“Farewell, Englishmen of the loyal and true city!  Until we meet in happier times, farewell!  You will know how to guard hearths and homes.  Till we return to aid you, farewell!”

And, striking spurs into his steed, he and Alfgar rode across the Fleet river, and, ascending the rising ground, pursued their course along the Strand.

“We shall have a moonlight ride,” said the king.  “Look, Alfgar, ’tis nearly full.”

“My Lord, do you see those dark spots on the river near Thorney Isle?”

“Ah!  I see them, and recognise the cutthroats.  They are the Danes, who are bent on surrounding the city.  Had I my five hundred, I would soon give some account of that detachment.”

“But now, my Lord, had we not better strike into the northern road at once, before they see us?  We are but two.”

“No; I should like to see them a little closer, and then across the heath for Windsor.  They must have fleet steeds that catch us.”

So they persevered until they had attained a rising ground from which they perceived the whole force, nearly a thousand strong, of whom one half had crossed the stream.  But the figures of our two adventurers, outlined on the hill, were too distinct to elude their observation, and a dozen dark horsemen rode after them at full gallop.

“Now for a brisk ride,” said Edmund; and the two dashed wildly onward, clearing ditch or hedge until they attained the rising ground afterwards known as Hounslow Heath, still followed by their pursuers.

Here Edmund paused and looked round.  The speed at which they rode had separated their pursuers, as he had expected, and one was far the foremost.

“Stand by, Alfgar,” he said; “two to one is not fair.  I thirst for the blood of this accursed Dane.”

Alfgar knew that he must not dispute the royal will, although he thought the risk of delay very perilous, with a crowd of foes upon their track.  While he waited up came the Dane, powerfully mounted, swinging his heavy battle-axe.  He swooped upon Edmund, who caused his horse to start aside, avoided the stroke, and then, guiding his horse by his knees, and raising his axe in both hands, cleft his antagonist to the chin before he could recover.

“Here come two more.  Now, Alfgar, there is one apiece.  The rest are a mile behind them.  You may take the one on the light grey, I will take the rascal on the dark steed.”

Another moment and they were both engaged.  Alfgar foiled his opponent’s first stroke, and wounded him slightly in return.  Now the battle became desperate, attack succeeding attack, and parry, parry.  Meanwhile Edmund had again laid his foe prostrate in the dust, but did not interfere; such was his chivalrous spirit in what he considered an equal combat, although he cast anxious looks behind, where two or three other riders were rapidly approaching.

At last victory inclined to Alfgar’s side.  Parrying a tremendous stroke with his axe, he returned it with such vigour that the next moment the Dane lay quivering in the dust.