Cædwalla

Chapter XVIII “Let’s Whip the Stragglers o’er the Seas Again.”

All Arwald’s men having now come in, that chieftain quickly drew them up ready for attack. His object was to let none escape; indeed, there was not much chance of any of them doing so, even if he had not taken especial precautions against it. The sea had by this time come up, and all the waste mud of Brædynge Haven was a glittering, sparkling lake. Wulf’s little boat was floating not far off, dancing to its moorings on the rippling wavelets. A few despairing fugitives were sitting near the now impassable ford, awaiting the issue of the fight, with a listless expectancy. Their own fate would soon be settled, and the only doubt was how they would be killed. Some, however, who still kept their wits about them, were slipping away towards the other ford nearer Sandown Bay, where Ceolwulf had first crossed, and which was some two miles distant.

The few moments of suspense before the fight began, were demoralising to Wulf, the Atheling’s, handful of men. To stand still to be attacked is at all times a trying business when the force to be attacked is equal, or larger, than the assailing force; but when the latter is four times the number of the former, and the fight is to be a desperate hand-to-hand mêlèe, with such formidable weapons as axe and broad sword, the trial to the nerves is naturally very much greater, and Wulf the Atheling would have acted much more wisely if he had charged the enemy before they had recovered their breath, or were drawn up in order. The one important thing was to keep his men’s courage up, and for that there was nothing like action, and there Athelhune had shown better generalship, although the fortune of war had gone against him. Had Wulf possessed Athelhune’s decision, he might have broken Arwald’s men for a time, and then been able to cross the ford before they could rally again; but unfortunately, Wulf was only a handsome, careless, thoughtless fighter, of no more use than any other brave thrall or ceorl there. He had no judgment, no decision, no head.

Arwald, without further delay, gave the order to fall on, and rode straight for Wulf the Atheling. There was no indecision now on Wulf’s part, the fight was coming; there was nothing more to do but use arm, and back, and foot—no head to direct others was now required; each man must fight his own way, and sell his life as dearly as possible. Calmly awaiting the charge of the heavy horseman, Wulf looked his antagonist straight in the face, and never blenched. The spear-point of Arwald’s weapon came swiftly towards him, the powerful horse sprang, with long strides, to bear him to the ground; another second and Wulf would be transfixed, trampled on, dead. His axe flashed, his strong and active figure sprang aside; another gleam of the axe and Arwald was toppled off his horse. The first blow sheared off the spear-point, and the second, swung round at Arwald as he was carried past his victim, caught the chieftain between the shoulders, and rolled him over his horse’s neck to the ground. But the blow had done no further injury, given as it was at an object that was retiring; it only had sufficient force to knock Arwald off, there was not power enough to cut through his mail shirt. Before Wulf could follow his blow by a second, he received a swinging cut on his helmet, which caused sparks to dance before his eyes, and his head to buzz with humming dizziness; instinctively striking straight before him, his axe clove the thigh of a horseman in the act to pierce Beornwulf, who was by his side. But blows were raining on all sides: the clash of sword and axe, the smashing sound of crashing wood, or sharp swish of cloven iron, as blows went home; the groan of sorely-stricken men, or the shriek of some agonised fallen one, as the combatants trode upon his prostrate body, wild yells and muttered oaths, and dust and ruin; so went on the dreadful work for some few minutes. So thick was the mêlèe that friend blindly hit friend, and no man could tell how the battle was going. Arwald had risen to his feet, more mad with rage than ever, and struck wildly, and with prodigious force, now right, now left, now down, hewing a way through the men opposed to him. Several heavy blows he received, but none that incapacitated him, and at last it dawned upon him that he was striking at empty air. Before him was the river Yare, behind him was the fight, he had cut right through the little force. Grimly he turned and looked at the raging mass. Savagely he smiled as he rested on his gory axe, and watched the wild and ghastly murder.

