Maldon days
hēt þā hyssa hwæne hors forlǣtan,
feorr āfȳsan, and forð gangan,
hicgan tō handum, and tō hige gōdum.
The Battle of Maldon (991 AD)
Galvanized into action, my companion horses neighed
as they galloped to the woods, riderless and rudderless.
I turned back to my liege lord, reluctant to retreat,
but he waved me away from him, although I was his steadfast steed
who had taken him into battle boldly before on many occasions.
In the woods, we regrouped. Ealdorman Byrhtnoth’s proud hawk
circled and swooped overhead, dismissed as we had been,
uneasy as we were. We faced out towards the riverbank,
watching the fighting begin, watching the ruthless invaders wreak havoc.
We waited for the command to return but it never came.
I went down to the battlefield first, saw my beloved ealdorman
bristling with spears, slaughtered alongside his faithful warriors.
Leaving our heroes, our lords lying lifeless, we trotted back to our stables,
knowing that our return would herald the defeat, set off the lamentations
of the families left behind, filling us all with sorrow for our great loss.
Feature Image: Battle of Maldon plains.