Feargus thrust his body through the opening, and held Torfrida in his arms and kissed her, and she him.
Finding all argument vain, Osbert said no more. So they set forth, and the Albanich, with Torfrida in their midst, turned along the road which led to the prison of Feargus, at which Osbert chafed. And Duncan, knowing that it would fetch Feargus to the window, ordered his men to sound their pipes, and so it happened as Duncan had foreseen, for Feargus hearing them, came to watch them, pale and grief stricken, and beheld Torfrida as she rode between his captains, and she him. Then Duncan, though he knew that Penda had denied the parting, ordered his men to halt, but Osbert was for going forward.
“On my head then be it,” said Duncan, taking Torfrida’s horse by the bridle and leading it below his master’s window. Then Feargus fell to greeting, and cried, “My faithful Duncan, I wot well that of thyself thou hast done this thing.”
And Duncan made his men mount on to each others’ backs, and the topmost placed their shields together, and he stood upright in the saddle, Alastair doing likewise, and between them they lifted Torfrida from where she lay sick in the litter on to the shields, till she stood as high as the window of Feargus; then the men, and all they that stood about, cheered, but Osbert chafed and wanted on. Then Feargus seized the great bars that fenced the window, which only perhaps the mighty Duncan and Alastair, of all the mighty men who stood in that throng, could have as much as stirred, but such was the strength of him, and such his love, that the bars shook and bent, then parted asunder from the walls that held them, and he thrust his body through the opening and held her in his arms and often kissed her and she him. But never a word he spake though she wept much, and cried, “Alack, never more shall I behold thee; never more shall we ride a hunting together in the wild wood; never will Torfrida fare with thee to the land of thy kin.”
And fiercely she clung to his neck and wildly wept when they needs must part them. And, as they rode on, the tongue of Feargus was loosened, and lifting his voice he called aloud, “Torfrida! Torfrida!” and so called; and at first his voice was faint and hoarse, but at the last so mighty was the shout that the town rang with it. Till soon she, and they who rode with her, became but as a speck in the far distance, though still his eye seemed to see her through mist and dust, and still he called aloud her name that all the townsmen gathered beneath and thought him mad, and even the king sitting in his hall heard that wild shout and shuddered, and as he lay in his bed through the night it uprose, till the very winds seemed to catch the burthen and shriek “Torfrida!”
When those who had taken Torfrida into Lindesey to her father had returned, the king sent for Oscar and bade him release Feargus, and so he walked once more a free man; but free or fettered it made little difference to him at that time, for the parting with Torfrida, and the oath drawn from him, had well nigh broken his heart. And much he longed to pick a quarrel with Osbert and his cousin Edgar. Osbert himself was sullen, for that his plan had been thwarted by Duncan’s cunning, and, moreover, he found himself of smaller count with the king. For Penda now showed much favour to Feargus, as if to atone to him somewhat; for the things which Duncan had said in his wrath had opened the king’s eyes and he no longer so fully trusted Osbert. But the thane had a large following, as had his cousin, and was, moreover, a leader of great skill, being, after Feargus, the first captain of all his host, and the king could not throw over so powerful an ally. So Penda and Feargus became friends as ever, but Duncan and his men never forgave the king for his treatment of their chief, though they kept their anger to themselves. At this time Penda went out once more against the Christians, and marched into East Anglia, and there slew its king, Anna, and laid its lands waste, giving its cities to the flames. In all this work Feargus had a hand, and he was grieved thereat.
It chanced when the Mercians had returned to their own land word came that Oswy, king of Northumbria, was arming, and that Sigmund and many another king had joined him. So Penda had hardly won home before he made ready to meet them, but, when they were marching forth, there came messengers in great haste, saying that the kings feared to attack him and had turned them back to seek their own lands. So the fame of Penda reached through all the breadth of the land, and his rule was felt even as far to the south as London.
So there was peace, and Feargus, finding his work done, dwelt more upon the memory of Torfrida, till one day as he was riding the desire to see her came so strongly upon him that for a moment he wavered, and was for starting off there and then to seek her, but he minded him of his oath to Penda. And he wrung his hands in despair, and once more set aside the thought, but a great gloom sat still upon him so that he was no longer bright or merry, but walked ever like one in trouble. They were staying at that time at Nottingham, and one night he arose and donned his minstrel’s garb and took down his harp, and said he—
“Why should I, for promise wrung from me through my enemy when she lay near to death, not see her more, whom not to see is worse than death—oh, cruel promise! And what can Penda ask as forfeit should I break my oath—life? Why an he denies me love he may take it, for without Torfrida life were of little worth. Now shall I break that oath though all the world henceforth call me liar and traitor. Alas! I that never broke oath or promise—I who have served my master, and fought against Christ rather than desert my king and so break the oath I swore to him and my father. Alas! that I should have seen the day; it were better to die, and yet will I not die, so long as Torfrida lives, but will even now see her. Come, sword, thou wilt carve a way to men’s hearts, whether thy master be traitor or true.”
So taking his claymore[5] in his hand he went out and found Duncan, trusting him with his secret, and Duncan said no word of dispraise, but smiled and said, “May the gods speed thee.”
Then Feargus rode out into the night, and entered the forest of Sherwood and, keeping the line of the Trent water, rode northwards till he came to the castle of Newark; here finding a boat, he crossed the river and took his road eastwards, and no man asked him whither he went or whence he came, he being dressed in the garb of a minstrel. And right cunningly he could play when need was, for he loved the harp better than the sword. On he fared until he reached Lincoln or Lindum, wherein dwelt Torfrida. He entered in boldly at the great gate and took his way into the town, mounting the brae on which stood the castle of Sigmund. Walking round the castle walls, at length he found the great garden, and there he placed himself where he might see any that walked therein but might not himself be seen, for he wished that Torfrida should not know of his coming, thinking to content himself by the sight of her and depart. So shortly after the evening meal he saw one walking towards his hiding place: he knew it was Torfrida and his heart leapt. Then he arose among the bushes and saw that no person was with her, it being her custom to walk alone. Long time he stood there, and then the thought arose in him—why should he not speak with her? She seemed sad and heavy-eyed, and never again might he behold her. Then thoughts of his broken oath and dishonoured name held him back once more. Now she turned and gave a little sigh; now her gaze wandered towards the place where he stood, as if her soul knew that one she sighed for was there, though her mind knew it not. That look decided his wavering—how might he withstand those eloquent eyes! Softly he struck a few familiar chords; she started, paused; he continued the air softly, then stepped forth, and in a moment she had thrown herself into his arms, weeping wildly and too glad to speak. At length she said—
“Now hasten thee away, for if thou art seen the death of the spy will be thine, and none of thy good deeds shall save thee.”
