Hereward, the Last of the English

  CHAPTER I.

  HOW HEREWARD WAS OUTLAWED, AND WENT NORTH TO SEEK HIS FORTUNES.

  Known to all is Lady Godiva, the most beautiful as well as the mostsaintly woman of her day; who, "all her life, kept at her own expensethirteen poor folk wherever she went; who, throughout Lent, watched inthe church at triple matins, namely, one for the Trinity, one for theCross, and one for St. Mary; who every day read the Psalter through, andso persevered in good and holy works to her life's end,"--the "devotedfriend of St. Mary, ever a virgin," who enriched monasteries withoutnumber,--Leominster, Wenlock, Chester, St. Mary's Stow by Lincoln,Worcester, Evesham; and who, above all, founded the great monastery inthat town of Coventry, which has made her name immortal for another anda far nobler deed; and enriched it so much "that no monastery in Englandpossessed such abundance of gold, silver, jewels, and precious stones,"beside that most precious jewel of all, the arm of St. Augustine, whichnot Lady Godiva, but her friend, Archbishop Ethelnoth, presented toCoventry, "having bought it at Pavia for a hundred talents of silver anda talent of gold." [Footnote: William of Malmesbury.]

  Less known, save to students, is her husband, Leofric the great Earlof Mercia and Chester, whose bones lie by those of Godiva in that sameminster of Coventry; how "his counsel was as if one had opened theDivine oracles"; very "wise," says the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, "forGod and for the world, which was a blessing to all this nation"; thegreatest man, save his still greater rival, Earl Godwin, in Edward theConfessor's court.

  Less known, again, are the children of that illustrious pair: Algar,or Alfgar, Earl of Mercia after his father, who died, after a short andstormy life, leaving two sons, Edwin and Morcar, the fair and haplessyoung earls, always spoken of together, as if they had been twins; adaughter, Aldytha, or Elfgiva, married first (according to some) toGriffin, King of North Wales, and certainly afterwards to Harold, Kingof England; and another, Lucia (as the Normans at least called her),whose fate was, if possible, more sad than that of her brothers.

  Their second son was Hereward, whose history this tale sets forth; theirthird and youngest, a boy whose name is unknown.

  They had, probably, another daughter beside; married, it may be, tosome son of Leofric's stanch friend old Siward Biorn, the Viking Earl ofNorthumberland, and conqueror of Macbeth; and the mother, may be, of thetwo young Siwards, the "white" and the "red," who figure in chronicleand legend as the nephews of Hereward. But this pedigree is little morethan a conjecture.

  Be these things as they may, Godiva was the greatest lady in England,save two: Edith, Harold's sister, the nominal wife of Edward theConfessor; and Githa, or Gyda, as her own Danes called her, Harold'smother, niece of Canute the Great. Great was Godiva; and might have beenproud enough, had she been inclined to that pleasant sin. And even then(for there is a skeleton, they say, in every house) she carried thatabout her which might well keep her humble; namely, shame at themisconduct of Hereward, her son.

  Her favorite residence, among the many manors and "villas," or farmswhich Leofric possessed, was neither the stately hall at Loughton byBridgenorth, nor the statelier castle of Warwick, but the house ofBourne in South Lincolnshire, between the great woods of the Bruneswaldand the great level of the fens. It may have been her own paternaldowry, and have come down to her in right of her Danish ancestors,and that great and "magnificent" Jarl Oslac, from whom she derived herall-but-royal blood. This is certain, that Leofric, her husband, wentin East Anglia by the name of Leofric, Lord of Bourne; that, as DomesdayBook testifies, his son Alfgar, and his grandson Morcar, held largelands there and thereabout. Alfgar's name, indeed, still lives in thevillage of Algar-Kirk; and Lady Godiva, and Algar after her, enrichedwith great gifts Crowland, the island sanctuary, and Peterborough, whereBrand, either her brother or Leofric's, was a monk, and in due time anabbot.

  The house of Bourne, as far as it can be reconstructed by imagination,was altogether unlike one of the tall and gloomy Norman castles whichtwenty years later reared their evil donjons over England. It was muchmore like a house in a Chinese painting; an irregular group of lowbuildings, almost all of one story, stone below and timber above, withhigh-peaked roofs,--at least in the more Danish country,--affording aseparate room, or rather house, for each different need of the family.Such a one may be seen in the illuminations of the century. In thecentre of the building is the hall, with door or doors opening out intothe court; and sitting thereat, at the top of a flight of steps, thelord and lady, dealing clothes to the naked and bread to the hungry. Onone side of the hall is a chapel; by it a large room or "bower" for theladies; behind the hall a round tower, seemingly the strong place ofthe whole house; on the other side a kitchen; and stuck on to bower,kitchen, and every other principal building, lean-to after lean-to, theuses of which it is impossible now to discover. The house had grown withthe wants of the family,--as many good old English houses have done tothis day. Round it would be scattered barns and stables, in which groomsand herdsmen slept side by side with their own horses and cattle; andoutside all, the "yard," "garth," or garden-fence, high earth-bank withpalisades on top, which formed a strong defence in time of war. Such wasmost probably the "villa," "ton," or "town" of Earl Leofric, the Lordof Bourne, the favorite residence of Godiva,--once most beautiful, andstill most holy, according to the holiness of those old times.

  Now on a day--about the year 1054--while Earl Siward was helping tobring Birnam wood to Dunsinane, to avenge his murdered brother-in-law,Lady Godiva sat, not at her hall door, dealing food and clothing toher thirteen poor folk, but in her bower, with her youngest son, atwo-years' boy, at her knee. She was listening with a face of shame andhorror to the complaint of Herluin, Steward of Peterborough, who hadfallen in that afternoon with Hereward and his crew of "housecarles."

  To keep a following of stout housecarles, or men-at-arms, was the prideas well as the duty of an Anglo-Danish Lord, as it was, till lately, ofa Scoto-Danish Highland Laird. And Hereward, in imitation of his fatherand his elder brother, must needs have his following from the time hewas but fifteen years old. All the unruly youths of the neighborhood,sons of free "holders," who owed some sort of military service to EarlLeofric; Geri, his cousin; Winter, whom he called his brother-in-arms;the Wulfrics, the Wulfards, the Azers, and many another wild blade, hadbanded themselves round a young nobleman more unruly than themselves.Their names were already a terror to all decent folk, at wakes andfairs, alehouses and village sports. They atoned, be it remembered, fortheir early sins by making those names in after years a terror to theinvaders of their native land: but as yet their prowess was limited todrunken brawls and faction-fights; to upsetting old women at their work,levying blackmail from quiet chapmen on the high road, or bringing backin triumph, sword in hand and club on shoulder, their leader Herewardfrom some duel which his insolence had provoked.

