She unloosened the shoe of the maiden as she spoke and removed the silken leggins, marveling much at their richness as she did so.
“There!” she said, after she had laved the foot in the cold water. “Doth it not feel better!”
“It doth,” answered the maiden; “so well that methinks I can stand upon it. How Edward will wonder!”
“Do not so!” ejaculated Wulfhere, but the girl was up before he had spoken. Only for a moment, however. She reeled, and would have fallen had not the gleeman caught her.
“Thou wert o’er rash,” he chided, gently stroking her brow while Egwina fetched more water and again bathed the ankle. The maiden was white from the pain, but she bravely repressed the moans that rose to her lips.
“Witless was I,” she murmured. “Now will I lie still until help comes. O’er rashness is as bad, I ween, as not enough boldness.”
“True,” said Wulfhere. “Thou art young, maiden, and fearless is thy spirit. Thou hast yet to learn that valor is not all in the doing of brave deeds. To bear well is also valorous.”
“Methinks that thou dost speak truly,” she returned. “Thou needst bathe the foot no longer, maiden, for now doth it feel better. Wilt thou not, ministrel, out of thy good pleasure beguile the time by story?”
“What likest thou best to hear?” asked he, well pleased, for the scop delighted in his art.
“Of the deeds of our forefathers,” she replied, quickly. “Well do I love to hear of them.”