“Is this all, Torfrida, thou hast to say to one who hath thrown away even his troth and his worship for thee—naught but ‘Get thee hence’?”
“Nay, now, thou knowest that I would keep thee and never send thee hence; but I would see thee again, and this if any find thee here I am not like to do, and—there! thou shalt have a kiss for thy hardihood in coming. Nay, now, let me go; I kissed thee, but did not tell thee to kiss me. See, thou hast ruffled my hair which is only now new done. Stop, stop, thou hast taken kisses enough to last thee a twelvemonth!”
“Then thou wouldest rather that I took only such as would last me a shorter time that I may come again the sooner. O sly Torfrida! but that I may keep in with thee I swear that these I have taken shall last but twelve days, when thou shalt see me again.”
“Nay, let me beg of thee—if thou shouldst be discovered!”
“I can but die, and as well for Torfrida as for Penda.”
So Feargus departed and reached Penda’s land, but in trembling and like a guilty man he went, for his heart lay heavy in him at the breaking of his oath, and he found Duncan waiting upon him. And Duncan seeing his master downcast feared that he had fared ill and asked of him, “What aileth thee?”
“Then thou shunnest me not, Duncan, the breaker of oaths?”
“And what for should I shun thee: for breaking oath wrung from thee in such brutal wise!”
So Feargus was greatly cast down for many days, but on the tenth day he donned his minstrel’s garb and went out and found Torfrida. Many times thereafter he went and greatly his coming troubled her, for she was afraid lest her father’s men might take him, and often she begged him to leave her.
At that time Penda was staying at Tamworth, the capital of the kingdom of Mercia, and his men were making great preparations for war, for king Oswy of Northumbria had taken upon him the overlordship of East Anglia. So Penda shook his white locks fiercely for, though the winds of eighty winters had blown through them and for thirty years he had fought against the Christians and triumphed, yet his spirit was unabated and his strength great. King Oswy also gathered his men, with him going the East Anglians and Lindiswaras, or Lindeseymen, with many others. And Torfrida was afraid for her father, for though they numbered a mighty host, yet little they thought of themselves as against king Penda.
When the host of Penda was ready, so splendid it looked that no man had ever seen its like. By the king on either hand rode a company of kings and princes of royal blood to the number of thirty. They were English of Mercia, king Cadwalla of the Gwynedd, the British of Mercia, Southumbria, East Anglia and the fens, and even from Oswy’s own chiefly-Welsh kingdom of Northumbria; with Picts from Galloway and Lothian by the shores of Forth. It was a great and motley gathering of Christian and heathen, Angle and Kelt, and the king himself held the centre. Osbert was sent on before to gather in men whose dwellings lay by the way, and was to join the king at the Winwoed near Loidis or Leeds. Feargus longed to see Torfrida before the battle, for he knew that she was in her father’s camp and by the help of her brother Edwy thought to get speech of her; so he sent a trusty messenger to Edwy, and when they came by Nottingham he delayed and tarried behind, promising to meet the king seven days hence at the Winwoed field. So the king departed, taking with him the more part of his host, being the right wing and centre. And Feargus went forth on his great roan steed—there being few that could carry his bulk—and he donned his minstrel’s dress and entered the wood. After riding for four days he came near to where a great army was gathered, then tethering his beast to a tree he sat down. At the first glint of sunrise he heard the trampling of a horse through the dry leaves and Torfrida rode up hidden in the folds of a cloak of great size.
“At last, sweet one!” said he. “Dark it seemed while the mirk lay around, now thy presence maketh all the world bright.”
“Nay, now, this is but an ill time for fair speeches, brave Feargus; my heart is breaking with ill foreboding—nay, kisses cannot comfort me. Wilt spare my father, Feargus, and leave king Penda; hast thou no answer for me save a kiss?”
“So little value thou settest on my kisses, and yet the memory of the few thou gavest me, miser as thou art, is always with me.”
“I ask my father’s life and thou profferest a kiss; these thou canst give me in plenty, but thou canst not give me my father, Sigmund, when the arrows of king Penda have taken him once from me. A kiss for a life forsooth!”
“I would even now give my life for a kiss, Torfrida, but king Penda’s I may not give. What stirreth yon boughs? See! it is not the wind, for there is but little, and hark, the sound of hoofs! Torfrida, we are betrayed.”
“Oh, say not so. Fly, Feargus, they are my father’s men; fly, they will slay thee!”
“Thy father’s men or not, my red roan is little used to flying. Penda’s men are only taught to go right forward.”
“That shows how foolish men are; hide then thy sword that they may take thee for a peaceful minstrel, and I, thy lady.”
And so, guiding their horses aside behind the boll of a great tree, they waited until two horsemen appeared; at sight of them Feargus started. “Torfrida,” said he, “we are indeed lost—it is Osbert and Edgar; behind ride their men doubtless. Caught with the daughter of an enemy, sweetest, none will believe we are not plotting Penda’s downfall, and Osbert will take heed that none shall believe.”
“Alas! thou wert ever too ready to run great risk.”
“Kiss me, Torfrida, for henceforth I shall be shorn of name and worship and the fellowship of brave men, and thou wilt no longer wish my company.”
“Nay, speak not thus; it is for me that thou hast risked all things.”
“What cheer, sir minstrel?” shouted the newcomers.
“And what ho! ha! a woman—thou sly dog; but surely thou art a stalwart fellow for a minstrel and great of limb; a better soldier thou wouldst make.”
“A man wants but a strong arm to be a soldier; a minstrel needeth heart and mind.”
“I see thou hast no stomach for the fight; th’art doubtless faint of soul.”
“Not more faint neither than thou art thyself.”
“Ha, ha! an insolent dog! Little of the minstrel is there in thee.”
