Now men have said that this plan of mine needed no ghost to set it
forth, but is such that would enter the mind of any good leader. That
might be so had there been one there who knew the country as I knew it,
but there was not. And I was no general as was Eanulf. However that
might be, I tell what happened to me in the matter, and sure am I that
but for Matelgar's bidding I had never thought of this place or plan.
But once Ealhstan had heard thereof, the thought of it seemed ever
better to him. And when we were fairly marching along the level towards
Bridgwater he called me, and began to talk of that business of spying
out the crossing place.
Now I too had been thinking of that same, and asked him to let me go at
once, taking one man with me. Then would I rejoin him as best I might,
and close to the place where I might fix on means of getting over.
Now there seemed little danger in the matter, for our spies had reported
no Danes on this side of Parret, for they kept the water between us and
them, doubtless knowing that Osric had gone to Brent at first, and
thinking it likely that another levy might be made. So the bishop, not
very willingly, as it seemed to me, let me go, as there was none else
who could go direct to the point as I could without loss of time, even
as Osric told him.
Then I gave the standard into Wulfhere's hand, and must seek one to go
with me. First I thought of Wislac, but he was a stranger, and then my
eyes lit on my collier, and I knew that I need go no further. So I
called him, and taking him aside--while the men streamed past us,
looking at my silver arms and speaking thereof to one another--told
him what we had to do.
Whereat his eyes sparkled, and he said that it was good hearing.
"But, master," he went on, "take off those bright arms of yours and let
us go as marshmen. Then will be no suspicion if the Danes see us from
across the water."
That was wise counsel, and we left our arms in a baggage wagon,
borrowing frocks from the churls who followed us, and only keeping our
seaxes in our belts.
Then Dudda found a horse that was led with the wagons, and I bade the
man whose it was lend it to him, promising good hire for its use. And so
we two rode off together across the marshland, away by Burnham, while
the levy held on steadily by the main road.
Then was I glad that I had brought the collier, for the marsh was
treacherous and hard to pass in places. But he knew the firm ground, as
it were, by nature, and we went on quickly enough. Now and then we
passed huts, but they were empty; for away across the wide river mouth
at Burnham, though we rode not into that village, we could see the six
long black ships as they lay at Stert, and the smoke of the fires their
guard had made on shore.
But on this side of the river they had been, for Burnham was but a heap
of ashes. They had crossed in their small boats, doubtless, and found
the place empty.
Then at last we came to a hut some two miles off in the marshes from
Combwich, and in that we left our horses, giving them hay from the
little rick that stood thereby. To that poor place, at least, the Danes
had not come, for the remains of food left on the table showed that the
owners had fled hastily, but in panic, and that none had been near the
place since.
Now Dudda would have us take poles and a net we found left, on our
shoulders, that we might seem fishers daring to return, or maybe driven
by hunger to our work. For we must go unhidden soon, where the marshland
lay open and bare down to the river, the alder and willow holts ceasing
when their roots felt the salt water of the spring tides. But we had
been able to keep under their cover as far as the hut.
So we went towards the river, as I had many a time seen the fishers go
in the quiet days that were past; and we said little, but kept our eyes
strained both up and down the river for sign of the Danes.
But all we saw was once, far off on Stert, the flash of bright arms or
helm; and there we knew before that men must be.
On Combwich hill was no smoke wreath of the outpost fires I had feared,
nor could I see aught moving among the trees. Then at last we stood on
the river bank and looked across at the little haven. All the huts were
burnt and silent. There were many crows and ravens among the trees above
where they had stood, and a great osprey wheeled over our heads as we
looked.
"No men here," said my comrade, "else would not yon birds be so quiet."
But I could see no boat, and my heart sank somewhat; for nothing was
there on this bank wherewith to make the raft of which Wulfhere spake.
Then said I: "Let us swim over and see what we can find."
Now it was three hours after noon, or thereabouts, and the tide was
running out very swiftly, and it was a long passage over. Nevertheless
we agreed to try it, and so, going higher up the stream, we cast
ourselves in, and swam quartering across the tide.
A long and heavy swim it was, but no more than two strong men could well
manage. All the time, however, I looked to see some red-cloaked Dane
come out from the trees and spy us; but there was none.
Then we reached the other bank, and stood to gain breath, for now we
were in the enemy's country, and tired as we were, we threw ourselves
down in the shelter of a broad-stemmed willow tree, on the side away
from the hill and village.
