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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Art thou an Englishman or a Dane?" said the Etheling, bending over the dying ruffian in his anxiety to learn the whole truth. "What is that to thee?" "Much, if thou wouldst escape death." "Escape death! I cannot. Neither wilt thou escape Edric Streorn, and I shall not die unavenged. Ah! young springal, thou wilt not escape again. To think that thy puny hand should give Higbald his death blow!
It is Yuletide, and drink thou must and shalt." Alfgar drank moderately, for sooth to say it was invigorating and welcome that cold day, but Higbald finished the bowl then and there, and then staggering down, drew the outer bolt in such a way that it missed the staple, which fact he was too drunk to perceive. Alfgar watched the action with eager eyes.
Edmund's axe had found its victim; Herstan, who was by his side, had engaged and wounded the second; and, meanwhile, Alfgar, who was glaring about him for a foe, discovered the third, whose aspects and form were at once recognised by him. "What! you, Higbald!" he cried. "You shall escape no more," cried his late gaoler, and brought his axe down with a mighty rush.
At last Alfgar could but conclude it was Christmastide, for Higbald was joined by two comrades, and they sang and rioted below in a way which showed that they had got plenty of intoxicating drink, and were making free with it. In the evening of the day Higbald brought him up his supper, staggering as he did so, and with it he brought in a bowl of hot mead. "Drink," he said, "and drown care.
"There you can lie and sleep as peacefully as at Carisbrooke," said one of his guards. "And let me tell you," added Higbald, "that it will be certain death to try to get away; for if you could escape me, my dog Wolf, who prowls about by day and night, would tear you in pieces before any one could help you. He has killed half-a-dozen men in his day."
Ah, I am choked!" Alfgar's sword had pierced his lungs, and a gush of blood rushing to the mouth stopped the breath of Higbald for ever. "I have brought the foe upon you. We are tracked," said Alfgar. "Edric and the Danes are in alliance." "But they have not taken this place yet; neither shall they, by God's help! Ha! was that lightning? Nay, it is winter."
Alfgar sees the brute swimming after the boat; he ceases to use the pole, but takes his sword, kneels on the stern of the boat, and waits for the mastiff. It gains the boat, and tries to mount, when the keen steel is driven between the forepaws to its very heart. One loud howl, and it floats down the stream, dyeing the waters with its life-blood. "Cursed Dane!" shouts Higbald.
They knocked at the door, which was speedily opened by a man of gigantic stature and ruffianly countenance, by whose side snarled a mastiff as repulsive as he. "Here, Higbald, we have brought thee a prisoner from our lord."
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