"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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sailants 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 a.s.sailants, 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 a.s.sault. 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 a.s.sault --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:

"Pa.s.s 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 at this inauspicious moment that the Danes charged the palisades again with deadly fury, while the attention of all was drawn to the flames; so fierce was the attack, that it was necessary once more to concentrate all the strength of the besieged to repel them; and the fire gained in strength, roared and hissed in its fury, seizing for its prey the whole roof of the eastern wing of the building.

And now the Danish archers, drawing nearer, sent fresh flights of arrows on those who were labouring on the house top, and, killing several, drove the others away. The condition of the English was rapidly getting desperate.

Edmund threw himself into the strife, and drove the foe back from the breach they had previously made, but even his valour could not restore confidence.

"All is lost! all is lost!" cried some panic-stricken trembler, as he saw the flames spread.

"To the river, to the river, to the boats!" cried others.

"Nay, nay," shouted Edmund, "we are not conquered yet; we can defend ourselves till daylight, or we can depart in order. Alfgar, bid the women and children prepare to leave the hall as the fire spreads; and you, Herstan, see that if the worst comes to the worst, the retreat to the river is made in order. We will defend the place if necessary till the last man, and cover your retreat; but all is not lost yet. Take a dozen stout men, mount the roof, the fire is not lower down; let them destroy the burning portion with their axes; let the women stand behind with the water.

"Archers, keep the Danes back. See those brutes there aiming at your wives on the roof; bring them down; make them keep their distance. Guard well the palisades."

But, although his orders were obeyed, the Danes grew bolder; the men could not work on the roof in the midst of the arrows. The women and children, emerging terror-struck from the hall, made every father's heart sink within him.

Edmund cried aloud:

"To the gate, to the gate! the villains have got the drawbridge down."

He rushed to the spot himself, and found that some adventurous Dane had severed the chains and lowered the bridge in the momentary confusion of its defenders, and the gate was yielding before their strokes.

He arrived; and that moment the gate fell. He stood in the breach himself; one man against a dozen. He did all a hero could; but he was already bleeding. Alfgar, ever faithful, fought like a lion by his side. Herstan and his bravest warriors brought their aid, but all seemed lost.

"Tell them to retreat to the river.

"Herstan, conduct the retreat; Alfgar and I can keep them out for five minutes more."

"All is lost! all is lost!" the cry arose within.

"No; saved! saved!" cried Father Cuthbert from the roof. "What! Englishmen, to the rescue! to the rescue!"

The Danes suddenly wavered, then turned in surprise and despair; for from the darkness behind emerged the forms of hundreds of Englishmen, who fell upon the Danes. The levies were out, and only just in time.

"One charge!" said Edmund; and, rushing forward, led the way into the heart of the foe.

The Danes who had attacked the house of Herstan were so far in advance of their countrymen that they were forced to retreat instantly before the superior force which came to the rescue of the besieged; and they fell back, at first in some order, but shortly, owing to the darkness and the pressure of their foes, in utter confusion.

But Edmund could pursue them no longer. His strength, having been so lately an invalid, was utterly gone. He fell from sheer exhaustion, and was borne back by Alfgar to the hall.

But there was no longer need for his protection. He had saved the mansion and all its inmates, as they most readily owned. And now he received all the loving care and attention he deserved.

Meanwhile the English continued the pursuit until a small remnant of Danes repa.s.sed the river; only a small remnant of the party which, as it will be easily guessed, instigated by Edric, had sallied forth to besiege the place where Edmund had found refuge, who had so recently provoked the bitter hostility of Sweyn.

The following day the whole army of the Danes retreated from the ruins of Wallingford towards the south; and the next day encamped in the village of Cholsey, which, with its priory, they utterly destroyed. Then they continued their retreat along the slope of the downs, by Aston, until they reached Cuckamsley hill, where they abode as a daring boast; for it had been said that if they ever reached that spot they should never see the sea again. Alas! the prediction was unfulfilled {xii}.