o me, against whom his crime was
directed." A grim look squared his mouth as suddenly he stretched his
hand past Sebert and caught the red cloak.

It may have been this which the Etheling had foreseen, for he was not
taken by surprise. Jerking up his sword-arm, he knocked the thane's
hand loose with scant ceremony. "You forget the law of the battle-field,
Norman of Baddeby," he said swiftly. "The life of my captive is mine,
and I am the last man to permit it to be taken because he sought a just
revenge. I know too well how it feels to hate a father's murderer." He
shot a baleful glance toward a half-seen figure that all this time had
stood motionless in the shadow behind the King.

Probably this figure and the Earl's thane were the only hearers he was
conscious of, but his tone left the words open to all ears. There was a
sudden indrawing of many breaths, followed by a frightened silence. The
only sound that disturbed it was a growing rustle in the bush around
them, which was explained when the old cniht Morcard and some two-score
armed henchmen and yeoman-soldiers, singly and in groups, filtered
quietly through the shadows and placed themselves at their chief's back.

But though the King's brows had met for an instant in a lowering arch,
some second thought controlled him. When he spoke, his words were even
gracious:

"I think the Lord of Ivarsdale has the right of it. The crime the boy
purposed was not carried out; and in each case, Lord Sebert was his
captor. I am content to trust to his wardership."

Sebert's frank face betrayed his surprise at the complaisance, but he
gave his pledge and his thanks with what courtliness he could muster,
and releasing his passive prisoner, pushed her gently into the
safe-keeping of the old cniht. Yet he was not so obtuse as to step back,
as though the incident were closed; he read the King's inflection more
correctly than that. Holding himself somewhat stiff in the tenseness of
his feelings, he stood his ground in silent alertness.

A rustle of uneasiness crept the round of the assembled nobles. Only
the monarch's bland composure remained unruffled. Advancing with the
deliberate grace that so well became his mighty person, he seated
himself upon a convenient boulder and signed the figure in the shadow to
draw nearer.

As it obeyed, every one of the yeomen-soldiers strained his eyes in that
direction, as though hoping to surprise in the great traitor's face some
secret of his