"What do you here? Whose men are you?"
At that they looked at one another--they were not more than ten yards from us now--and halted.
"You should know that," one said; and then he put his hand to his sword suddenly, adding in a sharp voice:
"These be Saxons; cut them down."
When hand goes to sword hilt one knows what is coming, and even as the man said his last words I was on them, and Kolgrim was not a pace behind me. The Dane's sword was out first; but I was upon him in time. His horse swerved as mine plunged forward, and I rode him down, horse and man rolling together in the roadway. Then the man to my right cut at me, and I parried the blow and returned it. Then that horse was riderless, and I heard Kolgrim laugh as his man went down with a clatter and howl.
My horse plunged on for a few steps, and then I turned. Kolgrim had one horse by the bridle, and was catching that which had fallen. I caught the other, and so we looked at each other.
"This is your luck, master," said Kolgrim.
"Well," said I, "these are Danes, and I do not think they are wanderers either. Here are forage bags behind the saddles. One would say that they were on the march if this were not mid-winter and time of peace. The horsemen in advance of a host, or the like."
Then Kolgrim said:
"Where has the other man gone? I had forgotten him for the moment."