“The cowards are fleeing already. Let your men go, Sir King!” shouted Taillebois.
“On to the assault! Strike for Normandy!” shouted William.
“I fear much,” said he to himself, “that this is some stratagem of that Hereward’s. But conquered they must be.”
The evening breeze curled up the reach. The great pike splashed out from the weedy shores, and sent the white-fish flying in shoals into the low glare of the setting sun; and heeded not, stupid things, the barges packed with mailed men, which swarmed in the reeds on either side the bridge, and began to push out into the river.
The starlings swung in thousands round the reed-ronds, looking to settle in their wonted place: but dare not; and rose and swung round again, telling each other, in their manifold pipings, how all the reed-ronds teemed with mailed men. And all above, the sky was cloudless blue.
And then came a trample, a roll of many feet on the soft spongy peat, a low murmur which rose into wild shouts of “Dex Aie!” as a human tide poured along the causeway, and past the witch of Brandon Heath.
“‘Dex Aie?’” quoth William, with a sneer. “‘Debbles Aie!’ would fit better.”
“If, Sire, the powers above would have helped us, we should have been happy enough to——But if they would not, it is not our fault if we try below,” said Ivo Taillebois.
William laughed. “It is well to have two strings to one’s bow, sir. Forward, men! forward!” shouted he, riding out to the bridge-end, under the tower.
“Forward!” shouted Ivo Taillebois.