There was a war bow and two more arrows lying at the foot of the rampart, as if they had been wrested from the hand of the archer and flung there.
The men had not seen these, but I looked for them at once when I saw that there was no bow on the slain man.
"Who is this ?" Owen said gravely, and without looking closely as yet.
"It is Tregoz of the Dart, whom the king seeks," one or two of the men said at once.
I had known that it must be he in my own mind before the name was spoken.

There fell a silence on the rest as the name was told, and all looked at my foster father.

There was plainly some fault in the watching of the rampart that had let the traitor find his way here at all.
"Which of you was it who slew him ?" asked Owen.
"None of us, Lord.

We cannot tell who it may have been.

Even the sentry who keeps this beat is gone." "Doubtless it was he who slew him, and is himself wounded in the fosse.