for a couple of days, and therefore was not compelled to action from
necessity; and, besides, there were all the supplies of AElfhere's
people hidden among the woods; but Caedwalla was nevertheless burning to
come to blows with Arwald, and the order was given for all to advance
directly breakfast was over. The number of men Caedwalla had brought
was over a thousand, and their equipment and appearance left little to
be desired. There had been a difficulty in bringing over any horses,
but there were five or six brought over for Caedwalla, and his chief
eorldomen, and Ceolwulf had despatched during the night some of the boys
to bring over as many of AElfhere's horses as they could. He himself
had the horse he had captured from the Wihtwara he had killed, when he
rescued Wulfstan the evening before.
"My old friend," said Caedwalla, when all was ready, "I must ask thee to
ride along with us, and show us the way. I know thou wantest to be with
thy young lord, but he is in careful hands, and we cannot get on without
thee yet. I promise thee rest enough after we have established our
right to rule the Wihtwaras."
Ceolwulf had not thought of being left behind, and was flattered at this
public notice of himself before so many warriors, and many of them the
chief eorldomen of Wessex. All being now ready, the advance began.
Caedwalla had far too much experience of war to be led into any trap as
Arwald had been. He sent on a powerful advance guard under the guidance
of Ceolwulf, and the keenest and most experienced of his men were
ordered to march at some little distance on each flank. In this way,
although their progress was slow, their security against any surprise
was certain. They had not proceeded far, when the leading footmen came
across the body of a man lying on a bank. Turning him over, Ceolwulf
found it was Beornwulf, and he was delighted to find that he was only
asleep from exhaustion. He at once had him sent into the camp, and
directed that every care should be taken of him. Caedwalla was much
pleased to see his old follower again, and promised he would not forget
him.
The little army advanced to the stockade without any further
interruption. Here a dreadful sight presented itself. Arwald had
abandoned the place, evidently feeling it necessary to retire to his own
district, and call up all the fighting men of the island for the
decisive battle that must take place; for he was not the man to allow
himself to be killed without a fight. The scene inside the stockade was
awful. Accustomed as Caedwalla and his men were to fearful sights, they
had never seen so terrific a spectacle as was here, crowded into the
narrow limits of that gory enclosure. Ceolwulf noted with grim
satisfaction that many of Arwald's men had died; he found Osborn under a
pile of slain, and many of AElfhere's old servants had died hard.
Caedwalla made use of the ghastly spectacle to arouse his men to fiercer
ardour, and then ordered the column to advance. When they emerged on
the black and charred common, and the successful stratagem was explained
by Ceolwulf to Caedwalla, the king was loud in his praises of the pluck,
determination, and skill of the little band of defenders, and vowed that
in all his experience he had never heard of or seen a better executed
ambush. He was especially struck with the readiness and sagacity of the
boys. As they advanced Caedwalla admired the fertility of the island,
and the suitability of their choice in retiring into Binbrygge-ea.
Crossing the ford, Ceolwulf pointed out the ruined Roman villa among the
bushes, and told how nobly Athelhune had defended it against the attack
of Arwald's people, and showed Caedwalla where the homestead was. The
king declined to visit it now, but sent on a party to find Athelhune's
remains, and have them decently laid out, with a view to burying him, as
became a West Saxon eorldoman and faithful adherent of his.
