“Ay, but what knight’s? Would it please either of us, brother, if, as may well chance, he should be some stranger?”
Now Wulf swore a great oath, then flushed to the roots of his fair hair, and was silent.
“Ah!” said Godwin; “you do not think before you speak, which it is always well to do.”
“She swore upon the quay yonder”—broke in Wulf.
“Forget what she swore. Words uttered in such an hour should not be remembered against a maid.”
“God’s truth, brother, you are right, as ever! My tongue runs away with me, but still I can’t put those words out of my mind, though which of us—”
“Wulf!”
“I mean to say that we are in Fortune’s path to-day, Godwin. Oh, that was a lucky ride! Such fighting as I have never seen or dreamed of. We won it too! And now both of us are alive, and a knighthood for each!”
“Yes, both of us alive, thanks to you, Wulf—nay, it is so, though you would never have done less. But as for Fortune’s path, it is one that has many rough turns, and perhaps before all is done she may lead us round some of them.”
“You talk like a priest, not like a squire who is to be knighted at the cost of a scar on his head. For my part I will kiss Fortune while I may, and if she jilts me afterwards—”