I went along the highroad now, for it was dark, and few were about. Only
now and then I met a little party of men hurrying to the gathering
place, and mostly they spoke to me, asking for news. And from them I
learned, too, that nothing had been seen, while daylight served, of the
Danes. Once, I had to say I was on Osric's errand, as he bade me, being
questioned as to why I was heading away from the town.
I could not see my hall as I passed close by its place, for the lights
that ever shone thence in the old days, so lately, yet seeming so long,
gone, were quenched. But I thought of a safe place whence to watch if
the Danes came, where were trees in which I might hide if need were, as
I had hidden this morning. This was on the little spur of hill men call
by the name of the fisher's village below it, Combwich. It looked on all
the windings of Parret river, and there would I soon know if landing was
to be made for attack on Bridgwater. But I thought it likely that there
would be an outpost of our men there for the same reason, and going
thither went carefully.
Sure enough there was a little watchfire and half a dozen men round it
on the best outlook, and so I passed on still further, following round
the spur of hill till I came to where the land overlooks the whole long
tongue of Stert Point. That would do as well for me, I thought, and
choosing, as best I could in the dark, a tree into which I knew by
remembrance that I might easily get, I sat down at its foot, looking
seaward.
Now by this time the tide, which runs very strong and swiftly, must be
flowing again, and I thought that most likely the Danes, having anchored
during the ebb, would go on up channel with it, and that therefore I
might have to hang about here for days before they landed, even were
they to land at all. And this I had heard said many times by the men of
the levy, some, indeed, saying that they might as well go home again.
But I should do as well here as anywhere, or better, since, while
Matelgar was away, I might yet see Alswythe again; though that, after my
repulse by the sheriff, or perhaps I should rather say by his advisers,
I thought not of trying yet. It would but be another parting. Still, I
might find old Wulfhere, and send her messages by him before setting out
westward again.
Almost was I dozing, for the day had been very long, when from close to
Stert came that which roused me completely, setting my heart beating.
It was a bright flash of light from close inshore, on the Severn side of
the tongue, followed by answering flashes, just as I had seen them at
Watchet. But now the flashes came and went out instantly, for I was no
longer looking down on the ship's decks as then.
Well was it that I had seen this before from Quantock heights; for I
knew that once again the Danes were landing, and that the peril was
close at hand.
Then at once I knew the terrible danger of Alswythe, for Matelgar's was
the first hall that would be burnt.
My first thought was to hasten thither and alarm Wulfhere, and then to
hurry back to that outpost I had passed half a mile away, for the
country danger must be thought of too.
Then a better thought than either came to me. If it was, as it must be,
barely half tide, the Danes would find mud between them and shore, too
deep to cross, and must wait till the ships could come up to land, or
until there was water enough to float their boats. I had an hour or more
yet before they set foot on shore.
Moreover, I would find out if landing was indeed meant, or if these were
but signals for keeping channel on the outward course.
So across the level meadows of Stert I ran my best, right towards the
place where I had seen the light, which was at the top, as it were, of
the wedge that Stert makes between the waters of Parret and the greater
Severn Sea. There are high banks along the shore to keep out the spring
tides, and under these I could watch in safety, unseen. Three fishers'
huts were there only; but these I knew would be deserted for fear of the
Danes.
So I found them, and then, creeping up the bank, I stood still and
peered out into the darkness. Yet it was not so dark on the water (which
gleamed a little in the tide swirls here and there beyond half a mile of
mud, black as pitch in contrast) but that I could make out at last six
long black ships, lying as it seemed on the edge of the ooze. And I
could hear, too, hoarse voices crying out on board of them, and now and
then the rattle of anchor chains or the like, when the wind blew from
them to me.
And ever those ships crept nearer to me, so that I knew they were edging
up to the land as the tide rose.
