"Who are these men?" asked Hardrada, in surprise.
"They must be Northumbrians," answered Tostig, "coming either to crave friendship or to ask pardon."
The Norwegians, however, had not advanced many paces, when Tostig was disagreeably undeceived. The approaching mass grew more distinct, and the sun revealed an army in battle order.
"It is King Harold," said Tostig, scarce mustering voice sufficient to speak the words.
"Ride!" said Hardrada, turning to three of his horsemen—"ride! and, with all haste, bring our warriors from the camp."
The horsemen darted off with the speed of the wind; and Hardrada, unfurling "The Ravager of the World," on the folds of which a vast raven was depicted, ranged his men round the banner in a long, narrow line, curved at the extremities. Pressing against each other, with their spears planted in the ground, and the points turned against the foe, the Norwegians stood ready for conflict; and their king, mounted on his coal-black steed, his helmet glittering with gold, rode along the line, singing, as was his wont on such occasions, extempore verses, to excite the valour of his men.
"Let us fight," he sang, "though without our cuirasses; let us forward to the edge of blue steel. Our helmets shine in the sun. For brave men that is enough."
While Hardrada thus sang, about twenty mounted warriors—horses and riders clad in steel—dashed out from the Saxon ranks. Approaching the Norwegian lines, they suddenly halted, and intimated their wish to hold a parley.
"Where," cried one of them, "is Tostig, the son of Godwin?"