'when King Hardrada was in that land he met
something worse far than Pharaohs.'

'What was that?' asked the others.

'A fearsome beast that wore armour like a man. They call it a
crocodile; and the country there is swarming with its like. Ten rows
of teeth it had; and it came out of the river on its hind legs, and
clawed at the king with iron gloves. They fought till sundown, they
say, man and beast; and hard work had the king to slay the awesome
creature.--He's a great fighter, is King Harold Hardrada.'

The others marched in silence for a time, thinking about this fearful
adventure of the Norwegian king. It was night, and the harvest moon
was lighting up the long lines of men, with the king and his nobles on
their tired horses at the head; the sleeping cottages, and the yellow
shocks of corn standing ready cut in the fields on either side of the
way.

'They do say,' began another man after a time, 'that the next enemy we
shall have to fight will be the Duke of Normandy.'

Weary as they were, all the hearers drew themselves up and squared
their shoulders.

'Let him come,' they said. 'We will have no Norman for our king!'

'Ay,' another voice was saying, 'they do tell that the Pope has sent
him a sacred banner, and calls it a holy war because our good king has
broken an oath which he swore long ago, to help Duke William to be King
of England.'

'We will have no foreigner to be our king,' repeated the men. 'Neither
Pope nor earl can give away the crown of England.'

They marched resolutely onward; and for a time nothing was heard save
the steady tramp of feet and the breathing of the tired horses.

Presently a halt was called, and the weary army lay down to snatch a
few hours' sleep beneath the moon.

They were on foot again by daybreak; and at length they came face to
face with their foes.

Near Stamford Bridge on the river Derwent, the Norwegian army was drawn
up in a great circle, with the sunbeams glinting upon helmets and
spear-points. High overhead floated the royal standard, a raven with
outstretched wings, called by the Norwegians the land-waster.

Riding at a short distance from the army was a knight in a bright blue
mantle and a shining helmet.

'Who is that man?' asked Harold of one of his captains.

'It is the King of Norway,' replied the captain.

Harold looked at the rider again.

'He is a tall and stately king,' he said; 'but his end is near.'

Then he looked again at the Nor