Then he told me a wild story that was going round the town. How
that, when all seemed lost, there came suddenly a wondrous vision,
rising up before the men, of a saint clad in armour and riding a white
horse, having his face covered lest men should be blinded by the light
thereof, who, standing with drawn sword on Cannington Hill, so bade the
men take courage that they turned and beat the Danes back. Whereupon he
vanished, though the white horse yet remained for a little, before it,
too, was gone.
Well, thought I, Grendel the fiend was I but the other day, and now I am
to be a saint. And with that I could not restrain myself, but laughed as
once before I had laughed at this same man, for the very foolishness of
the thing. Yet I might not let Alswythe know that I laughed, and so
could not let it go as I would, and I saw that Wulfhere was laughing
likewise, silently.
Now this is not to be wondered at, though it was but a little thing
maybe. For we had been like a long-bent bow, overstrained with doubt and
anxiety, and, now that we were in safety with the lady, it needed but
like this to slacken the tension, and bid our minds relieve themselves.
So that laugh did us both good, and moreover took away some of the
downcast look from our faces when next we spoke to our charge.
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