“The health of Harold, our noble king, elected to that post by the suffrages of all true Englishmen!  Nobler title no king on earth may claim.”

It was drunk with acclamation.

“The memory of our brethren who went forth with us from Aescendune, and have left their bones at Stamford Bridge.  Weep not for them, they have fallen in no unjust war, but for hearth and altar, for their country and their God; and this I swear, that while I rule at Aescendune, their souls shall never lack a mass at St. Wilfred’s altar, nor their widows and orphans food and shelter.”

This toast was drunk in solemn silence, and Edmund continued: 

“Our toils are not yet over; we have one more battle to fight, and that may serve to free us from further need of fighting for the rest of our lives.  William the Norman landed with sixty thousand men in Sussex, as many of you already know, while we were in Northumbria, or I trow he had never landed at all.  The day after tomorrow we don our harness again to meet this new foe, but it will be child’s play compared with that which is past.  Shall we, who have conquered the awful Harold Hardrada, the victor of a hundred fights, fear these puny Frenchmen?  They have come in a large fleet; a fishing boat will be too roomy to take them back; their bones will whiten and enrich the fields of Sussex for generations.”

“The day after tomorrow!—­start again the day after tomorrow, oh, my lord!” said a gentle, pleading voice.

“It must be so, my love; but why doubt that the God who has already given us such an earnest of victory will protect us still, and preserve us to each other?”

All the charm of the banquet was gone to the devoted wife, but young Wilfred pressed to his father’s side.

“Thou wilt take me this time, father.”

“Why, my boy, thou art barely fifteen, not old enough or strong enough yet to cope with men.”

“But these Normans are hardly men.”

“I fear me too much for thy tender age.”

“Oh, father, let me go.”

“Nay, thy mother needs thy care.”

“But I must begin some day, and what day better than this?  I can fight by thy side.”

“There is really little danger, my wife,” he said, in reply to the pleading looks of the mother; “I would not take him to meet the Danes, but there is less danger in these dainty Frenchmen.  The grandson of Alfgar should be encouraged, not restrained, when he seeks to play the man, even as we repress not, but stimulate the first feeble attempts of the young falcon to strike its prey.”

The Lady Winifred said no more at the time, for the duties of a host demanded her lord’s care.  The moon was high in the heavens ere the last song was sung, the last tale told, and the guests dismissed with these parting words: 

“And now, my merry men all, your own homes claim your presence.  One day ye may safely give to rest; the day after tomorrow we march again; for Harold will complete his levies on the 10th, and we must not be behind.  Goodnight!  Saints and angels guard your well-deserved rest.”