"O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,
With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."
Milton.
We left Sigurd and his two followers in the cave in the mountains. Sigurd, as usual, was restless and eager for further attacks upon the Normans. So, early next morning, one of his men, in obedience to his commands, climbed to the top of the mountain for the purpose of signalling the scattered band, who, since the departure of their leader, with the wounded chieftain Oswald—narrated previously—had been in hiding in small companies, or singly, with their wives and children. This messenger laboriously scaled peak after peak until he mounted the loftiest eminence of all; from whence, far away in the hazy distance, summit after summit towered heavenwards, with scarred weird valleys lying between them, and the placid wood-encircled lakes in goodly number shining like burnished silver, looking up to heaven, reflecting sun and cloud in their still depths. The man, ignorant, unlettered, and uncultured as he was, felt the mighty inspiration; and he stood passively for a few minutes surveying the scene lying before him. Then slowly he turned upon his heel until he had faced every point of the compass, taking in the mighty distances within the circle of these mountain sentinels, with the magnificent and inspiring solitudes around on every hand. The cool mountain breeze stirred his long, unkempt locks and beard; and the air, pure as the unsullied breath of heaven, like an inspiration thrilled through his lungs, and poured its vitalising energy through every vein in his body. Not a sound, however, broke from his lips betokening any sense of admiration or appreciation of what he looked upon. Only some half-articulated guttural sounds betokened intense inward satisfaction. But now, in a moment, quick as thought, his brawny arms unfolded from across his broad chest, and a fierce fire of rage kindled in his eye; a savage expression also escaped his lips, for the deep baying of a hound broke upon his ear, and turning, he saw down in the valley yonder, Norman soldiers putting bloodhounds on the trail of his chieftain, Sigurd. Instantly, without staying to rear aloft the beacon, which was to speak to comrades hiding in distant valleys or on the distant hills, he darted over the shoulder of the hill, and with long, fleet strides, seemed almost to fly towards the cave, where, in hiding, he had left his master. On reaching the cave he hurriedly explained to Sigurd the position of affairs. With a savage exclamation the chieftain said,—
"Ha! they hunt me with dogs again, as though I were a wolf or a hog. Well, let them beware! the wild boar of the mountains will find them more sport than will be pleasant, as he has done many times before! I suppose it will be a long race, for these Norman sleuthhounds are sure of scent, and will not be easily shaken off! Forward ye up the burn; we will go over the head, for there is a trap laid for them up yonder. From thence we go down into Deepdale, keeping along round the head of Ulleswater. Ye will get a good start, and may take it easy."
"What will ye do, Jarl? If ye mean to attack these Norman dogs, we would rather stand by you and share the risk."
"I shall be ruled by fate. Skuld, the Viking's friend, has me in his keeping; I shall not be slain; but one thing I must do, I must show myself to them, so as to divert the scent from this place. We must not let the hounds lead them to our lair here, for it is a snug port in a storm, and we shall need it for rest many times yet, I fear. When I have showed myself to them, I shall follow after you. As ye scale the summit ye may look out; if I need you I will signal, but it is not likely."
Buckling on their swords alone, so as to be lightly equipped, the two men followed the water-course which marked the dividing line betwixt the hills on either side, and which, in its turn, was flanked on each hand by the dense wood stretching for more than a mile further up the burn, until the inhospitable Zone was reached, where tree and shrub were pinched and stunted into barrenness by the chill mountain air, and where shelter only could be obtained by the innumerable and gigantic limestone boulders, which grimly stood sentinel over the leaping and tumbling waters. Sigurd hastily stowed away some provisions in a leathern case, which he strapped over his shoulders. Then, buckling on his belt, from which his broadsword was suspended, he crept from his hiding-place and strode upwards through the tangled undergrowth, making for the clear on the mountain side. His purpose, as we have already said, being to throw the hounds off the old scent which led to the cave overlooking the tarn, and to draw them directly after himself; for he was very little dismayed at the prospect, so confident was he of his own power to keep them at a safe distance, and weary out, if need be, the Norman band. Having cleared the wood, he climbed up the hillside for a little way, scanning carefully the course along which the enemy must come. All was quiet as yet, so he sat him down to await events. He had not long to wait in this position, however, ere the cry of the hounds and the shouting of men smote upon his ear, and he started to his feet. Yonder in the distance, and coming along the mountain side, he espied a couple of men, each leading a hound, and a company of thirty or forty Norman men-at-arms followed after. Climbing upon a knoll, professedly to survey the party, but in reality to attract attention to himself, he stood for a moment, a conspicuous figure on the barren hillside, and speedily he was seen by the Normans, who set up a great shout of exultation as they beheld the burly figure of their dire foe so nearly in their power. Sigurd waved his sword defiantly in their faces, and then turned and sped him after his men, towards the valley's head. Eagerly the Normans followed after, having Sigurd almost constantly in view; and, as they deemed, soon to be run down and captured.
As they followed after Sigurd up the valley it grew gradually into a most desolate and awe-inspiring solitude. All along the mountain summits the limestone rocks jutted out clear of every vestige of verdure—bare, bold, ominous, and frowning. The slow, but persistent disintegrating influences of climate and atmosphere had, through the centuries, slowly diminished their beetling heads; and all adown their scraggy sides layer upon layer of rocky fragments testified most eloquently that rugged and strong as were these rocky eminences, there was a despoiler strong enough even to cope with their might; whilst in the bottom of the glen were huge rocks lying where Nature's invisible fingers had toppled them from the summit. Few living things haunted the place. Yonder, over the crest of the mountain, a pair of golden eagles were wheeling in circles, delighting in the strength of their matchless pinions. Here and there a rabbit might be seen stealing in and out amongst the boulders. Several carrion crows, with hoarse croak, flitted from boulder to boulder in ominous expectation of coming carnage. Rich and plentiful had been their fare since the coming of the Normans, and, with true instinct, these flying Saxons and pursuing Normans, they knew, were prophetic of gratification to their base appetites.
On the Normans came, their following after being greatly expedited by a constant sight of the quarry. For there was no need to be careful, or anxious lest their hounds lost the trail. Sigurd was not a quarter of a mile ahead, but in consequence of the ascent, and the rough ground to be traversed, it represented a good start. He was also a much more powerful and skilful mountaineer than they were, and with the utmost ease he held the distance. As they progressed the ascent became steeper and steeper, wilder and more rugged. Frequently they lost sight of the Viking chief, as he disappeared behind huge boulders or frowning rocks, only to see him reappear again on some promontory still higher, from which he would watch them for a minute or two as they struggled after him, the savage defiances he shouted falling easily upon their ear. Nearer and nearer, however, they came towards the head of this rugged and water-furrowed gorge. Running along the topmost ridge of the hill on either side of the cleft, down which the water rushed, was a long line of steep beetling crags, bare, jutting, verdureless rocks, well-nigh impossible to scale, and involving a wide circuit to outflank. The waters, through countless generations, with unceasing rush and swirl, had shorn these flinty limestone rocks asunder in one steep slit from top to bottom; and to track the "mad Saxon"—as Sigurd was called by the Normans—through this weird crevice, was to penetrate a mere fissure between steep and overhanging rocks on either side, and so full of twists that the path was frequently completely hidden a couple of yards in advance. The Saxon knew his ground well.