Chapter XX “’Tis True we are in Great Danger; the greater should our Courage be.”
When Ceolwulf and the rescued party reached the stockade it was a little past noon; the breeze that had been gently blowing from the east began to show signs of going round with the sun, for the weather was very fine. This fickleness of the wind was noted by Ceolwulf with a discontented grunt, for it was quite clear that any reinforcements that Cædwalla might send would be delayed by a westerly or south-westerly wind.
“Dost thou think Wulf the Atheling reached Selsea?” asked Wulfstan for about the hundredth time, and Ceolwulf, who was already grumpy enough at the prospect of the change in the wind, was exasperated at the persistency of his young lord.
“How can I tell thee? Why dost thou weary me so with such foolish questions? Thou wilt know fast enough when thou seest any boats coming,” and with this answer Wulfstan had to be content, until, in a moment of thoughtlessness, he should ask the same question again in the course of a few more minutes.
“I tell thee what it is, Biggun!” said Beornwulf, “I shall not be sorry for a bit of food; so if thou hast got any hereabouts let me see it.”
“All right, man. Thou shalt have it soon enough,” replied Ceolwulf, leading the way into the now completed stockade.
Beornwulf was surprised to see how well everything had been done. The area inside had been made very much larger; unfortunately, now that all their fighting men were nearly exterminated, almost too large for the little force who could defend it. Stores of food were piled up at the sides, and boards laid on the top of these, to act as platforms; logs were rolled against the only entrance, and shelters made for the defending force against missiles. Ælfhere and Malachi had been taken away, and were carefully concealed in a very impervious and wild part of the country, known only to a few of the most adventurous of the inhabitants, and it was intended to try to mislead Arwald into thinking that all the household servants, dependents, and belongings of Ælfhere were assembled inside the stockade, and to carry out this impression a few cattle had been kept inside, carefully penned up. All the trees that in any way commanded a view into the interior of the little fortification were cleared away, and a path down to the spring of water was defended by stout palings. Altogether, everything that prudence, foresight, and energy could do to render their position secure had been done: the only thing wanted to crown the preparations was a suitable number of defenders, and this it was now impossible to obtain. The midday meal had been postponed until Ceolwulf returned, and they all sat down inside the stockade, and made an excellent dinner. Free, careless, and in the enjoyment of the most perfect health, the majority of the men, like thoughtless children, forgot the danger they had passed, or the almost certain death that awaited them, in the animal pleasure of the moment, and, like the Homeric heroes, they sat eating much flesh, and quaffing home-brewed beer, in most absolute and unconcerned satisfaction.
All listened to Beornwulf’s account of what had gone on at the homestead, and there was a disapproving grunt from all when they heard how narrowly Arwald had missed being killed by Athelhune’s knife, but the applause was great as they heard how nobly the West Saxon eorldoman had met his death. But when Beornwulf came to his own part in the tragedy the rejoicing was tumultuous. The recital of these stirring deeds, and the example of stern, enduring indifference to death, had an excellent effect upon the men, and when dinner was over they all felt equal to any number of enemies. Indeed, so carried away were they all, that many openly said it was too much like women to stay behind wooden walls; they ought to sally out into the open; they could easily defeat such a miserable lot as the followers of Arwald, and among these was Wulfstan, who was overjoyed at the successes that had crowned his part in the fray hitherto. Although they could not help being depressed at the loss of all their fighting men in the fatal slaughter down by the meadows near the Yare, yet they attributed this entirely to the gross mismanagement of Wulf the Atheling, and their subsequent diversion in harassing the enemy at the ford, and the final total rout and retreat of Arwald, had fully compensated in their eyes for their previous defeat. And now this last success, in which Arwald had been bearded in his own hall, as it were, crowned the whole, and not a man doubted but that they would not only hold their own until Cædwalla could send them reinforcements, but would totally annihilate Arwald by their own unaided valour.