  But this time, if the story of the sub-prior was to be believed,Hereward and his housecarles had taken an ugly stride forward toward thepit. They had met him riding along, intent upon his psalter, in a lonelypath of the Bruneswald,--"Whereon your son, most gracious lady, bade mestand, saying that his men were thirsty and he had no money to buy alewithal, and none so likely to help him thereto as a fat priest,--for sohe scandalously termed me, who, as your ladyship knows, am leaner thanthe minster bell-ropes, with fasting Wednesdays and Fridays throughoutthe year, beside the vigils of the saints, and the former and latterLents.

  "But when he saw who I was, as if inspired by a malignant spirit, heshouted out my name, and bade his companions throw me to the ground."

  "Throw you to the ground?" shuddered the Lady Godiva.

  "In much mire, madam. After which he took my palfrey, saying thatheaven's gate was too lowly for men on horseback to get in thereat; andthen my marten's fur gloves and cape which your gracious self bestowedon me, alleging that the rules of my order allowed only one garment,and no furs save catskins and such like. And lastly--I tremble while Irelate, thinking not of the loss of my poor money, but the loss of animmortal soul--took from
me a purse with sixteen silver pennies, whichI had collected from our tenants for the use of the monastery, and said,blasphemously, that I and mine had swindled your ladyship, and thereforehim, your son, out of many a fair manor ere now; and it was but fairthat he should tithe the rents thereof, as he should never get thelands out of our claws again; with more of the like, which I blush torepeat,--and so left me to trudge hither in the mire."

  "Wretched boy!" said the Lady Godiva, and hid her face in her hands;"and more wretched I, to have brought such a son into the world!"

  The monk had hardly finished his doleful story, when there was apattering of heavy feet, a noise of men shouting and laughing outside,and a voice, above all, calling for the monk by name, which made thatgood man crouch behind the curtain of Lady Godiva's bed. The next momentthe door of the bower was thrown violently open, and in walked,or rather reeled, a noble lad eighteen years old. His face was ofextraordinary beauty, save that the lower jaw was too long and heavy,and that his eyes wore a strange and almost sinister expression, fromthe fact that the one of them was gray and the other blue. He was short,but of immense breadth of chest and strength of limb; while his delicatehands and feet and long locks of golden hair marked him of most noble,and even, as he really was, of ancient royal race. He was dressed in agaudy costume, resembling on the whole that of a Highland chieftain. Hisknees, wrists, and throat were tattoed in bright blue patterns; and hecarried sword and dagger, a gold ring round his neck, and gold rings onhis wrists. He was a lad to have gladdened the eyes of any mother: butthere was no gladness in the Lady Godiva's eyes as she received him; norhad there been for many a year. She looked on him with sternness,--withall but horror; and he, his face flushed with wine, which he had tossedoff as he passed through the hall to steady his nerves for thecoming storm, looked at her with smiling defiance, the result of longestrangement between mother and son.

  "Well, my lady," said he, ere she could speak, "I heard that this goodfellow was here, and came home as fast as I could, to see that he toldyou as few lies as possible."

  "He has told me," said she, "that you have robbed the Church of God."

  "Robbed him, it may be, an old hoody crow, against whom I have a grudgeof ten years' standing."

  "Wretched, wretched boy! What wickedness next? Know you not, that he whorobs the Church robs God himself?"

  "And he who harms God's people," put in the monk from behind the chair,"harms his Maker."

  "His Maker?" said the lad, with concentrated bitterness. "It would be agay world, if the Maker thereof were in any way like unto you, whocall yourselves his people. Do you remember who told them to set thepeat-stack on fire under me ten years ago? Ah, ha, Sir Monk, you forgetthat I have been behind the screen,--that I have been a monk myself, orshould have been one, if my pious lady mother here had had her willof me, as she may if she likes of that doll there at her knee. Do youforget why I left Peterborough Abbey, when Winter and I turned all yourpriest's books upside down in the choir, and they would have floggedus,--me, the Earl's son,--me, the Viking's son,--me, the champion, as Iwill be yet, and make all lands ring with the fame of my deeds, as theyrung with the fame of my forefathers, before they became the slaves ofmonks; and how when Winter and I got hold of the kitchen spits, and upto the top of the peat-stack, and held you all at bay there, a wholeabbeyful of cowards there, against two seven years' children? It was youbade set the peat-stack alight under us, and so bring us down; and wouldhave done it, too, had it not been for my Uncle Brand, the only man thatI care for in this wide world. Do you think I have not owed you a grudgeever since that day, monk? And do you think I will not pay it? Do youthink I would not have burned Peterborough minster over your head beforenow, had it not been for Uncle Brand's sake? See that I do not do ityet. See that when there is another Prior in Borough you do not findHereward the Berserker smoking you out some dark night, as he wouldsmoke a wasps' nest. And I will, by--"

  "Hereward, Hereward!" cried his mother, "godless, god-forgotten boy,what words are these? Silence, before you burden your soul with an oathwhich the devils in hell will accept, and force you to keep!" and shesprung up, and, seizing his arm, laid her hand upon his mouth.

  Hereward looked at her majestic face, once lovely, now careworn, andtrembled for a moment. Had there been any tenderness in it, his historymight have been a very different one; but alas! there was none. Notthat she was in herself untender; but that her great piety (call it notsuperstition, for it was then the only form known or possible to pureand devout souls) was so outraged by this, or even by the slightestinsult to that clergy whose willing slave she had become, that the onlymethod of reclaiming the sinner had been long forgotten, in genuinehorror at his sin. "Is it not enough," she went on, sternly, "that youshould have become the bully and the ruffian of all the fens?--thatHereward the leaper, Hereward the wrestler, Hereward the thrower of thehammer--sports, after all, only fit for the sons of slaves--should bealso Hereward the drunkard, Hereward the common fighter, Hereward thebreaker of houses, Hereward the leader of mobs of boon companionswhich bring back to us, in shame and sorrow, the days when our heathenforefathers ravaged this land with fire and sword? Is it not enough forme that my son should be a common stabber--?"

  "Whoever called me stabber to you, lies. If I have killed men, or hadthem killed, I have done it in fair fight."

  But she went on unheeding,--"Is it not enough, that, after havingsquandered on your fellows all the money that you could wring from mybounty, or win at your brutal sports, you should have robbed your ownfather, collected his rents behind his back, taken money and goods fromhis tenants by threats and blows; but that, after outraging them, youmust add to all this a worse sin likewise,--outraging God, and drivingme--me who have borne with you, me who have concealed all for yoursake--to tell your father that of which the very telling will turn myhair to gray?"

  "So you will tell my father?" said Hereward, coolly.

