Days came and went by while I lay helpless. Olaf the king at last
must needs leave me, and take the ships back to the Thames, there
to watch against Cnut's return, in which he, almost alone in
England, believed. But he would not sail before he knew that I
would recover, and he left me in the kind hands of Anselm, the old
Norman priest, who was well skilled in leech craft, and of Relf the
Thane and his wife. So I need say nought of the long days of
weakness after danger was gone, for there are few men who have not
known what they are like, and well for them if they have had such
tending as these good folk gave to me.
Yet it was not till November had half gone that I was able to ride
hunting again at last, and to go out with Relf in the crisp frosts
of early winter through the great woods of the Andred's-weald in
search of wolf and boar, or when the mists hung round the gray
copses, and the turf in the glades was soft, and scent was high, to
follow the deer that harboured in the deep shaws. We were seldom
without their spoils as we came homeward, and how good it was to
feel my strength coming back to me as I rode--to find the grip on a
spear shaft hardening, and the bow hand growing steadier against a
longer pull on the tough string. And Relf rejoiced with me to see
this, for he deemed that he owed me the more care because my hurt
had been gained in fighting for him and his home. Honest and rough,
with a warm heart was this forest thane, and we grew to be fast
friends.
Now when I was helpless, Wulfnoth the earl and Godwine would often
ride from Pevensea to learn how I fared. For Wulfnoth and Godwine
alike loved Olaf the king, and Godwine thought of me as his own
friend among the vikings of our fleet. But presently Godwine went
away to Bosham, where the earl's ships were mostly laid up, to see
to the housing of his vessels for the winter, and when I grew
strong it was rather my place to go to Pevensea and wait on
Wulfnoth, if I would see him. I think the earl came to Penhurst
more often also, because he would dig for more treasure in all the
old ruins in the town. But he found no more, as one might well
suppose, for it was but a chance that our find had escaped the
searching of the first Saxon comers. Yet I saw him now and then,
and ever would he rail at Ethelred the king, who sat still and left
the Danish thingmen in possession of the eastern strongholds even
yet.
Now one day the thane and I rode together with hawk and hound
eastward from Penhurst along the spur of a hill that runs thence
for many a long mile, falling southward on one side towards the sea
and lower hills between, and northward looking inland over
forest-covered hill and valley. And we went onward until we came to
the village that men call Senlac, where the long hill ridge ends
and sinks sharply into the valley of the little river Asten, and
there we thought that a heron or mallard would lie in the reedy
meadows below the place.
But up the course of the stream came another party, and when we
neared it, we saw that it was the earl himself with but a few
followers, and he too was riding with hawk on wrist, and hounds in
leash behind him, though it did not seem as if he had loosed
either.
"Ho, Relf, good morrow. What sport?" he said.
"Little enough, lord earl, as yet," the thane said.
"Do you and friend Redwald come with me, and I will show you
somewhat before you go home," the earl answered.
So we must go with him, willingly enough, for he was a great
hunter, and very skilful in woodcraft.
Now we went back through the village and up the hill again on the
same track by which we had just come, and when we were almost at
the top of the rise, the earl bade the men wait while we three rode
on. So they stayed, and we followed him, not at all knowing what he
would do.
Then we came to a track leading to the right as we rode, and he
took that way. It led to a place of which I had heard, for it had
no good name among the people, but I thought that he would not go
thither. Nevertheless he held straight on, and came to the place in
the hillside that was feared. And it was very beautiful, for thence
one looks out over the valley to the hills beyond, with the long
line of the sea away to the right, and to the left the valleys that
slope down to the inlet where Winchelsea stands, far off to the
eastward. There is a well which they say is haunted, though by what
I know not, save that men speak of ghostly hands that seize them as
they pass, if pass they must, at night. Hardly was there a track to
the place, though the water that comes from the rocky spring is so
wondrously pure and cold that they call the place Caldbec {9}
Hill. And there by the side of the spring was a little turf-built
hut, hardly to be known from the shelving bank against which it
leant, and to that the earl led us.
