Chapter XXI “Let us Die in Honour; once more back Again.”
Arwald, seeing the determined rush made upon him by Beornwulf and Biggun, reined in his horse, swung it round, and, striking his heels into the animal’s side, caused it to leap past the two desperate men. As Arwald did so, he called out to the men nearest him to fall upon the traitors, for so at first he took them to be; but, seeing the woods before them, neither Beornwulf nor Biggun waited to have another attempt at Arwald. The instinct of life urged them on, and they dashed into the woods unmolested.
“There’s some death the Norns are keeping for that knave,” said Ceolwulf, as soon as he and Beornwulf found themselves at a sufficient distance to relax their speed. “He has always escaped hitherto, but let him look out, his time has nearly come now.”
“Are we going right for the shore?”
“It’s not far off, and Cædwalla ought to have reached it by now; but, hist! who’s coming this way?”
They crouched down. A few horsemen and footmen were approaching through the wood, evidently guiding their course by the sounds that proceeded from the stockade, where the work of death was very nearly over. The troop now drawing near might be the advanced guard of their deliverers. This was almost too good to be hoped for; or it might be some of the raiders of Arwald’s party; anyway, Beornwulf and Biggun had better lie still.
As the first horseman came up he was saying to the nearest footman who was walking by his side that they ought to make more haste or they would get none of the booty; and, besides, the news they had to bring was very important.
“I wish I knew what that news was,” muttered Ceolwulf.
“Why, what have they got hanging down over the horses shoulders in front of him?” said Beornwulf whose sight was keener than his old companion’s. “It’s a body, I do believe, and the body of a boy, too.”
Ceolwulf peered out between the dry leaves, and the next moment, without a second’s reflection, flung himself out of the bushes, and rushed with a wild cry of rage straight at the horseman, oversetting the nearest footman in his rush. With one hand he seized the bridle of the horse, and with the other he struck the rider a tremendous blow on the arm, and before the man, taken utterly by surprise, could strike a blow in his own defence, Ceolwulf struck him again, and this time with a deep groan the man fell heavily from the saddle and dropped to the ground.
Beornwulf seeing the danger his old comrade was in rushed out after him, and began laying about him manfully, but the odds were against them; however, Biggun with great presence of mind jumped into the saddle, from which he had just ousted the owner, and, turning the horse’s head, galloped back towards where they had come from, shouting to Beornwulf to follow him. The attention of the men was taken up in trying to stop Ceolwulf, or it would have gone hardly with the West Saxon; as it was, he was enabled to dash back into the wood again, and so escaped the notice of the enemy. Ceolwulf urged his horse at the utmost to escape from his pursuers, but the horse was heavily weighted with the double burden; however, for the first few minutes it managed to increase the slight start obtained by the unexpected rapidity of Ceolwulf’s movements; gradually, however, it became clear to Ceolwulf that he must be captured, in spite all his efforts, and he did not know what to do.
The reason of this desperate onslaught was that he saw there hanging over the horse’s shoulders his young lord Wulfstan; whether he were dead or not he could not tell, but he hoped, as they were taking the trouble to bring him into camp, that he was still alive, and on the wild hope of rescuing him, old Biggun had staked his life; and now, after all, with help so near at hand, it seemed as though both must lose their lives.
“Beornwulf,” the old man shouted, “catch this horse when I get off it, and ride like the wind towards yonder copse,” but no answer came, and Ceolwulf felt it was all over with both of them. Still he urged on the horse, every stride was bringing them nearer safety, but the horsemen behind were close upon him. Ceolwulf turned round, there was only one man quite close, and he was some distance from the others. Could not he manage to disable this man? The Wihtwara gradually drew nearer, his axe was uplifted, the weapon seemed over Ceolwulf’s head, crash it came down, and with it the Wihtwara rolling on the ground, the blow had missed Ceolwulf, but what had knocked the man down? Ceolwulf had struck no blow, he was far too intent in pressing on his horse, and for the moment concluded the man’s horse had stumbled on the rough ground; it was not until afterwards that he learnt how he had been saved. Without pausing a moment, Biggun rode steadily on; the fallen horseman caused the rest of the pursuers to stop where he fell, and one of them dismounting, went up to the man; turning the body over, he found that one eye was knocked out, and that the man was dead. Whether this was the result of the fall or not could not be told; but the man remounted his horse, and they then gave up the chase and returned to Arwald.
