Apparently it was some great Festival, for a sweet-toned organ was pealing inside, while from all directions multitudes of people came thronging to the church, singing hymns of praise as they did so. And as they drew near the King, he heard that there was one name which mingled with the name of God and of the Saints upon their lips, and that name was his own, ‘Ethelbert.’
Wondering greatly, he awoke, and the vision passed quickly from his mind, for at that moment his Ambassadors returned, bearing courteous greetings from the Mercian Monarch, who hoped that on the morrow he would come with all speed to his Palace.
Meanwhile, at Sutton, a scene was going on which is almost the story of Ahab and Jezebel and Naboth’s vineyard over again.
For King Offa and his wife, Queen Quendreda, were sitting in the King’s private chamber, talking about their coming guest and his fertile dominions, just as Ahab and Jezebel had talked about Naboth.
And Quendreda was putting an awful thought into Offa’s mind. ‘It were a good thing,’ so she whispered, ‘to have the King of East Anglia for a son-in-law, but it were a better to murder him quietly, and add his Kingdom to that of Mercia. Then would Offa be a mighty Monarch indeed.’
I think there is no sadder picture in the whole of English history than this, which shows us this great and wise King, for remember he was a great and wise King, who had done an immense amount of good to his country, whose name might have been handed down to us, like that of Alfred the Great, or Victoria the Good, or Edward the Peacemaker, sitting listening to the advice of his wife, who was a thoroughly wicked woman, seeing clearly how bad, and cruel, and treacherous that advice was—aye, and saying so, too—and yet feeling tempted in his heart of hearts to follow it, because of the one weak spot in his otherwise strong character, his ungovernable lust for land and power.
If only he could have looked into the future, and seen how that one dark deed would leave a stain on his memory, which would last when his good deeds would be forgotten, and how a blight would descend on his house almost as though it were a direct judgment from God, I think he would have ordered his wife to be silent, and never to speak such words to him again.
But to see into the future is impossible. So, as if to shake the responsibility from his own shoulders, he did not actually forbid the scheme, but he pretended to be very angry, and strode out into the hall, and called to his knights and to his son, Prince Ecgfrith, to mount and ride with him to meet the stranger King.
When he was gone, the unscrupulous Queen, who felt that she was now at liberty to work her wicked will, sent for the King’s most trusty henchman, Cymbert, the Warden of the Castle, who was tall, and strong, and a mighty fighter, but who had a heart as hard as stone.