That learnt, I knew what to do. I ran to the nearest fishers' hut, and
pulled handfuls of the thatch from under the eaves, piling it to
windward against the wooden walls. Then I fired the heap, and it blazed
up bright and strong, and at once came a great howl of rage from the
ships, plain to be heard, for they knew that now they might not land
unknown.
So had I warned Osric the Sheriff, and that matter was out of my hands.
And, moreover, Wulfhere, being an old and tried warrior, would be warned
as well. That, however, I would see to myself, and, if I could, I would
aid him in getting Alswythe into a place of safety. So I ran back,
bending my steps now towards her father's hall, up the roadway, if one
might so call the track through the marshland that led thither.
Just at the foot of the hill I met three men of the outpost, who were
hurrying down to see what my fire meant. They challenged me, halting
with levelled spears across the track. Then was I glad of the password,
and answered by giving it.
"Right!" said the man who seemed to be the leader. "What news?"
I told him quickly, bidding him waste no time, but hurry back and tell
the sheriff that the Danes would be ashore in half an hour. I spoke as I
was wont to speak when I was a thane, forgetting in the dire need of the
moment that I was an outlaw now, and the man was offended thereat.
"Who are you to command me thus?" he said shortly.
"Heregar, the thane of Cannington." said I, still only anxious that he
should go quickly.
"Heard one ever the like!" said the man, and then I remembered.
I looked round at my fire. Two huts were burning now, very brightly, for
the wind fanned the flames.
"Saw you ever the like?" I said, and pointed. "Now, will you go?"
The bright light shone on a row of flashing, gilded dragon heads on the
ships' stems--on lines of starlike specks beyond them, which were
helms and mail coats--and on lines again of smaller stars above, which
were spear points.
"Holy saints!" cried the man, adding a greater oath yet; "be you Heregar
the outlaw or no, truth you tell, and well have you done. Let us begone,
men!"
And with that those three leapt away into the darkness up the hill,
leaving me to follow if I listed.
That was not my way, however, and I ran on to Matelgar's hall.
One stood at the gate. It was Wulfhere. Inside I heard the trampling of
horses, and knew that they would be ready in time. Wulfhere laid hand on
sword as I came up, doubting if I were not a Dane, but I cried to him
who I was, and he came out a step or two to me, asking for news.
And when I told him what I had seen and done, he, too, said I had done
well, and that I had saved Alswythe, if not many more. Also, that he had
sent a man to tell Matelgar of his plans. Then he told me that even now
the horses were ready, and that he was about to abandon the place, going
to the house of that thane of whom I had told him. And I said that I
would go some way with him, and then return to join the levy, making
known my ill-luck with Osric.
"Ho!" said he; "it was well he sent you away, as it seems to me."
That was the word of the old crone, I remembered, that it should be so.
Then came a soft touch on my arm, and on turning I saw Alswythe standing
by me, wrapped in a long cloak, and ready. And neither I nor she thought
shame that I should lay my arm round her, and kiss her there, with the
grim old housecarle standing by and pretending to look out over Stert,
where the light of my fires shone above the trees.
"Heregar, my loved one, what does it all mean?" she said, trembling a
little. "Have they come?"
I folded my arm more closely round her, and would have answered, but
that Wulfhere did so for me.
"Aye, lady, and it is to Heregar that we owe our safety, for he has been
down to Stert and warned us all."
At that my love crept closer to me, as it were to thank me. Then she said:
"Will there be fighting? And will my father have to fight?"
"Aye, lady," said Wulfhere again, "as a good Saxon should."
"Must I go from here?" she asked again; and I told her that the house
would be burnt, maybe, in an hour or so.
At that she shivered, and tried not to weep, being very brave.
"Where must we go?" she said, with a little tremble in her voice.
I told her where we would take her, and then she cried out that she must
bide near at hand lest her father should be hurt, and none to tend him.
And Wulfhere and I tried a little to overpersuade her, but then a groom
came to say that all was ready.
And, truly, no time must be lost, if we would get off safely.
