“Here is what will have him on board before he can turn,” said another, as he made a running noose in a rope.
“Quiet, men! Am I master in this ship or you?”
Hereward saluted the lad courteously. “Verily the blood of Baldwin of the Iron Arm has not degenerated. I am happy to behold so noble a son of so noble a race.”
“And who are you, who speak French so well, and yet by your dress are neither French nor Fleming?”
“I am Harold Naemansson, the Viking; and these my men. I am here, sailing peaceably for England; as for yielding,—mine yield to no living man, but die as we are, weapon in hand. I have heard of your grandfather, that he is a just man and a bountiful; therefore take this message to him, young sir. If he have wars toward, I and my men will fight for him with all our might, and earn hospitality and ransom with our only treasure, which is our swords. But if he be at peace, then let him bid us go in peace, for we are Vikings, and must fight, or rot and die.”
“You are Vikings?” cried the boy, pressing his horse into the foam so eagerly, that the men, mistaking his intent, had to be represt again by Hereward. “You are Vikings! Then come on shore, and welcome. You shall be my friends. You shall be my brothers. I will answer to my grandfather. I have longed to see Vikings. I long to be a Viking myself.”
“By the hammer of Thor,” cried the old master, “and thou wouldst make a bonny one, my lad.”
Hereward hesitated, delighted with the boy, but by no means sure of his power to protect them.
But the boy rode back to his companions, who had by this time ridden cautiously down to the sea, and talked and gesticulated eagerly.
Then the clerk rode down and talked with Hereward.