"Ride at them, and strike
hard! You will soon find out which is which. This booty I must pick for
myself. What are you at?" roared he, after his knights. "Spread off the
road, and keep your line, as I told you, and don't override each other!
Curse the hot-headed fools! The Normans will scatter them like sparrows.
Run on, men-at-arms, to stop the French if we are broken. And don't forget
Guisnes field and the horses' legs. Now, King, are you come to life yet?"
"You have killed him," quoth Leofric the deacon, whom Hereward had
beckoned to stop with him.
"I hope not. Lend me a knife. He is a much slighter man than I fancied,"
said Hereward, as they got his helmet off.
And when it was off, both started and stared. For they had uncovered, not
the beetling brow, Roman nose, and firm curved lip of the Ulysses of the
middle age, but the face of a fair lad, with long straw-colored hair, and
soft blue eyes staring into vacancy.
"Who are you?" shouted Hereward, saying very bad words, "who come here
aping the name of king?"
"Mother! Christina! Margaret! Waltheof Earl!" moaned the lad, raising his
head and letting it fall again.
"It is the Atheling!" cried Leofric.
Hereward rose, and stood over the boy.
"Ah! what was I doing to handle him so tenderly? I took him for the
Mamzer, and thought of a king's ransom.
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