"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."