I had forgotten that so it was, and even now I only smiled at the prince, for my mind was full of other things as I followed him toward the glen whence the stream came.  And now I was sure that here was growing more clearly a trace as of a seldom trodden path toward its mouth.  We passed a great flat rock, whereon were strange markings and a hollowed basin, which stood behind the menhir near the cliff, and to this the path led, but not beyond, from the glen.  Now we were almost in the opening, when both of us stopped and looked at one another.

Surely there were footsteps coming among the rocks of the water course before us.  Steep and crooked as this was, we could hear them, though as yet if it were a man or men who came we could not see.  I pulled the prince back into cover, where the rocks hid us from any one who came down the stream, and I loosened my sword in its sheath, for I could not be so sure that it might not be sorely needed.

The rattle of stones came nearer, and I saw Evan hurrying to us.  He also had heard, and he had made shift to tie the horses to some point of rock, and he ran with our spears in his hand to join us.

“Get to the other side of the pool, Thane,” he said.  “It may be the band of men who wrought the burning.”

“No,” I answered.  “Listen.  Maybe there are three or four men, not more.  I want to take one if I can.  He shall tell me all he knows of this place.”

For I had made up my mind that one who would come here freely must needs be of those who had brought Owen.

Then from the narrow portal of the glen passed quickly, looking neither to the right nor left, a tall man, followed by two others, and they seemed not to see us, but went straight toward the menhir along that path I thought I had traced, and Howel and I stared at them, speechless and motionless, for the like of them we had never seen.

As for Evan, he reeled against the rock, and stared after them, clutching it with both hands, so that his spear fell rattling along the rocks.

“The Druids!” he gasped.  “We are dead men.”

At the sharp rattle the leader of the three men turned, and I knew him.  He was clad in a wonderful gold and white robe that swept the ground, priest-like, but not that of any Christian, and his hair was bound with a golden fillet with which oak leaves were twisted, and in his ears were large earrings.  On his bare right arm was a coiled golden bracelet, and a heavy golden torque was round his neck, and a great golden brooch knit up the folds of his flowing white cloak on his right shoulder.  But for all this strange dress I knew him, and he was Morfed the priest, and I heard Howel mutter the name also.

Then a word from Morfed caused the other two to turn, and they saw us, and there flashed from under their robes—­which were like those of their leader, save for golden ornaments—­a long knife in the hand of each, and they made as if to fly on us.