The Danes had come from Colchester, and already their watch fires were burning along the heath some four miles to eastward of us.

It had fallen out, as Olaf wished, that they would try to bar our way into Suffolk, and we should have work to hand on the morrow.
Now men had gone with some thralls who could take them safely near the host, to spy what they could of the number and the plans of the Danes.
So it came to pass that I went no more into the village that night, but slept by a fire that burnt where our own hearthstone had been, amid the ruins of my home.

And that was a sad homecoming enough.
Moreover, in the first hours of the night a wonderful thing happened which seemed to be of ill omen, and was so strange that maybe few will believe it.
There was a bit of broken wall near the fire, and I laid me down in my cloak under its shelter, setting the sword that Eadmund had given me against it close to my head, so that I could reach it instantly if need were.

After a while I slept, for the day had been very long and I was weary, else would sad thoughts have kept me waking.

And presently there was a rumble and snapping that woke me up in a dream of falling ruin, and the man who lay next to me cried out and dragged me roughly aside.
The broken wall had fallen, crumbling with the heat of the fire, I suppose, and had almost slain me.