The Dragon and the Raven; Or, The Days of King AlfredHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
The Dragon and the Raven; Or, The Days of King Alfred
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Great Britain -- History -- Alfred, 871-899 -- Fiction
In a few minutes Egbert came up, having slackened his speed
considerably when he saw that he was no longer pursued. He was bleeding
from several wounds, and now that the necessity for exertion had passed
he walked but feebly along. Without a word he flung himself on the
ground by Edmund and buried his face in his arms, and the lad could see
by the shaking of his broad shoulders that he was weeping bitterly. The
great hound walked up to the prostrate figure and gave vent to a long
and piteous howl, and then lying down by Egbert's side placed his head
on his shoulder.
CHAPTER III: THE MASSACRE AT CROYLAND
Edmund wept sorely for some time, for he knew that his kinsman's
agitation could be only caused by the death of his father. At last he
approached Egbert.
"My brave kinsman," he said, "I need ask you no questions, for I know
but too well that my dear father has fallen; but rouse yourself, I pray
you; let me bandage your wounds, which bleed fast, for you will want
all your strength, and we must needs pursue our way well into the
forest, for with to-morrow's dawn the Danes will scatter over the whole
country."
"Yes," Egbert said, turning round and sitting up, "I must not in my
grief forget my mission, and in truth I am faint with loss of blood. It
was well the Danes stopped when they did, for I felt my strength
failing me, and could have held out but little further. Yes, Edmund,"
he continued, as the lad, tearing strips from his garments, proceeded
to bandage his wounds, "your father is dead. Nobly, indeed, did he
fight; nobly did he die, with a circle of dead Danes around him. He,
Algar, Toley, and myself were the last four to resist. Back to back we
stood, and many were the Danes who fell before our blows. Toley fell
first and then Algar. The Danes closed closer around us. Still we
fought on, till your father was beaten to his knee, and then he cried
to me, 'Fly, Egbert, to my son.' Then I flung myself upon the Danes
like a wild boar upon the dogs, and with the suddenness of my rush and
the heavy blows of my battle-axe cut a way for myself through them. It
was well-nigh a miracle, and I could scarce believe it when I was free.
I flung away my shield and helmet as soon as I had well begun to run,
for I felt the blood gushing out from a dozen wounds, and knew that I
should want all my strength. I soon caught sight of you running ahead
of me. Had I found we were gaining upon you I should have turned off
and made another way to lead the Danes aside, but I soon saw that you
were holding your own, and so followed straight on. My knees trembled,
and I felt my strength was well-nigh gone, when, looking round, I found
the Danes had desisted from their pursuit. I grieve, Edmund, that I
should have left the battle alive when all the others have died
bravely, for, save a few fleet-footed youths, I believe that not a
single Saxon has escaped the fight; but your father had laid his
commands upon me, and I was forced to obey, though God knows I would
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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