His face had sobered as he listened; before the first echo had died away he
had spoken swiftly to the fellow at his side. "Celric, get you down to the
guard at the gate and inquire into the meaning of that."
When the henchman had left, he began a sharp questioning of the sentinel, and
the noise did not begin again. Whispering, the women drew together like herded
sheep; and the men left their barley beer, to stand in little groups,
muttering in one another's ears. An old bowman took his weapon down from the
wall and set silently to work to restring it.
In the quiet, the tap of the man's feet upon the steps was audible long before
he reached the waiting roomful. Every eye fastened itself upon the curtained
doorway.
Swinging back, the arras disclosed a face full of amazement. "Lord," the man
said, "it is Danes! None know how many or how they came there. And their chief
has sent you a messenger."
"Danes!" For the first time in the history of Ivarsdale, the word was spoken
with an accent of relief.
The page turned from the fire with a cry of bitter rejoicing: "If it is
Canute, I will go to him!"
In the revulsion of his feelings, the Etheling laughed outright. "Since it is
not Edmund, I care not if it be the Evil One himself; and it cannot be he, for
Canute is in Mercia." He rose and faced them cheerily. "Lay aside your
uneasiness, friends; it is likely only such another band as we put to flight
last month, that hopes to surprise us into some weakness.
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