Then all in the midst of the bustle came the wild note of a war horn from somewhere inland beyond the town, and in a moment every man stood still where he happened to be, and listened.  Twice again the note sounded, and a horseman came clattering down to the shore.  He was Thorleif, the chief with whom we had spoken, and he reined up the horse and lifted his hand, with a short, sharp order of some kind.

At that every man dropped what he was carrying, and the men who were stowing the plunder on board the ships left their work and hurried ashore, gripping their weapons from where they had set them against the gunwales.  There was a moment’s wild hurrying on the wharves, and then the warriors were drawn up in three lines along the wharf, across the berths where they had laid the ships, and facing the landward road.  Only the ship guard never stirred.

“If only we could get our men to form up like these!” said Elfric.  “See, every man knows his place, and keeps it.  They are silent also.  Mind you the way of our levies?”

I did well enough.  Never had I seen aught like this.  For our folk, called up from plough and forest hastily—­and now and then only—­have never been taught the long lesson of order and readiness that these men had learned of necessity in the yearly battle with wind and wave in their ships.  Nor had they ever to face a foe any better ordered than themselves.

“Is the sheriff at hand?” I said breathlessly.

“Maybe.  I hope not closely.”

Down the street galloped a few more Danes, looking behind them as they rode.  They spoke to Thorleif, and he laughed, and then turned their horses loose and leaped to their places in the ranks.  Thorleif dismounted also, and paced to and fro, as a waiting seaman will, with his arms behind him.

And then came a rush of horsemen, and my cousin gripped my arm, and cried out in a choked voice: 

“Mercy!” he gasped, “is the man mad?”

The new horsemen were men of our own from Dorchester.  I saw one or two of Elfric’s housecarls among them, and the rest were the sheriff’s own men, with a few franklins who had joined him on the road.

At the head of the group rode Beaduheard himself, red and hot with his ride, and plainly in a rage.  His rough brown beard bristled fiercely, and his hand griped the bridle so that the knuckles were white.  He had armed himself, and his men were armed also, but their gear showed poorly beside the Danish harness.  He had hardly more than twenty men after him, and I thought he had outridden his followers who were on foot.

“O fool!” groaned Elfric.  “What is the use of this?”

But we could do nothing, and watched in anxiety to see what Beaduheard had in his mind.  It was impossible that he could have ridden in here with no warning of the real danger, as we had ridden two hours ago, before things had gone so far.  Every townsman had fled long since, and would be making for Dorchester.  He must have met them.