"The man is dead," said a rough voice. "Let him bide."
"He is not," one answered. "He had nought to slay him. Here be
three flesh wounds only."
Then I began to come to myself, for water was being poured on my
face, and I opened my eyes and saw Thrand of Colchester looking at
me. My head was on his knee, and he had a helm full of water in his
hand. His own head and arm were bandaged, and the man who spoke to
him was passing on, seeking elsewhere. All that had happened came
back to me in a moment then, and my ears woke to the sounds round
me. I knew them only too well, for they were the awesome sounds of
the time after battle.
"Where is the king?" I said.
"Safe enough, they say," Thrand answered. "Is it well with you,
master?"
I sat up, and the maze passed from me. I had but been stunned by
the fall from my horse, and now seemed little the worse, save for
sickness and dull weight of weariness. I had been an hour or two
thus, as it would seem, for now the Danish host was gone, and only
a few men sought for friends on that hillside, as Thrand had sought
for me. My horse was dead, slain by the spear thrust that made him
rear. It was that one which Earl Wulfnoth gave me when I left him.
"I shall be myself again directly," I said. "How has it all ended?
I thought I saw you slain."
"The Danes are chasing our men towards yon village," he said grimly
pointing towards Hockley. "They will not catch the king, however.
They smote me badly enough when I tried to be revenged on Streone,
and they slew Guthorm; but they only stunned me."
"Go hence before Streone catches you," said I.
"Not I," said Thrand. "He knows me not, and I shall wait for
another chance. The Danes think me a Mercian, and so I bide with
you. Can you fly now, master?"
I tried to rise, but I was weak and shaken, and sank down again. I
was not fit for walking even yet.
"I must wait," I said.
"There are stray horses enough down yonder," Thrand said, looking
over the meadows below us. "I will go and catch one. We must go
soon, or the Danes will be back."
"No use," said I. "They are between us and safety. I must wait and
take my chance."
With that I missed the sword that I loved, for I had thought of
selling my life dearly if the Danes would slay me.
"Where is sword Foe's Bane?" I cried.
Thrand looked round about me, but could see it not. Then he turned
over one or two of the slain men who lay thickly in the place where
our last stand was made. But he could not find it, until a wounded
man of ours asked what he sought. Thrand told him. Then I noted how
few wounded there were. The sun, nigh to setting now, broke out and
shone athwart the hillside; and it sparkled like the ice heaps on
the long banks that a winter's tide has left by the river, for
everywhere were the mail-clad slain. But the sparkles were steady,
as on the ice, not as on a host that is marching. Ice cold were
those who would need mail no more on Ashingdon hill.
"The sword is under the horse," the man said groaning. And it was
so, and unhurt.
"Get me a sword from off the field," I said, "and hide Foe's Bane
somewhere. Then, if they slay me, take it to Egil, Jarl Thorkel's
foster brother; and if not, I can find it again. I will not have it
taken from me thus."
So Thrand took it and its scabbard and hid both under his cloak,
and went to where there was a patch of woodland at the foot of the
hill--ash and alder growing by the marsh side--some two hundred
yards off.
I closed my eyes and waited till he came back--and he was gone for
some while. Presently he came, and told me that he had hidden it
under a fallen tree trunk, and that the place was dry and safe. He
found me another sword easily enough--and it was notched from point
to hilt. Its edge was not like that of Foe's Bane, but the man
whose it had been had done his duty with it. It was an English
sword.
Now I thought that I could walk again, and stood up and made a step
or two, painfully enough, in truth, but in such wise that I should
soon do better. And then over the brow of the hill the Danes began
to come. They had circled round and I had not noted them, and came
on us from the other side. They were searching among the slain for
their comrades.
Half a dozen of them came towards Thrand and me, and I suppose that
they would have slain me. But my man was ready for them, and took
the sword from me quickly.
"Will the king suffer us to keep captives?" he said.
"Aye," one answered, in some Jutland speech that was new to me,
though one could understand it well enough, "there is word that we
are to take any chiefs alive--but that is a new word to us. Who
minds it?"
"I do," said Thrand. "Here is one who will pay for freedom, and he
has yielded to me."
"That is luck for you," they said, and passed on.
There was plunder enough all around, and they were in haste lest
others should come. Thrand's Anglian speech was Danish enough for
them.
"Now you are safe, master," Thrand said; "no need for the sword."
"I am a captive," said I bitterly.
