“So—­a battle?” said Wulfnoth.  “That is the first fancy that a boy’s brain will weave.  Battles enough shall my banner see.  No need of you, witch as you are, to tell me that!”

“Maybe not,” answered the old woman.  “Why, then, Earl Wulfnoth, come here to ask me to tell you things you know?” and she turned away towards the fire again as if uncaring.

Then the earl changed his tone, saying: 

“Nay, good dame, but I would know if I shall take up arms at all at this time, and what shall befall if I must do so.”

“I tell you, earl, that you have not any share in the wars that shall be seen.  And let Godwine your son bide with his sheep—­so shall he find his place.”

Then the earl flushed red with anger and waited to hear no more, but flung out of the house, muttering hard words on the dame and on his own foolishness in seeking her.

Then the great cat sprang on my knee, and clung to me with its strong claws as I would set it down to follow him.  And as it stayed me, the old dame spoke to me, and there was nought to fear in either her face or voice.

“Ask me somewhat, Redwald.”

I wondered, but I dared not refuse.  So I said: 

“How shall fare King Olaf?”

“For him a kingdom, and more than a kingdom.  For him fame, and better than fame.  For him a name that shall never die.”

“That is a wondrous weird,” I said.  “Tell me now of Eadmund Atheling;” for some strange power that the old woman had seemed to draw me to ask of her what I would most know.

“For Eadmund of Wessex?  For him the shadow of Edric Streone over all his brave life.”

“What then of Cnut, the Dane King?”

“Honour and peace, and the goodwill of all men.”

“Not mine,” I said.

“Yours also, Redwald—­for England’s sake and his own.”

But I could not believe her at that time.

Now the angry voice of Wulfnoth called me from outside the place, and the dame said “Go,” smiling at me and holding out her hand.

“No more can I tell you, Redwald.  But I have this to say of you, that you have pleased me in asking nought concerning yourself.”

“I would know nought beforehand,” I said, speaking old thoughts of my own plainly.  “It is enough to hope ever for good that may not come, and to live with one’s life unclouded by fear of the evil that must needs be.”

The dame smiled again, very sadly, as it seemed to me.  “It is well said.  Now I will tell you this, that over your life is the shadow of no greater evil than what every man must meet.  Farewell.”

So she spoke her last words to me, and sat down by the fire again.  And it is in my thoughts that she wept, but I know not.

Outside stood the earl, staring over the Senlac valley eastward.

“This were a good place for a battle, after all,” he said, as to himself.  Then he heard me and turned.