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Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

"Hereward, the Last of the English"


No gold will I grasp
Of the king's, the ring-giver,
Till, by wit or by weapon,
I worthily win it.
When brained by my biter
O'Brodar lies gory,
While over the wolf's meal
Fair widows are wailing."
"Does he refuse my gift?" grumbled Ranald.
"He has given a fair reason," said the Prince, as he hid the ring in his
bosom; "leave him to me; for my brother in arms he is henceforth."
After which, as was the custom of those parts, most of them drank too much
liquor. But neither Sigtryg nor Hereward drank; and the two Siwards stood
behind their young uncle's seat, watching him with that intense admiration
which lads can feel for a young man.
That night, when the warriors were asleep, Sigtryg and Hereward talked out
their plans. They would equip two ships; they would fight all the kinglets
of Cornwall at once, if need was; they would carry off the Princess, and
burn Alef's town over his head, if he said nay. Nothing could be more
simple than the tactics required in an age when might was right.
Then Hereward turned to his two nephews who lingered near him, plainly big
with news.
"And what brings you here, lads?" He had hardened his heart, and made up
his mind to show no kindness to his own kin. The day might come when they
might need him; then it would be his turn.


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