And it came to me that it was a face to be feared; yet I did not know why one should fear aught for Ethelbert from her.

Now those greetings were over, and Offa led Ethelbert into the hall.  Then Gymbert the marshal came and took us to our quarters, that we might prepare for the feast, giving some of us in charge of his men, while he led away the leaders of the party himself toward the guest hall by the palace.

One took charge of me, and led me round the little church to the back of the hall, telling me that the king had given special orders that the Frankish noble was to have some lodging of his own.  It did not seem to be worth while for me to explain the case to this man, who would, doubtless, be sorely put out if I wanted to remain with the other thanes; so I said nothing, but followed him to the rear of the great hall, where a long building with a lean-to roof had been set against it, behind the chapel, and as it were continuing it.  Inside it was like a great room, rush-strewn, and with a hearth in its midst, round which the servants of those who were lodged there might sleep, and along one side of it were chambers, small and warm, with sliding doors opening into the room.  I found Father Selred there before me, and it seemed that he also was to have one of these chambers, the priest’s house being full, and I was glad of it.  Soon after that they brought Sighard, Hilda’s father, there also, and I thought I was in good company, and had no wish to go further.

I told the man to bid Erling the Dane come hither when his work in the stables was done, and so he left me.  Sighard’s men, of whom there were two, had followed him with his packs.

Now they take Ethelbert to his chamber, and Offa and Quendritha seek their own in the queen’s bower.

“A gallant son-in-law this of ours, in all truth,” says the king gaily.

“Ay.  And now you hold East Anglia in your hand, King Offa.”

“Faith, I suppose so,” he answers, laughing—­“that is, if Etheldrida can manage him as you rule me, my queen!  She is ever a dutiful daughter.”

“If this young king were to die, the crown he wears with so good a grace would then fall to you,” says the queen, coldly enough.

“Heaven forbid that so fair a life were cut short!  Do not speak so of what may not be for many a long year, as one may hope.”

“Then if he outlives you, he will make a bid for Mercia.”

“Nay, but he is loyal, and Ecgfrith will be his brother.  It will be good for our son that he has two queens for sisters—­Wessex and Anglia are his supporters.  But there is no need to speak thus; it is ill omened.”

“Nay, but one must look forward.  There would be no realm like yours if East Anglia were added thereto,” says the queen slowly.

“We are adding it, wife, by this marriage, surely, as nearly as one may.”

“It were better if it were in your own hands,” she persists.