Then my eyes sought the ground as Thrand cast the useless blade
away, and there, crawling on the reddened turf, was a toad that
feared not the still dead, and must seek its food whether men lived
or died, unheeding aught but that. And when I saw it, into my mind
flashed the time when I had stood, weakened and hurt, and looked at
the like in Penhurst village--and the words that Spray the smith
spoke came to me, and they cheered me, as a little thing will
sometimes. And then I thought of her who prayed for me among
Penhurst woods, and I was glad that life was left me yet.
More Danes kept coming now, and presently one who was in some
command came to where I sat with Thrand standing over me.
"Is this a captive?" he asked.
"Aye," said Thrand.
"Who is he?"
"Some thane or other. What shall I do with him?"
"Cnut wants to see all captives. Take him to the fort whence we
came."
He passed on, and Thrand said:
"Master, if you can find Egil all may be well, Let us go."
That was all that I could do. Egil or Godwine might befriend me.
Godwine surely would, but I knew not if his word would go for
anything.
Aye, but that was an awesome walk across the upland, where the
flower of England lay dead. I knew not what had befallen us fully
until I went slowly over Ashingdon hill. All the best blood of
England was spilt there; and I knew, as we passed the wide ring of
heaped corpses where our stand had been longest, that the hopes of
Eadmund had come to nought, and that the shadow of Streone lay
black across his life.
We came to the further slope of the hill, and were going down, and
through the tears of rage and grief that filled my eyes I saw a few
horsemen breasting the slope towards us, and one of them was Edric
Streone the traitor himself; and when I saw him I felt as a man who
lights suddenly on a viper, and I shuddered, for the sight of him
was loathsome to me, and Thrand ground his teeth.
Streone's eyes fell on us, and he turned his horse to meet us. And
when he knew who I was he glowered at me without speaking, and I
looked him full in the face once, and then turned my back on him.
He did not know my man.
"Bind your prisoner," he said sharply to Thrand.
"No need to do that," said Thrand coolly, "he is sorely hurt, and
has no arms."
Then the other horsemen rode up leisurely.
"Who is this?" said one--and he was Jarl Eirik.
"No one worth having," said Streone, and reined round his horse to
go on as if caring nought.
They went on up the hill. I suppose that they were going there that
Edric Streone might say who the slain were. As for us we went our
way, and Thrand cursed the earl with every step.
We had hardly got away from the hill when men came after us in
haste, and before I knew that it was myself whom they sought, they
had pushed Thrand aside and bound my hands.
"What is this?" Thrand asked angrily.
And I said:
"Bind me not. I go to yield myself."
"Earl Edric's orders," said the men. "We are to keep you here till
he comes."
At that I knew that I had fallen into his hands, and that my life
was not worth much. I could see that Thrand knew this also.
"That is all very well," I said; "but I am Egil Thorarinsson's
captive."
Whereat one of the men laughed.
"You may not choose your captor, man. Egil has not been ashore all
day. He is with the ships yonder."
Then Thrand said, seeming very wroth:
"I will not lose a good captive and ransom for any Mercian
turncoat. I will go and find the king and make complaint."
"Tell him that you are Egil at the same time," a Dane sneered. "You
will not hoodwink him as you have this Saxon."
"Is not this man Egil?" I asked, looking at Thrand with a hope that
he would guess whom I needed.
"He Egil!" they answered, laughing loudly. And at that Thrand
turned and went away quickly, and I sat down and said:
"What will Earl Edric do with me?"
One said one thing and one another, and I did not listen much. But
they all thought in the end that Edric's lust for gold would make
him hold me to heavy ransom. I thought that he loved revenge even
better than wealth, and this cheered me not at all.
About sunset Edric Streone came. Thrand had, I thought, made his
escape, most likely, and I was glad. He had helped me all he could.
The earl left the party he was with, and came to me and my guards.
He looked at me sidewise for a while, and then spoke to me in broad
Wessex, which the Danes could hardly understand, if at all.
"So, Master Redwald, what will you give for freedom?"
I answered him back in my own Anglian speech, which any Dane knows,
for it is but the Danish tongue with a difference of turn of voice,
and words here and there:
"I will give a traitor nothing."
"But I am going to hang you," and he chuckled in his evil way.
There were many meanings in that laugh of Streone's.
"You can do as you like with me, as it happens," I answered, "but I
had rather swing at a rope's end as an honest man than sit at
Cnut's table as Streone the traitor."
He tried to laugh, but it stuck in his throat, and so he turned to
rage instead.
"Smite him," he said to the Danes.
