An Irishman’s Revenge

By N. Beetham Stark

Skel follows King Harold to battle at Hastings. When the English lose, Skel is taken prisoner along with several hundred other English youths. Skel is most unusual for his great size and strength and becomes the leader of the English slaves. Over the course of his life, he and his companions suffer many indignities under the rule of the Normans, who were really renegade Norsemen. Skel sees his woman married to a brutal Norman under his own eyes. As the years of pain build up, Skel becomes a master stone mason and is later sent on Crusade to Jerusalem as a squire. Because he can write and speak Latin, he is sent to assist with compiling the Domesday Book. Throughout this book, he plans secretly for revenge. When he finally has his revenge, it is at once awesome and suitably brutal. If you have Scottish, Irish or English blood, your people suffered beside men like Skel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N. Beetham Stark
• Release date: May 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458181411

N. Beetham Stark

Nellie Beetham Stark was born November 20, 1933, in Norwich, Connecticut to Theodore and Dorothy Pendleton Beetham. She attended the Norwich Free Academy and later Connecticut College in New London, CT before graduating with a MA and a Ph.D. degree in Botany (Ecology) from Duke University.Stark worked for the U.S. Forest Service as a botanist for six years and then joined the Desert Research Institute in Reno, Nevada where she worked on desert and forest ecology and later tropical nutrient cycling. She has consulted in many countries, working for some time in Russia, Australia and South America. She developed the theory that explains why tropical white sand soils cannot grow good food crops and described the decline processes of soils. She has also developed a science of surethology, or survival behavior which describes how humans must adapt to their environments if they hope to survive long term. She has 96 professional publications and has published in four languages.Her life long hobby has been English history, with emphasis on naval history. Her family came originally from Tristan Da Cunha in the South Atlantic in the early 1900’s. Her grandfather was a whale ship captain for a time which spurred her interest in naval history. She also paints pictures of sailing ships which she has used as covers for her historical novels. She has built several scale models of sailing ships and does extensive research on ships and naval history, traveling to England once yearly.Stark was awarded the Connecticut Medal by Connecticut College in 1986 and the Distinguished Native Daughter Award for South Eastern Connecticut in 1985. She was named outstanding Forestry Professor three times by the students of the University of Montana, School of Forestry.Today she writes historical novels, mostly set in England. She has published some 21 novels in the past twenty years, mostly on the internet. She lives on a farm in Oregon and raises hay and cows.Stark's two most popular book series are:Early Irish-English History1. The Twins of Torsh, 44 A.D. to 90 A.D.1. Rolf "The Red" MacCanna, 796-8462. An Irishman's Revenge, 1066-11124. Brothers 4, 1180-12165. Edward's Right Hand, 1272-13076. We Three Kings, 1377-1422The Napoleonic Wars at Sea (Benjamin Rundel)1. Humble Launching - A Story of a Little Boy Growing Up at Sea, 17872. Midshipman Rundel - The Wandering Midshipman, 17953. Mediterranean Madness - The Luckless Leftenant Rundel, 17974. The Adventures of Leftenant Rundel, 1797-17995. Forever Leftenant Rundel, 1800-18036. Captain Rundel I – Trafalgar and Beyond, 1803-18067. Captain Rundel II – Give Me a Fair Wind, 1806-18098. Captain Rundel III – Bend Me a Sail, 1810-18139. Admiral Rundel – 1814-1846

Book preview

An Irishman’s Revenge

A Story of Intrigue During the Norman Conquest of England

An Historical Novel

by N. Beetham Stark

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Discover other titles by N. Beetham Stark at

Smashwords.com or at NBeethamStark.com.

An Irishman’s Revenge: A Story of Intrigue During the Norman Conquest of England

Written by N. Beetham Stark

Copyright 2010 by N. Beetham Stark

Cover art by N. Beetham Stark

Published by Smashwords, Inc.

ISBN 978-1-4581-8141-1

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form

without the written permission of the author or trust agents.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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Dedication: This book is dedicated to Tintagon, Tarsie and Picatso and our mutual friend, PP.

History builds a bridge to the past, connecting people and events, and helps guide our future so that we do not repeat the errors of the past.

