As we have seen, the conflagration was yet at its heights when Wilfred of Aescendune and his hundred men left the scene, and took their road to the east, along the reddened waters of the river.
It was not without the deepest sorrow, that the English heir thus abandoned his inheritance, but necessity left no choice; it was plain that the force arrayed against him rendered resistance hopeless, and it was far better to go where his sword was likely to be of use in the struggle for freedom than to hide in the woods, as he said, "like a brock, until the dogs hunt it out."
And he had hope, too, that when it was discovered that he and his bravest men had fled eastward, pursuit would be attracted in that direction, and the poor fugitives in the woods left unmolested, at least for the present.
As they rode rapidly and silently along, they saw in the distance, with what bitter feelings may be imagined, the Norman castle of Warwick, where at that moment the Conqueror himself was reposing, and where the Norman heir was perhaps counting the hours, until daylight should arouse him to go and seize upon his inheritance. Onward they rode, conducted with the greatest skill and success by their guide from the Camp of Refuge, Leofric of Deeping, who entertained them by the way, when circumstances permitted, by many a story about Hereward and his merry men, each one of whom he said was a match for three Normans, while Hereward would not turn his back upon seven at once.
When the east grew red with the coming light they were traversing an immense tract of wild forest land, bright with the gorse, then in flower, and tenanted only by myriads of rabbits; here they came upon a grassy dell, with plenty of good grazing for their horses, and a clear stream running through the bottom.
"We shall scarce find a better place than this to rest," said their guide; "I know the spot well. When a boy my grandfather lived in that ruined farmhouse which you can see peeping through the trees; I remember I was just tall enough to look over yon wall."
"Is it in English hands now?" said Wilfred, anxiously.
"It is desolate--waste--ruined. The Normans butchered the inmates long since, God knows why, save that they gave shelter to some proscribed fugitives, who were being hunted like wild beasts. They were not my own kinsfolk; by God's blessing my grandparents died while Edward was yet alive. I often feel grateful that they did not live to see these evil days."
They hobbled the horses, and took their own repast by the side of the stream. Each man had brought rations for two days with him, and there was no lack.
Then, after carefully setting sentinels in each direction, they slept under the shade of the trees. The moss was a delicious couch, the day was warm, and the murmur of the little stream, united to the hum of the insects, lulled them to sleep.