Feargus thereupon called to Wulfere to command the bowmen, while he gathered his foot and went out to meet the foe, seeing that the men who must decide this battle were in his hand. The enemy below being now within bowshot, the bowmen of Wulfere sent a shower of arrows forth such as astonished those men of Lindesey; for till now they had seen no sign of life in the wood or anywhere but in front of them, where fluttered the banner of Penda. And they marched on, their ranks falling in whole lines before the terrible arrows, which flew from the very cliffs which Sigmund had sent the flower of his army to win, thinking that the Mercians had only just arrived. Still the white-haired Penda sat motionless upon his beast and took no note of the weak reply that was made to them by the archers Sigmund had kept with him. Then suddenly a great cry arose in the rear of Sigmund’s army, as the horsemen of Osbert, who had worked round to their flank from the south, fell upon them, followed by many companies of foot. Sigmund looked anxiously to where his bow and footmen should be, on the cliff, but at that moment the Picts under Feargus, with Welsh from Wales, and Welsh also who still dwelt in Mercia, and with the famous British bowmen of Arden and the Warwickshire woodlands under king Penda, and many English, burst out from the woods; and they drove the Lindeseymen before them like sheep, so fiercely and suddenly they leapt forth. Then was the heather blood bedewed, and the golden broom turned to red, and ever the Picts and Welsh pushed on and the men of Sigmund held back, till at last they were driven over the cliffs, and Feargus sent the Welsh after them down the bank, they being lightest of foot. And they beat them down towards the plain below where was king Sigmund. And the arrows of the Mercians darkened the very lift, and Penda himself had now moved on against the king, and when he beheld him Sigmund was adread, and his warriors stood still; for all men went in fear of Penda. Then Sigmund saw his men driven down from the cliffs to the north-east before the dread cry “Albanich! Albanich!” and he knew that there were Feargus and his Picts. And still he cried, “On, on!” but little room was there left for sword play on that narrow strath by the great river, for the press of the men driven in by Feargus on the east and by Osbert on the west became so great that friend struck friend unwittingly, and no man had room to ply his arms. King Sigmund down in the glen now saw that all was lost, and he wound his horn that those who could might escape, and himself, with many good footmen, held the ford against the centre of the Mercian host led by Penda. Slowly but grimly Sigmund gave back, step by step, until many of his bowmen had gained the west side of Trent water, and then all that remained plunged into the river and fled towards the forest with the king. And shouts of “Kill, kill!” arose from the Mercians and,