“Drink hael, man! ’Twill warm thee, and chill blows the wind in the forest.”
“Wass hael,” responded the guest, courteously including Egwina and the wife in the health. “To ye both, good dame and gentle maiden, and to thee also, ceorl, for thy kindness,” and he quaffed the horn. When Denewulf would have replenished the cup, he shook his head.
“Nay,” he said. “I care not for more.”
“Then,” said the swineherd, “tell of thyself, and how thou art alone in the weald. Didst lose thy way? I trow that thou didst, for few there be who dwell not among the fens that can find the way out when once within its depths.”
“Is it so impenetrable?” inquired the stranger.
“So much so,” replied the swineherd with a chuckle, “that if the whole Danish army were lost in its fastnesses, they would die before finding their way out; unless some Saxon were niddering enow to show it.”
“Then I would that the Danes were within its depths,” ejaculated the stranger with fervor. “Vain have been the efforts of the Saxons to resist them, and it would be a happy ending of the matter.”
“Thou fleest, then, from the Dane?” queried Adiva.
“Yes; they are ravaging the whole of Wessex.”
“Good stranger, knowest aught of the king?” cried Egwina. “I hope that he is safe.”