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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10064 ***
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+BY
+
+
+JEFFERY FARNOL
+
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," ETC.
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+FREDERICK HUGHSON HAWLEY
+
+TO WHOM BELTANE IS NO STRANGER I DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE
+
+Jeffery Farnol
+
+London, August, 1915.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     II HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+    III HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     IV OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+      V WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+     VI HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+    VII HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS
+      A NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+   VIII HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+     IX WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE
+      WISDOM OF A FOOL
+
+      X HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+     XI WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND
+      HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+    XII WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+   XIII HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+    XIV HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+     XV HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY
+      LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST
+
+    XVI OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+   XVII OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+  XVIII HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+    XIX CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+     XX HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+    XXI OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+   XXII CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+  XXIII OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+   XXIV OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+    XXV HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+   XXVI OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED
+      INTO BELTANE
+
+  XXVII HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+ XXVIII OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+   XXIX HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+    XXX HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+   XXXI HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+  XXXII HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+ XXXIII HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+  XXXIV HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+   XXXV HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+  XXXVI HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+ XXXVII HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+ XXXVIII OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE
+     WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+   XXXIX HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+      XL FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+     XLI HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+    XLII HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+   XLIII HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+    XLIV HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+     XLV HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+    XLVI HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE
+      ANSWERED
+
+   XLVII HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+  XLVIII HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+    XLIX HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+       L TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+      LI HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+     LII HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+    LIII OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+     LIV HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+      LV HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+     LVI WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+    LVII TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+   LVIII HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+     LIX TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+      LX TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+     LXI HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+    LXII HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+   LXIII TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+    LXIV HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUR OF HER FEAR
+
+     LXV TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+    LXVI CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+   LXVII TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+  LXVIII FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+    LXIX HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+     LXX WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous
+
+Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand
+
+She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
+miller
+
+Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate
+
+
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
+chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
+Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.
+
+Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
+of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
+murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
+the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.
+
+A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
+stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
+of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
+its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
+could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
+likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
+having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
+Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
+ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
+not.
+
+Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
+live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
+thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
+implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
+had need of.
+
+Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
+they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
+and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
+Beltane had said:
+
+"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
+ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
+sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
+called 'Desire of the World.'"
+
+But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:
+
+"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
+awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and
+passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is
+an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin
+into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and
+honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very
+manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought
+but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many
+died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night,
+lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and
+murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and
+broken dreams and ideals.
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the
+whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the
+brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life;
+the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women
+and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all
+these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and
+sighing, fell asleep.
+
+Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye
+quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand
+voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous
+tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and
+man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented
+casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their
+strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks;
+or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist,
+poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours,
+illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced
+that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he
+suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree,
+near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with
+a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal,
+he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his
+grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush
+again:
+
+"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"
+
+"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you
+a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"
+
+Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I
+now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."
+
+"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his
+grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight
+with thee."
+
+"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long
+cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil,
+in the sunset.
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee,
+good fellow."
+
+"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for
+that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?
+Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst?
+Out upon thee, messire smith!"
+
+"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight
+with thee, where would be the reason?"
+
+"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for
+such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."
+
+"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly
+touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."
+
+"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right
+fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my
+duty--"
+
+"How thy duty?"
+
+"I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me
+this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black
+usurper's heel, all the sins of hell are loose, murder and riot, lust
+and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and
+you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's
+amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush
+stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried
+thy mettle."
+
+Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:
+
+"You speak me riddles, sir."
+
+"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now
+mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous ass, a slave, a
+nincompoop, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit
+at thee!"
+
+Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his
+brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned
+him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning
+wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this
+strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and
+twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.
+
+"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good
+beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A
+mighty arm, a noble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the
+breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted
+and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang
+nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the
+blade and gave its massy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:
+
+"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you
+shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore
+it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck
+deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might
+oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and
+mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and
+undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er
+behold its equal!"
+
+So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance
+of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple
+cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this
+word:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now
+what it doth signify."
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"'I shall arise!'"
+
+"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look
+you, and the motto of a great and noble house, and, by the Rood, I
+think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and
+taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and
+wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny
+me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."
+
+Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and
+the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and
+thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and
+so they engaged.
+
+And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought
+together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the
+stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile,
+mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
+his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
+stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
+loud, taunting him on this wise:
+
+"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
+belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
+brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
+boy!"
+
+Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
+grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
+stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
+with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
+strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
+very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
+as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
+the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
+once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
+redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
+he but laughed again, saying:
+
+"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
+leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
+upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
+head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
+sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
+so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.
+
+But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
+all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
+bent earthwards and spake no word.
+
+Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
+with kindly, approving eyes.
+
+"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
+that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
+cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
+o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
+in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
+With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
+thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
+and spake:
+
+"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
+little better this time, an so God wills."
+
+"Aye, so thou shalt, sweet youth," cried the stranger, clapping him
+upon the shoulder, "yet not now, for I must begone, yet shall I
+return."
+
+"Then I pray you leave with me the sword till you be come again."
+
+"The sword--ha! doth thy soul cleave unto it so soon, my good, sweet
+boy? Leave the sword, quotha? Aye, truly--some day. But for the nonce--
+no, no, thy hand is not fitted to bear it yet, nor worthy such a blade,
+but some day, belike--who knows? Fare thee well, sweet youth, I come
+again to-morrow."
+
+And so the tall, grim stranger turned him about, smiling his wry smile,
+and strode away through the green. Then Beltane went back, minded to
+finish his painting, but the colours had lost their charm for him,
+moreover, the light was failing. Wherefore he put brushes and colours
+aside, and, stripping, plunged into the cool, sweet waters of a certain
+quiet pool, and so, much heartened and refreshed thereby, went betimes
+to bed. But now he thought no more of women and the ways of women, but
+rather of this stranger man, of his wry smile and of his wondrous
+sword-play; and bethinking him of the great sword, he yearned after
+it, as only youth may yearn, and so, sighing, fell asleep. And in his
+dreams all night was the rushing thunder of many fierce feet and the
+roaring din of bitter fight and conflict.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Up to an elbow sprang Beltane to find the sun new risen, filling his
+humble chamber with its golden glory, and, in this radiance, upon the
+open threshold, the tall, grim figure of the stranger.
+
+"Messire," quoth Beltane, rubbing sleepy eyes, "you wake betimes,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Aye, sluggard boy; there is work to do betwixt us." "How so, sir?"
+
+"My time in the greenwood groweth short; within the week I must away,
+for there are wars and rumours of wars upon the borders."
+
+Quoth Beltane, wondering:
+
+"War and conflict have been within my dreams all night!"
+
+"Dreams, boy! I tell thee the time groweth ripe for action--and, mark
+me this! wherein, perchance, thou too shalt share, yet much have I to
+teach thee first, so rise, slug-a-bed, rise!"
+
+Now when Beltane was risen and clad he folded his arms across his broad
+chest and stared upon the stranger with grave, deep-searching eyes.
+
+"Who art thou?" he questioned, "and what would you here again?"
+
+"As to thy first question, sir smith, 'tis no matter for that, but as
+for thy second, to-day am I come to teach thee the use and manage of
+horse and lance, it being so my duty."
+
+"And wherefore thy duty?"
+
+"For that I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who yet liveth, being dead."
+
+Now Beltane frowned at this, and shook his head, saying:
+
+"More riddles, messire? Yet now will I speak thee plain, as thus: I am
+a smith, and have no lust to strife or knightly deeds, nor will I e'er
+attempt them, for strife begetteth bitter strife and war is an evil
+thing. 'They that trust to the sword shall perish by the sword,' 'tis
+so written, and is, meseemeth, a faithful saying. This sorry world hath
+known over much of war and hate, of strife and bloodshed, so shall
+these my hands go innocent of more."
+
+Then indeed did the stranger stare with jaws agape for wonder at my
+Beltane's saying, and, so staring, turned him to the door and back
+again, and fain would speak, yet could not for a while. Then:
+
+"Besotted boy!" he cried. "O craven youth! O babe! O suckling! Was it
+for this thou wert begot? Hast thou no bowels, no blood, no manhood?
+Forsooth, and must I spit on thee indeed?"
+
+"And so it be thy will, messire," said Beltane, steady-eyed.
+
+But as they stood thus, Beltane with arms yet crossed, his lips
+up-curving at the other's fierce amaze, the stranger grim-faced and
+frowning, came a shadow athwart the level glory of the sun, and,
+turning, Beltane beheld the hermit Ambrose, tall and spare beneath his
+tattered gown, bareheaded and bare of foot, whose eyes were bright and
+quick, despite the snow of hair and beard, and in whose gentle face and
+humble mien was yet a high and noble look at odds with his lowly guise
+and tattered vesture; at sight of whom the grim-faced stranger, of a
+sudden, bowed his grizzled head and sank upon his knee.
+
+"Lord!" he said, and kissed the hermit's long, coarse robe. Whereon the
+hermit bent and touched him with a gentle hand.
+
+"_Benedicite_, my son!" said he. "Go you, and leave us together a
+while."
+
+Forthwith the stranger rose from his knee and went out into the glory
+of the morning. Then the hermit came to Beltane and set his two hands
+upon his mighty shoulders and spake to him very gently, on this wise:
+
+"Thou knowest, my Beltane, how all thy days I have taught thee to love
+all fair, and sweet, and noble things, for they are of God. 'Twere a
+fair thought, now, to live out thy life here, within these calm, leafy
+solitudes--but better death by the sword for some high, unselfish
+purpose, than to live out a life of ease, safe and cloistered all thy
+days. To live for thine own ends--'tis human; to die for some great
+cause, for liberty, or for another's good--that, my son, were God-like.
+And there was a Man of Sorrows Whose word was this, that He came
+'not to bring peace on this earth, but a sword.' For good cannot
+outface evil but strife must needs follow. Behold now here another
+sword, my Beltane; keep it henceforth so long as thou keep honour." So
+saying, Ambrose the Hermit took from beneath his habit that for which
+Beltane had yearned, that same great blade whereon whose steel was
+graven the legend:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+So Ambrose put the sword in Beltane's hand, saying:
+
+"Be terrible, my son, that evil may flee before thee, learn to be
+strong that thou may'st be merciful." Then the hermit stretched forth
+his hands and blessed my Beltane, and turned about, and so was gone.
+
+But Beltane stood awhile to swing the great blade lightly to and fro
+and to stare upon it with shining eyes. Then, having hid it within his
+bed, he went forth into the glade. And here he presently beheld a great
+grey horse tethered to a tree hard by, a mettled steed that tossed its
+noble head and snuffed the fragrant air of morning, pawing at the earth
+with impatient hoof. Now, as he stood gazing, came the stranger and
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Messire," said he, "try an thou canst back the steed yonder."
+
+Beltane smiled, for he had loved horses all his days, and loosing the
+horse, led it out into the open and would have mounted, but the
+spirited beast, knowing him not, reared and plunged and strove to break
+the grip upon the bridle, but the grip was strong and compelling; then
+Beltane soothed him with gentle voice and hand, and, of a sudden,
+vaulted lightly into the saddle, and being there, felt the great beast
+rear under him, and, laughing joyously, struck him with open palm and
+set off at a thunderous gallop. Away, away they sped up the sunny
+glade, past oak and beech and elm, through light and shadow, until
+before them showed a tree of vast girth and mighty spread of branches.
+Now would Beltane have reined aside, but the great horse, ears flat and
+eyes rolling, held blindly on. Then Beltane frowned and leaning
+forward, seized the bridle close beside the bit, and gripping it so,
+put forth his strength. Slowly, slowly the great, fierce head was drawn
+low and lower, the foam-flecked jaws gaped wide, but Beltane's grip
+grew ever the fiercer until, snorting, panting, wild-eyed, the great
+grey horse faltered in his stride, checked his pace, slipped, stumbled,
+and so stood quivering in the shade of the tree. Thereafter Beltane
+turned him and, galloping back, drew rein where the stranger sat,
+cross-legged, watching him with his wry smile.
+
+"Aye," he nodded, "we shall make of thee a horseman yet. But as to
+lance now, and armour--"
+
+Quoth Beltane, smiling:
+
+"Good sir, I am a smith, and in my time have mended many a suit of
+mail, aye, and made them too, though 'twas but to try my hand. As for a
+lance, I have oft tilted at the ring astride a forest pony, and
+betimes, have run a course with wandering men-at-arms."
+
+"Say you so, boy?" said the stranger, and rising, took from behind a
+tree a long and heavy lance and thrust it into Beltane's grip; then,
+drawing his sword, he set it upright in the sward, and upon the hilt he
+put his cap, saying:
+
+"Ride back up the glade, and try an thou canst pick up my cap on thy
+point, at a gallop." So Beltane rode up the glade and wheeling at a
+distance, came galloping down with levelled lance, and thundered by
+with the cap fluttering from his lance point.
+
+"Art less of a dullard than I thought thee," said the stranger, taking
+back his cap, "though, mark me boy, 'tis another matter to ride against
+a man fully armed and equipped, lance to lance and shield to shield,
+than to charge a harmless, ancient leathern cap. Still, art less of a
+dullard than I thought thee. But there is the sword, now--with the
+sword thou art indeed but a sorry fool! Go fetch the sword and I will
+e'en belabor thee again."
+
+So Beltane, lighting down from the horse that reared and plunged no
+more, went and fetched the great sword; and when they had laid their
+jerkins by (for the sun was hot) they faced each other, foot to foot
+and eye to eye. Then once again the long blades whirled and flew and
+rang together, and once again the stranger laughed and gibed and struck
+my Beltane how and where he would, nor gave him stay or respite till
+Beltane's mighty arm grew aweary and his shoulder ached and burned;
+then, when he recked not of it, the stranger, with the same cunning
+stroke, beat the sword from Beltane's hand, and laughed aloud and
+wagged his head, saying:
+
+"Art faint, boy, and scant o' breath already? Methinks we ne'er shall
+make of thee a lusty sworder!" But beholding Beltane's flushing cheek
+and drooping eye, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Go to!" cried he, "art young and all unlearned as yet--heed not my
+gibes and quirks, 'tis ever so my custom when steel is ringing, and
+mark me, I do think it a good custom, as apt to put a man off his ward
+and flurry him in his stroke. Never despair, youth, for I tell thee,
+north and south, and east and west my name is known, nor shall you find
+in any duchy, kingdom or county, a sworder such as I. For, mark me now!
+your knight and man-at-arms, trusting to his armour, doth use his sword
+but to thrust and smite. But--and mark me again, boy! a man cannot go
+ever in his armour, nor yet be sure when foes are nigh, and, at all
+times, 'tis well to make thy weapon both sword and shield; 'tis a
+goodly art, indeed I think a pretty one. Come now, take up thy sword
+and I will teach thee all my strokes and show thee how 'tis done."
+
+Thus then, this stranger dwelt the week with Beltane in the greenwood,
+teaching him, day by day, tricks of sword and much martial lore beside.
+And, day by day, a friendship waxed and grew betwixt them so that upon
+the seventh morning, as they broke their fast together, Beltane's heart
+was heavy and his look downcast; whereat the stranger spake him thus:
+
+"Whence thy dole, good youth?"
+
+"For that to-day needs must I part with thee."
+
+"And thy friends are few, belike?"
+
+"None, messire," answered Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Aye me! And yet 'tis well enough, for--mark me, youth!--friends be
+ofttimes a mixed blessing. As for me, 'tis true I am thy friend and so
+shall ever be, so long as you shall bear yon goodly blade."
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Moreover thou art my scholar, and like, perchance, to prove thyself,
+some day, a notable sworder and a sweet and doughty fighter, belike."
+
+"Yet hast never spoken me thy name, messire."
+
+"Why, hast questioned me but once, and then thou wert something of a
+blockhead dreamer, methought. But now, messire Beltane, since thou
+would'st know--Benedict of Bourne am I called."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane rose and stood upon his feet, staring wide-eyed at
+this grim-faced stranger who, with milk-bowl at lip, paused to smile
+his wry smile. "Aha!" said he, "hast heard such a name ere now, even
+here in the greenwood?"
+
+"Sir," answered Beltane, "betimes I have talked with soldiers and
+men-at-arms, so do I know thee for that same great knight who, of all the
+nobles of Pentavalon, doth yet withstand the great Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Call you that black usurper 'great,' youth? Body o' me! I knew a
+greater, once, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "there was him men called 'Beltane the Strong.'"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Benedict, setting down his milk-bowl, "what know you
+of Duke Beltane?"
+
+"Nought but that he was a great and lusty fighter who yet loved peace
+and mercy, but truth and justice most of all."
+
+"And to-day," sighed Sir Benedict, "to-day we have Black Ivo! Aye me!
+these be sorry days for Pentavalon. 'Tis said he woos the young Duchess
+yonder. Hast ever seen Helen of Mortain, sir smith?"
+
+"Nay, but I've heard tell that she is wondrous fair."
+
+"Hum!" quoth Sir Benedict, "I love not your red-haired spit-fires.
+Methinks, an Ivo win her, she'll lead him how she will, or be broke in
+the adventure--a malison upon him, be it how it may!"
+
+So, having presently made an end of eating, Sir Benedict arose and
+forthwith donned quilted gambeson, and thereafter his hauberk of bright
+mail and plain surcoat, and buckling his sword about him, strode into
+the glade where stood the great grey horse. Now, being mounted, Sir
+Benedict stayed awhile to look down at Beltane, whiles Beltane looked
+up at him.
