CHAPTER XXX.
PRINCE AND PARASITE.
"Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way."
Pope.
"I say, Alred!" exclaimed the Atheling to the Norman parasite who had accompanied him hither, as they sat drinking wine the same evening, "what sayest thou to the baiting thy Prince has had to-day? I have no stomach for more. Malediction on them!"
"Heyday, so say I! Scrambling over moor and bog hither was bad enough, but parleying with quarrelsome thanes and with vulgar braggart churls such as these, I would not endure with a kingdom thrown into the bargain. Your Majesty probably thinks different."
"Whew! Not I, Alred! These garlic-bred swine have no more regard for the person of a prince than for a scurvy villein. A malediction on them! They would pick my bones within a week, were I to attempt to rule them. By the bye, that huge Danish boor stood by me. I wish he had been at the bottom of the sea, for all that, when he enticed me on this fool's errand. What is the lout's name? Sigurd?"
"The same, my lord. But be advised, for at bottom he's as loutish and as snarling as the very worst of them, and I would not trust my head in his jaws for a moment; for as we passed him but yesterday, in our courtly attire, I heard him under his breath snorting and grumbling like a boar with a spear between his ribs. The churl! Would he have his Prince dress like a scurvy swineherd?"
"Beshrew me, Alred, I never could make pretence of ruling such unwashen clowns. And then, into the bargain, every snarling villein elects to be king over his own starveling crew, and there would be a king for every rood of land in England. I'll no more of it, Alred! I thank Heaven my skin is whole to go back to Scotland with."