Not so these Normans; but, enough for them, their foe was a flying foe, and they were numerous and consequently valorous. Ignoring completely the many lessons of personal valour and mad daring this man had taught them in the past, without pause they boldly followed after, the hounds foaming at the mouth and tugging at the leash. 'Twas a fearsome gap to enter, and they had not proceeded far when a jutting crag projected, and the waters were compelled to make a circuit in order to flow round it. With a deep bay, and an eager plunge in the turbid, rushing waters—for he scented blood—the hound which led the party dashed past the projection, eagerly dragging the Norman who followed after and held him. But a blow of Sigurd's sword cut the hound clean in two, and a second blow clave the Norman who held him. With a great shriek, a terror-stricken cry, and without pretence of defence, they turned in an eager scrambling retreat, each caring only for himself, and leaving the rearmost to the mercy of the savage giant who followed after. When they reached the open ground, where in numbers they could assail their foe, no foe was in sight. Sigurd had exhausted his opportunity and was gone. Who now would be first to enter again, and force this wild man from his lair? Alas! not one! There was, however, no time to lose, and the Normans were consumed with impotent rage. So some of them hurried round by the end of the crags, whilst some scaled the face of the cliff, each and all endeavouring, with utmost speed, to come upon the rocks above. This was done eventually, and, swarming to the brink of the rift, many heads endeavoured cautiously to peep over and down into the water-course, intensely hoping, but almost fearing, to set eyes upon their foe. But no Saxon was to be seen. They then rushed along the sides of the fissure, peeping down as they ran, and making sure that their victim was safely entrapped in his lair after all. But there was not a trace of him. On and on they rushed, over-lapping each other in turns, until, eventually, they came to the very summit, where the water-course had completely run out into a mere hollow, a deep, spongy marsh or bog. Hastily overtopping the hill, they eagerly looked down into the valley beyond. With wild execrations of rage they beheld the object of their direst hatred and fear moving down the mountain side with long, swinging strides, nearly a mile ahead, and immediately he disappeared in a dense wood, which seemed to stretch out its sheltering arms to the fugitive.
Sigurd was now joined by his two comrades, and together they pushed on for two or three miles through the forest, eventually rounding the head of Lake Ulleswater, and patiently climbing the steep headland on the opposite side of the lake. Here they halted for a while to rest and eat; but they were soon again roused to action by the voices of men and hound persistently following after. For the Normans were enraged, and, with the remaining hound, they continued mile after mile to track their arch enemy. Sigurd and his men, at a steady trot, continued to lead the chase, covering another five or six miles down the side of the lake without halting.
"Shall we keep up the race until we weary them out, Jarl?" remarked one of the men to Sigurd.
"No, I have another purpose in view; but this long race, with the taste of steel in the middle of it, will do them good."
"Ye do not purpose making for the cave, Jarl, do ye? There are not half a dozen men there, and we are no match for this company. Then there are the women and children to be thought of."
"No, that will not do at present. The boat will be safely moored at the foot of Hawks' Cliff, will it not, think ye?"
"Yes, I doubt not," was the reply. "I see now, Jarl. It is very good. To slip the noose so deftly when the Normans think to hang us is well thought of."
On for a little while the three continued, until coming to the rendezvous known to them as Hawks' Cliff—stupendous rocks shorn down with well-nigh a perpendicular face and overhanging the lake. Down these rocks, which required a cool head, deft feet, and a knowledge of the giddy path, these three swiftly descended, until the water was reached, where a boat was found snugly moored beneath the sheltering arms of the trees which fringed the water's edge. Into this boat the three stepped, and as the pursuers drew near they pulled away from the shore, making for the opposite side of the lake. Here was a masterly manœuvre, completely foiling the enemy. For whether they went round by the bottom of the lake, or retraced their steps by the head, it meant a start of ten or twelve miles to the fugitives; and with the day wearing on, and the pursuers wearied and fagged, the chase was manifestly closed for the day, with one more futile attempt to destroy this redoubtable enemy, who unweariedly persisted in exacting bloody tribute from their ranks, disdaining every overture of reconciliation, and defying their utmost efforts to subdue him.