e form in which the message ran:

"To Oswald, son of Owen.--It is not good to take wine from the hand
of a Briton."

Now, I had some reason to believe that Mara had written the first
note, as she seemed the only possible person to warn us of the
plots of her kin, and that was a very plain warning to Owen rather
than to myself, as it seemed. So I thought this might come from the
same hand, and be meant for him also, and that all the more that
there was not a stranger left in Glastonbury, now that the feasting
was over, much less a Welshman. But Owen had none but Welsh round
him, and it seemed to say that there was some plot among them
again. Maybe he would know who was meant by the "Briton." Men have
nicknames that seem foolish to any but those who are in the jest of
them. We used to call Erpwald the "Saxon" sometimes, because he was
not of Wessex, although we were as much Saxon as he, or more so,
according to our own pride.

I went straight down the street to the house of a man whom I knew
well, an honest franklin who had a good horse and knew the border
country from end to end, and I bade him ride with all speed to Owen
at Norton with the paper. He was to give it into his own hand, and
I made shift to scrawl a few words on the outside of it that he
might shew to my friend the captain of the guard, and so win
speedier entry to the palace. I did not send one of my own men,
because he would have been known as coming from me, while this man
was often in Norton about cattle and the like, and none would
wonder at seeing him.

I was easier when I saw him mount and ride away, but I was ill
content until the morning came and brought him back with tidings
that all was well, and that Owen would be on his guard.

Also, the franklin was to tell me that Gerent's court went to Isca,
which we call Exeter, in two days' time, and that Owen would fain
see me before he went westward, if I could come to him. There
seemed to be difficulty in persuading Gerent to let him return to
our court, even for a day now.

Whereon I went to Ina and told him of this new trouble, and he bade
me go. He thought that some fresh plot was being hatched in Exeter,
but both he and I wondered that the warning was not sent direct to
my foster father, rather than in this roundabout way through my
hands. He said the same thing to me that Howel had spoken when I
parted from him.

"These plotters will not think twice about striking at Owen through
you, if