"That Englishmen are not stout
fighters, no man can say, but the love of it is not in their breasts; while
with Northmen--"
"With Northmen," Morcard added, "to fight is to eat."
Another faint smile touched Sebert's mouth as he glanced over his shoulder at
the red-cloaked boy. "After seeing this sprout, that is easy to believe.
Except that time alone when a two-year-old colt kicked me on the head, I have
never had my life threatened by so young a thing."
He grew grave again as his glance rested on his captive. "I want you to tell
me something," he said presently. "You were Canute's page; I saw that you
accompanied him in battle. I want you to tell me what he is like in his
temper."
"It would be more easy to tell you what he is unlike," Randalin answered
slowly; "for in no way whatever is he like your King Edmund." She sat awhile
in silence, her eyes absently following the course of the wind over a slope of
bending grain. At the foot, it caught a clump of willow-trees so that they
flashed with hidden silver and tossed their slender arms like dancers. "I
think this is the difference, to tell it shortly," she said at last; "while it
sometimes happens that Canute is driven by necessity or evil counsels to act
deceitfully toward others, he is always honest in his own mind; while your
Edmund,--I think he lies to himself also.
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