“Think not that I owe them gratitude for aught they have done.  They tampered with thy faith, I now apprehend, even before the night of St. Brice, and perhaps drew from thee the knowledge which enabled them to surprise so large a party in my house.  But all this was to make thee abandon the gods of thy fathers, and to inflict the worst injury they could upon a warrior.  I trust they have failed!”

“Father, I am a Christian!”

“Say not that again, boy, if thou would not have me kill thee.”

“I can but say it, father.  In all that touches not my faith and duty as a Christian, I am bound to love, honour, and obey you.  But our religion forbids me to nourish revenge.”

“Of what religion, pray, were they who would have slain thy father on St. Brice’s night?”

Alfgar hung his head.

“When Christians practise themselves what they teach, then we will heed their pretensions, but not till then.  Their religion is but a cloak for their cowardice, and they put it aside as a man throws away a useless garment when they have the chance of slaying their foes without danger.”

“There are good and bad Christians, father.”

“Commend me to the bad ones then.  Do not speak to me of a religion which makes men cowards and slaves.  These English were warriors once, till the Pope and his bishops converted them, and now what are they? cruel and treacherous as ever, only without the courage of men.”

Alfgar felt the injustice of all this, and with the example of Bertric in his mind, he cared nor for the accusation of cowardice.

“Here, then, my boy, on this spot where thou wert once cradled, renounce all these Christian follies and superstitions, and thou shalt go back with me to the camp of King Sweyn, where thou shalt be received as the descendant of warrior kings, and shalt forget that thou, the falcon, wert ever the inmate of the dovecote.”

There was a time when this temptation would have been almost irresistible, but that time was over, and after one earnest prayer for strength from above, Alfgar replied.

“My father, if you claim my obedience, I must even go with you to your people, but it will be to my death.  I have said I am a Christian.”

“And dost thou think I have found thee—­thee, my only son—­to part with thee again so easily? nay, thou art and shalt be mine, and, if not mine, then thou shalt be the grave’s; for either thou shalt live as thy ancestors have lived, a warrior and a hero, or the earth shall cover thee and my disgrace together.”

“Father, I can die.”

“Thou dost not fear death then?”

“Thou hast left one behind thee—­one who did not fear to die the martyr’s death.”

“Dost thou mean Bertric of Aescendune?”

“I do; they slew him, cruelly, although neither he nor his have ever dealt cruelly with thy people.”

“Thy people, why not our people? art thou ashamed of thy kindred?”