Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

"All the hotels will be crowded," he said to Father Brian. "I shouldn't wonder if we had to sleep in one of the streets."

"No, we will not," replied his friend. "I have a direction to a hostelry. It is a place of entertainment for man and beast that is attached to one of the churches. It is likely to be quiet and is good enough if a man can get nothing better."

"Any kind of coop will do for me," said Ned. "I'm not half so particular about that as I am about getting under cover. I want to see all there is of this town, too."

"That is thy duty," said the missionary, "and thou wilt see but little of me before Sunday. I have to pay my respects to the bishop, as thou knowest."

Ned, the son of Webb, did not really know anything whatever about the manner in which things were managed in the Northumberland churches, but he was quite willing to do his sightseeing or his business for Tostig by himself. His friend led the way to the hostelry and left him there, and as yet neither of them had been spoken to by anybody.

"Well!" remarked Ned to himself, shortly afterward, sitting by a small table with very good mutton chops before him. "So this is a tavern in York! I declare! When I came through the front door of it, I thought it looked more like a jail. Quiet kind of place where ministers come, like Father Brian and his friends? Those fellows at the other table are awfully quiet – only I don't understand a word of their jangle. There come their swords! It's a fight!"

The dining-room was large, with a wooden floor and tolerably good plain furniture. The plates and cups were clean, and most of them were of heavy pewter ware. Even napkins of linen were supplied; but he had not yet seen a yard of cotton goods. Of course there were several tables, and around one of these had been sitting half a dozen rough-looking men. None was in mail, but two wore steel corselets. The others had large round shields or targets, and all were provided with swords. They had talked loudly, rudely, from the moment that they sat down, and it seemed that they were angrily discussing the battle and the treaty with the King of Norway. Louder, fiercer grew their hot dispute, until one of them struck another a blow with his fist, and all sprang to their feet, every man drawing his sword as he did so. The two who had quarrelled were target men, and in a moment more there was a ringing of steel upon blades and bucklers. Nobody made any attempt at interference, even the tavern waiters looking on almost unexcitedly, as if at a common, every-day incident. Several persons lounged in from other rooms, and the faces of women peered through open doorways.

"Why don't they call for the police?" exclaimed Ned, without getting up. "They ought to be sent to the station-house. I'll finish my chops, anyhow, for I guess I'm safe away in this corner of the room."

His keen hunger helped his wisdom, and he ate very fast, becoming conscious as he did so that there were inquiring eyes aimed at him.

Both of the combatants were evidently experienced swordsmen, and as yet all the fight had been mere rattle, when a third target bearer swaggered over toward Ned, saying something to him in a tongue which might be almost any kind of old English.

"He means mischief," thought Ned. "I'd better be ready for him. I won't let him stick me for nothing."

He did not say a word aloud, but in an instant he was on his feet, shield on arm, blade in hand. He was really but just in time, for his sudden movement had been taken for a challenge, and the ruffian struck at once. The first pair paused in their sword-play, as if they had had brawl enough, or rather as if they were more deeply interested in this unexpected skirmish with an entire stranger.

"Hullo!" said Ned, loudly, as they came closer around him, "the fellow can't fence! I punched him through the sword arm as if he had been made of putty."

His burly antagonist had indeed been disabled at the third pass, for he had been accustomed to parry almost altogether with his buckler, and modern science was against him. He dropped his heavy broadsword and stared at Ned in astonishment, while all the lookers-on clapped their hands.

"It won't do to talk Norway here," thought Ned. "I'll just bother them with New York English instead of anything there is in old York."

So he did, as man after man, even his assailant, came forward to compliment him on his prowess. He might have felt better, perhaps, if he had understood an explanation made by one of them to the others.

"The youth cometh from Cornwall," he told them. "I have often heard their speech, which none may understand. He belongeth to Harold the Earl, the king. All the Cornishmen have those tricks with a blade. He hath earned his peace. Do ye all let him alone, for the king's sake."

Ned followed with some severe remarks about good manners to strangers, the police court, and the state prison, and they all swaggered out of the tavern, declaring that they had had good sport for the day, and that they thought well of King Harold's Cornish fighters.

