"The messenger said that their ships could not ascend the river while the west wind blew, and it is blowing hard enough tonight."
"Well, when they come they may find London a hard nut even for Canute to crack. The citizens of London are true as steel."
"See, we are espied, and they man the gates."
"Doubtless they think Canute is approaching. Ride rapidly, we shall soon undeceive them."
They rode within bow shot of the gates, which were closed, and there they paused, for a score of bowmen held their shafts to their ears. Edmund, for our readers have long recognised him, bade his forces halt, and advanced alone, with Alfgar, holding up his hand in sign of peace.
"What, ho! men of London," he cried, "do you not recognise Edmund the Etheling?"
A joyous cry of recognition burst forth, the gates were thrown open in a minute, and as Edmund, followed by his train, rode in, cries of welcome and exultation burst forth on all sides, while women and children, sharing the general joy, kissed even the hem of his mantle.
Well they might, for their need was sore. Canute was near, his ships had been seen entering the Thames, and his determination to take the city, which had so often resisted the Danish arms, had been freely and frankly expressed.
"Ah, well you know me, my countrymen, for a true Englishman!-- one in whose veins your blood flows, and who will be only too happy to fight the Danish wolves at your head."
The cry, "Long live the Etheling Edmund!" had wakened the city, and the narrow tortuous streets were becoming thronged by the crowd, so that their farther progress threatened to be slow. Edmund perceived this, and, turning to the captain of the guard, inquired anxiously: