m settle
the matter; it is not lawful that these Saxons make away with a Roman
after this fashion."

"I can hold them, if thou canst summon thy fellows quickly," said
Nicanor. His tone was quite assured. "But it must be done at once,
before they have worked themselves up to mischief over him."

"Do thou so then, and I will shake a staff aloft when he is safe," said
the man, and slipped away among the people.

Before Nicanor could make his way through to confront the Saxons, who
were preparing for brutal sport with their prisoner, the horses of the
two chieftains broke through the ring and the riders dismounted in the
open space. The lord Felix twisted away from those who held him and ran
to the younger chief.

"Call thy fellows from me!" he cried. "Each time when thou art not by
they seek to torture me for their sport."

The brown-haired leader folded his arms across his chest and looked down
upon his prisoner. He spoke, in Latin sufficiently fluent.

"Hast thou forgotten that I am Ceawlin, son of that Evor whom thou hast
slain, and that my foot is upon thy neck and thy blood shall be let out
in payment for my sire his blood? How then shouldst thou say what may or
may not be done with thee, thou little toad?"

It was then that Nicanor came into the torchlit ring, walking
carelessly, a song upon his lips. He stopped where the light fell
fullest on him, facing the chieftains, shapely as a young pagan god in
the strength and flower of his manhood, the red rose behind his ear. The
speech of Ceawlin broke and stopped; his gaze fastened upon the intruder
with the swift recognition of one strong man for another.

"Who is this man?" he said sharply. None answered; his own people did
not know, and no one else seemed ready to stand sponsor. Ceawlin spoke
again. "Who art thou, fellow? Art thou also of the Welsh?"

For as Briton was the Roman word, so Welsh, or waelisc, a foreigner, was
the Saxon word, meaning merely one who was not of Teuton race, and given
to those nations which spoke the Latin tongue.

"I am a Briton," said Nicanor. "Men call me the teller of tales, and I
am come to buy from thee thy prisoner. What price wilt thou put upon
him, O son of Evor?"

"How knowest thou me?" Ceawlin asked doubtfully. His voice became
angered. "What price, quotha! No price that thou canst pay, sir teller
of tales!"

"So? Didst ever hear of that ancient sea-king who put too high a price
upon his spoils?" said Nicanor, with