"It cometh shortly," said the missionary. "It is but nine miles from the river to the city gates. The king will strike before Morcar and Edwin have time to gather more forces."
"We will go on with them," said Ned. "I would not miss seeing that battle for anything. That's what I came for."
"Keep well behind the foremost lines, then," said his reverend friend. "Serve Tostig, if thou wilt, but strike not any of thine own people. York is thy city, and thou wilt be back in it before many hours."
"Hurrah for that!" exclaimed Ned. "I want a good look at it as it is now."
Thousand after thousand, the host of Hardrada pressed forward. Other columns of the invaders were advancing by other roads and across the fields and through the woods. There would be enough of them to make a strong front at any place where the men of Northumberland might meet them. Not with the vanguard, but between two solid bodies of Northern spearmen, did Ned, the son of Webb, and his three friends push forward toward the first great battle that was to be fought in England by Hardrada, the Sea King, and his terrible army.
[CHAPTER IX.]
THE GREAT FULFORD FIGHT.