at him.
"So you own that? Well, you shall not die.
"Set him in a hut till this affair is ended, and then we will think of what shall be done to him."
His passion had blazed up and passed as the fierce rage of the Cymro will. They took the man away, and he turned to us with a word of regret on his lips, and that was cut short by a yell from the rampart, while the gate was swung to and barred hastily. I ran to my spear and shield, while Kynan cried to his men to get to their places; and scattered enough they seemed as they lined the ramparts. Already they had driven the cattle from the enclosures westward down the hill to the woodlands.
As I took my spear from the place where it stood upright, I looked toward the hut where Hilda was, and saw her standing in the door. It was the first sight I had of her that morning, and now her eyes were wide with wonder at the cries and bustle of armed men.
"Wilfrid, what is it all?" she cried.
"Gymbert has gathered some men, and is trying to make Jefan give us up," I said, knowing it was best to tell her plainly. "But you need have no fear; this place is strong, and the man cannot have any following worth naming."
"There will be fighting?"
"I think there will be little; but the arrows may come over the rampart, and you must keep under cover."
"Shall you take part if there is any?"
"Why, of course," said I, laughing; "it is for you."
She looked at me, and I know that for a moment she had a mind to beg me not to fight; but that she could not do, and so she only smiled a wan smile and bade me have a care. So I bent and kissed her hand, and she went back into the hut. Sighard was calling to her to come and tell him what all the turmoil was.
Then I hurried to where Jefan stood on the works by the gate, whence one could see all over the camp, and half round the hillside as well. Not a shred of mist was left, and it was as glorious a morning as one could see; only it was hotter than the wont of a Maytime morning, and over the southward hung a heavy, white-topped cloud bank, with a promise of thunder in its pile. Not that I noted it now, but I had done so. From the ramparts there was more than enough to keep my eyes on the hillside.
Up the steep came three bodies of men, to right and left, where the hill was sharpest, and straight for the gate, where there was a long, even slope ending in a platform, as it were, before it. Gymbert himself headed this company on foot, and men whose names the princes seemed to scorn altogether led the others. Altogether there were not less than a hundred and fifty men; but as they drew nearer I saw that they were not at all the sort of force with which I should hope to take so strongly stockaded a place as this. Outlaws, runaway thralls, and such-like masterless men they were, ill armed and unkempt and noisy. Their only strength was in their numbers, so far as I could see.
As for ourselves, the gate was the weakest place, by reason of there being no ditch before it, and that the ground was level, or nearly so, for twenty paces outside. I did not think it in the least likely that our men could not hold off the two side attacks; for the stockade was well placed and high, and the ditch sheer-sided and deep. Take it all round, it was hard to see how Gymbert expected to take the place, or why he would try it at all.
"Quendritha is driving him," said Kynan, laughing, when I said as much. "If that woman bids a man do a thing, he has to do it, or woe betide him. But it will be a fight, for a time."
Now Gymbert halted his men beyond bow shot, and called to Jefan once more to give us up; and so finding no answer beyond a laugh from the men who were watching him from the rampart, drew his sword and bade his men fall on.
They broke into a run for a dozen paces, and then some half of either company halted, and while the rest went forward, those who stood began to try to clear the way with arrow flights, shooting over their heads so that the shafts might drop within the stockading. And at the same time our men began to shoot, somewhat too soon; for the Welsh bow will not carry so far as the English, though the arrows are more deadly, being heavier.
Seeing that, Jefan bade his men hold their hands until he gave the word; on which Gymbert called to his men, and they came the faster. The arrows met them then at short range, and in a deadly hail, and they faltered. Many fell under them, yet they still came on; and now the men who had been shooting found that the Welsh were too well sheltered under the stockade timbering for much harm to be done them, and they ran and joined their comrades at some call from their leaders. Then without stay the whole three companies threw themselves with a great shout against the defences, leaping into the ditch on either side, and surging up against the gate itself.
In a breathing space our Welsh were ready with the long spears, and as one by one the heads of those who climbed gate or stockade showed themselves, hoisted up by their comrades, or climbing in some way or other, back they were sent with a flash of the terrible weapon, falling on those below them. And now and again the Welsh spears darted through the spaces between the timbers of the stockade at some man who came close to them and was spied, or at those who tried to help their comrades to climb. The whole place was full of yells and shouting.
