"How fares it with you, Osgod? Here is a ewer of water."
"That is good," Osgod said, after taking a mighty draught. "Truly I felt
as if the moisture of my body had all dried up, and not only my mouth but
my whole frame was parched."
"Why, Osgod," Wulf exclaimed, as he held the torch he carried close to him,
"your arm has gone!"
"That is so, master, an arm after the bone has been cleft through is of no
use to anyone, so I thought the sooner I got rid of it the better, and
having my knife handy I just cut through the flesh that remained. That was
the end of it. Would that we could get rid of all our evils as readily.
To-morrow I will walk to York and get the wound seared."
"The king sent to York for aid directly the battle was over, and we shall
have all the townsfolk here soon, among them monks and others skilled in
the dressing of wounds. I told the king of your misfortune." And he then
repeated what Harold had said.
"It does me good to hear that Harold is satisfied with me. I hope to
strike many a good blow for him yet."
"How still it is here, Osgod! There is scarce a sound to be heard from all
those lying round."
"There are but few with life in them, I reckon," Osgod said. "A Norse
sword and an English axe let out the life quickly when they strike fair.
This blow fell on my arm as my axe was raised to strike, and it were well
it did so, or it would have taken me in the neck, and then neither monk nor
leech could have brought me back to life.
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