“Carl the Great would christen a heathen man first and teach him afterward,” said I, meaning indeed to help on Erling’s hope without bringing my own name into the matter thus, and minding Carl’s rough way with the Saxon folk.

“Carl’s man has taught first, and that all unknowing,” he said, smiling.  “I do not know what he speaks of, but it has been worth doing.”

“I only kept my word, father, as a Saxon should.”

“As a Saxon Christian has been taught to keep it, by his faith, rather,” he answered, smiling at me.  “Well, well, so may it be.

“Now, my son, you will need many a long day’s teaching, mayhap.”

“I think not, father,” said Erling.  “I have been in Wales, and there I learned well-nigh enough.  They gave me the prime signing there.  You have but my word for it, but Ethelbert himself said that an I would be baptized he would stand sponsor for me.  He said it as we rode on the day of the great mist, when it chanced that all of us must pray together.  He saw me make the holy sign, and asked presently if it was that of Thor.  And I told him that in Wales I was what they call a catechumen.  I mind me that so ran the word for one prime signed.”

“And thereafter he spoke to you?”

“He said many and wondrous things to me.”

I minded how often Ethelbert had spoken with Erling.  I had deemed that he did but ask him questions of Denmark, as once he did in my hearing at the first.

So I wondered.  But the old priest asked Erling to say the creed, and that he did well, and with a sort of gladness on him.  After which the good father said that tomorrow should surely be the baptism, in all form.

“Nay, but here and now,” begged Erling.  “Tomorrow I must be away with my master beyond the river, and I would fain be christened here—­in yon presence.”

“Ay; why not,” said the old priest, half to himself, “why not?  Yet I will fetch the archbishop.”

He led the way back into the church, and we entered just below the sanctuary steps.  In the little chancel lay the king; and almost in shadow, for no window light fell on it, the font stood at the entering in of the nave, opposite the one south door.

“See,” said the priest, “some one has come in.  Maybe he seeks you twain.”

I looked toward the door, and dimly I saw a tall figure standing close to the font, but I could not see who it was.  Erling knew him.

“It is Ethelbert,” he said very quietly; “he said he would be my godfather.”

The priest set his hand on my arm and half shrank back.  The other priest lifted his eyes from his book, and so bided, motionless.  But I did not rightly take in what they meant, and looked more closely.  Then some stray gleam of light from the broken sky overhead came into the door, and it shone round the tall and gracious figure—­and it was that of Ethelbert himself.

I saw him, and there he bided while he turned his face to us, smiling at us.  And so he set his hand on the font, and smiled again, and was gone.