Nor was this done in Angleland alone, but in every country where the White Christ was worshipped. For these Danes were pagans, and they looked upon those who had forgotten the old gods of the North as nithings fit only for death, and despised them for the Lord they worshipped, and for the priests they obeyed; and they had sworn that they would sweep over the whole world, and wherever the worship of the Christ was found, there they would stamp it out, and make all men bow to Odin and swear by Thor--the gods of the North. And near to doing this they were in Angleland and, indeed, they would have done it but for one man, who was strong enough and patient enough to resist them; and of that man Gyso the Gleeman speaks in his song of Wulnoth. Twenty thousand chosen warriors were in the camp of the sons of Regner that night, and deep they drank and well they feasted; yet the sentinels kept ward, and each man slept with his weapons by his side. And Wahrmund and Wulnoth lay side by side by the fire, and talked of the deeds that had been done that day; and from the distance, through the night air, and above the sound of the sea, there came the ringing of a deep-voiced bell and, faint and sweet, the singing of a solemn song; and Wulnoth asked his companion what these strange sounds might mean. "'T is the calling of the Christians to prayer," the Dane said carelessly. "And the song you hear is that which they sing to their God, that He may give them the victory on the morrow. By Thor, I had rather trust to a good sword and to a strong arm than to any god that rides the storm wind." "Yet these men fought well to-day, comrade," Wulnoth answered; "though they were few in numbers, compared to our host." "Ay, they fought well," replied Wahrmund. "But now let us sleep, for there will be work to do when the day dawns. The air is shrewd to-night." "Take my cloak," answered Wulnoth. "For I have no mind for sleep, and will watch by the fire." "More fool you," replied the other; yet he took the cloak and wrapped himself up and was soon asleep, while Wulnoth sat listening to the distant song, and wondering where Guthred could be and what could have become of Edgiva the Beautiful. And then he arose and went to the edge of the wood and listened again; and he thought that surely Wyborga the Wise had been wrong, for how could this Lord, Whom the Saxons worshipped, be strong, when He let His people be put to the sword? And while he mused thus, sleep began to steal upon his eyes, until it seemed to him that a voice spoke, and it was the voice of Edgiva crying to him to awake; and he opened his eyes and saw a man's form bending over his comrade Wahrmund, and holding a knife high in the air. "Wahrmund, awake!" he cried, in warning, and the man started up. But then like a flash Wulnoth cast his spear and smote the midnight wanderer fair in the chest, and he fell back dead.