With a bitter growl he rode on, trying to recollect a house where he could
safely lodge. Martin pointed one out.
"Old Viking Surturbrand, the housecarle, did live there, and maybe lives
there still."
"We will try." And Martin knocked at the door.
The wicket was opened, but not the door; and through the wicket window a
surly voice asked who was there.
"Who lives here?"
"Perry, son of Surturbrand. Who art thou who askest?"
"An honest gentleman and his servant, looking for a night's lodging."
"This is no place for honest folk."
"As for that, we don't wish to be more honest than you would have us; but
lodging we will pay for, freely and well."
"We want none of your money"; and the wicket was shut.
Martin pulled out his axe, and drove the panel in.
"What are you doing? We shall rouse the town," said Hereward.
"Let be; these are no French, but honest English, and like one all the
better for a little horse-play."
"What didst do that for?" asked the surly voice again. "Were it not for
those rascal Frenchmen up above, I would come out and split thy skull for
thee."
"If there be Frenchmen up above," said Martin, in a voice of feigned
terror, "take us in for the love of the Virgin and all the saints, or
murdered we shall be ere morning light."
"You have no call to stay in the town, man, unless you like.
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