“And,” quoth Elfric, looking at the sun, “if we but keep our ground, Lord Hereward will be on the opposite side of the river before ye can say a dozen credos—so blow! Saxons, blow your horns to help that blatant trumpet in telling the Lord of Brunn that fighting is toward, and keep ready a few of the boats to waft over Lord Hereward’s force to this side of the river!”
The Saxons blew their horns as loud as they could blow them, meaning the blasts to be as much a note of defiance to the enemy as a signal to their friends; and the Norman trumpeter kept blowing his brazon and far-sounding trumpet, and the Norman cavaliers kept charging along the road, shouting and cursing and calling the Saxons thieves and cowards—which they had no right to do. As the enemy came near, the Saxons set up a shout, and the scared horses and asses tied together on the road, set up their heels with such a kicking and braying and neighing as were never seen and heard; and up started from the sedge by the river bank the score of good Saxon archers that had gone a little up the river in the boats, and whiz went their arrows into the bowels of the horses the Normans were riding, and every arrow that did not kill, disabled some horse or man, the archers in the sedges being too near their aim to throw away a single arrow. The knight in command ordered the trumpeter to sound a retreat, but before the man could put the brass to his lips, a shaft went through his cheeks and spoiled his trumpeting for aye. But the Normans showed that they could run without sound of trumpet; and away galloped the valorous knight to bring up his bowmen. These Norman archers had no great appetite for the business, and albeit they were told there was a great treasure to be gotten, they stood at a distance, looking now down the road, and now down the river, and now across the ditch and the plashy meadows beyond it; and thus they stood at gaze until they heard a round of Saxon cheers, and the too well-known war-cry of “Hereward for England!” and until they saw a warlike band advancing towards Brandon by the opposite bank of the river. A cockle shell to a mitre—but they tarried not long then! Away went the Normans, horse and foot, as fast as they could go through Brandon town and back upon the high road by which they had marched from Thetford.
“Ha! ha!” cried the Lord of Brunn to his friends from across the river; “what new wasps’ nest is this ye have been among?”
The sword-bearer replied that it was a Norman force which had been marching from the south-east.
“’Tis well,” said Hereward; “and I see ye have made good booty, and so all is well on your side. On our side we have led the Normans from Dereham and thereabouts a very pretty dance. I drew a party of them after me into the fens and cut them off or captured them to a man. I count as my prisoners one rash young knight and fifteen men-at-arms.”
“We have loaded and brought hither more than a score of asses and a full score of pack-horses. Shall we finish loading? All the wine is here, and a good deal of the corn, and—”
“But shall we not pursue?” cried Girolamo. “Those Normans that came on so boldly are now running like sheep. By moving across this marsh, as light fen-men move, we shall be sure to cut off a part of them.”
“Since the corn and wine are now safe, be it as you please, Girolamo; but take Elfric with thee, and go not too far in pursuit.”
A light skerry was drawn from the river and laid across the ditch in less than a credo; and then away went the Salernitan and the sword-bearer, and all the best archers and boldest men of their party, across the plashy fields; and soon they came up with the rear of the flying Normans, and engaged them in battle on the dry road between Brandon and Thetford, and slew many of them, and captured many more, together with all the baggage and stores of the armament. The short but fierce battle was over, and Elfric was counting the prisoners, when one of them after surrendering his sword, and after begging for and receiving quarter, sneaked out of the throng and endeavoured to escape by running into a thicket near the roadside. The Salernitan, who was resting himself after his exertion, and leaning on the cross of his well-used sword, now in its sheath, saw the intention of the man-at-arms, and rushed after him into the thicket. Now that caitiff, in giving up his sword, had not given up a concealed dagger, and when Girolamo touched him on the shoulder, merely with the point of his still-sheathed sword, he drew that dastardly and unknightly weapon from his breast, and plunged it into the left side of the Salernitan. Girolamo fell to the ground with the murderer’s knife in his side; but in the next instant, the murderer was shot through the brain by a well-directed arrow, and as he fell, several Saxons fell with their swords upon him, and, in their fury at his treachery, they hacked his body to pieces. Yet these honest men, though they saw the blood was welling from his side, had much ado to believe that the dark stranger was really hurt with a mortal hurt, and could die like other men. It would be hard to say how long they might have stood looking upon him, stupidly, but not unkindly, if he had not said, “Saxons, raise my head, place me with my back to a tree, and go seek Elfric, and tell him I am hurt by one of his felon prisoners.”
Elfric came running to the spot with rage, grief, and astonishment on his countenance. The sword-bearer was breathless and could not speak; the Salernitan was already half-suffocated with the blood that flowed inwardly, but it was he that spoke first and said, “Elfric! after twenty-five years of war and mortal hate between me and them, the Normans have killed me at last! Elfric, let me not die unavenged. Slay me every Norman prisoner thou hast taken on this foul day.”