Meanwhile Ceolwulf continued his course towards the shore. The evening was changing into night; as he emerged from a dense part of the wood he suddenly came upon a brilliant blaze of light, and knew that his orders had been carried out. Riding up to the fire he found a crowd of boys assembled round it, and he was not long in learning the news. Cædwalla was within a mile of the land, and might disembark in less than half an hour. But why did not Arwald come down to meet him? He might do so yet; in any case, Ceolwulf could not longer delay attending to his young lord. Tenderly the boyish figure was lifted off the horse, and gently he was laid down by the fire. He lay quite still, only blood welled up in a deep cut on his head, and all could see that he was desperately wounded.
“Oh! my young master!” cried Ceolwulf, “Why could not I have received this instead of thee? How shall I meet my lord Ælfhere? Ah! Biggun, thou art a dolt and a dotard to have allowed him to go from thee.”
And then he enquired of the boys around how it had happened. Several of the boys had seen it all, but could do nothing to save their young lord; at least so they said, but Ceolwulf would not believe them, and heaped maledictions on them for their cowardice and want of devotion to their lord. It appeared that Wulfstan, while running away, saw one of his companions fall, and the noble boy knowing that he would be killed, stopped and fitted a stone to the sling preparatory to casting it at the first man of the enemy who should approach the disabled boy. While he was doing this and was totally careless of his own safety, a Wihtwara on horseback, the same whom Ceolwulf had killed, broke through the bushes behind Wulfstan and fetching him a blow with his axe knocked him down, and then dismounting, put him on his horse as Ceolwulf had found him.
“If ye boys had had a quarter of your young lord’s pluck ye would never have let him be hurt, much less taken. Could none of ye have tried to save the boy who fell, instead of letting your young lord do it? And could none of ye have got in the way of the knave who gave him this wound? Ah! I am ashamed of ye all! Ye are a set of cowardly do-nothings; and what a chance ye have let slip; it doesn’t happen to a boy every day; no, nor once in a year in these more peaceful times—it’s true we have had a little more life lately—(by which Ceolwulf meant death)—for a boy, I say, to have the good luck to get killed for his lord, and here with this chance before ye, not one of ye had the sense or the gratitude to take it. Ugh! get along with ye all for a pack of skulking foxes.”
The upbraidings of Ceolwulf caused many of the boys to hang their heads, and several reproached themselves for not having got killed instead of Wulfstan. However, there was no help for it now, and all stood round looking at the pale and noble features of the senseless boy. His fair hair fell back round his face in waving locks, his eyes were shut, and the pallor of his cheeks, usually so full of colour and health, was very ominous. Ceolwulf raised his head on his knee and bandaged the cut as well as he could, telling the boys to get him some salt water from the sea.
“Shall I go and find old Deva and the bald-headed man?” suggested one of the boys.
“Ay, my son, that’s the best thing thou canst do, and the sooner thou bringest them the better, for we shall have work enough to occupy us all soon. Which of ye knows the way?”
“I do,” and “I do,” resounded from all sides, and Ceolwulf chose the sharpest-looking of the lads, and sent off three of them, telling them to inform Malachi, or “the bald-headed one,” of what had happened, but on no account to alarm Ælfhere, the eorldoman.
Away the boys darted, and were soon lost in the darkness. Ceolwulf continued to bathe the wound, watching anxiously for some return of consciousness; but the heavy lids remained shut, and the breathing seemed to grow weaker.
“Ah! Wulfstan, my dear young lord, hadst thou only stayed at Boseham with Ædric all would have been well. To think of the fights I have been through and my life worth nothing, and this boy, the joy of his father, and born to be an eorl and Heretoga, if ever there was one, to die before he is twelve years old!” and old Ceolwulf groaned bitterly. “How beautiful the lad is!” he went on. “Surely neither Baldur, nor Woden, nor Thor, could have looked handsomer; but Baldur died. Ah! yes, beauty is what death loves, and so Baldur died young.”
While Ceolwulf was thus mourning over Wulfstan he forgot all about surrounding objects, and was suddenly startled into consciousness of this world and the present by a boy running up to him and saying, breathlessly:
“Master Biggun, here’s some boats come ashore at yonder point, and there’s a sight of people getting out.”
“Why, whatever am I doing? I’m forgetting everything. Here, one of ye boys, run down and show the people the best way up; ask them, for some one will show thee—no, that won’t do. Tell the first man thou seest that old Ceolwulf, who fought at Cissanceaster along with Cædwalla, is here, and wants help. Now, off with thee; what art thou waiting for?”
“But, maybe, they mayn’t be friends; how do I know they won’t hurt me?”
“By Thor’s hammer but what are we coming to? These boys daren’t get killed for their lord, and now they are frightened of their own friends! Get along with thee directly, and do what thou art told, or it will be the worse for thee.”