In a moment the collier touched my arm and pointed. On the crest of the
hill stood a man, looking down towards us, but he was unarmed, as well
as I could see, and, moreover, his figure seemed familiar. We watched
him closely, for he began to come down towards us, and as he came nearer
I knew him. It was one of the Combwich villeins--a fisher of the name
of Elgar.
Now I would speak with him, for he could tell me all I needed; yet I
knew not if he had made friends with the Danes, being here and seeming
careless.
We lost sight of him among the trees, and the birds flew up, croaking,
from them, marking his path as yet towards us; and at last he came from
behind a half-burnt hut close to us. Then I called him by name.
He started, and whipped out a long knife, and in a moment was behind the
hut wall again. So I knew that he was not in league with the enemy, but
feared them. Therefore I rose up and called him again, adding that I was
Heregar, and needed him.
Then he came out, staring at me with his knife yet ready. But when he
saw that it was really myself he ran to meet me with a cry of joy and
knelt before me, kissing my hands and weeping; so that it was a while
before I could ask him anything. Very starved and wretched he looked,
and I judged rightly that he had taken to the woods from the first.
Presently he was quiet enough to answer my questions, and he told me
that at first the Danes had had a strong post on the hill above us; but
that, growing confident, they had left it these two days. But there were
many passing and repassing along the road, bringing plunder back to the
ships. He had watched them from the woods, he said.
Also he told me that even now mounted men had ridden past swiftly, going
to the ships, and from that I guessed that Eanulf's force had been seen
at least, and tidings sent thereof.
Then I asked him if any boats were left unburnt, and at that a cunning
look came into his thin face, and he answered:
"Aye, master. Three of us were minded to save ours, and we sank them
with stones in the creek before we fled. But the other two are slain,
and I only am left to recover them."
Now that was good hearing, and I bade the men show me where they lay,
and going with him found that now the water was low, we could see them
and reach them easily. There were two small boats that might hold three
men each, and one larger.
Then I told Elgar how I needed them for this night's work, and at first
he was terrified, fearing nothing more than that his boats should be
lost to him after all. But I promised him full amends if harm came to
them, and that in the name of Osric, which he knew well. And with that
he was satisfied.
So with a little labour we got the two small boats afloat, and then cast
about where to hide them; for though Elgar said that the Danes came not
nigh the place, it was likely that patrols would be sent out after the
alarm of Eanulf's approach, and might come on them.
At last Elgar said that there was a creek half a mile or less up the
river, and on the far side, where they might lie unseen perhaps. And
that would suit us well if we could get them there. And the time was
drawing on, so that we could make no delay.
Then out of a hollow tree Elgar drew oars for both boats, and we got
them out into the river, and Dudda rowing one, and Elgar the other, in
which I sat, we went to the place where they should be, keeping under
the bank next the Danes. And it was well for us that the tide was so
low, for else we should surely have been spied.
Yet we got them into the creek, Elgar making them fast so that they
would rise as the water rose. Then he said he would swim back, and if he
could manage it would raise the large boat and bring that also.
So without climbing out from under the high banks of the creek he
splashed out into the tideway, and started back.
Now Dudda and I must make our way along to the horses, and so we began
to get out of the creek, which was very deep, at this low ebb of the
water, below the level of the meadows. Dudda was up the bank first, and
looked towards Combwich. Then he dropped back suddenly, and bade me
creep up warily and look also, through the grass.
So I did, and then knew how near an escape we had had, for there was a
party of Danes, idlers as it seemed, among the burnt huts, turning over
the ashes with their spears and throwing stones into the water.
Then I saw Elgar's head halfway across the river, and knew he could not
see the Danes over the high bank. He was swimming straight for them, and
unless he caught sight of one who stood nearest, surely he was lost. It
was all that I could do to keep myself from crying out to him; but that
would have betrayed us also, and, with us, the hope of our ambush. So we
must set our teeth and watch him go.
Then a Dane came to the edge of the high bank and saw him, and at the
same moment was himself seen. The Dane shouted, and Elgar stopped
paddling with his hands and keeping his head above water.
Now we looked to see him swim back to this bank, and began to wonder if
the enemy would follow him and so find us. And for one moment I believe
he meant to do so, and then, brave man as he was, gave himself away to
save us; for he stretched himself out once more and began to swim
leisurely downstream, never looking at the Danes again; for now half a
dozen were there and watching him, calling, too, that he should come
ashore, as one might guess. But Elgar paid no heed to them, and swam on.
