Hereward, the Last of the English

and considered that the beggar-man could wear no armor, and that she wore none either. For if she succeeded in slaying that beggar-man, she might need to slay herself after, to avoid being—according to the fashion of those days—burnt alive.

So when the arras was drawn back, and that beggar-man came into the room, instead of shrieking, fainting, hiding, or turning, she made three steps straight toward him, looking him in the face like a wild-cat at bay. Then she threw up her arms; and fell upon his neck.

It was Hereward himself. Filthy, ragged: but Hereward.

His shirt was brown with gore, and torn with wounds; and through its rents showed more than one hardly healed scar. His hair and beard was all in elf-locks; and one heavy cut across the head had shorn not only hair, but brain-pan, very close. Moreover, any nose, save that of Love, might have required perfume.

But Hereward it was; and regardless of all beholders, she lay upon his neck, and never stirred nor spoke.

“I call you to witness, ladies,” cried the Queen-Countess, “that I am guiltless. She has given herself to this beggar-man of her own free will. What say you?” And she turned to Torfrida’s mother.

Torfrida’s mother only prayed and whimpered.

“Countesses and Ladies,” said the Queen-Countess, “there will be two weddings to-morrow. The first will be that of my son Robert and my pretty Lady Gertrude here. The second will be that of my pretty Torfrida and Hereward.”

“And the second bride,” said the Countess Gertrude, rising and taking Torfrida in her arms, “will be ten times prettier than the first. There, sir, I have done all you asked of me. Now go and wash yourself.”

“Hereward,” said Torfrida, a week after, “and did you really never change your shirt all that time?”

“Never. I kept my promise.”

“But it must have been very nasty.”

“Well, I bathed now and then.”

“But it must have been very cold.”

“I am warm enough now.”

“But did you never comb your hair, neither?”

“Well, I won’t say that. Travellers find strange bed-fellows. But I had half a mind never to do it at all, just to spite you.”

“And what matter would it have been to me?”

“O, none. It is only a Danish fashion we have of keeping clean.”

“Clean! You were dirty enough when you came home. How silly you were! If you had sent me but one word!”

“You would have fancied me beaten, and scolded me all over again. I know your ways now, Torfrida.”

CHAPTER XV. – HOW EARL TOSTI GODWINSSON CAME TO ST. OMER

The winter passed in sweet madness; and for the first time in her life, Torfrida regretted the lengthening of the days, and the flowering of the primroses, and the return of the now needless wryneck; for they warned her that Hereward must forth again, to the wars in Scaldmariland, which had broken out again, as was to be expected, as soon as Count Robert and his bride had turned their backs.

And Hereward, likewise, for the first time in his life, was loath to go to war. He was, doubtless, rich enough in this world’s goods. Torfrida herself was rich, and seems to have had the disposal of her own property, for her mother is not mentioned in connection therewith. Hereward seems to have dwelt in her house at St. Omer as long as he remained in Flanders. He had probably amassed some treasure of his own by the simple, but then most aristocratic, method of plunder. He had, too, probably, grants of land in Holland from the Frison, the rents whereof were not paid as regularly as might be. Moreover, as “Magister Militum,” (“Master of the Knights,”) he had, it is likely, pay as well as honor. And he approved himself worthy of his good fortune. He kept forty gallant housecarles in his hall all the winter, and Torfrida and her lasses made and mended their clothes. He gave large gifts to the Abbey of St. Bertin; and had masses sung for the souls of all whom he had slain, according to a rough list which he furnished,—bidding the monks not to be chary of two or three masses extra at times, as his memory was short, and he might have sent more souls to purgatory than he had recollected. He gave great alms at his door to all the poor. He befriended, especially, all shipwrecked and needy mariners, feeding and clothing them, and begging their freedom as a gift from Baldwin. He feasted the knights of the neighborhood, who since his baresark campaign, had all vowed him the most gallant of warriors, and since his accession of wealth, the most courteous of gentlemen; and so all went merrily, as it is written, “As long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak well of thee.”

So he would have fain stayed at home at St. Omer; but he was Robert’s man, and his good friend likewise; and to the wars he must go forth once more; and for eight or nine weary months Torfrida was alone: but very happy, for a certain reason of her own.

At last the short November days came round; and a joyful woman was fair Torfrida, when Martin Lightfoot ran into the hall, and throwing himself down on the rushes like a dog, announced that Hereward and his men would be home before noon, and then fell fast asleep.

There was bustling to and fro of her and her maids; decking of the hall in the best hangings; strewing of fresh rushes, to the dislodgement of Martin; setting out of square tables, and stoops and mugs thereon; cooking of victuals, broaching of casks; and above all, for Hereward’s self, heating of much water, and setting out, in the inner chamber, of the great bath-tub and bath-sheet, which was the special delight of a hero fresh from the war.

And by midday the streets of St. Omer rang with clank and tramp and trumpet-blare, and in marched Hereward and all his men, and swung round through the gateway into the court, where Torfrida stood to welcome them, as fair as day, a silver stirrup-cup in her hand. And while the men were taking off their harness and dressing their horses, she and Hereward went in together, and either took such joy of the other, that a year’s parting was forgot in a minute’s meeting.

“Now,” cried she, in a tone half of triumph, half of tenderness, “look there!”

“A cradle? And a baby?”

“Your baby.”

“Is it a boy?” asked Hereward, who saw in his mind’s eye a thing which would grow and broaden at his knee year by year, and learn from him to ride, to shoot, to fight. “Happy for him if he does not learn worse from me,” thought Hereward, with a sudden movement of humility and contrition, which was surely marked in heaven; for Torfrida marked it on earth.

But she mistook its meaning.

“Do not be vexed. It is a girl.”

“Never mind!” as if it was a calamity over which he was bound to comfort the mother. “If she is half as beautiful as you look at this moment, what splintering of lances there will be about her! How jolly, to see the lads hewing at each other, while our daughter sits in the pavilion, as Queen of Love!”

Torfrida laughed. “You think of nothing but fighting, bear of the North Seas.”

“Every one to his trade. Well, yes, I am glad that it is a girl.”

“I thought you seemed vexed. Why did you cross yourself?”

“Because I thought to myself, how unfit I was to bring up a boy to be such a knight as—as you would have him; how likely I was, ere all was over, to make him as great a ruffian as myself.”

“Hereward! Hereward!” and she threw her arms round his neck for the tenth time. “Blessed be you for those words! Those are the fears which never come true, for they bring down from heaven the grace of God, to guard the humble and contrite heart from that which it fears.”

“Ah, Torfrida, I wish I were as good as you!”

“Now—my joy and my life, my hero and my scald—I have great news for you, as well as a little baby. News from England.”

“You, and a baby over and above, are worth all England to me.”

“But listen: Edward the king is dead!”

“Then there is one fool less on earth; and one saint more, I suppose, in heaven.”

“And Harold Godwinsson is king in his stead. And he has married your niece Aldytha, and sworn friendship with her brothers.”

“I expected no less. Well, every dog has his day.”

“And his will be a short one. William of Normandy has sworn to drive him out.”

“Then he will do it. And so the poor little Swan-neck is packed into a convent, that the houses of Godwin and Leofric may rush into each other’s arms, and perish together! Fools, fools, fools! I will hear no more of such a mad world. My queen, tell me about your sweet self. What is all this to me? Am I not a wolf’s head, and a landless man?”

“O my king, have not the stars told me that you will be an earl and a ruler of men, when all your foes are wolves’ heads as you are now? And the weird is coming true already. Tosti Godwinsson is in the town at this moment, an outlaw and a wolf’s head himself.”