"I like not that," said Oswald. "He has no friendly motive, I warrant;" and he at once drew his sword, and called Wulfhere. "Your Grace had better take second rank," said he to me. Then, halting a moment till the company drew near, he addressed them.
"Men, have all your weapons ready."
Immediately every swordsman's blade gleamed in the darkness, and every archer's bow was unslung, and an arrow affixed.
"Rear guard!" said he, in an undertone.
"Aye, aye!" responded two gruff voices, which I knew to be Badger's and Bretwul's.
"Beware! and be ready; and keep close up. Now, men, let us move steadily forward."
So we pressed slowly and steadily forward, Oswald and Wulfhere passing no boulder or obstruction without first carefully peering behind it to see if any foe ambushed there. Suddenly there was a halt, the sword of Oswald was uplifted, and I could descry a muffled human figure standing in the centre of the path.
"Who art thou?" said Oswald. "Speak, or I will cleave thee from head to foot."
"Listen!" said the figure. "I am the shadow of a vanishing race. When Saxon hates Saxon and is greedier than greedy hawk for Saxon's blood; and when Saxon loves Norman habits, and makes friends of the hated oppressor; what hope is there of a restoration of the old race! If the Fates have decreed it, well—'tis enough. I only ask for a grave in some lonely spot, where the groans of my people will not disturb my long repose. But beware, Saxons! there are fierce enemies abroad—Saxon, too. Beware! The would-be avenger has a sharp sword, and will not stay his hand. So beware! the swoop of the eagle is swift and strong, and his talons are sharp."
With that, the strange figure turned and fled along the pass with the speed of a mountain roe.