Then I said that it would be safe to go to Bridgwater, for then we
should be behind the levy, and that the Danes must cut through that
before reaching us. And to that Wulfhere agreed, for I knew he would
rather be swinging his sword against the Danes at Stert than flying
through the woods of the Quantocks.
Alswythe thanked me, without words indeed, and then in a few minutes she
was mounted, and we were going up towards the high road to Bridgwater.
We had twelve horses, and on them were the women of the house, bearing
what valuables they might, as Wulfhere had bade them. One horse carried
two women, but they were a light burden, and we had no such terrible
haste to make, seeing that every moment brought us nearer the levy.
There were the men and boys as well, but they led the beasts.
Now when we reached the high road, some half mile away, suddenly
Alswythe reined up her horse, by which I walked, giving a little cry,
and I asked what it was.
Then she said, sobbing a little, that she would her cows were driven out
into the forest where they were wont to feed, lest the cruel Danes
should get them. And to please her I think I should myself have gone
back, but that Wulfhere called one of the men, who, it seemed, was the
cowherd, bidding him return and do this, if the Danes were not coming
yet. Glad enough was I to hear the man say that he had done it already
--"for no Dane should grow fat on beasts of his tending, and they were
a mile off by now."
So we went on, and every minute I looked to meet our levy advancing. But
the moon rose, and shone on no line of glancing armour that I longed
for, and Wulfhere growled to himself as he went. I would have asked him
many questions, but would not leave Alswythe, lest she should be
alarmed. And all the way, as we went, I told her of what had befallen me
with Osric, saying only that her father was there, but had not been able
to speak for me. And I told her of the old crone's words, which she
thought would surely come true, all of them, as they had begun to do so.
It is a long five miles from Matelgar's place to the town, and we could
only travel at a foot's pace. But still we met no force. Indeed, until
we were just a half mile thence, we saw no one. Then we met a picket,
who, seeing we were fugitives, let us go on unchallenged.
But Wulfhere stopped and questioned the men, and got no pleasant answer
as it seemed, for he caught us up growling, coming alongside of me, and
saying--for Alswythe could not know the ways of war--that they would
attack with morning light. But I felt only too keenly, though I knew so
little, that to fight the Danes when they had their foot firmly ashore,
was a harder matter than to meet them but just landed.
We were so close to the town now that I asked Alswythe where she would
be taken. Already we were passing groups of fugitives from the nearer
country, and the town would be full of them, to say nothing of the men
of the levy.
She thought a little, and then asked me if she might not go to her
father, wherever he was. But I told her that he was but a guest of
Osric, as it seemed. Then she said that she would go to her aunt, who
was the prioress of the White Nuns, and bide in the nunnery walls till
all was safe. And that seemed a good plan, both to me and Wulfhere, for
it would--though this we said not to Alswythe--set us free to fight,
as there we might not come, and she would be safe without us.
Then I told Wulfhere how we could reach that house without going through
the crowded town, and so turned to the right, skirting round in the
quiet lanes.
The gray dawn began to break as we saw the nunnery before us, and it was
very cold. But Alswythe pointed to a crimson glow behind us, as we
topped the last rise, saying that the sun would be up soon.
Wulfhere and I looked at each other. That glow was not in the east, but
shone from Matelgar's hall--in flames.
And then we feigned cheerfulness, and said that it would be so; and
Alswythe smiled on me, though she was pale and overwrought with the
terror she would not show, and the long, dark, and cold journey.
We came to the nunnery gate and knocked; and the old portress looked out
of the wicket and asked our business, frightened at the glint of mail
she saw. But Alswythe's voice she knew well, as she answered, begging
lodging for herself and her maidens, till this trouble was over.
It was no new thing for a lady of rank to come into that quiet retreat
with her train when on a journey; and after a little time, while the
portress told the prioress, the doors were thrown open, and we rode into
the great courtyard, where torches burnt in the dim gray morning light.
