"
"If aught happens to me," Wulf said to Harold, "I pray you to see
to him, my lord, and to take him as one of your own men. Had it not
been for him the Bretons would have made short work of us."
He could barely utter the words, and again became insensible from
loss of blood.
When he recovered the leech was kneeling beside him, pouring oil
into his wounds and applying bandages.
"Do not try to talk," he said quietly, as Wulf opened his eyes.
"Lie quite still, the least movement might cause your wounds to
break out afresh. They are serious, but I think not of a mortal
nature."
"Guy?" Wulf whispered.
"He is in a more perilous condition than you are, but it is possible
that he too may live. As for your man here, I have as yet but glanced
at his wounds; but though cut sorely, I have no fear for his life.
Now drink this potion, and then go off to sleep if you can."
Wulf drank off the contents of the goblet placed to his lips, and
in a few minutes was fast asleep. When he woke it was broad daylight,
and Beorn was sitting by his side. The latter put his finger to his
lips.
"You are not to talk, Wulf. The leech gave me the strictest orders
when he was here a short time since, and said that you seemed to
be doing well. Osgod he says will surely recover, and be none the
worse for the letting out of some of his blood. The Bretons were
too hasty with their strokes, and although he has a dozen wounds
none of them are serious.
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