Alfred sat in his private chamber in the great house that King Ine built, and on the table before him were a great ink horn and other writing gear, and beside him sat on a low stool his chaplain, reading to him out of a great book while the king wrote.  The rough horn cage wherein was a candle, that he had planned in wind-swept Athelney, stood close at hand, against the time of dusk that was near.  Ever was Alfred planning things like this, even in his greatest troubles; and therein he was wise, for it is not good to keep the mind full of heavy things alone.  Moreover, as we wondered at his skilful devices in these little things, we took heart from his cheerful pleasure in them.

When the chamberlain brought me in, the great book was put aside, and the pen set down, and the king looked up at me with his bright smile.

“Welcome, my ship thane,” he said.  “Come and sit here beside me.  I have somewhat to read to you.”

So I sat down wondering, and he turned back to some place in his writing, and took the little knife that lay by him—­for he had lost his jewelled book staff in Athelney—­and running its point along the words, read to me from the writings of some old Roman what he had been busy putting into good Saxon: 

“Now when the Roman folk would make a fleet hastily, and had no rowers, nor time to train them rightly, they built stages like to the oar benches of a ship in a certain lake, and so taught the men the swing and catch of the long oars.”

“Will not that plan serve us, Ranald?” he said.

“Ay, lord,” I answered, laughing.  “In good truth, if a man can learn to keep time, and swing rightly, and back water, and the like, on such a staging, it is somewhat.  But it will be hard work pulling against dead water from a stage that moves not.  Nor will there be the roll and plunge of waves that must be met.”

“Nor the sore sickness whereof Odda speaks,” Alfred said, with his eyes twinkling.  “But I think that if the Romans found the plan good, it will be so for us.”

So we talked of this for a while, and I will say now that in after days we tried it, and the plan worked well enough, at least in the saving of time.  Alfred’s book learning was ever used for the good of his people, and this was but one way in which he found ready counsel for them.

This was pleasant talk enough, and neither I nor the king grew weary thereof, but the good monk slept at last, and presently the darkness fell, and Alfred dismissed him.

One came and lit the torches on the wall, and still we spoke of my work, until at last Alfred said: 

“So you must be busy, and I am glad.  When will you set out, and where will you go first?”

Now what I wanted to ask him was where Osmund the jarl had gone.  He had ridden to Taunton from Aller, that he might be present at Thora’s christening, and that their chrism loosing {xix} might be held at the same time; and I had looked to find both here, but they were gone.  Nor had they left any word for me, and I was troubled about that.  So I was about to tell the king what was in my mind concerning Thora first of all, and my heart began to beat strangely.  But he waited not for me to answer him.