Then at last I remembered the prophecy of the old hermit—­and my heart bounded within me—­for, indeed, unlooked for as this was, surely it was like the beginning of its working out.

Now would I go through with it, and on the head of Matelgar be the blame were I slain.  Known was I by name to the messenger who gave me the arrow, and to those thralls, and known therefore would my going to Matelgar be.

Nevertheless, when I went down that path that I have spoken of, toward the hall, looking to meet with one at every turn, my heart beat thick enough for a time, till a great coolness came over me and I feared nought.

Yet must I turn aside one moment to lock into that nook where Alswythe and I had met, but it was empty.  I knew that it must be so at that hour, but I was of my love constrained to go there.

Then I ran boldly round the outer palisade and came to the great gate.

CHAPTER VI.  IN THE WOLF’S DEN.

There was only one man near it, and he sat on the settle inside, so that he could see out and in as he wished.  Him I knew at once, and was glad, for it was that old warrior who had showed some liking for me at Brent.

He got up slowly as he saw a stranger stand in the gateway and came out towards me.  Then he started a little and frowned.

“Rash—­master, rash,” he said, but not loudly.  “This is no safe place for you,” and he motioned me to fly.

Then I beckoned him out a little further and showed him what I bore in my hand.  And he was fairly amazed and knew not what to say, that I, an outlaw, should have been sent on this errand, and more, that I should have come.

I told him, speaking quickly and shortly, how it had come about, and he understood that the man who gave me the arrow neither knew nor believed me.

“Master,” he said, when I had done, “verily I believe that you are true, and wronged by him I have served this past two months.  But of this I know not for certain, being a stranger here and little knowing of place or people.  But this I know, from the man you sent back, that our thane sought your life against the word of the ealdorman, and, moreover, believes that you are dead.  But by the arms you wear I can learn how that matter really went.  Now, give me the arrow, and I will see to this —­do you fly.”

But I was bent on ending the errand, and said I would carry out the task, as was my duty, to the end.  I would put the arrow with its message into Matelgar’s hand, and bide what might come.

He tried to dissuade me, but at last said that he would not stand by and see me harmed, and for that I thanked him.

“Well then,” he told me, “you have come in a good hour.  Most of the men have gone out here and there to spy what they may of the Danes and their plans—­if gone or not.  Others are in the stables, and but one man sits at the door of the great hall, and he is of no account.”