"I have yet heavier news to unfold," Edmund added, very seriously. "The Danes purpose a winter campaign in the heart of the land, hoping to take us unawares."
"Now the saints forbid!" said I.
"Even so; but they are not all with us. St. Brice is against us."
I sighed, and so did they. The very remembrance of that day is sickening.
"We have heard," said the abbot, "that the king will arrive tomorrow at Dorchester; we will send you thither in the morning. Meanwhile, my sons, you do not eat and drink as I would have you. Remember you need to sustain exhausted nature."
That was indeed true. They had travelled fast, and had fasted by the way, of necessity.
"Well, Alfgar, we will tomorrow to the king," said Edmund, after they had eaten and drunken; "he must surely listen to us now."
"He appears to love this wicked Edric," said the abbot sorrowfully.
"Far better than his own flesh and blood," replied Edmund.
"My son," said the abbot, "rest here this night in our poor house; tomorrow we will find you both horses and fitting apparel, and ye shall go meetly to the king, who is the guest of the bishop."