Instantly the wildest confusion prevailed. The Saxons, half-dazed by the
suddenness of the attack, sprang for their arms which hung upon the
walls of the hall. Such a thing as a winter campaign had hitherto been
unknown, and they were taken completely by surprise.
Before they could collect themselves or form any plan for defense, the
Norsemen were upon them, and then there followed an awful scene of
carnage. The clash of steel, the hoarse shouts and cries of the Saxons,
the shrieks and groans of the women, mingled with the exultant yells of
the Danes. High above all, rose the Norse battle song which contained a
covert sneer at the English religion:
"We have sung the mass of the lances.
It began at sunrise, and lo! the bright star hath gone to her
rest,
And the orison is not completed.
Odin awaits us in Valhalla!
The perennial boar steams upon the festive board!
Hela, the death goddess, gnashes her teeth that we escape her!
The kite and the raven scream with joy at the feast!
Red runs the blood!
Fearful the carnage!
Guthrum the old hath destroyed the great one.
The black Raven with pointed beak
Hath subdued the Dragon of Wessex."
On and on it went while the sharp-edged swords did their work. The
Saxons made a brave but ineffectual resistance. On every side they fell.
The tables were overturned in the strife, and mead and pigment mingled
with the blood of those who such a short time before quaffed the cup so
gayly.
Through the struggling combatants, Wulfhere made his way somehow to the
upper end of the hall where Egwina, Ethelfleda, Elswitha, the lady's
mother, Eadburga, the two youths and the little ones were huddled
together, terrified at the sudden onslaught.
"Thou must not stay here," he cried to the Lady Elswitha. "It is no
place for thee, or these others."
A thegn darted to them at this moment.
"Retire," he shouted. "Retire, Lady, to thy bower."
"Retire!" exclaimed the lady, "and leave my lord's hearthstone to the
invader?"
"Thou must," cried the thegn in anguish. "For the love of the Holy Mary,
seek thy bower. We must answer to the king for thy safety."
Without further remonstrance, the lady turned to flee with her children.
It was none too soon. The Northmen pressed furiously toward that end of
the hall. The few remaining Saxons threw themselves between the terrible
Danes and their beloved lady.
"Go, lads," commanded the same thegn who had before spoken, pushing the
youths who lingered towards the fleeing group; "ye can do naught here,
and your duty lies there. Go!" and the boys obeyed him.
As quickly as possible the little party made its way into the bower and
barricaded the entrance behind them.
"Now what?" asked the lady of Wulfhere.
"We must not stay here," answered he. "After the slaughter comes the
flame. The Dane will apply the torch as is his wont. Let us to the
king."
"The king! Alack!" Elswitha cried in sudden terror. "Where is he? I
fear, oh, I fear that he hath fallen into the hands of Guthrum."
"Where went he?" asked Wulfhere.
"To Malmesbury to determine the limits of some bocland. Were he living,
he would have been here ere this. Oh, I fear, I fear!"
Moaning, she drew her little ones to her while the others looked at her
compassionately. At this moment a mighty shout rose from without the
castle walls.
"The king! The king!"
The clash of steel, the shouts and cries which now broke forth with
renewed vigor, showed that the king had indeed come. Elswitha sprang to
her feet, her face transfigured with joy.
"God be praised!" she cried. "It is my lord. Now, my children, ye are in
sooth safe. O thank God! Thank God!"
But even as she spoke, the door fell inward with a crash, and the
Northmen burst into the room. Wulfhere drew his seax, and threw himself
in front of the women and children. The youths--Edward and the
cup-bearer--ranged themselves beside him.
"Minstrel, sheathe thy sword," cried the foremost of the Danes. "Arms
and battle are not for thee. It is thine to sing the praises of
warriors. Sheathe thy sword."
"I will, an it please thee, in thy body," answered Wulfhere. He made a
lunge, and the Dane fell pierced through the heart.
The others sprang toward him, but the youths received those in the fore
on their swords. Then rose the voice of Guthrum, King of the Danes, and
it rang through the hall:
"Whoso brings me the head of Alfred the King, him will I hold dearer
than a brother, and great shall be his reward."
The Northmen turned and ran back towards the hall, shouting as they did
so:
"Safe enow art thou, minstrel. Later will our swords drink of thy
blood."
