The brave scald's wounds were deep, though he had said little of them.

Some say that he saved the life of Ethelnoth at the time when that ealdorman was struck down, and that also is Ethelnoth's story; though the scald says that if so it was by accident, and less worth speaking of than many braver deeds that were wrought and went untold that day.
"Here have I been in England but six months or so, and I have more to sing of than ever I learned with Harald Fairhair," he said one day, as he made songs on his bed while his wounds were healing.
And he spoke the truth.

Never was a winter so full of deeds wrought by a king and a valiant people that were worth a scald's remembrance.
Now Osmund had a last message from Alfred that day, and in the morning we went together to the bridge.

There Guthrum's own courtmen met us, and they took us into the fortress, beyond which lies the town, so that we saw little of what straits the host might be in by this time.

In the fortress itself all seemed in order at least; and there was a guard set at the door of the well-built hut where the Danish king was, as if some state were yet kept up.
There Guthrum welcomed us, and with him were many chiefs, on whose faces was the same care-worn look that Osmund had borne when I saw him at Exeter before Alfred.
"Two messages come to you today," Osmund said; "one by my mouth, and the other by that of King Ranald Vemundsson, who is with me.