On his bare right arm was a coiled golden bracelet, and a heavy golden torque was round his neck, and a great golden brooch knit up the folds of his flowing white cloak on his right shoulder.

But for all this strange dress I knew him, and he was Morfed the priest, and I heard Howel mutter the name also.
Then a word from Morfed caused the other two to turn, and they saw us, and there flashed from under their robes--which were like those of their leader, save for golden ornaments--a long knife in the hand of each, and they made as if to fly on us.
Morfed held up his hand, and they stayed, glaring at us.

I listened for the coming of more of his followers down the water course, but I heard none.
Then Morfed spoke a word or two to his men, and came toward us, leaving them standing where they were, some twenty paces or less behind him, and as he came his pale face shewed no sort of feeling of any kind.

His strange bright eyes seemed to look past us, as if we were but stones at the path side.
"So it is the Saxon," he said, staying close before us.

"Well, I have waited for you, if I did not look to see you here.