“No, by Freya, that were ill-omened.”

And he did but seem to put it in place, as if thinking.  Then he replaced his helm, bowing, and said: 

“Now must I stay your rejoicing no longer.  Fare you well, lady, and you, noble Egfrid; I must ride back to Thetford town on my own affairs.  Yet I leave you Wulfric.  Will you remember hereafter that you spoke with Ingvar the king, and that he was your friend?”

“Aye, surely,” answered they both at once.

Then once more the music played, and the little train went on and up the hill, and Ingvar and I stood together for a while looking after them.

“I thank you, King,” I said.

“Aye, Wulfric; and maybe you and yours are the only ones who will say that word to me in all this land.  Now take my rede, and do you and your folk begone as soon as maybe, for even I cannot hold back men who are not from our own place.”

Then I parted from him, going after my people, and thinking that all was well for us, and that surely our king was safe, until I came to where my horse still stood.  There over the lane hedge looked that lame white horse that I had seen, speaking as it were in his own way to mine.  And when I saw him thus near, it was indeed the king’s, and a great fear that he was not far off took hold of me.

CHAPTER XII.  IN HOXNE WOODS.

Many of the village folk loitered on the bridge and in the lanes, looking curiously at the Danes, and talking of the wedding and the like.  And some of these I saw Ingvar’s men questioning, and very soon a knot of them gathered round one man, and there was some loud talking.

Then I would have hastened back, but Ingvar saw me, and waved sternly to me to depart, and slowly enough I went on my way.  But I could not forbear looking back when I reached the road to the house.

Only Ingvar was now on horseback, and the men seemed to be swarming over the bridge railings, and climbing under it among the timbers.

Then were shouts, and the village churls began to run every way, and one or two came up the hill towards me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, master,” the first man cried, “when the bridal folk went over the bridge on the way to the church, one man looked over into the water, and cried that he saw somewhat sparkle therein like gold, and others looked, and some saw naught, but others said that they saw in the water as it were the image of golden spurs.  And the Danes asked us if we saw the king; but we had not.  Only one man laughing, in his fear as I think, said that the nearest thing to a crown that he had seen was the glint of golden spurs shining from the water yonder.  Then looked the Danes—­and now—­oh master!”

The man grew white, pointed, and fled.

Haled and pushed and buffeted by the hands of the Danes, a man was dragged over the rail of the bridge from the network of cross timbers among which he had hidden, and I saw that the armour was that of Eadmund the King.