When we came to the little out of the way village among the Cornish
hills near which Neot, the king's cousin, had his dwelling, I
thought it strange that any one should be willing to give up the
stirring life at court for such a place as this. Here was only one
fair-sized house in the place, and that was built not long before
by the king for his own use when he came here, which was often. And
Neot's own dwelling was but a little stone-walled and turf-roofed
hut, apart from all others, on the hillside, and he dwelt there
with one companion--another holy man, named Guerir, a Welshman by
birth--content with the simple food that the villagers could give
him, and spending his days in prayer and thought for the king and
people and land that he loved.
But presently, as I came to know more of Neot, it seemed good that
some should live thus in quiet while war and unrest were over the
country, else had all learning and deeper thought passed away. It
is certain from all that I have heard, from the king himself and
from others, that without Neot's steady counsel and gathered wisdom
Alfred had remained haughty and proud, well-nigh hated by his
people, as he had been when first he came to the throne.
At one time he would drive away any who came to him with plaints or
tales of wrong and trouble; but Neot spoke to him in such wise that
he framed his ways differently. And now I used to wonder to see him
stay and listen patiently to some rambling words of trifling want,
told by a wayside thrall, to which it seemed below his rank to
hearken, and next I would know that it was thus he made his people
love him as no other king has been loved maybe. There was no man
who could not win hearing from him now.
It is said of him that when Neot showed him the faults in his ways,
he asked that some sickness, one that might not make him useless or
loathsome to his people, might be sent him to mind him against his
pride, and that so he had at first one manner of pain, and now this
which I had seen. It may be so, for I know well that so he made it
good for him, and he bore it most patiently. Moreover, I have never
heard that it troubled him in the times of direst need, though the
fear of it was with him always.
Now what Alfred and Neot spoke of at this time I cannot say, except
that it was certainly some plan for the good of the land. I and my
comrades hunted and hawked day by day until the evening came, and
then would sup plainly with the king, and then sit at Neot's door
in the warm evening, and talk together till the stars came out.
Many things we spoke of, and Neot told me what I would. I cannot
write down those talks, though I mind every word of them. But there
was never any talk of the runes I had offered.
Neot spoke mostly, but Alfred put in words now and then that ever
seemed to make things plainer; and I mind how Ethelnoth the
ealdorman sat silent, listening to questions and answers that maybe
he had never needed to put or hear concerning his own faith.
At first I was only asking because the king wished it, then because
I grew curious, and because I thought it well to know what a
Saxon's faith was if I was to bide among Alfred's folk. Kolgrim
listened, saying nought. But presently Harek the scald would ask
more than I, and his questions were very deep, and I thought that
as days went on he grew thoughtful and silent.
Then one evening the song woke within the scald's breast, and he
said to Neot:
"Many and wise words have you spoken, Father Neot. Hear now the
song of Odin--the Havamal--and tell me if you have aught to equal
it."
"Sing, my son," the good man answered. "Wisdom is from above, and
is taught in many ways."
Then Harek sang, and his voice went over the hillsides, echoing
wonderfully; while we who heard him were very still, unwilling to
lose one word or note of the song. Many verses and sayings of the
"Havamal" I knew, but I had not heard it all before. Now it seemed
to me that no more wisdom than is therein could be found {ix}.
So when Harek ended Neot smiled on him, and said:
"That is a wondrous song, and I could have listened longer. There
is little therein that one may not be wiser in remembering."
"There is nought wiser; it is Odin's wisdom," said Harek.
Now the old hermit, Guerir, Neot's friend, sat on the stone bench
beside the king, and he said:
"Hear the words of the bards, the wondrous 'triads' of old time."
And he chanted them in a strange melody, unlike aught I had ever
heard. And they, the old savings, were wise as the "Havamal"
itself. But he stopped ere long, saying:
"The English words will not frame the meaning rightly. I do no
justice to the wisdom that is hidden."
Then Neot turned to the king, and said:
"Sing to Harek words from the book of Wisdom that we know. I think
you can remember it well."
