led past them in their swift rush from the sea.

The Saxons halted on the beach, dismounting, while the leaders
conferred, and the prisoner drooped pallid in their midst; and the men
of Thorney seized upon their chance for trade. An hundred mouths to feed
was a boon not to be despised in those lean days. There sprang up a
horde of wine-sellers, men with poultry, with produce, and with meats.
The two leaders rode away to seek an inn, each attended by a servant. A
fire was kindled on the beach, where in other days so many fires had
blazed; for a brief while Thorney took on a semblance of its former
thriving self. Mingled with the sounds of trade and barter there was
heard the dry, thin rattle of a sistrum from a temple of Isis where
priests and worshippers were gathered for hidden rites; the voices of
men singing, the neighing of horses.

Here, on the river side of Thorney, the beach was wider than upon the
marsh side. The houses grouped themselves in black, irregular masses
behind this beach; and to the west, a short distance from the water's
edge, rose the low stone wall which bounded the land of the Christian
church. Fishermen's huts were crowded at the foot of this wall; and
along the sand were strewn rotting spars and timbers, and there were
boats drawn out of reach of the tide. Old houses, wrecked by fire and
time, leaned their tottering walls above the alleys at strange angles,
settling slowly into the ruin of age. The round moon hung stately, low
in the eastern sky, drowning in radiance the garish glare of flames;
houses stood out sharp-cut against its light, and strange shadows flung
across the crooked cobbled streets. A broad path of silver glinted on
the inky waters of the river. The smell of fish and tar rose strong
above all other scents.

The Saxons, hungry and weary from their march, ate hugely and drank
deep. Horns of mead and beer were drained and filled; white wine was as
good as red. They talked with the men of Thorney, in strange Latin, with
much gesticulation and interpolation of Saxon words. Among the many
figures on the beach, black in the mingled light of moon and flame, was
ceaseless motion, kaleidoscopic and bewildering. Thorney woke to a lusty
gayety, born of deep drinking; of recklessness, even, such as she had
known rarely since the old days of the legions. Laughter became louder;
quarrels, short and fierce, arose as hot blood mounted with the fumes of
wine. Into the air there crept a tensio