The keeper of the inn came to have a look at Ned, and was easily made to understand that the next thing required by the Cornish gladiator was another mutton chop, somewhat less rare if possible. Ned's added request for a cup of coffee and some custard pie was not so perfectly comprehended, for none came. He felt a great deal better after dinner, although he did not so much as imagine what new country he had now been born in or how very much improved was his social position so far as that hotel was concerned.

He was duly conducted to the room assigned him, and it was in some respects the best he had had since leaving the United States of America. It was, indeed, as he declared of it, a narrow bit of crib, with slits in the wall for windows, but he was pleased to find that it contained a bowl and pitcher of water, and a couple of good towels. Even the bed was not a bunk, but stood upon legs and had a straw mattress, sheets, and a hair pillow. This was luxury.

"It's more than I ever saw in Norway," he remarked. "There isn't any elevator in this building, though, and I don't believe there is a box of blacking in England. I sha'n't hear any fellow calling after me to let him shine 'em up."

The remainder of that day and all of Saturday went by like a dream, so busy was Ned with his spying into the affairs of York. He knew that he was in one of the old historic cities of England. Here had been a town of the ancient Britons, and the Romans, when they conquered them, had made a prosperous place of it. There were Roman walls and houses yet, and all the wider streets, as Ned said of them, "kind o' talked Latin."

The Saxons, when they came, had slaughtered the Roman-British population in accordance with the existing laws of war. All the streets of their making, with some that were older, were narrow as well as dirty.

"They are dusty enough, too, just now," remarked Ned. "I guess there isn't much of a street-cleaning department in the city government. No street sprinkling. Not a sidewalk anywhere, nor any street lamps nor telegraph poles. Every fellow plays policeman for himself. If he isn't of the kind they allow to wear a sword, he carries a big club and has a long sheath-knife in his belt. About these days all the women seem to be keeping indoors – without any pianos or stationary washtubs or sewing-machines."

He saw several fine churches and palaces, but the latter and all of the larger dwellings were like so many private forts, expecting to be besieged and defended sometime or other.

"This is a queer way to live," he thought, "with a half-grown-up war around you all the while. I've looked at the walls, too. They'd stand anything but artillery. I guess a few of our heavy shells would send all that stonework flying."

On Sunday morning Father Brian appeared again at the tavern as he had promised to do. He seemed in good spirits, but he wore a mysterious air, as if he were prudently concealing something. He inquired with friendly interest concerning all of Ned's explorations around York.

"My boy," he then remarked, "thou wilt be able to make a good report to Tostig the Earl when he cometh into the city, but I will not permit thee to make it until then. I will tell thee one thing more, if it will keep thee quiet. The Saxon guards at the Derwent side gates would split thy head for thee if thou shouldst attempt to go out of the trap that hath been set for Hardrada."

"I don't mean to be split," replied Ned, "but what is the trap? Hardrada's army is to march in before sunset to-morrow. I can see the earl then."

"If he getteth in, my boy," laughed the knowing missionary. "That is the trap. Keep thy mouth shut and save thy head from a pole-ax. They would cleave thee to the jaws for a word. Edwin and Morcar have saved all the time that was needed for their plan to work. They were to give King Hardrada a hundred and fifty important men for hostages, and not a soul of them will ever need to leave his house. The Norway army will begin Monday with eating and drinking and getting ready to put a garrison into York, but when they come to try that they will find out what the trap is."

"Dost thou know it?" asked Ned.

"I am not a blind one," replied the twinkling-eyed man from Ireland. "When I saw Edwin and Morcar skirmishing for every hour of time, I hardly needed to be told the rest of it. Mark thou this, my boy, for thy life! Thou and I belong to Harold the Earl, the King of England, unless thou shalt see the raven flags of Hardrada inside the walls of York. It will be long before thou doest that, I think."

The King of Norway was apparently in no doubt whatever concerning the entire good faith of the two English earls. He considered them already his own subjects. Many of the great men of Northumberland had held a mass convention, and had voted to accept him as their ruler. Everything was working well, therefore, and he felt sure that his new kingdom had been at least half won for him by his great victory at Fulford.