There was fierce fighting still going on, and it was difficult to see the extent of the loss; many men were down; some were trying to crawl from among the legs of the combatants, others lay still; while others again, in whom the fierce spirit of the fight still glowed in spite of their desperate wounds, clutched at the legs of their antagonists and brought them to the ground. But the fight was too fierce to last long, and they were too crowded to ply their ghastly blows with sufficient effect. Seeing this, Arwald shouted in a stentorian voice, when a lull in the murderous din allowed him a chance for his words to be heard, that all his men were to fall back and rally around him; at the same moment he cleft to the chin a wounded Wihtwara, who was trying to crawl down to the waterside to hide among the sedgy banks. Pleased with this dastardly stroke, he strode past the writhing, struggling mass, and took up his position some little way off on the right of the fight. His own men sullenly obeyed, drawing off from their antagonists reluctantly. It was then seen how terrible had been the few minutes of that cruel work. The ground was strewn with dead, the nature of many of their wounds was awful—too awful to be described—and the scanty remnant of Wulf’s little force remained resting on their axes or their swords. The combatants were now able to judge of their losses, and the effects of the fight. Very few of Arwald’s horsemen remained mounted, and many of his best warriors were lying on the ground; but Wulf’s men were greatly reduced. About two-thirds were still left, and the Atheling himself was able to wield his axe; but many had received desperate wounds, and in several cases the power to use axe or sword was entirely gone, as from the close nature of the fighting, and the absence of any guard to sword or axe, the fingers had suffered severely; and the maimed appearance of the men told how hopeless the next struggle must be, for of the two-thirds that survived, at least half were disabled in either one hand or the other, while many had lost all four fingers of one hand, and a thumb off the other, and in some instances both hands were shorn off at the wrists. Arwald’s people had suffered in the same way, but the proportion of fighters remained about the same as before.

Wulf the Atheling saw that their hours were numbered; each man of his force felt the same. He himself was bleeding profusely from a large gash in his shoulder, and one arm was nearly useless. His axe was notched, and stained deep-red. His helmet was deeply dented, and he looked faint and ghastly; but the spirit of his race was in him, and he prepared to sell his life as dearly as might be. Turning to his men he said briefly:

“Comrades, we shall meet ere long in Valhalla; remember, the more we slay, the happier we shall be; rejoice then, that we shall so soon live for ever, and shall have so many to meet us there.”

Then turning to Arwald, he cried tauntingly:

“Boaster that thou art, where are thy young men? Look at the ground in front of thee. Who measured his length upon it? Dastard and villain, no wonder thou darest not fight it out with me, but must bring four to one to the fight, and yet canst not beat us. Are the Wihtwaras no better than this? But yesterday, an old woman—a bald-headed one—and a child, killed six of your warriors. Go bring thy women to kill us, they will fight better than thou.”

Arwald, disdaining to reply, led his men nearer to the Yare, and advanced once more to the attack. Wulf and his men grimly awaited them. Suddenly the Atheling heard his name called, and looking across the Yare, he saw old Ceolwulf standing by the water’s edge, and at the same moment a whizzing sound rushed through the air, followed by a yell from one of Arwald’s men:

“Make for the boat, Prince Wulf; thou canst reach her if thou makest a dash for it; at least some of ye can be saved!” shouted Ceolwulf, pointing to the boat which rode at her moorings not more than a few hundred yards away.

The advice was good, but could Prince Wulf act on it? Could he leave his men to be slaughtered, and seek safety in flight? Life was dear to him: he was handsome, young, and loved pleasure. He could do more good with a few men to defend the stockade, than by dying there, he thought. Fresh hope came to him, he wavered, and as Arwald’s advance seemed unaccountably checked, he determined to take advantage of the moment, and make a rush for the boat. Instantly the whole band broke up. The faith in the pleasures of Valhalla was overbalanced by the desire to realise those of this earth a little longer; and each man as he was able ran for dear life. Arwald gave a yell of rage, and shouted to his men to follow at the top of their speed; but as he started at a run to set the example himself, he received a violent blow on the side of his forehead, that for a moment stunned him; many of his men were falling, or were receiving severe cuts. What was it? Where did these invisible blows come from?

“There, there, from the other side of the water!” shouted one of his men, pointing to a large party of boys led by Wulfstan, who was plying his sling with delighted vigour. The speaker was unable to finish his sentence, for he received a crashing blow on his mouth which knocked several of his teeth down his throat. Arwald’s rage was frightful to see, and the pain of his cut forehead, combined with the partial blindness which resulted from it, for the blood from the wound ran down over his eye, made him dangerous to approach. But he still pressed on after the fugitives, hoarsely shouting to his people to hasten up. But Wulfstan and his troop of boys kept plying the solid mass with stones, and richly they enjoyed the fun, for almost every stone took effect. Arwald’s force was compelled to draw farther away from the water’s edge. Unfortunately for the full success of the diversion, where the boat was riding at anchor was out of reach of the stones, and now that Arwald’s people saw where the galling flights of stones came from, they kept out of range and continued the pursuit of Wulf and his men.

