The girl nodded, her heart swelling at the thought of her grandfather, and then she told them of the attack on the palace at Chippenham and all that had followed.
The men listened in silence until she had finished, and then one said, “Where is the king? What hath become of him?”
“I know not,” answered Egwina. “I trow that he liveth, for when granther and I rested in one of the villages, his messenger of war passed through. But the Saxons would not hearken to the summons.”
“Sayest thou so?” exclaimed he who seemed to be the spokesman. “Sayest thou so? Then, are we in sore straits in sooth. Alfred is a wise king and would drive out the Dane if the Saxons would follow him. But what is the throne without men? Of himself he can do naught. Evil hath surely come on the land. But thou art cold, little one!”
Egwina was in truth very cold. She trembled in every limb for she was chilled to the marrow and faint from weakness.
The ceorl wrapped her in his mantle and lifted her in his arms.
“Nay,” he said with good-natured raillery as she remonstrated; “a Saxon maiden who can keep a whole pack of wolves enthralled by her music must be treated gently.”
The others laughingly assented and thus was the girl borne to the ceorl’s home.
[CHAPTER VII—THE COMING OF A STRANGER]
The party of Saxons who had so opportunely come to the rescue of Egwina proved to be swineherds, returning from their day’s work in the forest. Deep into the woodland did they go. At last a light shone through the darkness, and towards it the ceorl who bore Egwina walked rapidly.