Nevertheless, according to agreement, Saxon warriors were as yet keeping stern guard at all the gates of York.

"I saw them," said Ned to himself. "I won't run against their spears, either. One of 'em would go right through me. I'll find just a little more, though, and then I'll get out, if I have to climb over the walls. I don't see any trap, if Father Brian does, but if there is one, I'm going to warn Tostig. I wonder if he suspects anything? Maybe that's the reason why he sent me in."

Without ever having been sworn in, as he called it, for a regular soldier of the King of Norway, he considered himself a part of the invading army, and he meant to do his duty by his general so far as he could. This was, therefore, a time of intense excitement for him as well as for others, and when Monday morning came he and his reverend friend were up and out early.

"Come on, my boy," said Father Brian. "If thou wilt go with me to the other side of the city, where the bridge over the Ouse letteth in the southern highway through the wall gate, I may be able to show thee that which it would be worth the while of Tostig thine earl to know."

"That's what I want," exclaimed Ned. "I'll get it to him, somehow. We'll take the trolley-cars – " There he stopped short, for his friend was striding away.

Ned followed him, and he was beginning to be aware of a new and strange idea which made him tingle all over. He felt desperate, warlike, and he changed his shield from over his shoulder to its fighting-place upon his left arm, while he gripped his spear tightly as if he expected to use it.

Perhaps it was his appearance of angry excitement which got him into his next bad scrape, for other men also were in a dangerous state of mind. The Ouse gate had been almost reached, and Father Brian was several paces in advance. Just here, however, at a sharp turn of the winding, alley-like street, they came unexpectedly upon a furious mob of the lowest kind of Danes and Angles. They were club and knife men, of course, wearing no armour. They were nothing more than so many fierce, wild, ignorant, and cruel savages.

"Upon him! Upon him!" they yelled, at once, in their own dialect. "He looketh like a Norwegian! Down with him! Club him to the death!"

That they might have done quickly, but for Ned's helmet and shield and the lively use he made of his spear. They were many, however, and it was well for him that he could back against a house wall so that they could not get behind him.

"This is awful!" he exclaimed. "I guess I'm done for. I prodded that fellow. I wish I had Lars here and a dozen Vikings, or Sikend the Berserker."

They were far away, indeed, but at that moment he heard a ringing Irish war-cry. Then, as he desperately plied his spear and shielded his head from clubs as best he might, he saw the long-handled pole-ax of Father Brian flashing swiftly, murderously, upon the shaggy crowns and shoulders of his brutal, barbarous assailants.

Down they were going, like so many human ninepins, when a great, tumultuous shouting arose in the direction of the gate. Ned did not get its meaning, but all the ruffians who were still upon their feet shouted as if in reply to it and sprang away.

"Thou hast fought well, my boy," said the missionary. "Art thou hurt?"

"I'm banged pretty well," said Ned, "but what is all that shouting?"

"Come thou along in haste," said his friend, "I will show thee what it is. The city of York will close no gate against the man that is coming now. He bringeth woe to all the host of Hardrada, and I think thou wilt deliver no report to Tostig the Earl this day. On! On to the gate!"

"If it is anything worth while I'll see that the earl gets it," replied Ned, "but my shield hath had all the style clubbed out of it. Oh, how my arm aches – and my head!"

CHAPTER XI.

THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD BRIDGE

"Look thou yonder! Look, O Ned, the son of Webb!" exclaimed Father Brian.

"Banners!" responded Ned, almost breathlessly. "Horsemen! Who can they be? Is it the army of Harold, the King of England? Tostig and Hardrada think he is away at the southern shore, watching for Duke William of Normandy. Why, he can march right on into the city!"

"He will do more than that," replied the Irishman, with a very knowing look. "My boy, mark thou well now! Not a horn nor a trumpet soundeth among yonder horsemen, and they ride rapidly. Stand still here and keep thine eyes open. We are safe at this place. Then will we go on with them, and I think we shall see the springing of the great trap of Harold, with which he hath caught the Vikings."

