A Thane of Wessex: Being a Story of the Great Viking Raids into SomersetWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
A Thane of Wessex: Being a Story of the Great Viking Raids into Somerset
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Great Britain -- History -- Anglo-Saxon period, 449-1066 -- Juvenile fiction
One who knows the west country, hunting through it as I have hunted,
grows to love and recognize the changing shapes of every hill and coombe
and spur of climbing forest on their sides, and so, before long, I knew
we were making for the great hill of Brent, but why I could not tell.
Then we crossed Parret river, and I watched a salmon leap as we did so;
and then on over the level marshes till I could see that the wide circle
on Brent top was black with swarming people. Often enough, as the cloud
shadows passed from them, arms and bright armour sparkled in the
sunlight among the crowd; and then I could have wept, having no arms or
harness left me, for often when aforetime I rode free I would take a
childish pleasure in seeing the churls blink and shade their eyes as I
flashed on them, and would wonder, too, if my weapons shone as my
father's shone as we rode side by side on some sunny upland.
Then, when we came under the hill of Brent, the hum of voices came down
to us, for the day was still, and my guards straightened themselves in
the saddle and set their ranks more orderly. But I, clad as I was in the
rags of the finery I had worn at the feast whence I was taken, shrank
within myself, ashamed to meet the gazes that must be turned on me
presently, for I saw that we were going on up the steep ascent to mix
with the crowd on the summit of the great knoll.
Now, by this time the long ride had brought back my senses to me, and I
began to take more thought for myself and what might be meant by this
journey. At first I had been so stunned and dazed by the release--as
my removal from the dungeon seemed to me--that I had been content to
feel the light and air play about me once more; but that strangeness had
worn off now, and the consciousness of being yet a prisoner took hold of
me.
My guards had ridden silent, either in obedience to command, or because
a Saxon is not often given to talk when under some responsibility, so
that I had learnt nothing from them thus far. But as we turned our
horses' heads up the steep, a longing at last came over me to speak, and
I turned to a gray-bearded man who had ridden silently at my right hand
all the morning and asked him plainly whither he was taking me, and for
answer he pointed up the hill, saying nothing.
Then I asked him why I must be taken there, and, grimly enough, he
replied in two words, "For trial", and so I knew that the Great Moot [i]
was summoned, and that presently I should know the whole meaning of this
thing that had befallen me. Then my spirits began to rise, for, being
conscious of no wrongdoing, I looked forward to speedy release with full
proof of innocence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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