What meanest thou, knave? Wilt thou take the letter or no?
I will take it. And he again looked at it without rising off his knee. His own father, too.
What is that to thee, I say again?
Nothing: I have no father. But Gods Son has one!
What wilt thou, thou strange man? asked she, puzzled and half-frightened; and how camest thou to know what is in this letter?
Who does not know? A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. On the fourth day from this I will be back.
And Martin rose, and putting the letter solemnly into the purse at his girdle, shot out of the door with clenched teeth, as a man upon a fixed purpose which it would lighten his heart to carry out. He ran rapidly through the large outer hall, past the long oak table, at which Hereward and his boon companions were drinking and roistering; and as he passed the young lord he cast on him a look so full of meaning, that though Hereward knew not what the meaning was, it startled him, and for a moment softened him. Did this man who had sullenly avoided him for more than two years, whom he had looked on as a clod or a post in the field beneath his notice, since he could be of no use to him,did this man still care for him? Hereward had reason to know better than most that there was something strange and uncanny about the man. Did he mean him well? Or had he some grudge against him, which made him undertake this journey willingly and out of spite?possibly with the will to make bad worse. For an instant Herewards heart misgave him. He would stop the letter at all risks. Hold him! he cried to his comrades.
But Martin turned to him, laid his finger on his lips, smiled kindly, and saying You promised! caught up a loaf from the table, slipped from among them like an eel, and darted out of the door, and out of the close. They followed him to the great gate, and there stopped, some cursing, some laughing. To give Martin Lightfoot a yard advantage was never to come up with him again. Some called for bows to bring him down with a parting shot. But Hereward forbade them; and stood leaning against the gate-post, watching him trot on like a lean wolf over the lawn, till he was lost in the great elm-woods which fringed the southern fen.
Now, lads, said Hereward, home with you all, and make your peace with your fathers. In this house you never drink ale again.
They looked at him, surprised.
You are disbanded, my gallant army. As long as I could cut long thongs out of other mens hides, I could feed you like earls sons: but now I must feed myself; and a dog over his bone wants no company. Outlawed I shall be before the week is out; and unless you wish to be outlawed too, you will obey orders, and home.
We will follow you to the worlds end, cried some.
To the ropes end, lads: that is all you will get in my company. Go home with you, and those who feel a calling, let them turn monks; and those who have not, let them learn
For to plough and to sow,
And to reap and to mow,
And to be a farmers boy.
Good night.
And he went in, and shut the great gates after him, leaving them astonished.
To take his advice, and go home, was the simplest thing to be done. A few of them on their return were soundly thrashed, and deserved it; a few were hidden by their mothers for a week, in hay-lofts and hen-roosts, till their fathers anger had passed away. But only one turned monk or clerk, and that was Leofric the Unlucky, godson of the great earl, and poet-in-ordinary to the band.
The next morning at dawn Hereward mounted his best horse, armed himself from head to foot, and rode over to Peterborough.
When he came to the abbey-gate, he smote thereon with his lance-but, till the porters teeth rattled in his head for fear.
Let me in! he shouted. I am Hereward Leofricsson. I must see my Uncle Brand.
O my most gracious lord! cried the porter, thrusting his head out of the wicket, what is this that you have been doing to our Steward?
The tithe of what I will do, unless you open the gate!
O my lord! said the porter, as he opened it, if our Lady and St. Peter would but have mercy on your fair face, and convert your soul to the fear of God and man
She would make me as good an old fool as you. Fetch my uncle, the Prior.
The porter obeyed. The son of Earl Leofric was as a young lion among the sheep in those parts; and few dare say him nay, certainly not the monks of Peterborough; moreover, the good porter could not help being strangely fond of Herewardas was every one whom he did not insult, rob, or kill.
Out came Brand, a noble elder: more fit, from his eye and gait, to be a knight than a monk. He looked sadly at Hereward.
Dear is bought the honey that is licked off the thorn, quoth Hending, said he.
Hending bought his wisdom by experience, I suppose, said Hereward, and so must I. So I am just starting out to see the world, uncle.
Naughty, naughty boy! If we had thee safe here again for a week, we would take this hot blood out of thee, and send thee home in thy right mind.
Bring a rod and whip me, then. Try, and you shall have your chance. Every one else has had, and this is the end of their labors.
By the chains of St. Peter, quoth the monk, that is just what thou needest. Hoist thee on such another fools back, truss thee up, and lay it on lustily, till thou art ashamed. To treat thee as a man is only to make thee a more heady blown-up ass than thou art already.
True, most wise uncle. And therefore my still wiser parents are going to treat me like a man indeed, and send me out into the world to seek my fortunes!
Eh?
They are going to prove how thoroughly they trust me to take care of myself, by outlawing me. Eh? say I in return. Is not that an honor, and a proof that I have not shown myself a fool, though I may have a madman?
Outlaw you? O my boy, my darling, my pride! Get off your horse, and dont sit there, hand on hip, like a turbaned Saracen, defying God and man; but come down and talk reason to me, for the sake of St. Peter and all saints.
Hereward threw himself off his horse, and threw his arms round his uncles neck.
Pish! Now, uncle, dont cry, do what you will, lest I cry too. Help me to be a man while I live, even if I go to the black place when I die.
It shall not be! .... and the monk swore by all the relics in Peterborough minster.
It must be. It shall be. I like to be outlawed. I want to be outlawed. It makes one feel like a man. There is not an earl in England, save my father, who has not been outlawed in his time. My brother Alfgar will be outlawed before he dies, if he has the spirit of a man in him. It is the fashion, my uncle, and I must follow it. So hey for the merry greenwood, and the long ships, and the swans bath, and all the rest of it. Uncle, you will lend me fifty silver pennies?
I? I would not lend thee one, if I had it, which I have not. And yet, old fool that I am, I believe I would.
I would pay thee back honestly. I shall go down to Constantinople to the Varangers, get my Polotaswarf [Footnote: See The Heimskringla, Harold Hardraades Saga, for the meaning of this word.] out of the Kaisers treasure, and pay thee back five to one.
What does this son of Belial here? asked an austere voice.
Ah! Abbot Leofric, my very good lord. I have come to ask hospitality of you for some three days. By that time I shall be a wolfs head, and out of the law: and then, if you will give me ten minutes start, you may put your bloodhounds on my track, and see which runs fastest, they or I. You are a gentleman, and a man of honor; so I trust to you to feed my horse fairly the meanwhile, and not to let your monks poison me.