A King's Comrade: A Story of Old HerefordWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
A King's Comrade: A Story of Old Hereford
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Ethelbert, Saint, -794 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Offa, King of the Mercians, -796 -- Fiction
"Ah," she said, "I hope so. That would be more than joy to your
mother. And then for you to follow so quickly on the message! that
will be wonderful. I would that I could see that meeting."
She turned and laughed in the pleasure of the thought, and I
suppose there was that in my eyes which told her that I had the
same wish. Maybe I should have said so, but she flushed a little,
and gave me no time.
"But I shall be on the way back to East Anglia with the princess,
and I will picture it all. Some day, when you come back to see the
king, as you say he has asked you, I shall hear of it."
Now it was in my mind that it was possible that I might be back in
Thetford, or wherever Ethelbert's court might be at the time,
sooner than I had any wish. For if aught had happened amiss at
home, so that our lands, for want of the heir, had fallen into the
hands of Bertric, I should be left with naught but my sword for
heritage. Then--for the king had spoken of these chances to me--I
was to come straightway back to him and take service with him. My
knowledge of the ways in which Carl handled his men would be of use
to him, and a place and honour would wait me. But I would not think
much of such sorrow for me, though that it was possible, of course,
may have been the great reason which made me silent when there were
words I had more than once had it on the tip of my tongue to say to
Hilda. Could I have known for certain that home and wealth yet
waited for me, I know that I must needs have asked her to share
them, now that at the end of this daily companionship I learned
what my thoughts of her had grown to be.
"Ay, I shall be back with Ethelbert at some time," I said. "I do
not forget promises."
After that we rode down the long hill silently enough, and the way
did not seem so bright to me. And so through the long day we rode,
stopping for an hour or two at the strong oaken hall, moated and
stockaded, of some great border thane for the midday meal. There
were the marks of fire on roof and walls; for once the wild Welsh
had tried to burn it, and failed, in a sudden raid before Offa had
curbed them with the mighty earthwork that runs from Dee to Severn
to keep the border of his realm. "Offa's Dyke" men call it, and so
it will be called to the end of time.
And now we were on the way of the war host from west to east, the
way of the Welshmen, and making toward the ford of the Wye, which
they were wont to cross, so that we call it the "ford of the host,"
the "Hereford."
It was late when we came into the little town of Fernlea, which
stands on the gentle rise above the ford, for the five-and-twenty
miles or so of this day's work had been heavy across the hills. The
great stronghold palace whither we were bound lay some miles
northward, and it seemed right that we waited here till the next
day, that into it we might pass with all travel stains done away
with and in full state.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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