As they advanced farther into the island, and the country became more
open, Caedwalla directed Ceolwulf to take a force along the ridge of the
downs that separated the north side of the island from the south, while
he, with one of AElfhere's old servants to act as guide, marched
parallel to Ceolwulf, along the valley to the south. Every precaution
was taken, and strict injunctions were given that each column was to
halt if the other were attacked. Touch was kept up between the flanking
and main column by a light band of active young men. In this way the
army got as far as where Arreton now is without coming in contact with
the enemy. Here Caedwalla gave orders that the two columns should halt,
and have their mid-day meal. He himself rode up to the top of the hill
and joined Ceolwulf, who pointed out to him, from this natural
observatory, all the objects within sight. At his feet the land sloped
away towards the north in a gradual descent to the Solent, clothed in
dense oak woods, through which meandered three narrow openings of the
sea. The one towards the north-west was the most important, and looked
a noble inlet as it lay gleaming like silver far down below, embowered
in dense oak forest. The creek more to the north-east seemed very
narrow at the entrance, but widened out into a splendid sheet of water
as it penetrated farther inland. The dense virgin forest surrounded the
glassy surface, and there was no trace of life anywhere. Between these
two creeks lay a third much smaller one, whose existence was only
faintly indicated by a dip in the woods. Towards the east Caedwalla
looked over woods, only bounded by the sea, and beyond the sea the coast
of the South Saxons, and his own native forests and hills. The view
south was more lovely even: at his feet the wide and fertile valley
spread out to the magnificent bay, bounded on one side by the gleaming
white cliffs of Binbrygge Down, and on the other the dun-coloured
headland that rose into the noble down behind it, while toward the
south-west hill upon hill, and ridge upon ridge, culminated in the
highest hill of all--the broad-backed St. Catherine Down. The valley at
his feet was hidden, towards the west, by the continuation of the ridge
of downs upon which Caedwalla was standing, but Ceolwulf told him it
wound round and passed into another valley, or valleys, which then
turned westwards and northwards. This northern valley became the deeply
indented creek near the head of which stood the only fortress in the
island, the burg or castle of Wihtgar, known as Wihtgaresbyryg.
"Will Arwald make a stand there, thinkest thou?" asked Caedwalla.
"I doubt whether he will not fight in the open first. He has a powerful
following with him, and he is not one to fight behind walls if he has
any chance of crushing us in the open."
Caedwalla laughed. "He need not talk much of crushing. There won't be
much left of him or his men if once I catch them in the open."
"Aye, no doubt thou art a doughty and powerful king, but Arwald will
have as many or more than we have, and the Wihtwaras fight well."
"Tush, man! have I ever lost a battle yet?" said Caedwalla,
disdainfully; and then he added, "Continue thy march until we unite in
the valley in front of Wihtgaresbyryg; we may have to encamp there
to-night." So saying, the West Saxon king rode down the hill again, and
led his column along the lower ground.
The march was continued without further interruption until about two
o'clock. They turned the northern line of Downs, and saw the ridge of
the lower hills to the west, on the brow of which loomed up the grey
walls of a circular castle--the rude and unscientific fortress of
Wihtgar, built perhaps upon the foundations of a Roman castellum, and
doubtless with much of the material. Hitherto it had been an accepted
fact that whoever was lord of Wihtgaresbyryg was lord also of the
Wihtwaras and the Wihtea.
When Ceolwulf's column, descending the steep declivity of the down now
known as St. George's Down, joined Caedwalla and the main body below,
they advanced together along the lower ground towards Wihtgaresbyryg,
until they reached the ford over the marshes, that then formed the head
of the long creek now known as the Medina. Here Caedwalla, having
secured the ford and passed his troops safely across, halted until he
could find out where the enemy were.
In the course of an hour one of his scouts brought back word that Arwald
was marching out of Wihtgaresbyryg to give him battle, with a numerous
and well-appointed force of horsemen and foot, and would be upon them in
the course of half an hour or so.
This was joyful news to Caedwalla. His eyes sparkled and his figure
became more upright, as he gave orders for his men to fall into battle
order, and prepare for the decisive contest.
"Remember Athelhune and Osborn, and the stockade on Yavershute!
Remember all your former victories--Edilwalch and the South Saxons, and
the eorldoman Berchthune. The dragon of Wessex is spreading his wings
for victory. Before night-fall, my eorls and my free Saxons, let us
plant the standard of our nation on the tower of Wihtgar. Lands and
possessions shall reward the victors, and ye all see what a smiling and
fertile land it is. Standard bearer, advance the banner! My nobles,
handle your weapons, and, O God of Battles, whom Wilfrid serves! if
victory crowns our arms, I vow to become a servant of Thine. Let Woden
and Thor fight for Arwald. Caedwalla will fight with the help of
Christ."
