pressed about them, redoubling their blows, so that the Saxons were
discomfited, and turning their backs, strove no more.

When Hengist saw his champions turn their backs, like children, to
the stroke, he fled to the town called Caerconan,[1] where he was
persuaded of shelter. The king followed fast after him, crying to the
hunters, "On, on." Hengist heard the noise of the pursuit, and had no
care to be trapped in his castle. Better to fight in the open at the
risk of his body, than to starve behind walls, with none to bring
succour. Hengist checked the rout, and rallying the host, set it again
in order of battle. The combat was passing sharp and grievous, for the
pagans advanced once more in rank and by companies. Each heartened
his fellow, so that great damage and loss were sustained by the
Christians. The host fell in disarray, and began to give back before
the onset of the foe. All would have been lost were it not for those
three thousand horsemen, who rode upon the Saxon in one mighty troop,
bringing succour and help to the footmen when they were overborne. The
pagans fought starkly and grimly. Well they knew not one would escape
with his life, if they did not keep them in this peril. In the press,
Eldof the Earl lighted on Hengist. Hatred gave him eyes, and he knew
him again because of the malice he owed him. He deemed that the time
and the means were come to satisfy his lust. Eldof ran in upon his
foe, striking him mightily with his sword. Hengist was a stout
champion, or he had fallen at the stroke. The two closed together,
with naked brands and lifted shields, smiting and guarding. Men forgot
to fight, and stared upon them, watching the great blows fall and the
gleaming swords.

Whilst the heroes strove, Gorlois, Earl of Cornwall, came hastening
like a paladin to the battle. Eldof saw him come, and being assured of