Then said Sighard, and his voice came hoarse and broken:
"Our king is slain! Hounds of Mercians, tell us who has wrought this!"
One answered him from dry lips:
"We cannot tell. It is a shame on the house of Offa, and on the very name of Mercia. Kill us if you will, for we are niddering."
He plucked his sword from his belt and threw it on the floor. The thane who had gone into the council chamber was on his feet and staring at us through the open doors, and Erling was ready to fall on him if he cried out. But the third Mercian, whose name was Witred, did not lose his senses thus.
"True enough," he said, looking fearlessly at the angry group before him. "But it were better to follow this passage and see if we may not overtake those who have been here.
"Bide here, paladin and priest, and keep our way back clear with my comrade yonder, and let us go quickly. If they slay us--maybe that is no loss, but at least we have done what we should."
Without another word Sighard leaped into that awesome pit, and Witred followed him. Then went our three thanes, and Selred and I stood alone in the room. I handed the torch down to the last man, and so saw that from the place where the chair was set a low stone-arched passage led westward into darkness. It was some work of the old Romans, no doubt, for no Saxon ever made such stonework--strong and heavy as rock itself.
The light flashed from somewhat on the wall also, as it seemed, drawing my eyes to it.
"Yonder is a spear set," I said to the thane, as he took the light from me; "hand it to me."