Well, after bidding farewell to Guthrun, Wulnoth resumed his journey and rode northwards; and everywhere he saw the tokens of the bad times that had been, for the land lay desolate and lonely, and there were no people to till it. And in those fields where the grass grew darkest and longest he knew that the war game had been played, and that the grass grew because men lay buried beneath. For a great part of the way his road led through vast forests, of which many abounded in England in those days, or across wild and desolate plains and over steep rocky hills; and so he journeyed through the realm of Mercia and came at length into the confines of Northumbria. Here the signs of cruel war were even more frequent, and he passed whole towns which were only deserted, smoke-blackened ruins now, where still the bones of men lay, picked clean by wild dogs or wolves. Thus his road led, nor was it without adventure that he journeyed, for twice was he attacked by masterless men, and had to swing his axe and deal lusty blows ere he could pass on. But such things troubled Wulnoth little, for the robbers were but half-hearted, as every one appeared to be, and trouble and dismay seemed everywhere. "Now," thought Wulnoth to himself, "in sooth the King is wise. It would be a good thing to have a wise ruler here--one who would bring things to order again and lay the land under the plough. 'T is a shame to see it all idle like this, and makes a man feel that the war game is evil, and not good, no matter how it seems in the heat of the fight." For two days Wulnoth rode, asking for tidings of the Bishop, and hearing from those who cared to return a civil answer--and that was not all--that he was still farther northward, seeking to lead the people to Christ. Now it chanced, as he rode forward through a wood, that he suddenly heard the sounds of strife, and, putting spurs to his horse, he galloped forward, guided by the sounds, and came upon four masterless men--black-haired Danes every one--who had surrounded a man and were seeking to slay him, while he, with his back to a tree, flourished a long staff and kept them at bay. "Hallo, nithings! rascals!" thundered Wulnoth as he came upon the scene. "What, four to one, and he unarmed! Shame upon you! If you want to play that game, here is one who is ready for it." And with that he smote one knave a lusty blow and sent him sprawling, while the man cracked the pate of another, and the remaining pair ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. "Thou art come in good time, friend," the man said, leaning on his staff and gazing at the Wanderer; and at the sound of that voice Wulnoth started and stared anxiously.