"Not we," said the spokesman of the half dozen. "Settle your own
affairs between you."
"Take him to yon tree and hang him, and have done," said Edric.
"Spear me rather," said I in a low voice to the men.
They laughed uneasily, but did not move, and Edric again bade them
take me to the tree, which was about a hundred paces away.
They took me there and set me under a great bough, and then stood
looking at me and the earl. They had no rope, and the belts that
bound me were of no use for a halter. Edric saw what was needed,
and swore. Then he sent one of the men to the ships to get a line
of some sort; and I think that his utter hatred of anyone who had
seen through his plans made him spare me from spear or sword, for
there is no disgrace in death by steel. But at this time there
seemed no disgrace in the death he meant me to die, for it was
shame to him, not to me.
The ships were not so far off. It was not long before three or four
men came through the gathering dusk, and one had a coil of rope
over his shoulder. And after them came across the hillside a
horseman, beside whom ran a man on foot. There were many men about,
and these were too far for me to heed them. I only noticed that
which should end my life.
"Set to work quickly," said Streone.
So they flung the end of the line over the bough, sailorwise, and
made a running bowline in the part that came down. There is torture
in that way, and some of the men grumbled thereat, being less hard
hearted. So they began to argue about the matter, and Streone
watched my face, for this was pleasure to him, as it seemed, though
he did not look straight at me. I wished they would hasten, that
was all.
Now the horseman and his follower came up, and lo! Egil was the
rider, and with him was Thrand.
"Ho!" cried Egil, "hold hard. That is my man."
Streone turned on him with a snarl.
"Your man!" he said. "I took him. Hold your peace."
"There you lie," quoth Thrand. "I took him myself for Egil, my
master--as your own men know. I told them."
"He did so," the Danes said, for they loved Egil, and Streone was a
stranger of no great reputation, though high in rank.
"Set him loose," said Egil. "I will have no man interfere with my
captives."
Then Streone hid his anger, and took Egil aside while the Danes and
Thrand set me free. Presently Egil broke out into a great laugh.
"Want you to hang him for slaying men of yours!" he cried. "Why, he
might hang you for the same. How many of his men did you slay this
morning?"
"That was in fight--he killed the others in time of peace."
"Better not say much of that fight," said Egil. "There was a peace
breaking there."
Streone turned pale at that, for he saw that the Danes did not hold
his ways in honour though they had profited by them.
"Well, then, take him. Little gain will he be to you, for he is
landless and ruined," he sneered, chuckling.
"Well," said Egil, "he is a close friend of Earl Wulfnoth's, and
maybe it is just as well that you hung him not. Cnut would hardly
have thanked you for setting that man against him, and maybe
bringing Olaf the Norseman down on him also."
Streone had thought not of those things. He turned ashy pale at the
picture Egil had drawn of loss of Cnut's favour. He looked once or
twice towards me as if he were trying to frame some excuse, but
none would come.
"I knew it not," he said, falsely enough. "I am glad you came."
Egil only laughed, and with that Streone rode away quickly, and
never looked back as he went.
Thereafter Egil took me down to the ships, and he sent Thrand for
sword Foe's Bane when the night had fallen. Most kindly did the
Dane treat me, but I cared for little. I could not move for
stiffness and bruising after I had slept for twelve hours on end,
but that was nought compared with the sorrow for what had befallen
us.
Two days after this the Danish host followed in the track of
Eadmund and his flying levies: but Egil stayed in command of the
ships, and I with him. I had not seen Cnut, but Egil had spoken of
me to him.
"I have heard of Redwald of Bures before," the king had said. "What
know I of him? I think it is somewhat good."
"He nearly got Emma the queen out of England," Egil had answered.
"I know not if you call that a good deed, lord king."
"That is it. She spoke to me for him, asking me to treat him well
if he fell into my hands, because of his faithful service and
long-suffering patience on the journey."
Then he asked what he could do, but Egil answered that I would bide
with him at this time, and hereafter he would mind the king of me
again.
"Do so," said Cnut. "He must be a friend of mine."
I could not but think well of the young king for this, but it
seemed unlikely that friendly towards him I should ever be.
Nevertheless, the words of the witch of Senlac were coming true.
Then we, safe in the shelter of the river, waited for news: the two
kings being in Wessex. But I could not think it likely that Cnut
would give time for a fresh gathering of Wessex men to Eadmund.
