“Wait, skald. Wondrous is thy skill on the harp, and delectably also doth the maiden wield the cymbals. I would that my daughter should hear ye.”
He motioned to some of his servitors, who left the hall, and soon returned bearing a chair in which was seated the form of a girl. She was very pale, but her dark eyes were bright, and her countenance, though wan, showed traces of beauty.
“What aileth thy daughter, O king?” came from Alfred pityingly as he looked on the white face of the girl.
“Her knee is swollen, and vain hath been all leech’s care,” returned Guthrum. “It hath been long since she hath stood. It pricks me to the heart thus for Hilda to be so sore afflicted.”
“Her knee?” The Saxon king drew near the maiden. “Wheaten flour boiled in milk and applied while warm hath been known to work wonders for such misease. Knowest thou not that Cuthbert was so cured?”
“Cuthbert? No, I know naught of him. Was he afflicted as I?” spoke the Danish girl eagerly.
“In the very self-same manner, maiden. Listen and, if thou wishest, I will tell thee how the good saint was cured.”
“But thy harp,” interposed Guthrum. “Work no charm, sir skald, but give us of thy skill.”
“Nay, my father,” spake the maiden Hilda. “He worketh no charm, and I would hear of this Cuthbert. Speak on, skald.”
Alfred looked at Guthrum, and the latter bowed in assent to his daughter’s wish.