  "And if I should not, this monk himself is bound to do so, or hissuperior, your Uncle Brand."

  "My Uncle Brand will not, and your monk dare not."

  "Then I must. I have loved you long and well; but there is one thingwhich I must love better than you: and that is, my conscience and myMaker."

  "Those are two things, my lady mother, and not one; so you had betternot confound them. As for the latter, do you not think that He who madethe world is well able to defend his own property,--if the lands andhouses and cattle and money which these men wheedle and threaten andforge out of you and my father are really His property, and not merelytheir plunder? As for your conscience, my lady mother, really you havedone so many good deeds in your life, that it might be beneficial to youto do a bad one once in a way, so as to keep your soul in a wholesomestate of humility."

  The monk groaned aloud. Lady Godiva groaned; but it was inwardly.There was silence for a moment. Both were abashed by the lad's uttershamelessness.

  "And you will tell my father?" said he again. "He is at the oldmiracle-worker's court at Westminster. He will tell the miracle-worker,and I shall be outlawed."

  "And if you be, wretched boy, whom have you to blame but yourself? Canyou expect that the king, sainted even as he is before his death, darepass over such an atrocity towards Holy Church?"

  "Blame? I shall blame no one. Pass over? I hope he will notpass over it, I only want an excuse like that for turningkempery-man--knight-errant, as those Norman puppies call it,--likeRegnar Lodbrog, or Frithiof, or Harold Hardraade; and try what mancan do for himself in the world with nothing to help him in heaven andearth, with neither saint nor angel, friend or counsellor, to see tohim, save his wits and his good sword. So send off the messenger, goodmother mine: and I will promise you I will not have him ham-strung onthe way, as some of my housecarles would do for me if I but held up myhand; and let the miracle-monger fill up the measure of his folly, bymaking an enemy of one more bold fellow in the world."

  And he swaggered out of the room.

  And when he was gone, the Lady Godiva bowed her hea
d into her lap andwept long and bitterly. Neither her maidens nor the priest dare speakto her for nigh an hour; but at the end of that time she lifted up herhead, and settled her face again, till it was like that of a marblesaint over a minster door; and called for ink and paper, and wrote herletter; and then asked for a trusty messenger who should carry it up toWestminster.

  "None so swift or sure," said the house steward, "as Martin Lightfoot."

  Lady Godiva shook her head. "I mistrust that man," she said. "He is toofond of my poor--of the Lord Hereward."

  "He is a strange one, my lady, and no one knows whence he came, and,I sometimes fancy, whither he may go either; but ever since my lordthreatened to hang him for talking with my young master, he has neverspoken to him, nor scarcely, indeed, to living soul. And one thing thereis makes him or any man sure, as long as he is well paid; and that is,that he cares for nothing in heaven or earth save himself and what hecan get."

  So Martin Lightfoot was sent for. He came in straight into the lady'sbedchamber, after the simple fashion of those days. He was a tall, lean,bony man, as was to be expected from his nickname, with a long hookednose, a scanty brown beard, and a high conical head. His only garmentwas a shabby gray woollen tunic, which served him both as coat and kilt,and laced brogues of untanned hide. He might have been any age fromtwenty to forty; but his face was disfigured with deep scars and longexposure to the weather. He dropped on one knee, holding his greasy capin his hand, and looked, not at his lady's face, but at her feet, with astupid and frightened expression. She knew very little of him, savethat her husband had picked him up upon the road as a wanderer some fiveyears since; and that he had been employed as a doer of odd jobs andrunner of messages, and that he was supposed, from his taciturnity andstrangeness, to have something uncanny about him.

  "Martin," said the lady, "they tell me that you are a silent and aprudent man."

  "That am I. 'Tongue speaketh bane, Though she herself hath nane.'"

  "I shall try you: do you know your way to London?"

  "Yes."

  "To your lord's lodgings in Westminster?"

  "Yes."

  "How long shall you be going there with this letter?"

  "A day and a half."

  "When shall you be back hither?"

  "On the fourth day."

  "And you will go to my lord and deliver this letter safely?"

  "Yes, your Majesty."

  "Why do you call me Majesty? The King is Majesty."

  "You are my Queen."

  "What do you mean, man?"

  "You can hang me."

  "I hang thee, poor soul! Who did I ever hang, or hurt for a moment, if Icould help it?"

  "But the Earl may."

  "He will neither hang nor hurt thee if thou wilt take this lettersafely, and bring me back the answer safely."

  "They will kill me."

  "Who?"

  "They," said Martin, pointing to the bower maidens,--young ladies ofgood family who stood round, chosen for their good looks, after thefashion of those times, to attend on great ladies. There was a cry ofangry and contemptuous denial, not unmixed with something like laughter,which showed that Martin had but spoken the truth. Hereward, in spite ofall his sins, was the darling of his mother's bower; and there was notone of the damsels but would have done anything short of murder to haveprevented Martin carrying the letter.

  "Silence, man!" said Lady Godiva, so sternly that Martin saw that he hadgone too far. "How know'st such as thou what is in this letter?"

  "Those others will know," said Martin, sullenly, without answering thelast question.

  "Who?"

  "His housecarles outside there."

  "He has promised that they shall not touch thee. But how knowest thouwhat is in this letter?"

  "I will take it," said Martin: he held out his hand, took it and lookedat it, but upside down, and without any attempt to read it.

  "His own mother," said he, after a while.

  "What is that to thee?" said Lady Godiva, blushing and kindling.

  "Nothing: I had no mother. But God has one!"

  "What meanest thou, knave? Wilt thou take the letter or no?"

  "I will take it." And he again looked at it without rising off his knee."His own father, too."

  "What is that to thee, I say again?"

  "Nothing: I have no father. But God's Son has one!"

  "What wilt thou, thou strange man?" asked she, puzzled andhalf-frightened; "and how camest thou to know what is in this letter?"

  "Who does not know? A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. On thefourth day from this I will be back."

  And Martin rose, and putting the letter solemnly into the purse at hisgirdle, shot out of the door with clenched teeth, as a man upon a fixedpurpose which it would lighten his heart to carry out. He ran rapidlythrough the large outer hall, past the long oak table, at which Herewardand his boon companions were drinking and roistering; and as he passedthe young lord he cast on him a look so full of meaning, that thoughHereward knew not what the meaning was, it startled him, and for amoment softened him. Did this man who had sullenly avoided him for morethan two years, whom he had looked on as a clod or a post in the fieldbeneath his notice, since he could be of no use to him,--did this manstill care for him? Hereward had reason to know better than most thatthere was something strange and uncanny about the man. Did he mean himwell? Or had he some grudge against him, which made him undertake thisjourney willingly and out of spite?--possibly with the will to make badworse. For an instant Hereward's heart misgave him. He would stop theletter at all risks. "Hold him!" he cried to his comrades.