The boy went off not much reassured, and intending fully to disobey Ceolwulf as soon as he got out of sight; but he had scarcely gone three steps into the darkness when he felt his arm seized, and a deep voice in a very different dialect to his own, but still such as he could understand well enough, say:
“Not so fast, youngster; tell us who they are round this fire, and why it is lighted?”
Paralysed with terror, the boy could not answer for a moment, but seeing the gleam of sharp steel as his captor held up a long knife before him, he called out:
“Oh, don’t kill me! I was sent by old Ceolwulf, who did something somewhere, to find somebody—I can’t remember who—and there he is sitting by the fire; and if thou wert to kill me I couldn’t tell thee any more, indeed I couldn’t, so please don’t do it.”
Recognizing the truth of the last statement, the man put his knife away, and called to some men behind. These now came up, and the boy saw a large body of tall, powerful, well-armed men, most of them in the prime of life. Among them he noticed a magnificent man, taller than any of the others, and with a helmet surmounted by a golden dragon. The light of the fire flashed upon his close-fitting shirt of mail, on his sword and battle-axe, and shone in his bright, clear eyes.
“Did I hear the name of Ceolwulf?” he asked, eagerly. “Where is the fine old man? Lead me at once to him, my boy; no harm shall happen to thee if thou wilt tell the truth and do what thou art told.”
The boy pointed to where Ceolwulf was sitting, hidden by the fire being between them, and the dragon-crested warrior, closely followed by a younger figure, hastened to greet him. The next moment a cry of joy and grief rang out as the younger figure, in spite of his lameness, outran the chieftain.
“Oh! Wulfy, my dear brother Wulf, to think I should find thee like this;” and Ædric knelt down by Ceolwulf and burst into tears, sobbing bitterly as he took his brother’s hand in his.
“What! Ceolwulf, my fine youth,” said Cædwalla. “This is a bad business; the brave little lad is not dead, is he? Let me look at him.” So saying, the kind-hearted king bent down and took the other limp hand, while he listened for his breathing. After a minute he rose and said, “He’s not dead, but he wants attention; have ye no women near who can look after him?”
“I have sent, my lord, for help, and it ought soon to be here,” answered Ceolwulf, sadly.
“Well, I can’t be of any use, and I won’t take thee away from the boy. While the rest of my men are coming ashore—By the way,” broke off Cædwalla, “see that the boats are taken to a place of safety for the night. Thou canst send some of thy people to help us in this, canst thou not?” he added, turning to Ceolwulf.
“Our people are all slain,” replied Biggun sadly.
“What! no one left? Has it gone so hardly with thee as all that?”
“There are none but women and children and feeble old men. All our bravest youth died with Wulf the Atheling, or were killed in cold blood by Arwald, or were slaughtered but now on yonder hill.”
“Where are Athelhune, and Osborn, and Beornwulf, and the three that came with my brother Wulf?”
“All are dead for ought I know. Athelhune perished, slain by Arwald; Beornwulf may have escaped. Osborn and the others died an hour or so ago, on yonder hill.”
Cædwalla’s handsome features had gradually assumed a fierce expression; a wild, stern light shone in his eyes, and a tightening of his hand over his axe told of the storm within.
“By Woden’s beard,” he burst forth, “by all the joys of Valhalla, I swear to avenge their blood! Not unhonoured shall they be in the abodes above, or wherever the soul of man goeth. Before I leave this island, I vow to kill all of the race of Arwald that cometh in my way, be it man or woman or sucking child; for not in fair fight were they slain. Oh! Athelhune, my comrade, my right hand, my more than friend, why was I not here to save thee? But I am here to avenge thee, and right well shalt thou be avenged.”
“Is this a time to talk of vengeance?” said a voice near Cædwalla. “Rather humble thyself before the strong hand of the Almighty, and give Him thanks that thou art yet in the land of the living, when so many souls have gone unregenerate, unbaptised, to their last account. Man, swear not such awful curses. There may come a time when they will recoil on thine own head.”
“Who is this that dares to rebuke Cædwalla?” said the king haughtily.
“A poor servant of the Lord—one Malachi, of Boseham.”
Ædric had turned joyfully at the voice, and felt new hope for his brother.
“Oh! brother Malachi, come here; see what has happened to Wulfstan.”
“What! Ædric, my son; hast thou come to this sinful and blood-guilty land? And how are Father Dicoll and brother Corman? Verily my heart yearns for news of them.”
“Oh, Malachi, I will tell thee all about them while thou art looking at Wulfstan; but do tell me if he is alive?”
Malachi stooped down—he had brought some balsam with him, and a few remedies—and he gently examined the wounded boy. With a very grave face he signed to Ceolwulf to let him feel his pulse, and then said, “Canst thou make a shelter for him here? it will be better to keep him quite quiet if we can.”
