hirled up my sword to strike--and then a
long flash of light from a spear point smote me, and over me the
man rode, pinning me to the ground with the spear through my left
shoulder. His horse trod on me, and the man wrenched the weapon
from me as he passed on, and I had but time to call out to Leof to
warn him, when a rushing came in my ears, and a blaze of light
before my eyes, and the world passed from me.

Then I seemed to stand in darkness, while past me, gloriously
shining, went Leof, and then the old steward and one of those two
men who had whispered together, and then Humbert the Bishop
himself. But it seemed to me that he paused and looked on me,
saying, in a voice that was like music:

"Hereafter--not now. Twice have you offered your life today, and
yet there is work for you. Be content to wait."

So he passed, looking kindly at me, and then the blackness came
over me again.

When I came round at last it was high day, and the air was full of
smoke around me. One sat on a great brown horse looking at me, and
by my side cried my dog; and I groaned, whereat the man got off his
horse and came to me. And I knew that it was Hubba, and some of the
men I knew were there also.

"Why, Wulfric, friend, how is this? I thought you were dead. Who
has dared to hurt you? What has happened here?"

"You know well," I gasped.

"Nay, I know not; I have but now ridden this way with our rear
guard," he answered, seeming to pity me.

"Look in the church and see," I said, groaning. "You Danes are all
one in the matter."

"Now I am not the man to harm you, nor would any of our folk," he
said. "Some of our courtmen found you here, and brought me."

"Slay me and have done," I muttered; for that was all I would have
him do.

"That will I not, Wulfric," he answered; and he called to some men
who were busy about the walls of the church.

The smoke rose thickly from within them, for the burnt roof had
fallen in.

"Take this warrior and bind his wound," he said. "It is Wulfric of
Reedham, our friend."

The faintness came over me again when the men raised me, though
they tended me gently enough, and I could say naught, though I
would rather they had cast me into the burning timbers of the
church, even as I had bidden men do with that poor churl at Hoxne,
that my ashes might be with those of our bishop.

So they bore me far, and at last left me in a farm where they
promised all should be safe if they tended me well. And Hu