Ceolwulf alone was not blinded by their successes; in fact he could not but see that unless help were to come to them soon they must all succumb to the enormous odds Arwald would bring against them. After all, what had they done? They had worried Arwald; they had driven him back by a most fortunate stratagem, but such as could not succeed again. They had rescued some twenty of their own men, who would never have had to be rescued but for the bad generalship of their leader; but they had lost more than seventy of their best men, and among them Athelhune and the Atheling Wulf. They had put off the evil day for a few hours, that was all—a great deal if they could see any help coming; but at best no help was likely to come for another twenty-four hours.
Anxiously Ceolwulf looked at the clouds, the wind was getting more and more to the west, but it might go back again at nightfall. But how could they hope to hold out if once Arwald attacked in earnest? There was one hope. Arwald did not show any signs of moving yet; at least, no news had come from the outposts, and it was now getting on well into the afternoon. Perhaps his reinforcements had not come up, or he might intend a night attack.
The force left to defend the stockade amounted to not more than a hundred men. There was a large number of boys, but they could be of little use in a hand-to-hand encounter, and Ceolwulf turned it over in his mind whether it would not be better to leave them outside under Wulfstan; they had shown such talents for annoying the enemy without themselves receiving any damage, and they were so perfectly at home in the intricate paths and rough tracks, over the hills and through the woods, that he thought it would be wisest to send them outside, they might thus escape the destruction which was sure to await those in the stockade, and might create a useful diversion by stoning the enemy from the cover of the woods, for in running they could outstrip most men, and knew the land well.
Full of these anxious thoughts Ceolwulf had been meditatively leaning, with his head on his hands looking dreamily over the parapet of the stockade. The stockade from this point commanded a view, through a gap in the trees, where the land fell abruptly to a wooded dell below, of the distant sea to the east of the island, and consequently towards Selsea. The sun was getting low in the heavens, but his rays were still bright; and the light shone full on the far-distant line of downs beyond Cissanceaster. Ceolwulf had been gazing vaguely in this direction for some time, in the see-nothing sort of way in which men look intently at objects without in the least grasping their reality.
“Why, Biggun, old man,” called Beornwulf, who, now that he was thoroughly rested, and had had a good dinner, felt equal to anything, “What art thou looking so hard for? that is not where Arwald will come from;” and, as he spoke, he got up on to the platform by his side, but not looking in the same direction as Ceolwulf. Glancing up at the sky, he said, “I think the breeze is drawing more from the north again. We can’t make another beacon fire for Arwald, can we?” Then he turned round and looked out towards the sea, and in another second shouted, “There’s a fleet coming this way! Look at that dark patch on the water, half-way between Selsea and us.”
Ceolwulf looked, and instantly perceived that he had been gazing at this object for some time, but had never given it a thought.
There was no doubt about it. That dark patch, with here and there a brighter speck in the midst of it, was a flotilla, and the brighter specks were sails.
It was Cædwalla coming to save them.
But would he—could he arrive in time? Other eyes must have seen the flotilla too. Arwald would never allow the invaders to land without crushing the rebels first; and the flotilla could not, under the most favourable circumstances, reach Brædynge haven before two or three hours, and then they would have to disembark and march three miles before they could help them; and in four hours there might not be a man alive in the stockade.
At this moment Stuff rushed up, shouting that Arwald had crossed the Yare with more men than ever, and was advancing upon the stockade.
“Well, then, that puts an end to all my doubts,” said Ceolwulf. “Wulf, do thou take the boys outside. Thou art a sharp lad. Send two or three down to the point at the entrance to the haven. Tell them to light a fire there, and as soon as they can, let them tell Cædwalla where we are, and bid him hasten to our help. Anyhow,” muttered Ceolwulf, “he will avenge us on Arwald, and the eorldoman Ælfhere will be saved, and the boy too. If that happens, what matters it what becomes of an old man like me?”
So saying, the old Wihtwara got down off the platform and prepared to give the final directions before the last decisive struggle began. It was now about an hour before sunset. Why Arwald had not attacked sooner he could not understand; and he argued that he would not have attacked now had he not seen the flotilla, from which he concluded that all the reinforcements had not reached him, or that there had been some accident. Ceolwulf directed Wulfstan to go outside at once, bidding him be sure to do nothing rashly, but make his way down to the shore, and, above all things, keep out of Arwald’s way.
