"When we did speak of it, I thought it strange," Harry says. "If a cause be good and the help required, why, who would question? But in Rollo's village-- I own 'twas odd. We spoke not their language."

In the moment he didn't trouble himself with it, the looks of alarm they received before their fighting could make their allegiances abundantly clear. But remembering it now is faintly unsettling. ...not that Harry feels unsettled, ever!

"And as thou sayest, this case is clearer than another might be." He speaks slowly, carefully-- it's like sounding it words when learning to read, only he's sounding out thoughts not sprung from a fit of anger or passion. "I doubt not the justice of my cause-- but the king doubts not the justice of his, and came he here to draw men to his side, he would tell them they fought for right, and they would know no other better. --But I think the king well doth know the wrongs he has done," he cannot help but add. "But he is well skilled in disguising it."