“Were he younger, child, Wulfhere would have nought of it. I, and my father, and his father’s father have always thus lived, wandering from shire to shire; from burgh to burgh; from mead hall to mead hall, with harp and song and story; and none were so welcome as they. Many lords have bestowed gifts upon them, and fain would have kept them to sing of their bold deeds. But all of us, from father to son, liked better to tell of the daring of many than the prowess of one. The song of a harp of one string becometh in time irksome both to hearer and singer. In sooth, ’tis a merry life and a free. Alack and a day that ’tis past! The Dane is abroad in the land. For a short time hath he left us in quiet, and now winter will still further stay his hand. Guthrum the old is bold, and I fear that the Northmen await only the bringing home of the summer ere falling upon Wessex.” “The saints forfend!” ejaculated the girl devoutly. “So it is for thy weal, Egwina, that we seek the king. I would not have thee die as did thy brother, Siegbert. God wots how they could kill the pretty lad.” “Tell me of it,” coaxed the maiden well knowing the tale, but thus did the old man ease his sorrow. “Thou wert too young to mind thee now that it was seven years this harvest when Ubbo and Oskitul with the tearful Danes fell upon the abbey of Croyland. To the monks had I sent Siegbert, for the abbot had heard his singing and was pleased with his beauty. ‘He shall be a second Cynewulf,’ said he, ‘when he shall have become learned.’ I wotted not that I was sending the boy to his death. But even while the abbot and the priests, together with the choir, performed the mass and were singing the Psalter, the pagans swooped down upon them, and none were there left to tell the tale. So little do these heathen care for our holy religion. In sooth, meseems that it glads their hearts to destroy our minsters and abbeys. They cared neither for the helplessness of the old nor the harmlessness of childhood. Bright and beautiful as that Baldur whom they worship, methinks they would have spared him. But hearken! was not that a call?” Both listened intently, and through the clear, crisp air there came a cry for help. “Some mishap hath befallen a wayfarer!” exclaimed Wulfhere rising quickly to his feet, his weariness vanishing instantly. “Come, Egwina, wind thy horn that he may know that help is near.” The maiden blew a long, loud blast and then they hastened in the direction whence the cry had come. Soon a turn of the road brought them in sight of the figures of a youth and a maiden. The girl was lying prone upon the sward. The youth bent over her anxiously stroking her hands. Both were clothed in the bright-colored garments of which the Saxons were so fond. The embroidery and richness of adornment of their dress proclaimed them to be of noble rank. A falcon hovered disconsolately near them, and a spear lay on the ground.