Waltheof told him how he was going round the country, raising forces in the name of the Atheling, when, as they were straggling along the Roman road, Gilbert of Ghent had dashed out on them from a wood, cut their line in two, driven Waltheof one way, and the Atheling another, and that the Atheling had only escaped by riding, as they saw, for his life. “Well done, old Gilbert!” laughed Hereward. “You must beware, my Lord Earl, how you venture within reach of that old bear’s paw!” “Bear? By the by, Sir Hereward,” asked Waltheof, whose thoughts ran loosely right and left, “why is it that you carry the white bear on your banner?” “Do you not know? Your house ought to have a blood-feud against me. I slew your great-uncle, or cousin, or some other kinsman, at Gilbert’s house in Scotland long ago; and since then I sleep on his skin every night, and carry his picture in my banner all day.” “Blood-feuds are solemn things,” said Waltheof, frowning. “Karl killed my grandfather Aldred at the battle of Settrington, and his four sons are with the army at York now--” “For the love of all saints and of England, do not think of avenging that! Every man must now put away old grudges, and remember that he has but one foe,--William and his Frenchmen.” “Very nobly spoken. But those sons of Karl--and I think you said you had killed a kinsman of mine?” “It was a bear, Lord Earl, a great white bear. Cannot you understand a jest? Or are you going to take up the quarrels of all white bears that are slain between here and Iceland? You will end by burning Crowland minster then, for there are twelve of your kinsmen’s skins there, which Canute gave forty years ago.” “Burn Crowland minster? St. Guthlac and all saints forbid!” said Waltheof, crossing himself devoutly. “Are you a monk-monger into the bargain, as well as a dolt? A bad prospect for us, if you are,” said Hereward to himself. “Ah, my dear Lord King!” said Waltheof, “and you are recovering?” “Somewhat,” said the lad, sitting up, “under the care of this kind knight.” “He is a monk, Sir Atheling, and not a knight,” said Hereward. “Our fenmen can wear a mail-shirt as easily as a frock, and handle a twybill as neatly as a breviary.” Waltheof shook his head. “It is contrary to the canons of Holy Church.” “So are many things that are done in England just now. Need has no master. Now, Sir Earl and Sir Atheling, what are you going to do?” Neither of them, it seemed, very well knew. They would go to York if they could get there, and join Gospatrick and Marlesweyn. And certainly it was the most reasonable thing to be done. “But if you mean to get to York, you must march after another fashion than this,” said Hereward. “See, Sir Earl, why you were broken by Gilbert; and why you will be broken again, if this order holds. If you march your men along one of these old Roman streets--By St. Mary! these Romans had more wits than we; for we have spoilt the roads they left us, and never made a new one of our own--”