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
As he spoke thus kindly Matelgar's face grew black as night; but he
dared say no word. So I bowed to the sheriff and, linking up my mail,
went sadly enough down the hall. It was crowded at one place, and there
some friendly hand patted me softly on the shoulder, though most shrank
from me; but yet I would not turn to see who it was, that helped me.
Now I have often wondered that no inquiry was made about my arms, and
how I came by them; but what I believe is, that even then men began to
know that Matelgar and his friends had played me false, but that they
would not, and Matelgar's people dared not, say much. As for Osric, his
mind was full of greater troubles, and I suppose he never thought thereof.
I passed out into the street, but now it was falling dark, and few
noticed me. The men sat about along the house walls on settles, eating
and drinking and singing. And I, coming to a dark place, sat down among
a few and ate and drank as well for half an hour, and then passing the
guards at the entrance to the town on the road to Cannington, struck out
for Stert, that I might be near Alswythe, and wait for the possible
coming of the Danes, and the battle in which I might join.
CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRES OF STERT.
I went along the highroad now, for it was dark, and few were about. Only
now and then I met a little party of men hurrying to the gathering
place, and mostly they spoke to me, asking for news. And from them I
learned, too, that nothing had been seen, while daylight served, of the
Danes. Once, I had to say I was on Osric's errand, as he bade me, being
questioned as to why I was heading away from the town.
I could not see my hall as I passed close by its place, for the lights
that ever shone thence in the old days, so lately, yet seeming so long,
gone, were quenched. But I thought of a safe place whence to watch if
the Danes came, where were trees in which I might hide if need were, as
I had hidden this morning. This was on the little spur of hill men call
by the name of the fisher's village below it, Combwich. It looked on all
the windings of Parret river, and there would I soon know if landing was
to be made for attack on Bridgwater. But I thought it likely that there
would be an outpost of our men there for the same reason, and going
thither went carefully.
Sure enough there was a little watchfire and half a dozen men round it
on the best outlook, and so I passed on still further, following round
the spur of hill till I came to where the land overlooks the whole long
tongue of Stert Point. That would do as well for me, I thought, and
choosing, as best I could in the dark, a tree into which I knew by
remembrance that I might easily get, I sat down at its foot, looking
seaward.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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