"I do not forget promises." After that we rode down the long hill silently enough, and the way did not seem so bright to me.

And so through the long day we rode, stopping for an hour or two at the strong oaken hall, moated and stockaded, of some great border thane for the midday meal.

There were the marks of fire on roof and walls; for once the wild Welsh had tried to burn it, and failed, in a sudden raid before Offa had curbed them with the mighty earthwork that runs from Dee to Severn to keep the border of his realm.

"Offa's Dyke" men call it, and so it will be called to the end of time.
And now we were on the way of the war host from west to east, the way of the Welshmen, and making toward the ford of the Wye, which they were wont to cross, so that we call it the "ford of the host," the "Hereford." It was late when we came into the little town of Fernlea, which stands on the gentle rise above the ford, for the five-and-twenty miles or so of this day's work had been heavy across the hills.

The great stronghold palace whither we were bound lay some miles northward, and it seemed right that we waited here till the next day, that into it we might pass with all travel stains done away with and in full state.
Already there had been a royal camp pitched for us by Offa's folk, and I was glad that we had not to bide in the town.