Part 35 (1/2)

Edmund, on the other hand, ”Victory, my men, or a warrior's grave! We will not live to see England prostrate beneath the tyrant any longer.”

Then came the rush: the crash of steel upon steel, the hideous melee, where friend and foe seemed blent in one dense struggling ma.s.s; the cries which pain sometimes extorted from the bravest; the shouts of the excited combatants, until Edmund's centre gave way.

He had expected this, and desired nothing more. The Danes pressed on deeply into the core of the hostile army, when they found their progress stopped by some of the bravest warriors who formed the rear, and at that moment the wings curved round upon them.

”Come, my men!” shouted Edmund; and with Alfgar by his side, followed by the whole of the English cavalry, burst upon the rear of the Danes. He and his cleft their way in--hewed it through living ma.s.ses of flesh; trampled writhing bodies under foot; their very horses seemed to laugh at the spear and sword, until before him Edmund saw Canute himself. He struggled violently to reach him; slew two or three living impediments, and the two rivals faced each other for one moment; then came Edmund's ponderous blow. Canute avoided it, but his horse fell beneath it; the spine severed near the neck. He was dragged up instantly by his armour bearer, who attended upon him, as Alfgar upon Edmund, and before the attack could be renewed a living torrent separated the combatants.

The victory was won; the Danes were in full flight.

O joy for England! the day of her captivity was turned; henceforward she might hope. The foe, the invincible foe, was flying before an English king and an English army.

For while on the one side Edmund had charged the foe on their left flank, on the other side the men of Wess.e.x had imitated his example, and the foe yielded.

Still, terrible in defeat, more than half fought their way out of the trap into which they had fallen, and retired upon their camp, closely pursued, until the trump of Edmund recalled the pursuers, anxious lest they should in turn fall into an ambuscade, for reinforcements were awaiting the Danes behind.

From this time the prospects of Edmund and England brightened. Day after day fresh reinforcements came into his camp, until he followed Canute, who had retreated into Wilts.h.i.+re. There, a few days later, a second battle was fought at Sceorstan {xvi}, wherein much bravery was shown on both sides. On Monday the two armies fought all day without any advantage on either side. On the Tuesday the English were rapidly getting the better, when the traitor Edric, severing the head of a fallen Englishman named Osmaer, held it up, shouting:

”Flee, Englis.h.!.+ flee, Englis.h.!.+ Edmund is dead.”

They began to yield; and it was as much as Edmund himself could do, by lifting his helmet, exposing his features, and shouting, ”I live to lead you to victory!” to restore the battle.

Canute retired upon London, followed closely by Edmund. Upon the road messengers came from Edric imploring the forgiveness of his injured brother-in-law, and offering to join him with all his forces. There was long consultation over this in the English camp; but in spite of Edmund's own feelings it was decided to receive Edric, since Canute's fate would seem to be quite decided if England were united by the union of those southern English who had fought under Canute with Edric, and the men of Mercia and Wess.e.x who had won the previous victories.

So the two armies met together. The men of Hamps.h.i.+re, who had followed the Dane, were welcomed as returning to their true allegiance by their countrymen; and Edmund did violence to his feelings by receiving Edric to his council board, if not to his friends.h.i.+p.

It was a joyous day when Edmund approached London, and thus fulfilled the promise of his coronation. Canute, who had made another attempt on the city, fled before him, but hovered around until two days later. Edmund engaged him the third time at Brentford, and defeated him again. Then Edmund retired into Wess.e.x to raise more troops, and during his absence the Danes took the offensive again, once more besieging London in vain, while they harried all the neighbouring districts until Edmund returned with a large army, drove them into Kent, and gave them such a fearful defeat at Otford that they fled in despair to the Isle of Sheppey, and all men said Edmund would have destroyed them utterly, had not Edric persuaded him to stop the pursuit at Aylesford.

The Danes soon emerged again, and, crossing the Thames, commenced plundering Ess.e.x, when Edmund and Edric, with all the flower of the Anglo-Saxon race, advanced to meet them once more. Nearly all the men of note in England followed Edmund's banner, for, now that his abilities were proved, there was a general enthusiasm in his favour. So all the rank and t.i.tle of the realm stood by him when he drew up his army hard by the little river Crouch, near a.s.singdun, in Ess.e.x, then called a.s.sandun.

There, by his side, when the tents were pitched the evening before the battle, stood many a brave ealdorman,--G.o.dwin of Lindsey; Ulfketyl, the hero of the East Angles; Ethelweard, the son of the pious Ethelwine, whom men called the ”Friend of G.o.d.” And present at that last banquet were Ednoth, the bishop of Dorchester, and other ecclesiastics, who had come to pray for the host and to succour the dying with ghostly aid. Well nigh all the great men of England were here. But Edric supped in their midst. Their spirits were high that night, and while Edmund drank to their success on the morrow, each man responded with a fervour which augured confidence in that morrow's issue--all save the wicked Edric, whose heart seemed far from his words.

The events of that fatal morrow are matter of history. The armies joined battle. Victory seemed to favour Edmund. The Danes were already giving way, when Edric turned and fled, with his whole division, whom he had corrupted. After that all was disorder amongst the English; but they continued fighting bravely until the moon arose, and they were becoming surrounded on all sides, when, in sheer desperation, they at last gave way.

Edmund would not yield until Alfgar seized the bridle of his horse, and almost by violence caused him to turn his steed, bidding him live for England, for he was its hope. It was growing dark rapidly, and the darkness alone saved Edmund and the relics of the English army.

With a faithful few, including both Alfgar and Hermann, nearly all of the party wounded, the English king rode sadly from the scene, groaning bitterly in spirit.

”Why did I trust him again? Why did I trust him?” he kept muttering to himself.

”You did not trust him. The council overruled you. I was present,” said Alfgar.

”But I might have resisted.”

And he persisted in his unavailing regret.

It was a sad sight to see the field of battle strewn for miles with the dead and dying, while gangs of plunderers swarmed in all directions. One sharp encounter with such a party served to warm Edmund's blood, after which he was a little more cheerful.

But the saddest scene in the flight lay on a gentle eminence, commanding a view of the field, whose deformities night mercifully shrouded from view, although the murmurs of the wounded reached them even there in one long subdued wailing moan.