at Burnham, though we rode not into that village, we could see the six
long black ships as they lay at Stert, and the smoke of the fires their
guard had made on shore.

But on this side of the river they had been, for Burnham was but a heap
of ashes. They had crossed in their small boats, doubtless, and found
the place empty.

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. All the huts were
burnt and silent. There were many crows and ravens among the trees above
where they had stood, and a great osprey wheeled over our heads as we
looked.

"No men here," said my comrade, "else would not yon birds be so quiet."

But I could see no boat, and my heart sank somewhat; for nothing was
there on this bank wherewith to make the raft of which Wulfhere spake.

Then said I: "Let us swim over and see what we can find."

Now it was three hours after noon, or thereabouts, and the tide was
running out very swiftly, and it was a long passage over. Nevertheless
we agreed to try it, and so, going higher up the stream, we cast
ourselves in, and swam quartering across the tide.

A long and heavy swim it was, but no more than two strong men could well
manage. All the time, however, I looked to see some r