He felt that he had made a tremendously long speech, and he had, but a bright smile shot across the face of the king.
"That thou shalt have," he said, and he added, to a horseman near him, "Wolfram of Hythe, get good horses for this youth and for his teacher that attendeth him. O priest, remain thou with thy pupil. Go both of you now to York. Ned, the son of Webb, I will see thee again."
"I will be with him, O king," replied Father Brian, loudly. "He is a youth of much promise, and he needeth my continual instruction."
King Harold spurred away, followed by his chiefs and thanes and earls, while the good missionary turned almost indignantly upon Ned.
"This is wrong!" he exclaimed. "Thou art deceiving the king. I did not understand at first, but I heard others of them repeat his words. He believeth thee the slayer of Sikend the Berserker from under the bridge. Thou art not!"
"Was that it?" almost gasped Ned. "I never said I was. I think it was a mean thing to do, anyhow, to stab Sikend in the legs, in that way, so he couldn't stand up and fight. I'm sorry the king should think I would do anything so unfair as that."
"So am I," said Father Brian, "for a lie is a bad thing, any day. Thou must yet find an opportunity to tell him the truth of that matter. But I am glad, nevertheless, that we are to have horses and get away from York in good company. I have a great desire to get speedily to London, whatever may happen afterward."
Wolfram of Hythe did not have far to go for his horses, and those which he was now bringing forward were big enough for war-horses. They had a somewhat jaded appearance, for they had travelled far that day. They had lost their riders in the battle, it was explained, and in a moment more Ned and the missionary were as well mounted as if they both were house-carles of the king.
"It is well for us, indeed," said Father Brian. "We shall have good quarters, and rations, too, while we are on the march. Thou wilt set the king right concerning Sikend in due season, for truth's sake. Thou didst not harm thy fellow soldier, and yet I tell thee that the world cannot be civilised until there are no more Berserkers. Small matter it is how they are killed."