“What is the hurry, Mord?” said I.

“Maybe it is nothing, and maybe it is much,” he answered; “but Griffin of Chester has gone up to the palace, for I saw him.  He has his arm in a sling, and his face looks as if it had been trodden on.  Now Alsi will tell him all this, and if we are not followed I am mistaken.  He would think nothing of wiping out our party to take the princess, and Alsi will not mind if he does.  How shall we give him the slip?”

Withelm rode with his chin over his shoulder, and I beckoned him and told him this.  Not long was his quick wit in seeing a way out of what might be a danger.

“Let us ride on quickly down the Ermin Street, and he will think us making for the south and Norwich.  Then we will turn off to Cabourn, and he will lose us.  After that he may hear that some of us belong to Grimsby, and will go there; but he will be too late to hurt us.  Hard men are our fishers, and they would fight for Havelok and the sons of Grim.”

So we did that, riding down the old Roman way to a wide, waste forest land where none should see us turn off, and then across the forest paths to Cabourn; and there we found the hermit, and there Havelok and Goldberga were wedded again with all the rites of Holy Church, and the bride was well content.

Now while that was our way, I will say what we escaped by this plan of my brother’s, though we did not hear all for a long time.  Presently we did hear what had happened at Grimsby towards this business, as will be seen.

To Lincoln comes Griffin, with Cadwal his thane, just as we had left the town thus by another road, and straightway he betakes himself to the palace.  There he finds Alsi in an evil mood, and in the hall the people are talking fast, and there is no Berthun to receive him.

So, as he sits at the high table and breaks his fast beside the king, he asks what all the wonderment may be.  And Alsi tells him, speaking in Welsh.

“East Anglia is mine,” he says, “for I have rid myself of the girl.”

Griffin sets his hand on his dagger.

“Hast killed her?” he says sharply.

“No; married her.”

“To whom, then?”

“To a man whom the Witan will not have as a king at any price.”

“There you broke faith with me,” says Griffin, snarling.  “I would have taken her, and chanced that.”

“My oath was in the way of that.  You missed the chance on the road the other day, which would have made things easy for us both.  There was no other for you.”

Now Griffin curses Ragnar, and the Welsh tongue is good for that business.

“Who is the man, then?” he says, when he has done.

“The biggest and best-looking countryman of yours that I have ever set eyes on,” answers Alsi, looking askance at Griffin’s angry face.  “There is a sort of consolation for you.”

“His name,” fairly shouts Griffin.

“Curan, the kitchen knave,” says Alsi, chuckling.