Meanwhile the arrangements for Edmund’s burial were made.  It was decided, according to the wish he had more than once expressed, that he should rest beneath the shadow of a shrine he had loved well; and on the second day after his death the mournful procession left Oxenford for Glastonbury, followed by the tears and prayers of the citizens.  There, after a long and toilsome winter journey, the funeral cortege arrived, and was joined by his wife Elgitha, his sons Edmund and Edward.  They laid him to rest by the side of his grandfather, Edgar “the Magnanimous,” whose days of peace and prosperity all England loved to remember.  There, amidst the people of Wessex who had rallied so often to his war cry, all that was mortal of the Ironside reposed.

Meanwhile the crafty Edric, who excused himself from attendance on the solemnities, tarried at Oxenford, and with him tarried also Elfwyn, Herstan, and the other friends of the unfortunate prisoner, to secure, as they were able, that justice should be rendered him.

A special court of justice was speedily organised, wherein Edric presided as ealdorman of Mercia, for Oxenford properly was a Mercian city, although, lying on the debateable land, it was frequently claimed by Wessex as the border land changed its boundaries.

The court was composed of wise and aged men, ealdormen, thanes, and burgesses had places, and the bishop of Dorchester sat by Edric as assessor.

The court was opened, and the vacant places in the room were occupied at once by the crowd who were fortunate enough to gain entrance.  The general feeling was strong against the prisoner, the more so because he had been loved and trusted by Edmund, so that ingratitude added to the magnitude of his crime in their eyes.

But amongst those who stood nearest to the place he must occupy were his betrothed, her mother, Bertha, and young Hermann, who had already got into several quarrels through his fierce espousing of the cause of the accused.

He entered at last under a guard, calm and dignified, in spite of his suffering.  He met the gaze of the multitude without flinching, and his general demeanour impressed many in his favour.  Compurgators, or men to swear that they believed him innocent, a kind of evidence fully recognised by the Saxon law, were not wanting; but they consisted chiefly of his old companions in arms and his friends from Aescendune.  In a lighter accusation, his innocence might have been established by this primitive mode of evidence, but the case was too serious; the accusation being one of the murder of a king.

The charge was duly read; and to the accusation he replied, “Not guilty!” with a fervour and firmness which caused men to look up.

The chamberlain was first examined.

“Were you present when the late king retired to rest?”

“I was.”

“Who shared his chamber?”

“The prisoner slept in an antechamber.”