Then the nurse came back, quick to hear the sad tone in the voice of her whom she had tended and loved since she was a child.

“Why, my pretty, have you been weeping?” she said.  “There was naught in a dream like that to fray you thus.”

“Nay, but it has come to me that this place is altogether heathen; and it may have come from the hand of Freya, the false fiend that they worship as a goddess, so that I may be ready to wed a heathen.  Is there no Christian in all this place?”

“There are Welsh folk yet left in the marsh,” said the nurse, pondering; “and where there is a Briton there is a Christian, and there, also, will be a hidden priest.  But it would be as much as his life is worth to come here, even could we find one.”

Then Goldberga said, “Alsi is not altogether heathen.  If I asked he would surely grant this.”

For she thought that she knew how to gain consent.

“If one can be found, and that is not likely.  Well, then, I will ask Berthun, who is good-natured enough, and most likely will not trouble about a Christian coming here; and if so, we need not even ask Alsi.”

So she went, not thinking for a moment that there was a priest of the faith to be heard of.  Mostly she wanted to hear more of Havelok, but she would honestly do her other errand.

But on her way across the courtyard she met Mord, and he was a great friend of hers.

“Whither now, nurse?  They will not let you go out of the palace.  They say that there is trouble on hand with those folk that fell on us, and we have to bide in shelter for a day or two.”

“Well, I have been down the town this hour, and all is quiet enough.  This Alsi is an over-timid man.  But I was seeking Berthun with a strange message from the princess, and one that is not over safe here.”

“Let me give it then.”

“Well, it is nothing more or less than to ask if he can find a Christian priest.  Our mistress has had a strange dream, and it is true that it sorely troubles her.  So she wants one to whom she may tell it, that it may be read aright.  But though I must ask, I do not hope to find one.”

“Why,” said Mord, “there is not one Christian in all Lindsey.”

“I would not say that.  When I was first here with Orwenna the queen, before she married Ethelwald, there were some in the marsh; for one day I heard my own tongue spoken there, hunting with my mistress; and so she stayed and talked with these poor folk, though the Welsh they spoke was bad enough.  But they were Christians, as they told her in fear and trembling.  They have not so much need to fear now.”

“Then I can help you,” said Mord gladly.  “Say nothing to the cook, for I have found old friends who come from far in the marsh, and they will tell me at once if they have heard of any priest.  Why, when I think, they know Welsh, and one has called himself by a Welsh name, and you have seen him—­Curan the porter.”