Ceolwulf nodded assent, and Cædwalla directed some of the sails of the boats to be brought up, and a shelter was soon made.
“Deva will be here soon,” said Malachi. “She has got some food with her. We will make some strong broth for him.”
Cædwalla, seeing that the boy was in good hands, called Ceolwulf aside, and consulted on what was best to be done. After he had heard the old man’s ideas, he gave orders that all the men he had brought with him should encamp where they were till morning, as now the stockade was lost there was no need to risk an advance through the thick woods in the dark. It was clearly ascertained that the women and children and old people belonging to Ælfhere were safe, so there was no occasion to weary the men with a march immediately after their voyage.
All through the night Malachi, in spite of his wounded arm, attended ceaselessly on Wulfstan. Ædric had intended keeping awake, but the sea voyage, the excitement, and the novelty of using his leg, had made him very sleepy, and in spite of himself he fell off into a sound sleep. Ceolwulf had been so busy helping Cædwalla that he had not had time to tell Ædric of his father being still alive, and Malachi had not thought of it; in fact, the critical condition of Wulfstan put all other ideas out of their heads. Wulfstan had opened his eyes once, but there was no consciousness in them, and a burning patch of red in each cheek had taken the place of the ghastly pallor of a few hours before.
With dawn, Cædwalla was up; he had brought sufficient food for his men for a couple of days, and therefore was not compelled to action from necessity; and, besides, there were all the supplies of Ælfhere’s people hidden among the woods; but Cædwalla was nevertheless burning to come to blows with Arwald, and the order was given for all to advance directly breakfast was over. The number of men Cædwalla had brought was over a thousand, and their equipment and appearance left little to be desired. There had been a difficulty in bringing over any horses, but there were five or six brought over for Cædwalla, and his chief eorldomen, and Ceolwulf had despatched during the night some of the boys to bring over as many of Ælfhere’s horses as they could. He himself had the horse he had captured from the Wihtwara he had killed, when he rescued Wulfstan the evening before.
“My old friend,” said Cædwalla, when all was ready, “I must ask thee to ride along with us, and show us the way. I know thou wantest to be with thy young lord, but he is in careful hands, and we cannot get on without thee yet. I promise thee rest enough after we have established our right to rule the Wihtwaras.”
Ceolwulf had not thought of being left behind, and was flattered at this public notice of himself before so many warriors, and many of them the chief eorldomen of Wessex. All being now ready, the advance began. Cædwalla had far too much experience of war to be led into any trap as Arwald had been. He sent on a powerful advance guard under the guidance of Ceolwulf, and the keenest and most experienced of his men were ordered to march at some little distance on each flank. In this way, although their progress was slow, their security against any surprise was certain. They had not proceeded far, when the leading footmen came across the body of a man lying on a bank. Turning him over, Ceolwulf found it was Beornwulf, and he was delighted to find that he was only asleep from exhaustion. He at once had him sent into the camp, and directed that every care should be taken of him. Cædwalla was much pleased to see his old follower again, and promised he would not forget him.
The little army advanced to the stockade without any further interruption. Here a dreadful sight presented itself. Arwald had abandoned the place, evidently feeling it necessary to retire to his own district, and call up all the fighting men of the island for the decisive battle that must take place; for he was not the man to allow himself to be killed without a fight. The scene inside the stockade was awful. Accustomed as Cædwalla and his men were to fearful sights, they had never seen so terrific a spectacle as was here, crowded into the narrow limits of that gory enclosure. Ceolwulf noted with grim satisfaction that many of Arwald’s men had died; he found Osborn under a pile of slain, and many of Ælfhere’s old servants had died hard.
Cædwalla made use of the ghastly spectacle to arouse his men to fiercer ardour, and then ordered the column to advance. When they emerged on the black and charred common, and the successful stratagem was explained by Ceolwulf to Cædwalla, the king was loud in his praises of the pluck, determination, and skill of the little band of defenders, and vowed that in all his experience he had never heard of or seen a better executed ambush. He was especially struck with the readiness and sagacity of the boys. As they advanced Cædwalla admired the fertility of the island, and the suitability of their choice in retiring into Binbrygge-ea. Crossing the ford, Ceolwulf pointed out the ruined Roman villa among the bushes, and told how nobly Athelhune had defended it against the attack of Arwald’s people, and showed Cædwalla where the homestead was. The king declined to visit it now, but sent on a party to find Athelhune’s remains, and have them decently laid out, with a view to burying him, as became a West Saxon eorldoman and faithful adherent of his.
