A King's Comrade: A Story of Old Hereford

by Charles W. Whistler

Now we stayed there still and hardly daring to move, looking yet for the king to be yonder again, but we saw no more. Then at last the priest begged me to go to the archbishop and bring him, telling him what had happened. I went, and when Ealdwulf came there was no more delay, but where the form of Ethelbert had stood there stood Erling, and was baptized by the archbishop, I and the old priest standing for him. And thereafter he knelt at the steps of the sanctuary, and on him the hands of the archbishop were laid in his confirmation.

That was the most wonderful baptism I have ever seen, and it bides in my mind ever as I see another, even if it be but of a little babe of thrall or forester, so that for a time I seem to stand in the church at Fernlea once more, and hear the voice of Erling as he made his answers firmly and truly. Betimes it seems to me that it was but longing and the work of minds in many ways overwrought which showed us the form of the dead king there by the font--and I cannot tell. Yet the watching priest saw, besides us three who had searched for him.

Presently, on the morrow, and again in days later, when the body of the king lay for the people to pass and see, and when it was taken with all pomp to its resting in the great new cathedral which men call that of Hereford, there were many healings and the like, as they tell me. And at Marden, where Offa built at once the little church which should mark where Ethelbert was hidden, that water which welled from the place whence we took him healed many.

Now we went forth from the church for a little while, and presently I went back alone and placed the little gift which Etheldrida had given me on the breast of the king, hiding it next his heart in his robes. I had learned that they would not be moved again. Ealdwulf knew that I had done it, and when I came back to him, where he talked yet with Erling in the reeve's chamber, he asked me if I knew what the little case held. I did not, and that is known to none save to her who gave it me.

"I think that you two will value this more than other men," he said then.

And with that he gave us each a little silken bag, square, with a cross and a letter E worked thereon. He had cut for us each a lock from the head of Ethelbert, and had it set hastily thus for us. And he was right as to the way in which we held it of more worth than aught else. Hilda wrought the little cases as she sat waiting in the house. It is my word that mine shall go to my last resting with me.

Now all too soon the dusk came, and we must set ourselves back from these wondrous things that had been to the ways of hard warriors again, with a precious charge in our keeping. With Hilda we supped, and then it was dark. Out in the stables the horses stood ready, my brown second steed being made ready for the lady, and Erling's second carrying the packs, as on our first journey from Norfolk. And then we heard the last words of farewell from the archbishop, and knelt for his blessing, even as the watch mustered outside in the street, and the last wayfarer hurried into or from the gates, and I heard the horns which told their closing. It was dark overhead, and the moon had not yet climbed far into the sky; which was as well for our passing the ford unseen, if Gymbert had it watched.

Then the reeve came in, armed and ready, and we must go. There was a little sobbing from the good wife, as was no doubt fitting, but by no means cheering; and so we passed from the warmly-lit little hall into the street, and mounted, clattering away toward the westward gate of the town, with the reeve ahead and two of his men after us.

The gates swung open for us, and two wayfarers took advantage thereof to get inside, which was to their good fortune. Then we had a quarter of a mile of road to pass before we came to the ford below the field where our camp had been when we came. After us the gates were shut again, and we rode on.

Then befell us a wonderful bit of good luck. There came the quick tramp of a horse coming toward us, and out of the gloom rode a man in haste. He pulled up short on seeing us, and I heard another horse stop and go away directly afterward. It was too dark to see much against the black trees and land among which we rode, and the plainest thing about this comer was the little shower of sparks which flew now and then from the paving of the old way and from his horse's hoofs.