Elfgiva chimed her bell-like laughter. "I will not deny that you pay liberally
for my trouble, sweet. Does it not add spice to her stories, maidens, to see
her habited thus? She looks like one of the fairy lords Teboen is wont to sing
of."
"She holds her head like Emma of Normandy," the King said absently.
In wide-eyed surprise, Elfgiva looked up at him. "Ethelred's widow? Never did
I hear that you had seen her! Why has this been passed over in silence? I have
abundance of questions to ask about her garments and her appearance. When saw
you her? And where?"
Canute stirred uneasily. "It is not worth a hearing. I spoke but a few words
with her, about ransoms, the time that I sat before London. And I remember
only that her bearing was noble and her countenance most handsome, such as I
had never seen before, nor did I think that there could be any woman so
queenlike." Because he did not choose to say more, or because some wrinkle in
Elfgiva's satin brow warned him off, he turned hastily to another topic.
"Foolishly do we linger, when we have none too much time to get to covert. Do
you still want your way about accompanying us? I have warned you that a boar
hunt is little like hawking; nor do Northmen stand in one spot and wait for
game to come to them."
"I hold to it with both hands," the lady returned with a gayety which had in
it a touch of defiance.
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