Thereat some remembrance of those other words of hers comes into his mind, and he wakes suddenly, fearing, and yet half hoping.

“What mean you?” he says.

“I mean that naught stands in your way from here to the eastern sea.  Call your levies and march across the land in all its breadth, and there is not one who will forbid you.  East Anglia is yours.”

Now Offa looks on her face, and sees triumph written in her eyes; and he minds all, and knows that she has done that which he forbade her not, and round his heart is a terror and a chill suddenly.

“Wife,” he says in a harsh voice, “what have you done?”

“That which you would not do for yourself, but left to me.  I have taken the weak out of the way of the strong, and hereafter East Anglia will thank me.”

Then says Offa under his breath, “Ethelbert has been slain in my house!  There is not a thrall in all the land who will not sleep better than shall I hereafter.  Yet I will not believe it.  This is an evil dream.  Let me hence!”

Then he springs from his bed, and the queen will not prevent him.  Presently, she thinks, he will learn the truth and be glad of it.  So she does but call the pages and armour bearers from the outer chambers, and bids them see to their lord, and so leaves him.  Then he dresses and arms quickly, being minded, if the worst is not yet done, to see that all is well.  Maybe she does but urge him to that which she would have him do again.  And he will not do it.  That much he knows clearly.  For the rest, all is misty in his mind, and that is what Quendritha had planned.

So it came to pass that, even as we had made up our minds that we must needs call the king, the door to his chamber opened, and a page came out with the words that bid men meet the king, and we rose and stood to greet him.  He came forth quickly, looking wild-eyed and haggard, with his sheathed sword grasped in the hand which held his cloak round him against the night air.  He halted for a moment on the threshold, and stared at us; while from very force of habit we saluted, and spoke the words of good morrow that were but mockery today.  And he knew it.

“Good morrow, forsooth,” he said, in a terrible, dull voice; “and I would from my heart that so it may be.  Tell me, thanes, is aught wrong here?  It seems that all is quiet.  Mayhap I have but dreamed of ill—­dreamed, I say, for it could be nowise else.  I had an evil dream.  I thought that Ethelbert, my guest and son to be, was harmed.”

He looked from one of us to the other, and our faces spoke to him, though we could find no words.  The hand that held the sword tightened its grip on the gilded scabbard, and he strode forward into the room fiercely.

“It is no dream, but the truth,” he said hoarsely.  “Answer me, is it true?”

Now I saw the wrath growing in his face.  And I heard Witred stammer, for the fear of the great king was on him; and I knew not what Sighard might not say in his wrath, for already Selred had his hand on him to stay him.  So I spoke for the rest, being a stranger, and of no account if the anger of the king sought a vent on me.