egarding their position to
dare contest their order, little as he liked it. In something less than
an hour, the five women, fur-wrapped and flanked by pages and soldiers,
were riding across the little stone bridge and up the wooded slope
of the Tot Hill. In something more than an hour after that, they were
passing under the deep arch of the New Gate into the great City itself.

"Do you purpose to visit the Palace first, noble one?" the leader of the
guards inquired with a respectful if uneasy salute.

The seed had rooted so far that Elfgiva did not disclaim the intention;
but she hesitated a long time, pulling nervously at the embroidered top
of her riding glove. "In what direction lie the goldsmiths?" she asked
at last.

"Straight ahead, lady. Nothing very pleasant is at the beginning;
neither the shambles which lie across the way, nor the wax chandler's
which is opposite; but when you get beyond Saint Martin's to the
Commons, you will find--"

The lady's nose wrinkled disdainfully. "Which way lies the Palace?"

"Down the lane on your left, noble one. You can see where the wall of
the King's garden makes one side of Paternoster Row. You can reach the
Cheapside along the road also," he added, "if you do not turn in your
way until you come where the Churchyard joins the Folk--"

"Turn then to the left."

They obeyed her, but their gay chatter died on their lips. If the road
bore none of the repulsiveness of the shambles, it was still little
more cheerful than the graveyard. On their right, an ice-stiffened marsh
reached to the great City wall, while a remnant of the primeval beech
forest lay along their left, leafless, wind-lashed and groaning. Ahead,
behind its walls and above its gardens of clustering fruit-trees, rose
the towers and gilded spires of the King's Palace.

As they neared the arched gateway, red with the cloaks of the royal
guards, it seemed to Randalin that an icy hand had closed about her
heart. The blood was ebbing from Elfgiva's face, and it could be
seen that she was forced to keep moistening her lips with her tongue.
Nearer--now they were in front of the entrance--All at once, the lady
thrust a spur into her horse as he was slackening his pace in obedience
to her tightened rein.

"To the goldsmiths' first," she ordered. "On our way back--" Her words
were lost on the frosty wind.

The master of the first booth in the row of wretched little stalls was
humped with steaming breath over a braz