So promises were given all round; and Hereward explained the matter to the men, without whose advice (for they were all as free as himself) he could not act. “Needs must,” grunted they, as they packed up each his little valuables. Then Hereward sheathed his sword, and leaping from the bow, came up to the boy. “Put your hands between his, fair sir,” said the Châtelain. “That is not the manner of Vikings.” And he took the boy’s right hand, and grasped it in the plain English fashion. “There is the hand of an honest man. Come down, men, and take this young lord’s hand, and serve him in the wars as I will do.” One, by one the men came down; and each took Arnulf’s hand, and shook it till the lad’s face grew red. But none of them bowed, or made obeisance. They looked the boy full in the face, and as they stepped back, stared round upon the ring of armed men with a smile and something of a swagger. “These are they who bow to no man, and call no man master,” whispered the Abbot. And so they were: and so are their descendants of Scotland and Northumbria, unto this very day. The boy sprang from his horse, and walked among them and round them in delight. He admired and handled their long-handled double axes; their short sea-bows of horn and deer-sinew; their red Danish jerkins; their blue sea-cloaks, fastened on the shoulder with rich brooches; and the gold and silver bracelets on their wrists. He wondered at their long shaggy beards, and still more at the blue patterns with which the English among them, Hereward especially, were tattooed on throat and arm and knee. “Yes, you are Vikings,--just such as my Uncle Robert tells me of.” Hereward knew well the exploits of Robert le Frison in Spain and Greece. “I trust that your noble uncle,” he asked, “is well? He was one of us poor sea-cocks, and sailed the swan’s path gallantly, till he became a mighty prince. Here is a man here who was with your noble uncle in Byzant.” And he thrust forward the old master. The boy’s delight knew no bounds. He should tell him all about that in St. Bertin. Then he rode back to the ship, and round and round her (for the tide by that time had left her high and dry), and wondered at her long snake-like lines, and carven stem and stern. “Tell me about this ship. Let me go on board of her. I have never seen a ship inland at Mons there; and even here there are only heavy ugly busses, and little fishing-boats. No. You must be all hungry and tired. We will go to St. Bertin at once, and you shall be feasted royally. Hearken, villains!” shouted he to the peasants. “This ship belongs to the fair sir here,--my guest and friend; and if any man dares to steal from her a stave or a nail, I will have his thief’s hand cut off.” “The ship, fair lord,” said Hereward, “is yours, not mine. You should build twenty more after her pattern, and man them with such lads as these, and then go down to ‘Miklagard and Spanialand, That lie so far on the lee, O!’