But it was harder work at the gate, for there the foemen were more densely packed before us, and they seemed to climb in an unending stream. More than one fell inside the gate, and there lay still; but none had won his way to the ground alive, nor had we yet lost a man. The loss was all on the side of the attack.
Then at last the men at the gate drew back for a time; but from the side attacks came a new danger. With spear butt and seax they were trying to undermine the stockade, and one could hear the creaking of the stout timbers as they tried to tear them down. It would have gone hardly with us had there been but a few more men, or if these had brought pick and spade with them.
As it was, that attempt did not last long. Into the crowd of men who worked the heavy javelins fell, and through the timbering the reddened spears went and came, driving at last the foe to safer distance. And so the first attack ended, and for all that Gymbert from the gate tried to urge them on, his men stood sullenly in the deep ditch and under the gate, where we could not well reach them, save by casting javelins and darts high into the air, that they might pitch among them; but there were few throwing weapons to spare.
"He would have done better to attack at one point only," said Jefan, sitting down on the rampart above the gate. "He might have overwhelmed us so, for he has men enough."
His brother laughed.
"There is a difference between us in this way," he said, "and it is a great one: there is little fight in his men, and we must needs fight our best. Listen! they are passing some word round."
So it was, for there fell a silence on the humming men below us, and we could hear muttered words from one to another. Then the attack came again from the same three places, but I thought it was not pushed home as at first. Nor did it last so long. In a few minutes men began to get out of the ditch and away down the hillside while the Welsh were too busy to shoot at them. There they scattered, and stood and watched. And then the attack on the gate ceased, and back the foe went.
"After them, and scourge them home to their mistress," shouted Kynan, leaping down to the gateway, where his men did but wait some word which should tell them to throw it open for a sally.
I looked for Jefan; but he was across the camp, seeing hastily to the weakened places in the stockade.
"Kynan," I cried, "have a care! This is what they want you to do! Wait!"
For I could see that in the open Gymbert had the advantage of numbers, and I suspected that he was trying to draw the fiery Welsh from their works. There was surely some reason for this half-hearted attack on the stockade that had been already proved too strong.
He did not hear me. It is in my mind that I may have called to him in the Frankish tongue of my last warfare. That is likely enough, for with the clash of arms again I know I had been thinking in the familiar tongue once more. I do not know, but again I called him, and he seemed not to hear. The gate flew open, and with a wild yell of victory out went the Welshmen, with the prince at their head.
Jefan heard and turned back, and called to him to stay; but he also was too late. He had but a dozen men with him, while from the opposite side of the camp those who had driven off their foes had joined those who poured out with Kynan. One or two of Jefan's men shouted, and went with them, unheeding the call of their leader to stay.
Then in a moment I knew what the word which had been passed meant. The Mercians who had drawn off from the side attacks closed up and charged down on the scattered Welsh, on whose pursuit Gymbert and his men turned. We could do naught but stand and watch, helpless, for we dared not leave the gate, which we could not close against the retreat which must come.
Round Kynan and his men Gymbert's force swarmed, and the din of wild battle rang as the ancient foes, Welsh and Mercian, met on the level turf. I saw Kynan's red sword rise above the turmoil, and heard his voice rallying his men to him; and then he had them together in a close body, outnumbered indeed by two to one, but better fighters and better trained than the mob against them. And then they began to cut their way back to the gate.
We stood there across it, waiting, and then it was our turn. Of a sudden out of the ditch on either hand leaped men who had waited there unnoticed for this moment, and they fell on us. We were eight, and but four of us could stand in the gateway at a time. Jefan and I and Erling and a tall Welshman were the first, and before us were some dozen Mercians, and more to come as they could find room on the narrow causeway.
Now it was a question whether we might hold the gate till Kynan won back to it, or whether when he did come he should find it held against him; and for one terrible moment I had a fear that men would be coming over the stockade in the rear upon us. And I could not look round, for I had all my time taken up in keeping my own life from the attack in front.
I think it was about that time that Kynan began to sing some wonderful old Welsh war song, which rang above the clash of weapons and the cries of those who fought. It took hold of me, and I seemed to smite in time to its swinging cadence. Yet he came back very slowly.
