Forty-seven we counted -- not Roman galleys but the raven-winged ships from the North where Rome does not rule . Men moved in the ships , and the sun flashed on their helmets -- winged helmets of the red-haired men from the North where Rome does not rule . We watched , and we counted , and we wondered , for though we had heard rumours concerning these Winged Hats , as the Picts called them , never before had we looked upon them . ' `` Come away ! come away ! '' said Allo . `` My Heather wo n't protect you here . We shall all be killed ! '' His legs trembled like his voice . Back we went -- back across the heather under the moon , till it was nearly morning , and our poor beasts stumbled on some ruins . ` When we woke , very stiff and cold , Allo was mixing the meal and water . One does not light fires in the Pict country except near a village . The little men are always signalling to each other with smokes , and a strange smoke brings them out buzzing like bees . They can sting , too ! ' `` What we saw last night was a trading-station , '' said Allo . `` Nothing but a trading-station . '' ' `` I do not like lies on an empty stomach , '' said Pertinax . `` I suppose '' -LRB- he had eyes like an eagle 's -RRB- -- `` I suppose that is a trading-station also ? '' He pointed to a smoke far off on a hill-top , ascending in what we call the Picts ' Call : -- Puff -- double-puff : double-puff -- puff ! They make it by raising and dropping a wet hide on a fire . '
`` No , '' said XXXXX , pushing the platter back into the bag .
Allo North Pertinax Pict Rome fire hill-top morning night trading-station