He had each day
ridden over to see Osgod, who in his anxiety for a rapid cure was proving
himself a most amenable patient, and was strictly carrying out the
prescriptions of the monk who had taken charge of him and of other wounded
who were lying in the village. He was asleep on a rough pallet when Wulf
entered.
"A pest upon the Norman!" he exclaimed angrily when he heard Wulf's news.
"He might have given me a week longer at any rate. I am feeling mightily
better already, for to-day the monk has bandaged my arm, and that so tight
as almost to numb it. But that I care little for, as he has now taken off
that bow-string which was cutting its way into the flesh. He told me that
everything depended upon my keeping absolutely quiet for another week, for
the slightest exertion might make the wound break out afresh, and that if
it burst there would be but a poor chance for me. Well, I must travel in a
waggon instead of on horseback"
"You will do nothing of the sort, Osgod; I absolutely forbid it. It would
be an act of sheer madness. Besides, you would be useless at present even
if you went south, while if you rest here for three or four weeks you may
be able to take part in some of the battles; and, moreover, it may be weeks
before Harold moves against the Normans. At any rate, it is out of the
question that you should move at present. I am not going to have you risk
your life by such folly."
Osgod was silent for a minute or two and then said, "Well, master, I must
obey your orders, but never before did I feel it so hard a thing to do.
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