Wulfhere uttered an exclamation as a sudden thought struck him, and he sprang to his feet. “Ælfric! Where is Ælfric?”
Several of the monks started in search of him, but no juggler could be found.
“’Tis he who hath done this!” cried Wulfhere.
“Hast thou lost aught of other treasure?” asked the abbot. “If his purpose were robbery, methinks that he would have deprived thee also of booty.”
Wulfhere drew from under his tunic the pouch that he always carried strapped about his waist, and from it took a bag.
“By the bones of the holy Cuthbert,” he exclaimed, “it is empty!”
And so, indeed, it proved. The gold, silver, and copper coins, and gems which had been given him, were all gone. With a groan the old man let the bag fall to the floor.
“Courage, man!” cried the abbot. “Thou hast not time to moan. Already hath the first cock crowed for sun-rising. ’Twill be but a short time ere morning dawns, and then we will seek the niddering. We will loose the hounds upon his track, and though he have a few hours the best of us, natheless we shall o’ertake him.”
So, in the early morning, Wulfhere and a small party of monks on palfreys set forth from the convent. Hounds of the best English breed so famed at this time were let loose upon the trail. It was not until late in the afternoon that the man-hunt was brought to a close.
Then the hounds gathered round some alders in which Ælfric lay concealed. He was soon dislodged from his covert, and, seeing that resistance was useless, suffered himself to be led back to the monastery.