s, they march with mistrust through the somber
forest of Cardik, speaking only in undertones, and from time to time
interrogating with uneasy looks the leafy branches of the trees, or the
thicket that borders the route. For a while nothing justifies the
apprehensions of the Frankish cohorts. The silence of the forest is
disturbed only by the rhythmic and muffled sound of their steps, and the
clank of their arms. But even the silence itself nourishes the vague
fears of the Franks. The defile of Glen-Clan and the marsh of Peulven
also were silent! More than one-half of the rest of the army now left to
Neroweg has entered the forest, when, reaching one of the turns of the
winding path, the Frankish chief, who marches at the head of his
horsemen accompanied by the monk, suddenly stops short. The path has
vanished. Gigantic oaks and elms, a hundred feet tall and from fifteen
to twenty feet in circumference, and bearing the evidence of having only
freshly fallen under the axe of the woodman, lie heaped upon each other
and so tangled in their fall across the route that their enormous
branches and colossal trunks present an impassible barrier to the
cavalry. Only foot soldiers might possibly scale the obstruction, and
cut their way across with hatchets.

"Oh! What a war!" cries out Neroweg, clenching his fists. "After the
defile, the marsh! After the marsh, the forest! I shall have barely
one-third of my forces left by the time I join the other chiefs!
Accursed Bretons, may the fires of hell consume you!"

"Yes, these heathens will burn! They shall burn until the last day of
judgment!" responds the monk with deep vexation. "Courage, Neroweg!
Courage! This last obstacle being overcome, we shall arrive at the moor
of Kennor. There we shall join the other two army corps of Louis the
Pious, and we shall all jointly penetrate into the valley of Lokfern,
where we will exterminate these accursed Bretons to the last man."

"Have you seen me falter in courage? By the great St. Martin, it looks
as if you were in league with the enemy, judging by the route you have
guided us on! Already have you twice led us into an ambush, you
miserable priest!"

"Have I not braved all the dangers at your side?" observes the priest,
holding up his left arm, that is wound in a bloodstained bandage. "Was I
not myself wounded last evening when we attempted to cross the marsh of
Peulven? Can you question my courage or fidelity?"

"How are we to find ano