“Brother,” said one to the other, “what sayest thou?”
“Do as the child wisheth,” replied the second one. “It will comfort her, and doth not bewray the church at such a time. Besides ’twere pity that the Northman should get the harp sith the bard hath given his life so nobly.”
So, to Egwina’s relief, the harp was interred with the gleeman. Prayers were said over the grave, and then the priests turned to the girl.
“Now, daughter, respect hath been shown to the dead, and now is our duty to the living. Whither goest thou? Where are thy friends?”
“Alack!” returned she, bravely checking her tears, “I wot not. None but granther did I have.”
“But were ye not under some lord’s hand?”
“Nay, ye know the custom of the wandering gleemen. From mead hall to mead hall did we go, and we have always done so. At Chippenham, we came to put ourselves under the hand of the king for fear of the Danes; but now—”
“Now,” said the elder priest, “thou art like others of people and priests. No friends, no home; thou hast nowhere to go. God help and comfort thee and us in our affliction.”
“We would best take her to the abbess Hilda at the priory,” said the second one.
“Yea; we will take her there, brother, though thou wottest that it may not be safe for the maiden. Even Christ’s altar is not safe from the defilement of these pagans. Methinks they are fiercer towards priests and monks, and ravage the churches and convents with greater fury than elsewhere, if that be possible where no mercy is shown to any. But eat and drink, child. Thou art weary.”