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.

I went and asked her this, and she flushed with wounded pride,
though I gave her my reasons and urged her peril.

"How shall it be told that Emma of Normandy was beholden to a
nunnery for her handmaidens?" she said.

"It shall not be told, my queen," I said stoutly. "Men shall say
that you gave protection to the holy women."

Truly my wits were sharpened by sore need, for at once the queen
agreed to