They began to throw stones, and one cast a spear at him, but that fell
short. Then the bank hid him from us; but we saw a Dane fixing arrow to
bowstring, and saw him shoot; but he missed, surely, for he took another
arrow and ran on down the bank.
Then Dudda pulled me by the arm, and motioned me to follow him, and I
saw no more.
Now the creek wherein we were ran inland for a quarter mile that we
could see, ever bending round so that our boats were hidden from the
side where the Danes were. Up that creek we ran, or rather paddled,
therefore, knee deep in mud, but quite unseen by any but the great erne
that fled over us crying.
Hard work it was, but before the creek ended we had covered half a mile
away from danger, and looking back through the grass along the bank
could see the Danes no longer. Yet we had no surety that they could not
see us, and therefore crawled yet among grass and thistles, along such
hollows as we could find.
At last we dared stand up, and still we could see no Danes as we looked
back. And then we grew bolder and walked leisurely, as fishers might,
not daring to run, across to that hut where the horses were. And
reaching that our adventure was ended, for we were safe, and believed
ourselves unnoticed if not unseen, for there was no reason why the Danes
should think aught of two thralls, as we seemed, crossing the marsh a
mile away, and quietly, even if they spied us.
After we reached our horses, there is nothing to tell of our ride back
to the bishop. We overtook him before dark, where his men were halted
two miles from Bridgwater, on the road, waiting for word from Eanulf.
Much praise gave he to me and the collier for what we had done, as also
did Osric. And we, getting our arms again, went back to our own places
well content; eager also was I to tell Wulfhere and Wislac of all that
had befallen, and how I had boats for the crossing.
And when they heard how Elgar the fisher had swam on, rather than draw
attention to the place where we two lay, Wulfhere nodded and said: "That
was well done," and Wislac said: "Truly I would I could do the like of
that. Much courage is there in the man who will face a host with
comrades beside him against odds; but more is there in the man who will
go alone to certain death because thereby he will save others."
Even as we talked there came riding a man from Bridgwater, going fast,
yet in no great hurry as it seemed. He rode up to us, for there was the
standard, and asked for the bishop, having word from Eanulf for him; and
Guthlac told Ealhstan, who came up to speak to him, bidding us bide and
listen.
What the man had to tell was this. That the Danes had, in some way, had
word of the march of our levies, and had straightway gathered together,
or were yet gathering from their raidings here and there, on the steep
hill above Bridgwater, having passed through the town, or such as was
left thereof after many burnings. And it was Eanulf's plan to attack
them there with the first light, if the bishop would join him with his
levy.
Then the bishop asked if there had been any fighting. And the man said
that there had been some between the van of our force, and the rear of
the Danish host; but that neither side had lost many men, nor had there
been any advantage gained except to clear the town of the heathen.
Having heard that, Ealhstan bade me go aside with him, and called Osric
and some more of the thanes to hold a council. And in the end it was
decided that Osric should take on the bulk of the levy to join the
ealdorman, while the bishop and I, and two hundred of the men, should
try that crossing at Combwich.
"For thus," said Ealhstan, "we can fall on the Danes from behind if they
stand or in flank if they retreat."
And except that the bishop would go with me, this pleased them well
enough; but they tried to dissuade him from leaving the levy. But he
laughed and said that indeed he was only going on before it, for to
reach him they would have to go clear through the Danes where they stood
thickest, and when they reached the standard, victory would be theirs.
Then they cried that they would surely not fail to reach him, and so the
matter was settled, and the thanes told this to their men, who shouted
and cheered, so that this seemed to be a good plan after all.
Now the bishop rode among the men, calling out those whom he knew well,
and bidding the thanes give him their best, or if they had no best, such
as could swim, and very shortly we had full two hundred men ranged on
one side of the road, waiting with us, while the rest went off towards
Bridgwater, the bishop blessing them ere they started. And as they went
they shouted that we should meet again across the ranks of Danes.
When they were gone the bishop bade us rest. And while we lay along the
roadside he went up and down, sorting out men who could swim well, and
there were more than half who could do so, and more yet who said they
were swimmers though poor at it.
Then he told me his plan. How that the men who could not swim must go
over first in the boats, and then the arms of the rest should be ferried
over while they swam, and so little time would be lost: but all must be
done in silence and without lights. So we ate and slept a little, and
then, when it grew dark, started off across the meadows. And there the
collier guided us well, having taken note of all the ground we had
crossed in the morning, as a marshman can.
