Hereward’s Farewell
“What!” he cried, “shall a son of Leofric, the noblest man in England, accept intercession from Godwin or any of his family? No. I may be unworthy of my wise father and my saintly mother, but I am not yet sunk so low as to ask a favour from a Godwin. Father, I thank you. For years I have fretted against the peace of the land, and thus have incurred your displeasure; but in exile I may range abroad and win my fortune at the sword’s point.” “Win thy fortune, foolish boy!” said his father. “And whither wilt thou fare?” “Wherever fate and my fortune lead me,” he replied recklessly. “Perhaps to join Harald Hardrada at Constantinople and become one of the Emperor’s Varangian Guard; perhaps to follow old Beowa out into the West, at the end of some day of glorious battle; perhaps to fight giants and dragons and all kinds of monsters. All these things I may do, but never shall Mercia see me again till England calls me home. Farewell, father; farewell, Earl Godwin; farewell, reverend king. I go. And pray ye that ye may never need my arm, for it may hap that ye will call me and I will not come.” Then Hereward rode away, followed into exile by one man only, Martin Lightfoot, who left the father’s service for that of his outlawed son. It was when attending the king’s court on this occasion that Hereward first saw and felt the charm of a lovely little Saxon maiden named Alftruda, a ward of the pious king.