From him, or of him, there was no word. That he was alive and fighting, was all the messenger could say.
Then Robert came back to Bruges, with a gallant retinue, leading home his bride. And there met him his father and mother, and his brother of Mons, and Richilda the beautiful and terrible sorceress,—who had not yet stained her soul with those fearful crimes which she had expiated by fearful penances in after years, when young Arnoul, the son for whom she had sold her soul, lay dead through the very crimes by which she had meant to make him a mighty prince. And Torfrida went out with them to meet Count Robert, and looked for Hereward, till her eyes were ready to fall out of her head. But Hereward was not with them.
“He must be left behind, commanding the army,” thought she. “But he might have sent one word!”
There was a great feast that day, of course; and Torfrida sat thereat: but she could not eat. Nevertheless she was too proud to let the knights know what was in her heart; so she chatted and laughed as gayly as the rest, watching always for any word of Hereward. But none mentioned his name.
The feast was long; the ladies did not rise till nigh bedtime; and then the men drank on.
They went up to the Queen-Countess’s chamber; where a solemn undressing of that royal lady usually took place.
The etiquette was this. The Queen-Countess sat in her chair of state in the midst, till her shoes were taken off, and her hair dressed for the night. Right and left of her, according to their degrees, sat the other great ladies; and behind each of them, where they could find places, the maidens.
It was Torfrida’s turn to take off the royal shoes; and she advanced into the middle of the semicircle, slippers in hand.
“Stop there!” said the Countess-Queen.
Whereat Torfrida stopped, very much frightened.