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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"


I think that I knew what it meant at once, but Erpwald laughed and
said: "More of our guests, belike. One rides fast to a bridal, but
they are over careless."
But I did not answer, for the hot pace of those who came never
slackened, and spurring and with loose rein they swept across the
bridge over the stream and so thundered toward us.
"Here is a hurry beyond a jest," said Erpwald, sitting up;
"somewhat is amiss, surely."
Never rode men in that wise but for life. In a minute they were
close, and one of them spied me and called to me, waving his arm
toward the palace and reeling in his saddle as he did so. His arm
was bandaged, and I saw that the spear his comrade next him bore
was reddened, and that the other two had leapt on their horses with
nought but the halter to guide them withal, as if in direst need
for haste. Not much longer could their horses last as it seemed.
I sprang up and followed to the king's courtyard, leaving Erpwald
wondering, and a footpath brought me there almost as they drew rein
inside the gates. One of the horses staggered and fell as soon as
he stayed, and his rider was in little better plight. That one who
had beckoned to me knew me, and spoke at once, breathless:
"Let us to the king, Thane. The Welsh--the Welsh!"
"An outlaw raid again?" I asked.


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