"Now," he said, "tie the horses somewhere, and we will go and speak
with the Wise Woman."
At that Relf was not pleased, as it seemed, for he did not
dismount.
"Come not if you fear her," said Wulfnoth; "bide with the horses if
you will, while I and Olaf's cousin go in. Maybe there will be a
message that he must take to his kinsman."
"I have nought to seek from the old dame," said Relf, "nor is there
aught that I fear from her. I give her venison betimes, as is
fitting. I will bide with the horses."
Wulfnoth said no more to him, and turned sharply to me. "You give
her no venison--maybe you fear her therefore!" he said in a
scornful way enough.
"I fear her no more than Relf," I answered, "but, like him, I will
not seek her without reason."
"Maybe there is reason for you to hear what she tells me," the earl
said. "I will have you come."
He seemed in no wise angry, but rather wishful that I should be
with him, and so I got off my horse and went. But it crossed my
mind that Wulfnoth the earl liked not to be alone, and suddenly I
remembered the way in which two of our Bures franklins had spoken
to each other when they would see Dame Gunnhild, Hertha's nurse. It
was just in this same wise.
There was a blue reek of oak-wood smoke across the doorway of the
hut, and at first the tears came into my eyes with its biting, and
I could see nothing as the earl drew me inside. We had to stoop low
as we crossed the threshold, and then the air was clearer at the
back of the hut, which was far larger than one would think, seeing
that its front did but cover the mouth of a cave that was in the
sandstone rock. I heard the water of the cold spring rattling and
bubbling somewhere close at hand.
There was a long seat hewn from the rock at the very back of the
place and to one side, and Wulfnoth drew me down beside him upon
it, and there we sat silent, waiting for I knew not what. A great
yellow cat came and rubbed itself, tail in air, against my legs,
and I stroked it, and it purred pleasantly.
Then I became aware that over against us across the fire sat the
most terrible-looking old witch that I had ever seen or dreamed of,
elbows on knees and chin on hand, staring at us. And when I saw her
I forgot the cat, and could not take my eyes off her.
So for long enough we sat, and she turned her bright eyes from one
of us to the other, letting them rest steadily on each in turn. And
at last she spoke.
"What do Earl Wulfnoth and Redwald the thane seek?"
"Read me what is in the time to come. What shall be the outcome of
this strife for England?" the earl said plainly, but in a low
voice.
"Time to come is longer than I can read," said the old woman, never
stirring or taking her eyes from the earl. "I can only see into a
few years, and I cannot always say what I know of them."
Then she turned her gaze on me, and stretched out her hand and
pointed at me. But her eyes looked past me, as it seemed.
"River and mere and mound," she said in a strangely soft
voice--"those, and the ways of the old time of Guthrum, in the town
that saw Eadmund the king. That is what is written for the weird of
Redwald the thane."
Now at that I was fairly terrified, for it was plain that this old
woman, who had never set eves on me before, had knowledge more than
mortal. But if she had gone so far, I would have her go yet
further. Black terror had been before the days of Guthrum grew
peaceful, and I swallowed my fear of her and asked:
"What of Guthrum's days?"
"Danish laws in the Danish Anglia," she said, "and the peace that
comes after the sword and the torch."
"Fire and sword we have had," I said. "Danish laws have ever been
ours. But Ethelred shall be king."
"Ethelred is king," she answered; "but I speak of time to come."
Then Wulfnoth broke in:
"What is this that you speak of, dame? Tell me if I shall bear fire
and sword into Ethelred's land, and give it the peace that shall be
thereafter."
Then she turned her look away from us, and stared across the fire
and out of the doorway.
"Not with you, nor with your son, but with your son's son shall
fire and sword come into this land of ours," she said.
"Godwine's son!"
"Aye--Harold Godwinesson, who is unborn. Look through the smoke,
lords, across the valley, and see if you can learn aught."
Then I stared out through the blue reek, and the earl looked.
