"Yet these men fought well to-day, comrade," Wulnoth answered; "though they were few in numbers, compared to our host."
"Ay, they fought well," replied Wahrmund. "But now let us sleep, for there will be work to do when the day dawns. The air is shrewd to-night."
"Take my cloak," answered Wulnoth. "For I have no mind for sleep, and will watch by the fire."
"More fool you," replied the other; yet he took the cloak and wrapped himself up and was soon asleep, while Wulnoth sat listening to the distant song, and wondering where Guthred could be and what could have become of Edgiva the Beautiful.
And then he arose and went to the edge of the wood and listened again; and he thought that surely Wyborga the Wise had been wrong, for how could this Lord, Whom the Saxons worshipped, be strong, when He let His people be put to the sword?
And while he mused thus, sleep began to steal upon his eyes, until it seemed to him that a voice spoke, and it was the voice of Edgiva crying to him to awake; and he opened his eyes and saw a man's form bending over his comrade Wahrmund, and holding a knife high in the air.
"Wahrmund, awake!" he cried, in warning, and the man started up. But then like a flash Wulnoth cast his spear and smote the midnight wanderer fair in the chest, and he fell back dead.
And Wahrmund started to his feet, and others of the soldiers, and looked to see who this might be; and lo, it was Wiglaf the Boxer, the man of Jarl Hungwar!
"That knife was meant for thee, Wanderer," Wahrmund said; "and I, by wearing thy cloak, came nigh to getting it in my ribs. I owe my life to thee, Wanderer, and I shall not forget it."
Then when the morning broke, the war-horns sounded and the men prepared for battle; and the great ships, with their crews, stood off to go back to Denmark; and the vikings laughed and said—