“Get thee hence on thy journey; men of my calling are not used to be treated as slaves or sword-bearers; but for all that thou hast great backing I am not adread of thee.”
“Thou hast a saucy tongue, knave. Here, lead thou his horse, and now, minstrel, strike thou a song, my men are weary, and if thou canst not play then shall ye lose your lady.”
So Feargus struck his harp, knowing that it would be fatal to him if the news of his disobedience to his oath reached the king through Osbert. So they were mighty pleased with his playing, and all would have been well and the evil of all that day had never been, but Edgar, who was riding nearest, suddenly cried: “Thou art a cunning knave, thou minstrel; thy lady hath a graceful figure, surely she will be fair of face also.” So saying he drew aside the veil that covered her face and Osbert cried out—
“Torfrida!”
But hardly had the hand of Edgar reached his side again before, with his master’s touch, the great red beast of Feargus turned swiftly and the giant minstrel, seizing his harp in both his hands, struck Edgar with it so hard that the dead face of him was such that no man knew it for that of Edgar. And so fell the third captain of king Penda.
Then said Osbert in great rage, “Stay, bowmen, your hands; back, carls, I will deal, for he hath slain my kinsman.”
Then the beast of Feargus swerved round again and faced the thane as he drew his sword.
“Nay,” said Feargus; “enough bale hath been wrought already, Osbert, and I would that thou and thy rash kinsman, whom I have slain thus hastily in high blood, should be with me on the right hand and on the left of king Penda on the day of battle. Nay, I will not do further hurt to the cause of our king by the slaying of thee; but when his enemies are scattered we can settle this quarrel—for I am Feargus.”
“Then have we here a traitor caught with the daughter of our enemy, Sigmund. Long hast thou deserved death, and now shalt thou have it, for thou hast shamed me by the slaying of my kinsman.”
“No traitor am I, Osbert, to Penda, only in trysting with the lady Torfrida, else what need had I to meet my lady in the wood, and in secret, when in this guise I might have entered the very courts of king Sigmund.”
“Defend thee, traitor,” cried Osbert, fiercely drawing his brand.
“Nay, a tryst have you and I with king Penda by the waters of Aire. Thou wouldst right thine own wrongs at Penda’s cost, but such am not I.”
“Then a coward I brand thee, and a traitor, before these my men,” and so saying he smote Feargus with his sheathed sword.
“Now, thou fool,” said Feargus, “thou shalt have thy wish, for no other choice thou leavest me.”
And then the men fell back and cleared a space, and Osbert rushed upon his antagonist and plied his sword until the sweat poured down from the brows of the both of them, and yet Feargus forbore to strike, for sake of Penda, and when Osbert was aweary he said—
“Now for the king’s sake let us stop this hand-play, or of a surety we will be too late to tryst with him by the waters of Aire, for thou well knowest that the king will not wait if the enemy showeth himself, but, branding us both as traitors to him, will fall to the fighting.”
Osbert made no answer, but, being breathed, rushed again upon his foe, so angry was he to be shamed before Torfrida and so full of jealousy of Feargus. Long time they fought while the day wore on, and then Feargus saw that unless he slew the thane he would himself be slain, and all the men marvelled at his swordsmanship that could keep so renowned and fierce a sword-player off so long, for neither of them had any hurt.
At length Feargus turned upon his foe and they met together with a great shock, and the helm of Osbert fell in sunder two ways and his shield fell another and his sword was bursted at the hilt and he staggered back as a ship starts that hath struck ground. And then Feargus turned aside, not wishing to slay him, though like a dead man he lay for many a month.
After parting with Feargus and Osbert, Penda held on his way with all his thanes, and many English and Welsh and Picts and broken men came in to him as he fared northward. And they marched until they won the valley of the Aire at Woodlesford, where they crossed the water and held on towards the Winwidfield by the side of the little river Winwid, which runneth down till it joins the Wharfe at Towton. In the glen by the water they set their camp; above them stretched the wild Winmoor itself, beyond to the northward lay the great valley of the Wharfe, surrounded by many breezy uplands; southwards towards Woodlesford lay the Roman fortifications of Seacroft and the Roman road which cut in twain the wild moor that stretched to the Aire water. And so they gathered them in the glen by the Winwid burn to keep the winds off them, for it was the month of November, and that the enemy might not see their whereabouts. There they waited for seven days, till at length those who watched from the head of the moor came in, saying that they had seen men moving on the hills to the north-east. The day wore through and the next, and they saw many signs of the approach of the Northumbrian host, but, though they should now have kept their tryst with the king, there was yet no word of Feargus or Osbert. Then king Penda grew impatient, seeing that he might lose the advantage of the ground by waiting. Another day and doubts filled the old king’s mind. Had his captains betrayed him? And his men were discouraged, for much they looked to Feargus and Osbert. That night a great storm burst upon the camp of Penda, and the heavens opened and poured down their waters in torrents and the lightning flashed fiercely across the sky and the thunder rolled down the valley, filling the minds of men with forebodings. And the Northumbrians saw from afar how the lightning played fiercely over their enemies, and took heart and were comforted. On the morrow the watchers came into the king saying that the Northumbrians were approaching up the northern slope of the moor. Then the king said unto himself that he had been betrayed. “And yet,” said he, “little did I think them traitors; for I love the youth Feargus as mine own son, and though I have whiles been against him, yet I believed he loved me, and held him too true to desert me.”
At the hour of noon the Northumbrian host drew near and the king, seeing his old enemies before him, arose and gathered his men. Then the kings and royal princes that were with him, finding him bent on battle, and knowing well that the Northumbrians would not begin the attack, came to Penda saying—
“We would counsel thee, O king, to wait still until Feargus and Osbert shall reach us, for of a certainty they will come: here are we face to face with a host mightier than ours.”
Then the king answered: “And hath not the host of Penda oft-times conquered hosts twice as mighty as itself, led by greatest warriors of the world? Strength lieth not in numbers, nor in big warriors or little, but in the hearts and minds of men. And how think ye it would look for Penda to return back to Mercia without smiting her enemies? Then would Odin say, ‘Our champion is fallen,’ and ye would all and all Northumbria would say, ‘So, the old man is weak—age maketh him faint of heart and weary of war; he is no longer Penda; let us unite and slay him, for victory will be easy.’ Nay, I swear by the gods to break the Northumbrians or be broken by them this day.”
