This excellent speech was enforced with oaths so strange and terrible, that Ivo Taillebois shook in his boots; and the chaplain prayed fervently that the roof might not fall in on their heads.
“Thou smilest, man?” said William, quickly, to the kneeling Hereward. “So thou understandest French?”
“A few words only, most gracious King, which we potters pick up, wandering everywhere with our wares,” said Hereward, speaking in French; for so keen was William’s eye, that he thought it safer to play no tricks with him.
Nevertheless, he made his French so execrable, that the very scullions grinned, in spite of their fear.
“Look you,” said William, “you are no common churl; you have fought too well for that. Let me see your arm.”
Hereward drew up his sleeve.
“Potters do not carry sword-scars like those; neither are they tattooed like English thanes. Hold up thy head, man, and let us see thy throat.”
Hereward, who had carefully hung down his head to prevent his throat-patterns being seen, was forced to lift it up.
“Aha! So I expected. More fair ladies’ work there. Is not this he who was said to be so like Hereward? Very good. Put him in ward till I come back from hunting. But do him no harm. For”—and William fixed on Hereward eyes of the most intense intelligence—“were he Hereward himself, I should be right glad to see Hereward safe and sound; my man at last, and earl of all between Humber and the Fens.”
But Hereward did not rise at the bait. With a face of stupid and ludicrous terror, he made reply in broken French.