"And do you not know that England is ready to burst into a blaze, if there
be one man wise enough to put the live coal into the right place? That
Sweyn Ulffson, his kinsman, or Osbern, his brother, will surely land there
within the year with a mighty host? And that if there be one man in
England of wit enough, and knowledge enough of war, to lead the armies of
England, the Frenchman may be driven into the sea--Is there any here who
understands English?"
"None but ourselves."
"And Canute's nephew sit on Canute's throne?"
Hereward still played with his dagger.
"Not the sons of Harold, then?" asked he, after a while.
"Never! I promise you that--I, Countess Gyda, their grandmother."
"Why promise me, of all men, O great lady?"
"Because--I will tell you after. But this I say, my curse on the grandson
of mine who shall try to seize that fatal crown, which cost the life of my
fairest, my noblest, my wisest, my bravest!"
Hereward bowed his head, as if consenting to the praise of Harold. But he
knew who spoke; and he was thinking within himself: "Her curse may be on
him who shall seize, and yet not on him to whom it is given."
"All that they, young and unskilful lads, have a right to ask is, their
father's earldoms and their father's lands. Edwin and Morcar would keep
their earldoms as of right.
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