not far from
Aescendune.

"Elfric, my friend," said Edwy, "there will be a chance for you to visit
Aescendune, and to obtain the old man's forgiveness."

He said this with a slight sneer.

"I cannot go there; I would die first."

Edwy started at the tone of deep feeling with which the words were said;
he knew nothing of the rencontre of Elfric with his brother.

"Still I think that I must spend this coming night there, and I will try
and act the Christian for the occasion: perhaps I may do you a good
turn, while I renew my acquaintance with your people."

In his very heart Elfric wished that Edwy might never arrive there, yet
he knew not what to say.

"Well," said the prince, observing his hesitation, "you may go on with
Cynewulf and the main body of the army, which will cross the Avon higher
up, and I will make excuse that your duties detain you. I must go--I
have special reasons, I wish at least to secure the fidelity of the few
--and Redwald will accompany me; we join the army on the morrow,
without losing any time by the move."

And so the matter was settled.

CHAPTER XV. THE ROYAL GUEST.

It was the morning of the first of August, and the sun, dispersing the
early mists, gave promise of a bright summer day.

The inhabitants of Aescendune, lord and vassals alike, were astir from
the early daybreak; for that day the harvest was to be commenced, and
the crops were heavier than had been known for many a year. A good
harvest meant peace and prosperity in those times, a bad harvest famine,
and perhaps rebellion; for if the home crop failed, commerce did not, as
now, supply the deficiency.

So it was with joy and gladness that the people went forth that day to
reap with their sharp sickles in their hands, while the freshness of the
early morn filled each heart insensibly with energy and life. The corn
fell on the upland before their sharp strokes, while behind each reaper
the younger labourers gathered it into sheaves.

Old Ella stood in their midst looking on the familiar scene, while his
pious heart returned many a fervent thanksgiving to the Giver of all
good. Under the shade of some spreading beeches, which bordered the
field, the domestics from the manor house were spreading the banquet for
the reapers--mead and ale, corn puddings prepared in various modes
with milk, huge joints of cold roast beef--for the hour when toil
should have sharpened the appetite of the whole party.

By the side of hi