All round on the hillsides was the
forest, but there was one landmark that I knew.
High over the valley's head rose a great hill, and on that was an
ancient camp. It was what they call the "Dinas," the refuge camp of
the Quantock side, which one can see from Glastonbury and all the
Mendips.
Here they took me from the horse and bound my feet afresh, and took
the gag from my mouth and set me against a tree, and so waited
until the band had gathered once more, lighting a great fire
meanwhile. Glad enough was I of its warmth, for it is cold work
riding bound through the frost.
When that was done the leader bade some of those with him fetch the
goods to this place, and catch some ponies ready against the
journey. I could not tell what this might mean, but I thought that
they had no intention of biding here, and I was sorry in a dull
way. It had yet been a hope that they might be tracked by my men
from the place of the fight.
After these men had gone hillward into the forest, others kept
coming in from one way or another until almost all seemed to have
returned.
One by one as these gathered, they came and looked at me, and
laughed, making rough jests at me, which I heeded not at all, if
they made my blood boil now and then. Once, indeed, their leader
shouted roughly to them to forbear, when some evil words came with
a hoarse gust of laughter to his ears, and they said under their
breath, chuckling as at a new jest:
"Evan has a mind to tell Tregoz that he treated the Saxon well,"
and so left me.
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