"My lord, we Danes are wanting to know when we are to make a move south? We have wasted four good days in drivel and talk, when we should have been making good our vantage. We might by this time have sacked Shepfield, Leacaster, and Birmingam, where they tell me the gold-smiths', armourers', and weavers' crafts are flourishing, and where, to boot, the Normans have built themselves many pretty house places full of dainty stuff. All of which we might have pouched whilst this dog's whelp is abroad!" "Worthy thane," replied Waltheof, "we are waiting for Malcolm of Scotland and the young Prince Atheling, for we expect the Saxons of the south will rally to the standard of the Prince. We also have to remember that the Normans are more thickly posted farther south, and we must therefore have all our forces up." "Tut, tut! Cowardice is at the bottom of it all, as I thought. But what care we for the Norman dogs? and what care we for a baby prince who cannot be brought to the fray? We want the spoils, and there is none to be had cowering here like a fox in his hole. If we are not to move south at once, why then we take the tide the morn's even, and leave you to face the bear when he comes to his lair as best you can." At this juncture the attention of every member of the council was suddenly arrested by the advent of a messenger who suddenly burst into the room, with the perspiration pouring off him by reason of the hot haste with which he had ridden. "How now, fellow! what news hast thou which calls for such haste?" said Waltheof. "My lords," exclaimed the messenger, "I have ridden all speed to make known unto you that the Norman is back again in England, and that he is rapidly marching northwards at the head of an army; he being not more than two days' march to the south." If a thunderbolt had dashed into the room instead of this messenger, the effect could not have been greater. Waltheof turned pale as death, and peered nervously about the room, as though he expected to be instantly confronted by the dreaded presence of the king. Several also rose from their seats and promptly slid out of the room in dismay at the tidings. The Danish rovers were not slow to note this arrant cowardice, and one of them immediately jumped to his feet in fierce exasperation at this conduct, and sneeringly shouted, "Ha, ha! the Saxon caitiffs are slinking off at the mention of this dog of a Norman! Never mind, let the cowards go. I pledge me a health to the Danish warriors, who will dare to fight the cowardly Saxons' battle for them; but we'll see to't that the Danish war-ships shall bear away the spoil," and as he spoke he gulped down a huge draught of wine. "Excuse me, worthy thane," said Oswald, the young Saxon chieftain, starting to his feet at these taunts; "let me tell you the Saxons have their virtues, and valour too, not one whit behind that of your countrymen."