Little was said till the desire for eating and drinking
was appeased. But the minstrels sang many a song of the glories of
the English race, particularly of the thanes of Aescendune, and of
the best and noblest warrior amongst them--Alfgar, the companion of
the Ironside, the father of the present earl, who had been borne to
his grave full of years and honour amidst the tears of his people,
in the very last year of the Confessor.
But when the boards were removed, the thanks rendered to the God
who had given all, the huge fire replenished, the wine and mead
handed round, then Edmund the Thane rose amidst the expectant
silence of his retainers.
"The health of Harold, our noble king, elected to that post by the
suffrages of all true Englishmen! Nobler title no king on earth may
claim."
It was drunk with acclamation.
"The memory of our brethren who went forth with us from Aescendune,
and have left their bones at Stamford Bridge. Weep not for them,
they have fallen in no unjust war, but for hearth and altar, for
their country and their God; and this I swear, that while I rule at
Aescendune, their souls shall never lack a mass at St. Wilfred's
altar, nor their widows and orphans food and shelter."
This toast was drunk in solemn silence, and Edmund continued:
"Our toils are not yet over; we have one more battle to fight, and
that may serve to free us from further need of fighting for the
rest of our lives.
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