hrall of mine who would have gone to Wormingford for me on
the night when we fled. His silver collar of thraldom was gone, for
the Danes had taken it, and his face bore marks of long hardship,
but I knew him instantly. So I called him by name, and he stared at
me fixedly for a moment, and then cried aloud and ran to me and
fell to kissing my hand and weeping with joy at my return. Nor
could I get a word from him at first.

Then more of the people came from one place or another, timidly at
first, but growing bold as they saw these two men without fear of
us, and by the time that Olaf's warriors came over the bridge there
were not a few folk standing round us and looking on. One by one I
knew their faces, though years of pain had marked them sorely. But
none knew me at first, though doubtless they would do so if I
called to them as I had called to Brand the thrall.

Now was busy setting of watches and ordering of outposts, and Olaf
went with me to the top of our hill and there set a strong post of
our men, for there could be no better place for a camp either for
rest or defence, and the people told him that every Dane in the
countryside had gone to Colchester, where they thought to be
attacked.

Now Brand the thrall had followed us to the hilltop, and while I
sat and looked at the ruins of my home he left me and spoke to a
group of countrymen who looked on at the warriors. There was one
among this group whose face drew me, for I seemed to think that I
ought to know him, though I could not say who he was. He looked
like a poor franklin in his rough brown jerkin and leather-gartered
hose, and broad hat, and he bore no weapon but a short seax in his
belt, and a quarterstaff, and there was nought about him to claim
notice. But I was watching for old friends of mine with a full
heart, and scanned the face of each one that came near.

Then it seemed that the others spoke to this man with a sort of
reverence, and presently one bared his head before him. Thereat I
knew who he was, and my heart leapt with joy, for it was good
Father Ailwin, our priest, who had gone back to his death as we had
thought.

Then I made haste and went to him, dismounting before him.

"Father," I said, "have you forgotten Redwald, your pupil?"

He took my hand in silence, being too much moved to speak, and
signed the sign of the cross towards me in token of blessing. I
bowed my head, and rejoiced that he was yet living.

Then Olaf called me, a