+
+"Messire Beltane," said he, pointing to his scarred cheek, "you look
+upon my scar, I think?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, flushing hot:
+
+"Nay, sir; in truth, not I."
+
+"Why look now, sweet youth, 'tis a scar that likes me well, though
+'twas in no battle I took it, yet none the less, I would not be without
+it. By this I may be known among a thousand. 'Benedict o' the Mark,'
+some call me, and 'tis, methinks, as fair a name as any. But look now,
+and mark me this well, Beltane,--should any come to thee within the
+green, by day or night, and say to thee, 'Benedict o' the Mark bids
+thee arise and follow,'--then follow, messire, and so, peradventure,
+thou shalt arise indeed. Dost mark me well, youth?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Benedict."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed Sir Benedict, "thou'rt a fair sized babe to bear
+within a cloak, and thou hast been baptized in blood ere now--and there
+be more riddles for thee, boy, and so, until we meet, fare thee well,
+messire Beltane!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict of Bourne smiled his twisted smile and,
+wheeling his horse, rode away down the glade, his mail glistening in
+the early light and his lance point winking and twinkling amid the
+green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+
+Now it fell out upon a day, that as Beltane strode the forest ways,
+there met him a fine cavalcade, gay with the stir of broidered
+petticoat and ermined mantle; and, pausing beneath a tree, he stood to
+hearken to the soft, sweet voices of the ladies and to gaze enraptured
+upon their varied beauty. Foremost of all rode a man richly habited, a
+man of great strength and breadth of shoulder, and of a bearing high
+and arrogant. His face, framed in long black hair that curled to meet
+his shoulder, was of a dark and swarthy hue, fierce looking and
+masterful by reason of prominent chin and high-arched nose, and of his
+thin-lipped, relentless mouth. Black were his eyes and bold; now
+staring bright and wide, now glittering 'twixt heavy, narrowed lids;
+yet when he smiled they glittered brightest, and his lips showed
+moistly red. Beside him rode a lady of a wondrous dark beauty, sleepy
+eyed and languid; yet her glance was quick to meet the Duke's bold
+look, and, 'neath her mantle, her fingers met, once in a while, and
+clung with his, what time his red lips would smile; but, for the most
+part, his brow was gloomy and he fingered his chin as one in thought.
+
+As he paced along upon his richly caparisoned steed, pinching at his
+long, blue-shaven chin with supple fingers, his heavy brows drawn low,
+of a sudden his narrowed lids widened and his eyes gleamed bright and
+black as they beheld my Beltane standing in the shade of the tree.
+
+"Aha!" said he, drawing rein, "what insolent, long-legged rogue art
+thou, to stand gaping at thy betters?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"No rogue, messire, but an honest man, I pray God, whom folk call
+Beltane the Smith."
+
+The staring eyes grew suddenly narrow, the scarlet mouth curled in a
+slow smile, and the tall man spake, yet with his gaze bent ever upon
+Beltane:
+
+"Fair lords," he said, "and you, most sweet and gentle ladies, our
+sport hath been but poor, hitherto--methinks I can show you a better,
+'tis a game we play full oft in my country. Would that our gracious
+lady of Mortain were here, nor had balked us of her wilful company. Ho!
+Gefroi!" he called, "come you and break me the back of this 'honest'
+rogue." And straightway came one from the rear, where rode the servants
+and men-at-arms, a great, bronzed fellow, bearded to the eyes of him,
+loosing his sword-belt as he came; who, having tossed aside cap and
+pourpoint, strode toward Beltane, his eyes quick and bright, his teeth
+agleam through the hair of his beard.
+
+"Come, thou forest rogue," said he, "my lord Duke loveth not to wait
+for man or maid, so--have at thee!"
+
+Great he looked and tall as Beltane's self, a hairy man of mighty girth
+with muscles that swelled on arm and breast and rippled upon his back.
+Thus, as he stood and laughed, grimly confident and determined, not a
+few were they who sighed for Beltane for his youth's sake, and because
+of his golden curls and gentle eyes, for this Gefroi was accounted a
+very strong man, and a matchless wrestler withal.
+
+"'Tis a fair match, how think you, Sir Jocelyn?" said the Duke, and
+turned him to one who rode at his elbow; a youthful, slender figure
+with long curled hair and sleepy eyes, "a fair match, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"In very sooth, sweet my lord, gramercy and by your gracious leave--not
+so," sighed Sir Jocelyn. "This Gefroi o' thine is a rare breaker of
+necks and hath o'er-thrown all the wrestlers in the three duchies; a
+man is he, set in his strength and experienced, but this forester, tall
+though he be, is but a beardless youth."
+
+The Duke smiled his slow smile, his curving nostrils quivered and were
+still, and he glanced toward Sir Jocelyn through veiling lids. Quoth
+he:
+
+"Art, rather, for a game of ball, messire, or a song upon a lute?" So
+saying he turned and signed to Gefroi with his finger; as for Sir
+Jocelyn, he only curled a lock of his long hair, and hummed beneath his
+breath.
+
+Now Beltane, misliking the matter, would fain have gone upon his way,
+but wheresoever he turned, there Gefroi was also, barring his path,
+wherefore Beltane's eye kindled and he raised his staff threateningly.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "stand from my way, lest I mischief thee."
+
+But Gefroi only laughed and looked to his lord, who, beckoning an
+archer, bid him lay an arrow to his string.
+
+"Shoot me the cowardly rogue so soon as he turn his back," said he,
+whereat Gefroi laughed again, wagging his head.
+
+"Come, forest knave," quoth he, "I know a trick to snap thy neck so
+sweetly shalt never know, I warrant thee. Come, 'twill take but a
+moment, and my lord begins to lack of patience."
+
+So Beltane laid by his staff, and tightening his girdle, faced the
+hairy Gefroi; and there befell that, the which, though you shall find
+no mention of it in any chronicle, came much to be talked of
+thereafter; so that a ballade was writ of it the which beginneth thus:
+
+  'Beltane wrestled in the green
+   With a mighty man,
+   A goodlier bout was never seen
+   Since the world began,'
+
+While Beltane was tightening his girdle, swift and sudden Gefroi
+closed, pinning his arms in a cunning hold, and thrice he swung my
+Beltane from his feet so that many clapped their hands the while the
+squires and men-at-arms shouted lustily. Only Sir Jocelyn curled the
+lock of hair upon his finger and was silent.
+
+To him quoth my lord Duke, smiling:
+
+"Messire, an you be in a mind to wager now, I will lay you this my roan
+stallion 'gainst that suit of triple mail you won at Dunismere joust,
+that Gefroi breaks thy forester's back within two falls--how say you?"
+
+"Sweet my lord, it liketh me beyond telling, thy roan is a peerless
+beast!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, and so fell once more to humming his song
+beneath his breath.
+
+Now Beltane had wrestled oft with strangers in the greenwood and had
+learned many cunning and desperate holds; moreover, he had learned to
+bide his time; thus, though Gefroi's iron muscles yet pinned his arms,
+he waited, calm-eyed but with every nerve a-quiver, for that moment
+when Gefroi's vicious grip should slacken.
+
+To and fro the wrestlers swayed, knee to knee and breast to breast,
+fierce and silent and grim. As hath been said, this Gefroi was a very
+cunning fellow, and once and twice, he put forth all his strength
+seeking to use a certain cruel trick whereby many a goodly man had died
+ere now; but once, and twice, the hold was foiled, yet feebly and as
+though by chance, and Gefroi wondered; a third time he essayed it
+therefore, but, in that moment, sudden and fierce and strong, Beltane
+twisted in his loosened grasp, found at last the deadly hold he sought,
+and Gefroi wondered no more, for about him was a painful grip that grew
+ever tighter and more relentless. Now Gefroi's breath grew short and
+laboured, the muscles stood out on his writhing body in knotted cords,
+but ever that cruel grip grew more deadly, crushing his spirit and
+robbing him of his wonted strength. And those about them watched that
+mighty struggle, hushed for wonder of it; even Sir Jocelyn had forgot
+his lock of hair, and hummed no more.
+
+For, desperately though he fought and struggled, they saw Gefroi's
+great body was bending slowly backward; his eyes stared up, wild and
+bloodshot, into the fierce, set face above him; swaying now, he saw the
+wide ring of faces, the quiver of leaves and the blue beyond, all a-swim
+through the mist of Beltane's yellow hair, and then, writhing in
+his anguish, he turned and buried his teeth in Beltane's naked arm, and
+with a cunning twist, broke from that deadly grip and staggered free.
+
+Straightway the air was full of shouts and cries, some praising, some
+condemning, while Gefroi stood with hanging arms and panted. But
+Beltane looking upon his hurt, laughed, short and fierce, and as Gefroi
+came upon him, stooped and caught him below the loins. Then Beltane the
+strong, the mighty, put forth his strength and, whirling Gefroi aloft,
+hurled him backwards over his shoulder. So Gefroi the wrestler fell,
+and lay with hairy arms wide-tossed as one that is dead, and for a
+space no man spake for the wonder of it.
+
+"By all the Saints, but 'twas a mighty throw!" sighed Sir Jocelyn,
+"though alack! sweet my lord, 'twould almost seem my forester hath
+something spoiled thy wrestler!"
+
+"And is the roan stallion thine" frowned the Duke, "and to none would I
+lose him with a fairer grace, for 'twas a good bout as I foretold: yet,
+by the head of St. Martin! meseemeth yon carrion might have done me
+better!" So saying, my lord Duke gave his horse the spur and, as he
+passed the prostrate form of Gefroi, leaned him down and smote the
+wrestler thrice with the whip he held and so rode on, bidding his
+followers let him lie.
+
+But Sir Jocelyn paused to look down at Beltane, who was setting his
+dress in order.
+
+"Sir forester, thou hast a mighty arm," quoth he, "and thy face liketh
+me well. Here's for thee," and tossing a purse to Beltane's feet, he
+rode upon his way.
+
+So the gay cavalcade passed 'neath the leafy arches, with the jingle of
+bridle and stirrup and the sound of jest and laughter, and was
+presently lost amid the green; only Gefroi the wrestler lay there upon
+his back and groaned. Then came Beltane and knelt and took his heavy
+head upon his knee, whereat Gefroi opened his eyes and groaned again.
+
+"Good fellow," said Beltane, "I had not meant to throw thee so heavily--"
+
+"Nay, forester, would it had been a little harder, for a ruined man am
+I this day."
+
+"How so--have you not life?"
+
+"I would 'twere death. And I bit you--in the arm, I mind me?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas in the arm."
+
+"For that am I heartily sorry, forester. But when a man seeth fame and
+fortune slipping from him--aye, and his honour, I had nigh forgot that--
+fame and fortune and honour, so small a thing as a bite may be
+forgiven?"
+
+"I forgive thee--full and freely."
+
+"Spoke like an honest forester," said Gefroi, and groaned again. "The
+favour of a lord is a slippery thing--much like an eel--quick to
+wriggle away. An hour agone my lord Duke held me in much esteem, while
+now? And he struck me! On the face, here!" Slowly Gefroi got him upon
+his feet, and having donned cap and pourpoint, shook his head and
+sighed; quoth he:
+
+"Alack! 'tis a ruined man am I this day! Would I had broken thy neck,
+or thou, mine--and so, God den to ye, forester!" Then Gefroi the
+wrestler turned and plodded on his way, walking slow and with drooping
+head as one who knoweth not whither he goes, or careth. Now, as he
+watched, Beltane bethought him of the purse and taking it up, ran after
+Gefroi and thrust it into his hand.
+
+"'Twill help thee to find a new service, mayhap." So saying my Beltane
+turned upon his heel and strode away, while Gefroi stood staring wide-eyed
+long after Beltane was vanished amid the trees.
+
+So thus it was that Beltane looked his first upon Duke Ivo of
+Pentavalon, and thus did he overthrow Gefroi the famous wrestler. And
+because of this, many were they, knights and nobles and esquires, who
+sought out Beltane's lonely hut beside the brook, with offers of
+service, or to try a fall with him. But at their offers Beltane laughed
+and shook his head, and all who came to wrestle he threw upon their
+backs. And thus my Beltane dwelt within the greenwood, waxing mightier
+day by day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+Upon a day Beltane stood at his forge fashioning an axe-head. And,
+having tempered it thereafter in the brook, he laid it by, and
+straightening his back, strode forth into the glade all ignorant of the
+eyes that watched him curiously through the leaves. And presently as he
+stood, his broad back set to the bole of a tree, his blue eyes lifted
+heavenwards brimful of dreams, he brake forth into a song he had made,
+lying sleepless upon his bed to do it.
+
+Tall and stately were the trees, towering aloft, nodding slumberously
+in the gentle wind; fair were the flowers lifting glad faces to their
+sun-father and filling the air with their languorous perfume; yet
+naught was there so comely to look upon as Beltane the Smith, standing
+bare-armed in his might, his golden hair crisp-curled and his lifted
+eyes a-dream. Merrily the brook laughed and sang among the willows,
+leaping in rainbow-hues over its pebbly bed; sweet piped the birds in
+brake and thicket, yet of all their music none was there so good to
+hear as the rich tones of Beltane the Smith.
+
+So thought the Duchess Helen of Mortain where she sat upon her white
+palfrey screened by the thick-budded foliage, seeing nought but this
+golden-locked singer whose voice thrilled strangely in her ears. And
+who so good a judge as Helen the Beautiful, whose lovers were beyond
+count, knights and nobles and princelings, ever kneeling at her haughty
+feet, ever sighing forth vows of service and adoration, in whose honour
+many a stout lance had shivered, and many a knightly act been wrought?
+Wherefore I say, who so good a judge as the Duchess Helen of Mortain?
+Thus Beltane the maker of verses, all ignorant that any heard save the
+birds in the brake, sang of the glories of the forest-lands. Sang how
+the flowers, feeling the first sweet promise of spring stirring within
+them, awoke; and lo! the frost was gone, the warm sun they had dreamed
+of through the long winter was come back, the time of their waiting
+passed away. So, timidly, slowly, they stole forth from the dark,
+unveiling their beauties to their lord the sun and filling the world
+with the fragrance of their worship.
+
+Somewhat of all this sang Beltane, whiles the Duchess Helen gazed upon
+him wide-eyed and wondering.
+
+Could this be Beltane the Smith, this tall, gentle-eyed youth, this
+soft-voiced singer of dreams? Could this indeed be the mighty wrestler
+of whom she had heard so many tales of late, how that he lived an
+anchorite, deep hidden in the green, hating the pomp and turmoil of
+cities, and contemning women and all their ways?
+
+Now, bethinking her of all this, the Duchess frowned for that he was
+such a goodly man and so comely to look on, and frowning, mused, white
+chin on white fist. Then she smiled, as one that hath a bright thought,
+and straightway loosed the golden fillet that bound her glowing
+tresses so that they fell about her in all their glory, rippling far
+down her broidered habit. Then, the song being ended, forth from her
+cover rode the lady of Mortain, and coming close where Beltane leaned
+him in the shade of the tree, paused of a sudden, and started as one
+that is surprised, and Beltane turning, found her beside him, yet spake
+not nor moved.
+
+Breathless and as one entranced he gazed upon her; saw how her long
+hair glowed a wondrous red 'neath the kisses of the dying sun; saw how
+her purpled gown, belted at the slender waist, clung about the beauties
+of her shapely body; saw how the little shoe peeped forth from the
+perfumed mystery of its folds, and so stood speechless, bound by the
+spell of her beauty. Wherefore, at length, she spake to him, low and
+sweet and humble, on this wise:
+
+"Art thou he whom men call Beltane the Smith?"
+
+He answered, gazing at her lowered lashes:
+
+"I am Beltane the Smith."
+
+For a space she sat grave and silent, then looked at him with eyes that
+laughed 'neath level brows to see the wonder in his gaze. But anon she
+falls a-sighing, and braided a tress of hair 'twixt white fingers ere
+she spoke:
+
+"'Tis said of thee that thou art a hermit and live alone within these
+solitudes. And yet--meseemeth--thine eyes are not a hermit's eyes,
+messire!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, with flushing cheek and eyes abased:
+
+"Yet do I live alone, lady."
+
+"Nor are thy ways and speech the ways of common smith, messire."
+
+"Yet smith am I in sooth, lady, and therewithal content."
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and
+languorous, and shook her head, and sighed.
+
+"Alas, messire, methinks then perchance it may be true that thou, for
+all thy youth, and despite thine eyes, art a mocker of love, a despiser
+of women? And yet--nay--sure 'tis not so?"
+
+Then did Beltane the strong come nigh to fear, by reason of her fair
+womanhood, and looked from her to earth, from earth to sky, and, when
+he would have answered, fell a-stammering, abashed by her wondrous
+beauty.
+
+"Nay lady, indeed--indeed I know of women nought--nought of myself, but
+I have heard tell that they be--light-minded, using their beauty but to
+lure the souls of men from high and noble things--making of love a
+jest--a sport and pastime--" But now the Duchess laughed, very soft
+and sweeter, far, to Beltane's thinking than the rippling music of any
+brook, soever.
+
+"Aye me, messire anchorite," said she smiling yet, "whence had you this
+poor folly?"
