But altogether I thought him even more kingly than the mighty Harald Fairhair in some ways.
Truly he had not the vast strength and stature of Norway's king, but Alfred's was the kingliness of wisdom and statecraft.
Once I said to Odda: "Can your king fight ?" "Ay, with head as well as with hand," he answered.

"His skill in weapon play makes up for lack of weight and strength.

He is maybe the best swordsman and spearman in England." I looked again at him, and I saw that since last I turned my eyes on him he had grown pale, and now his face was drawn, and was whitening under some pain, as it would seem; and I gripped Odda's arm.
"See!" I said, "the king dies! he is poisoned!" And I was starting up, but the ealdorman held me back.
"I pray you pay no heed," he said urgently.

"It is the king's dark hour; he will be well anon." But nevertheless Alfred swayed in his seat, and two young thanes who stood waiting on him came to either side and helped him up, and together they took him, tottering, into the smaller tent that opened behind the throne; while all the guests were silent, some in fear, like myself, but others looking pityingly only.
Then a tall man in a dress strange to me--a bishop, as I knew presently--rose up, and said to those who knew not what was the matter: "Doubtless all know that our good king is troubled with a strange illness that falls on him from time to time.

This is such a time.
Have no fear therefore, for the pain he suffers will pass.