is aid. For himself he was carried straight
to Verulam.[1] This once was a fair city where St. Alban fell upon his
death, but was now altogether ravaged and destroyed of the heathen.
Octa had led his people to the city, and seized thereon, making fast
the gates. The king sat down without the town. He caused great engines
to be arrayed to break through the wall, but it was very strong, and
he might make no breach. Octa and his friends made merry over the
catapults set over against them. On a morning they opened wide their
gates, and came forth to do battle with the king. A vile matter it
seemed to them that the door should be locked and barred because of
a king lying sick within a litter. They could not endure to be so
despised that he should fight against them from his coffin. As I deem
their pride went before a fall. That captain won who was deserving of
the victory. The heathen were defeated, and in that battle Octa and
his fair cousin Ossa were slain.

[Footnote 1: St. Albans.]

Many who escaped from the field fled into Scotland. There they made
Colgrin their chieftain, who was a friend of Octa and his cousin.
Uther rejoiced so greatly by reason of his victory, and of the honour
God had shown him, that for sheer joy he was as a man healed and
altogether whole. He set himself to hearten his barons, and inspire
them with his own courage. He said to his men, with mirth, "I like
rather to be on my bier, languishing in long infirmity, than to use
health and strength in fleeing from my foe. The Saxons disdained me,
holding me in despite because I cannot rise from my bed; but it has
befallen that he who hath one foot in the grave hath overthrown the
quick. Forward then, and press hardly on their heels who seek to
destroy our religion from the land."

When the king had rested him for a space, and had encouraged the lords
with his words, he would have followed after the heathen. Seeing that
his sickness was yet heavy upon him, the barons prayed that he would
sojourn awhile in the city, until it pleased God to give him solace
from his hurt. This they said fearing lest his courage should bring
him to his death. It chanced, therefore, that the host departed,
leaving Uther at Verulam, because of his infirmity, none being with
him, save the folk of his private household. Now the Saxons who were
driven from the land, when they had drawn together, considered within
themselves that if the king were but dead, he had no heir who mig