Not a word had been said on either side, and I was not going to
begin to talk to outlaws. If they had anything to say they might
say it. But they had not, and I knew that they would make a rush on
us directly.

One who seemed to be the leader whistled sharply, and the rush came
with a wild howl and flight of ill-aimed spears that were of no
harm. The circle was too close for a fair throw at us, lest the
weapon should go too far. I had time to catch one as it passed me,
and send it back with the Wessex war shout, and there was one man
less against us.

I think that I cut down one or two after that, and then I felt Wulf
reel and prop himself against me. Then I had a score of men
crowding on me, and they clogged my sword arm and gripped my shield
and tore it aside, and then from behind or at the side one smote me
on the head with a club or a stone hammer, and I went down. I heard
one cry that I was not to be slain, as I fell.

Then Wulf stood over me for a little while and fought all that
crowd, until he was on his knees at my side, and my senses were
coming back to me. Then he fell over me, and the men threw
themselves on me and pinioned me and thrust something into my mouth
and then bound me.

I knew that Wulf was slain at that time, and that he had given his
life for me. That was what he would have wished to do, but in my
heart there grew a wild rage with these men and with myself for my
carelessness that had led us into their hands.