Hereward still played with his dagger.
“Not the sons of Harold, then?” asked he, after a while.
“Never! I promise you that—I, Countess Gyda, their grandmother.”
“Why promise me, of all men, O great lady?”
“Because—I will tell you after. But this I say, my curse on the grandson of mine who shall try to seize that fatal crown, which cost the life of my fairest, my noblest, my wisest, my bravest!”
Hereward bowed his head, as if consenting to the praise of Harold. But he knew who spoke; and he was thinking within himself: “Her curse may be on him who shall seize, and yet not on him to whom it is given.”
“All that they, young and unskilful lads, have a right to ask is, their father’s earldoms and their father’s lands. Edwin and Morcar would keep their earldoms as of right. It is a pity that there is no lady of the house of Godwin, whom we could honor by offering her to one of your nephews, in return for their nobleness in giving Aldytha to my Harold. But this foolish girl here refuses to wed—”
“And is past forty,” thought Hereward to himself.
“However, some plan to join the families more closely together might be thought of. One of the young earls might marry Judith here. [Footnote: Tosti’s widow, daughter of Baldwin of Flanders] Waltheof would have Northumbria, in right of his father, and ought to be well content,—for although she is somewhat older than he, she is peerlessly beautiful,—to marry your niece Aldytha.” [Footnote: Harold’s widow.]
“And Gospatrick?”