ide with it to Eanulf the Ealdorman and tell him of our
straits. The words I leave to you, who have done better than all of us
today."

Then he took helm and sword from one who brought them in haste, and
armed himself, while I, putting the ring he had given me on my finger,
yet stood beside him. When he was armed he turned sharply to me.

"You want to fight again," he said. "Well, I will not blame you; but
believe me, you will do more for us in going to Eanulf than in spending
your life here for nought."

Then he saw he had said too much, perhaps, and motioning his man out of
the room, so that we were alone, he went on quickly: "I say for nought,
because all I can do is to hold back the Danes for a little; you have
seen how it is. We are evenly matched in numbers, or thereabout; but
they are trained and hardened warriors, and our poor men are all unused
to war. Moreover, Heregar, these Danes come to fight, and our men do but
fight because they must. Now I will send one after you to Glastonbury to
let you know how this matter goes; but it will be, I fear, no pleasant
message."

Then would I not ask him for men as I had been minded to do, knowing
what a strait he was in, and that his words were only too true. Those
two differences between Dane and Saxon in those days of the first
fighting left the victory too plainly on the side of the newcomers. And
they sum up all the reasons for the headway they made against us till
Alfred, our wise king, taught us to meet them in their own way.

So once more I felt the grip of Osric's hand on mine, and I left him,
with a heavy heart indeed, but with a new hope for myself and for
Alswythe, in the end.

I stood for a moment before I turned out of the marketplace, eating a
loaf I had taken from the table as I passed, and watching the men
gather, spiritless, for this new fight. On many, too, the strong ale had
told, and it was a sorry force that Osric could take with him.

But I might not stay, and was turning to go, when I saw one standing
like myself and watching, close by. It was my host of Sedgemoor, Dudda
the Collier. And never was face more welcome than his grimy countenance,
for now I knew that I had found one who, in an hour, would take Alswythe
into paths where none might follow, and that, too, on the nearest road
to Glastonbury. There is no safer place for those who would fly, than
the wastes of Sedgemoor to those who know, or have guide to them, and
there no Danes would