"How fares the king, my father?"
"They say he is at death's door," was the reply.
"Then I may not tarry, good people. All thanks for your welcome, which I hope I may live to repay, but just now my place is by my father's side. I may not now delay till I come to him."
So the people made way without discontinuing their acclamations, and Edmund and his train rode on till they reached the precincts of St. Paul's cathedral church. Night was now coming on apace, amidst showers of rain and hail, and gusts of wind, which caused the wooden spire to rock visibly. Here and there faint lights twinkled through the open doors, where people could be dimly seen on their knees.
"They pray for the king," whispered an officer of the guard who rode by the side of the prince. "The bishop Elfhelm has gone forth with the viaticum."
Edmund replied not, but hurried his pace as he gazed at the darkening outlines of the rude structure, which stood within the outer walls, yet remaining, of the temple of Diana, which in Roman times had occupied the same spot.
They descended the hill towards the Fleet, but paused while yet within the walls. The ancient palace without the gates had been long since burned by the Danes in one of their various attempts to take the city, and the court had occupied a large palace, if such it could be called, once belonging to a powerful noble who had perished in one of the sanguinary battles of the time.
The outer portal stood open, but sentinels of the hus-carles were posted thereat, who at once came forward as Edmund paused at the gate.
He dismounted, saying, "Alfgar, follow me;" and commended his troops to the hospitality of the citizens, bidding them to reassemble before St. Paul's by eight of the morning.
And the troops broke up to receive such hospitality as the straitened times permitted men to indulge in. The officers found a welcome in the palace, amongst the royal guard. The citizens contended who should entertain the rest.