place.

C. W. WHISTLER

STOCKLAND, Nov. 1896.



Chapter 1: The Coming Of The Vikings.


All along our East Anglian shores men had watched for long, and now
word had come from Ulfkytel, our earl, that the great fleet of
Swein, the Danish king, had been sighted off the Dunwich cliffs,
and once again the fear of the Danes was on our land.

And so it came to pass that I, Redwald, son of Siric, the Thane of
Bures, stood at the gate of our courtyard and watched my father and
our sturdy housecarles and freemen ride away down the hill and
across the winding Stour river to join the great levy at
Colchester. And when I had seen the last flash of arms sparkle from
among the copses beyond the bridge, I had looked on Siric, my
father, for the last time in this world, but no thought rose up in
my mind that this might be so.

Yet if I stand now where I stood on that day, and see by chance the
glimmer of bright arms through green boughs across the river, there
comes to me a rush of sadness that dulls the bright May sunshine
and the sparkle of the rippling water, and fills the soft May-time
wind with sounds of mourning. Now to me it seems that I was thus