Ascelin hesitated.
“Tell me, sir!” thundered William, “unless you have aught to be ashamed of.”
“It is no shame, as far as I know, to confess that I was once a suitor, as were all knights for miles round, for the hand of the once peerless Torfrida. And no shame to confess, that when Hereward knew thereof, he sought me out at a tournament, and served me as he has served many a better man before and since”
“Over thy horse’s croup, eh?” said William.
“I am not a bad horseman, as all know, Lord King. But Heaven save me, and all I love, from that Hereward. They say he has seven men’s strength; and I verily can testify to the truth thereof.”
“That may be by enchantment,” interposed the Italian.
“True, Sir Priest. This I know, that he wears enchanted armor, which Torfrida gave him before she married him.”
“Enchantments again,” said the secretary.
“Tell me now about Torfrida,” said William.
Ascelin told him all about her, not forgetting to say—what, according to the chronicler, was a common report—that she had compassed Hereward’s love by magic arts. She used to practise sorcery, he said, with her sorceress mistress, Richilda of Hainault. All men knew it. Arnoul, Richilda’s son, was as a brother to her. And after old Baldwin died, and Baldwin of Mons and Richilda came to Bruges, Torfrida was always with her while Hereward was at the wars.