“I would see your mistress,” I said as they came and held my horse.  I had not been to the house for two days, as it chanced.

Then one ran and brought the house steward, and told him.

“I know not if that may be, master,” he said; “but I will ask Dame Gunnhild.”

“Has the lady gone to rest?” I said, being surprised at this delay.

“She is not well” the man said; “and the dame has not suffered her to rise today.”

“Then let me have speech with the dame without delay,” I said, for this made me uneasy, seeing what need there was for speedy flight.

The steward went in, and I bade the thralls do all that Edred ordered them, telling him to see to what was needed for flight and so I went into the house, and stood by the hall fire waiting for Gunnhild the nurse.

There is nothing in all that wide hall that I cannot remember clearly, even to a place where the rushes were ill strewn on the floor.  And the short waiting seemed very long to me.

Then came Gunnhild.  She was old, and I feared her, for men said that she was a witch.  But she had been in the house of Osgod the Thane since he himself was a child, and Hertha loved her, and that was enough for me.  Nor had I any reason to think that the dame had any but friendly feelings towards myself, though her bright eyes and tall figure, and most of all what was said of her, feared me, as I say.  Now she came towards me swiftly, and did not wait for me to speak first.

“What will you at this hour, Redwald?” she said.

“Nought but pressing need bade me come thus,” I answered.  “The levy is broken, and the Danes are on the way to Colchester.  My mother flies to London, and you and Hertha must do likewise.”

“So your father and hers are slain,” she said, looking fixedly at me, and standing very still.

“How know you that?” I asked sharply, for I had told the steward nothing.

“By your face, Redwald,” she said; “you were but a boy two days agone, now you have a man’s work on your hands, and you will do it.  Who bade you ride here?”

“No one,” I said, wondering, “needs must that I should come.”

“That is as I thought,” she said; “but we cannot fly.”

“Why not?”

“Because the sickness that your mother feared is on Hertha, and she cannot go.”

Now I was ready to weep, but that would be of no use.

“Is there danger to her?” I said, and I could not keep my voice from shaking, for Hertha was all the sister I had, and she in time would be nearer than that to me.

“None,” answered the dame, “save she runs risk of chill.  For she has been fevered for a while.”

“Which is most to be feared,” said I, “chill, or risk of Danish cruelty?”

She made no answer, but asked me what were my mother’s plans.  And when I said that she would fly to Ethelred the king, the old nurse laughed strangely to herself.