But the check the enemy had received gave a long start to the fugitives, which they had done their best to improve, and Wulf had reached the water’s edge and was hastily splashing through the shallow sea; he was now wading out to the boat and was scrambling in, followed by two or three others, the rest were crowding behind; it was clear the boat would not hold more than nine or ten, and what would become of the others? Therefore each man ran, and splashed, with desperate haste; many had fallen as they ran, dizzy with loss of blood; one or two, sullenly desperate, giving up all hope and determined to die hard, turned to face the enemy, prepared to brain the first man that dared to come near them; a few even did not await the foe, but rushed fiercely to meet him, shouting their death song, and met their end like ancient northern heroes. Beornwulf and Osborn and two of the Boseham men, who had fought gallantly, still survived; the two latter were close beside Wulf the Atheling, and all three had now clambered into the boat. The breeze was blowing fresh off the land; one of the South Saxons ran to the bows, and with a blow of his axe severed the moorings, and instantly the boat drifted away from the shore. Wulf had lost so much blood that the moment he had climbed into the boat he fell into the bottom of it, and lost all consciousness. The two South Saxons were both wounded, one had lost three fingers off one hand, and the other had a terrific gash in his forearm, so that they were not able to do much in the way of rowing; indeed, they did not attempt it, but were content to sit down and let the boat drift before the wind, merely steering her by an oar over the stern.

Beornwulf and Osborn shouted to them to come back and take in more, but with the callousness of utter weariness and exhaustion, they paid no attention, scarcely looking up or heeding anything, and thus drifted far down the broad Brædynge haven towards the entrance.

When the fugitives saw that they were abandoned, and no hope left, they uttered yells of execration on their leader, and stood helpless and stunned for a moment. One or two tore off their armour, and began to wade out as far as they could, and then swam for the opposite shore. The shallowness of the water greatly aided them, and many more followed their example. In this way about twenty reached the shore of Binbrygge-ea, and were helped up to the stockade by Ceolwulf and the boys, many of whom, however, with the curiosity of their age, waited to see what would become of those left.

There were not many now; Osborn had swum across, Beornwulf was too much exhausted. He and three more stood gloomily resting on their notched swords awaiting their death.

Arwald, and some three or four others, had reached the edge of the sea. Grimly the wounded warriors in the sparkling water eyed them.

“Run to water at last,” cried Arwald; “Look at the water rats that are afraid even of their own water.”

“But we are not afraid of thee, thou nithing,” shouted Beornwulf, “come and kill us if thou darest.”

Whatever faults Arwald had, he certainly was not a coward; but the day was his, he had done enough fighting, and he saw no reason why he should risk his life in a desperate encounter with reckless men who must die sooner or later. He gave orders, therefore, for some of his people to sit down on the shore, and wait until the wounded men should be tired of standing in the water. He himself then drew off with the rest of his followers, and gave orders for all to repose, and get what refreshment they could, until the tide had gone down sufficiently to allow them all to cross the Yare at the ford, and advance upon the fugitives.

Beornwulf, seeing that he could not entice any of the men to come out to him in the water, where he hoped, from the unsteady nature of the foothold, to be able to obtain an advantage over his adversaries, felt it was no use standing there to slowly die a miserable death. He turned, therefore, to the two or three who still stood with him, and declared his intention of returning to the shore to sell his life as dearly as might be. The others gave a sullen assent, and without giving their wounds any more time to stiffen, they waded back to the land. Arwald, before he left the men on the shore, had given orders to take the West Saxon and the rebel Wihtwaras, alive if possible. He intended, when the rest of Ælfhere’s men were taken, to have all the prisoners brought before him and his eorls at a banquet, and then put them to death. As Beornwulf and his companions therefore, approached the shore, Arwald’s followers got up and warily awaited them, and no sooner had they emerged from the water than all the enemy hurled themselves upon them. Beornwulf had only time to whirl his sword round his head, severely wounding one of his adversaries, when he was borne to the ground, pinioned by four men, and bound hand and foot in a moment. One of his companions was, more fortunately, slain, but the other two shared the same fate as Beornwulf; faint, weary, and despondent, they were conveyed in triumph to the main body, and were placed beside Athelhune to await their fate.

