Norman Invasions Read Free

affectionate, innocently merciless, loving, agile, graceful, furtive, stealthy, beautiful, watchful, she had all the sinuous charm, the patience and cunning, the moral freedom, of her breed. I sometimes bought fish in the market, putting it in a pan near the house for her. But I did not see her among the rocks, or on the nearest, graveled path, that which I had descended to the beach. A bird flew by, skimming the waters. Some cattle would be grazing, above, I supposed, somewhere. I supposed, too, high above, in its hole in the turf would be one or more waiting, coiled serpents, harmless things, waiting for the heat of the day.
    It was a peaceful morning.
    I shivered a little, as a cold wind swept by.
    I was preparing to go back up the beach, and climb to the house, when I noticed two of the fishermen, nets over their shoulders, coming down to the shore. Two small boats were on the beach, drawn above the tide line.
    I waved to them but they did not see me. I then returned to Hill House for breakfast. Later I began work on the article. Interestingly enough I saw the two fishermen returning to the village, carrying the nets. They were hurrying. It seemed, after all, they had not gone out on the waters.
    February 2nd.
At the pub last night. Wild stories. New tracks found on the beach. Fifth time now, I think. First time some weeks ago. Villagers fearful. No boats putting out again. Paid for ale. Willing to speak before me. Raining, drenched by the time of getting back to Hill House. Dream recurs.
    It seems clear the prankster, whatever might have been his original intent, perhaps to discomfit a visitor, has decided to expand the scope of his hoax. His object, it seems, is to frighten the village. I do wish he would stop, as the men are losing workdays. I think perhaps the culprit here is young Gavin, a bold, outspoken, rather flairful lad, who is rather close to my own age. He seems a cut or two above the local folk, and has more schooling, at least a year at Edinburgh. I once challenged him on this matter outside the pub, but he was very firm in his denials, even when I promised to keep his secret, if he saw fit to share it with me. After all, I, too, could see the sport of this, though I think it had gone too far, and told him so. “It is not my doing,” he said. “But there must be a fooler in the village! Who could it be?” Well I certainly had no idea, if he did not. Most of the younger folk, when they came of age, either left the village, or drove, or, going to the highway, bused to work in one of the nearby towns. A diligent, sober crew they were, none of whom seemed a likely source of a hoax. The older people we rather automatically excluded. To my amusement, Gavin informed me that he suspected the prankster was none other than myself, and he, too, promised to hold the secret, if I should choose to impart it to him. This seemed to me a delightful turnabout.
    We concluded our conversation under the eaves of the pub, as it began to pour.
    I returned to Hill House, drenched, and shaking with cold, and certainly much the worse for a pint too much at the pub.
    The cat was inside, the night so miserable. She came up the stairs, after a few minutes, and made her presence known outside the door. I admitted her, as I would, and she was soon curled at the foot of the bed, asleep.
    It seemed I should have fallen asleep almost immediately but I was unable to do so. The night at the pub was still muchly in my mind. There had been much wild talk about the prints, which were attributed, as ignorance and superstition would have it, to no ordinary cause, of course not, but to any number of uncanny, preternatural visitations, presumably all ill-omened, foreboding, and demonic. You know how superstitious simple folk can be. Old Duncan insisted they marked the calpa’s return, after almost a generation. That seemed then to be the consensus, at least among the older fellows. How tiresome is superstition!
    Gavin and I did