N. Beetham Stark, 2010

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1- Leaving and Grieving

Chapter 2 - The Prisoner’s Lot

Chapter 3 - The Coronation of A Conqueror

Chapter 4 - Motte And Bailey Castles, The Wolf May Be At The Door

Chapter 5 - A Married Man’s Nightmare - Until Death Do Us Part

Chapter 6 - Strangers Meet At York

Chapter 7 - Battle

Chapter 8 - Domesday

Chapter 9 - The Devil Weds An Angel

Chapter 10 - The Long Road To The Holy Land

Chapter 11 - Campaigning

Chapter 12 - Jerusalem At Last

Chapter 13 - Homecoming

Chapter 14 - The Long-Awaited Revenge

About the Author

About the Book

Introduction

An Irishman’s Revenge is history as seen through the eyes of fictitious characters who lived, suffered and died under Norman rule.

In this story, which is largely fiction, I have tried to adhere to what is known of the times and the people. The battle at Senlac Field is reasonably accurate, depicting the events as well as we know them. What happened afterwards, the plans for conversion of the Roman fort to what would become known as the Tower of London are probably accurate. It is known that William I ordered a number of motte and bailey castle to be built along the coast and the Welsh border soon after he became king. Also, some men did survive Senlac Field and the Englishmen were taken prisoner and used for labour in the building of castles. Many of the original motte and bailey castles were later rebuilt in stone. Certainly a skilled stonemason would have been a valued prisoner and would have been set to labour on these castles. The futures of slaves, their mates, if they were allowed to marry, was decided by the lord of the lands where they resided.

The events surrounding the life and adventures of Hereward the Wake are much less well known. Hereward Leofricsson was a thane with lands near the fens south of York before the Conquest. He did return after the Norman invasion and led an uprising of Englishmen against the Normans, operating for about two years before the English army was annihilated. It is thought that he occupied York Castle for a time, but I am not certain how he escaped from the castle with an army of 10,000 Normans camped at his door. I have taken the lead from Hebe Weenolsen’s, The Last Englishman in matters concerning the life of The Wake where I have been unable to discern the truth. It is possible that I have mistaken for truth that which is fictitious, without knowing such. If so, I apologize. I have no knowledge of how King William approached the Isle of Ely where Hereward and his men are thought to have holed up for safety. Even the manner in which King William put an end to the small English army is not clear from history. The final events in the life of the Wake are not really known.

The compiling of information for the Domesday Book are better understood and I have tried to construct a logical sequence of events that depict this huge undertaking. Skel, with the ability to read Latin, would have been eagerly sought to assist in this undertaking, which required many persons. Those who read Latin at that time were mostly clerics and not always free to do the King’s bidding. As a slave, Skel would have had no choice in the matter. And the Irish were famous as fine Roman scholars, surpassing even the Romans in their understanding of the language.

The time in the Holy Land is reasonably well constructed, reflecting the events that are known to have occurred. At that time, Crusaders were said to be on a ‘Holy Pilgrimage.’ Only later were these knights called ‘Crusaders.’

Skel’s final revenge, although long awaited and justly deserved, was possible given the construction methods of the time. Several similar incidents are know to have occurred during that time. One may feel that he comes off too well in the end, finding his long-lost love and living happily ever after when he had just committed a dastardly deed, but when you remember all of the insults, pain and abuse that he and his comrades suffered under the Normans, his revenge does not seem so bad in that light.

The term ‘Forest’ is used in this book in the context of the times. Forest during Medieval times meant any large piece of land with some type of legal boundary. Often forests were royal hunting preserves abounding with deer, but a forest might have few if any trees. A forest was a legal entity and had little to do with the vegetation type..

Chapter 1- Leaving and Grieving

Skellig O’Connell (Scelig in the old tongue) walked along the Stour, comfortable with the feel of five fine pence in his sporen. They had just sold eggs for their mother at the market at Sudbury and the price was good. Skel looked back at his brother Rory who was three years younger and much smaller of build.

Why do you laggy foot, dear little brother? We should be getting back to Mother with the glad tidings of our earnings.

I am not the big hulking ape that you are. My legs are shorter and I do not weigh all of fourteen stone like you do.

All the same, we should be on our way lest someone find us loitering and decide to lighten my sporen. Skel turned his handsome face towards his brother. Skel was just eighteen, tall for his age with great strong shoulders and arms and hands that could well belong to the village blacksmith. He had thick, wavy brown hair and a fine smile that seemed to reside perpetually on his tanned face. His beard was neat and small, not typical of the large beards worn by the local Saxons.

