"I will try; let us go to my people."
And we arose and took the path through the woods, sorrowing for the news we must carry, and still uncertain about the fate of Alfgar.
[CHAPTER IX]. THE CAMP OF THE DANES.
It was the noontide heat, and two Danish warriors reclined under the shadow of an ancient beech, hard by the entrenched camp of the Danes, a few days after the arrival of Alfgar therein. Their spears lay idly on the grass, as if there were no foe to dread, and the land were their own; they seemed deeply engrossed in conversation.
"Well, Anlaf, and when is your son going to give up his Christianity?"
"You are in a great hurry, Sidroc."
"Nay, all the camp inquires."
"They must wait."
"How long?"
"I cannot tell," said Anlaf, shifting uneasily about; "he is my only son, the heir of a long line of warrior princes."