  But Martin turned to him, laid his finger on his lips, smiled kindly,and saying "You promised!" caught up a loaf from the table, slippedfrom among them like an eel, and darted out of the door, and out ofthe close. They followed him to the great gate, and there stopped, somecursing, some laughing. To give Martin Lightfoot a yard advantage wasnever to come up with him again. Some called for bows to bring himdown with a parting shot. But Hereward forbade them; and stood leaningagainst the gate-post, watching him trot on like a lean wolf over thelawn, till he was lost in the great elm-woods which fringed the southernfen.

  "Now, lads," said Hereward, "home with you all, and make your peace withyour fathers. In this house you never drink ale again."

  They looked at him, surprised.

  "You are disbanded, my gallant army. As long as I could cut long thongsout of other men's hides, I could feed you like earl's sons: but now Imust feed myself; and a dog over his bone wants no company. Outlawed Ishall be before the week is out; and unless you wish to be outlawed too,you will obey orders, and home."

  "We will follow you to the world's end," cried some.

  "To the rope's end, lads: that is all you will get in my company. Gohome with you, and those who feel a calling, let them turn monks; andthose who have not, let them learn

  'For to plough and to sow, And to reap and to mow, And to be a farmer's boy.'

  Good night."

  And he went in, and shut the great gates after him, leaving themastonished.

  To take his advice, and go home, was the simplest thing to be done. Afew of them on their return were soundly thrashed, and deserved it;a few were hidden by their mothers for a week, in hay-lofts andhen-roosts, till their father's anger had passed away. But only oneturned monk or clerk, and that was Leofric the Unlucky, godson of thegreat earl, and poet-in-ordinary to the band.

  The next morning at dawn Hereward mounted his best horse, armed himselffrom head to foot, and rode over to Peterborough.

  When he came to the abbey-gate, he smote thereon with his lance-but,till the porter's teeth rattled in his head for fear.

  "Let me in!" he shouted. "I am Hereward Leofricsson. I must see my UncleBrand."

  "O my most gracious lord!" cried the porter, thrusting his head out ofthe wicket, "what is this that you have been doing to our Steward?"

  "The tithe of what I will do,
unless you open the gate!"

  "O my lord!" said the porter, as he opened it, "if our Lady and St.Peter would but have mercy on your fair face, and convert your soul tothe fear of God and man--"

  "She would make me as good an old fool as you. Fetch my uncle, thePrior."

  The porter obeyed. The son of Earl Leofric was as a young lion among thesheep in those parts; and few dare say him nay, certainly not themonks of Peterborough; moreover, the good porter could not help beingstrangely fond of Hereward--as was every one whom he did not insult,rob, or kill.

  Out came Brand, a noble elder: more fit, from his eye and gait, to be aknight than a monk. He looked sadly at Hereward.

  "'Dear is bought the honey that is licked off the thorn,' quothHending," said he.

  "Hending bought his wisdom by experience, I suppose," said Hereward,"and so must I. So I am just starting out to see the world, uncle."

  "Naughty, naughty boy! If we had thee safe here again for a week, wewould take this hot blood out of thee, and send thee home in thy rightmind."

  "Bring a rod and whip me, then. Try, and you shall have your chance.Every one else has had, and this is the end of their labors."

  "By the chains of St. Peter," quoth the monk, "that is just what thouneedest. Hoist thee on such another fool's back, truss thee up, and layit on lustily, till thou art ashamed. To treat thee as a man is only tomake thee a more heady blown-up ass than thou art already."

  "True, most wise uncle. And therefore my still wiser parents are goingto treat me like a man indeed, and send me out into the world to seek myfortunes!"

  "Eh?"

  "They are going to prove how thoroughly they trust me to take care ofmyself, by outlawing me. Eh? say I in return. Is not that an honor,and a proof that I have not shown myself a fool, though I may have amadman?"

  "Outlaw you? O my boy, my darling, my pride! Get off your horse, anddon't sit there, hand on hip, like a turbaned Saracen, defying God andman; but come down and talk reason to me, for the sake of St. Peter andall saints."

  Hereward threw himself off his horse, and threw his arms round hisuncle's neck.

  "Pish! Now, uncle, don't cry, do what you will, lest I cry too. Help meto be a man while I live, even if I go to the black place when I die."

  "It shall not be!" .... and the monk swore by all the relics inPeterborough minster.

  "It must be. It shall be. I like to be outlawed. I want to be outlawed.It makes one feel like a man. There is not an earl in England, save myfather, who has not been outlawed in his time. My brother Alfgar will beoutlawed before he dies, if he has the spirit of a man in him. It is thefashion, my uncle, and I must follow it. So hey for the merry greenwood,and the long ships, and the swan's bath, and all the rest of it. Uncle,you will lend me fifty silver pennies?"

  "I? I would not lend thee one, if I had it, which I have not. And yet,old fool that I am, I believe I would."

  "I would pay thee back honestly. I shall go down to Constantinople tothe Varangers, get my Polotaswarf [Footnote: See "The Heimskringla,"Harold Hardraade's Saga, for the meaning of this word.] out of theKaiser's treasure, and pay thee back five to one."

  "What does this son of Belial here?" asked an austere voice.

  "Ah! Abbot Leofric, my very good lord. I have come to ask hospitality ofyou for some three days. By that time I shall be a wolf's head, and outof the law: and then, if you will give me ten minutes' start, you mayput your bloodhounds on my track, and see which runs fastest, they orI. You are a gentleman, and a man of honor; so I trust to you to feed myhorse fairly the meanwhile, and not to let your monks poison me."

  The Abbot's face relaxed. He tried to look as solemn as he could; but heended in bursting into a very great laughter, and swearing likewise.

  "The insolence of this lad passes the miracles of all saints. He robsSt. Peter on the highway, breaks into his abbey, insults him to hisface, and then asks him for hospitality; and--"

  "And gets it," quoth Hereward.

  "What is to be done with him, Brand, my friend? If we turn him out--"

  "Which we cannot do," said Brand, looking at the well-mailed and armedlad, "without calling in half a dozen of our men-at-arms."

  "In which case there would be blood shed, and scandal made in the holyprecincts."

  "And nothing gained; for yield he would not till he was killed outright,which God forbid!"

  "Amen. And if he stay here, he may be persuaded to repentance."

  "And restitution."

  "As for that," quoth Hereward (who had remounted his horse fromprudential motives, and set him athwart the gateway, so that there wasno chance of the doors being slammed behind him), "if either of you willlend me sixteen pence, I will pay it back to you and St. Peter before Idie, with interest enough to satisfy any Jew, on the word of a gentlemanand an earl's son."