"I have not rhymed it," the king answered; "but sometimes the song
shapes itself when it is needed."
He took Guerir's little harp and tuned it afresh and sang. And in
the words were more wisdom than in the Havamal or in the song of
the bards, so that I wondered; and Harek was silent, looking out to
the sunset with wide eyes.
Not long did the king sing, as it seemed to us; and when he ceased,
Harek made no sign.
"Sing now, my cousin, words that are wiser than those; even sing
from the songs of David the king."
So said Neot; and Alfred sang again very wondrously, and as with
some strange awe of the words he said. Then to me it seemed that
beside these the words of Odin were as nought. They became as words
of the wisdom of daily life, wrung from the lips of men forced to
learn by hardness and defeat and loss; and then the words that
Alfred had first sung were as those of one who knew more than Odin,
and yet spoke of daily troubles and the wisdom that grows thereout.
But now the things that he sang must needs have come from wisdom
beyond that of men--wisdom beyond thought of mine. And if so it
seemed to me, I know not how the heart of the scald, who was more
thoughtful and knew more than I, was stirred.
He rose up when Alfred ceased, and walked away down the hillside
slowly, as in a dream, not looking at us; and the kindly Saxons
smiled gently, and said nothing to rouse him.
It is in my mind that Harek's eyes were wet, for he had lost
somewhat--his belief in things he held dearest and first of
all--and had as yet found nothing that should take its place. There
is nought harder than that to a man.
When he had passed out of hearing, I said:
"Are there wiser things yet that you may sing?"
"Ay, and that you may learn, my son," answered Neot. "Listen."
Then he spoke words from Holy Writ that I know now--the words that
speak of where wisdom may be found. And he said thereafter, and
truly, that it was not all.
Then I seemed to fear greatly.
"Not now, my king, not now," I said; "it is enough."
Then those two spoke to me out of their kind hearts. Yet to me the
old gods were very dear, and I clung to them. Neither Neot nor the
king said aught against them, being very wise, at that time.
Presently Harek came back, and his eyes were shining.
"Tell me more of this learning," he said, casting himself down on
the grass at Alfred's feet. "Scald have I been since I could sing,
and nought have I heard like this."
"Some day," Neot said; "it is enough now that you should know what
you have heard."
So ended that strange song strife on Neot's quiet hillside. The sun
set, and the fleecy mists came up from the little river below, and
we sat silent till Alfred rose and said farewell, and we went to
the guest house in the village.
Now I think that none will wonder that after we had been with Neot
for those ten days, we were ready and willing to take on us the
"prime signing," as they called it, gladly and honestly. So we were
signed with the cross by Neot, and Alfred and Ethelnoth and Guerir
were our witnesses.
I know that many scoff at this, because there are heathen who take
this on them for gain, that they may trade more openly, or find
profit among Christian folk, never meaning or caring to seek
further into the faith that lies open, as it were, before them. But
it was not so with us, nor with many others. We were free to serve
our old gods if we would, but free also to learn the new faith; and
to learn more of it for its own sake seemed good to us.
So we went back to Exeter with the king, and Neot came for a few
miles with us, on foot as was his wont, parting from us with many
good words. And after he was gone the king was cheerful, and spoke
with me about the ordering of the fleet we were to build, as though
he were certain that I should take command of it in the spring.
And, indeed, after that time there was never any question among us
three vikings about it. It seemed to us that if we had lost Norway
as a home, we had gained what would make as good a country; and,
moreover, Alfred won us to him in such wise that it seemed we could
do nought but serve him. There can be few who have such power over
men's hearts as he.
Exeter seemed very quiet when we came back; for the Danes were
gone, and the king's levies had dispersed, and only the court
remained, though that was enough to make all the old city seem very
gay to those who had known it only in the quiet of peace.
One man was there whom I had hardly thought to meet again, and that
was Osmund the Danish jarl. For he was a hostage in the king's
hands, to make more sure that the peace would be kept. I knew there
were hostages to be given by the beaten host; but I had not asked
who they were, and had been at the ships when they were given up,
ten of them in all, and of the best men among the Danes.