Elswitha started up frantically. "Come," she cried. "Let us to Alfred.
There only is safety."
"Thou art right. Let us be gone ere others of the pagans come," said the
bard. "Do ye," to the youths, "lead, and let the women follow. I will
bring up the rear."
The two boys went before. Elswitha and Eadburga came next with the three
children. Egwina and Ethelfleda followed, while Wulfhere guarded the
rear. Out into the night they went. The wind which had arisen, moaned
and sobbed as though bewailing the strife. The din without the castle
was fearful. The wailing of women and children mingled with the clash of
swords and the cries of battle. Citizens ran to and fro, whither they
knew not, seeking loved ones or refuge from the Danes. The darkness of
the night was broken only by the torchlights which flitted hither and
thither, or were suddenly extinguished as the bearers fell pierced by
sword or arrow.
Hesitating only for a moment, the boys turned in the direction of the
sound of the conflict. They had gone but a short distance, when there
was a great shout, and the Saxons--warriors, citizens, women and
children--went flying past them.
"Fly, men of Wessex," they cried as they ran. "Fly, and save
yourselves!"
It was impossible to stem the living current. The little party was
obliged to turn and go with the surging, seething mass of humanity.
And now the torch was applied to finish the awful work. Soon the ruddy
flames leaped high in the air, lighting up the sky with a lurid glare,
and bathing the landscape in a crimson glow.
A wail went up from the fleeing Saxons, for they knew that the light was
from their dwellings, and that they were homeless. Full of anguish they
redoubled their speed, and ran on, breathless and in terror, for the
cries in the rear showed that the Northmen were still in pursuit; still
slaying those who were unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.
In every direction ran the fugitives. It was cold, for it was midwinter;
but though the chill wind pierced to the very marrow, the people thought
only of life for themselves and dear ones, and heeded it not. The
terror-stricken inhabitants of the villages into which they fled could
afford them no asylum for they knew that but a few short hours must
elapse ere they would suffer a like fate. So they, too, joined the
fugitives and the crowd became a multitude.
At first our little band had no difficulty in keeping together, but as
the numbers were increased, they pressed closer one to another, and
called aloud frequently.
It was just the hour before the dawn, when the flames of the burning
villages had died down and a thick darkness had settled over the earth,
that a cry went up from those in front that the Danes were coming from
that direction also. Panic-stricken, the throng knew not which way to
turn. They became confused in the darkness and made a sudden dash in
opposite directions, shouting and crying as they did so. The party was
swept asunder by the rush.
Egwina called frantically to Ethelfleda, but the noise was so great that
she could scarcely hear the sound of her own voice. Carried onward by
the crowd, she did not know where she was going, or if the Danes had
really fallen upon them.
At last morning dawned. With the rising of the sun--the distributor of
God's blessed light--the stricken people revived somewhat from their
terrors which the darkness had augmented, and proceeded more quietly.
Now, too, each began to search for his relatives. To the girl's joy, her
grandfather was soon found.
"Dost know what became of the others?" he inquired.
"No, granther. The maiden was carried from my side when the shout went
up that the Danes were coming. Alack! where can they be?"
"I wot not," answered Wulfhere moodily. "I fear, child, that this is the
end. None know whether Alfred be fallen or taken prisoner. If either be
true naught is left for us but loss of life or slavery."
With the morning the people scattered into the different villages in
search of rest and sustenance. Wulfhere and Egwina did likewise. As they
were resting in the thatched cottage of a ceorl, there came through the
village one riding hotly on a palfrey. He bore an arrow in one hand and
a naked sword in the other. When he reached the centre of the hamlet he
stopped and called in a loud voice:
"What, ho, Saxons! Listen to the words of the king. Alfred would have
aid against the Dane. Let every man that is not niddering, whether in a
town or out of a town, leave his house and come."
Never before had the old national proclamation, which no Saxon capable
of bearing arms had ever resisted, been published to such deaf ears.
Wulfhere sprang up with a shout: "God be praised! The king lives!"
But the mass of the people responded not but murmured among themselves
that resistance was useless. If they submitted, they would be allowed to
till the soil, and to live in their homes even as their brethren in
Mercia and East Anglia were doing; while opposition meant death, loss of
homes and loved ones.
So the message fell upon deaf ears, and the messenger swept on to other
villages with the summons. Wulfhere's shout met no answering one of
gladness. The old man sat down amazed and despairing.
