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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"

There was a road somewhere
close at hand, as I gathered, for we stopped, and some of the
rabble crept onward to the crest of the hill and spied to see if it
was clear. It was so, and here all the band left us, and only Evan
and the other two seeming merchants went on with their followers,
who bore me and led the laden ponies. The road had no travellers on
it, as far as I could see, nor did we meet with a soul until we
were close into the little town that the Norsemen had made for
themselves at the mouth of a small river that runs between hills to
the sea.
Maybe there were two score houses in the place, wooden like ours,
but with strange carvings on the gable ends. And for fear, no
doubt, of the British, they had set a strong stockade all round the
place in a half circle from the stream to the harbour. There were
several long sheds for their ships at the edge of the water, and a
row of boats were lying on a sort of green round which the houses
stood with their ends and backs and fronts giving on it, as each
man had chosen to set his place.

CHAPTER VI. HOW OSWALD HAD AN UNEASY VOYAGE AND A PERILOUS LANDING AT ITS
END.

I thought that Evan had forgotten to gag me, but before we went to
the gate of the stockade he came and did it well. I could not see a
soul near but my captors, and it would have been little or no good
to shout.


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