  The Abbot burst again into a great laughter. "Come in, thou gracelessrenegade, and we will see to thee and thy horse; and I will pray to St.Peter; and I doubt not he will have patience with thee, for he is verymerciful; and after all, thy parents have been exceeding good to us, andthe righteousness of the father, like his sins, is sometimes visited onthe children."

  Now, why were the two ecclesiastics so uncanonically kind to this wickedyouth?

  Perhaps because both the old bachelors were wishing from their heartsthat they had just such a son of their own. And beside, Earl Leofricwas a very great man indeed; and the wind might change; for it is anunstable world.

  "Only, mind, one thing," said the naughty boy, as he dismounted, andhalloed to a lay-brother to see to his horse,--"don't let me see theface of that Herluin."

  "And why? You have wronged him, and he will forgive you, doubtless, likea good Christian as he is."

  "That is his concern. But if I see him, I cut off his head. And, asUncle Brand knows, I always sleep with my sword under my pillow."

  "O that such a mother should have borne such a son." groaned the Abbot,as they went in.

  On the fifth day came Martin Lightfoot, and found Hereward in PriorBrand's private cell.

  "Well?" asked Hereward coolly.

  "Is he--? Is he--?" stammered Brand, and could not finish his sentence.

  Martin nodded.

  Hereward laughed,--a loud, swaggering, hysterical laugh.

  "See what it is to be born of just and pious parents. Come, MasterTrot-alone, speak out and tell us all about it. Thy lean wolf's legshave run to some purpose. Open thy lean wolf's mouth and speak for once,lest I ease thy legs for the rest of thy life by a cut across the hams.Find thy lost tongue, I say!"

  "Walls have ears, as well as the wild-wood," said Martin.

  "We are safe here," said the Prior; "so speak, and tell us the wholetruth."

  "Well, when the Earl read the letter, he turned red, and pale again,and then naught but, 'Men, follow me to the King at Westminster.' Sowe went, all with our weapons, twenty or more, along the Strand, and upinto the King's new hall; and a grand hall it is, but not easy to getinto, for the crowd of monks and beggars on the stairs, hindering honestfolks' business. And there sat the King on a high settle, with his pinkface and white hair, looking as royal as a bell-wether new washed; andon either side of him, on the same settle, sat the old fox and the youngwolf."

  "Godwin and Harold? And where was the Queen?"

  "Sitting on a stool at his feet, with her hands together as if shewere praying, and her eyes downcast, as demure as any cat. And so isfulfilled the story, how the sheep-dog went out to get married, and leftthe fox, the wolf, and the cat to guard the flock."

  "If thou hast found thy tongue," said Brand, "thou art like enough tolose it again by slice of knife, talking such ribaldry of dignities.Dost not know"--and he sank his voice--"that Abbot Leofric is EarlHarold's man, and that Harold himself made him abbot?"

  "I said, walls have ears. It was you who told me that we were safe.However, I will bridle the unruly one." And he went on. "And your fatherwalked up the hall, his left hand on his sword-hilt, looking an earl allover, as
he is."

  "He is that," said Hereward, in a low voice.

  "And he bowed; and the most magnificent, powerful, and virtuous Godwinwould have beckoned him up to sit on the high settle; but he lookedstraight at the King, as if there were never a Godwin or a Godwinsson onearth, and cried as he stood,--

  "'Justice, my Lord the King!'

  "And at that the King turned pale, and said, 'Who? What? O miserableworld! O last days drawing nearer and nearer! O earth, full of violenceand blood! Who has wronged thee now, most dear and noble Earl?'

  "'Justice against my own son.'

  "At that the fox looked at the wolf, and the wolf at the fox; and ifthey did not smile it was not for want of will, I warrant. But yourfather went on, and told all his story; and when he came to yourrobbing master monk,--'O apostate!' cries the bell-wether, 'O spawn ofBeelzebub! excommunicate him, with bell, book, and candle. May he bethrust down with Korah, Balaam, and Iscariot, to the most Stygian pot ofthe sempiternal Tartarus.'

  "And at that your father smiled. 'That is bishops' work,' says he; 'andI want king's work from you, Lord King. Outlaw me this young rebel'ssinful body, as by law you can; and leave his sinful soul to thepriests,--or to God's mercy, which is like to be more than theirs.'

  "Then the Queen looked up. 'Your own son, noble Earl? Think of what youare doing, and one whom all say is so gallant and so fair. O persuadehim, father,--persuade him, Harold my brother,--or, if you cannotpersuade him, persuade the King at least, and save this poor youth fromexile.'"

  "Puss Velvet-paw knew well enough," said Hereward, in a low voice, "thatthe way to harden my father's heart was to set Godwin and Harold onsoftening it. They ask my pardon from the King? I would not take it attheir asking, even if my father would."

  "There spoke a true Leofricsson," said Brand, in spite of himself.

  "'By the--'" (and Martin repeated a certain very solemn oath), "saidyour father, 'justice I will have, my Lord King. Who talks to me of myown son? You put me into my earldom to see justice done and law obeyed;and how shall I make others keep within bound if I am not to keep in myown flesh and blood? Here is this land running headlong to ruin, becauseevery nobleman--ay, every churl who owns a manor, if he dares--mustneeds arm and saddle, and levy war on his own behalf, and harry and slaythe king's lieges, if he have not garlic to his roast goose every timehe chooses,'--and there your father did look at Godwin, once and forall;--'and shall I let my son follow the fashion, and do his best toleave the land open and weak for Norseman, or Dane, or Frenchman, orwhoever else hopes next to mount the throne of a king who is too holy toleave an heir behind him?'"

  "Ahoi! Martin the silent! Where learnt you so suddenly the trade ofpreaching? I thought you kept your wind for your running this two yearspast. You would make as good a talker among the Witan as Godwin himself.You give it us all, word for word, and voice and gesture withal, as ifyou were King Edward's French Chancellor."

  Martin smiled. "I am like Falada the horse, my lords, who could onlyspeak to his own true princess. Why I held my tongue of late wasonly lest they should cut my head off for talking, as they did poorFalada's."

  "Thou art a very crafty knave," said Brand, "and hast had clerk-learningin thy time, I can see, and made bad use of it. I misdoubt very muchthat thou art some runaway monk."

  "That am I not, by St. Peter's chains!" said Martin, in an eager,terrified voice. "Lord Hereward, I came hither as your father'smessenger and servant. You will see me safe out of this abbey, like anhonorable gentleman!"

  "I will. All I know of him, uncle, is that he used to tell me stories,when I was a boy, of enchanters, and knights, and dragons, and suchlike, and got into trouble for filling my head with such fancies. Nowlet him tell his story in peace."

