On and on it went while the sharp-edged swords did their work. The Saxons made a brave but ineffectual resistance. On every side they fell. The tables were overturned in the strife, and mead and pigment mingled with the blood of those who such a short time before quaffed the cup so gayly.
Through the struggling combatants, Wulfhere made his way somehow to the upper end of the hall where Egwina, Ethelfleda, Elswitha, the lady’s mother, Eadburga, the two youths and the little ones were huddled together, terrified at the sudden onslaught.
“Thou must not stay here,” he cried to the Lady Elswitha. “It is no place for thee, or these others.”
A thegn darted to them at this moment.
“Retire,” he shouted. “Retire, Lady, to thy bower.”
“Retire!” exclaimed the lady, “and leave my lord’s hearthstone to the invader?”
“Thou must,” cried the thegn in anguish. “For the love of the Holy Mary, seek thy bower. We must answer to the king for thy safety.”
Without further remonstrance, the lady turned to flee with her children. It was none too soon. The Northmen pressed furiously toward that end of the hall. The few remaining Saxons threw themselves between the terrible Danes and their beloved lady.
“Go, lads,” commanded the same thegn who had before spoken, pushing the youths who lingered towards the fleeing group; “ye can do naught here, and your duty lies there. Go!” and the boys obeyed him.
As quickly as possible the little party made its way into the bower and barricaded the entrance behind them.