“You,” said Gyda, without noticing her daughter, “are, above all men, the man who is needed.” And she began praising Hereward’s valor, his fame, his eloquence, his skill as a general and engineer; and when he suggested, smiling, that he was an exile and an outlaw, she insisted that he was all the fitter from that very fact. He had no enemies among the nobles. He had been mixed up in none of the civil wars and blood feuds of the last fifteen years. He was known only as that which he was, the ablest captain of his day,--the only man who could cope with William, the only man whom all parties in England would alike obey. And so, with flattery as well as with truth, she persuaded, if not Hereward, at least Torfrida, that he was the man destined to free England once more; and that an earldom--anything which he chose to ask--would be the sure reward of his assistance. “Torfrida,” said Hereward that night, “kiss me well; for you will not kiss me again for a while.” “What?” “I am going to England to-morrow.” “Alone?” “Alone. I and Martin to spy out the land; and a dozen or so of housecarles to take care of the ship in harbor.” “But you have promised to fight the Viscount of Pinkney.” “I will be back again in time for him. Not a word,--I must go to England, or go mad.” “But Countess Gyda? Who will squire her to Bruges?” “You, and the rest of my men. You must tell her all. She has a woman’s heart, and will understand. And tell Baldwin I shall be back within the month, if I am alive on land or water.” “Hereward, Hereward, the French will kill you!” “Not while I have your armor on. Peace, little fool! Are you actually afraid for Hereward at last?” “O heavens! when am I not afraid for you!” and she cried herself to sleep upon his bosom. But she knew that it was the right, and knightly, and Christian thing to do. Two days after, a long ship ran out of Calais, and sailed away north and east. CHAPTER XIX. HOW HEREWARD CLEARED BOURNE OF FRENCHMEN. It may have been well, a week after, that Hereward rode from the direction of Boston, with Martin running at his heels. As Hereward rode along the summer wold the summer sun sank low, till just before it went down he came to an island of small enclosed fields, high banks, elm-trees, and a farm inside; one of those most ancient holdings of the South and East Counts, still to be distinguished, by their huge banks and dikes full of hedgerow timber, from the more modern corn-lands outside, which were in Hereward’s time mostly common pasture-lands. “This should be Azerdun,” said he; “and there inside, as I live, stands Azer getting in his crops. But who has he with him?” With the old man were some half-dozen men of his own rank; some helping the serfs with might and main; one or two standing on the top of the banks, as if on the lookout; but all armed _cap-à-pie_.