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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Thane of Wessex"

"Let them drive these Danes back to their stranded ships,
and how many will go home again to Denmark, think you?"
And I prayed that this might be so: for I knew she spoke truth. If they
might not reach their ships, and became penned in on Stert, they were
lost--every one, for none might cross the deep ooze.
"Not this time, Heregar. Remember, when the time comes," she said.
And I paid no heed to her. For now horses were galloping riderless along
the road and into the fields. And men were crawling back from the fight,
to fall exhausted in the rear, and then--then the steadfast line of
the scarlet-cloaked Danes charged down the hill, driving our men like
sheep before them.
"Up and to your work!" said the crone, pointing towards Bridgwater; and
I, who had already made two steps, with drawn sword, towards that
broken, flying rabble, remembered Alswythe, and turned away, groaning,
to hasten to her rescue. For it was, as Wulfhere had said, all that I
could do.
Swiftly I went, turning neither to right nor left along the road,
hearing always behind me the cries of those who fled, and the savage
shouts of the pursuing vikings. I was in the midst of that crowd of
thralls once, but they thinned, taking to the woods whence I had come;
while I kept on.


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