Then at last we came to a hut some two miles off in the marshes from
Combwich, and in that we left our horses, giving them hay from the
little rick that stood thereby. To that poor place, at least, the Danes
had not come, for the remains of food left on the table showed that the
owners had fled hastily, but in panic, and that none had been near the
place since.
Now Dudda would have us take poles and a net we found left, on our
shoulders, that we might seem fishers daring to return, or maybe driven
by hunger to our work. For we must go unhidden soon, where the marshland
lay open and bare down to the river, the alder and willow holts ceasing
when their roots felt the salt water of the spring tides. But we had
been able to keep under their cover as far as the hut.
So we went towards the river, as I had many a time seen the fishers go
in the quiet days that were past; and we said little, but kept our eyes
strained both up and down the river for sign of the Danes.
But all we saw was once, far off on Stert, the flash of bright arms or
helm; and there we knew before that men must be.
On Combwich hill was no smoke wreath of the outpost fires I had feared,
nor could I see aught moving among the trees. Then at last we stood on
the river bank and looked across at the little haven.
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