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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 I looked at my window, and,
though narrow, it was as fair a mark in the moonlight as one would
need. Without letting my shadow fall on the sleeper, it was
possible to see my couch and the white furs on it, though it would
be needful to raise the arm across the moonlight in the act of
shooting. It was all well planned, but it needed a first-rate
bowman.
"It was surely Tregoz who shot," one of the men said. "The sentry
who was here was a bungler with a bow. None whom we know but Tregoz
could have made sure of that mark, bright as the night is. Well it
was, Lord, that you were not sleeping in your wonted place."
Owen glanced at me to warn me to say nothing, and bade the men take
the body to the guardroom. They were already cursing the sentry who
had brought shame on their ranks by leaguing himself with a
traitor, and it was plain that there was no need to bid them lay
hands on him if they could. That was a matter that concerned their
own honour.
So we left the guarding of the place in their hands, and they
doubled the watches from that time forward. Then we went and spoke
with the captain of the guard, who yet kept his post at the doors,
as none had called him.
"Maybe I am to blame," he said, when he heard all. "I should not
have left a Dartmoor man from the country whence Tregoz came to
keep watch there.


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