It was dark, and a white creeping mist was over the open land when we
reached it. But over the mists to our left we could see the twinkle of
Danish watchfires, where they kept the height over Bridgwater; and again
to the right we could see lights of fires at Stert, where the ships lay.
But at Combwich were no lights at all, and that was well.
Presently we reached a winding stretch of deep water, and though it was
far different when I saw it last, I knew it was the creek in which our
boats lay, and up which Dudda and I had fled, full now with the rising
tide.
We held on down its course until Dudda told me in a low voice that we
were but a bowshot from the boats, and that now it were well for the men
to lie down that they might be less easily noticed.
So the word was passed in a whisper down the line, and immediately it
seemed as if the force had vanished, as the white mist crept over where
they had stood.
Now Dudda and I went down to the boats and there found, not the two we
had left only, but a third and larger one beside them. And at first this
frightened us, and we stood looking at them, almost expecting armed men
to rise from the dark hollows of the boats and fall on us.
Then I would see if such were there, and stepped softly into the
nearest. It was empty, and so was the next, and these were our two.
Dudda came after me, and he hissed to me under his breath. The oars had
been muffled with sacking.
Now none but a friend would have done this, unless it was a most crafty
trap to take us withal; and yet to leave the boats as they were had been
surer than to meddle with them, if such was meant.
Now Dudda, perplexed as I, though in my heart was a thought that after
all Elgar had escaped, stepped into the large boat, and there he started
back so suddenly as almost to overturn it, smothering a cry. Then was
silence for a moment, while I for my part drew my dagger. Then I saw him
stoop down, and again he hissed to me. The boats were afloat, and I drew
that I was in up to the big boat.
"Oh, master," said Dudda, whispering, "surely this is Elgar the fisher!"
And I, peering into the dark bottom of the boat could see a dark still
form, lying doubled over a thwart, that seemed to me to bear likeness to
him.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
"Aye, master, but not long," answered the collier; feeling about.
"Ah!" he said, with a sort of groan, "here is a broken arrow in his
shoulder, and in his hand somewhat to muffle the oars withal. Well done,
brave Elgar--well done!"
Then I climbed softly over the gunwale, and so it was. Wounded to death
as he had been by the arrow shot, he had yet in some way contrived to
get this boat here, and afterwards to use his last strength in muffling
the oars, and so died, spent, before he could end his task!
And for him I was not ashamed of weeping, thinking there in the
darkness, as we bore him hastily to the bank and laid him beyond the
reach of hurrying feet to come, of how he must have been shot, and so at
once feigning death have floated, or perhaps stranded on the mud, till
the Danes were gone, and then returned in spite of pain and growing
weakness to do what he had set himself for the sake of his country.
But there was no time for more than thought, and now that we knew the
boats safe, I went back to the bishop, and told him that all was ready.
And he, ever thoughtful, had told off skilful men to row the boats over,
and though now we must have enough for three, he had found six or eight
oarsmen, and there was no delay, though they must work with less change,
and the tide was still making, so that the pull to Combwich creek would
be hard.
Then ten men went softly to the boats, and at the last I bade them pull
across to where they might, not making for the creek, and in a minute or
two they were gone into the mist and darkness.
Then came crawling to the river bank some six or eight men, strong
swimmers, and would have tried to cross; but I bade them wait till the
next boatloads went over, so that they might cross beside them, and
cling to the gunwale if the stream was too strong. However, though most
knew that was good counsel, two must needs try it, and one got across,
nearly spent, and the other came back, clinging to the first boat to
return, else had he been drowned, and it was a lucky chance that the
boat met him.
Now the man who rowed this first boat reported that there was silence,
and no sign of Danes, on the other side, and so also did the rest as
they came. After that the crossing went on quickly, men swimming beside
the boats, and in an hour and a half all were over.
When we found that all was safe, the bishop bade me cross with the
standard, and so keep the men together. He himself came last of all.
When Wulfhere came, swimming beside the boat in which sat Wislac, he
took three men and went quietly to Combwich, which was nearly half a
mile from where we landed, and was back presently, reporting all quiet.
Then Dudda and the other rowers sank the boats, lest they should be seen
by chance, and so betray us and our crossing.
Now we went--I leading through this place I knew so well--round the
head of the little creek, and so on up the hill, walking in single file
almost, and very silently. And when we topped the hill--there before
us, among the tree trunks, glowed a little fire, and round that sat six
Danes, wrapped in their red cloaks, and, as I could see, all or most of
them asleep.
