Wager of Battle: A Tale of Saxon Slavery in Sherwood ForestHerbert, Henry William
History
Wager of Battle: A Tale of Saxon Slavery in Sherwood Forest
Herbert, Henry William
Anglo-Saxons -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Norman period, 1066-1154 -- Fiction; Sherwood Forest (England) -- Fiction
Set like a gem of purest water in a rough frame of savage mountains,
their lower sides mantled with rich deciduous woods, their purple
heathery brows dotted with huge Scotch firs, single, or in romantic
groups, their scalps bald and broken, of gray and schistous rock,
Kentmere fills up the whole basin of the dell it occupies, with the
exception of a verge of smooth, green meadow-land, never above a
hundred or two of yards in width, margined with a silvery stripe of
snow-white sand, and studded by a few noble oaks.
At the head of the lake, half encircled by the dancing brook which
formed its only inlet, rose a soft swell of ground, smooth and
round-headed, neither hill nor hillock; its southern face, toward the
lake, cleared of wood, and covered with short, close greensward, its
flanks and brow overgrown with luxuriant oak-wood of the second
growth, interspersed with varnished hollies, silver-stemmed birches,
and a score or two of gigantic fir-trees, overtopping the pale green
foliage of the coppice, and contrasting its lightsome tints by their
almost sable hue.
Behind this fairy knoll the hill rose in rifted perpendicular faces of
rock, garlanded and crowned with hanging coppices, for two or three
hundred feet in height; the nesting-place of noble falcons,
peregrines, gosshawks, haggards of the rock, and of a single pair of
golden eagles, the terror of the dale from time immemorial.
In all lake land, there is no lovelier spot than Kentmere. The deep
meadows by its side in early spring are one glowing garden of
many-colored crocuses, golden, white, purple lady-smocks, yellow
king-cups, and all sweet and gay-garbed flowers that love the
water-side; the rounded knoll and all the oak-wood sides are alive
with saffron primroses, cowslips, and meadow-sweets; and the air is
rife with the perfume of unnumbered violets, and vocal with the song
of countless warblers.
And on the mid slope of that rounded, bosom-like swell of land, there
stood, at the period of my tale, a low stone building of one story,
long for its height, narrow, and massively built of blocks of the
native gray stone of the hills, with a projecting roof of heavy flags,
forming a porch over the door, and two chimneys, one at either end, of
a form peculiar, to this day, to that district, each covered with a
flat stone slab supported on four columns, to prevent the smoke from
driving down into the chambers, under the influence of the whirling
gusts from the mountain tops.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account