Surely there is some magic in it." "Only the magic of a wearied man's sleep, and of a good weapon smith," said the bishop, laughing.

"One measured your mail, byrnie and helm both, as you slept.

We have lay brethren apt for every craft." And that reminded me of Brother Guthlac, and a thought came to me.
"Father," I said, "six men have you bidden me choose, and I know none of the Dorset men.

Yet there are six lay brethren here who have been warriors, of whom brother Guthlac is one, and if they may march against heathen men, I pray you let me have them." Now that the Bishop seemed to find pleasant, as though he knew something of those lovers of war songs, and answered that he wot not if Tatwine would let them go.

But, in any case, he would choose men for me of the best, and that we all thought well, knowing in what spirit he would put those men whom he should choose.
So he bade us go, taking our arms with us, and we, thanking him, went out.