“Make them?” said Waltheof, with a shrug and a smile. “They are all free gentlemen, like ourselves.”
“And, like ourselves, will come to utter ruin, because every one of them must needs go his own way.”
“I am glad,” said Waltheof, as they rode along, “that you called this my earldom. I hold it to be mine of course, in right of my father; but the landsfolks, you know, gave it to your nephew Morcar.”
“I care not to whom it is given. I care for the man who is on it, to raise these landsfolk and make them fight. You are here: therefore you are earl.”
“Yes, the powers that be are ordained by God.”
“You must not strain that text too far, Lord Earl; for the only power that is, whom I see in England—worse luck for it!—is William the Mamzer.”
“So I have often thought.”
“You have? As I feared!” (To himself:) “The pike will have you next, gudgeon!”
“He has with him the Holy Father at Rome, and therefore the blessed Apostle St. Peter of course. And is a man right, in the sight of Heaven, who resists them? I only say it. But where a man looks to the salvation of his own soul, he must needs think thereof seriously, at least.”
“O, are you at that?” thought Hereward. “Tout est perdu. The question is, Earl,” said he aloud, “simply this: How many men can you raise off this shire?”