ed in mine for many a long year thereafter. Many
were the tales I had heard of the coming of Ingvar's host in the
days of Eadmund our martyred king, who was crowned here at Bures in
our own church, and those tales were terrible. Now the like was on
us, and I saw that what I had heard was not the half.

The old steward rose up now, shaking his head in sorrow. I think he
was too old for fear.

"Grinkel is dead, lady," he said gently, closing the wild eyes as
he spoke, and then throwing a cloak from the wall over him. But my
mother only said, "May he rest in peace. What of the Thane?"

Thereat the steward looked forthright into his lady's face, and
spoke bravely for all around to hear:

"Doubtless the levy is broken for this once, and he bides with Earl
Ulfkytel to gather a new and stronger force. The Thane has sent
Grinkel on, and he has ridden in over-much haste for a wounded man.
He was ever eager."

My mother gave back her old servant's look in silence, and seemed
to assent. Yet I, though I was but a lad of sixteen, could see what
passed in that look of theirs. I knew that surely my father had
fallen, and that need was great for haste.

Then was hurry and hustle in the house as all that was most
valuable was gathered, and I myself could but take my arms from the
wall, and don mail-shirt and helm and sword and seax {2} and
then look on, useless enough, with my thoughts in a whirl all the
time.

Presently out of their tangle came one thing clearly to me, and
that was that there were others whom I loved to be warned, besides
the villagers.

My mother came into the hall again, and stood for a moment like a
carven statue looking at the maidens who wrought at packing what
they might. She had not wept, but in her face was written sorrow
beyond weeping. Yet almost did she weep, when I stood beside her
and spoke, putting my hand on her arm.

"Mother," I said, "I must go to Wormingford and warn them also. My
horse will be ready, and I will return to you."

Then she looked at me, for as I go over these things I know that
this was the first time that I had ever said to her "I must,"
without asking her leave, in aught that I would do. And she
answered me calmly.

"Aye, that is a good thought. They will need help. Bide with them
if need is, and so join us presently on the road. We will fly to
London."

"So far, mother?" I said. "Surely Colchester will be safe."

"I will go to Ethelred the king," she answered. "He