“I think we had better be going on before it grows dark,” I said.  “Do you know the road to Thetford?”

“My man here does.  But you will not leave us—­at least yet?”

“We are seeking the same road,” I answered.  “Now our horses are at the service of the lady and yourself.  I suppose we are not far from the town, if we cannot find it;” and I laughed.

“Matter of ten or twelve miles, lord,” said the housecarl.

“Why, then, the sooner we go the better.  Lucky that the May twilight is long.”

“We have met you in the nick of time,” said the old thane courteously.  “From your dress I take it that you are one of the Frankish paladins we were on the way to see.  But do they always talk good Wessex at the court of King Carl?”

“No,” laughed Werbode.  “Sometimes they talk old Saxon—­as I do.”

The thane bowed, and let that matter rest.  Then he looked ruefully at the two crippled horses, and set his arm round the lady, who had risen and was leaning on him.

“I thank you for that offer of a horse,” he said.  “I had twelve good men with me when we started across this moor, and you see all who are left.  One after another they have been shot by unseen men as we rode, until these swarmed out on us as you saw.”

“Who are they?” I asked, rolling up my cloak to set it pillion-wise behind my saddle for the lady.

“The flintknappers, I suppose,” he said.  “But I am a stranger to these parts, and I have but heard of them as dwelling about these heaths.”

Then I would have the thane mount my horse; and I lifted the maiden up behind him, and wrapped Werbode’s cloak round her, having a smile and thanks for the service.  And when they were ready I whistled for Erling, and he came back to us at a canter, looking behind him now and then.  But there was no sign of any follower.

“Ten miles from the town,” I said to him, “and more heath to cross.  We must hurry.  But we cannot leave those horses to suffer.”

“Our horses; and I have tended them, lord,” said the rough housecarl, with a bit of a shake in his voice.  “Leave that to me.”

He drew his seax, and we went on.  The poor beasts could never rise again, and that was the only way.  The thane knew, and rode round the wood end, and we went with him.  Then Erling lifted the wounded man on his own horse, and walked beside him.

“You and I will ride in turn,” said Werbode.  “As I am mounted, I will take first turn for a mile or two.  It will be all the same in the end.”

Presently Erling came alongside me, leaving the housecarl to mind his comrade.  He held out a broken arrow to me.

“I said they were trolls,” he remarked.  “See, this is an elf shot.”

And truly the arrow which he had drawn from one of the horses had as well wrought a flint head as I have ever seen—­lustrous black, and covered with tiny chippings.

“It is a better made head than usual,” I said; “but many a thrall has naught but flint-headed arrows in his quiver as he tends the swine in the forest.  They are good enough against the forest beasts.”