th them news from
England. Then Eadmund would go to the haven at the mouth of the
great river Seine that runs to Rouen, so that he should be at hand
to hear the first tidings that came. Glad enough was I to go with
him, and we took up our quarters in a great house that belonged to
the duke at the town they call "The Haven," and there waited, ever
watching the long gray sea line for a coming sail.

But none came until the first week in March, when the wind blew
steadily from the northeast, and the sky was clear and bright with
promise of open weather. Then at last we saw eight ships together
heading for the haven, and that sight was more welcome than I can
say.

When they came near we knew that they were no traders, but long
dragon ships, and at first we thought they were Danish vikings; and
the townsmen armed in haste and mustered along the wharves to
prevent their landing, if they came on their wonted errand of
plunder. And eagerly enough did Eadmund and I join them, only
hoping for another blow at our foes, and having no thought in our
minds that the ships we watched were bringing us more hope than we
dared long for.

Next I knew that these ships were like no Danish vessels that I had
ever seen, but were far more handsome, both in build and fittings.
Nor did they fly the terrible raven banner as most Danes were wont.
Then it was not long before the lines of armed townsmen broke up
their ranks and crowded down to the wharves to greet the ships in
all friendliness, for they were Norse, as it would seem, and the
Norse viking is ever welcome in the land that Rolf Ganger, the
viking, won for himself.

So the ships came into the harbour, brave with gilded dragon heads
and sails striped with bright colours, all fresh from their winter
quarters, and Eadmund turned away, for he thought that they would
be Swein's men, of the host of Thorkel the Norseman, his great
captain, and foster father of Cnut his son. For Swein held Norway
as well as Denmark, and many Norsemen followed him. Thorkel's host
was that which slew Elfheah, the good archbishop of Canterbury,
whom his monks called Elphege, but last year.

That, too, was the thought of the seamen to whom I spoke when the
ships were yet distant, and so we went back to the hall heavy and
disappointed. We would not speak to these men, knowing that from
Thorkel's folk we should but hear boasting of Swein's victories.

But presently the steward came into the hall, where we sat