Like the leaves before the wind, like the snow on the northern blast, so did the Danes seem to gather, until even the boldest and the bravest felt their hearts fail, and asked each other what could be done to free the land from these savage, barbarian invaders, who seemed like to swamp the whole world and plunge it back into paganism again.
And now the men of Mercia, and those of Northumbria and Cantua, had occasion to lament that they had not joined with Wessex, and, forgetting their own quarrels, striven side by side against the common foe. For to every part of the fair land the Danes marched, and their pathway was death and ruin, and of them the English said—
"Of what use is it to war against them, for if there be thirty thousand slain to-day, there will be twice thirty thousand in their place to-morrow?"
Yet, for all that, did Ethelred the King, and Alfred his brother, fight as brave men should, calling upon all their men to trust in the Lord and be of good cheer; and, whilst in other parts of the land the invaders were striking terror to all hearts, in the land of the West Saxons they were frequently driven back and put to flight.
But it was hard work and sad; for the hands of the strongest must grow weary, and the hearts of the mightiest must fail sometimes; and there was no rest for King or for Prince. To-day they would face the foe in one place, and the next they would be in rapid march to strike an unexpected blow in quite another direction.
But the land wept, for there was no corn sown and no harvest to reap, because men said that there was little wisdom in sowing fields that were to be trampled down in the war game, or in storing in barns, through which the red flames might leap.
Oh! those were sad days, when hunger and despair and battle were on every hand; and still, on and on the Danes pressed, and their long ships were on every coast and barring all the rivers, and even floating up to London itself.
And a merry game did Wulnoth and his robber companions play, though alas, now of that fifty but half remained. To-day here, to-morrow there, hurrying at the King's behest, enduring fatigue and peril with laughter, and doing hero deeds that rivalled the best of the Danish holdas' achievements.
Little of Edgiva did Wulnoth see in those days, but at night, when he rested with his band in the forest depths, or lay counting the watchful stars, then he would think of his Princess, and in fancy see her face, and he would dream a good dream of the days that should be, when England was England once more.