"They are going," said I, with much gladness.

One of the men shook his head.

"They do but slant across the wind, master. Presently they will go about
and so fetch the Wessex shore again, and so on till they reach where
they will up channel."

We watched them, and while we watched, a man came up from the west,
heated and tired out, and limping with long running as it seemed. And
when he saw me he ran straight to me, and thrusting a splinter of wood
into my hand, cried in a panting voice:

"I can no more--In the king's name to Matelgar of Stert--the levy is
at Bridgwater Cross. In all haste."

It was the war arrow [vi]. No man might refuse to bear that onward.
Yet--to Matelgar--and by an outlaw! But the man was beat, and the
thralls might not bear it.

"Look at me; know you who I am?" I said to the man, who had cast himself
down on the grass, panting again.

"No--nor care," he said, glancing at me sharply. "On, and tarry not."

"I am an outlaw," I said simply.

"Armed?" he said, with a laugh. "Outlaw in truth you will be, an you
speed not."