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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"

He had no body
armour on, and his dress was plain enough, of white woollen stuff
with broad crimson borders, but round his neck was a wonderful
twisted collar of gold, and heavy golden bracelets rang as his arms
moved. I saw that his first glance went to me, and that his face
changed when he saw that I was not one of his own people, but a
foreigner, as he would hold me. I saw too that he noted my arms as
they hung on the wall behind me.
Govan saw it also, and made haste to tell him who I was.
"This is one who should be welcome to you, Prince, for the sake of
old days, for he has come by mischance from Dyvnaint, being foster
son of one of the princes of Gerent's court, though a Saxon by
birth. Nevertheless he speaks our tongue well. He will tell you all
that presently, and I think that he needs your help."
"I thought you one of our troublesome neighbours, the Danes," he
said, with a smile now in place of the look of doubt. "But if you
are from Dyvnaint there are many things that you can tell me. But I
have come here to see that all is well with Father Govan, for there
is talk of a mad Norseman who is roving the country, unless the
cold has ended him in the night. It is good to see that nought is
wrong here."
Now I stood apart, and Govan and his guest spoke together for a few
moments before my turn to tell Howel of my plight should come, and
almost the next thing that the prince said made me wonder that I
had not thought who he was at once.


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