THE GREAT FULFORD FIGHT.
The battle was at hand, and all the men knew that they were marching
into it.
"I'm in!" shouted Ned, the son of Webb. "But I haven't any horn to
blow. Hear 'em! They are all going wild! Fighting is what they live
for, and they're not good for much of anything else, to speak of."
No generalship whatever was exercised in the selection of the
battle-field. The lay of the land, as Ned remarked of it, had provided
all that beforehand, and it gave no especial advantage to either army.
Nearly midway between the river Ouse, on the left of the Vikings, and
the river Derwent, on their right, was the moderately elevated level of
land along which they were marching. The banks of the rivers on either
side of them were swampy.
It would have seemed good military policy for the English earls
to abide behind the strong walls of York, after having missed the
opportunity to meet their enemies at the landing. They may, however,
have been aware that a large part of Hardrada's forces had landed
below the mouth of the Derwent, and was still on the wrong side of
that river. This, perhaps, induced them to strike a blow at the nearer
division before it should be reinforced.
"Here we are!" shouted Ned, as he rode out from a patch of wood. "See
how our lines are forming, all the way across, between the swamps. Look
yonder! Standards and clouds of dust! The English are coming! A host of
them!"
"The king hath ordered us to halt, and let them charge," replied Lars.
"This is my first battle! Hurrah!"
"Hail to thee, O my son! Glad am I to find thee," called out a loud
voice from a column of spearmen, catching up with them. "Come thou and
join thy father's men. Thou shalt fight at my side this day. Let Ned,
the son of Webb, ride on and be with Tostig the Earl, as is his duty."
"All right!" shouted Ned. "Go ahead, Lars!"
"God keep you all this day!" earnestly responded Father Brian. "I will
keep the boy out of harm's way, if I can. By the side of Earl Tostig in
this fight will be a place for strong men."
Leif, the son of Beo, wheeled away with Lars, and Ned shouted after
them:
"Oh, Vebba! I am coming to join thee and Lars as soon as we have taken
York."
"Maybe thou wilt and maybe thou wilt not," growled Father Brian. "A
good many Vikings are to be killed before sunset. Look how the Saxons
come on! I am willing to keep well away from their axes."
So was Ned himself, and, being on horseback, on pretty high ground, he
was able to get a fair view of all that was going on.
Except for arrows and javelins, all the fighting would be hand to hand,
so that personal skill and strength would count for all they were
worth, while the small and weak were pretty sure to go down.
"There is the banner of King Hardrada," said Ned, "away at the left,
toward the Ouse River. I guess Tostig is with him, and I won't go in
that direction. Father Brian and I can see more if we stay in the
middle. Whoop! Here comes the crash! It's awful!"
It was the tremendous onset of the English. It struck the Norwegian
line first at the right, and all opposition seemed to be crushed
before it. There could be no question of the courage or prowess of the
Northumberland warriors, and their earls were leading them well.
"All the saints!" exclaimed Father Brian. "Are we to be beaten at once?
Then I am thankful that thou and I will have a chance to ride away, for
the English will spare no man."
"Wait a bit," replied Ned. "The king and the earl are charging in.
All their best men are with them. See the rush of Hardrada, with his
two-handed sword. He is like a man a-mowing! He is a giant!"
He had a sudden advantage given him, too, for the English followed the
routed Vikings on the right, so that their own flank was exposed. They
were necessarily in some disorder when the rush of the king's veterans
struck them. Even numbers were at this point much in favour of the
invaders, and there was soon a change in the aspect of the battle.
Hard, terrible, desperate, was that long struggle of life and death.
The slaughter thinned the ranks on both sides fearfully.
More and more intense became the interest of Ned, the son of Webb,
and his companion. Almost unconsciously they pushed forward to get a
nearer view of the combat. The contending forces were in many places so
mingled that it was hardly possible to distinguish one party from the
other. The din was dreadful.
"Hullo!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "I declare! Father Brian's horse has
run away with him. I hope he won't be killed."
His own animal also grew restive, and the next minute he was charging
forward as if to take his share in the battle.
"I can't hold him in!" groaned Ned, tugging at his rein. "He is worse
than Nanny herself. There, though! The English are breaking everywhere.
It's going to be a first-class victory for us. Oh, dear! This fellow is
taking me right along to the very front!"
There was peril, indeed, in that. There was no telling how far or into
what the now frantic beast might gallop on.
Bound after bound, neighing loudly with fear, he dashed forward into
the very thickest of the awful carnage, while his rider stared wildly
around him upon the slayers and the slain.
"Oh!" yelled Ned. "That spear struck him! I must get off! He is
falling!"
One of the hundreds of flying javelins had smitten his horse in the
chest, burying its long, sharp blade almost a foot deep. Down sank the
dying victim, snorting, screaming, and Ned sprang off only just in time
to escape from being rolled under him.