Then the Northumbrian king, seeing the Mercian host moving forward upon them, took counsel of his chiefs, and they sent out a party of horsemen with a flag of truce and many splendid gifts of gold and silver, and Penda called a halt till they won his camp. Then the thane who bore the white flag spoke: “King Oswy, and with him the kings of Lindesey and of the East Anglians and many princes, send greeting to king Penda, and bid me offer to him these gifts if he will withdraw his men to his own land; and they will enter into a bond with him to sheath their war-brands and turn them no more against Penda or his people.”
“Go back,” quoth the king, “and tell your masters that Penda recks not whether their brands be turned against him or not, for hitherto the turning of them hath hurt him little. That Penda doth not want king Oswy for friend; for the kings of the Northumbrians have never yet kept troth with the Mercians, and will be content with nothing less than the ruin of Mercia and the overlordship of all the Midlands. Penda is master of East Anglia, and when her king bendeth his neck and leaveth the camp of Oswy, and Oswy taketh himself back and sendeth his sword to Penda and acknowledgeth him as overlord—until these things are done Penda will take no gifts, neither gold nor silver nor arms nor mercy, and will give nothing but the cold steel. For, mark you, the sword that conquered Oswald and Edwin and Cadwallon and Cynwulf and Cynegils and Sigmund hangs still upon my hip. And tell them, moreover, that as soon as ye have won back to them I will give my men the word to bare their war-brands and no further parleying will brook.”
And so they went back to their king, and Oswy said: “If the pagan will not accept our gifts let us offer them to him that will—the Lord our God.”
Then king Penda gave the order for his men to move forward, but they were much discouraged, lacking the two chiefs, and came not on with the old ardour. And the advanced wing of the Northumbrians stood to meet them, Oswy himself in their midst, and the Mercians recoiled before their doughty strokes. Then Penda ordered the other wings of his host to come on, seeing the battle must be either lost or gained at that moment. Long time they fought, and now one side was borne back and now the other, and then at last, when Penda saw that the Mercian host gained not on their foes, he gathered together his horsemen and with them charged the Northumbrians. Again and again they threw themselves on their foes, but in vain; for the northern host had vantage of ground and fought with all the strength of despair, and they gan bear the Mercians slowly back. And now all the play was with the sword, for in such close grips the two hosts lay in that narrow glen that the bowmen had little room to ply their shafts. In vain Penda urged them on and rode along the lines himself, striking with the strength of youth when any withstood him. Still they gained upon them, until at length the Mercians, thoroughly discouraged by the absence of their chiefs and the numbers of their foes, turned and broke, nor hearkened to the voice of king or thane, but burst back and, casting away their arms, fled in a body southward, down the valley towards the Aire water. And ever the Northumbrians followed, till at length they came to the water by Woodlesford, but the terrible storm of the night had caused a great spate, so that the waters of Aire had overflowed the banks and covered the low-lying land on its border. And when the Mercians came to the head of the brae from which they could see the flood they knew not the stream, and being close together almost in order of battle—so well had the king instilled into them the habits of war—they dashed down the bank, which falleth suddenly towards the river, and plunged neck deep into the water. Now for a moment they are stemming the flood, all that great host, and many more are pressing on behind them, before the swords of their pursuers. Now the Northumbrians on the bank above see them stagger, for little they had reckoned the silent fury of that swirling flood; now they are hurled the one against the other, and wildly turn and try to win back and break and fall, and the water whirls over them. And now heads appear, and arms clasping others, which may be near, and shrieks for help and cries and curses rend the air, and the water is stirred but a little for all and sweeps on. And never a man of that great host won the land. And their foes stood on the banks awe-stricken, forbearing to draw their bows, for it seemed to them as though the God of the Christians who commanded the new order had descended and himself smitten the invincible host of Penda.
And then they hied them back and coming on freshly fell upon the Mercians of Penda’s army. But these were not among the flying; like a rock they stood on a knowe a mile above the Aire water, whence they had retreated in an attempt to rally their comrades. In the midst of them stood the king, a king indeed; tall of stature and erect and of wonderful beauty of countenance; deep and broad of chest, with white beard falling to his waist. On his helm he wore the raven’s wings—the sign of Odin, as the cross was of Christ, for the king was of his kin direct, and for thirty years he had fought Odin’s battle. Behind him waved the banner of the kingdom which he had raised from its utter littleness to be the greatest and strongest of the English, and around him were gathered all the flower of the Mercian host, princes and thanes, and the whole of the Albanich. And Penda had gathered all these men together into a great ring, and the Northumbrians charged them again and again, but ever fell back, broken and beaten, and ever above the throng arose the shout of “Penda! Penda!” “Albanich! Albanich!” and only the best men of Northumbria dare king Oswy send against those cries. Shock after shock broke on them, but still the men of Oswy recoiled, leaving behind horses and riders with broken skulls and bloody faces. And it seemed as though that ring of men, calm and steady and without fear, were to win the field after all. Then Oswy bethought him, seeing that no men in his host could shake the grim company, and he called his archers in and planted them amidst the broom and bushes on either side, and bade them send forth their shafts. And so the ring grew smaller, and as one fell another took his place, then the king turned.
“Now,” said he, “cometh death, and I shall die in the best company that ever I was in, for never men fought better than have ye, English or Welshmen, and ye Albanich, but it little likes me to be caught thus in a trap, a target for unseen foes, our bowmen having fled. Penda liketh to hear the ring of his blows on the helmets of Northumbrians; let this be his death song, therefore. Few though we be, let us charge the host of king Oswy and die dealing death.”
A mighty cheer from the thanes and Picts was the answer to this, and with the cheer they ran, keeping well their ring, with the king amidst of them. And they slew the bowmen, and then, turning, charged towards where king Oswy stood among his thanes by the burn side. The first inclination of the Northumbrians on hearing the war cry of Penda was to flee, so adread were they of him, but Oswy called to them—
“See,” said he, “how the heathen host waneth! Little have ye in your thousands to fear! A handful cometh now against you! The enemy of the Christian and of Northumbria is in the midst of them! Now can he not escape! On, on and at them!”