"I ought to go ahead at once and warn Tostig the Earl!" said Ned.

"If thou in thy armour art able to go faster than will the horsemen of the King of England," half laughed the missionary, "thou mayst be sure, also, that thousands of swords are on guard along the walls, watching well that no man shall get out on the Derwent side to carry news of this thing."

"I'll get the news correctly, first, and then I'll see what I can do with it," said Ned, stubbornly, but he instantly became absorbed by his inspection of the arriving host of the Saxon king.

Right onward rode fast its vanguard of mounted men, and Ned quickly perceived that these were unlike anything that he had seen before. Their arms and armour were so nearly of a pattern that it was as if they were in steel uniform. Their horses were large and strong, and there was no disorder to be seen in their trained and disciplined movements. Minutes passed by, and then he heard a man who stood near him exclaim, loudly:

"Yea, my friend, these are the thingmen. They are the house-carles of the king. There are no other men like them. They are the picked ax-men of all England."

Already, Ned had heard a great deal about these fighters. First among the Kings of England, it was said, Harold had organised and maintained a considerable standing army, selecting for it the best men he could find, and making them personally devoted to himself.

"None of Hardrada's troops march as these do," thought Ned, as a column of house-carles on foot followed the foremost detachment of cavalry. "Our best city regiments can't beat it. None of our militia would care to carry so much iron, though. Not in hot weather. What tremendously big fellows they are. Hullo! There comes the king! Hurrah! I always wanted to see Harold. Isn't he splendid! He isn't as tall as Hardrada of Norway. He's a giant."

His sudden explosion of enthusiasm was joined in by all around, and it won for him many kindly looks and sayings, for the people of York were going wild with joy at their unexpected deliverance from the Vikings and from the cruel revenges of Earl Tostig. They could hardly believe their ears and eyes that this was, indeed, their hero monarch.

Splendid, indeed, was Harold, the son of Godwin, riding bareheaded into the city, which might be called one of the two capitals of his kingdom. London was the other capital, and in many respects it was the more important, but all the north of the kingdom was to be ruled, in a manner, from York.

The handsome, thoughtful face of Harold was somewhat pallid from recent illness, but he seemed to Ned, the son of Webb, one of the most powerfully built men that he had ever seen, even in Norway.

"They say," he was thinking, "that not many men living can stand before him in single fight. I shouldn't wonder if my conquest of England is going to be cracked to pieces, right away. If that's so, I'm going to be one of Harold's men and fight Duke William. Harold is a better man than Tostig. But what on earth am I going to do about Lars and Vebba?"

He was afraid that Father Brian was right, and that he had now no chance for returning to them or to the earl, and a strange wave of new feeling was sweeping through him. He did not now wish to fight these Englishmen who were defending their country, and a great admiration for Harold the hero was taking possession of him.

Great men often seem to have a magnetic power for drawing all other men to them, and the last of the Saxon kings was a very strong magnet. At his side now rode his brother, Leofwine, not so tall, but reputed to be almost as good a warrior. On behind them poured steadily the long columns of the Saxon army. Not by any means all of its forces, however, were as thoroughly disciplined and equipped as were the house-carles of the king.

"I think thou canst now understand this matter, my boy," remarked Father Brian. "Thou seest with thine own eyes that all things were ready for their coming, and that they march through the city without halting for a moment. None will hinder their going out at the Derwent gate, and not a man beyond the wall on that side knoweth of their coming. This will be a bad day for all of Hardrada's men that are on this side of the Derwent. They will be surprised and outnumbered, and small mercy will be shown to them."

"Come on!" exclaimed Ned. "I want to get there. I may do something yet."

Around by other streets, necessarily much more slowly than the mounted men, the two friends made their way across the city. When at last they reached the Derwent gate, however, there was nothing to prevent their marching out at once with the foot-soldiers of King Harold.

"Father Brian," inquired Ned, "dost thou suppose that Edwin and Morcar knew of this all the while?"

