A King's Comrade Part 32

Thereat we took to the bushes, which were thick here, in a little patch. Beyond them was a clear s.p.a.ce of turf a hundred yards wide, which we must cross to reach more wooded land, where we might go as we pleased back to the ruin where the horses waited. Hilda went slowly, for the wet garments clogged her, and were heavy still.

We must bide here till the men went away, or till it grew darker; for there was no need--though they would hardly follow us--to let them know who was with their quarry, or that she was anywhere but on their side of the water. We might find our way to Fernlea cut off. We took Hilda into the thicket, and crept back to see what happened, leaving the dry cloaks with her.

The loud voices had stopped suddenly, and we knew that it meant that the men were coming back through the wood, beating it cautiously. We lay flat under the nut bushes and alders, watching, and the edge of the cover was not more than an arrow flight from us.

Presently there was a rustle in it, and a man looked out, but we could not see much of him. He spoke to another, and then came into the open, peering up and down the moonlit river. Another joined him, and this newcomer wore mail which glistened as he turned. A third man came from the other side of the wood and saw these two, and came to them, and there they stood and wondered.

"I could swear the girl went into the wood," said one; "I saw her plainly."

"Then she must be there still," answered the second comer. "Get back and look again."

"We have beaten the wood as if for a hare," said the third. "Unless she has climbed a tree she is not there."

"Well, then, look in the trees," said the mailed man, and with that he came down to the water, and turned his face toward us.

It was Gymbert himself.

"Mayhap she has drowned herself," said one of the men sullenly.

Gymbert growled somewhat, and turned sharply, going back to the wood. The other men looked after him, and one chuckled.

"Best thing she could do," he said. "Gymbert would surely have sold her to the Welsh."

"Maybe made her his own slave, which were worse."

"No, but he is out of favour just now. The money she would fetch will be more to him maybe. He dare not let Offa see him."

They turned away slowly. At least it did not seem that these two were much in earnest in the matter. As they went, one asked the other who cried the chase back after all.

"Some fool on the other side who doesn't care to own to it now, seeing that he must have fancied he saw her," was the answer.

Then they turned into the wood again and were gone. Still we waited; and it was as well, for suddenly Gymbert came back, leaping out into the open as if he thought to surprise the lost object of his search. He glanced up and down, and then went back. I heard him call his men together and rate them, and so they seemed to pa.s.s back to the palace. Their voices rose and died away, and we were safe.

CHAPTER XV. HOW WILFRID'S SEARCH WAS REWARDED.

For ten minutes after the last voice was to be heard we waited, and then, leaving two pools of water where we had lain, we crept back to the open and sought Hilda. I feared to find her chilled with the pa.s.sage of the river; but, in some way which is beyond me, she had made to herself, as it were, dry clothing of the cloak she had given to Erling. What she had taken off had been carefully wrung out, and lay near her in a bundle. She laughed a little when I told her that I had been troubling about her wetness.

"What, with three dry cloaks ready for me?" she said. "I have fared worse on many a wet ride."

Then we crossed the little meadow swiftly, and entered the scattered trees of the riverside forest. After that we had no more fear of Gymbert and his men, and went easily. In that time I heard what had happened in the palace, and how this strange meeting had come about.

"Offa the king has shut himself up, and will see no man," Hilda said. "Nor will he go near the queen or suffer her to see him. He has had guards set at the doors of the bower that she may not go from it, so that she is a prisoner in her own apartments with her ladies. The poor princess is ill, and has none but bitter words for the queen; for all know by whose contrivance this has been done. I heard that all our thanes had fled."

There she would have ended; but I had to hear more of herself, and it was not easy for her to tell me. Only when Erling fell behind us somewhat, out of thought for her, would she speak of what she had gone through, after I had told her that her father was surely safe, and maybe not far off.

"The queen turned on me when she was left a prisoner. I do not know why, but I think my father had offended her in some way. I know that he speaks too hastily at times when he is angry. First she told me that he had slain our king, and seeing that I would not believe it by any means, said that you had done the deed--that she had hired you to do it. Thereat I was more angry yet, for the saying was plainly false, and had no excuse. And because I was so angry I think she knew that I--that I did think more of you than I would have her know. After that I had no peace. I tried to send the arrowhead to you by the little page who was left with the queen, and I do not know if you had it. He told me that you were yet in the palace."

"Ay, I did, and therefore I am here," I said.

"I was sorry afterward, for I did not know what you could do. The page was not suffered to come back, I think, for I have not seen him again. This morning the queen told me that you had fled, after slaying a man of her household. So she went on tormenting me, until I could forbear no longer, and told her to mind that my mother had befriended her at her first coming to this land, and it was ill done to treat her daughter thus.