Alfred treated his captives very well, giving them good lodgings,
and bating them often at his own table, so that I saw much of
Osmund. And more than that, I saw much of the Lady Thora, his
daughter, who would not leave him. I do not think that there could
be more certain manner of beginning a close friendship between a
warrior and the lady whom he shall learn to hold first in his
heart, than that in which I first met this fair maiden.
Now one will say that straightway I must fall in love with her, but
it was not so: first of all, because I had not time, since every
day Alfred planned new ships with me and Thord; and next, because I
was his guest, and Osmund was his hostage. Maybe I thought not much
of that, however, not having the thoughts of a Saxon towards a
Dane. But I will say this, that among all the fair ladies of the
queen's household there was none of whom I thought at all; while of
what Thora would say I thought often, and it pleased me that the
Lady Etheldreda, Odda's fair eldest daughter, took pity on the
lonely maiden, and made much of her after a time.
Three weeks I was in Exeter, and then the king went eastward
through his country to repair what damage had been done. Then I
took up my work for him, and got out my ship and sailed westward,
putting into every harbour where a ship might be built, and set the
shipwrights to work, having with me royal letters to sheriffs and
port reeves everywhere that they should do what I ordered them. In
each yard I left two or three of my men, that they should oversee
all things; because if one Saxon thinks he knows better than his
fellow, he will not be ruled by him, whereas no man can dispute
what a born viking has to say about ship craft. It seemed that all
were glad of our coming, and the work began very cheerfully.
All this took long, but at last I came up the Severn, and so into
the river Parret--for the weather would serve me no longer and laid
up the ship in a creek there is at Bridgwater, where Heregar, the
king's standard bearer, was sheriff. He made me very welcome at his
great house near by, at Cannington, and then rode with me to
Bristol; and there I set two ships in frame, and so ended all I
could do for the winter. King Alfred would have a fleet when the
spring came.
Then Heregar and I would go to Chippenham, to spend the time of the
Yule feast with King Alfred; and we rode there with Harek and
Kolgrim, and were made most welcome. Many friends whom I had made
at Exeter were there, and among them, quiet and yet hopeful of
release, were the hostages.
That was a wonderful Yule to me; but I will say little of it, for
the tale of the most terrible Twelfth Night that England has ever
known overshadows it all, though there were things that I learned
at that time, sitting in the church with Harek, at the west end,
and listening, that are bright to me. But they are things by
themselves, and apart from all else.
Now peace was on all the land, and the frost and snow were bright
and sharp everywhere; so that men said that it was a hard winter,
and complained of the cold which seemed nothing to us Northmen.
Maybe there was a foot of snow in deep places, and the ice was six
inches thick on the waters; and the Saxons wondered thereat, saying
that they minded the like in such and such years before. Then I
would tell them tales of the cold north to warm them, but I think
they hardly believed me.
The town was full of thanes and their families who had been called
to Alfred's Yule keeping, and it was very bright and pleasant among
them all, though here and there burnt ruins made gaps between the
houses, minding one that the Danes had held the place not so long
since.
So they kept high feasting for Yule and the New Year, and the last
great feast was for Twelfth Night, and all were bidden for that,
and there was much pleasant talk of what revels should be in the
evening.
The day broke very bright and fair, with a keen, windless frost
that made the snow crisp and pleasant to ride over, hindering one
in no way. And there was the sun shining over all in a way that
made the cold seem nought to me, so that I had known nothing more
pleasant than this English winter, having seen as yet nothing of
the wet and cold times that come more often than such as this.
Then, too, the clear ringing of the bells from every village near
and far was new to me, and I thought I had heard nothing sweeter
than the English call to the church for high festival {x}.
So I went to the king, and asked him if I might take with me the
Danish jarl for a ride beyond the town; for the hostages were only
free inside the walls, and I knew this would please Osmund and
Thora well. I said that I would see to his safety and be answerable
for him.
"This must be Osmund, I suppose," the king said, smiling. "I have
heard how you came to know him and his fair daughter at Wareham. It
was well done, though maybe I should blame you for running
over-much risk."
