It was many days since we started from Salisbury town, however, before we came to Cannington, and in that time we had sought the house of Turkil’s father, the franklin, lodging with him for a day and night, that we might seek Leofwine the hermit.  But him we might not find, for he was dead, and that grieved me sorely, for I would fain have seen him again, aye, and if it might be, taken him to live with us.

But he died as the tide went out on the day of Stert fight, and those who stood by him say that he had visions of all that befell there.

For many times he called to me as exhorting me; and once, after long silence, in the gray of early dawn, he rose up, crying, “Up, Ealhstan, up, for the Lord has delivered these heathen into your hands!”

And that was at the time when the bishop had heard those words spoken to him.  And again, once more he roused, even at the time when the Danes drew off from us at the coming of Osric.  He lifted his hands, crying “Victory!” thrice, and then saying very softly, “Heregar, my son,” was silent thereafter till he died at the time of the lowest ebb, only his lips moving as if in prayer.  And I remembered the strange voice I had heard crying round me, and I wept, for I thought how much more was wrought by the prayers of feeble ones than men wot of.

But his prophecy had indeed come true, and though I might not see him more, the memory of Leofwine is with me always, with his words of wise counsel that he had spoken to me.

Now of that other one who prophesied in her strange way to me I know no more, nor did I ever see her again.  Gundred the witch, men called her, knowing her well, and fearing her.  But she was never seen after the Danes swept over our land, and how she ended none ever knew.  I sought her carefully that I might give her shelter and ease for the rest of her days, but without avail.

All his life long has Dudda the Collier bided with me, serving well and roughly, but in all most faithfully, as is his wont.  And not many days after we came homewards he brought me the berserk’s axe to hang in hall, for he had taken it and hidden it when we left the battlefield on the day after the fight.  So there it is now, and beside it hangs the raven flag of the largest ship, for he must needs go with the fishers across to the holms, and bring me back the tale of how the last of the Danes had perished.

And now what am I to say of the years since our hall was built again?  Long have they been, and not all happy, for many a time have I had to bear the standard of Wessex against the Danes.  Yet Stert fight won us six years of peace, and after that the Earl Ceorle and I led our levies and conquered at Wenbury.  But that was Wulfhere’s last fight, for of his wounds he might not recover, though we bore him back and tended him carefully for a month or more.  So he lies in God’s Acre at Cannington, and is at rest.

Then came long years of fighting, and ever I bore the banner, and ever Alswythe set me forth most lovingly, with brave words that should bide with me till I came back to her.  And all the time our hall was safe, for beyond Parret the Danes came not again.