"They did," he responded. "A swift messenger came to tell them how much time they must save in their bargainings. He was a Saxon priest, and no man suspected his errand. Push on, now. Some of Hardrada's troops were expecting to march in and garrison the city at this hour. Then the King of Norway and Earl Tostig were to hold a court here and give a great feast. Very little more good eating are they likely to do, this day."

The Saxon army pressed forward steadily, and its several divisions were evidently under clear instructions; for, as they marched, they spread out on the right and left into a compact battle-array, with a broad front, the centre of which consisted of the house-carles.

Hardly had the foremost lines advanced half-way from the city walls to the river Derwent when they were suddenly confronted by the strong body of Vikings which had been sent to take possession of York in accordance with the terms of surrender. It was swinging along fearlessly, joyously, without any thought of meeting a hostile force.

Ned, the son of Webb, and his companion had walked their very best to keep with the advance, and they were now away at the right of the Saxon army front, for there was no possibility of getting through it.

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Father Brian. "The trumpets of the house-carles! They are sounding the charge! Hearest thou not also that braying of Viking war-horns? Forward, over this ridge, my boy. Thou and I are to see something now."

"There they go!" shouted Ned. "The whole line is making a rush. Quick! I want to see that charge. I wish I knew where Lars is. I hope he's beyond the river."

They were only just in time to see. The warriors of Norway had no time at all given them to form in order of battle. The narrow front of their astonished column was instantly shattered by the charge of the mounted house-carles. Behind these, closing around upon their flanks, clashed forward the Saxon footmen with ax and spear.

Hardrada's men were veterans, and they fell back, fighting furiously and struggling to keep their ranks.

All things were against them, however, – the surprise, the superior numbers, and the flanking, encircling tactics of King Harold's men.

"Look!" said Father Brian. "All this part of them are in the trap. All that are behind are turning toward the bridge. Only such as reach it while these are fighting will ever get away. The rest must die."

"It's as awful as the Fulford fight," said Ned. "Hardrada lost men enough there, and now another large slice of his army is gone. He will have to give up the idea of conquering England."

"He lost that at Fulford," said the missionary, "and he threw away all that was left him when he let the earls cheat him into waiting for Harold."

The slaughter now going on was pitiless. Much the larger part of Hardrada's remaining strength, nevertheless, was still upon the other side of the Derwent, and considerable numbers were escaping across the bridge to join it.

"It is our time to go ahead, my boy," said Father Brian. "We must get to the bank of the river, if we can. I want to see how the Saxons will manage to cross the bridge. Hardrada can easily hold it against them."

"We can't cross it ourselves," replied Ned. "So far as I can see, we must stay with the English army, whether we like it or not."

"Thou hast no errand, now, for Tostig the Earl," growled the missionary. "He hath no more need for anything that thou couldst tell him. Ho! Boats! Two of them. One will do for us, and that is what I was looking for. We need no bridge."

"There's a fellow getting into one of them," said Ned. "We'll take the other."

Down they went, and in a minute more they were pulling away over the Derwent, taking little notice of the occupant of the other boat, except to see that he was a heavily armoured spearman of the house-carles.

Their eyes were too busy to care for him, for they were watching the rush of the fugitives across the bridge. For life, for life, they were crowding along the narrow passage which was their only escape from the steel of the Saxons. It was beginning to look as if all who could escape were already over, when Ned, the son of Webb, almost yelled out:

"Sikend! Sikend the Berserker! Look at him! He is holding the bridge all alone. Row on! I want to get nearer!"

A few strokes of the oars carried them upstream to within fifty yards of the spot where the Berserker stood. Clad still in full armour, his tremendous form seeming broader and more powerful than ever, mad with all the battle fury of his race and nature, ax in hand and shield on arm, he defied the rush of his antagonists with a prowess that appeared to be more than human.

Loudly and mockingly laughed the fierce champion of Norway as he caught spear after spear and arrow after arrow upon his broad, bright shield. Louder yet was his shout of vindictive triumph as his resistless ax cleft helmet after helmet and shoulder after shoulder. There he must die, and this he knew right well, but his was to be no cow's death. Little did he care for its coming, so that he might slay many foemen, and fall surrounded by their dead bodies.