"Then you shall have two, for I will die with him," cried Alfgar, comprehending at once that the death by which Saint Edmund of East Anglia, and many a martyr since, had glorified God, was destined for his companion, his brother.
He snatched at a weapon, and rushed to the tree to which the victim was bound, as if he would save him or perish in the attempt, but a grasp like iron was thrown around him, and he struggled in vain.
"Bind him, but do him no harm," said Sidroc, "and detain him where he may see all, and strengthen his nerves for future occasions."
Against the tree leaned Bertric, pale, yet strangely composed; the bitterness of death seemed to be past, so composed were his youthful features. The lips moved in earnest, fervent prayer. Once he glanced with a look of affection, almost of pity, upon Alfgar, and when the latter made the vain attempt to deliver him, he cried, "Do not grieve for me, dear Alfgar, you cannot save me; you have done your best; pray for me, that is all you can do."
His patient courage, so unexpected in one so young, touched his captors, as nothing else would have touched them, and Sidroc approached him.
"Bertric of Aescendune, thou mayst save thy life on one condition; dost thou wish to live?"
The thought of home and friends, of his mother, awoke in his breast, and he replied:
"Yes, for the sake of those who love me."
"I know nought of them, neither must thou henceforth, but thou mayst live if thou wilt join our nation and renounce thy Christianity; for I, who have no son, and seek one, will even adopt thee."
"I cannot deny my faith."