And then happened a thing that set me back into trouble about Owen
again. I had had many messages from him, as may be supposed, and in
all of them he said that there was no sign of danger, or even of
plotting against him.

One of my men brought me a written message one evening. A thrall
had left it at the gate for me. And when I asked from whom it came
I had the same answer that was given me when that other writing
warned me not to sleep in the moonlight, for it was said to come
from a priest whom I knew.

So when I glanced at the writing I was not surprised to see that it
was the same, though the sight of it gave me a cold shudder.
Somewhat the same also was the 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