"I did it all the better," he remarked, "for having no saddle or
stirrups."
Out came his sword, but before he could do anything with it the rush
of the battle swept on beyond him. The English were now retreating in
disorder, but the greater part of them were fighting as they went.
Many of them, it was afterward said, were driven into the swamps and
into the rivers, but the stories told were probably exaggerated. At
all events, thousands of them were slain, and the defeat of Edwin and
Morcar was decisive.
Ned was on foot, now, and he had marched forward, for he did not see
that he was in any danger.
"They won't hold up till they get to York," he was saying. "Just see
this!"
He was standing at a spot where the flying English had made a
despairing rally, and all around him were scattered scores of slain or
disabled warriors. At his very feet was a sort of half circle of them,
and he was staring at their shattered armour when a loud cry arose from
a mailed form which had lain at full length upon the bloody grass.
"One more!" it shouted. "I will strike one more good blow against the
outlanders! Out! Out! Holy cross! Down with thee, O wolf of Norway!"
Ned, the son of Webb, had barely time to lift his shield before his
enemy was upon him. He was nearly taken by surprise.
"Glad my sword was out," he said, "but what's the use of hacking at
such an iron rig as his is? I can't hurt him. My suit is a good one,
too. Let him chop away."
It was on his mind that more of the dead or wounded Saxons might get up
and come at him, however, and he felt that he was in the worst kind of
scrape. What would have been the result if his opponent had been fresh
and unwounded was easy to calculate, for he was a large, strong man.
As it was, Ned's greater agility and skill were enabling him to make
a particularly good fighting appearance when something large and dark
came springing to his side.
"Down!" roared a terrible voice, and a flash of steel fell cleavingly
upon the helmet of the big Saxon. He dropped as if struck by
lightning, and then Ned found himself looking up with astonishment into
the fierce face of Tostig the Earl.
"Art thou here?" he exclaimed. "Verily, thou hast done well, but thou
art no match for such as he. He was one of the strongest knaves that
rebelled against me. O son of Webb, I will remember thee well for this!"
Ned hardly knew what to say in reply, and the earl's face grew
thoughtful.
"Thou art of York," he said. "I bid thee take thy first opportunity to
get inside of the walls. Learn all thou mayest, and be ready to answer
when I question thee. I would know what is said in the city."
"I will get in as soon as I can," said Ned, "but just how, I don't
know."
Away spurred the earl, and Ned looked after him, remarking:
"He is a tremendous fellow! I guess he saved my life, and I kind o'
like him. I wonder, though, if he thinks that I killed all of these
Danes and Angles and Saxons that are lying around here. If he does, I
must explain it to him some day. I wouldn't care to have it look as if
I told him so."
It was too late for any explanations at the present time, and he was
ruefully considering what it might be best for him to try next, when a
cheerful but somewhat anxious voice came to him from a little distance.
"Ned, my boy!" it exclaimed. "Art thou there? I am glad, indeed, to
find thee. Hold on till I get to thee."
"Come on, Father Brian," shouted back Ned. "Where is thy horse? Mine
was killed by a spear."
"The evil beast pitched me into the grass," responded the missionary,
rapidly striding nearer. "I will see if I can get me another before
long. I will do no walking if there is a horse to be had. Mark thou
this, though. Hardrada hath won this battle of Fulford, truly, but
it hath cost him more men than he can spare. If the English are going
to fight like this, the Vikings will all be killed before the land is
conquered. It is about as I told thee it would be. They have Harold of
England to deal with, yet."
The battle-field was a fearful place for any man to stroll around in.
Nearly the entire space between the two marshes was littered with
corpses. In many places the slain lay in heaps which told of especially
severe encounters, or pitiless massacres. They were not all Saxons, by
any means, and Ned could understand the forebodings of his intelligent
companion. Whether or not it was because Father Brian was a highly
educated man, and could both read and write, he seemed to be something
of a general if not also of a statesman.
The distance from the field to the city of York was but a mile or so,
and all that was left of the English army was already safe behind
the walls. More had escaped, doubtless, than the Vikings were willing
to believe or tell of, and they were in no condition for an immediate
attack upon strong fortifications. No more of the invading forces were,
as yet, crossing the Derwent River, and the weary victors marched on to
make their camp for the night near the margin of that stream.
"I guess Tostig will have enough to do without thinking of me," said
Ned to himself. "He won't send for me, anyhow, until he thinks I've
made a trip to York and back. What on earth could I say if he were to
ask me what street there I lived on? I was never there in my life, and
I might have to own up. What I want most, just now, is to know where
Vebba's men are, and if Lars did any fighting. I don't think they got
to the front."