"I think I ran little, lord king," I said; "and I could have done
no less for the poor maiden."
"Surely; but I meant that to go at all was over dangerous."
"I am ready to do the same again for you, my king," I said. "And
after all I was in no danger."
Then said the king, smiling gravely at me:
"Greater often are the dangers one sees not than those which one
has to meet. I have my own thoughts of what risk you ran.
"Well, take your fair lady and the jarl also where you will. But
the feast is set for two hours after noon, and all must be there."
So I thanked him, and he bade me ask his steward for horses if I
would, and I went straight to Osmund from his presence.
"I think it will be a more pleasant ride than our last," said
Thora. "Yet that is one that I shall not forget."
Then I tried to say that I hoped she did not regret it either, but
I minded me of the loved nurse she had to leave, and was silent in
time. Yet I thought that she meant nothing of sorrow in the
remembrance as she spoke.
We called out my two comrades, for Osmund liked them well, and rode
away northward, that the keen air might be behind us as we
returned. That was all the chance that led us that way, and it was
well that we were so led, as things turned out.
The white downs and woodlands sparkling with frost were very
beautiful as we rode, and we went fast and joyously in the fresh
air; but the countryside was almost deserted, for the farmsteads
were burned when the Danes broke in on the land last spring, and
few were built up as yet. The poor folk were in the town now, for
the most part, finding empty houses enough to shelter them, and
none left to whom they belonged.
Now we rode for twelve miles or so, and then won to a hilltop which
we had set as our turning place. I longed to stand there and look
out over all this country, that seemed so fair after the rugged
northern lands I had known all my life. But when we were there we
saw a farmstead just below us, on the far slope of the gentle hill;
and we thought it well to go there and dismount, and maybe find
some food for ourselves and the horses before turning back.
So we went on. It was but a couple of furlongs distant, and the
buildings lay to the right of the road, up a tree-shaded lane of
their own.
We turned into this, and before we had gone ten yards along it I
halted suddenly. I had seen somewhat that seemed strange, and
unmeet for the lady to set eyes on.
"Bide here, jarl," I said, "and let us go on and see what is here;
the place looks deserted."
And I looked meaningly at him, glancing at Thora.
But he had seen what had caught my eye, and he stayed at once,
turning back into the main road, and beckoning Harek to come with
him and Thora, for some reason of his own.
Then Kolgrim and I went on. What we had seen was a man lying
motionless by the farm gate, in a way that was plain enough to me.
And when we came near, we knew that the man had been slain. He was
a farm thrall, and he had a pitchfork in his hand, the shaft of
which was half cut through, as with a sword stroke that he had
warded from him, though he had not stayed a second cut, for so he
was killed.
"Here is somewhat strangely wrong," I said.
"Outlaws' work," answered Kolgrim; for the wartime had made the
masterless folk very bold everywhere, and the farm was lonely
enough.
We rode through the swinging gate, and then we saw three horses by
the stable yard paling, and with them was an armed man, who saw us
as we came round the house, and whistled shrilly. Whereon two
others came running from the building, and asked in the Danish
tongue what he called for. The first man pointed to us, and all
three mounted at once. They were in mail and helm, fully armed.
Now we were not, for we had thought of no meeting such as this, and
rode in woollen jerkins and the like, and had only our swords and
seaxes, as usual; but for the moment I did not think that we should
need either. Outlaws such as I took them for do not make any stand
unless forced.
Presently one of the men, having mounted leisurely enough, called
to us.
"There is no plunder to be had," he said, "even if you were not too
late; our folk cleared out the place over well last time."
Then a fourth man, one who seemed of some rank, rode from beyond
the house, passing behind us without paying any heed to us, except
that he called to the men to follow him, and so went down the lane
towards where Osmund was waiting with Harek.
All this puzzled me, and so I cried to the three men:
"What do you here? Whose men are you?"
At that they looked at one another--they were not more than ten
yards from us now--and halted.
"You should know that," one said; and then he put his hand to his
sword suddenly, adding in a sharp voice:
"These be Saxons; cut them down."
