"And you want tin?"

The merchant nodded again, and lifting his cup drank Alef's health,
following it up by a coarse joke in Cornish, which raised a laugh all
round.

The Norse trader of those days, it must be remembered, was none of the
cringing and effeminate chapmen who figure in the stories of the Middle
Ages. A free Norse or Dane, himself often of noble blood, he fought as
willingly as he bought; and held his own as an equal, whether at the court
of a Cornish kinglet or at that of the Great Kaiser of the Greeks.

"And you, fair sir," said Alef, looking keenly at Hereward, "by what name
shall I call you, and what service can I do for you? You look more like an
earl's son than a merchant, and are come here surely for other things
besides tin."

"Health to King Alef," said Hereward, raising the cup. "Who I am I will
tell to none but Alef's self; but an earl's son I am, though an outlaw and
a rover. My lands are the breadth of my boot-sole. My plough is my sword.
My treasure is my good right hand. Nothing I have, and nothing I need,
save to serve noble kings and earls, and win me a champion's fame. If you
have battles to fight, tell me, that I may fight them for you. If you have
none, thank God for his peace; and let me eat and drink, and go in peace."

"King Alef needs neither man nor boy to fight his battle as long as
Ironhook sits in his hall."

It was the red-bearded giant who spoke in a broken tongue, part Scotch,
part Cornish, part Danish, which Hereward could hardly understand; but