Rory moved up to his brother’s side. He looked up at his older brother with admiration. Suddenly Skel said, Little brother, you niff! At that he gave him a playful shove, which sent him sprawling head first into a tributary of the Stour. The youth spouted water, bobbed for a second, spiting water and then shot angry words at his older brother.

What mean you by dunking me in the Stour? I do not stink, no more than you do! You smell like a long overused pig sty! Here, lend me a hand lest I drown.

Skel looked down at his younger brother playfully. He loved the lad more than anyone else and had enjoyed being the elder of the two. He often played tricks on poor Rory, but the latter really didn’t seem to mind. He reached his hand to Rory.

Just then Rory’s foot hit the bank and he gave a mighty heave, sending his brother into the water with a most amusing look of surprise on his keen face. Skel struggled to get his footing and then, spitting out much water, he choked out, You are an ornery one, Rory. I shall have to get back at you for this, you know. Beware of my anger little brother!

Aye, I know and that will be the fun of it! The two young men swam for a few minutes, diving and throwing water at each other. Many times before they had sported so in these calm backwaters and hoped to do so many times again. But both young men knew that there was trouble brewing in England. Their first king, Edward the Confessor, had died early in the year. Then his chosen successor, Edmund Ironsides’ son, died before he could be named king. Then the kingdom had been promised to Duke William of Normandy by none other than Harold Godwinson on Edward’s behalf. But when King Edward died, word came that his dying wish was for Harold Godwinson to succeed him as king, not William. But Harold had known that Duke William of Normandy would not be happy about being put aside by a dying King Edward in favour of a Godwinson. He knew that he must build an army and fast to defend his new kingdom. He took up fortifications on the Isle of Wight and waited for William’s attack. But William was slow in coming.

It was early October and the waters were warm. Forgotten

for the time was the evil portent that had beset the entire country in the spring a number of years ago, an evil red star that hung huge, menacingly in the sky, shooting off to leave a trail of red behind it. It lit the entire countryside, shedding a glowing red light on the land even by night, making men wary and promising that something strange would befall England in the near future. People thought that the trail of red was a sign that many would soon die, but time had passed and nothing untoward had happened. Folks began to relax and forgetfulness slipped into their minds with the press of everyday life. But men could not guess what the star really meant and so, many were severely disturbed by this strange happening in their normally calm skies. What could it possibly mean? They asked their priests and one another, but no one had even a glimmer of an answer.

Now the boys wanted only to enjoy the last semblance of warmth in the water. Its slight chill felt good on their hides and they soon stripped off brogues, hosen, tunics and the boys rubbed their soiled garments on the rocks to scrub them clean. Then they wrung them out and hung them on shrubs at the edge of the water. Skel carefully laid his sporen on the bank so that no coin could fall from it. But for some reason, a scud of wind came across the fields, carrying with it fallen leaves. The gust caught his sporen and it fell into the water, floating for a second and then plunging to the bottom. Skel let out a loud oath.

See there, brother. Our hard work for the day is now lost, and all for your pulling me into the water! What shall I tell mother?

You might not have to tell her anything if we hurry before the current can carry our money to the sea! said Rory as he dove groping for the half floating sporen. Skel joined him and soon Rory had grabbed the sporen and once again laid it on the shore, this time with a chunk of flint to weigh it down.

The two men climbed out of the water and lay in the feeble afternoon sun to warm and dry their bodies. Skel looked at Rory. You always seem to have a far-off look in your eyes. What goes through your mind, Brother?

I dream of traveling back to our ancestral home, to Ireland and Downpatrick where our ancestors once lived. I have heard father speak of the old country, but he has never seen it and I long to go there to see for myself. I know that there is a golden-haired lassie there who awaits me. I see her often in my dreams.

But, little Brother, would you leave all that we have here? Father has taught me how to work rock and we now have the finest home in all the shire of Suffolk. What more could a man want?

You know that when you and I marry, we will make two families and there is not room on our hide of land to support our parents and two families. And our sister, Erie, will need some place to live as well. I do not intend to stay away for long. I wish only to see the old country, find my love and then I shall return to family.

