The warrior upon whose advice Edwy had been told to depend had fallen:
he was left to his own resources. Alas! he forgot he was a commander,
and, waving his plumed cap as a signal for his brother knights to
follow, charged upon the horsemen who were advancing up stream at like
speed, forgetting that a similar body was advancing in the opposite
direction, and that as all his force were following his lead, the
opposite flank of the foot was unprotected.

In a single minute they were all engaged in the fiercest melee which
imagination can well paint, fighting as furiously as men of the same
blood only seem to fight when once the claims of kindred are cast aside.
Swords ascended and descended with deadly violence; horses raised
themselves up on their hind legs, and, catching the deadly enthusiasm,
seemed to engage their fellows; riders fell, sternly repressing the
groan which pain would extort, while their steeds, less self controlled,
uttered, when wounded, those ear-piercing cries only heard from the
animals in deadly terror or pain.

In the midst of this tumult Elfric engaged a Mercian of superior size
and strength; it was his second personal encounter; in his first, he had
seen his adversary fall with a warrior's stern joy, but now he was
overmatched; borne down by an arm twice as strong as his own, his guard
was broken down, and a deadly blow laid open his shoulder, cutting the
veins in the neck of his horse at the same fell sweep. The animal,
blinded with blood, staggered, fell, and he was down amongst the horses'
feet, confined by one leg, for his horse rolled partly upon him in its
dying struggles; while he felt the hoofs of other chargers in close
proximity to his heed.

A loud cry, "They fly! They fly! Victory! Victory!" reached him even