When hand goes to sword hilt one knows what is coming, and even as
the man said his last words I was on them, and Kolgrim was not a
pace behind me. The Dane's sword was out first; but I was upon him
in time. His horse swerved as mine plunged forward, and I rode him
down, horse and man rolling together in the roadway. Then the man
to my right cut at me, and I parried the blow and returned it. Then
that horse was riderless, and I heard Kolgrim laugh as his man went
down with a clatter and howl.
My horse plunged on for a few steps, and then I turned. Kolgrim had
one horse by the bridle, and was catching that which had fallen. I
caught the other, and so we looked at each other.
"This is your luck, master," said Kolgrim.
"Well," said I, "these are Danes, and I do not think they are
wanderers either. Here are forage bags behind the saddles. One
would say that they were on the march if this were not mid-winter
and time of peace. The horsemen in advance of a host, or the like."
Then Kolgrim said:
"Where has the other man gone? I had forgotten him for the moment."
"Bide here and see if any poor farm folk are yet alive," I said. "I
will ride after him."
So I gave the horse I was holding to my comrade, and went back
quickly down the lane to where Osmund and the other two were. The
man I sought was speaking with the jarl, whose face was white and
troubled. Harek was looking red and angry, but on Thora's face was
written what I could not understand--as it were some fear of a new
terror.
Now it was plain that all three were very glad of my coming; but
the stranger looked round for a single glance, and then went on
speaking to Osmund.
"Be not a fool, jarl," he said angrily. "Here is your chance; let
it not slip."
"I tell you that my word shall not be broken," Osmund replied, very
coldly and sternly.
"What say you, girl?" the man said then, turning to Thora. "Short
shrift will be the jarl's when Alfred finds that we are on him."
But Thora turned away without a word, and then the Dane spoke to
me:
"Here! you are another hostage, I suppose."
"I am not," I answered.
"Well, then, here is Jarl Osmund, if you know him not, and he is
one. Tell him that what I say is true, and that Chippenham town
will be burned out tonight king and all."
I saw that the Dane, seeing that I was armed, and not clad in the
Saxon manner altogether, took me for one of his own people. And
from his words it was plain that some of the Danish chiefs had
broken away from Guthrum, and were making this unheard-of
mid-winter march to surprise Alfred. Most likely they were
newcomers into Mercia, and had nought to do with the Exeter host.
"Maybe it is true," I answered; "but I am no Dane."
He laughed loudly.
"Why, then, you are one of Alfred's Norsemen! Now I warn you to get
away from Chippenham, for it is unsafe, and there will be no king
to pay you tomorrow. I think that you will say with me that it were
better for Osmund to come with me to meet the host than to go back
to Alfred and be hung before he flies--if he gets news of us in
time to do so."
Herein the man was right, for Alfred had warned the chiefs at
Exeter that he held the hostages in surety for peace on the part of
all and any Danes. But I thought I might learn more, so I said:
"Guthrum thinks little of his friends' lives."
"Guthrum!" the Dane answered sneeringly; "what have we to do with
him and his peace making?"
"What then are you Hubba's men?"
"He is in Wales. Think you that we are all tied to the sons of
Lodbrok?"
"You might have worse leaders," I said.
And just then Kolgrim came along the lane, leading the three
horses, and on them were the armour and weapons of the slain. It
was not my comrade's way to leave for other folk aught that was
worth having.
At once the Dane knew what had happened, and he swung his horse
round and spurred it fiercely, making for flight. Then Harek looked
at me and touched his sword hilt, and I nodded. It was well to let
no tidings of our knowledge go back to the host. After the Dane
therefore went Harek, and I looked at Osmund.
"Jarl," I said, "I am in a strait here. If you go back, your life
is in Alfred's hands."
"I know it," he said, smiling faintly. "It is a hard place maybe
for us both, but there is only one way. You must get back to the
king, and I with you; for you have to answer for me, and my word is
passed not to escape."
Then Thora said:
"The king is just, as all men know. How should he slay you for what
you cannot help?"
