"Hear the Saxons," said he, briefly, and with an air of command when
addressing others, which contrasted strongly his tender respect to the
King; "hear the Saxons, but not in these walls. Let no man from the
foe see our strength or our weakness. We are still mighty and
impregnable, while our dwelling is in the realm of the Unknown. Let
the King, and his officers of state, and his chieftains of battle,
descend to the pass. And behind, at the distance, let the spearmen
range from cliff to cliff, as a ladder of steel; so will their numbers
seem the greater."

"Thou speakest well," said the King.

Meanwhile the knight and the monk waited below at that terrible pass
[170], which then lay between mountain and river, and over which the
precipices frowned, with a sense of horror and weight. Looking up,
the knight murmured:

"With those stones and crags to roll down on a marching army, the
place well defies storm and assault; and a hundred on the height would
overmatch thousands below."

He then turned to address a few words, with all the far-famed courtesy
of Norman and Frank, to the Welch guards at the outpost. They were
picked men; the strongest and best armed and best fed of the group.
But they shook their heads and answered not, gazing at him fiercely,
and showing their white teeth, as dogs at a bear before they are
loosened from the band.

"They understand me not, poor languageless savages!" said Mallet de
Graville, turning to the monk, who stood by with the lifted rood;