their retreat was secured into the entrenchments, and there they might
well hope to detain the enemy until the whole population should rise
against the men of Wessex and their leader, and his cause become hopeless.

Steadily up the hill came the brave troops of Edwy, and from within
their ranks, as they ascended the slope, a shower of arrows was
discharged by the archers who accompanied them, under their protection;
but no return was yet made by the foe, until they were close at hand,
when a loud war cry burst from the hostile ranks, and a perfect shower
of darts and arrows rained upon the invaders.

Still they persevered, although they left a living, struggling line on
the bloody grass behind them--persevered, like men longing for the
close hand-to-hand encounter, longing to grasp their foes in deadly
grip. The shock arrived; and axe and sword were busy in reaping the
harvest of death. So great was the physical strength of the combatants
that arms and legs were mown off by a stroke, and men were cloven in
two, from the crown downwards, by the sweeping blows of the deadly steel.

It was a fearful struggle, but it was a short one; the line was unshaken
in its strength; in vain Edwy's archers behind shot their arrows so as
to curve over the heads of their brethren and fall amongst the foe; the
men of Wessex recoiled and gave way.

Edwy seized what he thought the auspicious moment when the ranks of the
foe, although unbroken, were yet weary and breathless, and ordered his
cavalry to charge. The Mercians beheld the coming storm at a distance;
down on their knees went the first line, their spears resting on the
ground; behind them the second bent over to strike with their axes;
while a third rank, the archers, drew their bows, and prepared to