Woods had grown up, and broken in upon the roads.

Howbeit, though robbers harboured therein, none of them held to ransom a wandering poor Scots scholar.
Slowly I trudged, being often delayed, and I was now nearing Poictiers, and thought myself well on my road to Chinon, where, as I heard, the Dauphin lay, when I came to a place where the road should have crossed a stream--not wide, but strong, smooth, and very deep.

The stream ran through a glen; and above the road I had long noted the towers of a castle.

But as I drew closer, I saw first that the walls were black with fire and roofless, and that carrion birds were hovering over them, some enemy having fallen upon the place: and next, behold, the bridge was broken, and there was neither ford nor ferry! All the ruin was fresh, the castle still smouldering, the kites flocking and yelling above the trees, the planks of the bridge showing that the destruction was but of yesterday.
This matter of the broken bridge cost me little thought, for I could swim like an otter.

But there was another traveller down by the stream who seemed more nearly concerned.