“Well, man, I think not the worse of you for
loyal love to your thegn, but there are those who
would do so, and I advise you, brotherlike, that ears
and nose are in peril if thou talkest thus indiscreetly.”
“Steel to steel, and hand to hand,” said
the Saxon, bluntly, touching the long knife in his
leathern belt, “and he who sets gripe on Sexwolf
son of Elfhelm, shall pay his weregeld twice over.”
“Forewarned, foolish man, thou are forewarned.
Peace,” said the King; and, shaking his head,
he rode on to join the Normans, who now, in a broad
field, where the corn sprang green, and which they
seemed to delight in wantonly trampling, as they curvetted
their steeds to and fro, watched the movements of
the bittern and the pursuit of the two falcons.
“A wager, Lord King!” said a prelate,
whose strong family likeness to William proclaimed
him to be the Duke’s bold and haughty brother,
Odo [28], Bishop of Bayeux;—“a wager.
My steed to your palfrey that the Duke’s falcon
first fixes the bittern.”
“Holy father,” answered Edward, in that
slight change of voice which alone showed his displeasure,
“these wagers all savour of heathenesse, and
our canons forbid them to mone [29] and priest.
Go to, it is naught.”
The bishop, who brooked no rebuke, even from his terrible
brother, knit his brows, and was about to make no
gentle rejoinder, when William, whose profound craft
or sagacity was always at watch, lest his followers
should displease the King, interposed, and taking the
word out of the prelate’s mouth, said:
“Thou reprovest us well, Sir and King; we Normans
are too inclined to such levities. And see,
your falcon is first in pride of place. By the
bones of St. Valery, how nobly he towers! See
him cover the bittern!—see him rest on
the wing!—Down he swoops! Gallant
bird!”
“With his heart split in two on the bittern’s
bill,” said the bishop; and down, rolling one
over the other, fell bittern and hawk, while William’s
Norway falcon, smaller of size than the King’s,
descended rapidly, and hovered over the two.
Both were dead.
“I accept the omen,” muttered the gazing
Duke; “let the natives destroy each other!”
He placed his whistle to his lips, and his falcon
flew back to his wrist.
“Now home,” said King Edward.
The royal party entered London by the great bridge
which divided Southwark from the capital; and we must
pause to gaze a moment on the animated scene which
the immemorial thoroughfare presented.
