All the imperfections of his character now faded away; he seemed so brave, yet so loving, so invincible in combat, yet so gentle and forgiving, as he had shown in forgiving even—­even—­even—­said Alfgar to his own wounded bleeding heart—­even in forgiving his murderer.  For in his eyes it was Edric, and none but Edric, who had done this deed.

But a terrible suspicion of a very opposite nature was rapidly assuming sway in other men’s minds.

A council met before daybreak—­the reeve or mayor, the chief burgesses, two or three thanes then in the town, the officers of the royal guard, Elfwyn, Herstan, and Edric.  After a few preliminaries Edric rose and spake as follows: 

“We have met together under the most awful responsibility which could fall upon subjects.  Edmund, our king, has been murdered, and by whom we know not.”

All were silent.

“I grieve to say,” he continued, “that there is but one upon whom our suspicions can now fall with any shadow of probability—­one who is now absent, for I thought it well not to summon him to this council; and before naming him, I must recall to you, Elfwyn, and to you, Herstan, the solemn oath we have all three taken to disregard all appeals of natural affection, and to ascertain the truth, God being our helper.”

“We have.”

“We have,” said they with bursting hearts, for they foresaw what accusation Edric was about to bring.

“I grieve, then, to say,” he continued, “that this natural affection must be bitterly tried, for there is but one to whom my words can apply.  Meanwhile, I will put a few questions.  With whose dagger was the deed committed?”

“Alfgar’s,” replied those who had been there the previous night.

“Whose chamber commanded the only entrance to the royal chamber?”

“Alfgar’s.”

“Who incautiously, as if forgetting himself, stated that he found the door bolted on the inside?”

“Alfgar.”

“But the motive—­the motive?  The poor fellow loved him as he loved his own father.”

“I cannot explain that difficulty, but I can suggest one motive which may already have suggested itself to several.  But let me ask of what nation is Alfgar?”

“A Dane; but an Englishman by long habit.”

“I can answer for that,” said Elfwyn.

“Once a Dane always a Dane.  Now a secret messenger arrived from Canute yesterday, and had a long private interview with Alfgar.  In short, I dare not say all I know or suspect, for there can be little doubt who will reign in England now.”

All were silent.

At length Edric continued, “none can deny that we have grounds for our suspicions.”

“Yes, I do deny it,” said Elfwyn, “the more so when I remember who makes the accusation.”

“You do well to reproach me; I deserve it, I confess, and more than deserve it.  Yes, I was Edmund’s enemy once; but perhaps you remember yesterday and the early mass at St. Frideswide’s.”