Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

Hardrada was almost a giant in size, being said to measure over seven feet, and to be strong in proportion. His armour was richly ornamented with gold and jewels. His gilded head-piece had no visor in front to hide his features, and his abundant, bright red hair, from which he took his name, flowed down his shoulders in a mass of ripples, instead of being worn in braids like those of numbers of his followers. At his saddle-bow was slung a huge battle-ax, which few arms but his could wield. From his belt hung a long, straight sword, in a jewelled sheath. His broad, round, gorgeously decorated shield was thrown over his shoulder. In his hand was a long spear, not unlike the lances which were carried by the men-at-arms of France and Normandy.

"Isn't he magnificent!" exclaimed Ned. "Hurrah! I have seen the greatest of the Vikings, Lars! The Saxons will find him a hard man to meet. Who is that other man at his side? He is almost as splendid as the king."

"That must be Tostig the Earl," said Lars. "They said he was away with his ships, but he hath come to talk with Hardrada. He is a brother of Harold Godwinson, the King of the Saxons. Men say he is a good fighter, but not so good as his brother. What a match it would be between the two Harolds of Norway and England!"

"That's so!" said Ned. "Or between Tostig the Earl and Sikend the Berserker."

"No man on earth is a match for Sikend," said Lars. "He beareth a charmed life. There are witches and wizards among his people. They read the old runes on the tombstones. They boil snakes and lizards and evil roots, to make charms with, and salve ointments for hurts. Some of them can make a sword-cut close up and heal over, but I think I would not be smeared with any witch grease."

"Salve is a good thing for a cut," said Ned. "It's good for a burn, too. You can find out the right thing from the advertisements. I don't remember any liniment, though, that they said was made of snake-fat. They couldn't get snakes enough, I guess, unless they raised them themselves."

The reviewing party of great men, headed by the king and the earl, halted as it reached the head of the column, with which Vebba's men were posted. Its captain had not yet left it, and the king may have known him by sight, for he at once beckoned him forward.

With him rode out Lars, Father Brian, and, by their direction, Ned, the son of Webb.

"Speak," said Hardrada to the warrior. "What word hast thou for me?"

"It is not mine," he replied. "O king, Lars, the son of Vebba, will deliver unto thee the greeting from his father."

"Let it be brief," said the king. "Time passeth."

"O Harold the King," spoke Lars, freely and boldly, "my father bade me greet thee with this, that all swordsmen are ready. They march this day to join thee. The last of the provision ships lifteth her anchor at sunset. He himself cometh with the miners and the mountain men."

"It is well," said Hardrada. "I know the value of thy father. Who is the youth with thee? O priest, hold thou thy peace!"

"That will I not," responded Father Brian, sturdily. "I have first this word for thee that came by sea. Haste, thou and thine, or William the Norman will reach England before thee. This do I speak for thy good, if thou art able to take friendly advice, like a man of sense."

"Thou art late with thy warning," grimly responded the king. "Well did I know that matter, already. Nevertheless, I will freely hear it from thee. Thou hast spoken loyally. And now I would know concerning the youth that is with the son of Vebba."

It had come to pass, by the way, as they rode hitherward, that Ned, the son of Webb, had given to the missionary the Latin charter name of the American city that he came from, and from it a somewhat crooked understanding had arisen, for Eboricum is nothing but York, whether new or old. Therefore his reverend friend at once replied for him:

"He is Ned, the son of Webb, the chief, or it might be he is somewhat of a jarl. He is an Angle, and he cometh from York. And a fine boy he is, if I say it myself."

The next remark came promptly from Tostig the Earl.

"O Harold the King, my friend, did I not tell thee of my many faithful adherents in my earldom of Northumberland and in mine own city of York? He is welcome. He shall sail with us, and we shall be joined by many more as soon as our standards are seen at the Humber. I pray thee, for the present, let him remain with Vebba, his friend."

"It is well," said the king. "What sayest thou, Ned, the son of Webb?"

"O king," said Ned, hoping that he was bowing correctly, although he nearly pitched out of the saddle in doing it, "I will do as Tostig the Earl hath said. Lars and I are chums. I would give much to see Sikend the Berserker in a battle. I would like to see thee fight also, O King Hardrada, or Tostig the Earl."

Loudly laughed the red-haired king, and as loudly roared Tostig and other of the great warriors.

"Well spoken!" shouted Hardrada. "Thou shalt have thy will in that matter."

"O Hardrada the King," interposed Vebba's captain, "I will say this for him, that he is the best sword, for his age, that I ever saw, and he catcheth a flying spear like an old fighter."

"I like him well," said Tostig. "So let him show the Northmen of what sort are my men of Northumberland. It is a good thing that he hath done, to even flee from York to join us as we sail."

No more was said, and the royal party rode slowly on along the lines.

