Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

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."