the sun began to sink, they approached the shore of Death
Creek--a sheet of tidal water which ran a mile or more inland,
growing ever narrower, but was here some three hundred yards in
breadth. They were well mounted, all three of them. Indeed,
Rosamund's horse, a great grey, her father's gift to her, was
famous in that country-side for its swiftness and power, also
because it was so docile that a child could ride it; while those
of the brethren were heavy-built but well-trained war steeds,
taught to stand where they were left, and to charge when they
were urged, without fear of shouting men or flashing steel.

Now the ground lay thus. Some seventy yards from the shore of
Death Creek and parallel to it, a tongue of land, covered with
scrub and a few oaks, ran down into the Saltings, its point
ending on their path, beyond which were a swamp and the broad
river. Between this tongue and the shore of the creek the track
wended its way to the uplands. It was an ancient track; indeed
the reason of its existence was that here the Romans or some
other long dead hands had built a narrow mole or quay of rough
stone, forty or fifty yards in length, out into the water of the
creek, doubtless to serve as a convenience for fisher boats,
which could lie alongside of it even at low tide. This mole had
been much destroyed by centuries of washing, so that the end of
it lay below water, although the landward part was still almost
sound and level.

Coming over the little rise at the top of the wooded tongue, the
quick eyes of Wulf, who rode first--for here the path along the
border of the swamp was so narrow that they must go in single
file--caught sight of a large, empty boat moored to an iron ring