+
+Quoth Beltane gravely:
+
+"Lady, 'twas from one beyond all thought wise and learned. A most holy
+hermit--"
+
+"A hermit!" says she, merry-eyed, "then, an he told thee this, needs
+must he be old, and cold, and withered, and beyond the age of love,
+knowing nought of women save what memory doth haunt his evil past. But
+young art thou and strong, and should love come to thee--as come,
+methinks, it may, hearken to no voice but the pleading of thine own
+true heart. Messire," she sighed, "art very blind, methinks, for you
+sing the wonders of these forest-lands, yet in thy song is never a word
+of love! O blind! O blind! for I tell thee nought exists in this great
+world but by love. Behold now, these sighing trees love their lord the
+sun, and, through the drear winter, wait his coming with wide-stretched,
+yearning arms, crying aloud to him in every shuddering blast the tale
+of their great longing. And, after some while, he comes, and at his advent
+they clothe themselves anew in all their beauty, and with his warm breath
+thrilling through each fibre, put forth their buds, singing through
+all their myriad leaves the song of their rejoicing. Something the like
+of this, messire, is the love a woman beareth to a man, the which, until
+he hath felt it trembling in his heart, he hath not known the joy of
+living."
+
+But Beltane answered, smiling a little as one that gloried in his
+freedom:
+
+"No woman hath ever touched my heart, yet have I lived nor found it
+lonely, hitherto."
+
+But hereupon, resting her white fingers on his arm, she leaned nearer
+to him so that he felt her breath warm upon his cheek, and there stole
+to him the faint, sweet perfume of her hair.
+
+"Beware, O scorner of women! for I tell thee that ere much time hath
+passed thou shalt know love--aye, in such fashion as few men know--
+wherefore I say--beware, Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane the strong, the mighty, shook his head and smiled.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "a man's heart may be set on other things, flowers may
+seem to him fairer than the fairest women, and the wind in trees
+sweeter to him than their voices."
+
+Now as she hearkened, the Duchess Helen grew angry, yet straightway,
+she dissembled, looking upon him 'neath drooping lashes. Soft and
+tender-eyed and sighing, she answered:
+
+"Ah, Beltane! how unworthy are such things of a man's love! For if he
+pluck them, that he may lay these flowers upon his heart, lo! they fade
+and wither, and their beauty and fragrance is but a memory. Ah,
+Beltane, when next ye sing, choose you a worthier theme."
+
+"Of what shall I sing?" said Beltane.
+
+Very soft she answered, and with eyes abased:
+
+"Think on what I have told thee, and sing--of love."
+
+And so she sighed, and looked on him once, then wheeled her palfrey,
+and was gone up the glade; but Beltane, as he watched her go, was
+seized of a sudden impulse and over-took her, running.
+
+"Beseech thee," cried he, barring her path, "tell me thy name!"
+
+Then Helen the Beautiful, the wilful, laughed and swerved her palfrey,
+minded to leave him so; but Beltane sprang and caught the bridle.
+
+"Tell me thy name," said he again.
+
+"Let me go!"
+
+"Thy name, tell me thy name."
+
+But the Duchess laughed again, and thinking to escape him, smote her
+horse so that it started and reared; once it plunged, and twice, and so
+stood trembling with Beltane's hand upon the bridle; wherefore a sudden
+anger came upon her, and, bending her black brows, she raised her
+jewelled riding-rod threateningly. But Beltane only smiled and shook
+his head, saying:
+
+"Unless I know thy name thou shalt not fare forth of the greenwood."
+
+So the proud lady of Mortain looked down upon Beltane in amaze, for
+there was none in all the Duchy, knight, noble or princeling, who dared
+gainsay her lightest word; wherefore, I say, she stared upon this bold
+forest knave with his golden hair and gentle eyes, his curved lips and
+square chin; and in eyes and mouth and chin was a look of
+masterfulness, challenging, commanding. And, meeting that look, her
+heart leapt most strangely with sudden, sweet thrill, so that she
+lowered her gaze lest he should see, and when she spake her voice was
+low and very sweet:
+
+"Tell me I pray, why seek you my name, and wherefore?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, soft and slow as one that dreams:
+
+"I have seen thine eyes look at me from the flowers, ere now, have
+heard thy laughter in the brook, and found thy beauty in all fair
+things: methinks thy name should be a most sweet name."
+
+Now was it upon her lips to tell him what he asked, but, being a woman,
+she held her peace for very contrariness, and blushing beneath his
+gaze, looked down and cried aloud, and pointed to a grub that crawled
+upon her habit. So Beltane loosed the bridle, and in that moment, she
+laughed for very triumph and was off, galloping 'neath the trees. Yet,
+as she went, she turned and called to him, and the word she called
+was:--
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Long stood Beltane where she had left him, the soft shadows of night
+deepening about him, dreaming ever of her beauty, of her wondrous hair,
+and of the little foot that had peeped forth at him 'neath her habit,
+and, full of these thoughts, for once he was deaf to the soft voices of
+the trees nor heard the merry chatter of the brook. But later, upon his
+bed he lay awake full long and must needs remember yet another Helen,
+with the same wondrous hair and eyes of mystery, for whose sake men had
+died and a noble city burned; and, hereupon, his heart grew strangely
+heavy and cold with an unknown dread.
+
+Days came and went, and labouring at the forge or lying out in the
+sunshine gazing wistfully beyond the swaying tree-tops, Beltane would
+oft start and turn his head, fancying the rustle of her garments in
+his ears, or her voice calling to him from some flowery thicket; and
+the wind in the trees whispered "Helen!" and the brook sang of Helen,
+and Helen was in his thoughts continually.
+
+Thus my Beltane forgot his loves the flowers, and sang no more the
+wonders of the forest-lands.
+
+And oft-times the Duchess, seated in state within her great hall of
+Mortain looking down upon her knights and nobles, would sigh, for none
+was there so noble of form nor so comely as Beltane the Smith. Hereupon
+her white brow would grow troubled and, turning from them all, she
+would gaze with deep, unfathomable eyes, away across the valley to
+where, amid the mystery of the trees, Beltane had his lonely dwelling.
+
+Wherefore it was, that, looking up one evening from where he sat busied
+with brush and colours upon a border of wondrous design, Beltane beheld
+her of whom he was dreaming; and she, standing tall and fair before
+him, saw that in his look the which set her heart a-fluttering at her
+white breast most strangely; yet, fearing she should betray aught of
+it, she laughed gaily and mocked him, as is the way of women, saying:
+
+"Well, thou despiser of Love, I hearkened vainly for thy new song as I
+rode hither through the green."
+
+Red grew my Beltane's cheek and he looked not to her as he answered:
+
+"Lady, I have no new song."
+
+"Why then, is thy lesson yet unlearned?" said she. "Have ye no love but
+for birds and flowers?" and her red lip curled scornfully.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Is there aught more worthy?"
+
+"O Beltane!" she sighed, "art then so simple that such will aye content
+thee; doth not thy heart hunger and cry within thee for aught beside?"
+
+Then Beltane bowed his head, and fumbled with his brush and dropped it,
+and ere he could reach it she had set her foot upon it; thus it chanced
+that his hand came upon her foot, and feeling it beneath his fingers,
+he started and drew away, whereat she laughed low and sweet, saying:
+
+"Alack, and doth my foot affright thee? And yet 'tis none so fierce and
+none so large that thou shouldst fear it thus, messire--thou who art so
+tall and strong, and a mighty wrestler withal!"
+
+Now, looking up, he saw her lips curved and scarlet, and her eyes
+brimful of laughter, and fain would he have taken up the brush yet
+dared not. Therefore, very humbly, she stooped and lifting the brush
+put it in his hand. Then, trembling 'neath the touch of her soft
+fingers, Beltane rose up, and that which he had hidden deep within his
+heart brake from him.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "O Helen, thou art so wondrous fair and belike
+of high estate, but as for me, I am but what I am. Behold me" he cried,
+stretching wide his arms, "I am but Beltane the Smith; who is there to
+love such as I? See, my hands be hard and rough, and would but bruise
+where they should caress, these arms be unfitted for soft
+embracements. O lady, who is there to love Beltane the Smith?"
+
+Now the Duchess Helen laughed within herself for very triumph, yet her
+bosom thrilled and hurried with her breathing, her cheek grew red and
+her eyes bright and tender, wherefore she stooped low to cull a flower
+ere she answered.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "Beltane, women are not as thy flowers, that
+embraces, even such as thine, would crush them."
+
+But Beltane stooped his head that he might not behold the lure and
+beauty of her, and clenched his hands hard and fierce and thereafter
+spake:
+
+"Thou art so wondrous fair," said he again, "and belike of noble
+birth, but--as for me, I am a smith!"
+
+Awhile she stood, turning the flower in gentle fingers yet looking upon
+him in his might and goodly youth, beholding his averted face with its
+strong, sweet mouth and masterful chin, its curved nostrils and the
+dreaming passion of his eyes, and when she spake her voice was soft
+and very sweet.
+
+"Above all, thou art--a man, messire!"
+
+Then did my Beltane lift his head and saw how the colour was deepened
+in her cheek and how her tender eyes drooped before his.
+
+"Tell me," he said, "is there ever a woman to love such a man? Is there
+ever a woman who would leave the hum and glitter of cities to walk with
+such as I in the shadow of these forest-lands? Speak, Oh speak I do
+beseech thee!" Thus said he and stopped, waiting her answer.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she whispered, "let thine own heart speak me this."
+
+All blithe and glorious grew the world about him as he stooped and
+caught her in his arms, lifting her high against his heart. And, in
+this moment, he forgot the teaching of Ambrose the Hermit, forgot all
+things under heaven, save the glory of her beauty, the drooping languor
+of her eyes and the sweet, moist tremor of her mouth. And so he kissed
+her, murmuring 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Fairer art thou than all the flowers, O my love, and sweeter thy
+breath than the breath of flowers!"
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his, and in
+all the world for her was nought save the deep, soft voice of Beltane,
+and his eyes, and the new, sweet ecstasy that thrilled within her.
+Surely nowhere in all the world was there such another man as this, so
+strong and gentle, so meet for love and yet so virginal. Surely life
+might be very fair here in the green solitudes, aye, surely, surely--
+
+Soft with distance came the peal of bells, stealing across the valley
+from the great minster in Mortain, and, with the sound, memory waked,
+and she bethought her of all those knights and nobles who lived but to
+do her will and pleasure, of Mortain and the glory of it; and so she
+sighed and stirred, and, looking at Beltane, sighed again. Quoth she:
+
+"Is this great love I foretold come upon thee, Beltane?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"Truly a man hath not lived until he hath felt a woman's kisses upon
+his lips!"
+
+"And thou wilt flout poor Love no more?"
+
+"Nay," he answered, smiling, "'tis part of me, and must be so
+henceforth--forever!"
+
+But now she sighed again, and trembled in his arms and clasped him
+close, as one beset by sudden fear, while ever soft with distance came
+the silvery voices of the bells, low yet insistent, sweet yet
+commanding; wherefore she, sighing, put him from her.
+
+"Why then," said she, with drooping head, "fare thee well, messire.
+Nay, see you not? Methinks my task is done. And it hath been a--
+pleasing task, this--of teaching thee to love--O, would you had not
+learned so soon! Fare thee well. Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane looked upon her as one in deep amaze, his arms fell from
+her and he stepped back and so stood very still and, as he gazed, a
+growing horror dawned within his eyes.
+
+"What art thou?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she murmured, "ah--look not so!"
+
+"Who art thou--and what?" he said.
+
+"Nay, did I not tell thee at the first? I am Helen--hast thou not
+known? I am Helen--Helen of Mortain."
+
+"Thou--thou art the Duchess Helen?" said Beltane with stiffening lips,
+"thou the Duchess and I--a smith!" and he laughed, short and fierce,
+and would have turned from her but she stayed him with quivering hands.
+
+"And--did'st not know?" she questioned hurriedly, "methought it was no
+secret--I would have told thee ere this had I known. Nay--look not so,
+Beltane--thou dost love me yet--nay, I do know it!" and she strove to
+smile, but with lips that quivered strangely.
+
+"Aye, I love thee, Helen of Mortain--though there be many fair lords to
+do that! But, as for me--I am only a smith, and as a smith greatly
+would I despise thee. Yet may this not be, for as my body is great, so
+is my love. Go, therefore, thy work here is done, go--get thee to thy
+knightly lovers, wed this Duke who seeks thee--do aught you will but
+go, leave me to my hammers and these green solitudes."
+
+So spake he, and turning, strode away, looking not back to where she
+stood leaning one white hand against a tree. Once she called to him but
+he heeded not, walking ever with bowed head and hearing only the tumult
+within him and the throbbing of his wounded heart. And now, in his pain
+needs must he think of yet another Helen and of the blood and agony of
+blazing Troy town, and lifting up his hands to heaven he cried aloud:
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+All in haste Beltane came to his lonely hut and taking thence his cloak
+and great sword, he seized upon his mightiest hammer and beat down the
+roof of the hut and drave in the walls of it; thereafter he hove the
+hammer into the pool, together with his anvil and rack of tools and so,
+setting the sword in his girdle and the cloak about him, turned away
+and plunged into the deeper shadows of the forest.
+
+But, ever soft and faint with distance, the silvery voices of the bells
+stole upon the warm, stilly air, speaking of pomp and state, of pride
+and circumstance, but now these seemed but empty things, and the
+Duchess Helen stood long with bent head and hands that strove to shut
+the sounds away. But in the end she turned, slow-footed amid the
+gathering shadows and followed whither they called.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But that night, sitting in state within her great hall of Mortain, the
+Duchess Helen sighed deep and oft, scarce heeding the courtesies
+addressed to her and little the whispered homage of her guest Duke Ivo,
+he, the proudest and most potent of all her many wooers; yet to-night
+her cheek burned beneath his close regard and her woman's flesh
+rebelled at his contact as had never been aforetime. Thus, of a sudden,
+though the meal was scarce begun, she arose and stepped down from the
+dais, and when her wondering ladies would have followed forbade them
+with a gesture. And so, walking proud and tall, she passed out before
+them, whereat Duke Ivo's black brow grew the blacker, and he stared
+before him with narrowed eyes, beholding which, the faces of my lady's
+counsellors waxed anxious and long; only Winfrida, chiefest of the
+ladies, watched the Duke 'neath drooping lids and with a smile upon her
+full, red lips.
+
+Now the Duchess, being come to her chamber, lifted her hands and tore
+the ducal circlet from her brow and cast it from her, and, thereafter,
+laid by her rings and jewels, and coming to the open casement fell
+there upon her knees and reached forth her pale hands to where, across
+the valley, the dark forest stretched away, ghostly and unreal, 'neath
+the moon.
+
+"My beloved!" she whispered, "O my beloved!" And the gentle night-wind
+bore her secret in its embrace away across the valley to the dim
+solitudes of the woods. "Beltane!" she sighed, "love hath come into
+mine heart even as it came to thee, when I recked not of it. My
+beloved--O my beloved!" Anon she rose and stood awhile with head bowed
+as one that dreams, and of a sudden her cheek glowed warmly red, her
+breath caught and she gazed upon the moon with eyes of yearning
+tenderness; thereafter she laughed, soft and happily and, snatching up
+a cloak, set it about her and fled from the chamber. So, swift and
+light of foot, she sped by hidden ways until she came where old Godric,
+her chief huntsman, busied himself trimming the shaft of a boar-spear,
+who, beholding his lady, rose up in amaze.
+
+"Godric," said she, white hands upon his arm, "thou didst love me or
+ever I could walk?"
+
+"Aye, verily thou hast said, dear my lady."
+
+"Love you me yet?"
+
+"Truly thou knowest that I love thee."
+
+"Thou hast heard, Godric, how that my counsellors have long desired me
+to wed with Duke Ivo, and do yet await my answer to his suit--nay
+hearken! So to-night shall my mind be known in the matter once and for
+all! Come, my Godric, arm you and saddle two horses--come!"
+
+"Nay, sweet my lady, what would ye?"
+
+"Fly hence with thee, my Godric! Come--the horses!"
+
+"Fly from Mortain, and thou the Duchess? Nay, dear lady, 'tis madness,
+bethink thee! O dear my Mistress--O little Helen that I have cherished
+all thy days, bethink thee--do not this thing--"
+
+"Godric, did not the Duke, my father, strictly charge thee to follow
+ever my call?"
+
+"Aye, my lady."
+
+"Then follow now!" And so she turned and beckoned, and Godric perforce
+followed after.
+
+Hand in hand they went a-down the winding stair, down, to the great,
+dim courtyard that whispered to their tread. And, thereafter, mounting
+in haste, the Duchess galloped from Mortain, unheeding stern old Godric
+by her side and with never a look behind, dreaming ever of Beltane with
+cheeks that crimsoned 'neath her hood.
+
+Fast and faster she rode 'neath the pale moon, her eyes ever gazing
+towards the gloom of the forest, her heart throbbing quick as the
+hoof-beats of her horse. So at last, being come to that glade whereby
+Beltane had his dwelling, she lighted down, and bidding Godric wait,
+stole forward alone.
+
+Autumn was at hand, and here and there the fallen leaves rustled sadly
+under foot while the trees sighed and mourned together for that the
+flowers so soon must wither and die. But in the heart of the Duchess
+Helen, Spring was come, and all things spake to her of coming joys
+undreamed till now as she hasted on, flitting through the pallid
+moonbeams that, falling athwart rugged hole and far-flung branch,
+splashed the gloom with radiant light. Once she paused to listen, but
+heard nought save the murmur of the brook and the faint stirring of
+leaves. And now, clear and strong the tender radiance fell athwart the
+lonely habitation and her heart leapt at the sight, her eyes grew moist
+and tender and she hurried forward with flying steps, then--beholding
+the ruin of thatch and wall, she stopped and stood aghast, gazing
+wide-eyed and with her heart numb in her bosom. Then she shivered, her
+proud head drooped and a great sob brake from her, for that she knew she
+was come too late, her dreams of wandering with Beltane through sunny
+glades were nought but dreams after all. Beltane the Smith was gone!
