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Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

"Hereward, the Last of the English"

"
"Eh?"
The Abbot told honestly what had passed between Hereward and the lad, as
they rode to St. Bertin.
Baldwin was silent, thinking, and smiling jollily, as was the wont of the
Debonair.
"You are a man of sense, beausire. Come with me," said he at last.
And he, Hereward, and Robert went into an inner room.
"Sit down on the settle by me."
"It is too great an honor."
"Nonsense, man! If I be who I am, I know enough of men to know that I need
not be ashamed of having you as bench-fellow. Sit down."
Hereward obeyed of course.
"Tell me who you are."
Hereward looked out of the corner of his eyes, smiling and perplexed.
"Tell me and Robert who you are, man; and be done with it. I believe I
know already. I have asked far and wide of chapmen, and merchants, and
wandering knights, and pirate rascals,--like yourself."
"And you found that I was a pirate rascal?"
"I found a pirate rascal who met you in Ireland, three years since, and
will swear that if you have one gray eye and one blue--"
"As he has," quoth Robert.
"That I am a wolf's head, and a robber of priests, and an Esau on the face
of the earth; every man's hand against me, and mine--for I never take but
what I give--against every man."
"That you are the son of my old friend Leofric of Chester: and the
hottest-hearted, shrewdest-headed, hardest-handed Berserker in the North
Seas.


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