The wolves were no longer seen. In the summer they generally avoided men, at least during the day, and they were gradually becoming more uncommon at that date. Alfred entertained little fear as he proceeded, until the darkening shadows showed that night was near, and they were still in the heart of the forest, when he began to feel alarmed. The road before them was a good wide woodland path, and easy to follow even in the gathering darkness.
Suddenly their horses started violently, as a loud howl was heard behind, and repeated immediately from different quarters of the forest.
Alfred felt that it was the gathering of the ferocious beasts, which had been attracted from distant forests by the scent of the battlefield, and had thus happened to lie in increased numbers around their path. The howling continued to increase, and their horses sped onward as if mad with fear—it was all they could do to guide them safely.
Nearer and nearer drew the fearful sound; and looking back they beheld the fiery eyes swarming along the road after them. They had begun to abandon hope, when all at once they heard the sound of advancing horsemen in front of them, accompanied by the clank of arms. The wolves heard it too, and with all the cunning cowardice of their race scampered away from their intended prey, just as Alfred and Oswy avoided impaling themselves upon the lances of the coming deliverers.
“Whom have we here, riding at this pace through the woods?” cried out a rough, manly voice.
“The wolves were after the poor fellows,” said another.
“They may speak for themselves,” said the leader, confronting Alfred. “Art thou a Mercian and a friend of King Edgar? Under which king? Speak, or die!”
“I seek King Edgar. My name is Alfred, son of Ella of Æscendune.”
“Who sheltered the men of Wessex, and entertained the impious Edwy in his castle.”
“We had no power to resist had we wished to do so.”