"You do but play with me--I see nought!" he cried, half starting up
in anger.
But I minded him not.
Many a fight have I seen--but that which I saw from Caldbec Hill
through the smoke of the fire is more than I may say. No fight that
I have seen was as that--it was most terrible. Surely, if ever such
a fight shall in truth rage across the quiet Senlac stream and up
the green hillside, the fate of more than a king shall hang
thereon. Surely I saw such a strife as makes or ends a nation.
The old woman laughed.
"What has Redwald seen?" she asked mockingly.
The earl glanced at me, and so plainly was it written in my face
that I had seen somewhat awesome, that he gazed at me in amaze.
And I rose up and said:
"Let me go hence--I will see no more."
And I was staggering to the doorway; but Wulfnoth grasped my arm
and stayed me, saying:
"Bide here and say what you have seen--if it is aught."
"Ask me not, earl," I answered.
Then the dame spoke in her slow, soft voice.
"What banner saw you? Say that much, Redwald."
"The banner that flies from Pevensea walls--the banner that bears a
fighting warrior for its sign."
"Ha!" said Wulfnoth; "was it well or ill with that banner?"
"I know not how it went; I saw but a battle--yonder," and I pointed
to where, across the haze of smoke, valley and stream and hill
stretched before me, and thought that surely the fight still raged
as I had seen it--wave after wave of mail-clad horsemen charging
uphill to where, ringed in by English warriors, Saxon and Anglian
and Danish shoulder to shoulder, the banner of the Sussex earls
stood--while from the air above it rained the long arrows thick as
driving hail.
One thing I knew well, and that was that the warriors who charged
wore the war gear of the dukes of Rouen--the Normans. How should
they come here? and who should weld our English races into one thus
to withstand so new a foe from across the sea?
"So--a battle?" said Wulfnoth. "That is the first fancy that a
boy's brain will weave. Battles enough shall my banner see. No need
of you, witch as you are, to tell me that!"
"Maybe not," answered the old woman. "Why, then, Earl Wulfnoth,
come here to ask me to tell you things you know?" and she turned
away towards the fire again as if uncaring.
Then the earl changed his tone, saying:
"Nay, good dame, but I would know if I shall take up arms at all at
this time, and what shall befall if I must do so."
"I tell you, earl, that you have not any share in the wars that
shall be seen. And let Godwine your son bide with his sheep--so
shall he find his place."
Then the earl flushed red with anger and waited to hear no more,
but flung out of the house, muttering hard words on the dame and on
his own foolishness in seeking her.
Then the great cat sprang on my knee, and clung to me with its
strong claws as I would set it down to follow him. And as it stayed
me, the old dame spoke to me, and there was nought to fear in
either her face or voice.
"Ask me somewhat, Redwald."
I wondered, but I dared not refuse. So I said:
"How shall fare King Olaf?"
"For him a kingdom, and more than a kingdom. For him fame, and
better than fame. For him a name that shall never die."
"That is a wondrous weird," I said. "Tell me now of Eadmund
Atheling;" for some strange power that the old woman had seemed to
draw me to ask of her what I would most know.
"For Eadmund of Wessex? For him the shadow of Edric Streone over
all his brave life."
"What then of Cnut, the Dane King?"
"Honour and peace, and the goodwill of all men."
"Not mine," I said.
"Yours also, Redwald--for England's sake and his own."
But I could not believe her at that time.
Now the angry voice of Wulfnoth called me from outside the place,
and the dame said "Go," smiling at me and holding out her hand.
"No more can I tell you, Redwald. But I have this to say of you,
that you have pleased me in asking nought concerning yourself."
"I would know nought beforehand," I said, speaking old thoughts of
my own plainly. "It is enough to hope ever for good that may not
come, and to live with one's life unclouded by fear of the evil
that must needs be."
The dame smiled again, very sadly, as it seemed to me. "It is well
said. Now I will tell you this, that over your life is the shadow
of no greater evil than what every man must meet. Farewell."