"Thereat she turned deathly white, and she shook with rage, as it seemed. At that time she said no word to me, but turned and left me, and I was glad. Presently one of her ladies, who pitied me, told me that Gymbert had done the deed, as all men knew by this time, and that I was to be brave, for all this must have an end.

And that end came as the sun set. I was with the princess, and Quendritha came in. First she spoke soothingly to Etheldrida, who turned from the sight of her, being too sick at heart to answer her; then she spoke to me, looking at me evilly, so that I feared what was coming.

"'You minded me that your mother was one of our subjects,' she said, in that terrible, cold voice of hers. 'Now I will see you wedded safely, to one who is a friend of ours.

"'No,' she said sharply, for I was going to speak, 'you have no choice. Whom I choose you shall wed. The man I have in my mind for you is our good thane Gymbert.'

"I suppose that she sought an opportunity against me, and she had her will. I do not rightly know what I said. The end of it was that out of the palace I was to go, and she bade me seek you, Wilfrid.

It is in my mind that she meant it in insult, or that she deems you far away, careless of what befalls me. And I think, too, that after me she meant to send Gymbert."

Then she set both hands on my arm, and leaned on it, shaking. I knew that she was weeping with the thought of what had been, and I did not know what to say rightly. Only I was sure that the secret of the queen's coming was at the bottom of this, as Quendritha must have feared that Hilda knew it all, either from me or her father.

"Your father would not have fled had he not known that Selred and I were to stay and look after you," I said, lamely enough. "Have you not seen the good chaplain?"

She had not, and it seemed most likely that in some way he had been prevented from leaving the palace. Afterwards I knew that Offa had had all going out of the place stopped, hoping to take some man who knew more of the secret of Ethelbert's end, if not Gymbert himself.

Hilda had been thrust out by a private postern hastily, and doubtless Gymbert had been told where to seek her long before. I believe it was no affair of the spur of the moment, but wrought in revenge on Sighard and myself.

Now what more I said to Hilda at this time is no matter, but at the end of the words I made s.h.i.+ft to put together she knew that I could wish no more than to guard her with my life, and for all my life, and naught more was needed to be said between us. What we might do next remained to be seen, but the first thing now was to get to the archbishop, with whom we should be in safety no doubt. Even Quendritha would not dare to take Hilda from his charge.

I had forgotten my fear of the old walls when we came to the ruined villa. Maybe I thought thereof when I and Erling went in and found the horses all safe and ready to take to the road again; for in one corner of the wall among the gra.s.s shone a glow worm, and it startled me, whereat Erling chuckled, and I remembered.

We made a pillion of my cloak, and lifted Hilda up behind me; and so we set out in the moonlight to find our way to Fernlea, striking away from the river somewhat at first, and then taking a track which led in the right direction. And so for an hour we rode and saw no man. The land slept round us, and the night was still and warm, and I forgot the troubles that were upon us in the pleasure of having Hilda here and safe with me.

Presently we came out of forest growth into the open, and pa.s.sed a little hut, out of whose yard a dog came and barked fiercely as we pa.s.sed. There was no sound of any man stirring in the hovel, however, and we went on steadily. As the crow flies, Fernlea town was not more than five miles from the palace; but we wandered somewhat, no doubt, being nowise anxious to meet any men on the way, and also wis.h.i.+ng to come into the town from any direction but that of the road from Sutton.

A quarter of a mile from the hut where the dog was we entered a deep old track, worn with long years of timber hauling and pack-horse travel, and under the overhanging trees it was dark again.

Now we had not gone fifty yards down this lane when my horse grew uneasy, snorting, and bidding me beware of somewhat, as a horse will. Hilda knew what the steed meant, and took a tighter hold on my belt, lest he should swerve or rear.

"'Tis a stray wolf or somewhat," said Erling from behind us. "The horses have winded him."

Then out of the shadows under the trees came a great voice which cried in bad Saxon, "Ay, a wolf indeed! Stand and answer for yourselves!"

"Spurs!" I cried to Erling, and the great skew-bald shot forward.

Out of the darkness, from the overhanging banks, and seemingly from the middle of the hollow road, rose with a roar a crowd of white-clad dim figures and flung themselves at the bridles, and had my sword arm helpless before ever I had time to know that they were there. And all in a moment I knew that these were no men of Gymbert's, but Welshmen from the hills spying on the doings of Offa at Sutton. Some one had told me that they were in doubt as to what his great gathering meant.

Now, if Hilda had not been with us, there would have been some sort of a fight here in the dark, for I should certainly have drawn sword first and spurred afterward. As it was, my only thought must needs be to save Hilda from any harm.

"Hold hard!" I cried in Welsh; "this is a lady travelling."

"Yes, indeed," one of the men who had hold of my bridle answered; "he says truly."

"A lady?" said the voice which had spoken first. "Let her bid her men be still, and we will speak with her!"