Havelok was long in coming back, as I thought, and I seemed to be wasting time here, and so I bethought me of the other man to whom the old dame had said we might go—namely, the captain of the gate. I should see Havelok if I stood there.
The captain was talking with some of his men as I came up, and of course it was of Havelok that they spoke; and seeing that I wore the same dress as he, they asked me if I knew who he was.
“He is a fisher from the coast,” I answered. “I have heard him called Curan.”
“Welsh then,” the captain answered, somewhat disappointed, as it seemed. “If he had been a Mercian, or even a Saxon, I would have had him here, but a fisher has had no training in arms after all.”
“Some of us have,” said I.
The captain looked me up and down, and then walked round me, saying nothing until we were face to face again.
“That, I take it, is a hint that you might like to be a housecarl of the king’s,” he said. “Are you a Lindseyman?”
“I am the son of Grim of Grimsby,” I said.
“Why, then, I suppose you would not think of it, seeing that my place is not empty; but if you will dress in that way you must not wonder if I took you for a likely man for a housecarl. We know Grim well by repute. Come in and tell me about the famine, and this new town of yours that one hears of.”
Now I could not see Havelok as yet, and so I went into the stone-arched Roman guardroom, and Eglaf the captain fetched out a pot of wine and some meat, and made me very welcome while we talked. And presently I thought that I might do worse than be a housecarl for a time, if Eglaf would have me. I should be armed at least, and with comrades to help if Havelok needed me; though all the while I thought myself foolish for thinking that any harm could come to him who was so strong. Nevertheless, what my father had laid on us all was to be heeded, and I was to be his helper in arms. So presently I told Eglaf that the housecarl’s life seemed an easy one, and that it would be pleasant to go armed for a while, if he would have me for a short time, seeing that the famine had left us naught to do.