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

"A Thane of Wessex"


Then I saw one of those horses, a great white steed, standing, snorting,
by the wayside where he had stopped, and I spoke to him, and he let me
catch and mount him, and so I rode on.
Yet when I came to the top of Cannington Hill I looked back. All the
road was full of our men, flying; and a thought came into my head, and I
dared to draw rein and wait for them, linking my mail again across my face.
They came up, panting, and wild with panic, and there with voice and
hand I bade them stand on that vantage ground and block the way against
the Danes; bidding them remember the helpless ones in the town, who must
have time to fly, and how the Danes must needs shrink from a second
fight after hot pursuit.
And there is that in a Saxon's stubborn heart which bade them heed me,
and there they formed up again, wild with rage and desperate, and the
line grew thicker and firmer as more came up, with the sheriff himself,
till the foremost pursuing Danes recoiled, and some were slain, and I
knew that the flight was over.
Then I slipped from my horse and made my way on foot, lest men should
notice my going, but the horse followed me, and soon I mounted him again
and galloped on.
Then I found that though I had not noticed it, my mail had fallen apart:
but I knew not if any had known me, or even had noted who I might be.


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