Nor did he. All men know how the two kings met at Olney in the
Severn, and how peace was made, after Eadmund had said that he
would rather fight out the matter hand to hand to the death. Few of
us knew then how little able Cnut was to fight the mighty Ironside,
but we thought him strong in body as in name. Else had that plan
never been thought of.
They say that Edric Streone advised Cnut to take the old Danelagh
and Northumbria and leave Eadmund the rest of the kingdom, the
survivor to succeed to all the land. Maybe he did. If so, it was
that he might earn more from Cnut by giving him all the land. But
it is certain that thus Cnut wrought best for himself, for the
Danelagh received him gladly, while Wessex loved Eadmund. And when
Eadmund should die, Wessex would take Cnut for king at Eadmund's
word, as it were, by reason of the treaty made and oaths given and
received. Not for nothing do men call the King Cnut the Wise, for
it is certain that he had Eadmund in his power, and forbore to use
his advantage to the full.
So the long struggle ended, and at last there was rest to the land.
But I, who had hoped for victory, felt as though life had little
pleasure left when first this news came to me. But in a few days
came one of Godwine's men bearing messages to me from him, and also
from Eadmund my king.
The first were most kindly, speaking of hope of seeing me ere long,
and the like; but it seemed that the young earl had promised
Eadmund to send me the letter which the messenger brought, and that
that was the most important business. I took the letter ashore and
went to Ashingdon hill and sat there among the graves of the slain
and read it, while the summer sun and wind and sky were over me,
while the land and sea seemed at rest, and all was in a great peace
after the strife that I had seen in that place.
To my Thane, greeting.--What has befallen us, and how we have
divided the kingdom with our brother Cnut in the old way of the
days of Alfred the greatest of our line, you will have heard. We
have fought, and all men say that we have fought well; but this is
how things have been ordered by the Lord of Hosts. Therefore, my
thane, for your sake, and seeing specially that already our brother
Cnut is well disposed toward you, as Godwine son of Wulfnoth tells
us, by reason of your service to Emma the queen--I would bid you
accept him as ruler of East Anglia, where your place is. And you
shall hold this letter in proof that thus our word to you is, if in
days to come the line of Wessex kings shell hold the kingdom once
more. Few have been those who have been faithful to us as have you.
Now, I will set down no more, for Eadmund my king wrote to me as he
was wont to speak in the days that were gone, and I wept as I read
his words--wept bitterly there on Ashingdon hill, and I am not
ashamed thereof.
And when I had spelt out to the end of his letter there were words
also that were pleasant to me. For they were written by Elfric the
abbot, my friend, thus:
Written by the hand of Elfric, Abbot of St. Peter's Minster at
Medehamstede.
I, Elfric, bid you, my son Redwald, be of cheer, for in the end all
shall be for the best. Bide in your home of Bures if Cnut wills, as
I think shall be, and see to the good of your own people as would
your father who has gone. There is an end of war for England. It
remains for us to make for the things of peace.
Then I sat and thought for long, and at last it seemed to me that I
could do nought but as both king and friend would bid me, and the
words that Elfric had written weighed more with me than those of
the king. Now that I could fight no more I began to long to get
back to that home life in the old place that had seemed so near to
me and had been taken away.
And then came the thought of Uldra, and of what she would say of
this. But as things were, and with this letter before me, I could
not doubt what her word would be. She would speak as Elfric wrote.
Then I longed for Olaf and his counsel. But he was far beyond my
reach, nor could I tell where he might be. He had gone across the
gray rim of the sea, and no track was there for me to follow.
The evening fell, and still I sat there, and Thrand of Colchester
came to seek me--I know not what he feared for me if I grew lonely
on Ashingdon hill now that all seemed lost.
"Master, come back to the ships," he said. "It is ill biding here
after sunset. The slain are unquiet by reason of Streone's deeds."
"They will not harm me, Thrand," I answered. "I would I lay here
with them even now . . . but that is past."
I rose up and went down the hill with him, and the sun set behind
it, and it was gray and black against the red evening sky. There
was a mist from the river, and one might think that one saw many
things moving therein.
And I know not that I saw anything more than mortal--though maybe I
did--until as we went to Cnut's dune, under which Egil's ship lay,
and we passed that place where the left wing of our line had been
driven back on the marsh. Then I saw an armed man coming towards
us, and Thrand, who walked at my shoulder, closed up to me, for the
warrior had a drawn sword in his hand.
And when we came face to face I knew that I looked once more on
Ulfkytel our earl, and a great fear fell on me, for he lay with his
men in the mound where he fell, and Egil and I had raised it over
him. Then I must speak.
