fastened so that a stout stake was thrust through, under his knees
and over his elbows, trussing him helplessly. The cords that bound
him to the tree were round his body in such wise that he could by
no means fall on his side and so work himself free from the stake,
and round his mouth was a ragged cloth tied, but not closely enough
to prevent him from calling out as I heard him. I think that he
must have gnawed it from closer binding than I saw now. Across the
snow behind him the paws of some daring wolf had left marks as if
the beast had sniffed at his very back not so long since, and
surely but for the chance of my coming that way nought but his
bones had been left in that place by the pack before morning came
again.

It was a strange cry that this man gave when he saw me, for in no
way could I take it for a cry of joy for rescue. I could rather
think that he had raised the same when the wolf came near him. And
when I dismounted and led my horse after me toward him he seemed to
try to shrink from me, as if I also meant him harm. I thought that
the poor soul had surely gone distracted with the fear of the
forest beasts on him, so that he no longer knew friend from foe,
and I wondered how long he had been bound here in this lonely
place. I had seen no house or trace of men between here and Tenby.

I hitched the bridle rein over a low bough, and leaving my horse
went toward him to set him loose, wondering who had left him here.
And as I drew my seax and went to cut the lashings he writhed
afresh and cried piteously for mercy in what sounded like bad Saxon
from behind the cloth across his face, as though he deemed that I
came to slay him. I did not notice the strangeness of his using my
own tongue here in the heart of a Welsh land at the time, but