"Lady wife," said Offa, "do thou bear in mind that this man is our guest!"
"My lord, Ethelbert is young, and as for thee, thou hast looked thy last upon the height of thy manhood. And Egbert our son will never be the man that thou art. I say, beware! Come tell me now, if so be that Ethelbert of East Anglia wriggle from out of this pact he is come to make with us—if he make of us laughing-stocks from Iceland unto Caisar Charles's court—aye, and beyond—say ye will strike, O Offa of Mercia, so that your kingly dignity be upheld in the land!"
"God knoweth I will strike, and right heavily!" cried Offa. "I give my word I will not fail thee. But, lady, I hold thee mistaken—all this can scarcely be."
And as he was in gleeful humour, he put the matter from his mind, and began contentedly to examine and polish his boar-spears. He had suffered one or two envious pangs through Ethelbert's youth and vigour. Moreover, strong man though he was, he had never been able to bridle Cynerith.
Hardly had the Queen left the room than Sexwolf, her neglected favourite, sprang out upon her; and bitterly he upbraided her, raging, expostulating, pleading, outside the very door of King Offa's cabinet.
"Hold thy tongue, young man!" said she loudly, in her stateliest tones; and she swept from before him into the hall, where some were setting out the evening meal.
It was a hot evening, even sultry. They opened the doors, and such windows as had swinging frames, and the red glow of sunset shone in upon them for a brief hour. Though few of their court were to be present, they decked themselves that night in their full finery. Cynerith, clad in wine-purple, was as handsome, seen by twilight, as she had ever been in the days of her prime. Eadburh, in green and crimson, was gorgeous and blatant. Ethelfrith wore white, exquisitely embroidered with silver and gold.
Star of Mercia was she indeed that night. Eadburh seemed a burning brazier by contrast; Cynerith a painted shrew. No more was the Lady Ethelfrith silent; merry words flowed from her lips; time and again her laughter rippled out, soft and joyous. King Offa began, as was his custom, to talk of his wars, and of the stupendous dyke, boundary between his dominions and the lands of the wild Welsh, which the March folk, at his bidding, had dug in the sweat of their brows; but he soon hushed his voice, and listened proudly while his youngest-born told of her new-found pleasure in hunting, dancing, and friendly company. Even the Atheling, a stalwart, somewhat sullen youth, was seen once or twice to smile.
They brought her cither, and she sang them all her store of songs, with an art and confidence of which none had ever thought her capable. King Ethelbert applauded her and cast fond looks upon her, and at the end of every ditty he prayed her for more.
By and by, when the light faded and the torches were kindled, Offa the King began to yawn, and to doze in his chair. The Queen then conversed apart with Ethelbert. She bore herself meekly towards him, was innocent and child-like in manner and speech. Presently Offa awoke. His wife was beside him, bearing a brimming tumbler.