The boy took an affectionate leave of Biggun, but secretly resolved he would have a shot at Arwald before he retreated; and he was not sorry to have an opportunity of distinguishing himself without Ceolwulf’s guidance and direction. He had every confidence in himself, indeed too much so, and was already turning over a deep scheme by which he might lead Arwald into destruction. When he got outside the stockade, therefore, he called Stuff to him, and the two boys entered into an earnest conversation, at the end of which Stuff, with a look of great and complacent cunning, and much mysterious importance, disappeared in the woods, while Wulfstan led the band of boys away towards the Brædynge haven side of the hill.
After they had gone about half a mile they came to a marshy piece of waste land, surrounded on two sides with steep hillocks and high thick gorse bushes. On the other side was a narrow strip of shingly beach, for it was close to the haven, and at the farther end was a dense wood. Wulfstan told the boys to lie concealed behind the bushes, and when he whistled they were to spring up and riddle the enemy with stones, and then rush away into the wood at the other end, and thence return towards the stockade, to give such aid as they could to Ceolwulf.
Stuff had been told by Wulfstan to let himself be caught by Arwald’s men, who had been trying to capture some one to act as guide to where the rest of Ælfhere’s party had hidden themselves. It was the accidental overhearing of the conversation between some of Arwald’s eorls that first put the idea into Stuff’s head; and he had suggested it to Wulfstan, who grasped at the scheme with joy. All went as they wished, Stuff allowed himself to be seen by one of the flanking party of Arwald’s force. He pretended to run away, stumbled, and was caught. He made sufficient resistance to make his captor think that he was a desperate youngster, mad at being captured. Indeed, he acted his part so well that he got a very hard knock on the head to keep him quiet. He was brought up before Arwald, who, with many vituperations, ordered him to show them the way to Ælfhere. Stuff at first sullenly declared he didn’t know it; then on being threatened with the most awful tortures if he didn’t at once tell, he pretended to be overcome with terror, and said he did know. He was then ordered to lead the way at once, whereupon he implored them not to make him show them, “For,” said he, “they will kill me if they see me.” His terror seemed so real that one of the eorls said he might walk by his side, and he would protect him. Having at last very sullenly consented, he led them towards the spot where Wulfstan was in ambush, and which also seemed to Arwald to be in the right direction, as he had smelt the smell of cooking coming from the left hand when he advanced last night. Everybody was the more convinced that the boy was leading them right, because of his manifest reluctance to give the information, and because of his obvious terror. They little knew what a depth of cunning lay beneath that dull, stolid, cowed-looking exterior.
As they advanced towards the morass, the horses sank deeper into the soft spongy ground, and many of the eorls got off to walk in order to save their horses. Arwald, remembering the catastrophe of the night before, and, determining not to be so caught again, sent a strong body of men to scour the higher ground, directing them to push on some way to their right; and Stuff, seeing this, and knowing that they must come upon the stockade if they went on in that direction, muttered in a tone of satisfaction to himself, but loud enough for the eorl to hear:
“An’ they go that way they’ll get stuck in the mire, and on being interrogated by the eorl, he looked up in a startled way, and pretended he had not said anything. But the eorl was not going to be put off, and insisted on knowing what he meant, whereupon with much reluctance the boy said there were pitfalls and swamps up there. When Arwald was told this, he was about to give the order for the men to fall back, when a shout from one of the advance guard told him that something had been seen.
While the attention of everybody was directed to the point from which the man shouted, Stuff took the opportunity to duck under the belly of the eorl’s horse and escape into a thick clump of furze, or gorse, where he lay hid, but listening eagerly for what was going to follow. He heard Arwald shout for the man to come and tell him what he had seen; and he heard the scout report that he had seen a clearing in the forest, and the palings of a well-built stockade; but whilst they were talking the sound of a rustling near him, made him lie very close. The next moment he saw Wulfstan crawl into the clump followed by a dozen boys. Stuff gave a low whistle which caused Wulfstan to pause. “Stuff, is that thou?” he whispered cautiously. “Ay, it’s me sure enough,” replied the boy in the same cautious tone.
