Obediently the girl followed him. There were some mutterings from those who heard his words, but they were allowed to depart without molestation. They had not gone far from the village when they saw in the distance a party of Danes approaching on horseback. As the Danes caught sight of the man and the maiden, they spurred their horses and came up to the two on a run.
“A scald and a scald maiden,” cried they in delight. “Now let song and dance be our portion. Weary are we of the fray. Let us have song.”
They flung themselves from their palfreys and surrounded the two. Egwina shrank close to her grandfather.
“No song, even for thy life, girl,” commanded the old man sternly.
“Strike up, old scald! Is thy harp mute that thou dost not sweep it?” spoke the leader.
“A song! A song in praise of Guthrum! Guthrum the bold!”
But Wulfhere folded his arms across his harp and remained silent.
“Silent art thou?” demanded he who seemed to be the chief.
“’Tis fear that whitens his face and makes his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth,” laughed a youth mockingly.
“Haco, take the harp,” commanded the jarl. “Do thou sing for us. Then will the old man be stirred to obey. He seems to forget that we war not against gleemen.”