And then they hied them back and coming on freshly fell upon the Mercians of Penda’s army. But these were not among the flying; like a rock they stood on a knowe a mile above the Aire water, whence they had retreated in an attempt to rally their comrades. In the midst of them stood the king, a king indeed; tall of stature and erect and of wonderful beauty of countenance; deep and broad of chest, with white beard falling to his waist. On his helm he wore the raven’s wings—the sign of Odin, as the cross was of Christ, for the king was of his kin direct, and for thirty years he had fought Odin’s battle. Behind him waved the banner of the kingdom which he had raised from its utter littleness to be the greatest and strongest of the English, and around him were gathered all the flower of the Mercian host, princes and thanes, and the whole of the Albanich. And Penda had gathered all these men together into a great ring, and the Northumbrians charged them again and again, but ever fell back, broken and beaten, and ever above the throng arose the shout of “Penda! Penda!” “Albanich! Albanich!” and only the best men of Northumbria dare king Oswy send against those cries. Shock after shock broke on them, but still the men of Oswy recoiled, leaving behind horses and riders with broken skulls and bloody faces. And it seemed as though that ring of men, calm and steady and without fear, were to win the field after all. Then Oswy bethought him, seeing that no men in his host could shake the grim company, and he called his archers in and planted them amidst the broom and bushes on either side, and bade them send forth their shafts. And so the ring grew smaller, and as one fell another took his place, then the king turned. “Now,” said he, “cometh death, and I shall die in the best company that ever I was in, for never men fought better than have ye, English or Welshmen, and ye Albanich, but it little likes me to be caught thus in a trap, a target for unseen foes, our bowmen having fled. Penda liketh to hear the ring of his blows on the helmets of Northumbrians; let this be his death song, therefore. Few though we be, let us charge the host of king Oswy and die dealing death.” A mighty cheer from the thanes and Picts was the answer to this, and with the cheer they ran, keeping well their ring, with the king amidst of them. And they slew the bowmen, and then, turning, charged towards where king Oswy stood among his thanes by the burn side. The first inclination of the Northumbrians on hearing the war cry of Penda was to flee, so adread were they of him, but Oswy called to them— “See,” said he, “how the heathen host waneth! Little have ye in your thousands to fear! A handful cometh now against you! The enemy of the Christian and of Northumbria is in the midst of them! Now can he not escape! On, on and at them!” [Illustration: “Now,” said Penda, “cometh death, and I shall die in the best company that ever I was in.”]