I went back to where Odda had fallen, and at that time there rose a thundering cheer of victory from our wearied line, and helms were cast into the air, and weapons waved in wild joy.  That roused one who lay before me, and white and shaking, up rose Odda from among the slain.  I went to him, and got my arm round him; and again the men cheered, and little by little the colour came back to his face.

“I thought you slain outright,” I said; “are you much hurt?”

“I cannot tell,” he said.  “I believe I am sound in limb, but my wind is gone.  It is ill for a stout man to have mail-clad Danes hurled on him by heavy-handed vikings.”

So he said, gasping, but trying to laugh.  And, indeed, he was unwounded, save for a cut or two, and he still grasped his red spear in his right hand.

Now I looked on our men, and saw that we might not bide for another fight.  Already some whom the wild joy of battle had kept strong in spite of wounds were falling among their comrades, and it seemed to me that wounds were being bound up everywhere.

But there was a token of victory that made these seem as nothing.  In the midst of all Heregar stood with the Dragon banner, and by his side his son-in-law, Turkil the thane of Watchet, bore the captured “Raven.”

Harek the scald looked at it once, and then went to its heavy folds, and scanned carefully the runes that were thereon.

“Ho, comrades!” he cried joyfully, “here is a winning that will be sung of long after our names are forgotten.  This is the magic Raven that was wrought with wizardry and spells by the daughters of Ragnar Lodbrok.  Ill will this news fall on Danish ears from end to end of England.  This is worth two victories.”

“I have seen it many times before,” said Heregar; “nor is this the only time that I have tried to win it.  But never before have I seen it hanging motionless as it hung today.  There seems to be somewhat in the tale they tell of its flapping foreboding victory.”

“Ay,” said Odda.  “Today they despised us, and bore it not forward; therefore it flapped not, seeing that there was no wind where it hung.”

The ealdorman called us together then, and pointed to the Danes who were massed beyond the river.

“Now it is time for us to go.  We have won a good fight, and some of us are yet alive.  It will not be well to lose all by biding here to be slain to the last man now.  Shall we go to Bridgwater or to the Quantocks, and so to Taunton?”

Then Heregar said: 

“To the hills; for we should be penned in Bridgwater between this force and the other.  I think that while we are yonder they will not do much on this side the Parret; and men will ever gather to us.”