"I do not see! where, oh where?" "He is behind the hillock now, but--oh, there again! How fast he comes!" "It is like the flight of a bird," said Richard, "fast, fast--" "If only it be not flight in earnest," said Alberic, a little anxiously, looking into the warder's face, for he was a borderer, and tales of terror of the inroad of the Vicomte du Contentin were rife on the marches of the Epte. "No, young Sir," said the warder, "no fear of that. I know how men ride when they flee from the battle." "No, indeed, there is no discomfiture in the pace of that steed," said Sir Eric, who had by this time joined them. "I see him clearer! I see the horse," cried Richard, dancing with eagerness, so that Sir Eric caught hold of him, exclaiming, "You will be over the battlements! hold still! better hear of a battle lost than that!" "He bears somewhat in his hand," said Alberic. "A banner or pennon," said the warder; "methinks he rides like the young Baron." "He does! My brave boy! He has done good service," exclaimed Sir Eric, as the figure became more developed. "The Danes have seen how we train our young men." "His wings bring good tidings," said Richard. "Let me go, Sir Eric, I must tell Fru Astrida." The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised, and as all the dwellers in the Castle stood gathered in the court, in rode the warrior with the winged helm, bearing in his hand a drooping banner; lowering it as he entered, it unfolded, and displayed, trailing on the ground at the feet of the little Duke of Normandy, the golden lilies of France. A shout of amazement arose, and all gathered round him, asking hurried questions. "A great victory--the King a prisoner--Montreuil slain!" Richard would not be denied holding his hand, and leading him to the hall, and there, sitting around him, they heard his tidings. His father's first question was, what he thought of their kinsmen, the Danes? "Rude comrades, father, I must own," said Osmond, smiling, and shaking his head. "I could not pledge them in a skull-goblet--set in gold though it were." "None the worse warriors," said Sir Eric. "Ay, ay, and you were dainty, and brooked not the hearty old fashion of tearing the whole sheep to pieces. You must needs cut your portion with the fine French knife at your girdle." Osmond could not see that a man was braver for being a savage, but he held his peace; and Richard impatiently begged to hear how the battle had gone, and where it had been fought. "On the bank of the Dive," said Osmond. "Ah, father, you might well call old Harcourt wary--his name might better have been Fox-heart than Bear-heart! He had sent to the Franks a message of distress, that the Danes were on him in full force, and to pray them to come to his aid." "I trust there was no treachery. No foul dealing shall be wrought in my name," exclaimed Richard, with such dignity of tone and manner, as made all feel he was indeed their Duke, and forget his tender years.