Maybe there was a
mixture of both dread and longing in my thoughts thereof.
But when we came over Brent Knoll, on our way back to my place and
Alswythe's at Cannington, there lay the black ships under the holms yet,
and there, too, were the burnt walls of our houses, though these were
rising up again as the king's men wrought at them. And all the land lay
waste and neglected, and, as we rode over Cannington hill, a broken helm
rolled from my horse's hoof from among the grass of the roadside. Those
things brought back to us the memory of war and trouble even in our new
happiness; and there, over the river, was the new-made mound over Elgar,
the man who had died for his land, and not in vain.
It was many days since we started from Salisbury town, however, before
we came to Cannington, and in that time we had sought the house of
Turkil's father, the franklin, lodging with him for a day and night,
that we might seek Leofwine the hermit. But him we might not find, for
he was dead, and that grieved me sorely, for I would fain have seen him
again, aye, and if it might be, taken him to live with us.
But he died as the tide went out on the day of Stert fight, and those
who stood by him say that he had visions of all that befell there.
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