“I have raised—not so many as I could wish. Harold and Edith’s men have joined me fairly well; but your nephew, Morcar’s—”
“I can command them. I have half of them here already.”
“Then,—then we may raise the rest?”
“That depends, my Lord Earl, for whom we fight!”
“For whom?—I do not understand.”
“Whether we fight for that lad, Child Edgar, or for Sweyn of Denmark, the rightful king of England.”
“Sweyn of Denmark! Who should be the rightful king but the heir of the blessed St. Edward?”
“Blessed old fool! He has done harm to us enough on earth, without leaving his second-cousins’ aunts’ malkins to harm us after he is in Heaven.”
“Sir Hereward, Sir Hereward, I fear thou art not as good a Christian as so good a knight should be.”
“Christian or not, I am as good a one as my neighbors. I am Leofric’s son. Leofric put Harthacanute on the throne, and your father, who was a man, helped him. You know what has befallen England since we Danes left the Danish stock at Godwin’s bidding, and put our necks under the yoke of Wessex monks and monk-mongers. You may follow your father’s track or not, as you like. I shall follow my father’s, and fight for Sweyn Ulfsson, and no man else.”