You know the story that father has told of how we came to be free men here in England? Skel didn’t wait for an answer. He went on to tell the story. He loved to tell stories and it was a pleasant sunny day and now they had to wait for their clothes to dry.

Once our people lived at Dun Dealgan (Dundalk) on the east coast of Ireland. We were fishermen, farmers and some of our ancestors were revered Druids, ancient priests of our Celtic peoples. Then the Vikings came and captured our great grandfather many generations removed. They brought him to Ulverston in the north and sold him to one Oslo Thornulf as slave. Thornulf allowed his slaves to marry in order to procreate more slaves. Our ancestor became a stone worker and was sought for his skill with rock. As a result many generations later Thornulf’s cousin who now was our owner, made a bet with a man named Hugh Aldeburgh. The bet was over some trivial thing, but if Thornulf won, he would get two slaves from Aldeburgh. If Aldeburgh won, he would get two of Thornulf’s finest slaves. Thornulf lost and our grandfather was traded to Aldeburgh, which brought the family to this part of the country.

Then one fall day our grandfather was accompanying Aldeburgh on a wild boar hunt. The lord carried a sharpened spear, but when a huge old boar charged him suddenly from the bush, he managed to break the spear. In a second the boar was on him, trying to goar him with his sharp tusks. Our grandfather acted quickly, seizing what was left of the spear. He hit the boar with it to get his attention, then he thrust it down the boar’s throat, killing the animal and saving the Lord Aldeburgh.

Rory took up the story and continued, The next day to show his appreciation, Lord Aldeburgh took our grandfather to where two roads cross. There he gave him a sword and laid it upon his shoulder. You are now a free man, he said. Then he gave grandfather the acres that we now own. There was no house there, so he built a wattle hut where our father was born. Aye, and he didn’t much like the drafty wattle hut. When he succeeded to the property, he built the stone house in which we now live. He dragged the stones from the ruins of an old Roman fort. Our mother is the only lady in the shire who can boast of a weaving room all her own and with a fire ring as well. And you brother have helped him since you were four! You have become a fine rock mason and now I think that you plan to build a rock house for your lady love, RossAnne?

Aye, that I do. I have already begun to gather rock from the Keep of the abandoned Roman hill fort. I plan to wed her in spring. I have no desire to wander. I wish only to live here with my RossAnne and beget many fine babes. She has already accepted me!

The one thing that I remember grandfather for is his giving us freedom, and teaching me to read and write Latin. Not many young men in our station in this country are so lucky. You bolted at the strict discipline of memorizing Latin words, but I did not. After grandfather had been set free, he expressed a wish to learn to read. The good Lord Aldeburgh found a priest who taught grandfather to read and write. The Irish had traditionally been fine Latin scholars and my grandfather wanted to recapture that skill, now that he was a free man. He wanted to learn the language that men use when they speak to God, not the common talk of the Saxons. And it was he who taught me to read. I count myself a most fortunate fellow to have such skills that I may now read the thoughts that entered men’s heads many hundreds of years ago!

You are lucky indeed, Brother. I could not concentrate and learn all those strange sounding words. Our father has done much to improve the fields too. We have together removed many stumps and brought many more acres under the plow. But, alas, you are right, Brother. With all of our work, there will not be enough land to support your family and mine once we are wed. But even now there is more work than our father can handle alone. He must have at least one strong pair of arms to help with the plowing, planting and harvest.

Aye, but should we not be getting back to do the chores?

Aye. But the important part of that whole story is that once we were slaves. Now we are free men and may do as we please. At that Skel arose and began to put on his hosen, coarse undergarments, brogues and tunic. Lastly he tied the sporen in place, patting it to assure himself that the coins were all there.

The boys arrived at the fine rock house and went to seek their mother. Mother, the eggs sold well this day. We bring you five fine pieces of silver for your horde, said Skel as he handed her the money. He watched her go to the stone ring and under a certain stone, she removed a clay pot, now nearly full of coins from the sale of the excess produce from their farm. The coins were a mix of Saxon and old Roman coins. Skel went off to milk the cows and Rory tended the sheep, bringing them into a high stone corral so that the wolves could not get to them in the night.