+
+Then a great loneliness and desolation came upon her and, sinking down
+at the foot of that tree whereby he had been wont to lean so often, her
+yearning arms crept about its rugged hole and she lay there in the
+passion of her grief weeping long and bitterly.
+
+But the gentle trees ceased mourning over their own coming sorrow in
+wonder at the sight, and bending their heads together, seemed to
+whisper one to the other saying:
+
+"He is gone, Beltane the Smith is gone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+
+Deep, deep within the green twilight of the woods Ambrose the Hermit
+had builded him a hut; had built and framed it of rude stones and
+thatched it with grass and mosses. And from the door of the hut he had
+formed likewise a path strewn thick with jagged stones and sharp
+flints, a cruel track, the which, winding away through the green, led
+to where upon a gentle eminence stood a wooden cross most artfully
+wrought and carven by the hermit's skilled and loving fingers.
+
+Morning and evening, winter and summer it was his custom ever to tread
+this painful way, wetting the stones with the blood of his atonement.
+
+Now upon a certain rosy dawn, ere yet the sun was up, Beltane standing
+amid the leaves, saw the hermit issue forth of the hut and, with bowed
+head and folded hands, set out upon his appointed way. The cruel stones
+grew red beneath his feet yet he faltered not nor stayed until, being
+come to the cross, he kneeled there and, with gaunt arms upraised,
+prayed long and fervently so that the tears of his passion streamed
+down his furrowed cheeks and wetted the snow of his beard.
+
+In a while, having made an end, he arose and being come to his hut once
+more, he of a sudden espied Beltane standing amid the leaves; and
+because he was so fair and goodly to look upon in his youth and might,
+the pale cheek of the hermit flushed and a glow leapt within his sunken
+eyes, and lifting up his hand, he blessed him.
+
+"Welcome to this my solitude, my son," quoth he, "and wherefore hast
+thou tarried in thy coming? I have watched for thee these many days.
+Come, sit you here beside me in this blessed sun and tell me of thy
+latter doings."
+
+But the eyes of Beltane were sad and his tongue unready, so that he
+stammered in his speech, looking ever upon the ground; then, suddenly
+up-starting to his feet, he strode before the hut, while Ambrose the
+wise looked, and saw, yet spake not. So, presently, Beltane paused, and
+looking him within the eyes spake hurriedly on this wise:
+
+"Most holy father, thou knowest how I have lived within the greenwood
+all my days nor found it lonely, for I did love it so, that I had
+thought to die here likewise when my time should come. Yet now do I
+know that this shall never be--to-day I go hence."
+
+"Wherefore, my son?"
+
+"There is come a strange restlessness upon me, a riot and fever of the
+blood whereby I am filled with dreams and strange desires. I would go
+forth into the great world of men and cities, to take my rightful place
+therein, for until a man hath loved and joyed and sorrowed with his
+fellows, he knoweth nought of life."
+
+"Perchance, my son, this is but the tide of youthful blood that tingles
+in thy veins? Or is it that thou hast looked of late within a woman's
+eyes?"
+
+Then Beltane kneeled him at the feet of Ambrose and hid his face
+betwixt his knees, as he had been wont to do whiles yet a little child.
+
+"Father," he murmured, "thou hast said." Now looking down upon this
+golden head, Ambrose sighed and drew the long curls through his fingers
+with a wondrous gentleness.
+
+"Tell me of thy love, Beltane," said he.
+
+Forthwith, starting to his feet, Beltane answered:
+
+"'Tis many long and weary months, my father, and yet doth seem but
+yesterday. She came to me riding upon a milk-white steed. At first
+methought her of the fairy kind thither drawn by my poor singing, yet,
+when I looked on her again, I knew her to be woman. And she was fair--
+O very fair, my father. I may not tell her beauty for 'twas compounded
+of all beauteous things, of the snow of lilies, the breath of flowers,
+the gleam of stars on moving waters, the music of streams, the
+murmur of wind in trees--I cannot tell thee more but that there is a
+flame doth hide within her hair, and for her eyes--O methinks 'tis for
+her eyes I do love her most--love her? Aye, my body doth burn and
+thrill with love--alas, poor fool, alas it should be so! But, for that
+she is proud and of an high estate, for that I am I, a poor worker of
+iron whom men call Beltane the Smith, fit but to sigh and sigh and
+forever sigh, to dream of her and nothing more--so must I go hence,
+leaving the sweet silence of the woods for the strife and noise of
+cities, learning to share the burdens of my fellows. See you not, my
+father, see you not the way of it?" So spake Beltane, hot and
+passionate, striding to and fro upon the sward, while Ambrose sat with
+bitterness in his heart but with eyes ineffably gentle.
+
+"And is this love of thine so hopeless, my Beltane?"
+
+"Beyond all thought; she is the Duchess Helen of Mortain!"
+
+Now for a while the hermit spake not, sitting chin in hand as one who
+halts betwixt two courses.
+
+"'Tis strange," he said at length, "and passing strange! Yet, since
+'tis she, and she so much above thee, wherefore would ye leave the
+tender twilight of these forests?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"My father, I tell thee these woods be full of love and her. She
+looketh at me from the flowers and stealeth to me in their fragrance;
+the very brooks do babble of her beauty; each leaf doth find a little
+voice to whisper of her, and everywhere is love and love and love--so
+needs must I away."
+
+"And think you so to escape this love, my Beltane, and the pain of it?"
+
+"Nay my father, that were thing impossible for it doth fill the
+universe, so must I needs remember it with every breath I draw, but in
+the griefs and sorrows of others I may, perchance, learn to bear mine
+own, silent and patiently, as a man should."
+
+Then Ambrose sighed, and beckoning Beltane to his knee, laid his hands
+upon his shoulders and looked deep within his eyes.
+
+"Beltane my son," said he, "I have known thee from thy youth up and
+well do I know thou canst not lie, for thy heart is pure as yet and
+uncorrupt. But now is the thing I feared come upon thee--ah, Beltane,
+hast thou forgot all I have told thee of women and the ways of women,
+how that their white bodies are filled with all manner of wantonness,
+their hands strong in lures and enticements? A woman in her beauty is
+a fair thing to the eyes of a man, yet I tell thee Beltane, they be
+snares of the devil, setting father 'gainst son and--brother 'gainst
+brother, whereby come unnatural murders and bloody wars."
+
+"And yet, needs must I love her still, my father!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so," sighed Ambrose, "'tis ever so, and as for thee, well do
+I know the blood within thee for a hot, wild blood--and thou art young,
+and so it is I fear for thee."
+
+But, looking up, Beltane shook his head and answered:
+
+"Holy father, thou art wise and wondrous learned in the reading of
+books and in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, yet methinks this
+love is a thing no book can teach thee, a truth a man must needs find
+out for himself." "And think you I know nought of love, Beltane, the
+pain and joy of it--and the shame? Thou seest me a poor old man and
+feeble, bent with years and suffering, one who but waiteth for the time
+when my grievous sin shall be atoned for and God, in His sweet
+clemency, shall ease me of this burden of life. Yet do I tell thee
+there was a time when this frail body was strong and tall, well-nigh,
+as thine own, when this white hair was thick and black, and these dim
+eyes bold and fearless even as thine."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, well do I know women and the ways of women! Come, sit you
+beside me and, because thou art fain to go into the world and play thy
+man's part, so now will I tell thee that the which I had thought to
+bear with me to the grave."
+
+Then Ambrose the Hermit, leaning his head upon his hand, began to speak
+on this wise:
+
+"Upon a time were two brothers, nobles of a great house and following,
+each alike lovers of peace yet each terrible in war; the name of the
+one was Johan and of the other Beltane. Now Beltane, being elder, was
+Duke of that country, and the country maintained peace within its
+borders and the people thereof waxed rich and happy. And because these
+twain loved each other passing well the way of the one was ever the way
+of the other so that they dwelt together in a wondrous amity, and as
+their hearts were pure and strong so waxed they in body so that there
+was none could cope with them at hand-strokes nor bear up against the
+might of their lances, and O, methinks in all this fair world nought
+was there fairer than the love of these two brethren!
+
+"Now it befell, upon a day, that they set out with a goodly company to
+attend a tourney in a certain town whither, likewise, were come many
+knights of renown, nobles and princes beyond count eager to prove their
+prowess, thither drawn by the fame of that fair lady who was to be
+Queen of Beauty. All lips spake of her and the wonder of her charms,
+how that a man could not look within her eyes but must needs fall into
+a passion of love for her. But the brethren smiled and paid small heed
+and so, together, journeyed to the city. The day of the joust being
+come, forth they rode into the lists, side by side, each in his triple
+mail and ponderous helm, alike at all points save for the golden
+circlet upon Duke Beltane's shining casque. And there befell, that day,
+a mighty shivering of lances and many a knightly deed was wrought. But,
+for these brethren there was none of all these knights and nobles who
+might abide their onset; all day long they together maintained the
+lists till there none remained to cope with them, wherefore the marshal
+would have had them run a course together for proof which was the
+mightier. But Beltane smiled and shook his head saying, 'Nay, it is not
+meet that brother strive with brother!' And Johan said: 'Since the day
+doth rest with us, we will share the glory together.' So, amid the
+acclaim of voice and trumpet, side by side they came to make obeisance
+to the Queen of Beauty, and gazing upon her, they saw that she was
+indeed of a wondrous beauty. Now in her hand she held the crown that
+should reward the victor, yet because they were two, she knew not whom
+to choose, wherefore she laughed, and brake the crown asunder and gave
+to each a half with many fair words and gentle sayings. But, alas, my
+son! from that hour her beauty came betwixt these brethren, veiling
+their hearts one from the other. So they tarried awhile in that fair
+city, yet companied together no more, for each was fain to walk apart,
+dreaming of this woman and the beauty of her, and each by stealth wooed
+her to wife. At last, upon an evening, came Johan to his brother and
+taking from his bosom the half of the crown he had won, kissed it and
+gave it to Beltane, saying: 'The half of a crown availeth no man, take
+therefore my half and join it with thine, for well do I know thy heart,
+my brother--and thou art the elder, and Duke; go therefore and woo
+this lady to wife, and God speed thee, my lord.' But Beltane said:
+'Shame were it in me to take advantage of my years thus; doth age or
+rank make a man's love more worthy? So, get thee to thy wooing, my
+brother, and heaven's blessing on thee.' Then grew Johan full of joy,
+saying: 'So be it, dear my brother, but am I come not to thee within
+three days at sunset, then shalt know that my wooing hath not
+prospered.' Upon the third day, therefore, Beltane the Duke girded on
+his armour and made ready to ride unto his own demesne, yet tarried
+until sunset, according to his word. But his brother Johan came not.
+Therefore he, in turn, rode upon his wooing and came unto the lady's
+presence in hauberk of mail, and thus ungently clad wooed her as one in
+haste to be gone, telling her that this world was no place for a man to
+sigh out his days at a woman's feet, and bidding her answer him' Yea'
+or 'Nay' and let him be gone to his duty. And she, whom so many had
+wooed on bended knee, spake him' Yea'--for that a woman's ways be
+beyond all knowledge--and therewith gave her beauty to his keeping. So,
+forthwith were they wed, with much pomp and circumstance, and so he
+brought her to his Duchy with great joy and acclaim. Then would Johan
+have departed over seas, but Beltane ever dissuaded him, and fain these
+brethren would have loved each other as they had done aforetime, yet
+was the beauty of this woman ever betwixt them. Now, within that year,
+came news of fire and sword upon the border, of cruel rape and murder,
+so Beltane sent forth his brother Johan with an army to drive back the
+invaders, and himself abode in his great castle, happy in the love of
+his fair, young wife. But the war went ill, tidings came that Johan his
+brother was beaten back with much loss and he himself sore wounded.
+Therefore the Duke made ready to set forth at the head of a veteran
+company, but ere he rode a son was born to him, so needs must he come
+to his wife in his armour, and beholding the child, kissed him.
+Thereafter Duke Beltane rode to the war with a glad heart, and fell
+upon his enemies and scattered them, and pursued them far and smote
+them even to their own gates. But in the hour of his triumph he fell,
+by treachery, into the hands of his cruelest enemy, how it mattereth
+not, and for a space was lost to sight and memory. But as for Johan,
+the Duke's brother, he lay long sick of his wounds, so came the Duchess
+and ministered to him; and she was fair, and passing fair, and he was
+young. And when his strength was come again, each day was Johan minded
+to ride forth and seek the Duke his brother--but he was young, and she
+passing fair, wherefore he tarried still, bound by the lure of her
+beauty. And, upon a soft and stilly eve as they walked together in the
+garden, she wooed Johan with tender look and word, and wreathed her
+white arms about him and gave to his her mouth. And, in that moment
+came one, fierce and wild of aspect, in dinted casque and rusty mail
+who stood and watched--ah God!"
+
+Here, for a while, the hermit Ambrose stayed his tale, and Beltane saw
+his brow was moist and that his thin hands clenched and wrung each
+other.
+
+"So thus, my son, came Duke Beltane home again, he and his esquire Sir
+Benedict of Bourne alone of all his company, each alike worn with
+hardship and spent with wounds. But now was the Duke stricken of a
+greater pain and leaned him upon the shoulder of his esquire, faint and
+sick of soul, and knew an anguish deeper than any flesh may know. Then,
+of a sudden, madness came upon him and, breaking from the mailed arms
+that held him, he came hot-foot to the courtyard and to the hall
+beyond, hurling aside all such as sought to stay him and so reached at
+last my lady's bower, his mailed feet ringing upon the Atones. And,
+looking up, the Duchess saw and cried aloud and stood, thereafter, pale
+and speechless and wide of eye, while Johan's cheek grew red and in his
+look was shame. Then the Duke put up his vizor and, when he spake, his
+voice was harsh and strange: 'Greeting, good brother!' said he, 'go
+now, I pray you, get you horse and armour and wait me in the courtyard,
+yet first must I greet this my lady wife.' So Johan turned, with
+hanging head, and went slow-footed from the chamber. Then said the
+Duke, laughing in his madness, 'Behold, lady, the power of a woman's
+beauty, for I loved a noble brother once, a spotless knight whose
+honour reached high as heaven, but thou hast made of him a something
+foul and base, traitor to me and to his own sweet name, and 'tis for
+this I will requite thee!' But the Duchess spake not, nor blenched even
+when the dagger gleamed to strike--O sweet God of mercy, to strike!
+But, in that moment, came Benedict of Bourne and leapt betwixt and took
+the blow upon his cheek, and, stanching the blood within his tattered
+war-cloak, cried: 'Lord Duke, because I love thee, ne'er shalt thou do
+this thing until thou first slay me!' A while the Duke stood in amaze,
+then turned and strode away down the great stair, and coming to the
+courtyard, beheld his brother Johan armed at all points and mounted,
+and with another horse equipped near by. So the Duke laughed and closed
+his vizor and his laughter boomed hollow within his rusty casque, and,
+leaping to the saddle, rode to the end of the great tilt-yard, and,
+wheeling, couched his lance. So these brethren, who had loved each
+other so well, spurred upon each other with levelled lances but, or
+ever the shock came--O my son, my son!--Johan rose high in his stirrups
+and cried aloud the battle-cry of his house 'Arise! Arise! I shall
+arise!' and with the cry, tossed aside his lance lest he might harm the
+Duke his brother--O sweet clemency of Christ!--and crashed to earth--
+and lay there--very still and silent. Then the Duke dismounted and,
+watched by pale-faced esquires and men-at-arms, came and knelt beside
+his brother, and laid aside his brother's riven helm and, beholding his
+comely features torn and marred and his golden hair all hatefully
+bedabbled, felt his heart burst in sunder, and he groaned, and rising
+to stumbling feet came to his horse and mounted and rode away 'neath
+grim portcullis and over echoing drawbridge, yet, whithersoever he
+looked, he saw only his brother's dead face, pale and bloody. And fain
+he would have prayed but could not, and so he came into the forest. All
+day long he rode beneath the trees careless of his going, conscious
+only that Benedict of Bourne rode behind with his bloody war-cloak
+wrapped about him. But on rode the Duke with hanging head and listless
+hands for before his haggard eyes was ever the pale, dead face of Johan
+his brother. Now, as the moon rose, they came to a brook that whispered
+soft-voiced amid the shadows and here his war-horse stayed to drink.
+Then came Sir Benedict of Bourne beside him, 'Lord Duke,' said he,
+'what hast thou in thy mind to do?' 'I know not,' said the Duke,
+'though methinks 'twere sweet to die.' 'Then what of the babe, lord
+Duke?' and, speaking, Sir Benedict drew aside his cloak and showed the
+babe asleep beneath. But, looking upon its innocence, the Duke cried
+out and hid his face, for the babe's golden curls were dabbled with the
+blood from Sir Benedict's wound and looked even as had the face of the
+dead Johan. Yet, in a while, the Duke reached out and took the child
+and setting it against his breast, turned his horse. Said Sir Benedict:
+'Whither do we ride, lord Duke?' Then spake the Duke on this wise: 'Sir
+Benedict, Duke Beltane is no more, the stroke that slew my brother
+Johan killed Duke Beltane also. But as for you, get you to Pentavalon
+and say the Duke is dead, in proof whereof take you this my ring and
+so, farewell.' Then, my Beltane, God guiding me, I brought thee to
+these solitudes, for I am he that was the Duke Beltane, and thou art my
+son indeed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+
+Thus spake the hermit Ambrose and, having made an end, sat thereafter
+with his head bowed upon his hands, while Beltane stood wide-eyed yet
+seeing not, and with lips apart yet dumb by reason of the wonder of it;
+therefore, in a while, the hermit spake again:
+
+"Thus did we live together, thou and I, dear son, and I loved thee
+well, my Beltane: with each succeeding day I loved thee better, for as
+thine understanding grew, so grew my love for thee. Therefore, so soon
+as thou wert of an age, set in thy strength and able to thine own
+support, I tore myself from thy sweet fellowship and lived alone lest,
+having thee, I might come nigh to happiness."