"I'm out of that scrape, tip-top," said Ned to himself, as he and his friends wheeled back to their post at the head of the Viking column. "But what explanation can I give if we ever get to old York? It beats me all hollow."

At that moment the old Viking at his side said to him:

"I go, now, to the shore. Thou hast a strong friend in Tostig the Earl. I am glad to know this much more concerning thee and thine. We were questioning much in our minds as to how we might deal with thee, and some said it were well to take off thy head. It is ever wise to make sure of all comrades who march with us, for at times there have been false companions."

Ned was silent, for he was not pleased with the suggestion concerning his head, and the warrior rode away.

A few hours later, Vebba arrived with another force of his men, and he expressed great gratification upon learning that he would now be under no necessity for giving an account of his young friend.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "The youth appertaineth to Tostig the Earl, and he biddeth him to remain with me. He is the son of a Saxon under-jarl. I am glad to be upon better terms with Tostig."

Therefore it was duly settled in the minds of all men, and Ned was acknowledged as being the right sort of youth to associate with Vikings of good degree. The review having been finished, the army had scattered to its camps. Vebba's men had been assigned an open space a little north of the town, and to this his first detachment had marched. Their first duty was to prepare all things for further arrivals, and this work began, of course, with the kindling of camp-fires. Fuel enough had been provided, and Ned at once discovered something that was new to him. The making of a fire was an affair of toil and trouble. He saw his comrades carefully splitting splinters and hunting for handfuls of dry grass.

"That's all right," he thought, "but just look at that fellow hammering out sparks with his flint and steel. It'll take him all night! Why doesn't he go for an old newspaper and some matches?"

The mailed stoker did nothing of the kind, and his sparks fell vainly upon his insufficient tinder.

"That's it!" exclaimed Ned. "What a stupid I am! There isn't a box of matches in all the world! I guess I'll show them a point they don't know. I've a whole box of lighters in my pocket. – Now! I won't let one of them see just what I am doing. It's a good joke."

The would-be fire maker was getting disgusted with his bad success, and he was standing erect at the moment when Ned stooped and put something into the little heap of pine splinters. Nobody had seen him scratch his match upon a stone, and, in a moment more, all eyes turned curiously to stare at the sudden blaze which sprang up so brightly as the resinous fuel kindled.

"It is the work of the young Saxon of Tostig the Earl!" one of them said.

"Ay!" remarked another. "He hath rare skill with a flint. Who ever saw such fire making? He hath been well taught."

He was thenceforth to be admired and valued, for one who could kindle camp-fires readily was a welcome comrade in a campaign. Ned also learned from their talk that in a Norway dwelling great care was always taken to keep fire from day to day, the whole year round. If the fire of one household should at any time be extinguished, it was better to send elsewhere and bring to it a torch, from even a considerable distance, than to toil over the creation of a brand new blaze with flint and steel.

"It only cost me one match," thought Ned. "I'll be stingy about burning the rest. They may last me clean through the conquest of England, if I'm careful. Old newspapers are the right thing to start fires with, though, and I can't even get an old school-book to tear up."

Tents there were none for Vebba's men, but the night was clear and warm, and the supposed favourite of Tostig, the great Earl, slept like a top in his first bivouac as a soldier in the army of Hardrada the Sea King.

CHAPTER VII.

THE KEELS OF THE NORTHLAND

"How we shall be crowded!" exclaimed Ned, the son of Webb. "Who ever supposed that the Vikings had ships that would carry so many passengers? Some of them, too, are loaded with horses."

It was about noon of the day after the great review of Hardrada's army, and Ned was standing upon the high prow of the Serpent, the two-masted war-ship which was to transport Vebba's men and others to the coast of England. He knew that Tostig the Earl had hurried away in a swift vessel, the previous evening, to rejoin his own squadron at Bruges, and he remarked:

"I'm glad he went. I couldn't guess what to say if he were to corner me and ask questions."

Everything here was going forward in good order, for Hardrada was an experienced seaman, and so were his officers. They knew thoroughly well how to manage an embarkation of troops, and therefore there was no confusion. The gathered warriors marched to the shore and were embarked rapidly, thousand after thousand. It might be an exaggeration, but Ned had obtained an idea that the three hundred ships of the king, sailing from this and other ports, when joined by those of Tostig, would be carrying over thirty thousand men. It was also expected that upon landing they would be reinforced by as many more of the disaffected Saxons who were ready to rebel against the hard rule of Harold, the son of Godwin, who was not descended from the English royal line.

"He is all the better for that," thought Ned. "I like him. He was elected, like one of our presidents. They swore him in, too."

He had to confess, nevertheless, that the appearance of things was bad for the English king, – or president. Harold was to be, indeed, the last ruler of England chosen by regular election, like an American.