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Updated: May 24, 2025
I know your ways now, Torfrida." The winter passed in sweet madness; and for the first time in her life, Torfrida regretted the lengthening of the days, and the flowering of the primroses, and the return of the now needless wryneck; for they warned her that Hereward must forth again, to the wars in Scaldmariland, which had broken out again, as was to be expected, as soon as Count Robert and his bride had turned their backs.
Whereon high words followed, which Torfrida tried in vain to stop. Hereward was flushed with ire and scorn. "Magic armor, forsooth!" cried he at last. "What care I for armor or for magic? I will wager to you" "my armor," he was on the point of saying, but he checked himself in time "any horse in my stable, that I go in my shirt to Scaldmariland, and bring back that mare single-handed."
But a far sharper thorn in his side, and one which had troubled many a Count before, and was destined to trouble others afterward, was those unruly Hollanders, or Frisians, who dwelt in Scaldmariland, "the land of the meres of the Scheldt."
And thus there were few potentates of the North more feared and respected than Baldwin, the good-natured Earl of Flanders. But one sore thorn in the side he had, which other despots after him shared with him, and with even worse success in extracting it, namely, the valiant men of Scaldmariland, which we now call Holland. Of them hereafter.
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