The afternoon was now far advanced; but Arwald was so inflamed with rage against his opponents, that he did not intend to give his men much rest, only sufficient to allow them to get such fresh vigour as would enable them to overcome any further resistance with certainty.

But besides the incitements of passionate revenge, there were other and more practical reasons why the attack should go on at once. They had brought very little food with them, hoping to take Ælfhere by surprise, or, at least, capture the homestead before the cattle and provisions should have been carried off. They were now feeling strongly the calls of hunger, but there was no chance of their getting any substantial food until they had crossed the Yare and come up with the encampment of the fugitives, or discovered some of their cattle.

There was no possibility of crossing the ford for another hour at least, and Arwald and his chief eorldomen improved the occasion by inspecting the men, and appointing leaders in the place of those who had fallen, and also in having their arms and belongings collected and placed securely under the same guard which was watching the prisoners. The arms were distributed to the men who had lost their own or had them injured, and in this way a better equipped, although much smaller force, was ready once more to renew the attack. The followers of Ælfhere were in a very hopeless position; all the powerful able-bodied men were either killed or prisoners, and all their arms and accoutrements had become the spoil of the conquerors. Only Osborn, and a few men, had been able to escape to join their companions on Yaver Hill, and these had been compelled to throw away their arms. The little boat, with the Atheling Wulf, when last seen, was scudding before the wind, through the narrow entrance of Brædynge haven, for they had managed to set up a sail in her, and were evidently steering straight for Selsea. They had a fair wind, but the chances were small of their ever getting there, for the men were desperately exhausted with their wounds, and had no food. Impatiently, Arwald waited for the tide to fall. He did not want the wounds of his men to become stiff, and they were all extremely hungry; besides, every minute gave the fugitives time to strengthen such defences as they could make, or contrive hiding-places for themselves in the dense scrub and bush that clothed Binbrygge-ea.

With the wind blowing right on Selsea, there was not any fear of Cædwalla coming yet; even if he had defeated the South Saxon eorls; but should the wind change—and it appeared to be getting rather more off the land—there would be every possibility of an invasion from the West Saxons: and Arwald had received news before he left Wihtgaresbyrig, that Cædwalla had given orders for a fleet to assemble at Portanceaster, which might at any moment set sail for Wihtea.

“Get in, one of you men, and see how deep that ford is!” cried Arwald, at last. And one of his men waded carefully into the water. He got on very well for a few steps, when suddenly he gave a plunge and disappeared, but reappeared again in a few moments a little lower down. Being a good swimmer he soon got out, but in a very dismal condition, for he had to land by the muddy banks of the Yare, which the rapidly falling tide was leaving bare. He had slipped off the gravelly bottom of the ford, not knowing that it turned at an angle in the middle of the stream.

“Here, blockhead!” cried Arwald, who was getting more and more savage at the delay, “try again, and feel the bottom with the end of thy spear.”

The man did as he was told, and this time he got across, after carefully feeling the gravelly hard which formed the ford. He was then told to cut down with his axe some withies, and stick them on the upper side of the ford. When this was done, Arwald gave the order for all to cross. As the leading men stepped into the water they were assailed by a violent shower of stones, one or two of which took serious effect, for one man lost an eye, and the others were cut about the face. Daunted by this warm reception the men drew back, but were driven to advance again by the fierce menaces of Arwald. The main body pressed hard upon them, and they were urged on by the weight behind. All they could do, therefore, was to put their shields up in front of their faces, and make a rush for it. The effect of this blind advance was that many of the men fell into the deeper part of the stream, and several were drowned, while many more were severely cut about the face. They could not see their stinging assailants, for the banks opposite were clothed with thick bushes down to the water’s edge.

When all the men had passed the ford, Arwald sent off a small party to drive away the stone throwers, who hastily withdrew through the bushes, without being caught. Wulfstan and Ceolwulf were with the boys, and all of them knew the bye-paths through the gorse and scrub, so that they were able to retire to the stockade unseen by the enemy.