  "He shall; but I misdoubt the fellow very much. He talks as if he knewLatin; and what business has a foot-running slave to do that?"

  So Martin went on, somewhat abashed. "'And,' said your father, 'justiceI will have, and leave injustice, and the overlooking of it, to thosewho wish to profit thereby.'

  "And at that Godwin smiled, and said to the King, 'The Earl is wise, asusual, and speaks like a very Solomon. Your Majesty must, in spite ofyour own tenderness of heart, have these letters of outlawry made out.'

  "Then all our men murmured,--and I as loud as any. But old Surturbrandthe housecarle did more; for out he stepped to your father's side, andspoke right up before the King.

  "'Bonny times,' he said, 'I have lived to see, when a lad of EarlOslac's blood is sent out of the land, a beggar and a wolf's head,for playing a boy's trick or two, and upsetting a shaveling priest!We managed such wild young colts better, we Vikings who conquered theDanelagh. If Canute had had a son like Hereward--as would to God he hadhad!--he would have dealt with him as old Swend Forkbeard (God grant Imeet him in Valhalla, in spite of all priests!) did by Canute himselfwhen he was young, and kicked and plunged awhile at being first bittedand saddled.'

  "'What does the man say?' asked the King, for old Surturbrand wastalking broad Danish.

  "'He is a housecarle of mine, Lord King, a good man and true; but oldage and rough Danish blood has made him forget that he stands beforekings and earls.'

  "'By ----, Earl!' says Surturbrand, 'I have fought knee to knee beside abraver king than that there, and nobler earls than ever a one here; andwas never afraid, like a free Dane, to speak my mind to them, by sea orland. And if the King, with his French ways, does not understand a plainman's talk, the two earls yonder do right well, and I say,--Deal by thislad in the good old fashion. Give him half a dozen long ships, and whatcrews he can get together, and send him out, as Canute would have done,to seek his fortune like a Viking; and if he comes home with plenty ofwounds, and plenty of plunder, give him an earldom as he deserves. Doyou ask your Countess, Earl Godwin:--she is of the right Danish blood,God bless her! though she is your wife,--and see if she does not knowhow to bring a naughty lad to his senses.'

  "Then Harold the Earl said: 'The old man is right. King, listen to whathe says.' And he told him all, quite eagerly."

  "How did you know that? Can you understand French?"

  "I am a poor idiot, give me a halfpenny," said Martin, in a dolefulvoice, as he threw into his face and whole figure a look of helplessstupidity and awkwardness, which set them both laughing.

  But Hereward checked himself. "And you think he was in earnest?"

  "As sure as there are holy crows in Crowland. But it was of no use. Yourfather got a parchment, with an outlandish Norman seal hanging to it,and sent me off with it that same night to give to the lawman. So wolf'shead you are, my lord, and there is no use crying over spilt milk."

  "And Harold spoke for me? It will be as well to tell Abbot Leofric that,in case he be inclined to turn traitor, and refuse to open the gates.Once outside them, I care not for mortal man."

  "My poor boy, there will be many a one whom thou hast wronged only tooready to lie in wait for thee, now thy life is in every man's hand. Ifthe outlawry is published, thou hadst best start to-night, and get pastLincoln before morning."

  "I shall stay quietly here, and get a good night's rest; and then rideout to-morrow morning in the face of the whole shire. No, not a word!You would not have me sneak away like a coward?"

  Brand smiled and shrugged his shoulders: being very much of the samemind.

  "At least, go north."

  "And why north?"

  "You have no quarrel in Northumberland, and the King's writ runs veryslowly there, if at all. Old Siward Digre may stand your friend."

  "He? He is a fast friend of my father's."

  "What of that? the old Viking will like you none the less for havingshown a touch of his own temper. Go to him, I say, and tell him that Isent you."

  "But he is fighting the Scots beyond the Forth."

  "So much the better. There will be good work for you to do. AndGislebert of Ghent is up there too, I hear, trying to settle himselfamong the Scots. He is your mother's kinsman; and as for your beingan outlaw, he wants hard
hitters and hard riders, and all is fish thatcomes to his net. Find him out, too, and tell him I sent you."

  "You are a good old uncle," said Hereward. "Why were you not a soldier?"

  Brand laughed somewhat sadly.

  "If I had been a soldier, lad, where would you have looked for a friendthis day? No. God has done what was merciful with me and my sins. May hedo the same by thee and thine."

  Hereward made an impatient movement. He disliked any word which seemedlikely to soften his own hardness of heart. But he kissed his unclelovingly on both cheeks.

  "By the by, Martin,--any message from my lady mother?"

  "None!"

  "Quite right and pious. I am an enemy to Holy Church and therefore toher. Good night, uncle."

  "Hey?" asked Brand; "where is that footman,--Martin you call him? I musthave another word with him."

  But Martin was gone.

  "No matter. I shall question him sharply enough to-morrow, I warrant."

  And Hereward went out to his lodging; while the good Prior went to hisprayers.

  When Hereward entered his room, Martin started out of the darkness, andfollowed him in. Then he shut to the door carefully, and pulled out abag.

  "There was no message from my lady: but there was this."

  The bag was full of money.

  "Why did you not tell me of this before?"

  "Never show money before a monk."

  "Villain! would you mistrust my uncle?"

  "Any man with a shaven crown. St. Peter is his God and Lord andconscience; and if he saw but the shine of a penny, for St. Peter hewould want it."

  "And he shall have it," quoth Hereward; and flung out of the room, andinto his uncle's.

  "Uncle, I have money. I am come to pay back what I took fromthe Steward, and as much more into the bargain." And he told outeight-and-thirty pieces.

  "Thank God and all his saints!" cried Brand, weeping abundantly for joy;for he had acquired, by long devotion, the _donum lachrymarum_,--thatlachrymose and somewhat hysterical temperament common among pious monks,and held to be a mark of grace.

  "Blessed St. Peter, thou art repaid; and thou wilt be merciful!"

  Brand believed, in common with all monks then, that Hereward had robbed,not merely the Abbey of Peterborough, but, what was more, St. Peterhimself; thereby converting into an implacable and internecine foe thechief of the Apostles, the rock on which was founded the whole Church.

  "Now, uncle," said Hereward, "do me one good deed in return. Promise methat, if you can help it, none of my poor housecarles shall sufferfor my sins. I led them into trouble. I am punished. I have maderestitution,--at least to St. Peter. See that my father and mother,if they be the Christians they call themselves, forgive and forget alloffences except mine."

  "I will; so help me all saints and our Lord. O my boy, my boy, thoushouldst have been a king's thane, and not an outlaw!"

  And he hurried off with the news to the Abbot.

  When Hereward returned to his room, Martin was gone.

