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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Prince of Cornwall A Story of Glastonbury and the West in the Days of Ina of Wessex"


Then the chief got up and laughed at them all.
"There are six of us slain and a dozen with wounds, and we will
make him pay for that and for Morgan as well before we have done
with him. Now we must not bide here, or we shall have his men back
on us, seeking him. Let us get away, and I will think of somewhat
as we go. There is profit to be made out of this business, if I am
not mistaken."
Then they brought my man's horse, which they had caught, and set me
on it, making my feet fast under the girth. The men who had fallen
they hid in the bushes, and it troubled me more than aught to think
that Wulf should lie among them. My horse they dragged into a
hollow, and piled snow over him. Then they went swiftly down the
hillside into the deep combe, leaving only the trampled and
reddened snow to tell that there had been a fight.
I had a hope for a little while that the track they left would be
enough for my men to follow if they hit on it, but there was little
snow lying in the sheltered woodlands, and there the track was
lost. And these men scattered presently in all directions, so that
trace of them was none. Only the leader and some dozen men stayed
with me.
So they took me for many a long mile, always going seaward, until
we were in a deep valley that bent round among the hills until its
head was lost in their folds, and there was some sort of a camp of
these outlaws sheltered from any wind that ever blew, and with a
clear brook close at hand.


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