So she spoke her last words to me, and sat down by the fire again.
And it is in my thoughts that she wept, but I know not.
Outside stood the earl, staring over the Senlac valley eastward.
"This were a good place for a battle, after all," he said, as to
himself. Then he heard me and turned.
"Well, what more has the old witch told you?" he said, trying to
speak carelessly, though one might see that he longed to hear more.
As we went towards the horses, I told him, therefore, of what had
been said of Eadmund and Cnut. And as he heard he grew thoughtful.
"Now," he said, slowly and half to himself, "if the shadow of that
villain Streone is on Eadmund as on me, I will not strike for
myself--as yet; and Cnut shall win other men's praise before I give
him mine or go to him unsought."
"Eadmund needs a friend, lord earl," I said, mindful of Olaf's
errand, yet hardly daring to say more seeing that he had failed.
"If there were no Ethelred--" said the earl, and stopped.
He said no more then until we were nearly within hearing of Relf.
Then he turned and faced me, taking my hand and staying me.
"I would that Olaf and you were my friends," he said, "for you both
speak out for those whom you love or serve. See here, Redwald, when
you are tired of the ways of Ethelred's crew, come to me again, and
we will plan together. And tell Olaf the same. I shall bide quiet,
keeping my Sussex against all comers, until I think a time has
come. And then, maybe, the old banner will go forward. I would have
you with me then."
So it seemed that I had found a friend, though a strange one, and I
thanked the earl, and promised him as he wished, for it bound me
only to what I thought would surely never come to pass.
After that we went on to Relf, and rode to where we had left the
men. Then the earl left us, making his way to his ships that lay at
Bulverhythe, where some were in winter quarters. The great sea
flood had changed the Pevensea haven strangely, and he mistrusted
it.
I told Relf all these things, but he cared not much for aught but
his free life in the Penhurst woodlands, where he had no foes or
fear of foes left, now that the outlaws were done with.
"Well, if there must be fighting under the earl at some time," he
said, "I am glad that you may be with us."
And he cared to ask no more about it from that day, nor do I think
that he ever gave these matters, which were so heavy to me, a
thought, being always light hearted. And now as we rode on
silently, and I deemed that his mind was full of bodings, as was
mine, he roused me from the memory of what I had seen and heard by
saying, with a laugh:
"Saw you the old dame's cat?"
"Aye," I answered carelessly; "a great one, and a friendly beast
enough."
"Was it so? Then I will warrant that the old witch was in a sorely
bad temper," he said, laughing again.
"What makes you think that?" I asked, not caring if he answered.
"Why, our folk say that the temper of cat and witch are ever
opposite. So when they go to ask aught of the old lady, they wait
outside till they see how the cat--which is, no doubt, her familiar
spirit--behaves. Then if the beast is wild and savage, they know
that its mistress will be in good temper and they may go in. But if
the cat is friendly, they may as well go home, else will they be
like to get harder words than they would care to hear."
Then I laughed also, and said that there seemed nought strange in
the ways of the great cat, but that it behaved as if used to being
noticed kindly.
"That is certain," said Relf. "It is not well to offend either
mistress or beast. But surely she was ill tempered?"
"There was nothing ill natured in her doing or sayings at all," I
said. "The earl angered her a little, but that passed."
"Maybe that was enough to put her familiar into a good temper,"
said Relf, and was satisfied that the common saying was true.
Then I minded a small black cat that belonged to our leech at Bures
in the old days. It would let none come near it but its master. Yet
I have many times seen it perched on the shoulder of the town
witch, and she hated the leech sorely.
So I fell to thinking of the old home and ways, soon, as I thought,
to be taken up again. But at the same time there stole into my mind
the feeling that I had grown to love this place.
Then with flap of heavy wings and croak of alarm flew up a great
heron from a marshy pool, and in a moment all was forgotten as I
unhooded my hawk--one that Olaf had given me from the Danish spoils
at Canterbury. Then the rush of the long-winged falcon, and the cry
of the heron, and the giddy climbing of both into the gray November
sky as they strove for the highest flight, was all that I cared
for, and we shook our reins and cantered after the birds as they
drifted down the wind, soaring too high to breast it.