Taught by bitter experience with what an active and enterprising foe he had to deal, Arwald sent out an advanced guard, and also a party on either flank, and thus effectually guarded himself from surprise. After marching for about a mile, and meeting with not a sign of any human being, Arwald began to get suspicious that all was not right.

“Where has this Ælfhere betaken himself and his belongings? We may march all night, and find nothing at this rate,” was the universal thought of the men, who were beginning to grow discontented at the amount of marching required of them.

It was obvious they must capture some one who should act as guide, or they would fare badly for that night. Wearily they trudged along through the narrow track, and it was getting more and more risky, penetrating such a bush with night coming on, and an active enemy near. True, Arwald had every reason to believe that scarcely any men capable of bearing arms were now left; for he knew how many had come from the mainland, and he also knew about the numbers Ælfhere could muster. Had it not been for this knowledge, even he, headstrong and passionate as he was, would scarcely have dared to go so far as he had done.

They had now come to a more open part of the wild land; it was a sort of common, covered with furze and brambles, which, in most places, grew very high and thick. The path lay through the middle of this, and the common appeared, as far as could be seen, to extend for some distance all round. Suddenly Arwald stopped and sniffed the air. The wind had now nearly died away, the sun was setting, and there was that stillness over nature which so sweetly harmonises with a lovely sunset. The light air, which gently came from the north, brought a smell of smoke with it, which caused Arwald to stop and look in that direction.

“The knaves are cooking over there,” cried Arwald, his mouth watering as the delicious smell of roasting meat reached his senses. “But they are making a big fire for it,” he added, as a great volume of smoke rose up not far off. “Call in the other men. They may mean to attack us under cover of this,” he shouted.

The men came in, and all the force was drawn up ready to repel any sudden onset. But no enemy appeared; all was as silent as the grave, save that a sharp crackling could be heard all round, from the north to the east side of the gorse-covered common. The common was on fire.

Volumes of smoke began to drive across their faces, the atmosphere was stifling. Ahead of them they could see the whole common in a red blaze; behind them the flames were bursting out. The dry gorse crackled and blazed, and dense masses of smoke eddied round their faces. No one paid any attention to Arwald’s orders; all with one thought broke away and tried to escape the blinding, smothering smoke. They rushed into the gorse on their right, they tried wildly to run through it. Faster and faster roared the flames, louder and louder crackled the gorse. The smoke became thicker, hotter, more stifling than ever, and which way to escape Arwald and his men, for the life of them, could not tell. The gorse on their right was impenetrable, while everywhere else it was on fire.

Of that well-armed, compact little band of some three hundred men, scarcely two or three remained together. Blindly, madly, they rushed through the tangled prickly bushes; numbers fell down; many fell into the deep gullies which lay hid in the furze all over the common; and all the while the fierce, glowing flames leaped, and crackled, and revelled in their hot destruction. Swiftly the curling smoke swept over and after the fugitives, suffocating the fallen ones; pursuing with its hot, stifling breath, the frantic, scared Wihtwaras. Where could they fly? The smoke was everywhere, and behind the smoke was the devouring fire.

The few men who preserved their presence of mind aimed for the corner of the common that was nearest to the wind, and with great difficulty, and many scratches, about a hundred managed to reach a place of safety on the edge of the common under some old gnarled oaks; the flames rolled away from this part and they were able to see the awful destruction of many of their comrades. As the fierce fire swept on in its rapid course, the charred and blackened limbs of the gorse curled and twisted like a million tortured snakes, and the shrill squeaking of innumerable agonised things filled the air. Here and there an awful figure writhed and rolled on the ground, and a sharp, thin voice, shrieked tortured cries. Some of these fearful forms rose up and ran madly a few paces, gibbering horribly, and then fell in a column of sparks among the smoking embers. Others sat, a shapeless heap, rocking to and fro, moaning in unearthly sounds. The fatal element had done its ghastly work. Ælfhere’s followers were well avenged.

“We must return to the ford,” said Arwald, sullenly. “They shall dearly pay for this.”

Wearily the band retraced its steps, skirting the edge of the fire to windward; and, without further attack, reached the ford, and found the guard and the prisoners where they had left them. They then returned to the homestead, and prepared to spend the night as well as they could.