We started that night as soon as dark came on, and the queen was pleased with the guard around her, and that Olaf the king himself rode at her side.  Men cheered him as we passed along the streets, and the queen deemed that the cries were for her, and drew herself up proud and disdainful as she sat on her white horse with spearmen before and behind her, and her maidens on either side.  But I doubt if any man knew who she was in the dusk.  And I had sent the pack horses and servants on before us to wait our coming at a certain place, so that none should be able to say that we were a party of fugitives.

Presently the queen waxed silent, and Olaf and I could talk to one another of what we would do in the time to come if this and that happened.  I told him that I should certainly return to fight at Eadmund’s side, for the queen would not keep me in Rouen.  When he left London it was his wish to seek me there, and so we looked to see one another again before very long.

“Then it is farewell, my cousin,” he said, when at last we came to Banstead, for he would not leave us sooner.  “We have had a good fight or two together, and may have more, and to more profit, as I hope, in the days to come.”

We halted at the monastery and prayed for shelter there for the night, or at least what was left of it, and while Elfric spoke with the superior of the nuns who were there, I took leave thus of Olaf and of my spearmen.  And these prayed me to return soon and lead them again.  That I promised them, and so the darkness closed between us as they rode away, and I was left sad at heart enough, for Olaf was as a brother to me, and I knew not when I should meet with him again.

There was no talk of Danes at this quiet place over which the wave of war had gone already, leaving it poorer, but in peace; and it was not until the next afternoon that we rode out again, our party being that which must see the long road over together.

Twelve of us there were.  The queen and her two maidens and the three nuns, Elfric the abbot and his chaplain, Eadward and Alfred the athelings, and Alfred’s tutor—­who was a churchman of Elfric’s own monastery—­and myself.

Then there were the servants, ten in all, who rode each leading a lightly-laden pack horse.  It was such a party as an abbot might well travel with, and that is all that would be said of us if the Danish riders asked aught of the roadside folk.  I and Eadward alone were armed as the abbot’s housecarles.  The men bore but spear and seax, as would any wayfarer for fear of robbers and the like.

Now, when all was ready in the courtyard, and we waited for the queen, she stood on the threshold before I knew her, for the nuns of the place, taught by Elfric, had prayed her to take their dress for the journey, and she had done so, as also had her two maidens.  They were as abbess and sisters therefore, and I thought that one trouble was over—­that is if our queen would but take the part of a nun as well as the dress, and be guided by Elfric the abbot.