Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune<br />A Tale of the Days of Edmund Ironside, A. D. Crake [best romance books of all time TXT] 📗

vain to pass the palisades, which projected over their heads, and which were vigorously defended by spear and battle-axe.

But in one place a gigantic warrior succeeded in hewing an aperture with his axe, wielded by giant strength, and all might have been lost had not Edmund perceived it, and rushed to its defence, collecting by his shout half-a-dozen followers. Several Danes strove to pass the breach; one was already through, and Edmund attacked him; meanwhile two others had crept through, but were cut off from their fellows, for the English rallied in front and presented an impenetrable barrier with their spears, while from the windows above the arrows rained upon the assailants.

Edmund's axe had found its victim; Herstan, who was by his side, had engaged and wounded the second; and, meanwhile, Alfgar, who was glaring about him for a foe, discovered the third, whose aspects and form were at once recognised by him.

"What! you, Higbald!" he cried.

"You shall escape no more," cried his late gaoler, and brought his axe down with a mighty rush. Alfgar leapt nimbly aside, and before his bulky but clumsy antagonist could recover his guard, passed his keen sword beneath the left arm, through the body, and the giant staggered and fell, a bloody foam rising to his lips, as he quivered in the agonies of death.

All was again silent. The Danes, discomfited for the moment, having lost half their number, had retired, probably waiting for reinforcements, and the victor addressed Edmund.

"Look," he cried; "this man is a servant of Edric Streorn."

"Is it true, fellow?" said Edmund sternly.

"What if it is? I am dying now, and it cannot matter to me."

The last words were interrupted by a convulsive struggle.

"Art thou an Englishman or a Dane?" said the Etheling, bending over the dying ruffian in his anxiety to learn the whole truth.

"What is that to thee?"

"Much, if thou wouldst escape death."

"Escape death! I cannot. Neither wilt thou escape Edric Streorn, and I shall not die unavenged. Ah! young springal, thou wilt not escape again. To think that thy puny hand should give Higbald his death blow! Ah, I am choked!"

Alfgar's sword had pierced his lungs, and a gush of blood rushing to the mouth stopped the breath of Higbald for ever.

"I have brought the foe upon you. We are tracked," said Alfgar. "Edric and the Danes are in alliance."

"But they have not taken this place yet; neither shall they, by God's help! Ha! was that lightning? Nay, it is winter."

A sudden burst of fiery light illuminated the scene, and the defenders looked forth, in spite of their danger, from their fortifications. The little church of St. Michael burst forth into billowing eddies of smoke and flame.

"This is a grievous sight, to see the place we had dedicated to God destroyed by the bloody heathen. O that He would stretch forth His hand as in the days of old!"

"Would I had but two hundred men; I would fall upon the villains in the rear, and leave not one," said Edmund.

"Look--the farm buildings!" cried little Hermann.

"The poor horses and oxen!" cried the Lady Bertha.

"They are safe," said Edmund. "You may hear the trampling of hoofs even now. The fools of Danes are hunting them in all directions. I do not think they will catch many."

Lights appeared in two or three places, and soon it became evident that the ruthless foe had gained their object, as the barns and stables lit up in all directions, and the manor house was surrounded by the double conflagration, so that every object was as distinctly visible as in open daylight.

"To your buckets! Pour water upon the roof; and, archers, look out for the enemy; keep him as far off as you can."

The boys and women were speedily on the roof pouring water in all directions, in case the wind should deposit the burning brands upon the structure. Meanwhile flights of arrows came from the distance, and settled around them; but they were spent before arrival in most cases, for the defenders kept the ground clear for a large circle around by their well-sustained discharges. Not a few dead bodies lying in the glare of the fire testified to their deadly skill.

The flames passed from stable to barn, and barn to shed. The triumphant cries of the Danes added to the horror of the scene, heard as they were amidst the continuous roaring of the flames. Crash, crash, went roof after roof, the fall of the little church on the opposite side first leading the awful chorus. Life seemed the penalty of either Englishman or Dane who dared to trust his person within the circle of light.

The Lady Bertha was comforting her two little girls, Ostryth and Alfreda, where they sat, cowering and terrified, in their own little bedchamber, the window so barricaded that no arrow could enter, but yet not sufficiently to keep out the glare of the flames.

"Mother, how light it is!" said the little Ostryth; "how dreadfully bright!"

"It will soon be darker again."

"But is it fire? Are they burning the house?"

"No, dearest. They have set the farm on fire. It cannot hurt us."

"But the horses, and my poor little pony?"

"Are safe, dearest one. The Etheling went and let them all loose."

"Oh! how good of him. I am so glad."

"Mother, let Hermann come and sit with us!"

"Nay, he will out to the fight. He is a boy, and must learn to be a soldier."

"Oh, but he will get hurt, perhaps killed."

"Courage, dear child; remember how often I have told you how God helps those who trust in Him. Say your prayers, your Pater and Credo, and ask God to take care of dear father and Hermann."

"Mother!" said a voice. She locked up and saw Hermann, his forehead covered with blood.

"It is nothing, mother," said the spirited lad, as he wiped the blood away; "at least only the scratch of an arrow while I was on the roof. Father wishes you to send all the women who are strong enough to help to carry water from the river. The well is dry, and the men cannot be spared from the embankment. We expect another attack, and there are great patches of blazing straw flying about in the wind."

