“Since the corn and wine are now safe, be it as you please, Girolamo; but take Elfric with thee, and go not too far in pursuit.” A light skerry was drawn from the river and laid across the ditch in less than a credo; and then away went the Salernitan and the sword-bearer, and all the best archers and boldest men of their party, across the plashy fields; and soon they came up with the rear of the flying Normans, and engaged them in battle on the dry road between Brandon and Thetford, and slew many of them, and captured many more, together with all the baggage and stores of the armament. The short but fierce battle was over, and Elfric was counting the prisoners, when one of them after surrendering his sword, and after begging for and receiving quarter, sneaked out of the throng and endeavoured to escape by running into a thicket near the roadside. The Salernitan, who was resting himself after his exertion, and leaning on the cross of his well-used sword, now in its sheath, saw the intention of the man-at-arms, and rushed after him into the thicket. Now that caitiff, in giving up his sword, had not given up a concealed dagger, and when Girolamo touched him on the shoulder, merely with the point of his still-sheathed sword, he drew that dastardly and unknightly weapon from his breast, and plunged it into the left side of the Salernitan. Girolamo fell to the ground with the murderer’s knife in his side; but in the next instant, the murderer was shot through the brain by a well-directed arrow, and as he fell, several Saxons fell with their swords upon him, and, in their fury at his treachery, they hacked his body to pieces. Yet these honest men, though they saw the blood was welling from his side, had much ado to believe that the dark stranger was really hurt with a mortal hurt, and could die like other men. It would be hard to say how long they might have stood looking upon him, stupidly, but not unkindly, if he had not said, “Saxons, raise my head, place me with my back to a tree, and go seek Elfric, and tell him I am hurt by one of his felon prisoners.” Elfric came running to the spot with rage, grief, and astonishment on his countenance. The sword-bearer was breathless and could not speak; the Salernitan was already half-suffocated with the blood that flowed inwardly, but it was he that spoke first and said, “Elfric! after twenty-five years of war and mortal hate between me and them, the Normans have killed me at last! Elfric, let me not die unavenged. Slay me every Norman prisoner thou hast taken on this foul day.”