  "Farewell, good men of Peterborough," said Hereward, as he leapt intothe saddle next morning. "I had made a vow against you, and came to tryyou; to see whether you would force me to fulfil it or not. But you havebeen so kind that I have half repented of it; and the evil shall notcome in the days of Abbot Leofric, nor of Brand the Prior, though it maycome in the days of Herluin the Steward, if he live long enough."

  "What do you mean, you incarnate fiend, only fit to worship Thor andOdin?" asked Brand.

  "That I would burn Goldenborough, and Herluin the Steward within it,ere I die. I fear I shall do it; I fear I must do it. Ten years ago comeLammas, Herluin bade light the peat-stack under me. Do you recollect?"

  "And so he did, the hound!" quoth Brand. "I had forgotten that."

  "Little Hereward never forgets foe or friend. Ever since, on Lammasnight,--hold still, horse!--I dream of fire and flame, and ofGoldenborough in the glare of it. If it is written in the big book,happen it must; if not, so much the better for Goldenborough, for it isa pretty place, and honest Englishmen in it. Only see that there be nottoo many Frenchmen crept in when I come back, beside our French friendHerluin; and see, too, that there be not a peat-stack handy: a word isenough to wise men like you. Good by!"

  "God help thee, thou sinful boy!" said the Abbot.

  "Hereward, Hereward! Come back!" cried Brand.

  But the boy had spurred his horse through the gateway, and was far downthe road.

  "Leofric, my friend," said Brand, sadly, "this is my sin, and no man'selse. And heavy penance will I do for it, till that lad returns inpeace."

  "Your sin?"

  "Mine, Abbot. I persuaded his mother to send him hither to be a monk.Alas! alas! How long will men try to be wiser than Him who maketh men?"

  "I do not understand thee," quoth the Abbot. And no more he did.

  It was four o'clock on a May morning, when Hereward set out to see theworld, with good armor on his back, good weapon by his side, good horsebetween his knees, and good money in his purse. What could a lad ofeighteen want more, who under the harsh family rule of those times hadknown nothing of a father's, and but too little of a mother's, love?He rode away northward through the Bruneswald, over the higher land ofLincolnshire, through primeval glades of mighty oak and ash, holly andthorn, swarming with game, which was as highly preserved then as now,under Canute's severe forest laws. The yellow roes stood and stared athim knee-deep in the young fern; the pheasant called his hens out tofeed in the dewy grass; the blackbird and thrush sang out from everybough; the wood-lark trilled above the high oak-tops, and sank down onthem as his song sank down. And Hereward rode on, rejoicing in it all.It was a fine world in the Bruneswald. What was it then outside? Not tohim, as to us, a world circular, sailed round, circumscribed, mapped,botanized, zoologized; a tiny planet about which everybody knows,or thinks they know everything: but a world infinite, magical,supernatural,--because unknown; a vast flat plain reaching no one knewwhence or where, save that the mountains stood on the four cornersthereof to keep it steady, and the four winds of heaven blew out ofthem; and in the centre, which was to him the Bruneswald, such thingsas he saw; but beyond, things unspeakable,--dragons, giants, rocs, orcs,witch-whales, griffins, chimeras, satyrs, enchanters, Paynims, SaracenEmirs and Sultans, Kaisers of Constantinople, Kaisers of Ind and ofCathay, and beyond them again of lands as yet unknown. At the very leasthe could go to Brittany, to the forest of Brocheliaunde, where (so allmen said) fairies might be seen bathing in the fountains, and possiblybe won and wedded by a bold and dexterous knight after the fashion ofSir Gruelan. [Footnote: Wace, author of the "Roman de Rou," went toBrittany a generation later, to see those same fairies: but had nosport; and sang,--

  "Fol i alai, fol m'en revins; Folie quis, por fol me tins"]

  What was there not to be seen and conquered? Where would he go? Wherewould he not go? For the spirit of Odin the Goer, the spirit which hassent his children round the world, was strong within him. He would goto Ireland, to the Ostmen, or Irish Danes men at Dublin, Waterford, orCork, and marry some beautiful Irish Princess with gray eyes, and ravenlocks, and saffron smock, and great gold bracelets from her nativehills. No; he would go off to the Orkneys, and join Bruce and Ranald,and the Vikings of the northern seas, and all the hot blood which hadfound even Norway too hot to hold it; and sail through witch-whales andicebergs to Iceland and Greenland, and the sunny lands which they saidlay even beyond, across the all but unknown ocean. He would go up theBaltic to the Jomsburg Vikings, and fight against Lett and Esthonianheathen, and pierce inland, perhaps, through Puleyn and the bisonforests, to the land from whence came the magic swords and theold Persian coins which he had seen so often in the halls of hisforefathers. No; he would go South, to the land of sun and wine; andsee the magicians of Cordova and Seville; and beard Mussulman houndsworshipping their Mahomets; and perhaps bring home an Emir's daughter,--

  "With more gay gold about her middle, Than would buy half Northumberlee."

>   Or he would go up the Straits, and on to Constantinople and the greatKaiser of the Greeks, and join the Varanger Guard, and perhaps, likeHarold Hardraade in his own days, after being cast to the lion forcarrying off a fair Greek lady, tear out the monster's tongue with hisown hands, and show the Easterns what a Viking's son could do. And as hedreamed of the infinite world and its infinite wonders, the enchantershe might meet, the jewels he might find, the adventures he might essay,he held that he must succeed in all, with hope and wit and a strong arm;and forgot altogether that, mixed up with the cosmogony of an infiniteflat plain called the Earth, there was joined also the belief in a flatroof above called Heaven, on which (seen at times in visions throughclouds and stars) sat saints, angels, and archangels, forevermoreharping on their golden harps, and knowing neither vanity nor vexationof spirit, lust nor pride, murder nor war;--and underneath a floor, thename whereof was Hell; the mouths whereof (as all men knew) might beseen on Hecla and Aetna and Stromboli; and the fiends heard within,tormenting, amid fire, and smoke, and clanking chains, the souls of theeternally lost.

  As he rode on slowly though cheerfully, as a man who will not tire hishorse at the beginning of a long day's journey, and knows not where heshall pass the night, he was aware of a man on foot coming up behindhim at a slow, steady, loping, wolf-like trot, which in spite of itsslowness gained ground on him so fast, that he saw at once that the mancould be no common runner.

  The man came up; and behold, he was none other than Martin Lightfoot.

  "What! art thou here?" asked Hereward, suspiciously, and half cross atseeing any visitor from the old world which he had just cast off. "Howgottest thou out of St. Peter's last night?"