“Now,” said Penda, “cometh death, and I shall die in the best company that ever I was in.”
And then the great host came against the little and in a moment the Mercians were borne back by the mere weight of the mighty throng in front of them, borne back till they came again to the knowe above the Aire water, but borne back in order and unbroken, compact and fierce, to deal death strokes yet to many a Northumbrian. Then they took their stand firmly on the knowe, and their foes came round on all sides of them, and blows were struck hard and deep by Northumbrians, and the replies came quick and strong from Mercian and Welshman and Pict, each blow dealing death, and all the knowe was bloody; a wall of dead lay around the ring and still the old king fought with the best, but ever that ring grew smaller as the Northumbrian thanes came on afresh when others fell. And ever the brands clashed and rang and the crowd of common soldiers below looked on in awe at the grim and bloody work they wrought; for a fight of giants like to this had never yet been seen. But on the strongest weariness falls at last, and as the gloaming came drearily upon the fields they of Mercia were but a handful, and these stoitered like drunk men and were hardly enough to form a ring, till at length only one stood upright and the king had fallen.
“Feargus! Feargus! thou hast not forsaken us: ill hath befallen thee. Hadst thou been with us the last Northumbrian would long have fled the field. The king is down and thy work is done, Duncan, though would that the hills of Alban were around thee!” and so raising his cry, “Albanich! Albanich!” the last of the Mercian host staggered to the earth.
When Osbert fell, Feargus told his men to lift him and carry him with them, and they marched on, Feargus at their head. And Torfrida rode by his side, for the day was too far spent for her to reach her father’s camp; but Feargus sent a messenger saying that Torfrida should be delivered up to her brother Edwy at the place of battle. And so they marched on through the night, making all haste. But few words did the lovers speak together, for the heart of Feargus was torn by a horrid dread and great grief, for he saw that he must lose all his worship in the sight of Penda. And soon they drew nigh to the spot where three days since they were to have joined the king, but no sound of battle fell on their ears, though as they came nearer, through the mist of early morning, they espied the place where were the tents of the Northumbrians by the field of battle. And then the Lindeseymen, who lay towards the south nearest the point from which Feargus came, saw his men, and at first they took them to be another army come against them, and arose and stood to their arms. Then Sigmund spoke with king Oswy, telling him of the love that was between Feargus and his daughter, and king Oswy agreed to send young Edwy to bring in Torfrida and to offer fair terms to Feargus and Osbert if they would join the Northumbrian host.
“For,” said Oswy, “two such captains are not in all Britain, and pity it were to fight with them and their host, which numbers but as a third of ours. Tell them that Penda is fallen and that I will give to both the Pict and young Osbert lands and money and men if they will join with me. So, Edwy Sigmundsson, take thou this my message.”
Then Edwy went forth and Feargus rode also to meet him, with Torfrida, for there was great friendship between the three.
“I have sad news for thee, noble Feargus—Penda is down and all his princes, and thine own Duncan and all thy men. To the north of yonder knowe they lie, with the nobler part of the host of Penda, but the more part of that host the waters of Aire have swallowed up. And Oswy bids me say that if thy men will lay down their arms and join him, they being greatly outnumbered, he will give thee lands and gold and men.”
“Go back, gentle Edwy, and tell king Oswy that Feargus, whom cruel fate and, alack! his own folly have thus overthrown, is faithful to Penda, and that Penda’s deathbed shall be his. Gold hath no lustre to him, and his only laying down of arms will be when the last of his host or that of Oswy lies down death-stricken, and Penda is avenged.”
“Nay, I am loth to take such a message. Hath not enough blood flowed, and Torfrida—see how pale she hath grown.”
“Never shall Torfrida wed with one who hath disgraced his name and herded with the foes of his king; my doings call for death. Penda hath died believing me false, and him will I hasten after that he may know me aright.”
“Nay, say not so—and all these thy men?”
Then the young brothers of Osbert who were present stood forth, for they had talked much together, and they said—
“Lo! Edwy Sigmundsson, the Pict may do as he listeth, but we are not of his host nor are these, our brother’s men. We bid thee tell king Oswy that we will join him on troth given.” So Edwy gave them his word, and they and all the host of Osbert went with him. Then did Feargus turn his beast and without further word spoken strike spurs; but Edwy caught his bridle and begged him that he would stay for Torfrida’s sake, and Torfrida wept. And when the two of them looked upon Feargus they knew that he was beside himself; and suddenly then he shook Edwy’s hand from his arm, causing his beast to leap aside, and quickly fled. Edwy saw that Torfrida could ride no further, and he stayed beside her, crying to his thanes—
“Haste, for the prince hath taken leave of his senses. Haste, and by no means let him slay himself, and be ye not adread of him, riding without arms, for such is he that rather would he be taken than strike ye.”
But Feargus was already far ahead of them, and he fled toward the knowe above the Aire water where the battle had swayed and waxed the fiercest. Now he reached the spot where the dead lay thickest—kings and princes and thanes, many of them Christians long since, but held together by the power and the splendour and the faithfulness of Penda. There, heaped up ring within ring they lay, true men to their lord—Angle and Saxon, Pict and Briton, with men from Lindesey and men from Trent and men from the flat country of East Anglia—all dead, with Northumbrians intermingled—dead—dead! And there, within the last ring, lying all alone in a cleared space, as though even the dying had dread of him, and crept apart in their very death agony, to leave him as he had lived, without peer, lay Penda; his white hair of eighty years bedabbled with blood, blood on his breast and beard, blood on his sword, and blood on his broken byrny—dead, the unconquerable death-dealer! Nighest to him lay Duncan, and around were Picts and princes together in the last circle. Then Feargus knelt and drew his father’s sword and laid it upon Duncan’s breast. “For thou, brave Duncan, art more fit to carry my father’s sword with thee among the dead than am I, and I will die with thy soldiers’ brand in my palm.” And then he knelt down by the king and kissed his brow.
