So she thought not that we had loosed them, and did not know her own in the moonlight. Maybe she had no knowledge as to which of many had been left, and I was glad of that, for so her fear was less.
"You must ride with us," I said, "and I would ask you to come quickly; even now the host is leaving Wareham."
"Ay, is that so? Then my father is busy," she said, and then she faltered a little, and looked at me questioningly. "I cannot go without my nurse, and she is very sick. I think she sleeps now. Men feared her sickness so that we brought her here from the town. But indeed there is nought to fear; there is no fever or aught that another might take from her."
Then I grew fairly anxious, for this was more than I had looked for. I knew that it was likely that she would soon be missed and sought for; yet I could not think of leaving her to that chance, with the bridge broken moreover.
I gave the bridle to Kolgrim then to hold.
"Let me see your nurse," I said gently; "I have some skill in these troubles."
She led me into the house without a word. All the lower story was in one great room, with a hearth and bright fire thereon in the centre. Beyond that was a low bed, to which the maiden went. A very old woman, happed in furs and heavy blankets, lay on it, and it needed but one look to tell me that she needed no care but the last. Past need of flight was she, for she was dead, though so peacefully that her watcher had not known it.
"The sleep is good, is it not?" the maiden said, looking anxiously into my face.
"It is good, lady," I answered, taking off my helm. "It is the best sleep of all--the sleep that heals all things."
The maiden looked once at the quiet face, and once more at me, with wide eyes, and then she knew what I meant, and turned quickly from me and wept silently.
I stood beside her, not daring to speak, and yet longing to be on the road. And so still were we that Kolgrim got off his horse and came to the door and called me, though not loudly.
I stepped back to him.
"Come again in a few minutes and say one word--"Saxons"" I whispered, "then we shall go."
He nodded and drew back. I think the maiden had not heard me move, for she was bent over the bed and what lay thereon. It seemed very long to me before I heard my comrade at the door.
"Saxons, master!" he said loudly.
"Say you so?" I answered, and then I touched the maiden"s arm gently.
"Lady, we must go quickly," I said. "The dame is past all help of ours, and none can harm her. Come, I pray you."
She stood up then, still looking away from me, and I drew the covering over the still face she gazed at.
"You must leave her, and I know these Saxons will not wrong the dead," said I gently. "Your father will miss you."
"I am keeping you also in danger," she answered bravely. "I will come."
"Loth to go am I," she said, as she gathered her wrappings to her and made ready very quickly, "for it seems hard. But hard things come to many in time of war."
After that she ceased weeping, and was, as I thought, very brave in this trouble, which was indeed great to her. And when she was clad in outdoor gear, she bent once more over the bed as in farewell, while I turned away to Kolgrim and made ready the horses. Then she came, and mounted behind me on a skin that I had taken from a chair before the hearth.
Then we were away, and I was very glad. The good horse made nothing of the burden, and we went quickly. Many a time had I ridden double, with the rough grip of some mail-shirted warrior round my waist, as we hurried back to the ships after a foray; but this was the first time I had had charge of a lady, and it was in a strange time and way enough. I do not know if it was in the hurry of flight, or because they had none, but the horses had no saddles such as were for ladies" use.
So I did not speak till we were half a mile from the house, and then came a hill, and we walked, because I feared to discomfort my companion. Then I said:
"Lady, we are strangers, and know not to whom we speak nor to whom we must take you."
There was a touch of surprise in her voice as she answered:
"I am the Lady Thora, Jarl Osmund"s daughter."
Then I understood how this was the chief to whom the man I spoke with first had bidden me go for orders. It was plain now that he was up and down among the host ordering all things, and deeming his daughter in safety all the while. He had not had time to learn how his cowardly folk had fled and left their mistress, fearing perhaps the sickness of the old dame as much as the Saxon levies.
Now no more was said till we came to the riverside, where the flood tide was roaring through the broken timbers of the bridge. The fisher slept soundly despite the noise of wind and water, and Kolgrim had some trouble in waking him.
"How goes the flight?" I asked him when he came ash.o.r.e with the boat"s painter in his hand.
"Faith, master, I know not. I have slept well," he said.
Now by this time it seemed to me that I ought to take the lady into a safe place, and I would go myself rather than leave her to the fisherman, who was rough, and hated the Danes heartily, as I knew.
Moreover, I had a new plan in my head which pleased me mightily.
Then I thought that if I were to meet any man who suspected me, which was not likely, the Lady Thora would be pa.s.s enough for me.
So I told Kolgrim to bide here for me, and he said at first that he must be with me. However, I made him stay against his will at last, telling him what I thought.
Then the fisher put us across quickly, and went back to the far side to wait my return.
I asked Thora where I must take her to find the jarl.
"To his house, surely," she said.
"I do not know the way from here," I answered; "I fear you must lead me."
"As you will," she said, wondering. "It is across the town certainly."
That was bad for me, perhaps, but I should find that out presently.
So we went across the open, and came to the road through the town along which I had been before. It was clearer, though there were yet many people about.
Now when we were in the shadow of the first houses, Thora stopped suddenly and looked hard at me.
"Will you tell me if I am heading you into danger?" she said.
"What danger is possible?" I answered. "There are no Saxons here yet."
"Not one?" she said meaningly. "I may be wrong--it does seem unlikely but I think you do not belong to us. Your speech is not like ours altogether, and your helm is gold encircled, as if you were a king."
"Lady," I said, "why should you think that I am not of your people?
Let us go on to the jarl."
"Now I know that you are not. Oh, how shall I thank you for this?"
Then she glanced at my helm again, and drew a sudden little quick breath.
"Is it possible that you are Alfred of Wess.e.x? It were like what they say of him to do as you have done for a friendless maiden."
Then she caught my hand and held it in both of hers, looking half fearfully at me.
"Lady," I said, "I am not King Alfred, nor would I be. Come, let us hasten."