Wulf's glance became all at once as keen as a gaze-hound which sights its prey.
"Had he his son, called Felix, with him, a cat-eyed rascal, who was wounded?"
"Yes," said Wardo, quite proud to tell his news. "And on the evening of the feast the lord governor and his men rode away again. But he left his son behind him."
A gleam shot into Wulf's light eyes.
"So?" he said pleasantly. "Perhaps, then, this son Felix is still a guest of your lord?"
"Ay, so he is," Wardo returned. "Which is to say that he was there when I rode away, and that is now six days ago." In his turn he shot a glance at the red-beard from his steely eyes. "Now why should you ask these things, friend gossip? What concern is this son Felix of yours?"
"Merely that all men like to know what is happening these days. What else? But know you how the man got his wound? Nay, I thought not. Perhaps you know that the leader of that band of Saxons and those insurgent Romans, called Evor, was slain in that affair at Anderida?"
"No," said Wardo. "I did not know that. Who slew him?"
"Felix," answered Wulf.
Wardo looked somewhat startled.