And when the heron was taken the dark thoughts were gone, and we
rode back to Penhurst gaily, speaking no word of war or coming
trouble, but of flight of hawk and wile of quarry, and the like
pleasant things.
After this I saw no more of Earl Wulfnoth, and the winter set in
with heavy snow and frosts, so that before long one might hardly
stir into the woods, where the drifts were over heavy in the deep
shaws to be very safe to a stranger. But we had some good days when
word came that the foresters had harboured an old boar in a
sheltered place. And to attack the fearless beast when he is thus
penned and at bay amid snow walls, is warriors' sport indeed.
But while the snow fell whirling in the cold blasts from the sea
round the great low-roofed hall I must needs bide within, and so I
saw more of the maiden Sexberga than before, as she sat at her
wheel with the lady, her mother, and the maidens of the house at
the upper end of the hall, while the men wrought at their indoor
work of mending and making horse gear and tool handles and the
like, below the fire that burnt in the centre.
And so it had been like enough that soon I should have bound my
heart to this pleasant place with ties that would have been hard to
break, but for some words that came about by chance. For there had
begun to spring up in my mind a great liking for the words and ways
of Sexberga, who had been pleasant in my eyes from the very first
time that I had seen her and her mother in Earl Wulfnoth's
courtyard.
And I think that there is no wonder in this, for these ladies were
ever most kind to me, and long were the days since I had spoken
with any in such a home as this. Nor, as I have said, should I be
blamed for forgetting old days at Bures in this wise.
Now, soon after Christmas, when there came one of those days when
men must needs keep under cover, I sat by the fire trimming arrows,
and presently it chanced that the lady and I were alone in the
hall, for the maidens were preparing the supper elsewhere, and the
housecarles had not yet come in from cattle yard and sheep pens.
And we talked quietly of this and that, as her wheel hummed and
clicked cheerfully the while, and at last some word of mine led her
to say:
"I have heard little of your own folk, Redwald. I do not know even
their names."
"After my father was slain, I had none left but my mother," I said.
"We are distant kinsfolk of Ulfkytel, our earl, but we have no near
kin."
"Was your mother's name Hertha?" she said, naturally enough, for I
had never named her, always speaking, as one will, of her as my
mother only.
I looked up wondering, for I could not think how she knew that
name, or indeed any other than that of Siric, my father, and maybe
Thorgeir, my grandfather, for Olaf had told them at first, when
they took charge of me, to what family I had belonged, and how I
was akin to him.
"That was not my mother's name," I answered. "It was that of a
playfellow of mine. How could you know it?"
"One will go back in thought and word to old times when one is
sick," the lady said, smiling. "This was a name often on your lips
as I sat by you in your sickness. It was ever 'Mother' and
'Hertha'. Olaf said that you had no sisters, or I should have
thought you called to one of them, maybe."
Then I remembered at last; and for a little while I sat silent, and
my heart was sorely troubled. And the trouble was because my
growing thought of Sexberga taught me, all in a flash as it were,
when the remembrance of Hertha was brought thus clearly back to me,
what tie bound me to Bures and to this more than playmate of mine.
In truth, I think that had it not been for this, until I had been
back in Bures again I should not have recalled it.
Now I was glad that I had said nought that might have made my
liking for the maiden plain to her, and so things would be the
easier. Yet for a few moments the thought of saying nought of the
old betrothal came to me--of letting it remain forgotten. And then
that seemed to me to be unworthy of a true man. It was done, and
might not be undone by my will alone. I would even speak plainly of
the matter; and at least I had not gone so far in any way that the
lady could blame me for silence. So I hardened my heart--for indeed
the trouble seemed great--and spoke quickly.
"Hertha was nearer to me than sister, for we were betrothed when I
was but thirteen and she eleven."
