I could hear the quick hoofbeats of two steeds, and all the air was full of the sound of alarm bells, for the evening was very still.

Then up the road from eastward rode two men at an easy gallop, and my horse’s manner told me that a stable mate of his was coming, so I feared no longer but went into the main road to meet them.

“What news?” I cried, and they halted.

“It is the young master,” said one, and I knew the voice of Edred, our housecarle.  And when he was close to me I could see that he was in almost as evil plight as had been Grinkel his comrade.  The other man I knew not, but he bore a headless spear shaft in his hand, and Edred’s shield had a great gash across it.

“Master, has Grinkel come?” Edred asked me.

“Aye, and is dead.  He bade us fly, and could say no more.  What of my father?”

The men looked at one another for a moment, and then Edred said very sadly: 

“Woe is me that I must be the bearer of heavy tidings to you and the lady your mother.  But what is true is true and must be told.  Never has such a battle been fought in East Anglia, and the fortune of war has gone against us.”

The fear that I had read in my mother’s eyes fell cold on me at those words-and I asked again, longing and fearing to know the worst: 

“What of the thane, my father?”

“Master, he fell with the first,” Edred answered with a breaking of his voice.  “Nor might we bring him from the place where he fell.  For the Danes swept us from the field at the last like dead leaves in the wind, and there was nought left us but to fly.  Two long hours we fought first, and then came flight.  They say one man began it.  I know not; but it was no man of ours.  Now the Danes are marching hitherwards to Colchester.”

“What of Osgod of Wormingford?” I asked.

“He lies beside our lord.  There is a ring of slain round them.  I would I were there also,” the warrior answered.

“Then were there one less to care for our helpless ones,” I said.  “All are preparing for flight at Bures.  Come with me to Wormingford, and we will warn them.  There is work to do for us who are left.”

“Aye, master, that is right,” he said; “we may fight again and wipe out this business.”

Then the other man, who belonged to Sudbury, five miles beyond us, bade us farewell, and so rode on with his tale of terror, and Edred followed me across the ford to Osgod’s house, which was but a mile from where we met.  He told me that Grinkel had found a fresh horse in Stoke village, and so had outstripped him.

Many thralls stood at the gate of Osgod’s courtyard as we came there, and they were staring at the beacon fires around us, and listening to the wild bells that rang so strangely.  There was a fire blazing now on the green before our own house, and one on the hill above the Wormingford mere, which men say is haunted.