+
+Then Beltane sank upon his knees and caught the hermit's wasted hands
+and kissed them oft, saying:
+
+"Much hast thou suffered, O my father, but now am I come to thee again
+and, knowing all things, here will I bide and leave thee nevermore."
+Now in the hermit's pale cheek came a faint and sudden glow, and in his
+eyes a light not of the sun.
+
+"Bethink thee, boy," said he, "the blood within thy veins is noble.
+For, since thou art my son, so, an thou dost leave me and seek thy
+destiny thou shalt, perchance, be Duke of Pentavalon--an God will it
+so."
+
+But Beltane shook his head. Quoth he:
+
+"My father, I am a smith, and smith am I content to be since thou, lord
+Duke, art my father. So now will I abide with thee and love and honour
+thee, and be thy son indeed."
+
+Then rose the hermit Ambrose to his feet and spake with eyes uplifted:
+
+"Now glory be to God, Who, in His mercy, hath made of thee a man, my
+Beltane, clean of soul and innocent, yet strong of arm to lift and
+succour the distressed, and therefore it is that you to-day must leave
+me, my well-beloved, for there be those whose need of thee is greater
+even than mine."
+
+"Nay, dear my father, how may this be?"
+
+Now hereupon Ambrose the Hermit stood awhile with bent head, and spake
+not, only he sighed full oft and wrung his hands.
+
+"I thought but of myself!" he groaned, "great sorrow is oft-times
+greatly selfish. Alas, my son--twenty weary years have I lived here
+suing God's forgiveness, and for twenty bitter years Pentavalon hath
+groaned 'neath shameful wrong--and death in many hateful shapes. O God
+have mercy on a sinner who thought but on himself! List, my son, O
+list! On a day, as I kneeled before yon cross, came one in knightly
+armour and upon his face, 'neath the links of his camail, I saw a great
+scar--the scar this hand had wrought. And, even as I knew Sir Benedict,
+in that same moment he knew me, and gave a joyous cry and came and fell
+upon his knee and kissed my hand, as of old. Thereafter we talked, and
+he told me many a woeful tale of Pentavalon and of its misery. How,
+when I was gone, rose bitter fight and faction, barons and knights
+striving together which should be Duke. In the midst of the which
+disorders came one, from beyond seas, whom men called Ivo, who by might
+of sword and cunning tongue made himself Duke in my place. Sir Benedict
+told of a fierce and iron rule, of the pillage and ravishment of town
+and city, of outrage and injustice, of rack and flame and gibbet--of a
+people groaning 'neath a thousand cruel wrongs. Then, indeed, did I see
+that my one great sin a thousand other sins had bred, and was I full of
+bitter sorrow and anguish. And, in my anguish, I thought on thee, and
+sent to thee Sir Benedict, and watched thee wrestle, and at stroke of
+sword, and praised God for thy goodly might and strength. For O, dear
+my son, meseemeth that God hath raised thee up to succour these
+afflicted, to shield the weak and helpless--hath made thee great and
+mightier than most to smite Evil that it may flee before thee. So in
+thee shall my youth be renewed, and my sins, peradventure, purged
+away."
+
+"Father!" said Beltane rising, his blue eyes wide, his strong hands
+a-tremble, "O my father!" Then Ambrose clasped those quivering hands and
+kissed those wide and troubled eyes and spake thereafter, slow and
+soft:
+
+"Now shall I live henceforth in thee, my son, glorying in thy deeds
+hereafter. And if thou must needs--bleed, then shall my heart bleed
+with thee, or if thou meet with death, my Beltane, then shall this
+heart of mine die with thee."
+
+Thus speaking, the hermit drew the sword from Beltane's girdle and
+held the great blade towards heaven.
+
+"Behold, my son," said he, "the motto of our house, 'I will arise!' So
+now shalt thou arise indeed that thy destiny may be fulfilled. Take
+hold upon thy manhood, my well-beloved, get thee to woeful Pentavalon
+and, beholding its sorrows, seek how they may be assuaged. Now my
+Beltane, all is said--when wilt thou leave thy father?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, gathering his cloak about him:
+
+"An so it be thy wish, my father, then will I go this hour."
+
+Then Ambrose brought Beltane into his humble dwelling where was a
+coffer wrought by his own skilful fingers; and from this coffer he drew
+forth a suit of triple mail, wondrously fashioned, beholding the
+which, Beltane's eyes glistened because of the excellence of its
+craftsmanship.
+
+"Behold!" quoth the hermit, "'tis an armour worthy of a king, light is
+it, yet marvellous strong, and hath been well tried in many a desperate
+affray. 'Tis twenty years since these limbs bore it, yet see--I have
+kept it bright from rust lest, peradventure, Pentavalon should need
+thee to raise again the battle cry of thy house and lead her men to
+war. And, alas dear son, that day is now! Pentavalon calls to thee from
+out the gloom of dungeon, from the anguish of flame, and rack, and
+gibbet--from blood-soaked hearth and shameful grave she calls thee--
+so, my Beltane, come and let me arm thee."
+
+And there, within his little hut, the hermit Ambrose, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was, girt the armour upon Beltane the mighty, Duke of
+Pentavalon to be, if so God willed; first the gambeson of stuffed and
+quilted leather, and, thereafter, coifed hauberk and chausses, with
+wide sword-belt clamped with broad plates of silver and studs of gold,
+until my Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot. Then
+brought Ambrose a wallet, wherein were six gold pieces, and put it in
+his hand, saying:
+
+"These have I kept against this day, my Beltane. Take them to aid thee
+on thy journey, for the county of Bourne lieth far to the south."
+
+"Do I then journey to Bourne, my father?"
+
+"Aye, to Sir Benedict, who yet doth hold the great keep of
+Thrasfordham. Many sieges hath he withstood, and daily men flee to him
+--stricken men, runaway serfs, and outlaws from the green, all such
+masterless men as lie in fear of their lives."
+
+Said Beltane, slow and thoughtful:
+
+"There be many outlaws within the green, wild men and sturdy fighters
+as I've heard. Hath Sir Benedict many men, my father?"
+
+"Alas! a pitiful few, and Black Ivo can muster bows and lances by the
+ten thousand--"
+
+"Yet doth Sir Benedict withstand them all, my father!"
+
+"Yet must he keep ever within Bourne, Beltane. All Pentavalon, save
+Bourne, lieth 'neath Ivo's iron foot, ruled by his fierce nobles, and
+they be strong and many, 'gainst whom Sir Benedict is helpless in the
+field. 'Tis but five years agone since Ivo gave up fair Belsaye town to
+ravishment and pillage, and thereafter, builded him a mighty gallows
+over against it and hanged many men thereon."
+
+Now hereupon, of a sudden, Beltane clenched his hands and fell upon his
+knees.
+
+"Father," said he, "Pentavalon indeed doth cry, so must I now arise and
+go unto her. Give me thy blessing that I may go."
+
+Then the hermit laid his hands upon Beltane's golden head and blessed
+him, and whispered awhile in passionate prayer. Thereafter Beltane
+arose and, together, they came out into the sunshine.
+
+"South and by west must you march, dear son, and God, methinks, shall
+go beside thee, for thy feet shall tread a path where Death shall lie
+in wait for thee. Let thine eyes be watchful therefore, and thine ears
+quick to hear. Hearken you to all men, yet speak you few words and
+soft. But, when you act, let your deeds shout unto heaven, that all
+Pentavalon may know a man is come to lead them who fears only God. And
+so, my Beltane, fare-thee-well! Come, kiss me, boy; our next kiss,
+perchance--shall be in heaven."
+
+And thus they kissed, and looked within each other's eyes; then Beltane
+turned him, swift and sudden, and strode upon his way. But, in a
+little, looking back, he saw his father, kneeling before the cross,
+with long, gaunt arms upraised to heaven.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS A
+NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+
+The morning was yet young when my Beltane fared forth into the world, a
+joyous, golden morning trilling with the glad song of birds and rich
+with a thousand dewy scents; a fair, sweet, joyous world it was indeed,
+whose glories, stealing in at eye and ear, filled him with their
+gladness. On strode my Beltane by rippling brook and sleepy pool, with
+step swift and light and eyes wide and shining, threading an unerring
+course as only a forester might; now crossing some broad and sunny
+glade where dawn yet lingered in rosy mist, anon plunging into the
+green twilight of dell and dingle, through tangled brush and scented
+bracken gemmed yet with dewy fire, by marsh and swamp and lichened
+rock, until he came out upon the forest road, that great road laid by
+the iron men of Rome, but now little better than a grassy track, yet
+here and there, with mossy stone set up to the glory of proud emperor
+and hardy centurion long since dust and ashes; a rutted track, indeed,
+but leading ever on, 'neath mighty trees, over hill and dale towards
+the blue mystery beyond.
+
+Now, in a while, being come to the brow of a hill, needs must my
+Beltane pause to look back upon the woodlands he had loved so well and,
+sighing, he stretched his arms thitherward; and lo! out of the soft
+twilight of the green, stole a gentle wind full of the scent of root
+and herb and the fresh, sweet smell of earth, a cool, soft wind that
+stirred the golden hair at his temples, like a caress, and so--was
+gone. For a while he stood thus, gazing towards where he knew his
+father yet knelt in prayer for him, then turned he slowly, and went his
+appointed way.
+
+Thus did Beltane bid farewell to the greenwood and to woodland things,
+and thus did the green spirit of the woods send forth a gentle wind to
+kiss him on the brow ere he went out into the world of men and cities.
+
+Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery
+tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song,
+and the song was right merry and the words likewise:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a maid to a man, I trow."
+
+Looking about, Beltane saw the singer, a comely fellow whose long legs
+bestrode a plump ass; a lusty man he was, clad in shirt of mail and
+with a feather of green brooched to his escalloped hood; a long-bow
+hung at his back together with a quiver of arrows, while at his thigh
+swung a heavy, broad-bladed sword. Now he, espying Beltane amid the
+leaves, brought the ass to a sudden halt and clapped hand to the pommel
+of his sword.
+
+"How now, Goliath!" cried he. "_Pax vobiscum,_ and likewise
+_benedicite_! Come ye in peace, forsooth, or is it to be _bellum
+internecinum?_ Though, by St. Giles, which is my patron saint, I care
+not how it be, for mark ye, _vacuus cantat coram latrone viator,_ Sir
+Goliath, the which in the vulgar tongue signifieth that he who travels
+with an empty purse laughs before the footpad--moreover, I have a
+sword!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, saying:
+
+"I have no lust to thy purse, most learned bowman, or indeed to aught
+of thine unless it be thy company."
+
+"My company?" quoth the bowman, looking Beltane up and down with merry
+blue eyes, "why now do I know thee for a fellow of rare good judgment,
+for my company is of the best, in that I have a tongue which loveth to
+wag in jape or song. Heard ye how the birds and I were a-carolling? A
+right blithesome morn, methinks, what with my song, and the birds'
+song, and this poor ass's bells--aye, and the flowers a-peep from the
+bank yonder. God give ye joy of it, tall brother, as he doth me and
+this goodly ass betwixt my knees, patient beast."
+
+Now leaning on his quarter-staff Beltane smiled and said:
+
+"How came ye by that same ass, master bowman?"
+
+"Well--I met a monk!" quoth the fellow with a gleam of white teeth. "O!
+a ponderous monk, brother, of most mighty girth of belly! Now, as ye
+see, though this ass be sleek and fat as an abbot, she is something
+small. 'And shall so small a thing needs bear so great a mountain o'
+flesh?' says I (much moved at the sight, brother). 'No, by the blessed
+bones of St. Giles (which is my patron saint, brother), so thereafter
+(by dint of a little persuasion, brother) my mountainous monk, to ease
+the poor beast's back, presently got him down and I, forthwith, got up--
+as being more in proportion to her weight, sweet beast! O! surely
+ne'er saw I fairer morn than this, and never, in so fair a morn, saw I
+fairer man than thou, Sir Forester, nor taller, and I have seen many
+men in my day. Wherefore an so ye will, let us company together what
+time we may; 'tis a solitary road, and the tongue is a rare shortener
+of distance."
+
+So Beltane strode on beside this garrulous bowman, hearkening to his
+merry talk, yet himself speaking short and to the point as was ever his
+custom; as thus:
+
+BOWMAN. "How do men call thee, tall brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "Beltane."
+
+BOWMAN. "Ha! 'Tis a good name, forsooth I've heard worse--and yet,
+forsooth, I've heard better. Yet 'tis a fairish name--'twill serve. As
+for me, Giles Brabblecombe o' the Hills men call me, for 'twas in the
+hill country I was born thirty odd years agone. Since then twelve
+sieges have I seen with skirmishes and onfalls thrice as many. Death
+have I beheld in many and divers shapes and in experience of wounds and
+dangers am rich, though, by St. Giles (my patron saint), in little
+else. Yet do I love life the better, therefore, and I have read that
+'to despise gold is to be rich.'"
+
+BELTANE. "Do all bowmen read, then?"
+
+BOWMAN. "Why look ye, brother, I am not what I was aforetime--_non sum
+quails eram _--I was bred a shaveling, a mumbler, a be-gowned
+do-nothing--brother, I was a monk, but the flesh and the devil made of me
+a bowman, heigho--so wags the world! Though methinks I am a better
+bowman than ever I was a monk, having got me some repute with this my
+bow."
+
+BELTANE (shaking his head). "Methinks thy choice was but a sorry one
+for--"
+
+BOWMAN (laughing). "Choice quotha! 'Twas no choice, 'twas forced upon
+me, _vi et armis._ I should be chanting prime or matins at this very
+hour but for this tongue o' mine, God bless it! For, when it should
+have been droning psalms, it was forever lilting forth some blithesome
+melody, some merry song of eyes and lips and stolen kisses. In such
+sort that the good brethren were wont to gather round and, listening,--
+sigh! Whereof it chanced I was, one night, by order of the holy Prior,
+drubbed forth of the sacred precincts. So brother Anselm became Giles
+o' the Bow--the kind Saints be praised, in especial holy Saint Giles
+(which is my patron saint!). For, heed me--better the blue sky and the
+sweet, strong wind than the gloom and silence of a cloister. I had
+rather hide this sconce of mine in a hood of mail than in the mitre of
+a lord bishop--_nolo episcopare,_ good brother! Thus am I a fighter,
+and a good fighter, and a wise fighter, having learned 'tis better to
+live to fight than to fight to live."
+
+BELTANE. "And for whom do ye fight?"
+
+BOWMAN. "For him that pays most, _pecuniae obediunt omnia,_ brother."
+
+BELTANE (frowning). "Money? And nought beside?"
+
+BOWMAN (staring). "As what, brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "The justice of the cause wherefore ye fight."
+
+BOWMAN. "Justice quotha--cause! O innocent brother, what have such
+matters to do with such as I? See you now, such lieth the case. You,
+let us say, being a baron (and therefore noble!) have a mind to a
+certain other baron's castle, or wife, or both--(the which is more
+usual) wherefore ye come to me, who am but a plain bowman knowing
+nought of the case, and you chaffer with me for the use of this my body
+for so much money, and thereafter I shoot my best on thy behalf as in
+mine honour bound. Thus have I fought both for and against Black Ivo
+throughout the length and breadth of his Duchy of Pentavalon. If ye be
+minded to sell that long sword o' thine, to none better market could ye
+come, for there be ever work for such about Black Ivo."
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, 'tis so I hear."
+
+BOWMAN. "Nor shall ye anywhere find a doughtier fighter than Duke Ivo,
+nor a leader quicker to spy out the vantage of position and attack."
+
+BELTANE. "Is he so lusty a man-at-arms?"
+
+BOWMAN. "With lance, axe, or sword he hath no match. I have seen him
+lead a charge. I have watched him fight afoot. I have stormed behind
+him through a breach, and I know of none dare cope with him--unless it
+be Sir Pertolepe the Red."
+
+BELTANE. "Hast ne'er heard tell, then, of Benedict of Bourne?"
+
+BOWMAN (clapping hand to thigh). "Now by the blood and bones of St.
+Giles 'tis so! Out o' the mouth of a babe and suckling am I corrected!
+Verily if there be one to front Black Ivo 'tis Benedict o' the Mark. To
+behold these two at handstrokes--with axes--ha, there would be a sweet
+affray indeed--a sight for the eyes of holy archangels! Dost know aught
+of Sir Benedict, O Innocence?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen him."
+
+BOWMAN. "Then, my soft and gentle dove-like youth, get thee to thy
+marrow-bones and pray that kind heaven shall make thee more his like,
+for in his shoes doth stand a man--a knight--a very paladin!"
+
+BELTANE. "Who fighteth not for--hire. Sir Bowman!"
+
+BOWMAN. "Yet who hireth to fight, Sir Dove-eyed Giant, for I have
+fought for him, ere now, within his great keep of Thrasfordham within
+Bourne. But, an ye seek employ, his is but a poor service, where a man
+shall come by harder knocks than good broad pieces."
+
+BELTANE. "And yet, 'spite thy cunning and all thy warring, thy purse
+goeth empty!"
