“Your thralls will bide with the rest,” he said; “they can find shelter in the tents there are yonder.  If some of them have to bide outside, it will not hurt them.”

“Well enough you ken that, Gymbert,” said Erling curtly, in good Welsh.

I understood him, of course, for we had Welsh thralls enough at home, but I wondered that he knew the tongue.  Gymbert understood him also, for his face flushed red and he bit his lip.  But he pretended not to do so.

“Your Frankish tongue is a strange one,” he said.  “What does the man want?”

“I think that he means that outside the tent is as pleasant as in, as you hint,” I said.  “But he will bide here across my door, as is his wont.”

“Outside, I suppose?” said Gymbert, with a laugh.  “Well, as you like.”

He rode away, and I looked at Erling wonderingly.  The Dane was watching him with a black scowl on his face.

“Where on earth did you learn the British tongue?” I said; “and what know you of Gymbert?”

“I learned the Welsh yonder,” Erling answered, nodding westward.  “I lived in the little town men call Tenby for three years.  There also I heard of this man.  He was a thrall himself once, and freed by this queen for some service or another.  He is a well-hated man, both by Saxon and Welsh, being of both races, and therefore of neither, as one may say.”

“He seems to be trusted by the king, though!”

Erling shrugged his shoulders.  “He has fought well for him, and is rewarded.  Were there aught to be had by betraying Offa, he would betray him.  Take a bad Saxon and a false Welshman, and that is saying much, and weld them into one, and you have Gymbert.”

“This is hearsay from the Welsh he has fought,” said I; “one need not heed it.”

“I suppose not,” quoth Erling; “but I never heard aught else of him.  And he has the face of a traitor.”

With that he turned to his horses and began loosening the pack from that one which bore it.  There was no more to be got out of him, as I knew, and so, leaving him to set the tent in order, I went my way toward the river, being minded for a good swim therein after the long, dusty way.  And turning over what Erling had said of himself, I remembered that Thorleif had told me how he had come from Wales round the Land’s End to Weymouth.  I thought rightly that he had picked up Erling there.

I had a good hour’s swim in a deep pool of the river, and enjoyed it to the full.  The current was swift, and it was good to battle with it, and then to turn and swing downward past the fern-covered banks and under the shade of the trees with its flow.  And while I was splashing in the pool, a franklin came running from his field with his hoe, waving wildly to me.

“Come out, master, I pray you!” he gasped; “the water is full forty feet deep there!”

“Is that so?” I said gravely.  “I will go and see.”

With that I dived, and stayed under as long as I could, not being able to find the bottom after all.