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

by Frank Cowper

This desire for the safety of their fallen leader was more ostentatious than genuine, and was certainly not conducive either to his comfort or the success of the assault; for the only immediate result was to extort the fiercest execrations from the crushed leader, who suffered untold agonies by their wrenching his limbs from under the weight, and had the further consequence of causing their champion, who was engaged in the hand-to-hand fight with Athelhune, to reel on the unsteady stone. He thus missed a favourable, and what would have probably been a decisive blow at his antagonist, and received instead the full force of a tremendous stroke from Athelhune's axe, which toppled him down off the stone upon the men who were pulling at his chieftain.

Thus Athelhune was relieved of his assailant at a very opportune moment, for his neighbour, Beornwulf, was being hard driven by the Wihtwara, who was a powerful, resolute man, and, having scrambled up to the top of the wall, was more than a match for Beornwulf, who had hardly recovered from his late wound inflicted by Ceolwulf in the Andredesweald, and who was, besides, somewhat weak from want of food. Athelhune, having disposed of his foeman, turned in an instant to Beornwulf's help, and with a swinging blow of his axe shore through the leathern gaiters of the Wihtwara, as he stood striking down at Beornwulf. The force of the blow was so terrific that it not only severed the leg completely below the knee, but inflicted a deep gash in the other leg, and the wretched man fell headlong upon Beornwulf inside the fortification.

Meanwhile things had not been going quite so well on the other side of Athelhune. The two men who were defending that part of the little fort were Boseham men, and had not had experience of fighting like the body-guard of Cædwalla; they were, besides, physically inferior, being weakened by the long famine from which they, in common with the rest of the South Saxons, had been suffering; they also mistook the efforts of the old ceorls of Ælfhere for really hostile intentions, and were proportionately dispirited at the unequal nature of the contest.

The result, therefore, of the first onset had been the breaking down of the hastily-constructed defences in front, and the entry of two of Arwald's men, closely followed by three of their Brædynge allies. The two Boseham men were forced back, still fighting, and were left by the leading Wihtwara of Arwald's party to be disposed of by the others behind him.

He himself made a rush for where the wounded Eorldoman Ælfhere was lying, and without a pause waved his gleaming axe over the defenceless eorl's head. The axe rose, flashed, descended, but at the same instant two other forms had darted forward, another flash of steel almost simultaneous with that of the Wihtwara glanced in the air, and the spear of Wulfstan, driven with all the energy of rage and despair nerving his boyish strength, pierced the heart of the man who was about to murder his father; but Wulfstan's blow would have been too late had it not been for another interposition. Brother Malachi, seeing inevitable death awaiting Ælfhere, had rushed forward, and being without any weapon to ward off the blow, had without a moment's thought thrust out his arms to intercept the stroke. With a fortunate instinct he had held them high up, so that the blow had not gathered full force, but the axe inflicted a fearful wound, and Malachi's arm dropped useless to his side. But he had done his work, he had gained his object, and he sank to the ground with a sense of gratification as he saw the Wihtwara fall. There was now only one determined foe left, for the rest of the assailants, who had at no time shown any great desire to come to close quarters, were now evidently wavering, and seeing that Athelhune and Beornwulf had disposed of their antagonists, and were coming hastily to assist the Boseham men and Wulfstan, they drew together and retreated outside the enclosure, the Wihtwara belonging to Arwald going with them. Wulfstan could hardly believe in their good fortune; it seemed impossible that four armed men only, a monk, and a boy should have been able to resist the determined attack of twelve men. Had these been all animated with the same spirit as the six followers of Arwald they certainly could not have made much of a fight of it; but the lucky recognition of his father's ceorls by Wulfstan, and Athelhune's well-timed speech, had turned the scale, and they were masters of the field.

But Athelhune was not satisfied with that; springing on to the wall he shouted out to the Brædynge men to return to their eorldoman, who was waiting to reward them for their services, and who had recognised how skilfully they had managed to baffle the attempts of his enemies. He also told Wulfstan to call to them by name, and invite them to come and see their lord.

These words had their due effect, and the men came in with a sheepish air to look at their wounded master, and to salute him with respectful words. Two or three of them with greater presence of mind suddenly turned upon the only follower of Arwald still alive or unwounded, and disarmed him, accomplishing the feat so quickly as to allow him no time to defend himself.

This was a very hopeful sign of their returning fidelity, and Athelhune saw it with very visible satisfaction; but, like a prudent commander, he would take no rest until he knew what had become of Ceolwulf, for he could not disguise from himself the danger that so small a party as only three men ran, now that he knew the enemy were aware of their arrival and whereabouts.

He thought the best thing to do, therefore, would be to send off three of the most trustworthy of the ceorls to look for Ceolwulf, tell him what had happened, and hasten his return with the much-needed supplies, the want of which was now more than ever felt. Wulfstan having told him who were the men he liked best, he sent them off, and then turned to examine the results of the fight.

His first care was for Malachi, whose heroism and self-sacrifice had raised him to a pinnacle of glory. The wound he had received was of a ghastly nature; the axe had struck the arm below the elbow, had cut to the bone, and then glanced sideways, inflicting a desperate gash, and poor Malachi had already fainted from loss of blood. But Athelhune had seen plenty of wounds of a worse kind than this; indeed, the one he had himself just now given to his antagonist was of a far more terrible nature, and he did not doubt that Malachi would recover. He quickly picked a handful of grass, the softest he could find, placed it firmly over and round the wound, then tore off a piece of the dead Wihtwara's tunic, and bound the arm tightly up. Finally, making a sling, and suspending it round Malachi's neck, and inserting the arm in it, he had him placed under the shelter by Ælfhere's side. Then, leaving Deva and Wulfstan to watch over the two wounded men, he went out to see what had become of the other Wihtwaras.