none of the ladies," he said. "The palace is in a
turmoil, and Offa has shut himself up, seeing but one or two of his
thanes, in grief for what has been done, as men say, and as may be
hoped. Nor will Quendritha see any one, or let her attendants pass
from her bower and its precincts."

"Father," I said, "I have had a token from the Lady Hilda to say
that she is in sore need of help."

And with that I told him of our talk yesterday in the little wood,
and of the coming of the page to me.

"I do not know what this may mean," he said gravely. "They say that
the poor Princess Etheldrida is overborne with grief, so that they
fear for her life. I thought that Hilda was with her; but this
would suggest that she is not. Yet all the ladies of the court are
within the bower."

Now there was a stir round the great gates, and a little train of
clergy came through them, with a few lay brothers, who led mules
laden with packs, after them. The whole party were dusty and
wearied, as if they had come from far on foot; and indeed only one
of all the dozen or so was mounted, and that was a man who rode,
cloaked and hooded, in their midst on a tall mule. Before him the
weariest looking of all the brothers carried a tall brazen cross.

"The archbishop," said Selred. "He has not turned back, or maybe
the news has not yet reached him."

This was Ealdwulf, the Mercian Archbishop of Lichfield, and he had
come for the wedding from his own place. He was a close friend of
the king, who indeed had wished that Mercia should not be second to
any realm, and had so wrought that an archbishop's see had been
made for him, subject to neither Canterbury nor York. I suppose
that somewhere men had been on the watch for him, for now came the
clergy of the palace to meet him, two by two, with the chaplain of
the king at their head.

They came and bent before him, and he blessed them with uplifted
hand; and then I think that the first word of what had befallen was
told to him, for as the chaplain rose and spoke to him the
archbishop started somewhat and knit his brows. Nor did he offer to
dismount as yet, but sat on his mule, seeming to question those
before him, while his clergy gathered round him as close as they
dared, listening. The men who had been hurrying about the courtyard
had stayed their footsteps, and there was a strange silence while
the bad news was told.

Presently the chaplain looked round and spied us, and at once came
toward the