"We
used to be told in Flanders that there were none such stout drinkers and
none such jolly singers as you gallant men of the Danelagh here."
"Dull times make dull company," said one, "and no offence to you, Sir
Knight."
"Are you such a stranger," asked Perry, "that you do not know what has
happened in this town during the last three days?"
"No good, I will warrant, if you have Frenchmen in it."
"Why was not Hereward here?" wailed the old man in the corner. "It never
would have happened if he had been in the town."
"What?" asked Hereward, trying to command himself.
"What has happened," said Perry, "makes a free Englishman's blood boil to
tell of. Here, Sir Knight, three days ago, comes in this Frenchman with
some twenty ruffians of his own, and more of one Taillebois's, too, to see
him safe; says that this new king, this base-born Frenchman, has given
away all Earl Morcar's lands, and that Bourne is his; kills a man or two;
upsets the women; gets drunk, ruffles, and roisters; breaks into my lady's
bower, calling her to give up her keys, and when she gives them, will have
all her jewels too. She faces them like a brave Princess, and two of the
hounds lay hold of her, and say that she shall ride through Bourne as she
rode through Coventry. The boy Godwin--he that was the great Earl's
godson, our last hope, the last of our house--draws sword on them; and he,
a boy of sixteen summers, kills them both out of hand.
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