Only a few thralls were about, and the cook himself had gone into
the town.
"Here is our brother," I said, "and there is somewhat wrong."
He came moodily up to us, and sat him down, saying nothing, and he
leaned his head on his hands for a while.
"What is amiss, brother?" said Withelm.
"Wait," he answered. "I will think before I speak."
I could see that this was not the old puzzlement, but something new and
heavy, so we held our peace. Long was he before he moved or spoke, and
when he did so it was wearily.
"Well knew I that somewhat was to happen to me in this town, even as I
told you, brother, when we first passed its gates. And now it seems to
be coming to pass. For this is what is on me, as it seems to me--
either that I must see the light of day no more, or must live to be a
scorn and sorrow to one for whom it were meet that a man should die."
"Surely the black dream is on you, my brother! Neither of these things
can be for you!" I cried.
"Would that it were the dream, for that is not all of sorrow, and that
also is of things so long past that they are forgotten. I can bear that,
for your voice always drives it away. But now the hand of Alsi the king
is on me for some ill of his own--"
"Stay," said Withelm. "Let us go out and speak, if that name is to be
heard. It were safer."
"Less safe, brother," answered Havelok.
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