Like blowing flowers, the women bent before him,
and the naked swords of his nobles made a glittering arch above him.
"But why does he look so strange?" Randalin said suddenly.
And Dearwyn laid a finger on her lip. "Hush! At last he is going to speak."
For now it was plain that Canute's attention was given neither to the nobles
nor to the fluttering women. He was bending toward the messenger, holding him
with his glance. "Tell more news, messenger," he was saying sternly. "Tell
about the cause of my royal brother's death."
The messenger seemed to lose what little breath his ride on the shoulders of
the crowd had left him. "My errand extends no further," he panted. "It is
likely that the Earl will send you more news--I am but the first--" His breath
gave out in an inarticulate gasp, and he began to back away.
But the King moved after him. "Stop--" he commanded,--"or it may be that I
will cause you to remain quiet for the rest of time. You must know what
separated his life from his body. Tell it."
Stammering with terror, the man fell upon his knees. "Dispenser of treasures,
how should I know? The babblings of the ignorant durst not be repeated. Many
say that the Ironside was worn sick with fighting."
"You lie!" Canute roared down upon him. "You know they say that Edric murdered
him."
At that, the poor fool seemed to cast to the winds his last shred of sense.
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