Not long after the Battle of the Spile and while the harrying was still underway to kill or capture Sweons hiding in or attempting to flee the Isle of Bardsey, Lyttleman chanced upon the blind scop, Arcenbryht. Lyttleman was with his new comrade Cynewulf, an East Geat, the son of an upland trader. It had come to the ears of Arcenbryht, a man whom the Gods had blessed with unusually sharp ears – for all they had robbed him of his sight – that a band of jugath engaged in the pursuit had found the corpse of a Sweon warrior lying in a thicket. They had seen that the man was richly armed and attired. However, they also observed that he lay within the deadly embrace of a Wosewife. Being engaged on other business and considering the struggle with a Wosewife a chancy thing, let alone the Wose itself, they decided to resume the pursuit of those Sweons who still lived. So the warrior and his spoils still lay there unclaimed in the woods.
Arcenbryht laid all this out before Lyttleman and his companion, and another stout fellow to whom he introduced them by the name of Stigand. In return for half the value of the spoils, Arcenbryht would offer: his dog, Hop, to lead them to the thicket; some amulets to protect them from the Wose and his wife; a hunting horn that might bring them some aid. He warned them that if they were to use the latter, they would have to share their half of the spoils with whoever was dispatched to aid them. The bargain was struck.
The path that the hound led them was far from straight but it seemed sure of its way, as if sniffing out a trail. At length they came to a thicket that was as described by the blind scop. The dog, its work done, turned and loped back the way he came. The young warriors hesitated a while on the edge and then plunged into the dense foliage to seek their prize.
It was Cynewulf who found what they sought, but not before he had blundered within the ambit of the Wosewife’s grasping claws. A desperate struggle ensued as the heroes sought with axe and saex to hew at the tough, woody flesh of the wight while avoiding her entangling, strangling, gouging grip. They were also harried in their task by what they surmised was a Sproutling, a young Wose-child who bit at their legs in defence of its mother. At length cold iron carried the day: the Wosewife was dismembered; the Sproutling on the other hand was captured alive and thrust kicking and scratching into a leather bag. The three Geats then fell about stripping the goods from the corpse of the recently slain Sweon gesith, desiccated from the feeding of the Wosewife’s greedy roots. They did not tarry long, however, fearing the imminent return of her mate and were soon hurrying back to the Geat encampment.
The had not gone far before they heard a terrible keening cry, echoed by the mewlings of their captive and realised that the Wose had found its slain spouse. The pursuit was afoot. They made as best pace they could but it was not long before they saw the Wose, huge, agile and possessed of terrible vital strength swinging through the trees towards them, and stood at bay. Prowling around Arcenbryht’s rune-wards, only the threat to its offspring, that Cynewulf held, scramasaex to its throat, kept it from ripping all three asunder in its grief and rage. Beholding the monster, and knowing that they were not far short of safety the three decided to summon help and Stigand winded his horn. A standoff ensued.
At length, thwarted by the wards and the threat to its offspring, and perhaps hearing the approach of another party of humans, the Wose stopped its raging and began to parley for the sproutling’s life. If they released his son he would let them go in peace, for now, though if they were still on Bardsey by the light of the next moon then they should fear his vengeance. They made him swear oaths to this and then released his son.
“My oath demands that you go in peace, but I know your scent. Should you ever return to this island, I will know and I will find you and your deaths will be not kind. My son has also smelled your smell and knows you have slain his mother. He has sworn no oaths.” And with that he departed.
Shortly after the party met another group of warriors. They bore tokens given them by Arcenbryht and had been sent to aid them. They too had just encountered the Wose and one of their number had been snatched by him. The two bands returned together as one. Not far from the encampment they found the body of the missing warrior hanging, impaled upon the branch of a tree.