"Look at the warrior, comrades!" "Hail, Berserker!" "Scamper, cub, or your
nurse will catch you!" "Tie some of your hair on your chin, little one!"

As the sound of hoof-beats died away, and the nag settled back to his steady
jog-trot, the girl unclenched her hands and drew a long breath.

"Though it seems a strange wonder that they should not know me for a woman, I
think I need give myself no further uneasiness. It must be that I am very like
Fridtjof in looks. It may be that it would not be unadvisable now for me to
ask advice of the next person how I can come to the camp."

The asking had become a matter of necessity by the time she found anyone
capable of answering the question. Three foreign merchants whom she overtook
near noon could give her no information, and she covered the next five miles
without seeing a living creature; then it was only a beggar, who crawled out
of the bushes to offer to sell the child beside him for a crust of bread. The
petition brought back to Randalin her own famished condition so sharply that
her answer was unnecessarily petulant, and the man disappeared before the
question could even be put to him. Two miles more, and nothing was in front of
her but a flock of ragged blackbirds circling over a trampled wheat-field.
Already the sun's round chin rested on the crest of the farthest hill. In
desperation, she turned aside and galloped after a mailed horseman who was
trotting down a clover-sweet lane with a rattle and clank that frightened the
robins from the hedges. He reined in with a guffaw when he saw what mettle of
blade it was that had accosted him.

"Is it your intention to join the army?" he inquired. "Canute will consider
himself in great luck."

"I am desirous to--to tell him something," Red Cloak faltered.