"Greeting to the earl," I said, and my voice sounded strange.
But he made no answer, save that he looked me in the face and
smiled at me gravely and sweetly, and sheathed the sword he held,
folding his arms thereafter as one whose work is done. And while
one might count a score, I saw him, plainly as in life, and then he
was gone.
Wherefore I thought that our own earl was not wroth with me for
what I would do; and after that my mind was at rest, and ready to
take what peace might come to me at the hands of Cnut the king.
"We have seen the earl," Thrand said, when he was gone.
"Aye. He tells us that the war is at an end, and that, in truth,
Cnut is king in East Anglia."
"It is well," Thrand answered simply. "Dane were my fathers, and
Danish is my name and that of Guthorm my brother. If Cnut lets us
keep our old customs and governs with justice, it is all we need."
There was spoken the word of all Anglia, whether of the north or
south folk, and I knew it. No man would but hail him there
willingly. Our people had never forgotten that the Wessex kings
were far from them, and that little help came from thence.
Now, when I came to Egil, I told him that the letter I had gotten
bore messages to me from Eadmund, and I read it to him so far as I
have written here.
"This is good," he answered, when I said that it should be as the
king said. "Now are you Cnut's man and my friend indeed. Thorkel,
my foster brother, is to be Earl of East Anglia, and you shall be
Thane of Bures as ever. And I shall have to mind Colchester and
this shore, and we shall see much of each other."
So he rejoiced, and I grew more cheerful as the days went on. Then
Thorkel came, and together we went to Colchester, and thence he
bade me go to Bures in peace and take my old place, for he said
that Cnut and Emma the queen would have me honoured in all that I
would, even did he himself not wish to keep me as his own friend.
Then said I:
"What of Geirmund, your own man, who had Bures?"
Egil laughed.
"Geirmund is the man over whom I fell at your feet at Leavenheath
fight. You yourself have made an end of him. I wonder that you knew
it not."
So I went back to Bures, and there is no need to say how my poor
folk rejoiced. But Ailwin was not there, nor had Gunnhild been
seen. The young priest was there yet, and well loved.
Then I said to myself:
"Let things bide for a while. When peace comes altogether and
certainly, then will Ailwin bring back Hertha, and there will be
trouble enough then, maybe. As it is, my house must be rebuilt, and
the land has to settle down after war."
With that I set to work to gather the timber together from my own
woods, that we might begin to build in the coming springtime, and I
grew happy enough at that work, though I would that I worked for
Uldra.
Then came the news that Eadmund our king was dead, slain by
Streone's men--some say by the Earl's son, others by the king's own
men, whom he bribed. One will, I suppose, never know what hands did
the deed, but Streone's doing it was when all is told.
There is more in my mind about this than I will say. But Thrand,
who had been with me, begged that he might go to Colchester for a
while; and I let him go, for he waxed restless, though I knew not
what he would leave me for.
Then the kingdom was Cnut's, and he spoke to the Wessex nobles at a
great council in London in such wise that they hailed him for king.
There was naught else for them to do. And he promised to keep the
laws of Eadgar {15}, and to defend Holy Church, and to make no
difference between Dane and Saxon, and by that time men knew that
what Cnut the king promised that he would perform.
So came the strong hand that Ethelred our dying king had foretold,
and sure and lasting peace lay fair before England. Above all
things that made for our content Cnut promised to send home his
host. Nor was it long before Jarl Eirik sailed away with all but
those to whom lands had fallen. There were many manors whose
English lords had died, and they must own Danish masters.
And I will say this other word, that now at the time that I write
of these things, men speak of English only, for Cnut has welded the
races of England into one in such wise as has never been before.
So I mourned for Eadmund, and wrought at home-making until the
springtime came, and all the while the thought of Uldra grew dearer
to me, and I longed to seek her again. And the thought of Hertha
and my betrothal seemed as bondage to me. Yet I would do nought
till Ailwin came or till I could find him. But none knew where he
was.
I knew now that it was well that Hertha and I should not meet till
all was broken off, for her I could not love, and she knew nought
of me. Yet for her sake I set the Wormingford thralls at work in
the like manner as my own people were busied, that she might find
withal to build her own house place afresh, when, if ever, she
should return.
Now, one day as I stood watching the shaping of the timber for the
first framing of my hall, Thrand came back. He ran to me when he
saw me, and cried:
"Master all is avenged! Streone the traitor is no more."