I think the trouble in my voice was plain, for the lady deemed that
there was some to be told.
"Where is she now?" she asked. "I hope that no harm came to her
when the evil Danes overran your land."
"I know not where she may be, dear lady," I said. "We know that she
was in safety after the first peril passed. Now our land is in
Danish hands, and I have no news from thence for four years."
"There are many places here where one might hide well enough," she
said thoughtfully. "I suppose her people could find the like in
your country. But it would be a dull life enough."
Then I told her of Gunnhild the nurse and her wisdom, and said that
none knew the land around Bures better than she, while she had
friends everywhere.
"Then you may find your Hertha yet," the lady said at last; and as
she spoke Sexberga, of whom my mind was full, came into the hall.
"You speak sadly together," she said, looking from one to the
other, and noting that her mother's wheel was idle.
"It is no happy tale that our friend has told me," the lady said,
and so told her all that she had learned from me.
Then Sexberga clasped her hands together, and said:
"Shall I ever forget the time when we fled to Pevensea before the
outlaws? And to think of that terror--if it had lasted for days and
weeks--and months maybe, as it would for your Hertha. Could you in
no way seek her, Redwald?"
She knew nothing of the ways of wartime and of the troubles which
must come to men who are weapon bearers, and I tried to tell her
how I could by no means have sought Hertha, and how, had that been
possible, and had I found her, I could hardly have brought her even
to London in safety. I told her of good Bishop Elfheah and his
death, and many more things, and yet she said:
"I think you have been over long in seeking her. And she has been
in hiding for four years past!"
Now that was hardly fair, but what could she think else? Yet in my
mind was the certainty now that I might have had no easy task to
win this kindly maiden, who so little cared that I was bound
elsewhere. Now I will not say that that altogether pleased me, for
no man likes to learn that a fair maiden who is pleasant to his
eyes has no like feeling for himself; which is nought but vanity
after all. So when I turned this over in my mind I knew that I
ought to be glad that she cared nothing, for so was the less
trouble in the end, and I found also that what a man ought to be is
not the same always as what a man is.
So I made no answer, and Sexberga went on:
"Now must you seek her as soon as you can, for that is your part as
a good warrior--a good knight, as Father Anselm will say when he
hears thereof."
"Surely I shall go back this spring with our earl," I said. "Then
shall I find her, for she and her nurse will come back from their
hiding when peace is sure."
"Aye; and you will not know her!" said Sexberga, clapping her hands
and laughing. "She is a woman grown, as I am, by this time!"
Then was gone my little playfellow, and in her place, in my
thoughts, must stand a maiden with eyes of sad reproach that must
be ever on me. And maybe in her heart would be fear of me, and of
what I had become, as she was bound to me.
And now Sexberga began to weave fancies of how I should meet this
long-lost bride of mine, and I could make no answer to her playful
railing, for I saw more clearly than she. And her mother knew that
this must be so, and sent her away on some household errand, and I
was glad.
Then she laid her hand on mine, and spoke very kindly to me.
"I fear, Redwald, that there is a strange trial coming for you; but
I think that you will face it rightly. It is likely that you will
hardly know Hertha when you see her; yet you are betrothed to her,
and that is a thing that cannot be forgotten."
"She will not know me at all," I said.
"Women are keen sighted," the lady answered; "but it is more than
likely that she will not."
Then said I:
"What if she has no love for me?"
"Or you of her? But I think that in her hiding she has thought of
you ever, and well will it be for you if you come not short of her
dream of you. But you have thought of her not at all."
"Blame me not, lady," I said humbly enough, though I thought I
deserved blame more than she knew.
"I cannot," she answered, and then a half smile crossed her fair
face; "nor should I have thought it wonderful if some other maiden
had taken her place in your heart. But that would have been ill for
three people in the end."
I sat silent, and maybe I was glad that the glow of the fire was
ruddy on my face, for it seemed that she had seen somewhat of my
thoughts of late.
