Once I was sorely wounded, and Ecgbert tended me through that as a brother rather than as my lord--even as I would have tended him, only that he was never hurt.

Some of us grew to think that he had a charmed life; but I thought that he was kept for the sake of what was to be in days to come, when England was worn out with warfare between the kingdoms, and would welcome a strong hand over her from north to south.
I know not whether it was Carl himself who bade Ecgbert wait for that day, but it is likely.

The atheling was in no haste to return to England, and it was his word that until he was needed he should bide here and learn.
But when the time went on he had thought for me, and one April day, as we rode together, he bade me go home and see that all was well with my folk.

I had some fever on me at that time, for we were among the Frisian marshlands, and it had fallen on me when I was weak from the wound I spoke of, so that I could not shake it off.
It came every third day, and held me in its grip for the afternoon, cold as ice, and then hot as fire, and so leaving me little the worse, but always thin and yellow to look on.

Moreover, it always seemed to come on the wrong day for me, when I needed to be most busy, so that over and over again Ecgbert had to ride out without me.