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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"

And in the afternoon there fell a strange stillness on the
woods round us, and I wondered. There was never a buzzard or kite,
raven or crow, left in all the woodland, and then I minded that
overhead lately the birds of prey had all flown in one direction,
and that toward where Norton lay.
It was the cry of the kite and the voice of the songbirds that I
missed. The birds of prey had gone, and in the cover their little
quarry cowered in fear of the shadow of the broad wings which had
crossed them so often. Even now two of the great sea eagles were
sailing inland, and from these strange signs we knew for certain
that yonder a battlefield was spread for them, where Saxon and
Welsh strove for mastery in the fair valley. But we must pace the
hill crest, silent and moody, waiting for some sign that might tell
us of victory.
That came at last in the late afternoon. Slowly there gathered,
over the trees where Norton was, a haze that thickened into a
smoke, and that grew into heavy dun clouds which rose and drifted
even to the hilltops, for Norton was burning, and by that token we
knew that Ina was victor.
Presently there were flying men of the Welsh who could be seen on
the open hillsides, and some few came even up to this camp, and we
took them, and from them heard how the battle had gone.


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