He would bide no longer in England after this, for the doubt of him that Eadmund would not listen to was strong in the minds of others, and his presence was of little use.  Only the London folk and Ulfkytel loved him, knowing him well, and holding that they owed him much.  But none knew better than Earl Ulfkytel that Olaf must not bide here longer.

Now our scouts kept coming in with news of Cnut, and at last I could see by which road to fly with most chance of safety.  I would go by Winchester and so to Southampton and there take ship with the queen.  Cnut’s fleet would be in the Thames ere long, if it barred not the mouth already.

But Abbot Elfric had not come.  We feared that he had fallen into Danish hands, for it was hard to say where they were not.  It seemed that we must perforce leave London without him.  Yet I would stay till the last for his coming.

Now I must leave England, and I have said little about myself.  But when this duty was laid on me by the king, I thought more of my lost quest of Hertha than I had done of late.  For now I must leave her in our poor land, where she must be hunted maybe from hiding to biding, place to place, and in my heart grew up an unreasoning anger against Ailwin and Gunnhild, who by their secrecy had kept me from bringing her here with Olaf.

Then as I looked over this I became sure that they had seen somewhat in me which their charge could not love, so that they would keep me from her altogether.  And I made up my mind to that at last, not wondering that it was so, for I was but a warrior and a landless thane with nought to be proud of but skilful weapon play, and some scars to show that I had been in a fight or two where blows were falling.  And I minded how I had told Ailwin that I held myself free, and thought that he and Gunnhild, and maybe Hertha also, would have it so.

Yet I cared little for that, having heavier things to fill my mind than thought for a maiden whose very looks I knew not now.  At least these two had taken Hertha into their charge, denying me any part therein, and I could not blame them rightly.  I had done my best and could no more.

Then at the last moment Elfric came.

“Glad am I that you have not gone, my son,” he said, as I greeted him.  “I have wandered many a long mile over crossroads to escape the Danes.  Very nearly did they have me once, but I escaped them.  That will be a pleasant tale beside Duke Richard’s fire, however.  When must we go?”

“With nightfall, father,” I said.  “The horses are standing almost ready even now.  How many shall you need?”

“Myself, and my chaplain, and three sisters—­five,” he said, “if you can take so many.  These would fly with me and the queen.”

I thought for a moment.  The queen had Eadward and his brother Alfred and five maidens with her, and there were the pack horses and the servants.  But two of the maidens were unwilling to go, being daughters of London thanes.  Our court was very small in these days.  So, as every woman added to our company was a source of weakness, in that our pace must be that of the least able to bear fatigue, I doubted until I thought that the queen might let the sisters take the places of the maidens who cared not to fly with her.