Cædwalla; or, The Saxons in the Isle of Wight: A Tale

by Frank Cowper

Wulf the Atheling saw that their hours were numbered; each man of his force felt the same. He himself was bleeding profusely from a large gash in his shoulder, and one arm was nearly useless. His axe was notched, and stained deep-red. His helmet was deeply dented, and he looked faint and ghastly; but the spirit of his race was in him, and he prepared to sell his life as dearly as might be. Turning to his men he said briefly:

"Comrades, we shall meet ere long in Valhalla; remember, the more we slay, the happier we shall be; rejoice then, that we shall so soon live for ever, and shall have so many to meet us there."

Then turning to Arwald, he cried tauntingly:

"Boaster that thou art, where are thy young men? Look at the ground in front of thee. Who measured his length upon it? Dastard and villain, no wonder thou darest not fight it out with me, but must bring four to one to the fight, and yet canst not beat us. Are the Wihtwaras no better than this? But yesterday, an old woman—a bald-headed one—and a child, killed six of your warriors. Go bring thy women to kill us, they will fight better than thou."

Arwald, disdaining to reply, led his men nearer to the Yare, and advanced once more to the attack. Wulf and his men grimly awaited them. Suddenly the Atheling heard his name called, and looking across the Yare, he saw old Ceolwulf standing by the water's edge, and at the same moment a whizzing sound rushed through the air, followed by a yell from one of Arwald's men:

"Make for the boat, Prince Wulf; thou canst reach her if thou makest a dash for it; at least some of ye can be saved!" shouted Ceolwulf, pointing to the boat which rode at her moorings not more than a few hundred yards away.

The advice was good, but could Prince Wulf act on it? Could he leave his men to be slaughtered, and seek safety in flight? Life was dear to him: he was handsome, young, and loved pleasure. He could do more good with a few men to defend the stockade, than by dying there, he thought. Fresh hope came to him, he wavered, and as Arwald's advance seemed unaccountably checked, he determined to take advantage of the moment, and make a rush for the boat. Instantly the whole band broke up. The faith in the pleasures of Valhalla was overbalanced by the desire to realise those of this earth a little longer; and each man as he was able ran for dear life. Arwald gave a yell of rage, and shouted to his men to follow at the top of their speed; but as he started at a run to set the example himself, he received a violent blow on the side of his forehead, that for a moment stunned him; many of his men were falling, or were receiving severe cuts. What was it? Where did these invisible blows come from?

"There, there, from the other side of the water!" shouted one of his men, pointing to a large party of boys led by Wulfstan, who was plying his sling with delighted vigour. The speaker was unable to finish his sentence, for he received a crashing blow on his mouth which knocked several of his teeth down his throat. Arwald's rage was frightful to see, and the pain of his cut forehead, combined with the partial blindness which resulted from it, for the blood from the wound ran down over his eye, made him dangerous to approach. But he still pressed on after the fugitives, hoarsely shouting to his people to hasten up. But Wulfstan and his troop of boys kept plying the solid mass with stones, and richly they enjoyed the fun, for almost every stone took effect. Arwald's force was compelled to draw farther away from the water's edge. Unfortunately for the full success of the diversion, where the boat was riding at anchor was out of reach of the stones, and now that Arwald's people saw where the galling flights of stones came from, they kept out of range and continued the pursuit of Wulf and his men.

But the check the enemy had received gave a long start to the fugitives, which they had done their best to improve, and Wulf had reached the water's edge and was hastily splashing through the shallow sea; he was now wading out to the boat and was scrambling in, followed by two or three others, the rest were crowding behind; it was clear the boat would not hold more than nine or ten, and what would become of the others? Therefore each man ran, and splashed, with desperate haste; many had fallen as they ran, dizzy with loss of blood; one or two, sullenly desperate, giving up all hope and determined to die hard, turned to face the enemy, prepared to brain the first man that dared to come near them; a few even did not await the foe, but rushed fiercely to meet him, shouting their death song, and met their end like ancient northern heroes. Beornwulf and Osborn and two of the Boseham men, who had fought gallantly, still survived; the two latter were close beside Wulf the Atheling, and all three had now clambered into the boat. The breeze was blowing fresh off the land; one of the South Saxons ran to the bows, and with a blow of his axe severed the moorings, and instantly the boat drifted away from the shore. Wulf had lost so much blood that the moment he had climbed into the boat he fell into the bottom of it, and lost all consciousness. The two South Saxons were both wounded, one had lost three fingers off one hand, and the other had a terrific gash in his forearm, so that they were not able to do much in the way of rowing; indeed, they did not attempt it, but were content to sit down and let the boat drift before the wind, merely steering her by an oar over the stern.

Beornwulf and Osborn shouted to them to come back and take in more, but with the callousness of utter weariness and exhaustion, they paid no attention, scarcely looking up or heeding anything, and thus drifted far down the broad Brædynge haven towards the entrance.