“What’s up, Stuff? Why don’t they go on?” whispered Wulfstan.
“They’ve seen the stockade, and are going to attack it.”
At this moment they could hear the eorl who had undertaken to look after Stuff exclaim with surprise that the boy had gone—and several men began beating the bushes round. This was getting too close; so Wulfstan and all of them begun to crawl back into thicker and more distant cover, when suddenly one of the men who was beating the bushes caught sight of them and instantly uttered a view halloo. “Gone away; gone away,” he shouted, dashing after the boys who now that they were seen rose to their feet and darted off, scattering in different directions. Wulfstan and Stuff, with some three or four more, kept together, and made for the thickest part of the wood to the north of the stockade hoping to be able to baffle their pursuers, double round behind them, and then follow them up, and perhaps catch them at a disadvantage somewhere, and so do them some damage.
Three men on horseback, and about half-a-dozen footmen, had started after Wulfstan, while others had gone after the rest of the boys, for Arwald’s force was now so numerous, that he could easily afford to send off parties to scour the country, while he, with the main body, could advance to the attack on the stockade, whose existence he now for the first time learnt; and thus a very great danger arose lest the rest of the women and children, who were encamped right away at the south-east extremity of Binbrygge, should be discovered and all be made prisoners.
Arwald, naturally concluding from the impracticable nature of the ground, and the accidental discovery of the stockade so far on his right, as well as from the disappearance of the captive guide, that they were being led into an ambush, gave the order for all the force, with the exception of the small bodies sent in pursuit of the boys, to advance upon the stockade.
The cavalry, led by Arwald, marched across the outskirts of the burnt common, the scene of their rout and disgrace the evening before, while the footmen pushed into the woods on either side.
“By Freya’s golden hair,” said Arwald, as he came in sight of the steep knoll, on the top of which was the stockade, “but these knaves have chosen a good position. We must carry this place quickly, or we shall have more to deal with than we know how.” And he looked up anxiously at the sky.
The breeze was clearly fresher, and what was worse was blowing from the north-east. The sun was going down fast.
“Come, my men, there’s no time to be lost. There are enough of us here to make an end of these cripples without much difficulty. Begin the assault.”
The various eorls were at the head of their separate bands, and dismounting, as Arwald did, they led their men into the wood, leaving the horses outside under a guard. The attacking force was so powerful that there were enough men to assault the stockade all round. And Arwald trusted to a combined rush to carry the place. The palisades were about nine feet high, in some places higher; it was, therefore, no easy matter to get over, but the leaders ordered their men to cut down trees from the wood outside, and make a sloping approach to the palisades. The sharp noise of axes felling trees, resounded on all sides for the next quarter of an hour or more, and then crash, crack, swish, came the trees to the ground, and again the busy axes were plied, lopping off the limbs and trimming the trunks. As soon as the trees were ready, they were carried up to the stockade and rolled, or placed, at the foot of it, and here the service became dangerous, for the defenders were naturally not idle. They had pierced holes in the stockade, and putting their spears through, they tried to stab their assailants as they came near, while others leant over the top of the palisades and struck down at the men engaged in putting the timber in its place. They had very few missile weapons, and could therefore do little to annoy the enemy at a distance, and were compelled to await the completion of the preparations for the assault in enforced idleness. Ceolwulf had distributed his men to the best advantage, mingling the young with the old, in the way most likely to benefit both, and all were ready for the final death struggle. Few words were spoken on either side, while the placing of the logs outside went on rapidly. The thickest trees were first rolled up and then the ends of the next set of logs were placed on these, crosswise, with the other end on the ground; and in this way a rough, sloping, approach was made up to the stockade. Where one set of trees was not enough another log was rolled up on the cross ones, which were at right angles to the palisade, and these were wedged up so as to make them more secure. The stockade was approached by about twenty different sloping stages on all sides, but as they did not touch each other, there were intervening spaces which were not open to attack, thus the defenders were able to concentrate all their efforts on the spots which were most threatened.