+
+BOWMAN. "My purse, Sir Dove? Aye, I told thee so for that I am by
+nature cautious--_sicut mos est nobis_! But thy dove's eyes are honest
+eyes, so now shall you know that hid within the lining of this my left
+boot be eighty and nine gold pieces, and in my right a ring with stones
+of price, and, moreover, here behold a goodly chain."
+
+So saying, the bowman drew from his bosom a gold chain, thick and long
+and heavy, and held it up in the sunlight.
+
+"I got this, Sir Dove, together with the ring and divers other toys, at
+the storming of Belsaye, five years agone. Aha! a right good town is
+Belsaye, and growing rich and fat against another plucking."
+
+"And how came Belsaye to be stormed?" Quoth Giles the Bowman, eying
+his golden chain:
+
+"My lord Duke Ivo had a mind to a certain lady, who was yet but a
+merchant's daughter, look ye. But she was young and wondrous fair, for
+Duke Ivo hath a quick eye and rare judgment in such pretty matters. But
+she (and she but a merchant's daughter!) took it ill, and when Duke
+Ivo's messengers came to bear her to his presence, she whined and
+struggled, as is ever woman's way, and thereafter in the open street
+snatched a dagger and thereupon, before her father's very eye did slay
+herself (and she but a merchant's daughter!), whereat some hot-head
+plucked out sword and other citizens likewise, and of my lord Duke's
+messengers there none escaped save one and he sore wounded. So Belsaye
+city shut its gates 'gainst my lord Duke and set out fighting-hoards
+upon its walls. Yet my lord Duke battered and breached it, for few can
+match him in a siege, and stormed it within three days. And, by Saint
+Giles, though he lost the merchant's daughter methinks he lacked not
+at all, for the women of Belsaye are wondrous fair."
+
+The rising sun made a glory all about them, pouring his beams 'twixt
+mighty trees whose knotted, far-flung branches dappled the way here and
+there with shadow; but now Beltane saw nought of it by reason that he
+walked with head a-droop and eyes that stared earthward; moreover his
+hands were clenched and his lips close and grim-set. As for Giles o'
+the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full
+melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a
+while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin
+with strong, brown fingers.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir
+Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er
+saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to
+twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well--hast the makings of a
+right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!"
+
+"Yet a lover of peace am I!" said Beltane, his head yet drooping.
+
+"Peace, quotha--peace? Ha? by all the holy saints--peace! A soft word!
+A woman's word! A word smacking of babes and milk! Out upon thee, what
+hath a man with such an arm--aye, and legs--to do with peace? An you
+would now, I could bring ye to good service 'neath Duke Ivo's banner.
+'Tis said he hath sworn, this year, to burn Thrasfordham keep, to hang
+Benedict o' the Mark and lay waste to Bourne. Aha! you shall see good
+fighting 'neath Ivo's banner, Sir Dove!"
+
+Then Beltane raised his head and spake, swift and sudden, on this wise:
+
+"An I must fight, the which God forbid, yet once this my sword is drawn
+ne'er shall it rest till I lie dead or Black Ivo is no more."
+
+Then did the archer stare upon my Beltane in amaze with eyes full wide
+and mouth agape, nor spake he for awhile, then:
+
+"Black Ivo--thou!" he cried, and laughed amain. "Go to, my tender
+youth," said he, "methinks a lute were better fitted to thy hand than
+that great sword o' thine." Now beholding Beltane's gloomy face, he
+smiled within his hand, yet eyed him thoughtfully thereafter, and so
+they went with never a word betwixt them. But, in a while, the archer
+fell to snuffing the air, and clapped Beltane upon the shoulder.
+
+"Aha!" quoth he, "methinks we reach the fair Duchy of Pentavalon; smell
+ye aught, brother?" And now, indeed, Beltane became aware of a cold
+wind, foul and noisome, a deadly, clammy air breathing of things
+corrupt, chilling the flesh with swift unthinking dread; and, halting
+in disgust, he looked about him left and right.
+
+"Above--above!" cried Giles o' the Bow, "this is Sir Pertolepe's
+country--look you heavenward, Sir Innocence!"
+
+Then, lifting his eyes to the shivering leaves overhead, Beltane of a
+sudden espied a naked foot--a down-curving, claw-like thing,
+shrivelled and hideous, and, glancing higher yet, beheld a sight to
+blast the sun from heaven: now staring up at the contorted horror of
+this shrivelled thing that once had lived and laughed, Beltane let fall
+his staff and, being suddenly sick and faint, sank upon his knees and,
+covering his eyes, crouched there in the grass the while that grisly,
+silent thing swayed to and fro above him in the gentle wind of morning
+and the cord whereby it hung creaked faintly.
+
+"How now--how now!" cried Giles; "do ye blench before this churlish
+carrion? Aha! ye shall see the trees bear many such hereabouts. Get up,
+my qualmish, maid-like youth; he ne'er shall injure thee nor any man
+again--save by the nose--faugh! Rise, rise and let us be gone."
+
+So, presently Beltane, shivering, got him to his feet and looking up,
+pale-faced, beheld upon the ragged breast a parchment with this legend
+in fair, good writing:
+
+HE KILLED A DEER
+
+Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be
+a plenty, but a stag is a noble creature and something scarcer--
+moreover they be the Duke's."
+
+"By whose order was this done?"
+
+"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red.
+But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of
+gentle blood."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"'Tis so the law!"
+
+"And who made the law?"
+
+"Why--as to that," quoth Giles, rubbing his chin, "as to that--what
+matters it to you or me? Pah! come away lest I stifle!"
+
+But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse
+at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about
+and set the very leaves a-quiver. Once it came, and twice, and so--was
+gone. Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff,
+and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and
+dragging him from the ass all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush
+whence the cry had come. And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon
+whose threshold a child lay--not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the
+cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in
+hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed
+hauberks glittered in the sun. Close and ever closer they beset the
+hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but
+ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close. Beside the man a
+woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and
+garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry,
+leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in
+that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled
+'neath a pike-thrust. Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in
+his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body
+and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and
+wild. So for a space, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane,
+laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they
+writhing upon the sward. Then Beltane turned to see Giles o' the Bow,
+who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.
+
+"Look!" he cried, pointing with quivering finger, "one dead and one
+sore hurt--Saint Giles save us, what have ye done? These be Sir
+Pertolepe's foresters--behold his badge!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.
+
+"How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then? I was too meek and
+gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou'rt afraid--get you gone!"
+
+"Art surely mad!" quoth Giles. "The saints be my witness here was no
+act of mine!" So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through
+the green. Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the
+hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman. Said he:
+
+"Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?"
+
+"Wife and child--and dead!" the man muttered, "child and wife--and
+dead! A week ago, my brother--and now, the child, and then the wife!
+Child and wife and brother--and dead!" Then Beltane came, minded to aid
+him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his
+great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at
+heart, turned him away. And, in a while, being come to the road once
+more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its
+bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his
+brow grew dark and troubled.
+
+"'Tis thus have I made beginning," he sighed, "so now, God aiding me,
+ne'er will I rest 'till peace be come again and tyranny made an end
+of!"
+
+Then, very solemnly, did my Beltane kneel him beside the way and
+lifting the cross hilt of his sword to heaven kissed it, and thereafter
+rose. And so, having cleansed the steel within the earth, he sheathed
+the long blade and went, slowfooted, upon his way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+The sun was high, and by his shadow Beltane judged it the noon hour;
+very hot and very still it was, for the wind had died and leaf and twig
+hung motionless as though asleep. And presently as he went, a sound
+stole upon the stillness, a sound soft and beyond all things pleasant
+to hear, the murmurous ripple of running water near by. Going aside
+into the green therefore, Beltane came unto a brook, and here, screened
+from the sun 'neath shady willows, he laid him down to drink, and to
+bathe face and hands in the cool water.
+
+Now as he lay thus, staring sad-eyed into the hurrying waters of the
+brook, there came to him the clicking of sandalled feet, and glancing
+up, he beheld one clad as a black friar. A fat man he was, jolly of
+figure and mightily round; his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+"Peace be unto thee, my son!" quoth he, breathing short and loud, "an
+evil day for a fat man who hath been most basely bereft of a goodly ass
+--holy Saint Dunstan, how I gasp!" and putting back the cowl from his
+tonsured crown, he puffed out his cheeks and mopped his face. "Hearkee
+now, good youth, hath there passed thee by ever a ribald in an
+escalloped hood--an unhallowed, long-legged, scurvy archer knave
+astride a fair white ass, my son?"
+
+"Truly," nodded Beltane, "we parted company scarce an hour since."
+
+The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped
+his face again; quoth he:
+
+"Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert
+and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a
+thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most
+vicious rogue, _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_!"
+
+"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four
+saints with as many curses, and all for one small ass!"
+
+The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed:
+
+"'Twas a goodly ass, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy
+gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover
+'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to
+steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--_per de_
+'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times damned and
+beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to
+the lowest pit of Acheron--_damnatus est_, amen! Yet, my son, here--by
+the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty
+most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis
+something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"
+
+Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept
+towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long
+and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness
+of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a
+heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he
+paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked
+voice:
+
+"O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one
+that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the
+tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the
+eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's
+right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and,
+bowing his head upon his hands, closed his eyes.
+
+"Oho!" cried the friar, "and is it thou, Simon? Trouble ye the world
+yet, child of Satan?"
+
+Hereupon the blind man fell upon his knees. "Holy father," he groaned,
+clasping his withered arms upon his gaunt breast, "good Friar Gui I die
+of hunger; aid me lest I perish. 'Tis true I am outlaw and no man may
+minister unto me, yet be merciful, give me to eat--O gentle Christ, aid
+me--"
+
+"How!" cried the friar, "dare ye speak that name, ye that are breaker
+of laws human and divine, ye that are murderer, dare ye lift those
+bloody hands to heaven?"
+
+"Holy sir," quoth Beltane, "he hath but one; I pray you now give him to
+eat."
+
+"Feed an outlaw! Art mad, young sir? Feed a murderer, a rogue banned by
+Holy Church, a serf that hath raised hand 'gainst his lord? He should
+have hanged when the witch his daughter burned, but that Sir Pertolepe,
+with most rare mercy, gave to the rogue his life."
+
+"But," sighed Beltane, "left him to starve--'tis a death full as sure
+yet slower, methinks. Come, let us feed him."
+
+"I tell thee, fond youth, he is excommunicate. Wouldst have me
+contravene the order of Holy Church? Go to!"
+
+Then my Beltane put his hand within his pouch and taking thence a gold
+piece held it out upon his palm; said he:
+
+"Friar, I will buy the half of thy pasty of thee!" Hereupon Friar Gui
+stared from the gold to the pasty, and back again.
+
+"So much!" quoth he, round-eyed. "Forsooth 'tis a noble pasty and yet--
+nay, nay, tempt me not--_retro Sathanas!_" and closing his eyes he
+crossed himself. Then Beltane took out other two gold pieces and set
+them in the blind man's bony hand, saying:
+
+"Take these three gold pieces and buy you food, and thereafter--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the blind man, "gold! Now the Saints keep and bless thee,
+young sir, sweet Jesu love thee ever!" and fain would he have knelt to
+kiss my Beltane's feet. But Beltane raised him up with gentle hand,
+speaking him kindly, as thus:
+
+"Tell now, I pray you, how came ye to slay?"
+
+"Stay! stay!" cried Friar Gui, "bethink thee, good youth--so much gold,
+'tis a very fortune! With so much, masses might be sung for his
+wretched soul; give it therefore to Holy Church, so shall he,
+peradventure, attain Paradise."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "I had rather he, of a surety, attain a
+full belly, Sir Friar." Then, turning his back upon the friar, Beltane
+questioned the blind man again, as thus:
+
+"Tell me, an ye will, how ye came to shed blood?" and the outlaw,
+kneeling at Beltane's feet answered with bowed head:
+
+"Noble sir, I had a daughter and she was young and fair, therefore came
+my lord Pertolepe's chief verderer to bear her to my lord. But she
+cried to me and I, forgetting my duty to my lord, took my quarter-staff
+and, serf though I was, smote the chief verderer that he died
+thereafter, but, ere he died, he named my daughter witch. And, when
+they had burned her, they put out mine eyes, and cut off my hand, and
+made of me an outlaw. So is my sin very heavy upon me."
+
+Now when the man had made an end, Beltane stood silent awhile, then,
+reaching down, he aided the blind man to his feet.
+
+"Go you to Mortain," said he, "seek out the hermit Ambrose that liveth
+in Holy Cross Thicket; with him shall you find refuge, and he,
+methinks, will surely win thy soul to heaven."
+
+So the blind man blessed my Beltane and turning, crept upon his
+solitary way.
+
+"Youth," said the friar, frowning up into Beltane's gentle eyes, "thou
+hast this day put thy soul in jeopardy--the Church doth frown upon this
+thy deed!"
+
+"And yet, most reverend sir, God's sun doth shine upon this my body!"
+
+FRIAR. "He who aideth an evil-doer is enemy to the good!"
+
+BELTANE. "Yet he who seeketh to do good to evil that good may follow,
+doeth no evil to good."
+
+FRIAR. "Ha! thou art a menace to the state--"
+
+BELTANE. "So shall I be, I pray God, the whiles this state continue!"
+
+FRIAR. "Thou art either rogue or fool!"
+
+BELTANE. "Well, thou hast thy choice."
+
+FRIAR. "Alack! this sorry world is full of rogues and fools and--"
+
+BELTANE. "And friars!"
+
+FRIAR. "Who seek the salvation of this wretched world."
+
+BELTANE. "As how?"
+
+FRIAR. "Forsooth we meditate and pray--"
+
+BELTANE. "And eat!"
+
+FRIAR. "Aye verily, we do a little in that way as the custom is, for
+your reverent eater begetteth a devout pray-er. The which mindeth me I
+grow an hungered, yet will I forego appetite and yield thee this fair
+pasty for but two of thy gold pieces. And, look ye, 'tis a noble pasty
+I had this day from my lord Pertolepe's own table."
+
+BELTANE. "That same lord that showed mercy on yonder poor maimed
+wretch? Know you him?"
+
+FRIAR. "In very sooth, and 'tis a potent lord that holdeth me in some
+esteem, a most Christian knight--"
+
+BELTANE. "That ravisheth the defenceless! Whose hands be foul with the
+blood of innocence--"
+
+FRIAR. "How--how? 'Tis a godly lord who giveth bounteously to Holy
+Church--"
+
+BELTANE. "Who stealeth from the poor--"
+
+FRIAR. "Stealeth! Holy Saint Dunstan, dare ye speak thus of so great a
+lord--a son of the Church, a companion of our noble Duke? Steal,
+forsooth! The poor have nought to steal!"
+
+BELTANE. "They have their lives."
+
+FRIAR. "Not so, they and their lives are their lord's, 'tis so the law
+and--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence came this law?"
+
+FRIAR. "It came, youth--it came--aye, of God!"
+
+BELTANE. "Say rather of the devil!"
+
+FRIAR. "Holy Saint Michael--'tis a blasphemous youth! Never heard ears
+the like o' this--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence cometh poverty and famine?"
+
+FRIAR. "'Tis a necessary evil! Doth it not say in Holy Writ, 'the poor
+ye have always with you'?"
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, so shall ye ever--until the laws be amended. So needs
+must men starve and starve--"
+
+FRIAR. "There be worse things! And these serfs be born to starve, bred
+up to it, and 'tis better to starve here than to perish hereafter,
+better to purge the soul by lack of meat than to make of it a fetter of
+the soul!"
+
+"Excellently said, holy sir!" quoth Beltane, stooping of a sudden. "But
+for this pasty now, 'tis a somewhat solid fetter, meseemeth, so now do
+I free thee of it--thus!" So saying, my Beltane dropped the pasty into
+the deeper waters of the brook and, thereafter, took up his staff. "Sir
+Friar," said he, "behold to-day is thy soul purged of a pasty against
+the day of judgment!"
+
+Then Beltane went on beside the rippling waters of the brook, but above
+its plash and murmur rose the deeptoned maledictions of Friar Gui.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE WISDOM OF A
+FOOL
+
+
+As the day advanced the sun grew ever hotter; birds chirped drowsily
+from hedge and thicket, and the warm, still air was full of the
+slumberous drone of a myriad unseen wings. Therefore Beltane sought the
+deeper shade of the woods and, risking the chance of roving thief or
+lurking foot-pad, followed a devious course by reason of the
+underbrush.
+
+Now as he walked him thus, within the cool, green twilight, watchful of
+eye and with heavy quarter-staff poised upon his shoulder, he presently
+heard the music of a pipe now very mournful and sweet, anon breaking
+into a merry lilt full of rippling trills and soft, bubbling notes most
+pleasant to be heard. Wherefore he went aside and thus, led by the
+music, beheld a jester in his motley lying a-sprawl beneath a tree. A
+long-legged knave was he, pinched and something doleful of visage yet
+with quick bright eyes that laughed 'neath sombre brows, and a wide,
+up-curving mouth; upon his escalloped cape and flaunting cock's-comb
+were many little bells that rang a silvery chime as, up-starting to his
+elbow, he greeted my Beltane thus:
+
+"Hail, noble, youthful Sir, and of thy sweet and gracious courtesy I
+pray you mark me this--the sun is hot, my belly lacketh, and thou art a
+fool!"
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane, leaning him upon his quarter-staff.
