"See to Jefan!" I said to Kynan, without a word of Gymbert. "He fell at the gate, in the first onset."
"My fault," groaned the brother, "my fault. I should have waited his word before sallying out. I heard you call me back, too, and heeded not."
He called some men, and they opened the gate and passed out hastily, while I knelt at the side of Erling. The old priest was trying to stay the bleeding from a great wound in his side; but he shook his head at me, and I knew that it was hopeless.
Erling knew it also.
"Get to the others, father," he said; "I am past your heeding."
"They will fetch me if I am needed, my son," the old man answered. "There are few of us who cannot tend a common wound. I am but wanted at the last."
"Ay, for the one thing," said Erling, with a great light springing into his weary eyes. "For me also, father.
"Tell him, master."
The old man looked at me, and I nodded. He was a British priest, and one had been told that they and our priests hated each other and quarrelled over deep matters; but what was that in this moment? Neither Briton nor Englishman, priest of St. David's nor of Canterbury would heed that here and thus. He rose and went hurriedly, and we two were alone.
"We kept the gate," he said.