King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and CnutWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
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King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and Cnut
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Olav II, King of Norway, 995-1030 -- Fiction
"Hurry, men," shouted Wulfnoth, "or the bridge will be down! Look
at the tide!"
And that was racing up inland, already foaming through the wooden
arches that spanned its course. I had heard that the tide reached
this place a full hour after it began to flow at Pevensea, and even
now it was thus, two hours before it should have been at its
highest there.
Wulfnoth's men led, and then came the earl, riding beside Spray and
the horse which bore the treasure. Olaf was riding just behind
them, and I marched with our crew not ten paces after him. So we
went down the hill, and so we stepped on the causeway, and came to
the first timbers of the bridge. And hardly had I stepped on them
than there came a great shout from the men behind us, while one
seized my arm and pointed seaward across the marshes.
There came rushing across the level--blending channel and land into
one sea as it passed--a vast white roller, great as any wave which
breaks upon the shore, and its length was lost behind the hill
before us, and far away to our left. So swiftly did it come that it
seemed that none of us might gain the hill before it whelmed us and
causeway and bridge alike.
Earl Wulfnoth grasped the bridle of the pack horse, and the man
Spray lashed it, shouting aloud to us to hasten. And Olaf turned in
his saddle and saw me, and reined up until I grasped his stirrup
leather, and ran on beside him. And our men broke and ran, some
following us, and some going back to the hill whence we came. And
all the while the great white billow was thundering nearer, and my
head reeled with its noise and terror till I knew not what I was
doing, and let go my hold of Olaf's stirrup.
Then it broke over bridge and causeway, and through its roar I
heard yells, and the crash of broken timber, before I lost all
knowledge of aught but that I was lost in that mighty wave, and was
being whirled like a straw before it, where it would take me.
I struck out wildly as if to swim--but of what avail was that
against the weight of rushing water? I seemed to be rolled over and
against broken timber and reeds and stones--and once my hand
touched a man, for I felt it grate over the scales of armour--and
my ears were full of roarings and strange sounds, and I thought
that I was surely lost.
Then a strong grip was on me, and the water flew past me, and
hurled things at me, for I no longer went with it. My feet touched
ground, and other hands held me, and then I was ashore, and spent
almost nigh to death. Well for me it was that in the old days by
the Stour river I had loved to swim and dive in the deep pool
behind the island, for I had learned to save my breath. Had I not
done so, the choking of the great wave had surely ended my days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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