"As they took you, so have they taken Owen. We have lost him."
"Is he slain?"
"We think not. He was wounded and borne away. We cannot trace him
or his captors. Gerent needs you, and I have a letter to your
king."
I asked him no more at this time, but I took him straightway to
Ina, travel stained as he was. He had but two men with him, and
they were Saxons he had asked for from Herewald the ealdorman as he
passed through Glastonbury in haste.
So Ina took the letter, and opened it, and as he read it his face
grew troubled, so that my fear that I had not yet heard the worst
grew on me. Then he handed it to me without a word.
"Gerent of the Britons, to Ina of Wessex.--I pray you send me
Oswald, Owen's foster son, for I need him sorely. On my head be it
if a hair of him is harmed. He who bears this is Jago, whom you
know, and he will tell my need and my loneliness. I pray you speed
him whom I ask for."
That was all written, and it seemed to me that more was not needed.
One could read between the lines, after what Jago had said.
"What is the need for you?" Ina asked, as I gave him back the
letter.
"To seek for Owen, my father," I said. "Jago must tell what we have
to hear."
Then he told us, speaking in his own tongue, so that I had to
translate for the king now and then, and it was a heavy tale he
brought.
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