So Havelok’s plan was to be carried out, and he and I were to set forth next morning.  Arngeir was yet uneasy about it, nevertheless, as one could see; but I did not at that time know why it should be so doubtful a matter that two strong men should go forth and seek their fortune but thirty miles away.  So we laughed at him.

“Well,” he said, “every one knows Radbard; but they will want to know who his tall comrade may be.  Old foes has Havelok, as Radbard knows, and therefore it may be well to find a new name for him.”

“No need to go far for that,” Withelm said.  “The marsh folk call him Curan.”

“Curan, the wonder, is good,” Arngeir said, after a little thought, for we all knew Welsh enough by this time.  “Or if you like a Danish name better, brother, call it ‘Kwaran,’ but silent about yourself you must surely be.”

We used to call him that at times—­for it means “the quiet” in our old tongue—­seeing how gentle and courtly he was in all his ways.  So the name was well fitting in either way.

“Silent and thoughtful should the son of a king be,” says the Havamal, and so it was with Havelok, son of Gunnar.

Now when I came to think, it was plain that we three stood in the mind of our brother in the place which my father had boded for us, and I was glad.  Well I knew that Raven, the watchful, and Withelm, the wise and thoughtful, would do their parts; and I thought that whether I could do mine was to be seen very shortly.  If I failed in help at need it should not be my fault.  It had been long growing in my mind who Havelok must be, though I said nothing of what I thought, because my father had bidden me be silent long ago, and I thought that I knew why.

We were to start early in the morning, so that we should get to the city betimes in the evening; and there was one thing that troubled the good sisters more than it did us.  They would have had us go in all our finery, such as we were wont to wear on holidays and at feastings; but none of that was left.  It had gone in buying corn, while there was any left to buy, along with every silver penny that we had.  So we must go in the plain fisher gear, that is made for use and not for show, frayed and stained, and a trifle tarry, but good enough.  It would not do to go in our war gear into a peaceful city; and so we took but the seax that every Englishman wears, and the short travelling spear that all wayfarers use.  Hardly was it likely that even the most hungry outlaw of the wild woldland would care to fall on us; for by this time such as we seemed had spent their all in food for themselves and their families, and all the money in Lindsey seemed to have gone away to places where there was yet somewhat to buy.

Busy were those kind sisters of ours that night in making ready the last meal that we should need to take from them.  And all the while they foretold pleasant things for us at the king’s court—­how that we should find high honour and the like.  So they set us forth well and cheerfully.