THE BATTLE.
The early morn, as we have already seen, broke upon the adverse hosts
of Edwy and Edgar as the trumpet sounded to arouse them from their
slumbers, in many instances from the last slumber they should ever
enjoy.
Every soldier was on his legs in a moment, and, in the first place,
preparations were made for breakfast: for it was a recognised fact
amongst our ancestors that if you wanted a man to fight or do anything
else well, you must feed him well first. So the care of the body was
never neglected, however pressing the danger.
Accordingly, Edwy called Elfric to sit by his side at the substantial
meal which commenced the day, and saw, with much pleasure, that the
cloud had partly passed from his friend’s brow for the hope of
immediate action, of the excitement of battle, had done much to drive
lowness and depression from the young warrior. So he strove to chat and
laugh with the loudest, and when the moment came to marshal the host,
and to put them in array, his spirits were as high as in old times.
The cavalry, which was their strongest arm, was under the command of
Edwy himself, although a sturdy warrior, who had fought in many a
battle, rode on his right hand to supply his lack of experience.
The main body of the infantry was under the command of Earl Cynewulf,
while the reserve was under the command of Redwald’s immediate
subordinate, and consisted almost exclusively of the household guard.
The plan of attack, for it was quite decided that they should take the
initiative, was simple, and in accordance with the ordinary tactics of
the times. The heavy-armed foot were bidden first to advance upon the
entrenchments which crowned the opposite hill, and to break the
infantry of the enemy, which was drawn up before them in formidable
array; this done, the horse were immediately to avail themselves of the
opening thus made, and the entrenchments to be assaulted by both
cavalry and infantry.
Armed with huge axes, clad in mail, and bearing large shields, the foot
advanced to the attack. They were a gallant company; and as the sun
shone upon their glittering armour, or was reflected back from the
bright steel of their axes, they might well inspire faint hearts with
terror; but faint hearts were not amongst those opposed to them. The
chosen men of the northwest, some of half-British blood, crowned the
opposite hill, drawn up in front of their entrenchments, as if they
scorned any other defence than that supplied by their living valour.
They had borrowed their tactics from the Danes: deep and strong on all
sides, they seemed to oppose an impenetrable wall to the foe; they had
their shields to oppose to darts or arrows, their axes for the footmen,
their spears to form a hedge of steel no horse could surmount.
Even should they yield to the pressure, still all would not be lost;
their retreat was secured into the entrenchments, and there they might
well hope to detain the enemy until the whole population should rise
against the men of Wessex and their leader, and his cause become
hopeless.
Steadily up the hill came the brave troops of Edwy, and from within
their ranks, as they ascended the slope, a shower of arrows was
discharged by the archers who accompanied them, under their protection;
but no return was yet made by the foe, until they were close at hand,
when a loud war cry burst from the hostile ranks, and a perfect shower
of darts and arrows rained upon the invaders.
Still they persevered, although they left a living, struggling line on
the bloody grass behind them—persevered, like men longing for the close
hand-to-hand encounter, longing to grasp their foes in deadly grip. The
shock arrived; and axe and sword were busy in reaping the harvest of
death. So great was the physical strength of the combatants that arms
and legs were mown off by a stroke, and men were cloven in two, from
the crown downwards, by the sweeping blows of the deadly steel.
It was a fearful struggle, but it was a short one; the line was
unshaken in its strength; in vain Edwy’s archers behind shot their
arrows so as to curve over the heads of their brethren and fall amongst
the foe; the men of Wessex recoiled and gave way.
Edwy seized what he thought the auspicious moment when the ranks of the
foe, although unbroken, were yet weary and breathless, and ordered his
cavalry to charge. The Mercians beheld the coming storm at a distance;
down on their knees went the first line, their spears resting on the
ground; behind them the second bent over to strike with their axes;
while a third rank, the archers, drew their bows, and prepared to
welcome the rushing enemy with a discharge of deadly arrows.
Every heart beat quickly as the fatal moment came near; onward, with a
sound like thunder, galloped the horse of Edwy. He himself rode at
their head, clad in light armour, and by his side Elfric. All trace of
fear was gone now in the mad excitement of the charge; before them they
saw the wail of spear points; nearer and nearer their coursers bounded,
until they seemed to fly. Every rider leant forward, that his sword
might smite as far as possible; and, daring the points, trusting
perhaps to the breastplates of their horses and their own ready blades,
they rushed madly upon the foe.
