“Ethelbert of Kent!”
Cormac’s face changed. An alliance with the Kentish over-lord was entirely different, for it was said his wife was a Christian—Bertha, daughter of the Frankish king, Charibert.
“Yes, we are allied with him against Ceawlin!” cried Ethne, with sparkling eyes; while Cormac breathed hard, and gazed at her between friendly anger and admiration. “It is a thing of years ago, the feud between the two; since Ethelbert was woefully beaten at Wibbesben by Ceawlin. Ethelbert was but a stripling then, but he means now to have his revenge!”
She paused, smiling.
“I will show you,” she said, “the pathway there is to be cut among our enemies. There is discussion among them, and one Saxon wars upon another. Last night, and the night before, when you little dreamed of what I was doing, I had secret interviews with one of the most powerful of the Saxon thanes, and I soon learnt that Redwald is no longer with Ceawlin, but has left him and gone over to Ethelbert. That a thane should leave his chief is one of the most terrible things that can happen among the Saxons—but Ceawlin of Wessex, as these Saxon dogs have named this side of Cæsariensis, is hated by his own people as well as by his enemies, and some of our allies, the Hwiccan, are part of the West Saxons. Ethelbert, king of erstwhile Cantii, has come round by Mercia to join us here and has seized upon the moment to unite with the Hwiccan, as well as with us and the Mercians; he wishes to depose Ceawlin and place himself in power. To reward us for our support, he will——” She turned, with outstretched hands to Elgiva. “He will force Redwald to deliver up your mother to us!”
Elgiva fell, with a low sob, at Ethne’s knee, and placed her lips on the hands that held hers.
“He knows, then, where Redwald is?” said Cormac.
“Redwald is, at this moment, in Ethelbert’s camp. By this time to-morrow Elgiva and her mother will be together.”
Cormac stood before his foster-sister with bowed head, looking at her with soft, grave eyes. For a moment his gaze wandered to the great motley army, basking in the autumn sunlight, and then returned to her. For the time his wild hopes of dominion over the Saxons were nothing to him, before the fact that his father’s last injunctions were about to be fulfilled—and through Ethne!
He might have fought twenty battles and yet been as far as ever from the chief object of the campaign—here, at the very beginning, Ethne had accomplished it.