As they advanced farther into the island, and the country became more open, Cædwalla directed Ceolwulf to take a force along the ridge of the downs that separated the north side of the island from the south, while he, with one of Ælfhere’s old servants to act as guide, marched parallel to Ceolwulf, along the valley to the south. Every precaution was taken, and strict injunctions were given that each column was to halt if the other were attacked. Touch was kept up between the flanking and main column by a light band of active young men. In this way the army got as far as where Arreton now is without coming in contact with the enemy. Here Cædwalla gave orders that the two columns should halt, and have their mid-day meal. He himself rode up to the top of the hill and joined Ceolwulf, who pointed out to him, from this natural observatory, all the objects within sight. At his feet the land sloped away towards the north in a gradual descent to the Solent, clothed in dense oak woods, through which meandered three narrow openings of the sea. The one towards the north-west was the most important, and looked a noble inlet as it lay gleaming like silver far down below, embowered in dense oak forest. The creek more to the north-east seemed very narrow at the entrance, but widened out into a splendid sheet of water as it penetrated farther inland. The dense virgin forest surrounded the glassy surface, and there was no trace of life anywhere. Between these two creeks lay a third much smaller one, whose existence was only faintly indicated by a dip in the woods. Towards the east Cædwalla looked over woods, only bounded by the sea, and beyond the sea the coast of the South Saxons, and his own native forests and hills. The view south was more lovely even: at his feet the wide and fertile valley spread out to the magnificent bay, bounded on one side by the gleaming white cliffs of Binbrygge Down, and on the other the dun-coloured headland that rose into the noble down behind it, while toward the south-west hill upon hill, and ridge upon ridge, culminated in the highest hill of all—the broad-backed St. Catherine Down. The valley at his feet was hidden, towards the west, by the continuation of the ridge of downs upon which Cædwalla was standing, but Ceolwulf told him it wound round and passed into another valley, or valleys, which then turned westwards and northwards. This northern valley became the deeply indented creek near the head of which stood the only fortress in the island, the burg or castle of Wihtgar, known as Wihtgaresbyryg.
“Will Arwald make a stand there, thinkest thou?” asked Cædwalla.
“I doubt whether he will not fight in the open first. He has a powerful following with him, and he is not one to fight behind walls if he has any chance of crushing us in the open.”
Cædwalla laughed. “He need not talk much of crushing. There won’t be much left of him or his men if once I catch them in the open.”
“Aye, no doubt thou art a doughty and powerful king, but Arwald will have as many or more than we have, and the Wihtwaras fight well.”
“Tush, man! have I ever lost a battle yet?” said Cædwalla, disdainfully; and then he added, “Continue thy march until we unite in the valley in front of Wihtgaresbyryg; we may have to encamp there to-night.” So saying, the West Saxon king rode down the hill again, and led his column along the lower ground.
The march was continued without further interruption until about two o’clock. They turned the northern line of Downs, and saw the ridge of the lower hills to the west, on the brow of which loomed up the grey walls of a circular castle—the rude and unscientific fortress of Wihtgar, built perhaps upon the foundations of a Roman castellum, and doubtless with much of the material. Hitherto it had been an accepted fact that whoever was lord of Wihtgaresbyryg was lord also of the Wihtwaras and the Wihtea.
When Ceolwulf’s column, descending the steep declivity of the down now known as St. George’s Down, joined Cædwalla and the main body below, they advanced together along the lower ground towards Wihtgaresbyryg, until they reached the ford over the marshes, that then formed the head of the long creek now known as the Medina. Here Cædwalla, having secured the ford and passed his troops safely across, halted until he could find out where the enemy were.
In the course of an hour one of his scouts brought back word that Arwald was marching out of Wihtgaresbyryg to give him battle, with a numerous and well-appointed force of horsemen and foot, and would be upon them in the course of half an hour or so.
This was joyful news to Cædwalla. His eyes sparkled and his figure became more upright, as he gave orders for his men to fall into battle order, and prepare for the decisive contest.
“Remember Athelhune and Osborn, and the stockade on Yavershute! Remember all your former victories—Edilwalch and the South Saxons, and the eorldoman Berchthune. The dragon of Wessex is spreading his wings for victory. Before night-fall, my eorls and my free Saxons, let us plant the standard of our nation on the tower of Wihtgar. Lands and possessions shall reward the victors, and ye all see what a smiling and fertile land it is. Standard bearer, advance the banner! My nobles, handle your weapons, and, O God of Battles, whom Wilfrid serves! if victory crowns our arms, I vow to become a servant of Thine. Let Woden and Thor fight for Arwald. Cædwalla will fight with the help of Christ.”