"Then you have right to ask," answered our king. "I am Olaf
Haraldsson. I am a viking, and come in peace to see and speak with
your father."

The boy stared at the king in wonder for a moment.

"Are you truly Olaf the Thick, who broke London Bridge?" he asked.

"Well, I had some hand in it," answered Olaf laughing, "for I told
the men when to pull, and when they pulled, the bridge came down.
They did it and I looked on."

Then young Godwine laughed also, and bade the king welcome most
heartily, adding:

"You must tell me all about the bridge breaking presently."

"Nay; but Redwald my cousin, or Ottar my scald here will tell you
more than I may."

"Redwald is an Anglian name," said Godwine, taking my hand. "Are
you English therefore?"

"Aye, young sir, from East Anglian Bures, in Suffolk," I answered.

"Are you Edric Streone's man then?" he said, dropping my hand
suddenly and half stepping back.

"I am not," I said pretty stoutly, for I was angry with Streone's
way with Olaf--and with other ways of his. "Ulfkytel is our earl."