though it was
a place the like of which I had never seen.

I seemed to stand in a deep hollow in wild hills, and round me
closed high cliffs that shut out all but the sky, so that they
surrounded a lawn of fair turf, boulder strewn here and there, and
bright with greener patches that told of bog beneath the grass. In
the very midst of this lawn was a round pool of black, still water,
and across on the far side of that was set a menhir, one of those
tall standing stones that forgotten men of old were wont to rear
for rites that are past. It was on the very edge of the pool, as it
seemed, and was taller than any I had seen on our hills.

And when in my dream I had seen this strange place, always I woke
with the voice of Owen in my ears calling me. That was the thing
which made me uneasy more than that a dream should come often.

Three times that dream and voice came to me, but I said nought of
it to any man. Then one day into the courtyard of the king's hall
rode men in haste from the westward, and when I was called out to
meet them the first man on whom my eyes rested was Jago of Norton,
and my heart fell. Dusty and stained he was with riding, and his
face was worn and hard, as with trouble, and he had no smile for
me.

"What news, friend?" I said, coming close to him as he dismounted.

"As they took you, so have they taken Owen. We have lost him."

"Is he slain?"

"We think not. He was wounded and borne away. We cannot trace him
or his captors. Gerent needs you, and I have a letter to your
king."

I asked him no more at this time, but I took him straightway to
Ina, travel stained as he was. He had but two men with him, and
they were Saxons he had asked for from Herewald the ealdorman as he
passed through Glastonbury in haste.

So Ina took the letter, and opened it, and as he read it his face
grew troubled, so that my fear that I had not yet heard the worst
grew on me. Then he handed it to me without a word.

"Gerent of the Britons, to Ina of Wessex.--I pray you send me
Oswald, Owen's foster son, for I need him sorely. On my head be it
if a hair of him is harmed. He who bears this is Jago, whom you
know, and he will tell my need and my loneliness. I pray you speed
him whom I ask for."

That was all written, and it seemed to me that more was not needed.
One could read between the lines, after what Jago had said.

"What is the need for you?" Ina asked, as I gave him back the
letter.

"To seek for Owen, m