among his
French vassals. A fresh outcry broke out in the little garrison of
Senlis, but Sir Eric still persisted in his trust in his friend Bernard,
even when he heard that Centeville was marked out as the prey of the fat
French Count who had served for a hostage at Rouen.

"What say you now, my Lord?" said he, after a conference with a messenger
at the gate. "The Black Raven has spread its wings. Fifty keels are in
the Seine, and Harald Blue-tooth's Long Serpent at the head of them."

"The King of Denmark! Come to my aid!"

"Ay, that he is! Come at Bernard's secret call, to right you, and put
you on your father's seat. Now call honest Harcourt a traitor, because
he gave not up your fair dukedom to the flame and sword!"

"No traitor to me," said Richard, pausing. "No, verily, but what more
would you say?"

"I think, when I come to my dukedom, I will not be so politic," said
Richard. "I will be an open friend or an open foe."

"The boy grows too sharp for us," said Sir Eric, smiling, "but it was
spoken like his father."

"He grows more like his blessed father each day," said Fru Astrida.

"But the Danes, father, the Danes!" said Osmond. "Blows will be passing
now. I may join the host and win my spurs?"

"With all my heart," returned the Baron, "so my Lord here gives you
leave: would that I could leave him and go with you. It would do my very
spirit good but to set foot in a Northern keel once more."

"I would fain see what these men of the North are," said Osmond.

"Oh! they are only Danes, not Norsemen, and there are no Vikings, such as
once were when Ragnar laid waste--"

"Son, son, what talk is this for the child's ears?" broke in Fru Astrida,
"are these words for a Christian Baron?"

"Your pardon, mother," said the grey warrior, in all humility, "but my
blood thrills to hear of a Northern fleet at hand, and to think of Osmond
drawing sword under a Sea-King."

The next morning, Osmond's steed was led to the door, and such
men-at-arms as could be spared from the garrison of Senlis were drawn up
in readiness to accompany him. The boys stood on the steps, wishing they
were old enough to be warriors, and wondering what had become of him,
until at length the sound of an opening door startled them, and there, in
the low archway of the smithy, the red furnace glowing behind him, stood
Osmond, clad in bright steel, the links of his hauberk reflecting the
light, and on his helmet a pair of golden w