“Not long shall it be, O king, ere thou wottest that Feargus, though he hath failed thee, is yet faithful,” and so he took his sword and made to fall thereon, but as he raised his head he saw the thanes of Edwy riding in haste and without arms towards him. Then he sprang to his horse and fled and they close behind him. And now he wins the brae that hides the waters from sight at that point, and now he disappears behind it, and now they reach the hill but little in rear of him, for his beast was aweary. And lo! there was Feargus on the brink of the black water, and now he has plunged into the flood and the creature he rides seeks to win the side and shrieks out for very fear; but Feargus steers him amidstream, and now he pants and staggers. And the prince threw his arms aloft, and waving his brand cried, “Torfrida! Torfrida!”
And the great red beast went down and the rider with him. And so swift ran the flood that half a mile soon lay between the sought and his seekers, and the bend of the river hid the rest. Seeing this the thanes turned back to carry the news to Edwy. And when they reached him they found he was bending over the body of one of the Picts who seemed to be still breathing, for he had great regard for his mother’s kin.
“Where is Feargus?” said Edwy, looking up.
“Alas! he hath thrown himself into the water of Aire and is drowned.”
“Then right heavy am I and sad indeed will the lady Torfrida be, for to me he was ever as a kinsman and to her, alas! such store she set by him as never woman by man before, for surely he was the noblest man and the greatest swordsmith in all the land. And so was his heart set upon Torfrida that he knew not himself how much; and such was his love and his faith to his chief that ’twixt love and grief for tryst unkept he was beside himself.”
And when they told the lady Torfrida she fell down in a swoon and lay sick unto death for many a day, and ever in her sickness called upon her lover nigh to the breaking of the hearts of those that watched.
So the waters that drowned the Mercians had Feargus, and in a moment whirled him out of the sight of the thanes of Edwy, and he was carried down the stream till all the breath was out of him, for no stroke to save himself made he. And all that day men from the country around had been gathered on the banks of the river and had garnered a rich harvest in gold and arms from the dead corpses of the Mercians won from the water. And when the body of Feargus floated past, the sun glowed on its golden byrny[6] and they saw that it was kinglier clad than any that had come to their hands, so they set about to win it from the flood, and with branches of trees drew it ashore and there stripped it of its buckler and byrny, and to get the clothing from it they turned it about first on its back and then on its face and there left it. So lying on its face it chanced that the mouth fell open and all the water ran out from it, and there it lay all the night, and the sweet air filled it in place of the water, and by reason of the great strength that was in him the heart of Feargus rallied, and the warrior turned himself on to his back and groaned and murmured. And he lay there for two days and two nights and then rose upon his arm, for the breath of the were wolf wakened him, and he seized the beast rudely by the throat so that it yelled and fled. Then Feargus stood upon his feet, but the past had gone from him, and he knew not to-day from yesterday or to-morrow, each being alike empty, and only the sense of a great evil hung upon him so that his brow was ever knotted. Then he felt weak for hunger and sought out of habit for his sword, but it had gone: they had taken all from him save the plaid which hung in folds around his middle and was then wound round his body. So he drew near to a stout oak sapling which had been thrown ashore by the water, and rent the branches from it, leaving himself a club tough and strong and of such weight that few men could have wielded it. With this he lay among the bushes till a red deer came past, then he leapt to his feet and felled it at a blow. And he kindled a fire and cooked and ate of it and drank of a burn and was refreshed. Next he set about to make himself a mighty bow of willow, strung with sinews of the deer, and he hardened arrows in his fire, setting flints in the points of them and in like manner made himself a spear, but no sword had he. In the forest he stayed for many a month, but never could bide two nights in the one place, for the fever of unrest that was upon him kept him ever awandering. All through the day he sat upon fallen trees or down by the gowans on the wayside with his head sunk upon his breast and the water coursing down his cheeks, yet knew not what it was that made him greet. And in the night he would wander the forest through, or bathe his fevered limbs in dark streams; and when hunger fell on him he followed the chase, and so swift of foot he grew and so strong of his hands that the wild boar, the wolf, and deer found him a dreich blow-dealer. So it chanced that soon there was little in him that was like to the Feargus of the lady Torfrida, richly clad and gay and strong. His red hair hung to his waist and his beard fell down an ell before him and wild and trackless as the wilderness through which he strayed. His plaid was ragged and faded, and his skin of the colour of the ripened grain. Shelter he never knew, but such was his hardihood that he lay out in the wind and rain, through winter and summer alike without scath.
From the field of Winwid Osbert was taken by Sigmund to his hall at Lindum, and when the wounds that Feargus had given to him were healed, he made a great friendship with king Sigmund and became his man, for he thought with the king’s aid so to work that he might win Torfrida. The lands of Sigmund marched with those of Osbert, and by compassing the death of the youth Edwy and wedding Torfrida, he could join the two lands and be a great ruler. And Sigmund having so famous a captain to do his bidding, with all his warriors, waxed strong. And finding that his son Edwy set his face against any friendship with Osbert and was, moreover, not of a mind to make war—for war he hated—Sigmund found little pleasure in the boy and gave all his counsel to Osbert. Much Osbert sought the company of Torfrida, and though she would have kept aloof, she knew that her father wished her to wed him and dare not thwart him openly. So he ran daily to do her bidding and many services he rendered, thinking to put her in his debt, but she treated him ill until her father seeing, spoke.
“Thy father wills that thou shouldst marry the prince Osbert who is a great and comely man, and such as the daughter of the proudest king might wed with.”
Then Torfrida said: “Never will I, who have been betrothed to the noblest warrior of all this land, wed such as Osbert, who was ever his enemy and brought ruin upon both him and me.”
Then Sigmund was angry and many bitter words were between them, and Torfrida wept; but the king put her from him and showed his anger in many ways until the life of Torfrida became a burden to her. Then, through the counsel of Osbert, Edwy was sent away across the seas and had no choice but to go; so she had no counsellor, and every hand seemed against her. And Osbert only had soft words and was quick to serve her, and so at length, as the dropping of water weareth a stone, she began to give way, for little she recked what befell her. And she was so full of heaviness that she found relief even in the presence of the enemy of Feargus, for her father willed that no other person should have speech of her. And so when she rode out Osbert rode with her, and though she treated him with scant courtesy he still endured. On a day it chanced that they were riding by the outskirts of the town of Nottingham, where they were then staying, when Torfrida saw a group of youths gathered round some object which they hardly wotted whether to call man or beast, so huge and hairy was it.