In cold blood no one could, perhaps, have ridden fearlessly against
such an obstacle; but in the excitement of the moment the warriors of
Edwy seemed capable of charging any imaginable barrier: and it became
almost a pure calculation, not of the respective bravery of the troops,
for none were cowards on either side, but of mere physical laws of
force and resistance.
Elfric scarcely looked where he was going. He saw a shining lance
point, about to impale him, he diverted it by his sword blade, as he
was hurried into the midst of axes, swords, lances, and beheld the
warrior opposite to him in the second rank raise his axe to inflict a
fearful blow, which would have severed his horse’s neck, had not an
arrow transfixed the foe.
The wedge seemed partly broken, and the king had begun to exult in the
anticipation of speedy victory, when from behind each end of the
entrenchment rushed two bodies of hostile cavalry; they fell upon
Edwy’s forces in the rear, and in a few moments all was confusion.
The warriors of Edgar rallied, drove the horse out of their lines,
advanced slowly, and the horsemen of the rival brothers, mingled
together in deadly strife, in personal combat, where each man seemed to
have sought and found his individual foe.
They moved slowly down the bill towards the brook, man after man
falling and dotting the green sward of the hill with struggling,
writhing bodies.
Meanwhile, Cynewulf was attempting to rally the flying foot, which had
been cut almost in two by the charge of the Mercian cavalry: he
succeeded, with great difficulty, in doing so at the brook which ran
along the bottom of the valley, and, with the stream in their front,
they prepared to afford a refuge to their own, and to resist the
hostile horse.
Edwy saw the opportunity, and, raising himself in his stirrups, called
upon his friends to follow him: he leapt the brook, and galloped round
behind the foot, where nearly all the unwounded horsemen followed him.
He had fought well, had slain more than one foe with his own royal
hand, as became a descendant of Cerdic, and now he but retired to
organise another and stouter resistance to the daring foe.
But he was forced to admit now that Cynewulf was right in his
conjecture, and that they were utterly outnumbered, for the foe poured
forth from their entrenchment and advanced in good order down the
slope; while the Mercian cavalry, forming in two detachments to the
left and right, crossed the brook and charged along its banks upon the
flanks of the Wessex infantry, at the same moment.
The warrior upon whose advice Edwy had been told to depend had fallen:
he was left to his own resources. Alas! he forgot he was a commander,
and, waving his plumed cap as a signal for his brother knights to
follow, charged upon the horsemen who were advancing up stream at like
speed, forgetting that a similar body was advancing in the opposite
direction, and that as all his force were following his lead, the
opposite flank of the foot was unprotected.
In a single minute they were all engaged in the fiercest melee which
imagination can well paint, fighting as furiously as men of the same
blood only seem to fight when once the claims of kindred are cast
aside. Swords ascended and descended with deadly violence; horses
raised themselves up on their hind legs, and, catching the deadly
enthusiasm, seemed to engage their fellows; riders fell, sternly
repressing the groan which pain would extort, while their steeds, less
self controlled, uttered, when wounded, those ear-piercing cries only
heard from the animals in deadly terror or pain.
In the midst of this tumult Elfric engaged a Mercian of superior size
and strength; it was his second personal encounter; in his first, he
had seen his adversary fall with a warrior’s stern joy, but now he was
overmatched; borne down by an arm twice as strong as his own, his guard
was broken down, and a deadly blow laid open his shoulder, cutting the
veins in the neck of his horse at the same fell sweep. The animal,
blinded with blood, staggered, fell, and he was down amongst the
horses’ feet, confined by one leg, for his horse rolled partly upon him
in its dying struggles; while he felt the hoofs of other chargers in
close proximity to his heed.
A loud cry, “They fly! They fly! Victory! Victory!” reached him even
then. He well knew from which party the cries must proceed, and that he
was left to the mercy of the victorious Mercians.
It was even so; the charge of the hostile cavalry on the left flank had
broken down the ranks of the infantry on that side; the hostile foot
had contrived to cross the brook in the confusion, and all was lost.
