And all around that thorn tree the dead lay piled high like unto a wall, Saxon and Dane, still clutching each other in the last fierce hand-grips of death. And the fighters were weary with slaughter and the swords tired of their song. And then, for the first time in any decisive battle since their landing, the Danes broke and retreated, and Hungwar led them, galloping off on his war-horse and waving his arms as if the evil spirit had entered into him. And so ended the battle, and the Saxons were the masters of the field of slaughter.
And yet it was at great cost, for many were slain, and while the Danes could bring a score for each one dead, the men of Wessex were few, and the men of Mercia and Northumbria were jealous of them, and would have joyed to see them beaten, and would not come to their aid.
So back went the King and the Atheling and their soldiers, and the eagles and the crows gathered over the field of slaughter, and the wolf howled for joy from the forest as he called his brethren to the feast, smelling the blood from afar.
But Wulnoth looked to where, far away, he saw the Raven of Odin in retreat, and he looked to the cross which the priests carried before the army, and he remembered his words and felt that the White Christ was the strongest, and that they who served Him were no nithings, when it came to making the sword sing and playing the man's game.
Now, this is how the Danes were beaten by the Saxons of Wessex on the field of slaughter which is called Ashdune, and this is how the Raven of Odin fled from the sign of the White Christ.
CHAPTER XVII
The Passing of Ethelred the King
Now, though the men of Wessex had beaten the Danes with a great slaughter at the battle of Ashdune, little rest did the weary land have from the war-song, but day by day the sword gleamed and the red flames roared, and the Black Strangers came in foraying bands.