Then came the prioress, mother's sister to Alswythe, a tall and
noble-looking lady, greeting her and us kindly, and so promising safe
tending to her niece so long as she needed.
Here Alswythe must part from me, giving me but her hand to kiss, as also
to Wulfhere, but there was a warm pressure on my hand for myself alone
that bided with me. And the prioress thanked us for our care, not
knowing me in the half light, and in mail, and so were we left in the
courtyard, where an old lay brother, brought from the near monastery,
showed us the stabling and provender for our horses, and the loft where
the men should sleep, outside the walls of the inclosed building.
Here Wulfhere bade the men and boys remain, tending their horses until
he should return, or until orders came from their master himself or from
the lady Alswythe; for they were thralls, and not men who should be with
the levy.
Then he and I went out into the roadway and walked away until we were
alone.
"What now?" I asked.
"I must join my master, telling him what I have done, and that the lady
is safe. So shall I march with the rest most likely. What shall I say of
your part in this?"
"Nought," I answered.
"Maybe that is best--just now," he agreed.
We had come to the town streets now, and they seemed empty. The light
was strong enough by this time, and there came a sound of shouting from
the place of the market cross, and then we heard the bray of war horns,
and Wulfhere quickened his pace, saying that the men were mustering, or
maybe on the march.
Then I longed to go with him, but that might not be. So I left him at
last, saying that I should surely join in the fight.
I had not gone six paces from him when he called me, and I could see
that he looked anxious.
"Master," he said, "this is going to be a doubtful fight as it seems to
me. Yon Danes know that the country is raised, but yet they have come
back, and they mean to fight. Now our levy is raw, and has no
discipline, and I doubt it will be as it was at Charnmouth. If that is
so, Bridgwater will be no safe place for the lady Alswythe. She must be
got hence with all speed."
"Shall you not return and hide with her?" I asked.
"That is as the master bids," said he, and then he added, looking at me
doubtfully, "I would you were not so bent on this fight."
Then was I torn two ways--by my longing to strike a blow for Wessex,
and by my love for my Alswythe and care for her safety. And I knew not
what to say. Wulfhere understood my silence, and then decided for me.
"You have hearkened to me before, master, and now I will speak again.
Get you to your place of last night on Combwich Hill, and there look on
the fight; or, if it be nearer this, find such a place as you know.
Then, if there is victory for us, all is well: but if not, you could not
aid with your one strength to regain it. Then will Alswythe need you."
"I would fain fight," I said, still doubting.
"Aye, master; but already have you done well, and deserved well of the
sheriff, and of all. He bade you fight not today--let it be so. There
is loyalty also in obedience, and ever must some bide with the things
one holds dear."
"I will do as you say," said I shortly, and so I turned and went.
He stood and looked after me for a little, and then he too hurried away
towards the cross. Then I skirted round the town, and waited at that
place where I had met with the old woman, until I saw the van of our
forces marching down the road towards Cannington. These I kept up with
by hurrying from point to point alongside the road, as best I might.
They were a gallant show to look on, gay with banners and bright armour.
Yet I had heard of the ways of armies, and thought to see them marching
in close order and in silence. But they were in a long line with many
gaps, and here and there the mounted thanes rode to and fro, seemingly
trying to make them close up. And they sang and shouted as they went.
When we came to the steep rise of Cannington hill, some of those thanes
spurred on and rode to the summit, and there waited a little, till the
men joined them. There was silence, and a closing up as they breasted
the steep pitch; and then I must go through woods, and so lost sight of
them for a while. I passed close to my own hall--closed and deserted.
Every soul in all the countryside had fled into the town, though after
the levy came a great mixed crowd of thralls and the like to see the fray.
Now here I thought to cross in the rear of the force that I might reach
Combwich hill. But that was not to be.
When I saw the array again it was halted, and the men were closing up.
