he ties that had
come with years.

So all that Edred and I could do was to bid the steward take his
orders from Gunnhild, and so ride back to Bures along the riverside
track. And when we came there the long train of flying people were
crossing the bridge, and we rode past them one by one, and the
sight of those wain loads of helpless women and children was the
most piteous I had ever seen. Many such another train was I to look
on in the years to come, but none ever wrung my heart as this, for
I knew every face so well. Yet I thought they would be safe, for
the Danes were far off yet, and there was full time to gain the
depths of the forest land on the East Saxon side.

Now, our people had gone on more quickly than the villagers by
reason of better cattle and more hands to the work, and when we had
passed the foremost of these, the road went up the hill and no man
was upon it. So we went quickly, and then came one on foot towards
the village, and just beyond him were our folk, whom he had passed
or left.

It was good Father Ailwin, our old priest, and I thought that he
sought me, or took back some word to others and I would ride back
for him.

"What is it, Father?" I cried, "I will do your errand."

"Nay, my son, you cannot," he said; "your mother drew me to fly
with her, and my weakness bade me do it for a while. But I may not
leave my place. The Danes are not all heathen as they were in
Eadmund's days, and I think that I am wrong to go. When our folk
come back they must find their priest waiting for them."

Then I strove to turn him again to flight with us, but I could not,
and at last he commanded me to desist and leave him. And so he gave
me his blessing, and I went, being sure that he would be slain, and
weeping therefore, for I loved him well. But I told him of Dame
Gunnhild's words, and begged him to seek her and speak with her,
for she might hide him also for a while if he would not leave the
place altogether.

So we left our home, and that was the last time I set eyes on our
hall at Bures. Then I caught up my mother hard by the dark wood
that is round the great solemn mound that we say is the tomb of
Boadicea, the Icenian queen of the men who fought against Rome. We
call it haunted, and none of us dare set foot in those woods, by
day even.

The beacon fires burnt all round us, and in every farmstead was
terror and hustle as the poor folk trembled to think what they
could mean, and some came now and