Arwald, seeing that all the preparations were now completed, gave the signal for the assault to begin. With a shout of defiance and anticipated victory the Wihtwaras threw themselves upon the stages and rushed to the attack. Axes gleamed on all sides, and crowds of men pressed close behind each other. The front ranks tried to clamber over the palisade, and were sternly met by the desperate defenders. Such of the enemy as tried to get over, lost hands or arms from the quick blows of the watchful adherents of Ælfhere, and all the horrors of previous assaults were repeated over again with the same dreadful monotony. There was the same desperate valour in assailing, as in defending, and victory inclined to neither side decidedly as yet. But it was clear that the defence could not last long. Already many of Ceolwulf’s party had received terrible wounds, although none had been killed outright; but they had inflicted much loss on their foe, who had hitherto failed to effect an entrance. But there was no cessation of the assault; as fast as the front rank succumbed there were others to take their places, pressing with furious ardour to annihilate the little band inside, for all Arwald’s followers knew of the invasion with which they were threatened, and were keenly alive to the importance of sweeping away these few antagonists first.
Ceolwulf looked anxiously at the sky. The sun had just set, and the breeze came cool and keen from the north-east. Could there be any chance of their holding out another hour? He thought not. “Never mind,” he kept saying to himself, “I have done all that could be done, all my lords are safe; and, anyway, I should not live for many more years. Better die now than live to be old and useless. But,” he added, savagely chopping at a sturdy Wihtwara, who was boldly putting his leg over the stockade, “thou shalt not send me to Nifleheim, young man,” and the luckless foeman fell back with a leg the less, to bleed to death outside the stockade; but there were many more to take his place, and weary work it was fighting against time, and hope, and terrible odds.
Arwald had given orders to break down the palisade that led to the spring, and a desperate fight was taking place here. The Wihtwaras had broken in, and were pushing back the defenders, but the narrow way got blocked with wounded and dead, and the assailants paused a moment to clear away the bodies which impeded them. Ceolwulf, seeing the lull, shouted to his men to leave the passage and pile up some logs that were inside, so as to close the entrance, but it was too late. The enemy dashed in, and a hand-to-hand fight took place in the narrow space inside the stockade. Beornwulf, seeing all was over, determined not to die cooped up in that shambles. He shouted to Ceolwulf to leap over the stockade, and cut their way into the woods. It was a hopeless and desperate venture, but Beornwulf had already escaped certain death once that day, and he believed he could not die for the next twenty-four hours, at least.1 Behind them, inside, a fearful murder was going on; before them was at least a chance of life, at any rate, no worse death. Springing over the stockade, therefore, Ceolwulf and Beornwulf, with four or five more, dropped down into the interval between the raised stages that were crowded with the enemy pressing up to take their part in the awful scene going on inside. Armed and clothed like the other Wihtwaras, they were not recognised as the very men the followers of Arwald had come to slay, and they were able to push through the lines of assailants, who thought they were only some of the numerous men who had got pushed over the edge of the stages by the pressure from behind, and were returning to take up their places on the stages again to renew the assault, and some even jeered at them as clumsy fellows who had had to make room for their betters, while others openly laughed at them as cowards who were not sorry to get out of the way of the enemy.
“Thou art right there, my friend,” said Ceolwulf, who, being a Wihtwara himself, ran no risk of his dialect betraying him. “But it will want someone to bury yon men, and so I intend stopping behind.”
“Dost thou, though, my shirking knave,” cried Arwald, who had taken no part in the assault himself, but waited outside to watch the attack, and encourage, or reprimand, his men. “Do thou go back at once, and don’t let me—— Ah! By Woden, but thou art a bigger scoundrel——”
He did not finish his sentence, for Beornwulf and Biggun made a rush for him, overjoyed at the opportunity of revenging all their wrongs on the chieftain himself.
Notes
1 It was a popular superstition, and is still, that if a man escaped imminent death or had a man killed alongside of him, he could not be killed that day—vide Prosper Mérimée, “L’en lelvement de la Redoute.”