+
+"For three rarely reasonable reasons, sweet sir, as thus:--item, for
+that the sun burneth, item, my belly is empty, and item, thou, lured by
+this my foolish pipe art hither come to folly. So I, a fool, do greet
+thee, fool, and welcome thee to this my palace of ease and pleasaunce
+where, an ye be minded to list to the folly of a rarely foolish fool, I
+will, with foolish jape and quip, befool thy mind to mirth and jollity,
+for thou art a sad fool, methinks, and something melancholic!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"'Tis a sad world and very sorrowful!"
+
+"Nay--'tis a sweet world and very joyful--for such as have eyes to see
+withal!"
+
+"To see?" quoth Beltane, frowning, "this day have I seen a dead man
+a-swing on a tree, a babe dead beside its cradle, and a woman die upon
+a spear! All day have I breathed an air befouled by nameless evil;
+whithersoever I go needs must I walk 'twixt Murder and Shame!"
+
+"Then look ever before thee, so shalt see neither."
+
+"Yet will they be there!"
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine in high heaven, so must these things be till
+God and the saints shall mend them. But if thou must needs be doleful,
+go make thee troubles of thine own but leave the woes of this wide
+world to God!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, shaking his head, "how if God leave these things
+to thee and me?"
+
+"Why then methinks the world must wag as it will. Yet must we repine
+therefore? Out upon thee for a sober, long-legged, doleful wight. Now
+harkee! Here sit I--less fool! A fool who hath, this day, been driven
+forth of my lord's presence with blows and cruel stripes! And
+wherefore? 'Twas for setting a bird free of its cage, a small matter
+methinks--though there be birds--and birds, but mum for that! Yet do I
+grieve and sigh therefore, O doleful long-shanks? Not so--fie on't! I
+blow away my sorrows through the music of this my little pipe and,
+lying here, set my wits a-dancing and lo! I am a duke, a king, a very
+god! I create me a world wherein is neither hunger nor stripes, a world
+of joy and laughter, for, blessed within his dreams, even a fool may
+walk with gods and juggle with the stars!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "but how when he awake?"
+
+"Why then, messire," laughed the fellow, leaping nimbly to his feet,
+"why then doth he ask alms of thee, as thus: Prithee most noble
+messire, of thy bounty show kindness to a fool that lacks everything
+but wit. So give, messire, give and spare not, so may thy lady prove
+kind, thy wooing prosper and love strengthen thee."
+
+Now when the jester spake of love, my Beltane must needs sigh amain and
+shake a doleful head.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "within my life shall be no place for love, methinks."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed the jester, "thy very look doth proclaim thee lover,
+and 'tis well, for love maketh the fool wise and the wise fool, it
+changeth saints into rogues and rogues into saints, it teacheth the
+strong man gentleness and maketh the gentle strong. 'Tis sweeter than
+honey yet bitter as gall--Love! ah, love can drag a man to hell or lift
+him high as heaven!"
+
+"Aye verily," sighed Beltane, "I once did dream of such a love, but now
+am I awake, nor will I dream of love again, nor rest whiles Lust and
+Cruelty rule this sorrowful Duchy--"
+
+"Ha, what would ye then, fond youth?"
+
+"I am come to smite them hence," said Beltane, clenching mighty fists.
+
+"How?" cried the jester, wide of eye. "Alone?"
+
+"Nay, methinks God goeth with me. Moreover, I have this sword!" and
+speaking, Beltane touched the hilt of the great blade at his side.
+
+"What--a sword!" scoffed the jester, "think ye to mend the woes of thy
+fellows with a sword? Go to, thou grave-visaged, youthful fool! I tell
+thee, 'tis only humour and good fellowship can mend this wretched
+world, and there is nought so lacking in humour as a sword--unless it
+be your prating priest or mumbling monk. A pope in cap and bells, now--
+aha, there would be a world indeed, a world of joy and laughter! No
+more gloom, no more bans and damnings of Holy Church, no more groaning
+and snivelling in damp cloister and mildewed chapel, no more burnings
+and hangings and rackings--"
+
+"Yet," said Beltane, shaking his head, "yet would kings and dukes
+remain, Christian knights and godly lords to burn and hang and rack the
+defenceless."
+
+"Aye, Sir Gravity," nodded the jester, "but the Church is paramount
+ever; set the pope a-blowing of tunes upon a reed and kings would lay
+by their sceptres and pipe too and, finding no time or lust for
+warring, so strife would end, swords rust and wit grow keen. And wit,
+look you, biteth sharper than sword, laughter is more enduring than
+blows, and he who smiteth, smiteth only for lack of wit. So, an you
+would have a happy world, lay by that great sword and betake thee to a
+little pipe, teach men to laugh and so forget their woes. Learn wisdom
+of a fool, as thus: 'Tis better to live and laugh and beget thy kind
+than to perish by the sword or to dangle from a tree. Here now is
+advice, and in this advice thy life, thus in giving thee advice so do I
+give thee thy life. And I am hungry. And in thy purse is money
+wherewith even a fool might come by food. And youth is generous! And
+thou art very young! Come, sweet youthful messire, how much for thy
+life--and a fool's advice?"
+
+Then Beltane smiled, and taking out one of his three remaining gold
+pieces, put it in the jester's hand.
+
+"Fare thee well, good fool," said he, "I leave thee to thy dreams; God
+send they be ever fair--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the jester, spinning the coin upon his thumb, "ha, now do
+I dream indeed; may thy waking be ever as joyous. Farewell to thee,
+thou kind, sweet, youthful fool, and if thou must hang some day on a
+tree, may every leaf voice small prayers for thy gentle soul!"
+
+So saying, the jester nodded, waved aloft his bauble, and skipped away
+among the trees. But as Beltane went, pondering the jester's saying,
+the drowsy stillness was shivered by a sudden, loud cry, followed
+thereafter by a clamour of fierce shouting; therefore Beltane paused
+and turning, beheld the jester himself who ran very fleetly, yet with
+three lusty fellows in close pursuit.
+
+"Messire," panted the jester, wild of eye and with a trickle of blood
+upon his pallid face, "O sweet sir--let them not slay me!"
+
+Now while he spake, and being yet some way off, he tripped and fell,
+and, as he lay thus the foremost of his pursuers, a powerful, red-faced
+man, leapt towards him, whirling up his quarter-staff to smite; but, in
+that moment, Beltane leapt also and took the blow upon his staff and
+swung it aloft, yet stayed the blow, and, bestriding the prostrate
+jester, spake soft and gentle, on this wise:
+
+"Greeting to thee, forest fellow! Thy red face liketh me well, let us
+talk together."
+
+But, hereupon, as the red-faced man fell back, staring in amaze, there
+came his two companions, albeit panting and short of breath.
+
+"What, Roger," cried one, "doth this fellow withstand thee?"
+
+But Roger only growled, whiles Beltane smiled upon the three, gentle-eyed,
+but with heavy quarter-staff poised lightly in practised hand; quoth he:
+
+"How now, would ye harm the fool? 'Tis a goodly fool forsooth, yet with
+legs scarce so nimble as his wit, and a tongue--ha, a golden tongue to
+win all men to humour and good fellowship--"
+
+"Enough!" growled red-faced Roger, "Sir Pertolepe's foresters we be,
+give us yon scurvy fool then, that we may hang him out of hand."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "first let us reason together, let us hark to
+the wisdom of Folly and grow wise--"
+
+"Ha, Roger!" cried one of the men, "tap me this tall rogue on his
+golden mazzard!"
+
+"Or," said Beltane, "the fool shall charm thy souls to kindliness with
+his pipe--"
+
+"Ho, Roger!" cried the second forester, "split me this tall talker's
+yellow sconce, now!"
+
+"Come," growled Roger, threatening of mien, "yield us the fool, 'tis an
+arrant knave hath angered his lord!"
+
+"What matter for that," said Beltane, "so he hath not angered his God?
+Come now, ye be hearty fellows and have faces that might be honest,
+tell me, how long will ye serve the devil?"
+
+"Devil? Ha, what talk be this? We serve no devil!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "though they call him Pertolepe the Red,
+hereabouts."
+
+"Devil!" cried Black Roger aghast. And, falling back a step he gaped in
+amaze from Beltane to his gaping fellows. "Devil, forsooth!" he gasped,
+"aha, I've seen many a man hang for less than this--"
+
+"True," sighed Beltane, "men hang for small matters here in Pentavalon,
+and to hang is an evil death, methinks!"
+
+"So, so!" nodded Black Roger, grim-smiling, "I've watched them kick a
+fair good while, betimes!"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, his eyes widening, "those hands of thine, belike,
+have hanged a man ere this?"
+
+"Aye, many a score. Oho! folk know Black Roger's name hereabouts. I
+carry ever a noose at my girdle here--behold it!" and he showed a coil
+of rope that swung at his belt.
+
+Now looking from the man's grim features to this murderous cord,
+Beltane blenched and shivered, whereat Black Roger laughed aloud, and
+pointed a scornful finger.
+
+"Look'ee, 'tis fair, good rope this, and well-tried, and shall bear
+even thy great carcase sweetly--aye, sweetly--"
+
+"How--would'st hang me also?" said Beltane faintly, and the heavy
+quarter-staff sagged in his loosened grip.
+
+"Hang thee--aye. Thou didst withstand us with this fool, thou hast
+dared miscall our lord--we be all witnesses to it. So now will we--"
+
+But swift as lightning-flash, Beltane's long quarter-staff whirled and
+fell, and, for all his hood of mail, Black Roger threw wide his arms
+and, staggering, fell upon his face and so lay; then, fierce and grim,
+he had leapt upon the other two, and the air was full of the rattle and
+thud of vicious blows. But these foresters were right lusty fellows and
+they, together, beset my Beltane so furiously, right and left, that he
+perforce gave back 'neath their swift and grievous blows and, being
+overmatched, turned and betook him to his heels, whereat they,
+incontinent, pursued with loud gibes and fierce laughter. But on ran
+Beltane up the glade very fleetly yet watchful of eye, until, seeing
+one had outstripped his fellow, he checked his going somewhat,
+stumbling as one that is spent, whereat the forester shouted the louder
+and came on amain. Then did my cunning Beltane leap aside and, leaping,
+turned and smote the fellow clean and true upon the crown, and,
+laughing to see him fall, ran in upon the other forester with whirling
+quarter-staff. Now this fellow seeing himself stand alone, stayed not
+to abide the onset, but turning about, made off into the green. Then
+Beltane leaned him, panting, upon his staff, what time the fallen man
+got him unsteadily to his legs and limped after his comrade; as for the
+jester, he was gone long since; only Black Roger lay upon his face and
+groaned faintly, ever and anon. Wherefore came Beltane and stood above
+him as one in thought and, seeing him begin to stir, took from him his
+sword and coil of rope and loosing off his swordbelt, therewith bound
+his hands fast together and so, dragged him 'neath a tree that stood
+hard by. Thus when at last Black Roger opened his eyes, he beheld
+Beltane standing above him and in his hand the deadly rope. Now,
+looking from this to the desolation about him, Black Roger shivered,
+and gazing up into' the stern face above, his florid cheek grew pale.
+
+"Master," said he hoarsely, "what would ye?"
+
+"I would do to thee as thou hast done to others."
+
+"Hang me?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, and setting the noose about his neck, cast the
+rope across a branch.
+
+"Master, how shall my death profit thee?"
+
+"The world shall be the better, and thy soul know less of sin, mayhap."
+
+"Master," said Black Roger, stooping to wipe sweat from his face with
+fettered hands, "I have store of money set by--"
+
+But Beltane laughed with pallid lips, and, pulling upon the rope,
+dragged Black Roger, choking, to his feet.
+
+"Master," he gasped, "show a little mercy--"
+
+"Hast ever shown mercy to any man--speak me true!"
+
+"Alack!--no, master! And yet--"
+
+"How then shall ye expect mercy? Thou hast burnt and hanged and
+ravished the defenceless, so now shall be an end of it for thee, yet--O
+mark me this, thy name shall live on accursed in memory long after
+thou'rt but poor dust."
+
+"Aye, there be many alive to curse Black Roger living, and many dead to
+curse me when I'm dead; poor Roger's soul shall find small mercy
+hereafter, methinks--ha, I never thought on this!"
+
+"Thou had'st a mother--"
+
+"Aye, but they burned her for a witch when I was but a lad. As for me,
+'tis true I've hanged men, yet I was my lord's chief verderer and did
+but as my lord commanded."
+
+"A man hath choice of good or evil."
+
+"Aye. So now, an I must die--I must, but O master, say a prayer for me--
+my sins lie very heavy--"
+
+But Beltane, trembling, pulled upon the rope and swung Black Roger
+writhing in mid-air; then, of a sudden, loosing the rope, the forester
+fell and, while he lay gasping, Beltane stooped and loosed the rope
+from his neck.
+
+"What now?" groaned the forester, wild-eyed, "Sweet Jesu--ah, torture
+me not!"
+
+"Take back thy life," said Beltane, "and I pray God that henceforth
+thou shalt make of it better use, and live to aid thy fellows, so shall
+they, mayhap, some day come to bless thy memory."
+
+Then Black Roger, coming feebly to his knees, looked about him as one
+that wakes upon a new world, and lifted wide eyes from green earth to
+cloudless sky.
+
+"To live!" quoth he, "to live!" And so, with sudden gesture, stooped
+his head to hide his face 'neath twitching fingers.
+
+Hereupon Beltane smiled, gentle-eyed, yet spake not, and, turning,
+caught up his staff and went softly upon his way, leaving Black Roger
+the forester yet upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+
+The sun was low what time Beltane came to a shrine that stood beside
+the way, where was a grot built by some pious soul for the rest and
+refreshment of wearied travellers; and here also was a crystal spring
+the which, bubbling up, fell with a musical plash into the basin
+hollowed within the rock by those same kindly hands. Here Beltane
+stayed and, when he had drunk his fill, laid him down in the grateful
+shade and setting his cloak beneath his head, despite his hunger,
+presently fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was down and the world was
+become a place of mystery and glooming shadow; a bird called
+plaintively afar off in the dusk, the spring bubbled softly near by,
+but save for this a deep silence brooded over all things; above the
+gloom of the trees the sky was clear, where bats wheeled and hovered,
+and beyond the purple upland an orbed moon was rising.
+
+Now as Beltane breathed the cool, sweet air of evening and looked about
+him drowsily, he suddenly espied a shadow within the shadows, a dim
+figure--yet formidable and full of menace, and he started up, weapon in
+fist, whereupon the threatening figure stirred and spake:
+
+"Master--'tis I!" said a voice. Then Beltane came forth of the grot and
+stared upon Black Roger, grave-eyed.
+
+"O Hangman," said he, "where is thy noose?"
+
+But Roger quailed and hung his head, and spake with eyes abased:
+
+"Master, I burned it, together with my badge of service."
+
+"And what would ye here?"
+
+"Sir, I am a masterless man henceforth, for an I hang not men for Sir
+Pertolepe, so will Sir Pertolepe assuredly hang me."
+
+"And fear ye death?"
+
+"Messire, I--have hanged many men and--there were women also! I have
+cut me a tally here on my belt, see--there be many notches--and every
+notch a life. So now for every life these hands have taken do I vow to
+save a life an it may be so, and for every life saved would I cut away
+a notch until my belt be smooth again and my soul the lighter."
+
+"Why come ye to me, Black Roger?"
+
+"For that this day, at dire peril, I saw thee save a fool, Master. So
+now am I come to thee to be thy man henceforth, to follow and serve
+thee while life remain."
+
+"Why look now," quoth Beltane, "mine shall be a hard service and a
+dangerous, for I have mighty wrongs to set aright."
+
+"Ha! belike thou art under some vow also, master?"
+
+"Aye, verily, nor will I rest until it be accomplished or I am slain.
+For mark this, lonely am I, with enemies a many and strong, yet because
+of my vow needs must I smite them hence or perish in the adventure.
+Thus, he that companies me must go ever by desperate ways, and 'tis
+like enough Death shall meet him in the road."
+
+"Master," quoth Black Roger, "this day have ye shown me death yet given
+me new life, so beseech thee let me serve thee henceforth and aid thee
+in this thy vow."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane smiled and reached forth his hand; then Black
+Roger falling upon his knee, touched the hand to lip, and forehead and
+heart, taking him for his lord henceforth, and spake the oath of
+fealty: but when he would have risen, Beltane stayed him:
+
+"What, Black Roger, thou hast sworn fealty and obedience to me--now
+swear me this to God:--to hold ever, and abide by, thy word: to shew
+mercy to the distressed and to shield the helpless at all times!"
+
+And when he had sworn, Black Roger rose bright-eyed and eager.
+
+"Lord," said he, "whither do we go?"
+
+"Now," quoth Beltane, "shew me where I may eat, for I have a mighty
+hunger."
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Roger, scratching his chin, "Shallowford village
+lieth but a bowshot through the brush yonder--yet, forsooth, a man
+shall eat little there, methinks, these days."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"For that 'twas burned down, scarce a week agone--"
+
+"Burned!--and wherefore?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe fell out with his neighbour Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--
+upon the matter of some wench, methinks it was--wherefore came Sir
+Gilles' men by night and burned down Shallowford with twenty hunting
+dogs of Sir Pertolepe's that chanced to be there: whereupon my lord
+waxed mighty wroth and, gathering his company, came into the demesne of
+Sir Gilles and burned down divers manors and hung certain rogues and
+destroyed two villages--in quittance."
+
+"Ah--and what of the village folk?"
+
+"My lord, they were but serfs for the most part, but--for Sir
+Pertolepe's dogs--twenty and two--and roasted alive, poor beasts!"
