“Thou hast improved, maiden, since last I heard thee,” said a voice in her ear.
Egwina turned with a start. Ælfric the juggler stood beside her. At first the maiden could not recall his name or who he was, when Ælfric, seeing her bewilderment, said:
“Thou canst not gainsay thy knowledge of me, girl. Wot ye not that thou and thy father didst make me into a theow?”
“Art thou truly the juggler?” asked Egwina, shrinking back from the fierce look of the man’s face.
“I am in truth he. Where is thy father!”
“Dead,” came from the maiden, faintly.
“Art thou alone?” a malignant look came into the man’s eyes.
Egwina nodded. “And thou?” she asked. “Art thou still a wite? I hope not. I would have tried to get granther to return and pay the were for thee, but that the Danes oppressed so that there was no thought save for safety from them.”
“I needed not your aid,” came from Ælfric. “A freed-man do I stand before thee with help of none save Ælfric. But what dost thou with Edwy’s harp?”
“I did but try it;” and Egwina laid it down.