One could not wish for better weather for the open, and the lines of gay tents, with the pavilion for the king in their midst, seemed homely and pleasant to me with memory of the days which seemed so long ago when the camp of Carl was my only home.
As soon as we reached this camp under the hill, where the town stockading rose strong and high against the Welsh, the thane I have already mentioned, Gymbert, arranged our lodging, he being the king's marshal in charge of us, and also warden of the palace.

He was a huge man, burly and strong, somewhat too smooth spoken, as I thought, but pleasant withal.

He gave me a tent to myself, somewhat apart from the king's pavilion, as a Frankish stranger, I suppose.
"Your thralls will bide with the rest," he said; "they can find shelter in the tents there are yonder.

If some of them have to bide outside, it will not hurt them." "Well enough you ken that, Gymbert," said Erling curtly, in good Welsh.
I understood him, of course, for we had Welsh thralls enough at home, but I wondered that he knew the tongue.

Gymbert understood him also, for his face flushed red and he bit his lip.