So Wulfhere crossed the stream with his men, and clambered up the steep bank on the opposite side. Then abreast, but on each side the stream, the two companies marched downwards. Presently they reached the spot selected for the attack. The disposition of the men was quickly effected. Then Wulfhere, keeping in the shelter of the trees, advanced to the brink of the precipice, where his position commanded a view of the enemy, who were swarming forward. From thence he could easily hold converse across the chasm with Oswald, who, with battle-axe firmly grasped in his right hand, and bronze shield on his left, like a fierce lion was grimly waiting for his prey; behind him, a dozen stout yeomen, who from their youth had been taught to wield either weapons of war or implements of husbandry, men who had proved their valour against both Norman and Dane on many occasions. As the enemy drew near, their numbers and every movement was minutely described to Oswald, until they drew so near that further parleying must cease. Then Wulfhere retired a few steps into the thicket where his men were lurking, with arrows affixed, ready for the fray. Meanwhile, the loud oaths, coarse laughter, and unchecked speech of the Normans told plainly the feelings of contempt they entertained for the foe, and the little apprehension they had of the onslaught awaiting them. Soon their scrambling footsteps drew quite close, amid a death-like stillness in the ranks of the lurking foe. The Saxon war-cry, "Ahoi!" in thunderous tones burst from the lips of Oswald and his men. "Ahoi!" shouted Wulfhere's men. "Ahoi!" shouted the men ambushed aloft. At that instant also, a dozen arrows with deadly aim came hissing across the defile; down also came the boulders from aloft, leaping with gathering velocity into the ranks of the foe, whilst Oswald dashed from behind the boulder, and closed with the Norman leader. Their gleaming eyes met for a second; the Norman dealt a hurried forceless blow with his sword, which the Saxon received on his shield; then his ponderous battle-axe came crashing down with irresistible force. The Norman interposed his shield, but the axe bore it down and, glancing therefrom, came full upon his cranium, tearing away his helmet, and felling him through the shrubs down into the water-course in the bottom of the glen. As the Normans witnessed the overthrow of their leader, they were completely panic-stricken, and helplessly huddled together like sheep, unable to strike a blow. The Saxon dominated the path in front, cutting down the foremost with marvellous celerity; whilst on one flank the deadly arrows were being poured into them, and on the other flank the huge stones clashed through their ranks and decimated their numbers. This hesitancy lasted but for a minute or two; very speedily the discomfiture became an abject panic, and each one for himself made a rush for the valley. The Saxons followed them swiftly, relentlessly, and cut them off in numbers, as they impetuously rushed away towards the valley and the castle. At a signal from Oswald, the Saxons ceased their harrying of the scattered and flying foe, and with swift footsteps they regained the head of the gorge and over the shoulder of the hills, to the help of their comrades, who barred the advance of the second band of Normans.
Now, whilst Oswald, with sagacity and conspicuous valour, had routed one contingent of the Normans, the sturdy Viking Sigurd, with a dozen of his own reckless and desperate band, reinforced by less than a score of Oswald's followers, pressed eagerly on to the fray with the other band of Normans. Sigurd possessed none of the qualities of generalship, beyond a desperate and headlong valour, which always bore him into the thickest of the fight. His personal strength was prodigious, and no other man could wield his ponderous sword; in a rough and desperate struggle where strength and valour were everything, and skill of little avail, he had no equal in all Northumbria. His own followers, too, in thicket warfare, with their short but heavy swords in one hand, and a long, gleaming knife or dagger in the other, were unrivalled in such an encounter as the one they challenged to-day. In Oswald's struggle, the place and plan of attack had more to do with the complete demoralisation of the Normans, than the desperate valour with which it was carried out. In Sigurd's case, it is true, the surprise, the thicket, and the rough and precipitous ground, were stout allies of his. But otherwise, everything depended on the vigour and valour of himself and men. Now Pierre led this second company, and he was a sturdy rogue who had to be reckoned with when it came to a tussle with weapons; and any one who counted on Pierre succumbing to panic or to fear would be grievously mistaken.
On, however, the Normans pressed, like their routed compatriots, never dreaming that the Saxons would be prepared for them; and, as a matter of fact, despising them, in any case. Right into the ambush they marched, recklessly and unheeding. Instantly the Saxon war-cry rends the air, and the wood is alive with men who frantically hurl themselves upon the astonished foe. The Normans stagger and reel at the fierce onset, and some fly, coward-like, without striking a blow. But the presence of mind and personal bravery of Pierre stands them in good stead at this juncture. In stentorian tones he shouted, "Notre Dame! Have at the dogs! Follow me!" And whipping out his sword he headed the onset, laying about him lustily and encouraging his men. But the burly Viking, Sigurd, finds none to withstand him, and he makes sad havoc amongst the men-at-arms, who quail and cower before him; whilst his followers, like mountain goats, dart from behind trees and boulders, dealing stealthy and effective strokes, completely nonplussing the Normans with their organised methods. Pierre quickly perceives, however, that they number five to one of the Saxons; and, if the burly Viking's arm can be arrested for ten minutes, victory will come speedily. There is none but he to do it. So boldly he dashes off on the instant and confronts the giant. No mean foeman is Pierre in point of physical strength and courage; but, when to that was added his superb skill in handling his weapon, he is not to be trifled with, even by so doughty a foe as Sigurd.
"Ha, ha!" roared the Viking chief, as he witnessed the temerity of this Norman in courting battle with him, and with reckless vigour he smites at Pierre. But the Norman plies shield and sword in defence, and dexterously shifts his ground to get an advantage. In swift succession the thunder-strokes fall, and gleams of fire dart from Pierre's shield and sword as he parries the blows. Scathless, however, he endures the ordeal.
"Bravo, Pierre!" his comrades shouted. "Hold him in play a little while, and we will make short work of these churls."
Truly everything points to this conclusion, for the Normans have gathered courage wonderfully, and by sheer numbers the Saxons are being rapidly overborne. At the instant, however, the Saxon battle-cry, Ahoi! Ahoi! Ahoi! wakes the echoes in the hills, and Oswald and his men dash into the flanks of the Normans. The effect is electrical. Panic-stricken, they fly before the onrush of the avenging Saxons. The retreat was a regular stampede; and Pierre and his men, along with the stragglers from the first company, rushed into the castle yard breathless with haste, never having made attempt to rally.
De Montfort and Vigneau, who had received the former troop with rage and dismay, were little less than frantic at this double disaster and ignoble defeat.
"Pierre, you scurvy villain, what is this? I wish thou hadst left thy ugly carcase with those Saxon dogs yonder, ere thou disgraced thy calling thus!" roared Vigneau at his henchman.
"You will take care that fat carcase of yours is put in no manner of danger, master!" rasped out Pierre, in fierce retort.
"How now, villain!" said Vigneau, drawing his sword and advancing on Pierre. "I'll put a stop to thy unmannerly insolence, dog!"