"Ah! there come half-a-dozen more round those firs. We must ride forward and give up the sport."
Their enemies saw them and quickened their pace. They came to the spot where their countrymen lay prostrate, and the cry of revenge they raised, and the manner in which they urged their steeds forward, showed how strongly the sight appealed to their feelings.
Onward flew pursuers and pursued--onward till Windsor's height, with its castled hall, appeared in sight, and tempted them to seek refreshment for man and beast. But they dared not linger on their journey, and passed the town without entering.
They rode all night through a most desolate country, wasted by fire and sword in all directions. Only in a few spots was there any appearance of cultivation, for who would sow when they knew not who should reap? Not one lonely country house, such as abounded in the days of Edgar the Pacific, did they see standing, although they passed the blackened ruins of many an abode, showing where once the joys of home held sway. Here and there they came upon the relics of strife, in the shape of bodies of men and horses left to rot, and in one spot, where a ford had been defended, the rival nations had left their fallen representatives by hundreds. It must have been months before, yet no one had buried the bodies. Such people as still existed without the fortified towns had betaken themselves to the woods, or the recesses of the deep swamps and forests, as the people of Aescendune had done.
As they drew near Dorchester, they found yet more sanguinary traces of recent war, for the Thames had been the scene of constant warfare. Bensington, half burned, had partially recovered, and had renewed her fortifications; Wallingford, hard by, had never risen since the frightful Christmas of 1006.
Dorchester now rose before them. They had accomplished fifty miles of hard riding that night. They were seen, challenged, and recognised, by a patrol without the gates, and the cry, "Long live King Edmund!" echoed from all sides. A thousand gallant Mercians, the nucleus of an army, each man fit to be a captain, awaited them there, and Edmund felt his spirits revive within him, and his hope for England; and Alfgar met Hermann with great gladness.
It was pitiful to see the blackened ruins of churches and palace, which had not been rebuilt since the Danish raid of 1010, but the commoner dwellings were rising with rapidity from their ashes, or had already risen, for the shelter of the earthworks and other fortifications was not to be despised, and prevented the place from being utterly abandoned.
Yet it may be noted that Dorchester never fully recovered the events of that dreadful year, and that its decay probably dates from the period.
Resting only a few hours, during which they were the guests of Ednoth, the bishop, they departed with his fervent blessing and earnest prayers for their success, and rode westward, attended by their whole troop.
Every town they reached received them with enthusiasm. They were now near the birthplace of the great Alfred, where the hearts of the people were all thoroughly with their native princes; and men left all their ordinary occupations to strike one blow for King Edmund and England. Onward, and like a rolling snowball, they gathered as they went, until they entered Wiltshire with ten thousand men, and, crossing the country, reached the opposite border with all the brave men of Wilts added to their numbers.