"How frightened our men-at-arms seem to be!" said Jeannette. "Do you see how frantically the Baron raves there at the foot of the wall, and shouts at the men? He boasts him of his valour. Why does he not mount the wall and face this Saxon?"
"What human lives are being sacrificed! 'Tis most dreadful! May God send us peace quickly!" murmured Alice, shading her eyes at the spectacle before her. "These are our people, Jeannette, but I must confess my sympathies are with the Saxons. This leader, too, defends his home with the courage of a hero. God grant he may not fall into the hands of our men alive, or he will be tortured with fiendish brutality for this day's work!"
The struggle still proceeds with gathering intensity and fierceness. Baron Vigneau, indeed, as Jeannette had described him, does rave and gesticulate frantically. "Down with him! Now, men, rush on him two or three together! Close with him! Push him from the wall! Hurl something at him!" But nevertheless he makes no effort to mount the wall himself.
De Montfort also stands there nervously directing the attack. "Here, man," said he, to a stalwart soldier by his side, "heave up this long pole and aim a blow at the Saxon." The man heaves up the pole, and, with a run and a powerful blow, he struck Oswald on the head. The blow completely staggers the Saxon; for a moment or two he hovers on the edge of the wall endeavouring to recover his balance; but, alas! it is all in vain, and he drops, with his heavy harness on, down into the castle yard a dozen feet or more.
At this untoward event the Saxons, in a perfect panic, rush for the drawbridge thrown across to the wall from one of the barbicans, and intended as a means of retreat by Oswald in the last resort. But the Normans have intercepted them and cut them off from this, and the custodians, seeing that this would be seized by the Normans, immediately withdraw it. Then the Saxons wildly leap from the wall, and for dear life's sake, rush like hunted hares, for the neighbouring thicket.
For a little while attention is distracted from the fallen chieftain by the efforts of the Normans to cut off these flying Saxons. But down there in the castle yard lies Oswald, stunned, bleeding, and insensible; helpless to fight or to fly. Wulfhere witnesses the helpless condition of his leader, and down he leaps and lifts him up and detaches his visor. As he does so, a deep sob escapes from the parted lips of Oswald; but there is no further sign of life or returning consciousness.
Whilst this has been transpiring, the attention of the Normans has been distracted from the leaders by the necessity to clear the walls of the few Saxons who, disdaining to seek safety in flight, die fighting most determinedly at their posts. Now, however, the Normans turn their attention to the two Saxon leaders entrapped within the castle yard. Immediately they send up a yell of fiendish delight, as they behold the almost frantic efforts of Wulfhere to arouse his unconscious master, and restore him to his senses.
But 'twas in vain. Oswald's head had been rudely jammed by the steel helmet in the shock of falling; and it was soon apparent to Wulfhere that the brief respite was now exhausted, without bringing any signs of returning consciousness. He threw his left arm around the waist of his helpless chieftain, and drew him, harness and all, upon his hip, and, grasping his broadsword in his right hand, he made with all the speed he could command for the door of the castle, hoping by this manœuvre to gain time.
But the stalwart and muscular form of Oswald, encumbered as it was by heavy armour, made progress painfully slow. In the meantime, the Normans reversed their scaling ladders and slid down into the quadrangle, and came trooping after the fugitives. Wulfhere saw his task was hopeless, and with a cry of pain like a wounded deer he dropped his helpless burthen on the greensward, and, furious as some wild beast, sprang at the yelling foe, cutting down the foremost at a blow. Following up the others, who quailed before him, he quickly laid half a dozen corpses in a ghastly circle round his master. But there was no end to the stream of furious assailants who were fast surrounding him. "'Tis in vain!" he pitifully exclaimed. "Oh, had I here but a score of stout men to make a rampart of steel, we would defy the yelling crew! God forgive me for this coward's act, my master! I would gladly die with you, but I know I shall better do your will by reserving my worthless life for service to your followers."
So saying, he bounded over the prostrate form of Oswald, and across the sward, mounting the half-dozen steps at the terrace entrance at a spring, and dashing through the open door.