She spoke a few words to the women, and all but two or three, who were too weak or ill, went forth to the work. One kiss she imprinted eagerly on his brow, and dismissed him back to his perilous task without allowing herself one sigh.

"Now, dear ones," she said to the little girls, "keep quiet till mother comes back. I must go."

"O mother, do not leave us!"

But she could not listen to the earnest pleadings, for she felt that where other women exposed themselves, she too must go, and cheer by her example.

A long line, reaching to the brink of the river, was soon formed, and buckets were being passed from hand to hand. A loud cry, and a boy in the line fell from an arrow, which retained just sufficient strength to pierce his heart. Herstan and Father Cuthbert carried the corpse reverently within, the father remembering that but that morning he had fed with the Bread of Life, at the altar of St. Michael, this poor lad, so soon to be called to meet the Judge who had entertained him as a guest at His holy Table that Christmas morn. Two or three others were soon wounded, but not seriously, and when a supply of water ready for all emergencies had been collected on the roof, the dangerous duty was over.

Pale and collected, the Lady Bertha was returning to her children, when she passed the corpse. One moment, and the thought struck her that it was Hermann, and the mother's heart gave a great leap. Tremblingly she put aside the cloth with which they had veiled it, and was undeceived. Repressing her feelings, she was again by the side of her little girls, when the fearful cries of the assailants once more rang through the air.

"Stand to your post! Quit yourselves like men! Be firm!" shouted the stentorian voice of Edmund.

Onward came the Danes, in three parties, to attack the three sides of the building. The arrows diminished their numbers, but stayed them not. They left a struggling dark line upon the ground, but the wounded had to care for themselves. Edmund rushed to command the defence at the gate, leaving Alfgar to superintend that upon the right hand, and Herstan on the left. They had but one moment, and they were in the thick of the conflict.

Shouts mingled with shrieks. Sword, battle-axe, and spear did their deadly work through and above the palisade; arrows rained down from the roof and windows on the assailants, women and boys doing their part in that manner, while the men did theirs with battle-axe and sword on the bulwarks. In one or two places the palisade threatened to give way, and at last three or four stakes were dragged out in one spot, blow after blow of the axe was spent upon the yielding fabric, and a breach was effected.

The Etheling perceived it, and rushed to the scene just as two or three of the English, less used to arms, were yielding before the ponderous weapons of the Danes. Throwing himself into the breach, his practised arm made a desert around him. Of immense muscular strength, his blows came down like the fabled hammer of Thor, crushing helmet and breastplate alike before the well-tempered steel of his favourite weapon. The foe were driven back, and for one moment he stood in the breach alone.

Then and then only was he recognised.

"The gleeman! the false gleeman the Etheling Edmund!" in various energetic cries, attested his fame, and the hatred of his foes.

"Yes, dogs, ye know me, and the prize ye have to win. Back, drunkards and cannibals, back to your royal parricide with the gleeman's greetings, and tell him Hela is waiting for him and his friend the accursed Edric."

A shower of arrows was the only answer, but they missed the joints, and rattled harmlessly from the well-tempered armour which Edmund wore. Still the position was critical, and Alfgar, with gentle violence, persuaded him to descend from his perilous position.

Here the attack was foiled, and foiled so decidedly, that the ditch was actually half filled with corpses. Cries of distress arose from the opposite side, but Edmund's arm restored the balance there, so great was the influence of one man, and so great the power of physical force in the desperate conflicts of that day.

Foiled at every point, the invaders were driven from the embankment. It was evident that they had miscalculated the forces of the defenders, and that they had advanced beyond their main body in insufficient strength to take the place by assault. Could they have supplied the place of the fallen by fresh men, until they had wearied the defenders out, they would have succeeded, but they were evidently not in strength to do this so they slowly yielded, until the deadly struggle ceased, and silence resumed her empire, while the besieged repaired the damage the defences had sustained.

"They have retired," said Herstan, wiping the sweat from his brow and the blood from his axe.

"Ay," said Edmund, "they will not now take the place by assault --they are not more than two to one, considering the losses they have sustained. They have lost twice as many as we. If we were a little stronger I would head a sally.

"Ah! what was that?"

A globe of fire traversing the arc of a circle, rose from beyond the embers of the barns, and, sailing through the air, fell upon the roof, which, owing to the intense heat from the conflagration which had raged around, was in a very dry and inflammable state. Another, then another followed, and Edmund cried aloud:

"Pass up the water to the roof, to the roof. We shall need all our hands now!"

He rushed up himself, but charged Herstan to remain below, and see that, whatever happened, the defences were not forsaken for one moment.

The defenders on the roof were prompt with their remedy; and no sooner did a flaming brand arrive than it was extinguished, provided it fell in a spot easy of access. But at length some of the deadly missiles fell where they could not be immediately reached, and one of these eluded the observation of the besieged until they saw a sheet of flame curl over the eaves beneath the roof, and play upon the surface of the huge beams above, until they suddenly started into flame. Water was dashed upon it, but only partially extinguished the destroying element, which broke out in fresh places until the defenders became desperate. And now flight after flight of arrows fell amongst them, and many wounds were received, while the smoke and flame seemed to find fresh fuel each moment, and to need all the energies of the English.

It was