"There spoke a true Leofricsson," said Brand, in spite of himself.

"'By the--'" (and Martin repeated a certain very solemn oath), "said your
father, 'justice I will have, my Lord King. Who talks to me of my own son?
You put me into my earldom to see justice done and law obeyed; and how
shall I make others keep within bound if I am not to keep in my own flesh
and blood? Here is this land running headlong to ruin, because every
nobleman--ay, every churl who owns a manor, if he dares--must needs arm
and saddle, and levy war on his own behalf, and harry and slay the king's
lieges, if he have not garlic to his roast goose every time he
chooses,'--and there your father did look at Godwin, once and for
all;--'and shall I let my son follow the fashion, and do his best to leave
the land open and weak for Norseman, or Dane, or Frenchman, or whoever
else hopes next to mount the throne of a king who is too holy to leave an
heir behind him?'"

"Ahoi! Martin the silent! Where learnt you so suddenly the trade of
preaching? I thought you kept your wind for your running this two years
past. You would make as good a talker among the Witan as Godwin himself.
You give it us all, word for word, and voice and gesture withal, as if you
were King Edward's French Chancellor."

Martin smiled. "I am like Falada the horse, my lords, who could only speak
to his own true princess. Why I held my tongue of late was only lest they
should cut my head off for talking, as they did poor Falada's."

"Thou art a very crafty knave," said Brand, "and hast had clerk-learning
in thy time, I can see, and made bad use of it. I misdoubt very much that
thou art some runaway monk."