That night the family sat at supper. Their mother had prepared a roast leg of lamb from one of their animals and they ate freshly baked bread, fried cheese and beans, all washed down with small beer. During the meal, their father looked at his two boys, each so different from the other. He wondered what might become of them. Skel was the son any man could be proud of, tall, strong, well-built and he was already a fine stone mason. He had learned to shape and fit rock to perfection. He imagined him as a master builder of great cathedrals someday. But Rory was very different. He was slight of build, like his mother. He had no special skills and he was a dreamer. He often forgot what he was supposed to be doing and wandered off to fish in the river or hunt in the woods. He was ill at ease with order and authority. He might become a...

Just then the door of the house flew open and there stood their neighbour, Lyle Segunruud, a lad of about Skel’s age. His face was flushed from haste and he was muddy and his clothes in bad array. They could hear his horse tethered outside, stamping his feet and snorting as he drank from the rain barrel.

Breathlessly, he blurted out, Sorry, father O’Connell to interrupt your meal, but a great thing has just happened and another greater one is about to happen! His excitement was marvelous riveting as the O’Connells watched the lad who was virtually jumping with anticipation.

Out with it, my boy. Don’t let us perish from suspense, said Trigor O’Connell.

Well, King Harold has just defeated Tostig and Harold Hadrada, King of Norway at Stamford Bridge. I was there and fought beside our men and it was a fearsome fight! King Harold has organized a shield wall that will stop any army in its tracks. We were invincible and we fought superbly! We march now in victory to Hastings! Word reached the King a few days ago that Duke William of Normandy has come to Hastings and is camped there to fight for the crown, which he believes was usurped by King Harold. We are on forced march, even though the men are weary, we forge on. I have been sent with horse to round up any men who can fight to face the 10,000 Normans who are amassed at Hastings. Can you spare us one of your strong sons, sire? Or perhaps with the harvest over, both might come along?

At that startling news, Trigor O’Connell looked at his boys again. He didn’t want to lose either of them, but he knew that for the safety of his family, he must send one of them off to fight. After a long pause, he said, Rory, my boy, would you go fight to keep our home free?

But Rory also hesitated. He screwed his face into a strange mask and finally said, Sire, I do long to travel, but not under circumstances where I might get my hide perforated with arrows. I would prefer to stay here.

Now Trigor O’Connell was perplexed. Is my son a coward? Why will he not go to fight? Perhaps it is his tender age. He is yet to make his fifteenth year.

Then he looked at Skel. He had to say nothing, for the look in Skel’s eyes said that he would rather die than see his home overrun by Normans and foreigners. Trigor knew how much his son loved their home and how deeply he valued his freedom. He will go! He is a lot like me. I would go but for my advanced age,

Skel looked at his father and mother. Then he said, I’ll gladly go to keep my home free and safe. Rory can do the chores and help father, and you, Erin, must help with the animals as well. I shall return as quickly as I can.

He looked to Lyle and said, Old friend, you can count on me, if I may have a moment to do justice to this leg of lamb and a few minutes to speak with RossAnne.

That you may. The soldiers should be by here about 2 by the morning. You may come out and join them then. We camp this night in a meadow about four miles from here. I must hurry now, as he waved to them and mounted his steed.

Skel finished his meal but could hardly taste the food, so excited was he. He left the table and went to his sleeping pallet in the loft. Many years ago when he was but a boy he had found a Roman sword in one of the fields. It had been rusted and was dull. He had rubbed it with stones for days until it shone once again and then he sharpened it so that it would cut cleanly. He had wrapped the sword in a wad of woolen cloth, with ample lanolin applied to keep it from rusting. Now he drew the sword forth, and when he removed the wool cloth, it shone brightly. He rubbed his hand over the smooth blade lovingly and set the sword on his pallet carefully. Will I have to slay any men with this? he thought. If I must kill someone to keep England free, then I shall and will not flinch at my duty! Then he brought down a small pack in which he would put food and his heavy winter cloak which would serve as both blanket by night and cloak by day.

He returned to the supper table where Rory sat. I’ll be off to pay my respects to RossAnne. Don’t wait up for me little Brother. I might be late. Then he turned to his mother. Mother dear, you must take care and not worry about me. I shall be fine. Few men are as tall and strong as I am at eighteen. To his father he said, Father, Rory will be your strong back now. I shall return as soon as I may to help."

You’ll certainly be back by the next harvest?