*CHAPTER XXII.*
*"NOW, BY MY FAITH, LORDS, 'TWAS A GLORIOUS DAY."*
Caedwalla decided not to await the enemy, but to advance at once to meet
him. He himself led the van, which was composed of his choicest troops,
and he ordered old Ceolwulf to keep with him, as a mark of especial
honour. The scout who had brought the news of Arwald's advance acted as
guide, and in a short time the two rival forces came in sight of each
other. Caedwalla saw that Arwald would have the advantage of position
if he were allowed to attack from the higher ground where he was. He
therefore ordered his men not to march directly for the enemy, but to
leave them on their left and march as if with the intention of getting
in between them and Wihtgaresbyryg. By this manoeuvre Arwald had to
descend from his superior position, and the onus of attacking remained
with him.
In those rude times there was not much attempt at marshalling the
fighting men. The leaders brought their men on to the ground and put
them as near to each other as possible, and then stout arm and keen
steel had to decide the rest. Each chieftain acted as the bravest
soldier, and his duty was to run the greatest risk.
In the present instance, there seemed a sort of tacit deferring of the
awful struggle that must take place. When Caedwalla had obtained the
equality of position he wanted, he halted, and drew up his men in a
semblance of martial array; and in this respect he had a manifest
advantage over his antagonist, for he and his men were well known to
each other. Many of the West Saxon eorls had fought in numberless
fights on the borders of Wales, and against Wulfhere of Mercia, the son
of Penda. They were, therefore, used to discipline, and were likely to
keep cool in the hottest of the fray; while Arwald's men had never seen
a set battle, and many of them had scarcely ever fought before. But
their numbers and strength seemed quite to counterbalance this
disadvantage, and Caedwalla saw at a glance the Wihtwaras were not to be
despised. Arwald had wrought his men's courage up to a desperate pitch
by telling them that Caedwalla would deprive them of all their
possessions, and, unless they won the battle, no man's life or property
was safe.
Caedwalla's eyes sparkled with excitement, but he was otherwise very
calm, and no observer would have known that he was inwardly burning with
eagerness to begin the battle, and avenge the death of his dearest
friend. He rode along in front of his men, mounted on his white horse,
cheerily saying an encouraging word here, or passing a light jest there,
and congratulating everyone on the immediate prospect of realizing all
their hopes.
The forces of Arwald had now approached to within two hundred yards, and
the combatants could see each other well. There was nothing between
them, and the battle might begin at any moment.
Caedwalla had turned his horse's head towards the enemy, and was quietly
glancing along their line. In front of him was Arwald, looking more
brutal than ever. The cut over his eye, which he had received from
Wulfstan's sling, was swollen and inflamed, so much so that one eye was
nearly obscured. His red, bloated face, and coarse features, combined
with his huge and corpulent person, mounted on a powerful,
vicious-looking black horse, offered a striking contrast to the refined,
intellectual, determined face of Caedwalla. bronzed with exposure, and
looking a splendid, dashing soldier, as well as prudent, clear-headed
king: a perfect type of the old Heretoga, or leader in war, chosen by
the free acclamations of his fellow tribesmen for his brilliant
qualities, and not necessarily because of any hereditary claim; the pure
type of an earthly ruler, if only such could be elected without
corruption and for worthy motives.
Caedwalla sat his horse tranquilly, and critically scanned Arwald with a
contemptuous glance that made that fat chieftain furious. He was just
going to give the order to his men to charge, when Caedwalla raised his
battle-axe, and instantly the whole of the West Saxon army rushed
straight for the Wihtwaras.
For the next few minutes there was the awful work of destruction,
hideous sounds and confused sights, axes flashing, arms rising and
falling, passionate shouts, groans, and wild cries. In the midst of the
battle could be seen the golden dragon of Wessex, and ever and anon the
clear, ringing stentorian voice of the king, cheerily and happily
cleaving a way through the struggling mass. Such battles must have been
all alike, and the monotony of the death fight could seldom be relieved.
The victory must go to the side who had most "last," or endurance, in
it; for the idea of running away while strength remained scarcely could
occur to men taught from earliest childhood that no fate in this world
or the next could await any man worse than the fate of the coward. But
sheer brutal strength, or capacity for fighting with the largest number
of wounds, must then, as now, have been very materially modified by the
moral influences of will and determination. And in this way the
personal qualities of a leader were certain to affect his followers.
The energy, moral as well as physical, of Caedwalla, infused itself into
his men, and each man fought with a certainty of winning. Gradually the
coherent mass of striking, thrusting, wrestling humanity gave way, and
the scene became changed into groups of individual combatants.