At that I stopped, and the line behind me stopped also, making a clatter
of arms as men ran against one another in the dark.
One of the Danes stirred at that, and looked up and round; but he could
see nothing, and so folded himself up again. Then I saw that they had an
ale cask.
Now I knew that this post must be surrounded and taken, and whispered to
Wulfhere, who was next me, what to do. And he answered that he would
manage it, bidding me stand still. Then he went down the line,
whispering in each man's ear, till he had told off twenty men, and them
he sent off right and left into the darkness and I was left with Wislac
standing alone, watching the Danes.
I kept my eyes fixed on them till they seemed to waver and grow dim, so
intently did I watch them; and then all of a sudden there was the sound
of a raven's croak, and into the firelight and on those careless
watchers leapt Wulfhere and his men from all around.
There was one choked cry, and that was all, and Wulfhere beckoned to me.
I advanced, and the line closed up and followed.
Now we stood on Combwich hill, and all was well so far. Ealhstan came up
to me, unknowing of what had caused the halt, being over the brow of the
hill, and when he knew, said it was well done, and that now we might
rest safely for a time.
So we bade the men sit down, and those who were wet made up the fire
afresh: for there was no need to put it out, but rather reason for
allowing the Danes to see it burning, as if in safety.
When we three sat by the bishop, Wislac asked what we were to wait for,
and, indeed, that must be the next thought.
Then said the bishop that after a while he would take the force to the
woods that overhung the roadway, and so wait for the Danes as Eanulf and
Osric drove them back; but that it was not more than midnight yet.
Then came a little silence, and in that I seemed to hear the sound of
footsteps coming up the hill from Combwich, and bade the others listen.
And at the same time some of the men heard the sound, and started up to
see who came. But they were the steps of one man only, walking carelessly.
Into the light of the fire stepped one, at the sight of whom the men
stared, though Wislac laughed quietly. It was that young thane who had
wanted to fight my friend Wislac on the day of the council. He was very
wet, and tired, throwing himself down beside us when he saw where we sat.
Ealhstan asked him who bade him come, and how he had followed us.
"Nearly had I forgotten a dispute I have with Wislac the Thane here.
Wherefore I asked no man's leave, but followed you just too late for the
crossing. So needs must swim. And here am I to see that Wislac counts
fairly, and that he may have the same surety of me."
Whereat we were obliged to laugh, and most of all the bishop, because he
would fain have been angry, and could not. Then the thane, whose name
was Aldhelm, asked who was the slain man over whose body he had
well-nigh fallen on the other side of the river. So I told them of Elgar
the fisher and of his brave deeds, and they were silent, thinking of
what his worth was; too great indeed for praise. Only the bishop said he
should surely have a mound raised over him as over a warrior, charging
us three, or whichever lived after this fight, to see to that.
Now we slept a little, posting sentries at many points, and giving those
next the Danes on either side the red cloaks of the picket we had slain,
lest daylight should betray them. It was in all our minds that at
daybreak our men would attack from Bridgwater, driving the Danes back on
us, and so we should fall on them while they were retreating, and
complete the victory. So we had men on the hill overlooking the road to
Bridgwater through Cannington that they might give us the first warning.
Therefore I slept quietly, and all with me. And as I slept I dreamed.
It seemed that I was standing alone on Brent Hill and from that I could
look all over the land of Somerset, as an eagle might look, but being
close to everything that I would see. And I saw all that I had done
since I stood there as a prisoner, watching myself curiously in all that
I did, and yet knowing all the thoughts that drove me to deed after deed.
And so through the mirk wood till I turned and slew, and armed myself,
and tormented my prisoner; then to the collier's hut, and my talking
with the child; then on till I saw the lights of the viking ships and so
thereafter bore the war arrow--everything, till at last I saw myself
sleeping under the trees, on the top of this hill of Combwich, and there
I thought my dream would surely end; but it did not.
For now out of the shadows came Matelgar and stood beside me and waked
me, and he told me that when the tide was out I must be up and doing.
And so he passed. And the old crone, Gundred, came out of the shadows,
and sat on her bundle of sticks and looked at me, and she too bade me be
up and doing when the tide was low. And she looked at the standard that
lay beside me, and said, "Aye, a standard; but not yet the Dragon of
Wessex"; and so she, too, faded away.
And then came Alswythe, and as she came, it seemed, as I looked, that I
stretched my arms to her; but she smiled and said, "Love, when the tide
is out, I shall be praying in the abbey for you and your men."