“See,” said she, “what have we here—what manner of beast is this? Mercy, it is a man!”
“What else is there that hath shape like to that of man?”
“Nay, but never saw I man like this one. Of a surety, prince, he must be mad—but see, these lads will kill him.”
“Tut! the killing of him will be little loss; but ha! ha! ha! he seemeth well able to ward himself. Surely he is a giant.”
“Prince, I had a mother that was ever kind and loved her kin, sure am I that that man is of her race by what chance soever he hath come here. Now, I beg thee, if thou wilt do a lady service, save him; dost thou not see he weareth the plaid of an Albanich—but quick, they stone him—ha! what a lion he looks! Faith, he is almost comely despite his madness! How well he holdeth himself! Hasten, good Osbert!”
“Good Osbert! the lady flattereth; these ears are little used to words of grace from their lady’s lips.”
“Go, go, I beg thee.”
“Nay, most maidens would be afraid of such a monster.”
“I tell thee my mother came from the Picts or Albanich as they call themselves, that dwell in the mountains of Galloway. I quail not at my kin, but thou seemest to quail, so long thou tarriest. Oh, had I but my gentle Edwy here to do my bidding!”
“Nay, now will I go,” said Osbert, drawing his sword.
“Put up thy sword then else will he think thou art come against him.”
“I go not against a stranger unsworded,” and so he went forward, little liking the task. And then the wild man looked up and seeing a warrior, all armed, riding forth, thought that he came against him. Nothing loth, he burst out from among the boys and sprang upon his supposed new foe. Seizing the horse by the bridle he forced it back upon its haunches, and with his long staff struck its rider to the earth. For a while Osbert lay without movement on the grass, such a dunt had he gotten. Then, seeing that he was a great thane, some of the youths ran forward and lifted him, and he started to his feet, and his anger and shame were great, and no sooner was he afoot than he ran at the stranger, sword in hand, though the wild man held but a staff, which Osbert judged to be his only weapon. Not so, however, Torfrida, who had taken note of the spear and bow of great length which he carried at his back half hidden in the folds of his ragged plaid. So when the thane turned fiercely upon the wild man she thought of her mother and of Feargus and his clansmen, who had done so much for her, and her heart was full of pity for him, and again she appealed to Osbert to spare him. Then seeing he did not heed, she rode forward, and speaking in the Pictish tongue said: “Draw thy spear, brave stranger, and defend thee, for a great swordsman hast thou now to deal with, but shed not his blood, I charge thee, for thine own sake; and if thou dost as I tell thee, I will befriend thee and no hurt shalt thou get.”
The man started aback on hearing his own speech, and his strength seemed to fail him. Wildly and long he gazed upon her, and his spear shook as he made to draw it forth, and his knees quaked and rocked beneath him; then he leant upon his staff as one like to fall. But on came Osbert, now mounted upon his horse. Then as suddenly the stranger grew tall again, and too late to draw forth his spear, quickly caught Osbert’s blow on his staff, and such was the force of it, that it was cut in twain. Then, sure of victory, Osbert aimed his blows, but with wondrous skill and quickness the stranger caught them on the broken staff.
Then Torfrida cried out: “Oh, coward, faint of heart, to attack staff with steel! Shame be upon thee!” and turning to the stranger she cast her own small sword, which she used for killing game, at his feet, saying in the Gaelic: “Take thou this; though it be but a maiden’s, much may such as thou seemest do with it.”
Then the wild man, striking up the sword of Osbert once again, brought his broken staff down upon the head of his beast with such strength that it reeled and fell over on to the ground. But lightly the horseman sprang down while his antagonist stooped and lifted Torfrida’s sword. Then put they their steel together, and the thane was still sure of the victory, though greatly he marvelled at the wild man’s length of limb and largeness of muscle. And foot to foot they went, and many a pass and downstroke did Osbert try, but in vain; ever the wild man with his small sword was before him, and ever wearier Osbert grew, whiles the stranger waxed stronger, beating down his guard. And all the youths and Torfrida marvelled at such a wondrous swordsmith. At length he sent the brand of Osbert from his hand with a quick turn, and utterly abashed before the lady’s eyes, the thane stood defenceless.
Then said Torfrida to him: “Badly hast thou fared by attempting the life of a madman. Of great quickness in swordsmanship truly art thou, and well hast thou granted the favour I asked, of this poor creature’s life—I wotting not at that time how little it would be risked in combat with thee. Nay, he might well have overcome thee with the broken staff as he meant to do.”
Then Feargus took Osbert’s sword and her own and offered them to Torfrida. And she said: “Nay, keep thou the thane’s sword, thou hast fairly won it, and it is well wrought and will serve thee; and I see thou knowest how to be gentle with women and hast obeyed me, and I owe thee thanks for sparing the life of this braggart. Thou shalt not lack a friend or any that weareth the plaid while I can help. Follow me an’ thou wilt, gentle Pict.”
Willingly he obeyed, and the lines on his brow grew deep and his face became as that of one who laboureth with some great thought, and like a dog he followed, with his head sunk on his breast, but never a word had he spoken. And so he followed her thereafter in all her outgoings, and at night lay on the threshold. And he walked always with troubled brow, looking neither to the right hand nor the left, nor heeded nor obeyed any person, not even the king, except Torfrida. And when she was present he gazed only upon her, from beneath his matted locks, and when she was away his eyes were ever downcast and his feet knew no rest.
And so the wild man was allowed to stay about the court of Sigmund, though Osbert tried hard to get him away, and even set two of his own men to slay him; but the stranger broke the skull of one and the leg of the other and himself escaped without scath. Now one day it chanced that the ladies of the court were out hunting in the forest of Sherwood, which came down near to the town of Nottingham where they were staying, and they had no escort save one or two pages and the stranger, who being able to keep pace with a horse, so fleet was he, followed the party. The day was bright and warm and the sun shone down through the branches and made all the forest gay with its splendour. And so they rode on deeper into the wood than was their wont, and they scattered themselves through a glade where, the branches interlacing overhead, the earth was streaked with soft sun and shadow. Then Torfrida stayed her palfrey—gold caparisoned and round of limb—and it and its mistress sitting motionless, lost in reverie, were so full of sweetness that a fairy vision come hither on a sunbeam they seemed. But so merry were the others that none saw the four rough men who lurked in the thicket close by. They were not of a mind and one said—
“Nay, now, if we touch her ill will befall us, for either angel or elf-wife is she.”
