And Duncan made his men mount on to each others’ backs, and the topmost placed their shields together, and he stood upright in the saddle, Alastair doing likewise, and between them they lifted Torfrida from where she lay sick in the litter on to the shields, till she stood as high as the window of Feargus; then the men, and all they that stood about, cheered, but Osbert chafed and wanted on. Then Feargus seized the great bars that fenced the window, which only perhaps the mighty Duncan and Alastair, of all the mighty men who stood in that throng, could have as much as stirred, but such was the strength of him, and such his love, that the bars shook and bent, then parted asunder from the walls that held them, and he thrust his body through the opening and held her in his arms and often kissed her and she him. But never a word he spake though she wept much, and cried, “Alack, never more shall I behold thee; never more shall we ride a hunting together in the wild wood; never will Torfrida fare with thee to the land of thy kin.”

And fiercely she clung to his neck and wildly wept when they needs must part them. And, as they rode on, the tongue of Feargus was loosened, and lifting his voice he called aloud, “Torfrida! Torfrida!” and so called; and at first his voice was faint and hoarse, but at the last so mighty was the shout that the town rang with it. Till soon she, and they who rode with her, became but as a speck in the far distance, though still his eye seemed to see her through mist and dust, and still he called aloud her name that all the townsmen gathered beneath and thought him mad, and even the king sitting in his hall heard that wild shout and shuddered, and as he lay in his bed through the night it uprose, till the very winds seemed to catch the burthen and shriek “Torfrida!”

CHAPTER VI
THE FALL OF FEARGUS

When those who had taken Torfrida into Lindesey to her father had returned, the king sent for Oscar and bade him release Feargus, and so he walked once more a free man; but free or fettered it made little difference to him at that time, for the parting with Torfrida, and the oath drawn from him, had well nigh broken his heart. And much he longed to pick a quarrel with Osbert and his cousin Edgar. Osbert himself was sullen, for that his plan had been thwarted by Duncan’s cunning, and, moreover, he found himself of smaller count with the king. For Penda now showed much favour to Feargus, as if to atone to him somewhat; for the things which Duncan had said in his wrath had opened the king’s eyes and he no longer so fully trusted Osbert. But the thane had a large following, as had his cousin, and was, moreover, a leader of great skill, being, after Feargus, the first captain of all his host, and the king could not throw over so powerful an ally. So Penda and Feargus became friends as ever, but Duncan and his men never forgave the king for his treatment of their chief, though they kept their anger to themselves. At this time Penda went out once more against the Christians, and marched into East Anglia, and there slew its king, Anna, and laid its lands waste, giving its cities to the flames. In all this work Feargus had a hand, and he was grieved thereat.

It chanced when the Mercians had returned to their own land word came that Oswy, king of Northumbria, was arming, and that Sigmund and many another king had joined him. So Penda had hardly won home before he made ready to meet them, but, when they were marching forth, there came messengers in great haste, saying that the kings feared to attack him and had turned them back to seek their own lands. So the fame of Penda reached through all the breadth of the land, and his rule was felt even as far to the south as London.

So there was peace, and Feargus, finding his work done, dwelt more upon the memory of Torfrida, till one day as he was riding the desire to see her came so strongly upon him that for a moment he wavered, and was for starting off there and then to seek her, but he minded him of his oath to Penda. And he wrung his hands in despair, and once more set aside the thought, but a great gloom sat still upon him so that he was no longer bright or merry, but walked ever like one in trouble. They were staying at that time at Nottingham, and one night he arose and donned his minstrel’s garb and took down his harp, and said he—

“Why should I, for promise wrung from me through my enemy when she lay near to death, not see her more, whom not to see is worse than death—oh, cruel promise! And what can Penda ask as forfeit should I break my oath—life? Why an he denies me love he may take it, for without Torfrida life were of little worth. Now shall I break that oath though all the world henceforth call me liar and traitor. Alas! I that never broke oath or promise—I who have served my master, and fought against Christ rather than desert my king and so break the oath I swore to him and my father. Alas! that I should have seen the day; it were better to die, and yet will I not die, so long as Torfrida lives, but will even now see her. Come, sword, thou wilt carve a way to men’s hearts, whether thy master be traitor or true.”

So taking his claymore[5] in his hand he went out and found Duncan, trusting him with his secret, and Duncan said no word of dispraise, but smiled and said, “May the gods speed thee.”