"Fierce and ruthless, men say, is William the Duke against foes with their swords in their hands, but debonnair and mild to the gentle [105], frank host and kind lord.

And these Normans have a code of their own, more grave than all morals, more binding than even their fanatic religion.

Thou knowest it well, mother, for it comes from thy race of the North, and this code of honour, they call it, makes Wolnoth's head as sacred as the relics of a saint set in zimmes.

Ask only, my brother, when thou comest in sight of the Norman Duke, ask only 'the kiss of peace,' and, that kiss on thy brow, thou wilt sleep more safe than if all the banners of England waved over thy couch." [106] "But how long shall the exile be ?" asked Githa, comforted.

Harold's brow fell.
"Mother, not even to cheer thee will I deceive.