“It is only the English Berserker, the Lady Torfrida’s champion,” said some one, in his most courteous tone, “who is not yet as well acquainted with the customs of knighthood as that fair lady hopes to make him hereafter.”
“Torfrida’s champion?” asked Adela, in a tone of surprise, if not scorn.
“If any knight quarrels with my Hereward, he quarrels with Robert himself!” thundered Count Robert. “Silence!”
The banquet ended; and they walked out into the garden to cool their heads, and play at games, and dance.
Torfrida avoided Hereward: but he, with the foolish pertinacity of a man who knows he has had too much wine, and yet pretends to himself that he has not, would follow her, and speak to her.
She turned away more than once. At last she was forced to speak to him.
“So! You have made me a laughing-stock to these knights. You have scorned at my gifts. You have said--and before these men, too--that you need neither helm nor hauberk. Give me them back, then, Berserker as you are, and go sleep off your wine.”
“That will I,” laughed Hereward boisterously.
“You are tipsy,” said she, “and do not know what you say.”
“You are angry, and do not know what you say. Hearken, proud lass. I will take care of one thing, and that is, that you shall speak the truth.”
“Pish! You said that I was a Berserker. And truth you shall speak; for baresark I go to-morrow to the war, and baresark I win that mare or die.”
And the two turned haughtily from each other.
Ere Torfrida went to bed that night, there was a violent knocking. Angry as she was, she was yet anxious enough to hurry out of her chamber, and open the door herself.
Martin Lightfoot stood there with a large leather case, which he flung at her feet somewhat unceremoniously.
“There is some gear of yours,” said he, as it clanged and rattled on the floor.
“Only that my master bid me say that he cares as little for his own life as you do.” And he turned away.
“What is the meaning of this? What is in this mail?”
“You should know best. If young folks cannot be content when they are well off, they will go farther and fare worse,” says Martin Lightfoot. And he slipt from her grasp and fled into the night.
She took the mail to her room and opened it. It contained the magic armor.