mind to meddle.

Two years after the death of Ethelbert, Offa died. His bright young
son took the throne, and was gone also in a few months, and then
the house of Offa was at an end. An atheling of some younger branch
of the Mercian royal line took his place peaceably, and under this
king, Kenulf, Mercia was at her greatest. The doom of Offa fell not
on him.

Ecgbert bided with Carl the emperor, learning all he might of
statecraft and of war until his time came, and well he learned his
lesson. Then at last, through Quendritha's teaching, came the end
of the Wessex line, and thereafter the fall of Mercia from her
first place among the English kingdoms. For, after Quendritha's
way, Eadburga would poison some thane of the court who had offended
her; and Bertric drank the cup she had made ready for his servant,
and so perished. Eadburga fled to Carl the emperor, as men had then
hailed him; and he received her kindly for Offa's sake, and at
least England knew her ways no more. Then we had all ready, and
sent for Ecgbert; and from the time of his coming began that day of
greatness for Wessex which has led him to the overlordship of all
England and the end of the old divided and warring kingdoms.

One may see many tokens of the repentance of Offa for that deed
which was wrought unhindered by him. Greatest of all, perhaps, is
the cathedral which he built at Hereford over the remains of the
murdered king. There the saint rests in peace, and will be honoured
while time is. But where Offa himself lies no man knows. His folk
buried him in a little church which he had loved, hard by Bedford,
in the heart of his realm, on the banks of the Ouse. But in one
night of storm and rain the ancient river rose and swept away both
church and tomb and what lay therein, not leaving so much as the
foundations to tell where the place had been. And yet, not a
stone's throw from the edge of the rapid Lugg, the little church of
Marden, built where we found the body of the murdered king, stands,
and will stand, unharmed by the waters which once made soft his
resting.

The wonderful palace of Sutton lies shunned and ruined. After that
which had been done there, Offa would live within its walls no
longer, and it was deserted by all men. Only, as the wind and rain
wrought their will unchecked on the timbered halls, the thralls
took what they would for huts and for firing, and slowly at first,
and then apace, the palace sank to heaps of rotting rubb