"That's more than I know. It isn't English; it's a saga of some kind. Listen!"
"Verbum caro, panem verum verbo carnem efficit;
Fitque sanguis Christi merum, et si sensus deficit,
Ad firmandum cor sincerum sola fides sufficit."
These words the man on the raft sang in a low, deep, melodious voice, and Eddie longed to know what they meant.
"Ho! there; are we in the right track for Boseham?" called Biggun.
The man paused in his chant and looked up, showing a wistful, anxious countenance, that made Biggun form a poor opinion of him; but Wulfstan took directly to him, because of his honest, fearless, trustful eyes.
"Thou art in the right way. There it is, round that point on thy left, among those trees," he answered, with a peculiar accent and foreign way of expressing himself.
"Ask him if he knows where those men live whom that man told us about. He called them some name I never heard before," said Wulfstan.
"Canst tell me where some men live who know how to cure wounds?"
"Meanest thou the monks of Boseham, or, as some call us, the Irish?"
"Those are the men. I met a youth who said they could cure a poor lad I have here who is wounded."