Now when he came back to the great kitchen, which was nigh as big as the hall, Withelm was yet there, for the priest was at the widow’s, and there was no haste to bring him; and by that time I had come in also, and was sitting with him at the far end, where none had need to come.  It was Berthun’s own end, as one might say, and he was lord in his own place.  Only a few thralls were about, and the cook himself had gone into the town.

“Here is our brother,” I said, “and there is somewhat wrong.”

He came moodily up to us, and sat him down, saying nothing, and he leaned his head on his hands for a while.

“What is amiss, brother?” said Withelm.

“Wait,” he answered.  “I will think before I speak.”

I could see that this was not the old puzzlement, but something new and heavy, so we held our peace.  Long was he before he moved or spoke, and when he did so it was wearily.

“Well knew I that somewhat was to happen to me in this town, even as I told you, brother, when we first passed its gates.  And now it seems to be coming to pass.  For this is what is on me, as it seems to me—­ either that I must see the light of day no more, or must live to be a scorn and sorrow to one for whom it were meet that a man should die.”

“Surely the black dream is on you, my brother!  Neither of these things can be for you!” I cried.

“Would that it were the dream, for that is not all of sorrow, and that also is of things so long past that they are forgotten.  I can bear that, for your voice always drives it away.  But now the hand of Alsi the king is on me for some ill of his own—­”

“Stay,” said Withelm.  “Let us go out and speak, if that name is to be heard.  It were safer.”

“Less safe, brother,” answered Havelok.  “At once we should be kept apart.  Listen, and I will tell you all, and then say your say.”

Then he told us, word for word, all that had just passed between him and the king.  And as we listened, it grew on us that here was no wrong to the princess, but rather the beginning of honour.  I could see the downfall that was in store for Alsi, and I thought also that I saw hope for the winning back of the Danish kingdom, with an East Anglian host to back us.  And this also saw Withelm, and his eyes sparkled.  But Havelok knew not yet all that had grown so plain to us.

He ended, and we said nothing for a moment.

“Well?” he said, not looking up, but with eyes that sought the floor, as if ashamed.

“By Odin,” said I, speaking the thought that was uppermost, “here will be a downfall for Alsi!”

“Ay, you are right, brother.  I will not wed her.”

But that was by no means what I meant, as may be known; and now Withelm held up a warning hand to me, and I knew that his advice was always best.

“If the maiden is unwilling, wed her not,” he said.  “If she is willing, even as the king said, that is another matter.  We have no reason to doubt his word as yet.”