The reserve now came rapidly forward, but, seeing at a glance the state
of things, retired to defend the entrenched camp, so as to give the
king and his broken and routed followers time to escape, while they
made good the defence with their lives. So they retired at once into
the camp, whither Edwy and his few surviving companions galloped a
moment after them.
Edwy was unhurt; he dismounted: his fair face flushed to a fiery red
with heat and excitement, he leapt on the entrenchment and looked on
the plain. He saw those of his own followers who had not yet made good
their escape, ridden down, cut to pieces, slaughtered in the excitement
of the moment without mercy; the sight stung him, be would have sallied
out to their defence, but Cynewulf, who was yet living, met him in the
gateway, and sternly seized the bridle of his steed.
“My lord and king,” he said; “your life is precious to Wessex, you may
not throw it away.”
“I cannot see my followers slaughtered: loose my bridle, I command
you;” and he raised his sword impetuously.
“You may cut me down, and so reward my faithful service; but, living,
you shall not pass me on your road to destruction. My lord, I am old
enough to be your father.”
But there was one gay young noble present, who knew better than
Cynewulf the key to Edwy’s heart. He was one of the boon companions we
have been before introduced to; but he had fought, poor young fellow,
gallantly all that day, and now he could fight no longer: Edwy saw him
reel and fall from his horse.
“Elfgar!” he said; as he strove to raise his friend and subject from
the ground—“not seriously wounded I hope!”
“Dying, and for my king, as is my duty let a dying voice reach you, my
dear lord. Save yourself if you would save Elgiva, if you —if you—” the
words came broken and faint “—are slain, she will be at the mercy of
her deadly foes.”
His head fell helplessly down upon his shoulder, and ere the king could
make any reply, he saw that he was indeed past hope.
But his dying words had sunk deeply into the heart of Edwy.
“Poor Elfgar! he was right. O Elgiva! Elgiva! this is a sad day for
thee.”
“Return then to her, my lord,” said Cynewulf. “See, they are preparing
now to assault the camp; I can hold it for hours, and if you are not
here, I can make good terms with our foes; but, if you stay, you but
embarrass us: ride out, my liege.”
“And desert my subjects?”
“They will all acquit you: haste, my lord, haste, before they surround
the camp, for your fair queen’s sake, or you are lost.”
“Come, my men, we must fly,” said Edwy, sullenly; and he led the way
reluctantly to the back of the camp.
The road was partly encumbered with fugitives, but not wholly, as most
of them sought the entrenched camp. Cynewulf accompanied him to the
gate, where he stopped to give one last piece of advice.
“Fly, my lord, for Wessex at once; lose no time; the best route will be
the Foss Way; they will not suspect that you have taken that direction.
Ride day and night; if you delay anywhere you are lost.”
“Farewell, faithful and wise counsellor. Odin and Thor send that we may
meet again;” and Edwy with only a dozen followers rode out at full
speed.
The Mercians had not yet reached that side of the camp, which was
concealed by woods which were clear of all enemies, and he rode on
rapidly.
“What has become of Elfric, my Leofric?” he said to one of his faithful
train.
“I fear me he is dead: I saw him fall in the last struggle.”
“Poor Elfric! poor Elfric! then his forebodings have come true; he will
never see his father again.”
“It is all fortune and fate, and none can resist his doom, my lord,”
said Leofric.
“But Elfric; yes, I loved Elfric. I would I had never left that fatal
field.”
“Think, my lord, of Elgiva.”
“Yes, Elgiva—she is left to me and left all is left. Ride faster,
Leofric, I fancy I hear pursuers.”
They had, at Cynewulf’s suggestion, taken fresh horses from the
reserve, and had little cause to fear pursuit. In an hour they reached
the Foss Way and rode along the route described in our former chapter,
until, reaching the frontiers of the territory of the old Dobuni, they
left the Foss, and rode by the Roman trackway which we have previously
described, until they turned into a road which brought them deep into
Oxfordshire. Here they were in a territory which had been a debateable
land between Mercia and Wessex, where the sympathies of the people were
not strongly enlisted on either side and they were comparatively safe.
They passed Kirtlington; rested at Oxenford, then rode through
Dorchester and Bensington to Reading, whence they struck southward for
Winchester, where Edwy rested from his fatigue in the society of
Elgiva.
So ended the ill-advised raid into Mercia.