Then they reached Watlington, "the wattled town," situated in a hollow of the hills. Its gates were secured, and it was surrounded by a ditch, a mound, and the old British defence of wattles, or stakes pointed outwards.
Here they paused.
"It is too strong to be taken by assault," said the Baron. "Osric, go to the gate with just half a dozen, who have English tongues in their heads, and ask for shelter and hospitality."
Osric, to his credit, hesitated.
Brian reddened—he could not bear the lad he loved to take a more moral tone than himself.
"Must I send Alain?"
Osric went, and feigning to be belated, asked admittance, but he did not act it well.
"Who are you? whence do ye come? what mean the fires we see?"
"Alain, go and help him; he cannot tell a fair lie," said Brian.
Alain arriving, made answer, "The men of Wallingford are out—we are flying from Britwell for our lives—haste or they will overtake us—we are only a score."