the letters denoting so many Roman miles--or thousands of paces--
still legible.

A few hours' riding from Warwick brought them at the close of the day in
sight of Beranbyrig (Banbury), where three centuries earlier a bloody
battle had been fought, [vi] wherein success--almost for the last time
--visited the British arms, and saved the Celtic race from expulsion
for twenty years.

The spot was very interesting to Elfric, for here his ancestor Sebbald
had fought by the side of the invading king, Cynric, the son of Cerdic,
and had fallen "gloriously" on the field.

"Look," said Anlaf, the guide, "at that sloping ground which rises to
the northwest. There the Welsh (Britons) stood, formed in nine strong
battalions. In that hollow they placed their archers, and here their
javelin men and cavalry were arranged after the old Roman fashion. Our
Englishmen were all in one battalion, and charged them fiercely, when
they were thrown into confusion by the cunning tricks of the Welsh, who
made up in craft what they wanted in manly courage.

"Look at this brook which flows to the river, it was running with blood
that evening, and our men lay piled in huge heaps where they tried to
scale the hill which you see yonder."

"And did the Welsh gain the day so easily?" said Elfric, sorrowfully.

"I don't wonder; they were fighting for their lives, and even a rat will
fight if you get him into a corner; besides, they had all their best men
here."