Jefan went down first. Into the ditch he rolled, with his grip on the throat of a Mercian; for his sword snapped, and he flew at the man. One from behind us took his place with a yell of rage, and he went too far, and was gone also, speared at once. Then another, and another to my left; for the tall Briton was down, and still Erling and I were not hurt. I would that Kynan would get back more quickly. He was coming, but the press before us was thick.
So we fought, and I fell to thinking what a wondrous sword this was which Carl the Great had given me. It shore the spear shafts, and the brass-studded shields seemed to split before it touched them, and the tough leather jerkins of the forest men could not hold its edge back. The wild song of Kynan never ceased, and he seemed to sing of it. He was getting nearer, but the Mercians thronged between his men and us.
Now there seemed to be a grim joy in the faces of the men before me, and the Briton at my right fell. There was none left to take his place, and there were but three of us in the gate.
"Kynan! Kynan!" I cried, for in a moment he would find his retreat barred. I do not know whether any voice came from me, but I seemed to call him.
Then Erling and I were alone in the gateway, and the snarling Mercians leaped at us. The last Welshman had fallen, hurling his broken sword at a man who smote at me, and so staying the blow.
"A good fight for a man's last, master," said Erling to me through his teeth, standing steadily as a rock with his hacked shield linked in mine, and his notched sword swinging untiringly to the grim old viking war shout "Ahoy!" as it fell.
Kynan was twenty yards from us, and now I saw Gymbert among those whom he was steadily driving back.
A shadow swept over me, and it grew darker. I saw all the land below me lying in brightest sunlight, and then the great swift cloud shadow fled across it, though round us there was not a breath of wind. I think the men before us two shrank back a little at that moment, so that I had time to note all that went on, as a man will at such a time, and yet without taking his eyes from the foe before him.
That was but a breathing space. With a fresh yell the Mercians fell on us again, and I had three of them on me; and my hands were full, though they hampered one another. The old Wessex war cry which I had not heard for so long came back to me, and I shouted "Out! out!" and met them. There needed but a little time and Kynan would be on the causeway. His song rang close to us.
Erling reeled and steadied himself against me, and the Mercians howled. His war shout rang once, and then he fell across my feet, face downward, and I stood over him in a white rage, and set my teeth and smote. It came to me that there were more men on the causeway now, but that they would not near me. I was fending spearheads from me, and I forgot Kynan.
Then of a sudden those who were on me seemed to know that his song was in their very ears, and they looked round. His men were on the narrow gate path, and they were between them and me; and with that they yelled and fled into the ditch on either side the causeway, and I was aware that for a long minute I had kept the gate alone.
But I did not think of that. Out of the way of heedless, tramping feet of those who came back into safety I must get my fallen comrade, and I threw my sword within the gate and stooped and dragged him after it, setting him on one side, on the steep rampart bank, out of the way. He smiled and tried to speak, but could not; and even so much cheered me, for I had thought him dead.
Some one came swiftly and touched me as I bent over him, and I saw the old priest.
"Leave him to me," he said. "See to Kynan now; there may be work yet for the lady's sake."
Even as I rose at his word, loath to leave my comrade, but knowing that I must, and while I still had my face from the gate, there came a blinding flash of lightning from the ragged black edge of the cloud overhead, and with it one short, awesome crash of thunder. The storm which had crept up behind us had broken on the hilltop.
After that crash came a dead silence, and then were yells of terror such as the fight had had no power to raise from men on either side. And among them one voice cried shrill that this was the work of Ethelbert, the slain king.
Then as the foe fled back the gates swung to, and I heard the bars clatter into their sockets, and Kynan came to me.
"Holy saints!" he said; "look yonder!"
I went a pace or two up the earthwork and looked over toward the foe. Some twenty yards from the gate lay as it were a blackened heap, round which reeled and staggered men with hands to blinded faces, and from which those who were unhurt fled in wildest terror down the hill, casting even their weapons from them. Save only those who could not fly, not one Mercian was staying.
"Yonder lies Gymbert," Kynan said in a still voice. "The bolt struck him. It is the judgment of Heaven on him for that which he wrought in darkness."