The sad little strain produced a few moments of silence, and then again, after vociferous plaudits for the maiden, the uproar broke forth. As Egwina sat down, the maiden Ethelfleda descended from the dais, and came to her.
”Thou art the maiden and this is thy father who were so kind to me in Andred’s Weald,” she said, taking Egwina by the hand. “Often have I wondered about thee, and hoped to see thee again. Now thou shalt stay with me, and thou shalt, if thou wilt, teach me some of thy pretty songs. Sweetly dost thou sing, but it hath made my heart sad to hear thy little plaint.”
”An it please thee, maiden, she shall sing another, merrier and more suited to the feast,” interposed Wulfhere, “I know not why the child chose so sad a theme.”[SYNC]
“It doth please me,” said Ethelfleda. “But come! Before thou dost sing again, thou shalt drink hael with the lady Elswitha.” To the old man’s joy he saw his granddaughter led to the dais where Alfred’s wife sat.
The lady graciously arose to receive the girl. With her own hand she proffered the cup. Just as Egwina was lifting the goblet to her lips, a great noise was heard without. There was the crash of arms, the hoarse shout of battle, and then the portals were flung wide, and the warder shouted:
“The Dane, the Dane!”
[CHAPTER V—THE DEATH OF A HERO]
Instantly the wildest confusion prevailed. The Saxons, half-dazed by the suddenness of the attack, sprang for their arms which hung upon the walls of the hall. Such a thing as a winter campaign had hitherto been unknown, and they were taken completely by surprise.
Before they could collect themselves or form any plan for defense, the Norsemen were upon them, and then there followed an awful scene of carnage. The clash of steel, the hoarse shouts and cries of the Saxons, the shrieks and groans of the women, mingled with the exultant yells of the Danes. High above all, rose the Norse battle song which contained a covert sneer at the English religion:
“We have sung the mass of the lances.
It began at sunrise, and lo! the bright star hath gone to her rest,
And the orison is not completed.
Odin awaits us in Valhalla!
The perennial boar steams upon the festive board!
Hela, the death goddess, gnashes her teeth that we escape her!
The kite and the raven scream with joy at the feast!
Red runs the blood!
Fearful the carnage!
Guthrum the old hath destroyed the great one.
The black Raven with pointed beak
Hath subdued the Dragon of Wessex.”