“Now when I came three parts of the way to Cannington, our men there were sped and driven back on us.  Whereupon I could no longer hold together any force, and whither the men are scattered I know not.  Scarcely could I save the holy women and the monks, for even as they fled under guard into the Quantock woods, and so to go beyond the hills, the houses of Bridgwater next the Danes were burning.

“Now am I with two hundred men on Brent, and wait either for the Danes to depart, or for orders from yourself or the Ealdorman Eanulf, to whom I pray you let this letter be sent in haste after that you have read it.”

So it ended with salutations, and when he had read it, the bishop folded it slowly and looked at the thane, who shrugged his broad shoulders and said: 

“True words, Lord Bishop, and all told.”

“It is what I expected,” said Ealhstan, “these two thanes told me it was like to be thus.”

“Surely,” answered the thane.  “What else?”

The bishop looked at him and asked him his name.

“Wislac, the Thane of Gatehampton by the Thames, am I,” he said.  “A stranger here, having come on my own affairs to Bridgwater, and so joining in the fight.  Also, Osric’s thanes having trouble enough on hand, I rode with this letter.”

“Thanks therefor,” said the bishop.  “I see that you fought also in a place where blows were thick.”

“Aye, in the first fight,” said Wislac.  “As for the second, being with Osric, I never saw that.”

“Did you stay on the hill where men rallied?”

“That did I, as any man would when the saints came to stay us.  Otherwise I had surely halted at Bridgwater, or this side thereof,” answered the strange thane, with a smile that was bitter enough.

Now the bishop had not heard that tale of the saint on a white horse; but he was quick enough, and glanced aside at me.  Whereupon Wislac the Thane looked also, and straightway his mouth opened, and he stared at me.  Then, being nowise afraid of the bishop, or, as it seemed, of saints, he said aloud, seemingly to himself: 

“Never saw I bishop before.  Still, I knew that they were blessed with visions; but that live saints should sit below their seat, I dreamt not!” and so he went on staring at me.

So the bishop, for all his trouble, could but smile, and asked him if he saw a vision.

“Surely,” he said, “this is the saint who stayed us on yonder hill.”

“Nay, that is Heregar the Thane, messenger of Osric.”

“Then,” said Wislac, “let me tell you, Heregar the Thane, that one of the saints, and I think a valiant one, is mightily like you.  Whereby you are the more fortunate.”

Now for all the mistake I could not find a word to say, and was fain to thank him for the good word on my looks.  Yet he went on looking at me now and then in a puzzled sort of way.  And the bishop seemed to enjoy his wonderment, but was in no mind to enlighten him.