"What hath become of the spirit of the Saxons?" he asked fiercely. "Now
shall we be conquered by the Dane, even as our forefathers conquered the
Britons. The Saxons serfs? Out, I say! To what have the descendents of
Woden fallen that they should submit without a blow to the pagan?"
"Friend," spoke a ceorl near by, "have a care to thy words. The land
hath been ravaged by the invader for years. No rest can be obtained
either by resistance or by gifts and money. We are weary of strife.
Serfdom and life are better than freedom and death. Marry, let us have
peace!"
"Come, Egwina," and Wulfhere rose, his form dilated, his lip curled with
scorn. "Theowes already be these men. I would be no more among them.
Come!"
Obediently the girl followed him. There were some mutterings from those
who heard his words, but they were allowed to depart without
molestation. They had not gone far from the village when they saw in the
distance a party of Danes approaching on horseback. As the Danes caught
sight of the man and the maiden, they spurred their horses and came up
to the two on a run.
"A scald and a scald maiden," cried they in delight. "Now let song and
dance be our portion. Weary are we of the fray. Let us have song."
They flung themselves from their palfreys and surrounded the two. Egwina
shrank close to her grandfather.
"No song, even for thy life, girl," commanded the old man sternly.
"Strike up, old scald! Is thy harp mute that thou dost not sweep it?"
spoke the leader.
"A song! A song in praise of Guthrum! Guthrum the bold!"
But Wulfhere folded his arms across his harp and remained silent.
"Silent art thou?" demanded he who seemed to be the chief.
"'Tis fear that whitens his face and makes his tongue cleave to the roof
of his mouth," laughed a youth mockingly.
"Haco, take the harp," commanded the jarl. "Do thou sing for us. Then
will the old man be stirred to obey. He seems to forget that we war not
against gleemen."
The youth stepped toward Wulfhere and reached out his hand for the
instrument. Still silent, the bard drew his seax and cut the strings
with one blow.
"What!" cried the chief in fury. "What doest thou?"
"No harp of mine shall sing in praise of Guthrum," responded Wulfhere
sternly.
"But thy tongue shall," declared the other. "Sing, scald, else it shall
be torn from the roof of thy mouth, and never shalt thou lift thy voice
in praise of any other."
"Rather than it should sing in praise of the Northmen I would tear it
out myself," declared the bard with energy.
"Bold art thou," cried the leader, "or it may be that thou believest
that we will be niggardly with our gifts. See! Hath the Saxon done so
well?"
He tore from his arms some massive gold bracelets which were held in
great esteem by the Danes, and cast them at the ministrel's feet. The
gleeman thrust them aside contemptuously with his foot.
"I scorn both your gifts and your threats," he cried. "But listen! Ye
shall hear a song."
Believing that he was really intimidated despite his words, the Danes
stayed their hands and composed themselves to listen, well knowing that
there was time enough to avenge the insult to their gifts. Then Wulfhere
drew Egwina back from them a little and began:
"What shall the minstrel sing by the fireside?
What hero shall he laud to the young?
When the nights have grown cold and chill whistles the wind in
the tree tops,
Close gather they to the fireside.
Then call they for the harper.
He sings, and he sings of the Northman.
Great was the feast of the raven
When Guthrum swept over the land.
Wild shrieked the kite and the eagle;
And hoarse croaked the toad that was horned
Up rose the Dragon of Wessex!
Up then rose the Deliverer!
Up rose Alfred the wise one!
Maker of ships and of laws!
Guthrum and Danes floe before him!
Guthrum the old and the aged!
Guthrum in fear of the great one!"
With cries of fury the Danes set upon him. Wulfhere received the
onslaught with a grim smile, and lunging at the nearest one, chanted on:
"Fast flee the Norseman before him.
Stark fall they upon their bucklers!
Under the clash of the steel of Alfred.
Alfred, the great one! The wise one!
Maker of ships and of--"
He fell, pierced through and through by their swords.
"Grandfather!" shrieked Egwina, flinging herself down beside him.
"Grandfather, speak to me!"
And Wulfhere opening his eyes, smiled, and chanted in a loud voice:
"Maker of ships and of laws!" and expired.
With a cry of anguish the girl fell unconscious on the body.