“Hark to the Englishman. He has turned Berserk at last, like his forefathers. You will surely start in a pair of hose as well, or the ladies will be shamed.”
And so forth, till Torfrida was purple with shame, and wished herself fathoms deep; and Adela of France called sternly from the head of the table to ask what the wrangling meant.
“It is only the English Berserker, the Lady Torfrida’s champion,” said some one, in his most courteous tone, “who is not yet as well acquainted with the customs of knighthood as that fair lady hopes to make him hereafter.”
“Torfrida’s champion?” asked Adela, in a tone of surprise, if not scorn.
“If any knight quarrels with my Hereward, he quarrels with Robert himself!” thundered Count Robert. “Silence!”
And so the matter was hushed up.
The banquet ended; and they walked out into the garden to cool their heads, and play at games, and dance.
Torfrida avoided Hereward: but he, with the foolish pertinacity of a man who knows he has had too much wine, and yet pretends to himself that he has not, would follow her, and speak to her.
She turned away more than once. At last she was forced to speak to him.
“So! You have made me a laughing-stock to these knights. You have scorned at my gifts. You have said—and before these men, too—that you need neither helm nor hauberk. Give me them back, then, Berserker as you are, and go sleep off your wine.”