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
welcome the rushing enemy with a discharge of deadly arrows.
Every heart beat quickly as the fatal moment came near; onward, with a
sound like thunder, galloped the horse of Edwy. He himself rode at their
head, clad in light armour, and by his side Elfric. All trace of fear
was gone now in the mad excitement of the charge; before them they saw
the wail of spear points; nearer and nearer their coursers bounded,
until they seemed to fly. Every rider leant forward, that his sword
might smite as far as possible; and, daring the points, trusting perhaps
to the breastplates of their horses and their own ready blades, they
rushed madly upon the foe.
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