But none of them bowed, or made obeisance.
They looked the boy full in the face, and as they stepped back, stared
round upon the ring of armed men with a smile and something of a swagger.
"These are they who bow to no man, and call no man master," whispered the
Abbot.
And so they were: and so are their descendants of Scotland and
Northumbria, unto this very day.
The boy sprang from his horse, and walked among them and round them in
delight. He admired and handled their long-handled double axes; their
short sea-bows of horn and deer-sinew; their red Danish jerkins; their
blue sea-cloaks, fastened on the shoulder with rich brooches; and the gold
and silver bracelets on their wrists. He wondered at their long shaggy
beards, and still more at the blue patterns with which the English among
them, Hereward especially, were tattooed on throat and arm and knee.
"Yes, you are Vikings,--just such as my Uncle Robert tells me of."
Hereward knew well the exploits of Robert le Frison in Spain and Greece.
"I trust that your noble uncle," he asked, "is well? He was one of us poor
sea-cocks, and sailed the swan's path gallantly, till he became a mighty
prince. Here is a man here who was with your noble uncle in Byzant."
And he thrust forward the old master.
The boy's delight knew no bounds.
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