And as he told of the breaking of the ring, and our stand
inside of it, Alfred the Atheling wrote fast, and presently he bade
Wulfhere cease, and going to a corner took down a harp, while his father
smiled on him, and tuning it, broke out into a wondrous war song that
made our hearts beat fast, for we seemed to feel that it was full of the
very shout and ring of battle inside our circle of foes, and we were as
men who looked on and saw our own deeds over again, only made more
glorious by the hand of the poet and the voice of the singer.
So that when he ended the king's eyes flashed, and Ceorle's face was red
and good to look at with a war light on it, and Wislac shouted, as I had
nearly done.
But at that sound, strange in the king's presence, we all started, and
Wislac seemed abashed.
"Truly, Lord King," he said humbly, "I could not help it."
"Almost had I done as you did," said the kindly king. "Alfred must bear
the blame. Now shall you tell your story."
But Wislac said he had nought to add to Wulfhere's tale, save that
Aldhelm here had saved him at his own cost, and that he had had,
moreover, as much fighting as he was like ever to want.
But even from him Alfred gained many things about the fighting, and from
Aldhelm also, and these he wrote down.
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