"Ay," he answered, smiling at her, "that is right."
So she was satisfied, knowing nought perhaps of what the place of a
hostage is.
So we started back to Chippenham quickly, and after us I heard
Harek coming. He had a led horse when he joined us, and I knew that
none would take word to the Danish host that the king was warned.
When we came to the hilltop over which we had ridden so blithely an
hour ago or less, we looked back, and at first saw nothing. Then
over the white brow of a rolling down that shone in the level
sunlight came a black speck that grew and lengthened, sliding, as
it were, like a snake down the hillside. And that line sparkled
like ice in the sunlight from end to end; for it was the Danish
host on the march, and in two hours they would be where we stood,
and in two more they who were mounted would be in Chippenham
streets, where Alfred had not enough men even to guard the gates
against such a force as was coming.
Then we rode hard for the lives of all who were in the town, and as
I went I thought also that we rode to the death of the brave,
honest jarl who was beside me, saying nothing, but never letting
his horse falter. Just as bravely rode Thora.
In an hour we were at the gates, and I rode straight to the king's
house, and sought him on urgent business.
Ethered of Mercia came out to me.
"What is it, Ranald?" he said. "The Witan is set now."
I told him in few words, and his face changed.
"It seems impossible in frost and snow," he said.
"Ay; but there are proofs," I said, pointing through the great
doorway.
There was my party, and Kolgrim was binding a wound on Harek's arm
of which I knew nought till that moment, and the led horses and
spoils were plain enough to say all.
Then Ethered made haste and took me to the great hall, where Alfred
sat with some thirty thanes of his Witan {xi}, and many clergy.
I knew they were to meet on some business that I had nought to do
with. Ethered went to the king without any ceremony, and speaking
low told him my message. Whereon the king's face grew white and
then red, and he flashed out into terrible wrath:
"Forsworn and treacherous!" he cried, in a thick voice that shook
with passion. "The hostages--chain them and bring them here. Their
friends shall find somewhat waiting them here that shall make them
wish they had kept their oaths!"
Then he said to me:
"Speak out, Ranald, and tell these thanes your news."
I spoke plainly, and they listened with whitening faces and
muttered oaths. And when I ceased, one cried, hardly knowing what
he said, as I think:
"This outlander rode with Osmund the Dane to bring them on us even
now."
"Silence!" Alfred said; and then in a cold voice he asked me:
"Where is this Osmund? I suppose he has fled to his people."
"That he has not, though he could have done so," I answered.
"Moreover, the Dane I spoke with said in so many words that this is
no host of Guthrum's."
At that Alfred frowned fiercely.
"Whose then? What good is a king if he cannot make his people keep
their oaths?"
There was a stir at the door, and the eyes of all turned that way.
And when the thanes saw that the hostages were being led in, with
Osmund at their head, a great sullen growl of wrath broke from
them, and I thought all hope was gone for the lives of those
captives.
"Hear you this?" the king said, in a terrible voice, when the noise
ceased. "By the deed of your own people your lives are forfeit.
They have broken the peace, and even now are marching on us. Your
leader, Osmund himself, has seen them."
"It is true," Osmund said. "We are in the king's hands."
Then Alfred turned to the Witan, who were in disorder, and in
haste, as one might see, to be gone to their houses and fly.
"You heard the Danish oath taken at Exeter; what is your word on
this?"
They answered in one voice:
"Slay them. What else?"
"You hear," said the king to the Danes. "Is not the sentence just?"
"It is what one might look for," Osmund answered, "but I will say
this, that this is some new band of Danes, with whom we have nought
to do."
"What!" said Alfred coldly; "will you tell me that any Dane in the
country did not know that I held hostages for the peace? Go to.
"See to this matter, sheriff."
Then the sheriff of Chippenham came forward, and it seemed to me
that it was of no use for me to say aught; yet I would try what I
could do, so I spoke loudly, for a talk had risen among the thanes.
"What is this, lord king? Will you slay Osmund the jarl, who has
kept his troth, even to coming back to what he knew would be his
death? You cannot slay such a man for the oath breaking of others."
