“Surely Eadmund holds him back thus from more cruelty,” I thought.  And aloud I said: 

“What think you of the matter?”

“Why, that I am glad that I was bold enough to save your dying king from more torture—­else had I seen somewhat before me day and night.  Truly I see him now betimes in my sleep, but he ever smiles on me.  Moreover, this is true, that all those seven men who shot the arrows died in that week.  Two died in Elmham Church when you were nigh slain.”

“Tell me of that,” I said.

For no man knew rightly what had befallen there, save that under the charred ruins of the roof lay Bishop Humbert and one or two of his men.

But when he told me, it was as I thought.  Those few men had fought bravely until they were slain, themselves slaying three Danes.  But one of the bishop’s men escaped, cutting through a throng at the doorway and seizing a horse.  Then was slain the bishop, who knelt at the altar, not even turning round to face the Danes as they came.

So I hold ever that as I lay for dead I had seen those brave ones pass me even as they were slain.  But of this I said naught to Raud, at that time at least.

Now I asked Raud whence he had come, and he said: 

“From London.”

And at that I feared greatly, asking: 

“Has Ingvar taken the city, therefore?”

“Not the king himself, but Guthrum went into London, taking good ransom for peace.”

“Where is Ethelred the king of England?” I said, half to myself.

“Ethelred?—­he minds naught but Wessex for good reason.  For Halfden and Bagsac and the Sidracs are on one side of him, and Ingvar and Hubba the other, waiting for him to make peace.  But there is like to be fighting.  Alfred, the king’s brother, has a brave heart and a hard hand.”

“Then all is quiet in London?”

“Peaceful enough; and there Guthrum the King holds court, and I think men are well content with him.”

“Of what is Guthrum king?” I asked, for I had not heard him called by that name before.  The only other king of the host beside the three jarls was Bagsac.

“Why, of East Anglia.  He holds it for Ingvar, while he tries to add Wessex for his own to Mercia.  Halfden will be king in Northumbria, maybe, and Hubba over another of the kingdoms.”

So they had already parted out the land among them beforehand!  Woe for us therefore, for unless a leader was raised up among us, surely all England must own Danish overlords!  But I had heard Alfred the Wessex Atheling well spoken of as a warrior.

However, what was that to us of East Anglia?  We had been deserted by Wessex at our need as it seemed, and these Danes were as near kin to us as Wessex Saxons.

“How did you come to leave Ingvar’s service?” I asked, not being willing to dwell on this matter.

“I think my face spoke to him too plainly of that which was in Hoxne wood—­and so he bade me stay with Guthrum.  Nor was I loth, for I would find you again.”