And between the levy and that crowd of followers was a great gap, and
some of these last were making for the shelter of swamp and wood. I
myself was on a little rise of heathy land and could see plainly before
me the road going up over the neck of Combwich hill in the steep-sided
notch there is there, where the ascent is easiest.
And that road was barred halfway up the hillside by a close-ranked
company, on which the sun shone brightly, showing scarlet cloaks and
gilded helms not only on the roadway, but flanking the hills on either
side. These were the Danes, and behind them, over the hill, rose the
smoke from Matelgar's burnt home.
Even as I looked, a great roar of defiance came from our men; but the
Danes made no answer, standing still and silent. And that seemed
terrible to me. So for a moment they stood, and then, as at some signal,
from them broke out that deep chant with its terrible swinging melody,
that had come faintly to me from Watchet haven.
Then our men rushed forward, and even where I stood I could hear the
crash of arms on shields as the lines met--the ringing of the chime of
war--and our men fought uphill.
And now it needed all my force to keep myself, for Alswythe's sake, from
joining in that fray, and presently, when I would take my hand from my
sword hilt, it was stiff and cramped from clutching hard upon it, as I
watched those two lines swaying, and heard the yells of the fighters.
And indeed I should surely have joined, but there came a voice to me:
"Bide here in patience, Heregar, the king's thane! There is work for you
yet that fighting will hinder."
And the old crone, Gundred, who had come I know not how, laid her hand
on my arm.
"Look at the tide, Heregar, look at the tide!" she said, pointing to
Parret river, where the mud banks lay bare and glistening with the
falling water. "Let them drive these Danes back to their stranded ships,
and how many will go home again to Denmark, think you?"
And I prayed that this might be so: for I knew she spoke truth. If they
might not reach their ships, and became penned in on Stert, they were
lost--every one, for none might cross the deep ooze.
"Not this time, Heregar. Remember, when the time comes," she said.
And I paid no heed to her. For now horses were galloping riderless along
the road and into the fields. And men were crawling back from the fight,
to fall exhausted in the rear, and then--then the steadfast line of
the scarlet-cloaked Danes charged down the hill, driving our men like
sheep before them.
"Up and to your work!" said the crone, pointing towards Bridgwater; and
I, who had already made two steps, with drawn sword, towards that
broken, flying rabble, remembered Alswythe, and turned away, groaning,
to hasten to her rescue. For it was, as Wulfhere had said, all that I
could do.
Swiftly I went, turning neither to right nor left along the road,
hearing always behind me the cries of those who fled, and the savage
shouts of the pursuing vikings. I was in the midst of that crowd of
thralls once, but they thinned, taking to the woods whence I had come;
while I kept on.
Then I saw one of those horses, a great white steed, standing, snorting,
by the wayside where he had stopped, and I spoke to him, and he let me
catch and mount him, and so I rode on.
Yet when I came to the top of Cannington Hill I looked back. All the
road was full of our men, flying; and a thought came into my head, and I
dared to draw rein and wait for them, linking my mail again across my face.
They came up, panting, and wild with panic, and there with voice and
hand I bade them stand on that vantage ground and block the way against
the Danes; bidding them remember the helpless ones in the town, who must
have time to fly, and how the Danes must needs shrink from a second
fight after hot pursuit.
And there is that in a Saxon's stubborn heart which bade them heed me,
and there they formed up again, wild with rage and desperate, and the
line grew thicker and firmer as more came up, with the sheriff himself,
till the foremost pursuing Danes recoiled, and some were slain, and I
knew that the flight was over.
Then I slipped from my horse and made my way on foot, lest men should
notice my going, but the horse followed me, and soon I mounted him again
and galloped on.
Then I found that though I had not noticed it, my mail had fallen apart:
but I knew not if any had known me, or even had noted who I might be.
So I came to Bridgwater, bringing terror with me, as men gathered what
had befallen from my haste. Yet I stayed for none; but went on to the
nunnery.