Winning His Spurs: A Tale of the Crusades
It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some fifteen years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party of armed men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham.
Încă îl urmărimCum s-a mișcat prețul
Ce am observat noi
la minimToate cifrele de mai sus ies din ce am notat noi, în fiecare noapte. Nu le-am luat de nicăieri.
În fiecare zi luăm cel mai mic preț dintre toate magazinele și îl punem pe grafic. Linia verde e cel mai jos a coborât în ultima lună.
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Ce zice magazinul despre el
It was a bright morning in the month of August, when a lad of some fifteen years of age, sitting on a low wall, watched party after party of armed men riding up to the castle of the Earl of Evesham. A casual observer glancing at his curling hair and bright open face, as also at the fashion of his dress, would at once have assigned to him a purely Saxon origin; but a keener eye would have detected signs that Norman blood ran also in his veins, for his figure was lither and lighter, his features more straightly and shapely cut, than was common among Saxons. His dress consisted of a tight-fitting jerkin, descending nearly to his knees. The material was a light-blue cloth, while over his shoulder hung a short cloak of a darker hue. His cap was of Saxon fashion, and he wore on one side a little plume of a heron. In a somewhat costly belt hung a light short sword, while across his knees lay a crossbow, in itself almost a sure sign of its bearer being of other than Saxon blood. The boy looked anxiously as party after party rode past towards the castle.
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