I took him away to a quiet place, for this news was strange, and
the thralls were listening wonderingly, and I asked him how this
came about.
"Master, I slew him myself," he said grimly.
Then said I:
"By subtlety--after his own manner?"
"Not so, master. But even in Cnut's own presence."
So I was amazed, and bade him tell all.
"When I left you, master," he said, "I took service with Jarl
Thorkel. Then he went to court in London, even as I hoped, for that
was all I needed, and presently came Streone with a great train to
see Cnut. Now the king is not a great and strong man, as men think
who have not seen him, but is tall and overgrown for his years,
looking eighteen or twenty, though he is younger. He will be a
powerful man some day, but his mail hangs loosely on him now. He is
like an eagle in face, for his nose is high and bent, and his eyes
are clear and piercing. Quiet and very pleasant is he in his way,
and being so young also, some think they can do as they will with
him. But that they try not twice.
"This is what Streone thought, for he deemed that he should be the
king's master if he set him on the throne. So he must needs try to
gain more wealth from the king, and after he had been at court for
a while, one might see that Cnut grew weary of his words. But at
last there was a great feast, and I stood behind Thorkel at the
high place, and Streone was next to Thorkel, and Thorkel to the
king on his right hand. When the ale was going round, Streone began
to find fault with some ordering of Cnut's, and at last said:
"Maybe one might judge how things would go when the man who gave
you this kingdom is treated thus.'
"Then Cnut looked at him very quietly and said:
"'You have the same honours from me as from Ethelred.'
"'Not so, not so,' he said. 'I was wont to sit at the king's right
hand, with none between me and him.'
"Thereat Thorkel would have spoken, but Cnut held up his hand. I
saw his bright eyes shining, and Streone should have taken warning,
but his fate was on him.
"'You think, then, that you have not all you deserve?' the king
said.
"'I have not. You have all--owing to me.'
"Then Cnut rose up and faced him, and a great hush fell on all the
assembly.
"'This earl, as it seems, will be content with nothing short of the
king's seat. Two kings has he pulled down, and one has he slain of
those two. We have profited by this, as all men know. But here do I
proclaim myself clear from all part in the slaying of Eadmund my
brother, who, but for this man, might hereafter have taken all the
kingdom when I died, according to our oaths. I suppose that no man
will believe that I had nought to do with this murder, but I am
clear thereof, both in thought or wish or deed.
"'Now in gaining the kingdom which has been the right of the Danish
kings--if tribute paid for conquest in old time means aught--at
least since the days of Guthrum, if not before, I have used the
help of this earl, for Mercia was ours by right, as in the
Danelagh. I will not say that his way of helping me has been what
one would wish, but in war one uses what weapons one can find. For
his help to me the Earl of Mercia has been well paid. Now, what
shall be given to the man who betrayed to death the foster son who
believed in him as in himself?'
"Then I, Thrand the freeman of Colchester, nowise caring what
befell me, answered in a loud voice:
"'Let him die. He is not fit to live.'
"'Slay him, therefore,' said Cnut.
"Thereat Streone cried for mercy once, grovelling. And he having
done so, I lifted the axe I bore and slew him, even on the high
place at the king's feet.
"Then one in the hall said in a great voice:
"'Justice is from the hands of Cnut the king.'
"There went round a murmur of assent to that, and I called to me
another of Thorkel's men, a Colchester man of your guard also, and
while all held their peace and Cnut stood still looking at what was
done, stirring neither hand nor foot, but with his eyes burning
bright with rage and his head a little forward, as an eagle that
will strike, we two bore the traitor's body to the window that
overhangs the Thames, and cast it thereout into the swift tide.
"After that I went my way down the hall, and the king cried:
"'Let the man go forth.'
"So that none spoke to me or withstood me.
"When I got to the street it was dark, and it seemed to me that the
best thing that I could do was to fly. So I went by day and night,
and I am here."
So that was the traitor's end. And I was glad, for I knew that
England was free from her greatest foe. Justly was Edric Streone
slain, and all men held that it was well done. Nor did any man ever
seek Thrand to avenge the earl's death on his slayer. I think none
held him worth avenging.
I bade Thrand hold his peace concerning his part in this matter,
for a while at least, lest I should lose him.
After Streone's death it was plain that Cnut was king indeed, for
his Danish jarls knew him too well to despise him. They went each
to his place, and the land began to smile again with the peace that
had come, and Cnut sent Eirik the jarl home to Denmark with the
host, as I have said.