“Thy music hath enchanted the household. Prithee delight us again. The feast is deepening.”
Nothing loth, Wulfhere complied readily; then, as the song was finished, without waiting for further request, his fingers swept the strings and he half sang, half recited, improvising as he went:
“Here Alfred of the West Saxons king, the giver of the bracelets of the nobles, A lasting glory won by slaughter in battle, with the edges of swords at Ashdown. The wall of shields he cleaved, the noble banners he hewed; Pursuing, he destroyed the Danish people. The field was colored with the warrior’s blood. After that—the sun on high—the greatest star Glided over the earth, God’s candle bright! Till the noble creature hastened to her setting. There lay soldiers many with darts struck down, Northern men over their shields shot. So were the Danes weary of ruddy battles. The screamers of war he left behind; the raven to enjoy, The dismal kite, and the black raven with horned beak, and the hoarse toad; The eagle afterwards to feast on the white flesh; The greedy battle hawk, and the gray beast, the wolf in the wood. He has marched with his bloody sword, and the raven has followed him. Furiously hath he fought, and the Northmen fear his presence. Then did the Dane seek his fleet. And they sang as they coursed gayly along the track of the swans: ‘Not here can the Great one harm us. The force of the storm is a help to the arms of our rowers; The hurricane is in our service; It carries us the way we would go.’ Then arose the king in his wisdom. Alfred, great of understanding! He the wise builder of ships! The giver of laws, the bestower of bracelets! He spake, and the timbers took shape. Then did the raven shriek on the waters. Red ran the blood of the Northman, as the Dragon of Wessex pursued him. Great, great are the deeds of Alfred! The wonder and glory of men!”
Thunderous applause broke forth from the retainers that shook the very rafters. Wulfhere sat down upon the settle, and glanced toward the dais from which there now advanced the royal cup-bearer.
“Later will the king grace the feast by his presence,” he said. “And then, O minstrel, shalt thou receive fitting guerdon for thy words. Drink hael to Elswitha, the lady” (the correct designation of the queens of that time was “The Lady”) “who sends thee cheer from her own table and in her own cup.”