I rode fast over the bridge, for I feared for Humbert our good bishop, and when I came near the church the bells jangled, all unlike the wedding peals that I had heard so lately.

They had found a few late flowers, violets and marigolds and daisies and the like, and had strewn them before the bride as she left the church; and they lay there yet with bright hedgerow leaves to eke them out—­but across the path, too, lay the dead body of a poor churl, dressed in his holiday gear, slain by a spear thrust, and the church was burning.  Now the men who jangled the bells for help came down in haste, terrified as the fire took hold of the roof, for the church was all of wood and very old.

When they saw me they ran, thinking me yet another of their foes; but I rode after one and caught him, for he would by no means stay for calling, and I asked him what had happened, and where the bishop was.

“Alas, master,” the man said, “they have slain my brother and fired the church, and now have ridden after the bishop.  They slew my brother because he would not say by which road he had gone; and another told them, being in fear for his life—­and our king is taken.”

“Did they take the king by the road to South Elmham?”

“Four rode after the bishop with the great man on the black horse who was the leader.  The rest went with the king up the track through Hoxne woods, but slowly.”

Had I but one or two more with me surely now I should have followed up the king and tried to rescue him.  But I think it would have been vain, for Ingvar’s men would have slain him rather than lose him.  But most of all I wondered at the boldness of these few men, who, with their leader, dared venture so far from their forces.  Well did they know, however, how complete is the rout of a Saxon levy; and I too might have guessed it, since I had fled alone after the first five miles, while all those who had left the town with me scattered all ways.

Now the church was blazing from end to end, and one or two more men had gathered to me, seeing who I was.

“Take up yon body,” I said, “and cast it into the church.  So shall his ashes lie in holy ground at least.  For you and yours must even take to the woods for a while.  The Danes will be here.”

That I think they did, for they were lifting the body as I went away and rode along the way that the bishop had taken, meaning at least to meet Ingvar, for I feared lest the men who had the king should slay him if they were followed.

Hardly a mile had I gone when Ingvar and his men came riding slowly back.  Their beaten horses could do no more, and they had left following the bishop.  Ingvar’s face was black as night, and as he came he roared at me:  “You here again!  Now this passes all.  Did I not bid you stand aside and hinder me not?”

“Aye, King,” I answered, coldly enough.  “But I cross you not.  I have ransom to offer for the king.”