Then the king looked long at me, and the sheriff stayed, and at
first I expected passionate words; but the king's rage was cold and
dreadful now.
"His friends slay him--not I," he answered.
Then of a sudden I minded somewhat, and clear before me stood a
test by which I might know certainly if it were good that I should
leave the Asir and follow the way of the white Christ.
"King Alfred," I said, "I have heard the bishop tell, in the great
church here, of a king who slew the guiltless at Christmastide.
There was nought too hard for any to say of that man. Moreover, I
have heard strange and sweet words of peace at this time, of
forgiveness of enemies and of letting go of vengeance. Are these
things nought, or are they indeed those by which you guide
yourselves, as Neot says?"
He was silent, gazing fixedly on me; and all the Witan were
speechless, listening.
"These men are enemies maybe, but they at least have done nought.
Shall you avenge yourself on them for the wrongdoing of others?"
Then the king's face changed, and he looked past me, and in his
eyes grew and shone a wondrous light, and slowly he lifted up his
hand, and cried, in a great voice that seemed full of joy:
"Hear this, O ye Danes and foes of the Cross. For the love of
Christ, and in His name, I bid you go in peace!"
And then, as they stared at him in wonder and awe at his look and
words, Alfred said to me:
"Unbind them, my brother, and let them go--nay, see them safely to
some strong house; for the poor folk may slay them in their blind
anger, even as would I have done."
Then no man hindered me--for it seemed as if a great fear, as of
the might of the holy name, had fallen on all--and I went and cut
the bonds of the captives. And as I did so, Osmund said in a low
voice to me:
"First daughter and then father. We owe our lives to you."
"Nay," I answered, "but to the Christians' faith."
Then I hurried them out before news of what was on hand could get
among the townsfolk, and we went quickly to my lodgings; for that
was a strong house enough, and could be barred in such wise that
even if any tried to attack the place in the flight that would
begin directly, it would take too long to break the doors down to
be safe with the host at hand.
Then came Heregar, armed and mounted, with a single man behind him,
and he called for me.
"Ride out with me, King Ranald, for we must count these Danes, and
see that we are not overrating their number. After that we will
join the king, who goes to Glastonbury."
So I bade farewell to Osmund and to Thora, who said nought, but
looked very wistfully, as if she would say words of thanks but
could not; and at that I went quickly, for it seemed hard to leave
her, in some way that was not clear to me, amid all the turmoil of
the place.
But when we were on the road, Heregar said to me:
"It is in my mind that Osmund, your friend, will fare ill among
these Danes. They will hear how he rode back, and will hold that by
his means the king escaped."
"What can be done?"
"The man is one of a thousand, as it seems to me. Let us bid him
leave the town and get back to Guthrum as he can."
"He can have the Danish horses," I said.
Now before sunset we had seen the Danish force, and our hearts
sank. There were full ten thousand men, many of whom were mounted.
Then we rode back, and found the town in such tumult as it is not
good to think on. There is nothing more terrible to see than such a
flight, and in midwinter.
When we came to my lodging, Heregar went in to find Osmund. I would
not see him again, lest Thora should weep. But in a few minutes he
came out with the jarl.
"Here is a wise man," said Heregar. "He says that he swore to keep
the peace with Alfred, and he will do it. He and the Lady Thora
will go with us. There are one or two also of the other hostages
who blame him for returning. He cannot stay among the Danes here."
Then I was very glad, and we made haste to have all ready for
Thora's comfort on the ride that might be so long. And so we rode
out after the king along the road to Glastonbury, and I think that
the Danes were in the town half an hour after we left it.
Next we knew that Danes were on the road before us, and that more
were hard after us. Some had skirted the town in order to cut off
the king, and were pursuing him. So we struck off the road into
by-lanes that Heregar knew, resting at lonely houses as we went on.
And when we came to Glastonbury at last, the king was not there,
nor did any know of his fate.
Then we rode, with the Danes swarming everywhere, through the
Sedgemoor wastes to Bridgwater, and found rest at Cannington,
Heregar's great house not far off.