Aye. I should return long before the spring planting.

God speed, son.

Then he turned and headed across the fields, to just a quarter mile away where his RossAnne lived with her maiden aunt. The two young people had known one another since childhood. Skel harboured feelings of doubt and guilt as he jumped over the wall to the little mud and wattle cottage where RossAnne lived. He stepped through the doorway into the half smoky, dim interior. For a second his eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light. Then he saw the maiden aunt sitting in a chair near the fire ring, her head resting on her chest, her mouth open and snoring sonorously. His eyes roamed to the other side of the room. There sat RossAnne, her delicate white hands cleaning the dishes from their supper in a leather bucket with water. He approached her and she looked up at him, a beautiful smile on her gentle, loving face. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders in neat natural curls, making a frame which showed off the beauty of her face. She was darker of complexion than most local women, for she too, was of the Irish born and she had to spend many hours working in the fields. Her family had once been enslaved as well.

He knelt and said, My dear RossAnne, you are looking at a crazy man. He is, in fact, twice over crazy! He is crazy with love for you and crazier yet to leave you even this night to go to fight the Normans to keep you safe."

She looked up at him in surprise, Leave? How so? You have always said that you would never leave me.

Aye, and I shall not, at least not for long. You probably haven’t heard, but King Harold has won a splendid victory at Stamford Bridge near York. He has driven off and killed the Danes who came to try to seize his crown. Tostig and Hadrada lay dead. But now another man threatens him with a mighty force of 10,000 men. Duke William of Normandy waits for Harold’s return at Hastings, ready to do battle. He would rule all this country and take away what little you and I possess if he is not stopped. For our future and your safety, I go to fight and defeat the Normans and drive them back into the sea!

Oh, my love, what if you are killed or even worse, captured and tortured?

You see before you a man who is not to be toyed with by any man. My mother named me, ‘Skellig’ which in the Gaelic tongue means ‘steep rugged peak’. She named me so when at a very tender age, I stood up on my own and raised my arms high. She said that I was much larger than any babe my age should be and that I had hands that already looked like those of a blacksmith or a stone mason. She said that I stood on two sturdy legs that resembled small oak trees. It will be hard for any Norman to take me as his prisoner.

"Before you leave, there is something that I wish to show you. Come! She took his hand and, picking up a lighted torch, led him to where she did her weaving. She played the torch across the finely woven fabric so that Skel could see.

Why it’s a blanket for an infant. You aren’t?

No, no my love, but I expect that you will take care of that matter as soon as we are wed. We will be wed in May as planned?"

As I live, I promise you my love, we shall be wed and I shall give you a fine boy child to be wrapped in that beautiful blanket!

When will you return, my love?

I hope to return to your arms in about two months. That will mean one quick trip to the coast and back and a very short battle. I pray that it all goes well, for the sake of England and for our sake.

The maiden aunt made a noise and changed her position. RossAnne looked at Skel, motioning him to the door. The two young people went to the cow shed which was also of wattle and lay in the hay for a time, but Skel wouldn’t defile his woman, not until she was truly his and they were married in the eyes of the Lord, but he was sorely tempted!

It was hours later when he realized that it must soon be two in the morning and he should leave. He could almost sense the approach of the great army of King Harold on the road from the north. He kissed RossAnne a fond ‘Goodbye’ and went back to his own pallet. There he put on his heavy cloak, took up his sword and pack. He leaned down to his little brother and whispered, It is all up to you now, little Brother. You must take care of the family and help our father. Take care of RossAnne too. I must leave now. Goodbye. Rory stirred a bit as if he had heard some of what was said but was still mostly asleep.

Skel went to the larder where his mother kept the bread and cheese. He scooped up two loaves of bread and a large hunk of cheese as well as some honey cakes to take with him to eat on the road. These he deposited in his pack. The pack was slung on his back and now he could hear the rhythmic tramp of feet as the soldiers marched down the nearby road. He turned to look one last time on the hearth where he had grown up and the house that he loved so well. Then he was gone out into the damp, cool night.

In the gloom of night, he looked back at the neat stone cottage, relishing the fact that his hand had helped to shape almost every block of stone that made its wall. This is well worth fighting for, he thought. As he approached the marching column, he could see that the men were not marching but were walking wearily on,