  Martin's tongue was hanging out of his mouth like a running hound's, buthe seemed, like a hound, to perspire through his mouth, for he answeredwithout the least sign of distress, without even pulling in histongue,--

  "Over the wall, the moment the Prior's back was turned. I was not goingto wait till I was chained up in some rat's-hole with a half-hundredof iron on my leg, and flogged till I confessed that I was what I amnot,--a runaway monk."

  "And why art here?"

  "Because I am going with you."

  "Going with me?" said Hereward; "what can I do for thee?"

  "I can do for you," said Martin.

  "What?"

  "Groom your horse, wash your shirt, clean your weapons, find your inn,fight your enemies, cheat your friends,--anything and everything. Youare going to see the world. I am going with you."

  "Thou canst be my servant? A right slippery one, I expect," saidHereward, looking down on him with some suspicion.

  "Some are not the rogues they seem. I can keep my secrets and yourstoo."

  "Before I can trust thee with my secrets, I shall expect to know some ofthine," said Hereward.

  Martin Lightfoot looked up with a cunning smile. "A servant can alwaysknow his master's secrets if he likes. But that is no reason a mastershould know his servant's."

  "Thou shalt tell me thine, man, or I shall ride off and leave thee."

  "Not so easy, my lord. Where that heavy horse can go, Martin Lightfootcan follow. But I will tell you one secret, which I never told to livingman. I can read and write like any clerk."

  "Thou read and write?"

  "Ay, good Latin enough, and Irish too, what is more. And now, because Ilove you, and because you I will serve, willy nilly, I will tell you allthe secrets I have, as long as my breath lasts, for my tongue israther stiff after that long story about the bell-wether. I was born inIreland, in Waterford town. My mother was an English slave, one of thosethat Earl Godwin's wife--not this one that is now, Gyda, but the oldone, King Canute's sister--used to sell out of England by the score,tied together with ropes, boys and girls from Bristol town. Her master,my father that was (I shall know him again), got tired of her, andwanted to give her away to one of his kernes. She would not have that;so he hung her up hand and foot, and beat her that she died. There wasan abbey hard by, and the Church laid on him a penance,--all that theydared get out of him,--that he should give me to the monks, being then aseven-years' boy. Well, I grew up in that abbey; they taught me my fafa mi fa: but I liked better conning of ballads and hearing stories ofghosts and enchanters, such as I used to tell you. I'll tell you plentymore whenever you're tired. Then they made me work; and that I nevercould abide at all. Then they beat me every day; and that I could abidestill less; but always I stuck to my book, for one thing I saw,--thatlearning is power, my lord; and that the reason why the monks aremasters of the land is, they are scholars, and you fighting men arenone. Then I fell in love (as young blood will) with an Irish lass, whenI was full seventeen years old; and when they found out that, they heldme down on the floor and beat me till I was wellnigh dead. They put mein prison for a month; and between bread-and-water and darkness I wentnigh foolish. They let me out, thinking I could do no more harm toman or lass; and when I found out how profitable folly was, foolish Iremained, at least as foolish as seemed good to me. But one night I gotinto the abbey church, stole therefrom that which I have with me now,and which shall serve you and me in good stead yet,--out and away aboarda ship among the buscarles, and off into the Norway sea. But after avoyage or two, so it befell, I was wrecked in the Wash by BotulfstonDeeps, and, begging my way inland, met with your father, and tookservice with him, as I have taken service now with you."

  "Now, what has made thee take service with me?"

  "Because you are you."

  "Give me none of your parables and dark sayings, but speak out like aman. What canst see in me that thou shouldest share an outlaw's fortunewith me?"

  "I had run away from a monastery, so had you; I hated the monks, so didyou; I liked to tell stories,--since I found good to shut my mouth Itell them to myself all day long, sometimes all night too. When I foundout you liked to hear them, I loved you all the more. Then they told menot to speak to you; I held my tongue. I bided my time. I knew you wouldbe outlawed some day. I knew you would turn Viking and kempery-man, andkill giants and enchanters, and win yourself honor and glory; and I knewI should have my share in it. I knew you would need me some day; andyou need me now, and here I am; and if you try to cut me down with yoursword, I will dodge you, and follow you, and dodge you again, till Iforce you to let me be your man, for with you I will live and die. Andnow I can talk no more."

  "And with me thou shalt live and die," said Hereward, pulling up hishorse, and frankly holding out his hand to his new friend.

  Martin Lightfoot took his hand, kissed it, licked it almost as a dogwould have done. "I am your man," he said, "amen; and true man I willprove to you, if you will prove true to me." And he dropped quietly backbehind Hereward's horse, as if the business of his life was settled, andhis mind utterly at rest.

  "There is one more likeness between us," said Hereward, after a fewminutes' thought. "If I have robbed a church, thou hast robbed one too.What is this precious spoil which is to serve me and thee in such mightystead?"

  Martin drew from inside his shirt and under his waistband a smallbattle-axe, and handed it up to Hereward. It was a tool the like ofwhich in shape Hereward had seldom seen, and never its equal in beauty.The handle was some fifteen inches long, made of thick strips of blackwhalebone, curiously bound with silver, and butted with narwhal ivory.This handle was evidently the work of some cunning Norseman of old. Butwho was the maker of the blade? It was some eight inches long, with asharp edge on one side, a sharp crooked pick on the other; of the fineststeel, inlaid with strange characters in gold, the work probably of someCircassian, Tartar, or Persian; such a battle-axe as Rustum or Zohrabmay have wielded in fight upon the banks of Oxus; one of those magicweapons, brought, men knew not how, out of the magic East, which werehereditary in many a Norse family and sung of in many a Norse saga.

  "Look at it," said Martin Lightfoot. "There is magic on it. It mustbring us luck. Whoever holds that must kill his man. It will pick a lockof steel. It will crack a mail corslet as a nut-hatch cracks a nut.It
will hew a lance in two at a single blow. Devils and spirits forgedit,--I know that; Virgilius the Enchanter, perhaps, or Solomon theGreat, or whosoever's name is on it, graven there in letters of gold.Handle it, feel its balance; but no,--do not handle it too much. Thereis a devil in it, who would make you kill me. Whenever I play with it Ilong to kill a man. It would be so easy,--so easy. Give it me back, mylord, give it me back, lest the devil come through the handle into yourpalm, and possess you."

  Hereward laughed, and gave him back his battle-axe. But he had hardlyless doubt of the magic virtues of such a blade than had Martin himself.

  "Magical or not, thou wilt not have to hit a man twice with that,Martin, my lad. So we two outlaws are both well armed; and havingneither wife nor child, land nor beeves to lose, ought to be a match forany six honest men who may have a grudge against us, and sound reasonsat home for running away."

  And so those two went northward through the green Bruneswald, andnorthward again through merry Sherwood, and were not seen in that landagain for many a year.