Edmund replied not, but hurried his pace as he gazed at the darkening outlines of the rude structure, which stood within the outer walls, yet remaining, of the temple of Diana, which in Roman times had occupied the same spot.

They descended the hill towards the Fleet, but paused while yet within the walls.  The ancient palace without the gates had been long since burned by the Danes in one of their various attempts to take the city, and the court had occupied a large palace, if such it could be called, once belonging to a powerful noble who had perished in one of the sanguinary battles of the time.

The outer portal stood open, but sentinels of the hus-carles were posted thereat, who at once came forward as Edmund paused at the gate.

He dismounted, saying, “Alfgar, follow me;” and commended his troops to the hospitality of the citizens, bidding them to reassemble before St. Paul’s by eight of the morning.

And the troops broke up to receive such hospitality as the straitened times permitted men to indulge in.  The officers found a welcome in the palace, amongst the royal guard.  The citizens contended who should entertain the rest.

Edmund passed through the great hall, where the general silence struck him forcibly, telling of the extremity to which the monarch was reduced, and entered an inner apartment, where several dignitaries both of church and state were waiting.  They welcomed him in grave silence, and the chamberlain who was present spoke in a low voice: 

“Your royal father has long pined for you, my prince; may I conduct you to him at once?”

“Who is with him now?”

“Your royal brothers, the Ethelings Edward and Alfred, the Princess Edgitha, and the Queen {xv}.”

“Has not the bishop arrived?”

“He is in the chapel at this moment; the king declined to see him, he will not believe he is dying; but the bishop waits in prayer.”

“Lead me to his chamber,” said Edmund.

Re-entering the great hall, the chamberlain and prince ascended the broad staircase which conducted to the upper chambers, and passing along a passage thickly strewn with rushes to deaden the sound, for carpets were unknown, they came to a door at the end, where the chamberlain paused and knocked.

Loud ravings, as of one in delirium, penetrated the passage from the chamber, amidst which the chamberlain knocked again.

“There! there!” cried an agonised voice, “he knocks again; ’tis Elfhelm of Shrewsbury, whom Edric slew; ’twasn’t I, ’twas Edric, I only shared the spoil; keep him out, I tell you, keep him out.”

The door was not opened; probably those within feared to excite the king; and the chamberlain whispered to Edmund: 

“He is in delirium, his ravings are very painful.”

“I hear,” said Edmund; “how long has he been in this state?”

“Only a few hours, and he has constantly imagined that men, who are long since dead, were about him; especially he calls upon Dunstan, then upon St. Brice, then he calls for his son-in-law, Edric.”