Then one who was the leader of them replied: “Ye foolish fellows, neither elf nor angel is she—let not the woman bewitch thee with her brightness, a rich booty she will be, for she is not less than king’s daughter.”
He stepped forth and the others followed him. Then the maids screamed and the pages ran into the thicket, for their mistress was in the hands of the outlaws of Sherwood, whose deeds were ruthless.
“What want ye?” said Torfrida, steadily, but turning pale as she spoke.
“My lady must away with us, and thy father must pay us ransom.”
“I am the daughter of King Sigmund and heavy hands will he lay on thee if ill befall us. Thou mayst not hinder us.”
“That may and will we,” said the leader. “Whatsoever king thy father be, I am king of Sherwood,” and he placed a hand on her bridle.
All this the wild man had seen as he lay in a bush hard by, armed with Osbert’s sword of finest steel, but when the robber chief laid hand on Torfrida’s bridle he quickly uprose, and bounding to the side of the robber clove him to the chin. One of the others then lifted his horn to call his companions, but the wild man dashed the horn from his hand and crushed it underfoot, and then suddenly stooping, seized him by the middle and hurled him strongly from him, so that he lighted on his head and broke his neck and lay dead before them. The other twain, in sore affright at so sudden an onslaught and so mighty a foe, turned to flee, but quicker than thought was the sword of the wild man to bite the brain of the third robber, and so strongly he smote him that his body was clove in twain by the stroke, and so fleet of foot and long of stride was the giant that he that remained had got but a score yards before his foe was upon him and with a kick of the foot broke he his back. So there was none left to call their companions, and Feargus returned to Torfrida, and the pages came back also in great wonder, and the ladies opened their eyes wide to see what manner of man it was that had come among them, who could scatter their enemies in so brief a space.
“Great indeed is the pity and the loss,” said they, “that so mighty and true a man should have so little wit. Surely much sorrow hath made him mad. A king’s son at least will he be.” They rode homeward safely, followed at running speed by their mad man. Then they went to tell the king how he had slain four outlaws in the forest and saved Torfrida and her maidens. So the king sent for the wild man, but he would not go until only Torfrida bade him, when he followed and stood before the king; but he saw none, nor heard nor heeded any, save only Torfrida, and on her his gaze was ever fixed. When they saw this some of the maidens wept for very pity and sorrow, and they all praised him, admiring his savage strength. And no person had heard him speak or looked into his eyes, not even Torfrida, for when she looked at him, so heavily hung his brow in great knots under his matted hair that his eyes were hid. So the king thanked him, and Torfrida put his thanks into the Gaelic that the wild man might understand. And when she left the hall for her own bower he followed, and instead of sitting at the door she bade him enter, and then made her maidens bring water and a comb and shears. Then taking the towel she told him to kneel, saying in Gaelic: “A mighty man of thy hands art thou; surely never saw I mightier—save Penda or—; and if thou wilt, thou shalt stay and be my watch-hound for as long as I live, for right valiant and gentle withal hast thou shown thyself.”
And he remained kneeling as she had commanded, while she stood before him, and she placed her hand upon his head and pushed back the matted locks. Even as she touched him the great man wept, and she combed and cut the locks, and washed with her own white hands his dust and sun and blood-stained brow, while her maidens laughed and wondered; but ever she combed and cut and smoothed his hair and beard, which now, freed from their load of dust, shone out like dark gold, and ever the great drops fell from his eyes. Then suddenly she pushed back his forehead with her soft white palm and with the other hand plucked him by the beard, lifting his chin therewith, and thus at length looked into the eyes of him. One deep long look she gave as their eyes met, and then she uttered a wild scream and fell back in a swoon. Her maidens ran forward to her, but still the wild man knelt there gazing upon her. As he looked his brow grew smooth, his face blanched, and his whole body shook as if palsied, while great drops stood upon his brow, and he breathed a mighty sigh that startled all who stood near, and then he arose and, lifting his great head erect, shook his locks, and in a voice that made the roof ring shouted, “Torfrida! Torfrida!”
Then he pushed them aside and knelt and lifted her, clasping her to him, and kissed her again and again, laying her head upon his breast. And his tears fell upon her like rain, till at length she awoke and looked and knew that it was indeed he whom she loved.
Long time they sat, though little they spoke; their hearts were too full for speech. And greatly the maidens wondered. At length Feargus arose, for the day was wearing late; then Torfrida stayed him again and gaily ran and brought a helm, bravely wrought with gold and precious stones in the rich interlaced patterns common amongst the Picts, and a sword and byrny of like richness she also brought. Then she bade Feargus kneel while she put the helm upon him, saying: “It is not seemly that so great a warrior should go uncovered. This helm hath sat on the brow of a chief of my mother’s kinship, and long it hath lain aside, being too large for most men; but see, it fits thee like as though it had been wrought for thee.”
And she put the byrny upon him and set the great two-handed sword hanging at his back. “There, no one will know thee; with thy helm and byrny and sword of wondrous workmanship, thou lookest as thou wert wont in the old days.” She kissed his brow and called him her warrior, and sent him forth. And all was lit up before him and he minded that which had happened in the past time. He saw King Penda and his host overwhelmed, and his fight with Osbert and all things else that had chanced since.
And he threw himself down in his old place, but Torfrida, hearing from her maidens that he still lay at the threshold of her hall, went out and begged him away, for fear lest Osbert or her father should know him. “Nay,” said he, “any other thing that thou biddest must I do, thou maid of my heart, for no desire hast thou that is not better than I am, and no wrong can I do guided by thee, but ever rightly and wisely; but here, Torfrida, thou hast asked me to leave thee and that will I never. We have had long leave of one another already. And even if thou lovedst me not, and had not the love-light in thine eyes pierced the darkness my soul had fallen into since that day thou wottest of, I would not leave thee. Nay, Torfrida, neither Sigmund nor Osbert nor any other shall part us twain more.”