At this hour the King of Norway and his officers were hard at work
finding out the state of their forces, and trying to get them into
shape for whatever might be coming next. They were in no fear of any
immediate attack from the terribly shattered lines of the English
earls, but it would be necessary to make short work of the subjugation
of the northern counties of England. These, as to their boundaries and
organisation, were in effect nothing more than old kingdoms of the
Saxon Heptarchy, as changed, from time to time, by Danish and other
conquests. There was no such thing, in those days, as a united, solid
England. Several kings were yet to reign, and much blood was to be
spilled, before such a result as that would be accomplished. Ned, the
son of Webb, discovered, in his conversation with Father Brian, as they
walked on among the camps, that his friend was possessed with a curious
idea that Great Britain, for its good, must some day be annexed to
Ireland.
"Then, my boy," said the enthusiastic missionary, "thou wilt see what
can be done for all these heathen by conversion and civilisation and
education. This will become almost as fine a land to live in as Ireland
itself--but not quite."
They had little difficulty, after all, in discovering the camping-place
of so well known a chief as Vebba. When it was reached there was an
exceedingly noisy welcome, with an exchange of news items. The men
liked Ned, the son of Webb. Even Sikend the Berserker shook hands with
him, for he had heard that the young hero from York had been seen in
the very front of the battle, doing wonders of valour, and afterward
chasing the beaten Saxons and Danes and Angles into the swamps of the
Ouse.
"What a dime novel it all is!" thought Ned. "And Vebba's men take their
share of the victory and the glory, although they were not in it at
all. Why, if it were in our army, old Vebba might be promoted to be a
brigadier, and Sikend to be a colonel."
However that might be, he and Lars had a tremendous time by
themselves, exchanging yarns and experiences, and then they slept like
a pair of warlike tops.
The next day was Thursday, for the battle had been fought on Wednesday.
All the army knew, at an early hour, that messengers were coming and
going between King Hardrada, on the one side, and the English earls, on
the other. It was said that a treaty of peace was making, and that the
King of Norway was at once to become king of all that part of England,
with Tostig under him as Earl of Northumberland.
"Now, Father Brian," inquired Ned, "what do you think of that
arrangement?"
"What do I think of it, indeed?" replied the subtle-minded priest.
"It needeth no thinking. It is as plain as is thy nose upon thy face.
Edwin and Morcar are doing the thing that I would do myself, if I were
in their place. They are skirmishing to gain time, and to put Hardrada
into as deep a trap as they can dig. Not either of them is really
intending to give up anything. Neither thou nor I would be in a hurry
to give up an earldom, and surrender to the vengeance of Tostig first,
and then to the wrath of King Harold of England."
"Thou thinkest they are playing sharp?" said Ned. "If that is so, then
all we have to do is to watch out for a bit and we'll hear something
drop. According to your idea, there's the biggest kind of a mistake
being made by Hardrada."
"Just so," said the missionary, quite thoughtfully, "and thou and I may
not remain in the Viking camp any longer than we can help. The command
given thee by Tostig the Earl upon the battle-field must be obeyed by
thee speedily, and I will accompany thee into York."
"All right," said Ned. "We don't want to see Tostig again until we have
done something worth while."
"Let us now walk around," said Father Brian. "Talk not so much in thy
Saxon tongue. I wish to see the Stamford bridge over this swampy river
Derwent. It is the only crossing for miles and miles, up and down. The
river is not deep enough for ships. I think it is a part of the trap
set for Hardrada."
"What he needs," remarked Ned, "is a lot of East River and North River
steam ferry-boats. They would take over a whole army before bank hours.
They do it, now, every day in the year."
All of the invading army that was on the York side of the Derwent was
now lying near the head of the bridge the missionary spoke of. On the
other side of the river was encamped very much the larger part of the
remaining strength of King Hardrada. To this larger division additions
were all the while coming from the ships in the Humber.
"Here we are, my boy," said Father Brian, as he and Ned came to the
bridge. "It is a good one, what there is of it, but it's narrow and
there is no fort at either end of it."
"I should say it is about wide enough for one two-horse wagon," said
Ned. "Two of them couldn't pass each other on it. For its length, it's
about the meanest bridge I ever saw. It would take our army a long
while to foot it across that thing."
"It is my opinion," said the missionary, sombrely, "that every last man
of King Hardrada's army would do well to walk over it this day, one
way or the other, and join forces. I have had my look at it and I will
go. It is thy duty and mine to get into the city of York as soon as
possible, and stay there."
"I must get in, anyhow," said Ned. "I wouldn't like, even now, to have
the earl come riding along and find me here. He's rough. I think any
man would want to get behind good walls, just now, though--unless he
had his life insured pretty heavily in good companies."
Father Brian stared at him for a moment, but that was one of many of
the sayings of Ned, the son of Webb, to which the good man did not
attempt to make any reply.