He laughed again, as if he knew the man well, and was pleased to think of him and his ways.

“None of his questions are foolish, however,” I said.  “I was pleased with him.”

“It is well if you pleased him, for he is a powerful man at court,” said Odda.

“I do not know if I pleased him, or if it makes any difference to me what power he has,” I said carelessly.  “If I want any man to speak for me to the king—­which is not likely—­I should come to you first.”

“Speak for yourself,” laughed Odda, “that is the best way with Alfred.”

So we planned to go to Exeter with the next morning’s light.  Odda would bide here for the night, after the feast.

Now after we had finished eating, and the ale and mead and the wine the king had sent in our honour were going round, and the gleemen were singing at times, there came a messenger into the house, and brought me a written message from the king himself, as he said.

“Much good are these scratches to me,” said I to Odda.  “Can you read them?”

“I can read nought but what is written in a man’s face,” he said.

So I gave the scroll to Harek, who sat next me, thinking that maybe the scald could read it.  He pored over it for a while.

“It is of no use, king,” he said.  “It is in my mind that I know which is the right way up of the writing, but I am not sure.”

So I laughed, and asked aloud if any man present could read.  There were a good many thanes and franklins present to feast in our honour.

Then rose up a man, in a long brown hooded habit girt with a cord, from below the salt where he sat among the servants.  He had a long beard, but was very bald.  His hair grew in a thick ring round his head; which was strange, for he seemed young.

“I am here, ealdorman,” he said to Odda; “I will read for King Ranald.”

Now all eyes turned to see who spoke, and in a moment Odda rose up hastily and went down the long room till he came to where the man stood.  Then I was amazed, for the ealdorman went on one knee before him, and said: 

“Good my lord, I knew not that you were here among the crowd.  I pray you come to the high seat.”

“When will you remember that titles and high places are no longer pleasing to me?” the man said wearily.  “I tire of them all.  Rise up, Odda, my friend, and let me be.”

“I will not rise without your blessing, nevertheless,” said the ealdorman.

Whereon the man spoke a few words to him softly and quickly, signing with his hand crosswise over him.

Then I said to those about me, who were watching all this in silence: 

“Who is this strange man?”

“It is Neot the holy, King Alfred’s cousin,” one answered, whispering.

“That is a strange dress for an atheling,” I said; but they hushed me.

Now it seemed that Odda tried again to draw this Neot to the high table, but he would not come.