defend our soil, inch by inch; every step you take will be
marked by your blood or our own; all our tribes are not like those of
Kervor!"

Saying this, Vortigern struck up the martial song of his ancestor
Schanvoch:

"This morning we asked:
'How many are there of these Franks?
How many are there of these barbarians?'
This evening we say:
'How many were there of these Franks?
How many were there of these barbarians?'"[E]

CHAPTER V.

THE MARSH OF PEULVEN.

Vast is the marsh of Peulven. To the east and the south its shape is
like a bay. From that side its edges are bordered by the skirts of the
dense forest of Cardik. To the north and west, it waters the gentle
slopes of the hills that succeed upon the last spurs of the Black
Mountains, whose tops, empurpled by the rays of the westering sun, rise
in the distant horizon. A jetty, or tongue of land that runs into the
edge of the forest, traverses the marsh through its whole length.
Silence is profound in this desert place. The stagnant waters reflect
the inflamed tints of the ruddy twilight. From time to time flocks of
curlews, herons and other aquatic birds, rise from amidst the reeds that
cover the marsh in spots, hover about and fly upward, emitting their
plaintive cries. Several Frankish horsemen appear from the side of the
mountain. They climb the hill, reach its top, and rein in their horses.
They sweep the marsh with their eyes, examine it for a moment, then turn
their horses' heads and ride back to join Neroweg and the monk, whose
forces, decimated shortly before in the defile of Glen-Clan, have been
subsequently harassed without let on their further march by little
Breton bands, who, placed in ambush behind hedges, or in ditches covered
with dry wood, unexpectedly fell upon either the vanguard or the rear
guard of the Franks, and, after bloody encounters, again vanished in
that region so interspersed with obstacles of all sorts, impracticable
for cavalry, and with which the Frankish foot soldiers are so utterly
unfamiliar that they ventured not to separate themselves from the main
column, ever fearing to fall into some fresh ambush. On horseback behind
the monk, Neroweg stands on the summit of a hill not far behind the one
that the scouts have just ascended. He awaits their return in order to
continue his march. The vanguard has halted at a little distance from
the chief. Further away rest the bulk of his troops. A