And then from beside her came Turkil, the little child, smiling also,
but hanging to Alswythe's dress as he said, "Warrior, when the water
falls low, my father will call me from the hill, and I will pray for you
and for him."
So these two were gone. And at that I seemed to see our men lie in
Bridgwater, and there was Turkil's father, the franklin, sleeping with
the rest. But up and down among them went Eanulf the Ealdorman, watching
ever.
Then fled I, as it were, to that hill where lay the Danes, and on the
road thither I saw Osric and twenty men, looking up at the fires that
burnt where the enemy lay.
And then I looked on those fires, and there were no men round them.
One shook me by the shoulder, and my dream went.
It was Dudda, and his eyes were bright in the firelight.
And over Brent the first streaks of dawn were broadening, and the mists
were gone.
"Master, master," he said, "come with me to the roadway. Something is
afoot."
Then I woke Wulfhere, asking him to wait for me, guarding the standard,
and followed my man swiftly to the place where the road cuts the hill.
And there was a knot of the men, standing and listening.
I listened also, and far off towards Cannington I could hear the sound
of the tread of many feet, for the morning was still and quiet; and the
men said that this was growing nearer.
Then knew I that the Danes were falling back to the ships without
risking battle, and my dream came back to me, with its vision of
unguarded watch fires, and it seemed to me that surely, unless we could
stay them, they would depart with the tide as it fell.
"How is the tide?" asked I of the men round me.
"Failing now," said one who knew, "but not fast."
Then I remembered things I had hardly noted in years gone by. How the
tide hung around Stert Point, as though Severn and Parret warred for a
while, before the mighty Severn ebb sucked Parret dry, and how the ebb
at last came swift and sudden.
"When the tide is low," said they whom I had seen in my dream.
And in a moment I recalled the first fight, and the words of Gundred,
and I knew that we had the Danes in a trap.
They were marching now in time to gain their ships and be off as the
last man stepped on board, with the full draft of the ebb to set them
out to sea beyond Lundy Isle, into open water. Nor had they left their
post till the last moment, lest our levy should be on their heels, or
else some more distant marauding party had not come in till late.
I went back to Wulfhere and told him this, and in it all he agreed.
And, as we whispered together, Ealhstan sat up, asking quickly, "Who
spoke to me?" and looking round for one near him, as it seemed.
"None spoke, Father," said I, "or none but Wulfhere to me, whispering."
"What said Wulfhere?"
"That the tide was failing," I answered.
The bishop was silent for a moment, and then he said:
"I heard a voice, plainly, that cried to me, 'Up! for the Lord has
delivered these heathen into your hands'."
"We heard no such voice, Father," I said, "but I think it spoke true."
Now the light was broadening, making all things cold and gray as it
came. And quickly I told Ealhstan what I had heard, and what both I and
Wulfhere thought of the matter.
"Can we let them pass us, and so fall on them as they gain the level
land of Stert?" asked Ealhstan, saying nothing more.
"That can we," I answered. "They will keep to the road, and we can draw
back to the edge of the hill, so taking them in flank as they leave it."
For the hills bend round a little beyond the place where the road falls
into the level below Matelgar's hall.
"So be it," said the bishop. "Go you, Wulfhere, and see how near the
host is, and come back quickly."
When he was gone the bishop bade me wake the men. And at first I was for
going round, but by this thane Wislac had waked, and had been listening
to us: and he said that if I would let him wake the men he could do it
without alarm or undue noise. Only I must raise the standard and bid
them be silent. At that the bishop smiled and nodded, and I raised the
standard, and waited.
Then Wislac stood up and crowed like a cock, and instantly the men began
to turn and sit up, and as their eyes lit on the standard raised in
their midst, became broad awake, each man rousing the next sleeper if
one lay near him. And there was the bishop, finger on lip, and they were
silent.
"Verily I thought on the hard chapel stones," muttered Guthlac, the lay
brother, behind me.
"It is the war chime, not the matin bell, you shall hear this morning,"
said one of his brethren.
"That is better--mea culpa," said Guthlac, clapping his hand on his
mouth to stop his own warlike ejaculation.
Then came Wulfhere back, swiftly. Barely a mile were they from the hill,
he said, and coming on quickly in loose order. Moreover, a horseman had
passed, riding hard to the ships, doubtless to bid them be ready. But
that would take little time, for these vikings are ever ready for
flight, keeping their ships prepared from day to day.