“Brothers we be in craft, and sibbe also in the fact that we flee from the Dane,” remarked Wulfhere. “Fearful is the pirate who hath so ruthlessly destroyed the homes and laid waste the land of our people.”
“Whither art thou going?” queried Ælfric.
“North into Berkshire and from thence into Wiltshire,” answered the old man.
“Then together can we journey but a short distance, for on the morrow our paths must be sundered, as I go into Kent. But while our roads are one tell me of the deeds which the Northmen have done of which thou thyself wottest, and I in turn will tell thee that which hath happened to me.”
Then, with emotion, did Wulfhere tell of his grief in the death of his grandson, Siegbert.
“And I,” said Ælfric, after he had expressed his sympathy, “abode in Thetford of East Anglia at the house of Eldred the thegn, and was the chief of his gleemen. None was so honored as I, and the heart of my lord clave unto me with love. Alack! the Northman fell upon us, and I wot not whether my lord be living or dead. I fled from the foe. When I was far distant, I looked back, and behold the manor was in flames.”
“Didst thou not fight for thy lord?” queried Wulfhere in amazement.
“Nay; why should I risk life in vain? Naught would it have availed him. I myself would have been slain, so I fled.”
“It was not the old custom,” remarked the elder Saxon, “thus to abandon one’s lord. ’Twere shame to live were he slain.”
“Times are not as they once were,” returned Ælfric hastily, avoiding the glance of the harper. “Custom hath changed, and, I trow, for the better. Beautiful is thy ring, maiden! Where gottest thou it?”