Wulfnoth said no more to him, and turned sharply to me.  “You give her no venison—­maybe you fear her therefore!” he said in a scornful way enough.

“I fear her no more than Relf,” I answered, “but, like him, I will not seek her without reason.”

“Maybe there is reason for you to hear what she tells me,” the earl said.  “I will have you come.”

He seemed in no wise angry, but rather wishful that I should be with him, and so I got off my horse and went.  But it crossed my mind that Wulfnoth the earl liked not to be alone, and suddenly I remembered the way in which two of our Bures franklins had spoken to each other when they would see Dame Gunnhild, Hertha’s nurse.  It was just in this same wise.

There was a blue reek of oak-wood smoke across the doorway of the hut, and at first the tears came into my eyes with its biting, and I could see nothing as the earl drew me inside.  We had to stoop low as we crossed the threshold, and then the air was clearer at the back of the hut, which was far larger than one would think, seeing that its front did but cover the mouth of a cave that was in the sandstone rock.  I heard the water of the cold spring rattling and bubbling somewhere close at hand.

There was a long seat hewn from the rock at the very back of the place and to one side, and Wulfnoth drew me down beside him upon it, and there we sat silent, waiting for I knew not what.  A great yellow cat came and rubbed itself, tail in air, against my legs, and I stroked it, and it purred pleasantly.

Then I became aware that over against us across the fire sat the most terrible-looking old witch that I had ever seen or dreamed of, elbows on knees and chin on hand, staring at us.  And when I saw her I forgot the cat, and could not take my eyes off her.

So for long enough we sat, and she turned her bright eyes from one of us to the other, letting them rest steadily on each in turn.  And at last she spoke.

“What do Earl Wulfnoth and Redwald the thane seek?”

“Read me what is in the time to come.  What shall be the outcome of this strife for England?” the earl said plainly, but in a low voice.

“Time to come is longer than I can read,” said the old woman, never stirring or taking her eyes from the earl.  “I can only see into a few years, and I cannot always say what I know of them.”

Then she turned her gaze on me, and stretched out her hand and pointed at me.  But her eyes looked past me, as it seemed.

“River and mere and mound,” she said in a strangely soft voice—­“those, and the ways of the old time of Guthrum, in the town that saw Eadmund the king.  That is what is written for the weird of Redwald the thane.”

Now at that I was fairly terrified, for it was plain that this old woman, who had never set eves on me before, had knowledge more than mortal.  But if she had gone so far, I would have her go yet further.  Black terror had been before the days of Guthrum grew peaceful, and I swallowed my fear of her and asked: