“In the church, presently,” I said to him, and he nodded.

I thought he might have some message also from her who gave the token.

Then I made myself bide a little longer, and it was hard work.  As soon as I might I went out, Erling following me, and turned into the church.  There I waited impatiently, with my eyes on the door of the great hall, in the porch, and at last I saw the page come out as it were idly, and turn toward me.  Then a man came up to him and spoke to him, and the boy seemed eager to get away.  At last he glanced toward me, and went away with the man, passing the door of the church, and turning toward the rearward buildings.  I had little doubt that he was purposely being prevented from having more words with me.

That troubled me more than enough, as may be supposed, for what the need of Hilda might be I could not tell.  And what I should have done next I can hardly say, for I was beginning to think of going and asking to see her; so that it was as well that as I stood in the deep porch I turned at the sound of hasty footsteps, and saw Selred coming to me from out of the building.  He had passed through our lodging to the church as he had gone.  His look was grave and full of care, but not more than it had shown before he left us.

“I have seen none of the ladies,” he said.  “The palace is in a turmoil, and Offa has shut himself up, seeing but one or two of his thanes, in grief for what has been done, as men say, and as may be hoped.  Nor will Quendritha see any one, or let her attendants pass from her bower and its precincts.”

“Father,” I said, “I have had a token from the Lady Hilda to say that she is in sore need of help.”

And with that I told him of our talk yesterday in the little wood, and of the coming of the page to me.

“I do not know what this may mean,” he said gravely.  “They say that the poor Princess Etheldrida is overborne with grief, so that they fear for her life.  I thought that Hilda was with her; but this would suggest that she is not.  Yet all the ladies of the court are within the bower.”

Now there was a stir round the great gates, and a little train of clergy came through them, with a few lay brothers, who led mules laden with packs, after them.  The whole party were dusty and wearied, as if they had come from far on foot; and indeed only one of all the dozen or so was mounted, and that was a man who rode, cloaked and hooded, in their midst on a tall mule.  Before him the weariest looking of all the brothers carried a tall brazen cross.

“The archbishop,” said Selred.  “He has not turned back, or maybe the news has not yet reached him.”

This was Ealdwulf, the Mercian Archbishop of Lichfield, and he had come for the wedding from his own place.  He was a close friend of the king, who indeed had wished that Mercia should not be second to any realm, and had so wrought that an archbishop’s see had been made for him, subject to neither Canterbury nor York.  I suppose that somewhere men had been on the watch for him, for now came the clergy of the palace to meet him, two by two, with the chaplain of the king at their head.