Now at this last gathering I did not see Gymbert.  I thought he had most likely gone homeward, either on business or else because he would fain hear no more of what he had done in the way of bad woodcraft.  Sighard said plainly that it was just as well that he had gone, or his clumsiness would have been spoken of pretty plainly.  But all those to whom he did mention it, and they were many, seemed hardly able to understand it, for the marshal’s skill was well known.

I suppose it was a matter of two hours before sunset when we started for the palace from where we ended the drive, with an hour’s ride before us.  We straggled back somewhat, for the kings rode on together, and men followed as they listed.  So it came to pass that before long Erling and I were together and almost alone; out of earshot from any one else, at all events, for Sighard was behind us with one or two more of our own party, and the Mercians whom we followed were ahead.

“What have you done to offend this Gymbert?” asked Erling, of a sudden.

“Naught that I ken,” I answered.  “We had a talk last evening on the rampart, but it was of no account.  Why?”

“Because that was his arrow which so nearly struck you, first; and then, if ever a man tried to spear another by a seeming accident, he tried to end you when the boar turned to bay.”

“His arrow?  How do you know that?”

“Easily enough.  When he fell yonder, those he had left fell out of his quiver.  They are easily to be known, and they were the same as that I showed you—­peacock-feathered with a bone nock, and tied with gold and silver thread twisted curiously.”

“A man does not shoot another with an arrow of his own known pattern if he means it” I said.

“You hear what they say of the skill of Gymbert?  All the more reason, if his arrow in you were known, that men would say that of course it was mischance, and pity him more than you.  Moreover, that is the word which would go back to Carl, whom they deem your master yet.  Offa would fain stand well with him.”

There was truth in this, and I knew it; and yet I could hardly believe such a tale of treachery to an unoffending stranger as this would tell.  Then I minded how Erling had spoken to him in Welsh, and a half thought crossed my mind that he bore ill will for that.  But in that case Erling was the man who had offended by plain speech on a matter of which every one knew.  So I did not recall this to my comrade; it seemed personal to me.

“Tell me what you and he spoke of last night,” Erling asked me gravely, as I turned the matter over.

I told him all I could remember, and it came back to me clearly as I went on.  Then he said slowly: 

“There was more in that talk of a service to be done for the queen than he would care for you to know.  Why should a stranger be asked if he might be led to undertake one, when there are scores of faithful Mercians who would be only too glad to do aught to pleasure her?  As it seems to me, they needed one who could be put away without being missed afterward, when his errand was finished.”