The battlefield was strewn with dead and dying. Caedwalla's standard
bearer was down, but the banner was still waved above the foremost
ranks, and the golden crest of Wessex was foremost in the fight.
Arwald's army was being pushed back, no man looked to see where, but as
the foe retreated Caedwalla pressed on. The Wihtwaras were thrust away
from Wihtgaresbyryg, and were slowly retiring towards the high hills
behind them. Fighting every foot of ground at first, they gradually
hastened their retreat until at last it became a rout.
All round deeds of "derring-do" were being performed, and Caedwalla
cheered his men on to the pursuit with words of praise and
encouragement. The king was followed by the main part of his army, and
pressed hard upon the retreating Wihtwaras.
"Unless we kill Arwald, we have done nought," shouted Caedwalla, urging
on his horse to fresh exertions.
They had now reached the foot of the down, whose ample slope rose from
the valley in wooded clumps up to a height of some five hundred and
fifty feet above them. Pursued and pursuers were alike becoming
exhausted. Arwald and the few that were left of his personal following
kept on their way up the hill. Caedwalla's horse, which had received
several severe wounds, was clearly incapable of following much further,
and the king got off, resolving to follow on foot. Arwald still
bestrode his black horse, but that powerful animal was fast becoming
distressed. Seeing that he could not escape from his pursuers, Arwald,
who had now reached a grassy knoll, drew up and turned to look at his
enemy.
Below him he could see the golden dragon and the broad shoulders of the
West Saxon king, the centre of a little band of determined warriors,
among whom the weather-beaten face of old Ceolwulf looked hard set and
enduring, like a grey lichen-covered rock amid the saplings of the
forest.
"By the golden hair of Freya," muttered Arwald "but they shall die as
well as we, if die we must. Here, my men, we will wait them; and let
each man fight as he never fought before."
So saying, the Wihtwara chieftain dismounted from his tired horse, and
prepared for the fight. The scene was a fitting one for the arena on
which the sovereignty of the island was to be finally decided between
the rival chiefs. It was very near the summit of the lofty down, now
known as Newbarn, or Chillerton Down. From the spot where Arwald stood
he looked right down the lovely valley of the Medene; eastward and
northward, his eye roamed over swelling down and wooded valley, and here
and there the silver streak of the distant sea. The lovely scene lay
spread out in mellow haze, for the sun was getting low behind the
chieftain, and great shadows stretched from his feet far over the valley
below; while patches of grey mist were rising here and there over the
basins of the Medene and the Yare.
Grimly Arwald looked at the scene, but none of its peaceful beauty
struck him. All he thought of was hatred of the man who had dared to
come to disturb him in the enjoyment of his tyranny and power, and
satisfaction at the thought of how he could take him at disadvantage,
breathless as Caedwalla would be when he reached the summit of the
knoll, and dazzled with the setting sun level with his eyes.
Arwald mustered about thirty adherents, most of them wounded, and not
more than a dozen of whom were able-bodied. The chief of the Wihtwaras
himself had not received any serious wounds, seeming to bear a charmed
life in the midst of the battle; and owing to this immunity from wounds,
he himself, as well as many of his followers, believed that he was not
destined to lose his life on the battle-field. Full of these hopes, he
waited for his antagonist.
Caedwalla, seeing that his enemy was resolved to await him, and that now
there was to be no more retreat, but that here either he or Arwald was
to leave his bones for ever, bid his men to take it easily and regain
their breath. The West Saxons, therefore, paused a little below the
summit of the knoll, and gazed back at the land behind them, where many
of their comrades could be seen drawing together and advancing after
their king. Many others were visible, lying on the ground; for them no
more fighting remained. Of the Wihtwaras no coherent body existed. The
victory was evidently complete, and Caedwalla could plainly see that
there was no need for him to fight Arwald now. The Wihtwara must fall
to superior numbers; he could fly no further, and the desperate nature
of his situation was evidently known to himself. Ceolwulf urged waiting
for the rest to come up, pointing out the folly of risking such a life
as that of Caedwalla, now undoubted king of Wihtea, as of Wessex and the
South Saxons.
"Leave this swine to be dealt with by thy faithful ceorls and eorls, my
lord. Why risk thy life needlessly? Dost thou think thou must do more
to show all men thy valour? Who does not know of Caedwalla?"