"Now you must find Hertha," she went on, "and then if either of you
will be released, I think that Holy Church will not be hard on you,
nor keep you bound to each other, for things have turned out ill
for such a betrothal."
"This is a hard case," I said, "for supposing that one longs for
release and the other does not?"
"Why, you cannot be so much as lovers yet!" she said, laughing
suddenly. "Here we speak as if a child's thoughts were aught. Now
comes into my mind such a plan as is in the old stories. You shall
seek Hertha as Olaf's kinsman only--as a kinsman who seeks for you,
maybe, not letting her know who you are. Then may you try to win
her love, if you will--or if you cannot love her, you may so work
on her mind that she will not love you, and then all is easy. For
if she will not love you when you would win her, you will not hold
her bound."
"Surely not," I said. "This seems a good plan, if only it may be
carried out. But it depends on whether Hertha knows me again."
"Or the old nurse, Gunnhild," she answered. "If she lives yet, you
must take her into the plan."
So this seemed to me to be a matter easily managed, as I thought
thereof, and I was content. And after we had talked a while longer,
planning thus, I said:
"Now I must go back to Olaf as soon as I can. The winter is wearing
away."
"Aye; the good king will be missing you," she said.
I was not ready to say more, for I meant a great deal by my words,
as might be supposed. And the lady knew it, as I think, for
presently she said:
"I wonder that you spoke not of Hertha before."
"There need be no wonder, lady," I answered. "I have lived but in
the constant thought of war, until I must needs be quiet here. But
for this, I should still have forgotten her."
"That is true; but you must remember her now," she said, looking
quaintly at me.
"I will remember, lady," I answered, kissing her hand; and she
smiled on me and was content.
Truly that one who teaches a man that he is worthy of trust is his
best teacher of honour, and the name of the lady of Penhurst is
ever dear to me.
So it came to pass that I had nought wherewith to blame myself in
the days to come, and I taught myself to look on Sexberga as a
pleasant friend only, though it was hard at first, to say the
truth. And I think that her talk of Hertha, and her jesting at my
unknown bride, as she would call her, helped me, for it kept me
mindful.
Then at last came a messenger from Wulfnoth to bid me ride to see
him at Pevensea, and I went, wondering what new turn of things was
on hand. But when I reached the castle, I saw a ship that I knew
lying in the haven--one of Olaf's own. For Ottar the scald had come
to seek me with the first sign of open weather, bringing also many
gifts of Danish spoil for Relf and his household, and many words of
thanks also.
So in two days' time I parted from Relf and his people, not without
sorrow. Nor could I say all that I would to them of my thoughts of
what I owed them for their care.
Then Wulfnoth and Godwine gave me twenty pieces of the gold from
the treasure, and bade me return ere long.
"And I think that you will come back presently with an itching to
get home a sword stroke at one whom I care not to name lest I break
out," said the earl grimly.
"At Streone?" said I, being light of heart.
"Aye; curses on him!" answered Wulfnoth, and turned away with a
scowl of wrath.
Now Ottar had been to Penhurst with me, and we had come thence
together to the ships. And when the old walls of the great castle
were lost to sight as the vessel plunged eastward, he said:
"Relf's daughter is a fair maiden, friend Redwald. It is in my mind
that she will long to see you back again."
"Not so," I answered; "she is but friendly."
"But she had much ado not to weep when you parted just now, and I
saw her run home from the gate over quickly. These be signs," he
said sagely, being a scald, and therefore wise in his own conceit
about such matters.
Maybe I was glad to think that the maiden did care that I went,
were it ever so little, though I would not believe that it was so.
So I came back into the Thames to Olaf, and glad was he to see me
once more, and that I was in no wise the worse now for my hurts.
And in his company it soon came to pass that I longed not at all
for Penhurst, though at first it seemed to me that I should have
little pleasure in life away from Sexberga. By and by I could laugh
at myself for that thought, but I have never seen cause to be sorry
therefor. There is no shame to a man that his mind has turned
towards a maiden whom he knows that he could trust and reverence.