"Cease, old man," said Caedwalla. "I know well what is prudent, and
what is rash. It becomes not Caedwalla to decline to punish the
murderer of Athelhune, and I know my own duty as well as pleasure."
Arwald knew well that the game was up, but he counted on at least
killing Caedwalla before the rest of the West Saxons could arrive. He
ordered his men, therefore, to pay no attention to any other of the
small following of Caedwalla, but to rush simultaneously upon the
victorious king.
"What!" shouted Arwald, "is the dainty young chief of the robber-band
afraid to meet the axes of warriors? Has he come thus far, and, finding
himself face to face with brave men, does he now fear to meet their
blows? Why does he not rush forward to avenge all his dead eorls? The
axes of Arwald and the Wihtwaras have drunk deep of West Saxon blood."
"All in good time, my friend, all in good time. A king chooses his own
season and means of punishment, and thou shalt not be forgotten,"
answered Caedwalla disdainfully.
All the West Saxons having now recovered their breath, Caedwalla
advanced towards Arwald. Ceolwulf had seen the object of the Wihtwara
chieftain, and he warned the few men round Caedwalla to look out for a
rush.
As soon as the king set foot on the level sward on the summit of the
knoll, Arwald and his men made a simultaneous charge upon him, which
Caedwalla, on his part, sprang forward to anticipate.
Arwald, trusting to his huge strength and ponderous weight, struck with
his battle-axe straight at Caedwalla's head, and the West Saxon king
received the full force of the terrific blow on his already half-severed
shield. The axe cut through the iron studs and ornaments that still
kept the shield together, and buried itself sideways in Caedwalla's left
arm. But Caedwalla's right arm was not idle. Striking with all his
force at the same moment that he parried the blow of the Wihtwara, he
cut through the steel hawberk, the under shirt of leather, and deep into
the flesh of Arwald between the ribs over the heart; for Arwald was so
determined to destroy his adversary that he took no thought of guarding
himself. Before Arwald could recover from the overbalance of his own
thundering blow, Caedwalla had struck again, and this time he aimed at
the bare arms of the Wihtwara. So fiercely did he strike that the whole
muscles and flesh of the upper arm were shorn off clean to the bone, and
Arwald knew he could never fight again. The blood flowed down in
torrents, but his rage still burnt fiercely. Wielding his axe in the
other hand, he struck straight for Caedwalla's face, and the king had no
use in his other arm to ward the blow. He parried it with his axe, but
not sufficiently to prevent the axe glancing off and inflicting a deep
gash in his neck. But Arwald had struck his last blow, for Caedwalla,
swinging his axe over his head, brought it down with fearful force on
the helmet of his antagonist. Right through the iron helmet it went, and
deep into the skull, and there so wedged itself between the bones that
Caedwalla could not draw it out, and the huge Wihtwara chieftain rolled
over to the ground dead.
But Caedwalla would also have been dead before now had it not been for
the trusty Ceolwulf. The adherents of Arwald, true to their orders, and
reckless of their own lives, had crowded round Caedwalla, and struck at
the same time as Arwald. Two fierce blows aimed at the king were caught
on Ceolwulf's shield, which was not so much damaged as Caedwalla's. A
third was parried by the old man's axe, while a fourth the noble old
warrior received in his own body, which he interposed between his lord
and the death blow. The Wihtwara's axe caught Biggun on the chest, and
would have penetrated to the lung but for the soundness of the mail
shirt he wore. As it was, the stout old man swung his axe round upon
his foe who had given him the wound, and split his helmet and head,
felling him to the ground. The other attendants of Caedwalla had not
been idle. The blows intended for the king were intercepted, and in
many cases the Wihtwaras were killed without offering the least
resistance to their slayers, so intent were they in trying to kill the
rival of Arwald, and thus fell an easy prey to their antagonists. The
fall of their chieftain, however, caused them to turn much more
desperately on the West Saxons, and fierce blows were showered on all
sides; but the result could not be doubtful for a moment. After a few
plunging blows, wild struggles, and fierce imprecations, all resistance
ceased, and Wihtea was won to Caedwalla.
[Illustration: How Caedwalla won Wightea and slew Arwald]