+
+But here Black Roger checked both speech and stride, all at once, and
+stood with quarter-staff poised as from the depth of the wood came the
+sound of voices and fierce laughter.
+
+"Come away, master," he whispered, "these should be Sir Pertolepe's
+men, methinks."
+
+But Beltane shook his head:
+
+"I'm fain to see why they laugh," said he, and speaking, stole forward
+soft-footed amid the shadows; and so presently parting the leaves,
+looked down into an open dell or dingle full of the light of the rising
+moon; light that glinted upon the steel caps and hauberks of some score
+men, who leaned upon pike or gisarm about one who sat upon a fallen
+tree--and Beltane saw that this was Giles the Bowman. But the arms of
+Giles were bound behind his back, about his neck hung a noose, and his
+face showed white and pallid 'neath the moon, as, lifting up his head,
+he began to sing:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a--"
+
+The rich voice was strangled to a gasping sob as the rope was tightened
+suddenly about the singer's brawny throat and he was swung, kicking,
+into the air amid the hoarse gibes and laughter of the men-at-arms.
+But, grim and silent, Beltane leaped down among them, his long blade
+glittering in the moonlight, and before the mighty sweep of it they
+fell back, crowding upon each other and confused; then Beltane,
+turning, cut asunder the cord and Giles Brabblecombe fell and lay
+'neath the shade of the tree, wheezing and whimpering in the grass.
+
+And now with a clamour of cries and fierce rallying shouts, the
+men-at-arms, seeing Beltane stand alone, set themselves in array and
+began to close in upon him. But Beltane, facing them in the tender
+moonlight, set the point of his sword to earth and reached out his
+mailed hand in salutation.
+
+"Greeting, brothers!" said he, "why seek ye the death of this our
+brother? Come now, suffer him to go his ways in peace, and God's
+blessing on ye, one and all."
+
+Now at this some laughed and some growled, and one stood forth before
+his fellows staring upon Beltane 'neath close-drawn, grizzled brows:
+
+"'Tis a rogue, and shall dance for us upon a string!" laughed he.
+
+"And this tall fellow with him!" said another.
+
+"Aye, aye, let us hang 'em together," cried others.
+
+"Stay!" said Beltane, "behold here money; so now will I ransom this
+man's life of ye. Here be two pieces of gold, 'tis my all--yet take
+them and yield me his life!"
+
+Hereupon the men fell to muttering together doubtfully, but in this
+moment the grizzled man of a sudden raised a knotted fist and shook it
+in the air.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, pointing to Beltane, "look ye, Cuthbert, Rollo--see ye
+not 'tis him we seek? Mark ye the size of him, his long sword and belt
+of silver--'tis he that came upon us in the green this day and slew our
+comrade Michael. Come now, let us hang him forthwith and share his
+money betwixt us after."
+
+Then my Beltane sighed amain, and sighing, unsheathed his dagger.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "and must we shed each other's blood forsooth? Come
+then, let us slay each other, and may Christ have pity on our souls!"
+
+Thus saying, he glanced up at the pale splendour of the moon, and round
+him on the encircling shadows of the woods dense and black beneath the
+myriad leaves, and so, quick-eyed and poised for action, waited for the
+rush.
+
+And, even as they came upon him, he sprang aside where the gloom lay
+blackest, and they being many and the clearing small, they hampered
+each other and fell into confusion; and, in that moment, Beltane leapt
+among them and smote, and smote again, now in the moonlight, now in
+shadow; leaping quick-footed from the thrust of sword and pike,
+crouching 'neath the heavy swing of axe and gisarm; and ever his
+terrible blade darted with deadly point or fell with deep-biting edge.
+Hands gripped at him from the gloom, arms strove to clasp him, but his
+dagger-hand was swift and strong. Pike heads leapt at him and were
+smitten away, axe and gisarm struck, yet found him not, and ever, as he
+leapt, he smote. And now in his ears were cries and groans and other
+hateful sounds, and to his nostrils came a reek of sweating flesh and
+the scent of trampled grass; while the moon's tender light showed faces
+wild and fierce, that came and went, now here--now there; it glinted on
+head-piece and ringed mail, and flashed back from whirling steel--a
+round, placid moon that seemed, all at once, to burst asunder and
+vanish, smitten into nothingness. He was down--beaten to his knee,
+deafened and half blind, but struggling to his feet he staggered out
+from the friendly shadow of the trees, out into the open. A sword,
+hard-driven, bent and snapped short upon his triple mail, the blow of a
+gisarm half stunned him, a goring pike-thrust drove him reeling back,
+yet, ringed in by death, he thrust and smote with failing arm. Axe and
+pike, sword and gisarm hedged him in nearer and nearer, his sword grew
+suddenly heavy and beyond his strength to wield, but stumbling,
+slipping, dazed and with eyes a-swim, he raised the great blade aloft,
+and lifting drooping head, cried aloud the battle-cry of his house--
+high and clear it rang above the din:
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+And even in that moment came one in answer to the cry, one that leapt
+to his right hand, a wild man and hairy who plied a gleaming axe and,
+'twixt each stroke, seemed, from hairy throat, to echo back the cry:
+
+"Arise! Arise!"
+
+And now upon his left was Black Roger, fierce-eyed behind his buckler.
+Thereafter a voice hailed them as from far away, a sweet, deep voice,
+cheery and familiar as one heard aforetime in a dream, and betwixt
+every sentence came the twang of swift-drawn bow-string.
+
+"O tall brother, fall back! O gentle paladin, O fair flower of lusty
+fighters, fall back and leave the rest to our comrades, to me and my
+good bow, here!"
+
+So, dazed and breathless, came Beltane on stumbling feet and leaned him
+gasping in the shadow of a great tree whereby stood Giles o' the Bow
+with arrows planted upright in the sod before him, the which he
+snatched and loosed so fast 'twas a wonder to behold. Of a sudden he
+uttered a shout and, setting by his bow, drew sword, and leaping from
+the shadow, was gone.
+
+But, as for Beltane, he leaned a while against the tree as one who is
+very faint; yet soon, lifting heavy head, wondered at the hush of all
+things, and looking toward the clearing saw it empty and himself alone;
+therefore turned he thitherwards. Now as he went he stumbled and his
+foot struck a something soft and yielding that rolled before him in the
+shadow out--out into the full brilliance of the moon, and looking down,
+he beheld a mangled head that stared up at him wide-eyed and with mouth
+agape. Then Beltane let fall his reeking sword and staggering out into
+the light, saw his bright mail befouled with clotted blood, and of a
+sudden the world went black about him and he fell and lay with his face
+among the trampled grass.
+
+In a while he groaned and opened his eyes to find Black Roger bathing
+his face what time Giles o' the Bow held wine to his lips, while at his
+feet, a wild figure grim and ragged, stood a tall, hairy man leaning
+upon a blood-stained axe.
+
+"Aha!" cried the bowman. "Come now, my lovely fighter, my gentle giant,
+sup this--'tis life, and here behold a venison steak fit for Duke Ivo's
+self, come--"
+
+"Nay, first," says Beltane, sitting up, "are there many hurt?"
+
+"Aye, never fear for that, my blood-thirsty dove, they be all most
+completely dead save one, and he sore wounded, _laus Deo, amen!_"
+
+"Dead!" cried Beltane, shivering, "dead, say you?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Paladin, all sweetly asleep in Abraham's bosom. We three here
+accounted for some few betwixt us, the rest fell 'neath that great
+blade o' thine. O sweet Saint Giles! ne'er saw I such sword-work--point
+and edge, sa-ha! And I called thee--dove!--aye 'dove' it was, I mind
+me. O blind and worse than blind! But _experientia docet_, tall
+brother!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane bowed his head and clasping his hands, wrung them.
+
+"Sweet Jesu forgive me!" he cried, "I had not meant to slay so many!"
+
+Then he arose and went apart and, kneeling among the shadows, prayed
+long and fervently.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND HOW GOOD
+FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+
+Now when Beltane's mighty hunger was assuaged he sat--his aching head
+yet ringing with the blow--and stared up at the moon, sad and wistful-eyed
+as one full of heaviness the while Black Roger standing beside him
+gazed askance at the archer who sat near by whistling softly and busied
+with certain arrows, cleaning and trimming them ere he set them back in
+his quiver. And presently Black Roger spake softly, low-stooping to
+Beltane's ear:
+
+"Lord, we have saved the life of yon prating archer-fellow, and behold
+my belt lacketh for one notch, which is well. So come, let us go our
+ways, thou and I, for I love not your talkers, and this fellow hath
+overmuch to say."
+
+But now, ere Beltane could make reply, came the hairy man--but behold
+his rags had given place to fair garments of tanned leather (albeit
+something small) together with steel cap and shirt of ringed mail, and,
+about his middle, a broad belt where swung a heavy sword; being come to
+Beltane he paused leaning upon his axe, and gazed upon him fierce-eyed:
+
+"Messire," said he, "who ye are I know not, what ye are I care not, for
+art quick of foot and mighty of arm, and when ye fight, cry a point of
+war, a battle-shout I knew aforetime ere they enslaved and made of me a
+serf--and thus it is I would follow thee."
+
+Quoth Beltane, his aching head upon his hand:
+
+"Whither?"
+
+"To death if needs be, for a man must die soon or late, yet die but
+once whether it be by the steel, or flame, or rope. So what matter the
+way of it, if I may stand with this my axe face to face with Gilles of
+Brandonmere, or Red Pertolepe of Garthlaxton Keep: 'twas for this I
+followed his foresters."
+
+"Who and whence are you?"
+
+"Walkyn o' the Dene they call me hereabouts--though I had another name
+once--but 'twas long ago, when I marched, a lad, 'neath the banner of
+Beltane the Strong!"
+
+"What talk be this?" grunted Black Roger, threatening of mien, "my lord
+and I be under a vow and must begone, and want no runaway serf crawling
+at our heels!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Walkyn, "spake I to thee, hangman? Forsooth, well do I know
+thee, Roger the Black: come ye into the glade yonder, so will I split
+thy black poll for thee--thou surly dog!"
+
+Forth leapt Black Roger's sword, back swung Walkyn's glittering axe,
+but Beltane was between, and, as they stood thus came Giles o' the Bow:
+
+"Oho!" he laughed, "must ye be at it yet? Have we not together slain of
+Sir Pertolepe's foresters a round score?--"
+
+"'Twas but nineteen!" growled Roger, frowning at Walkyn.
+
+"So will I make of this hangman the twentieth!" said Walkyn, frowning
+at Roger.
+
+"'Tis a sweet thought," laughed the archer, "to it, lads, and slay each
+other as soon as ye may, and my blessings on ye. As for us, Sir
+Paladin, let us away--'tis true we together might give check to an
+army, yet, minding Sir Pertolepe's nineteen foresters, 'twere wiser to
+hie us from Sir Pertolepe's country for the nonce: so march, tall
+brother--march!"
+
+"Ha!" snarled Walkyn, "fear ye Red Pertolepe yet, bowman? Well, we want
+ye not, my lord and I, he hath a sword and I an axe--they shall suffice
+us, mayhap, an Pertolepe come. So hie thee hence with the hangman and
+save thy rogue's skin."
+
+"And may ye dangle in a noose yet for a prating do-nothing!" growled
+Roger.
+
+"Oho!" laughed Giles, with a flash of white teeth, "a hangman and a
+serf--must I slay both?" But, ere he could draw sword, came a voice
+from the shadows near by--a deep voice, clear and very sweet:
+
+"Oh, children," said the voice, "oh, children of God, put up your
+steel and pray for one whose white soul doth mount e'en now to heaven!"
+and forth into the light came one clad as a white friar--a tall man and
+slender, and upon his shoulder he bare a mattock that gleamed beneath
+the moon. His coarse, white robe, frayed and worn, was stained with
+earth and the green of grass, and was splashed, here and there, with a
+darker stain; pale was he, and hollow-cheeked, but with eyes that
+gleamed 'neath black brows and with chin long and purposeful. Now at
+sight of him, fierce-eyed Walkyn cried aloud and flung aside his axe
+and, falling on his knees, caught the friar's threadbare robe and
+kissed it.
+
+"Good brother!" he groaned, "O, gentle brother Martin, pity me!"
+
+"What, Walkyn?" quoth the friar. "What do ye thus equipped and so far
+from home?"
+
+"Home have I none, henceforth, O my father."
+
+"Ah! What then of thy wife, Truda--of thy little son?"
+
+"Dead, my father. Red Pertolepe's men slew them this day within the
+green. So, when I had buried them, I took my axe and left them with
+God: yet shall my soul go lonely, methinks, until my time be come."
+
+Then Friar Martin reached out his hand and laid it upon Walkyn's bowed
+head: and, though the hand was hard and toil-worn, the touch of it was
+ineffably gentle, and he spake with eyes upraised to heaven:
+
+"O Christ of Pity, look down upon this stricken soul, be Thou his stay
+and comfort. Teach him, in his grief and sorrow, to pity the woes of
+others, that, in comforting his fellows, he may himself find comfort."
+
+Now when the prayer was ended he turned and looked upon the others,
+and, beholding Beltane in his might and glittering mail, he spake,
+saluting him as one of rank.
+
+"Sir Knight," said he, "do these men follow thee?"
+
+"Aye, verily," cried the archer, "that do I in sooth--_Verbum sat
+sapienti_--good friar."
+
+"Not so," growled Roger, "'tis but a pestilent archer that seeketh but
+base hire. I only am my lord's man, sworn to aid him in his vow." "I
+also," quoth Walkyn, "an so my lord wills?"
+
+"So shall it be," sighed Beltane, his hand upon his throbbing brow.
+
+"And what have ye in mind to do?"
+
+"Forsooth," cried Giles, "to fight, good friar, _manibus pedibusque_."
+
+"To obey my lord," said Roger, "and speak good Saxon English."
+
+"To adventure my body in battle with joyful heart," quoth Walkyn.
+
+"To make an end of tyranny!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Alas!" said the friar, "within this doleful Duchy be tyrants a many,
+and ye are but four, meseemeth; yet if within your hearts be room for
+pity--follow me, and I will show you a sight, mayhap shall nerve you
+strong as giants. Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed the white friar with the three upon his heels who
+wrangled now no more; and in a while the friar paused beside a new-digged
+grave.
+
+"Behold," said he, "the bed where we, each one, must sleep some day,
+and yet 'tis cold and hard, methinks, for one so young and tender!" So
+saying he sighed, and turning, brought them to a hut near by, an humble
+dwelling of mud and wattles, dim-lighted by a glimmering rush. But,
+being come within the hut Beltane stayed of a sudden and held his
+breath, staring wide-eyed at that which lay so still: then, baring his
+head, sank upon his knees.
+
+She lay outstretched upon a bed of fern, and looked as one that sleeps
+save for the deathly pallor of her cheek and still and pulseless bosom:
+and she was young, and of a wondrous, gentle beauty.
+
+"Behold," said the friar, "but one short hour agone this was alive--a
+child of God, pure of heart and undefiled. These gentle hands lie
+stilled forever: this sweet, white body (O shame of men!) blasted by
+brutality, maimed and torn--is nought but piteous clay to moulder in
+the year. Yet doth her radiant soul lie on the breast of God forever,
+since she, for honour, died the death--Behold!" So saying, the friar
+with sudden hand laid bare the still and marble bosom; and, beholding
+the red horror wrought there by cruel steel, Beltane rose up, and
+taking off his cloak, therewith reverently covered the pale, dead
+beauty of her, and so stood awhile with eyes close shut and spake,
+soft-voiced and slow, 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"How--came this--thing?"
+
+"She was captive to Sir Pertolepe, by him taken in a raid, and he would
+have had her to his will: yet, by aid of my lord's jester, she escaped
+and fled hither. But Sir Pertolepe's foresters pursued and took her
+and--so is she dead: may God requite them!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, hoarse-voiced, "so do they all lie dead
+within the green!"
+
+"Save one!" said Roger.
+
+"But he sore wounded!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"How!" cried the friar aghast, "have ye indeed slain Sir Pertolepe's
+foresters?"
+
+"Nineteen!" nodded Roger, grimly.
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, "may God save the poor folk hereabouts, for
+now will Sir Pertolepe wreak vengeance dire upon them."
+
+"Then," said Beltane, "then must I have word with Sir Pertolepe."
+
+Now when he said this, Black Roger stared agape and even the archer's
+tongue failed him for once; but Walkyn smiled and gripped his axe.
+
+"Art mad, tall brother!" cried Giles at length, "Sir Pertolepe would
+hang thee out of hand, or throw thee to his dogs!"
+
+"Lord," said Roger, "Sir Pertolepe hath ten score men-at-arms in
+Garthlaxton, beside bowmen and foresters."
+
+"There should be good work for mine axe!" smiled Walkyn.
+
+"None the less must I speak with him," said Beltane, and turned him to
+the door.
+
+"Then will I die with thee, lord," growled Roger.
+
+"So will I come and watch thee die--hangman, and loose a shaft or two
+on mine own account!"
+
+But now, of a sudden, Walkyn raised a warning hand.
+
+"Hark!" said he: and, in a while, as they listened, upon the stillness
+came a rustle of leaves and thereafter a creeping step drawing slowly
+nearer: then swift and soft-treading, Walkyn stole out into the
+shadows.
+
+Very soon he returned, leading a woman, pale and haggard, who clasped
+a babe within her threadbare cloak; her eyes were red and sore with
+much weeping and upon the threshold she paused as one in sudden fear,
+but espying the friar, she uttered a cry:
+
+"O Father Martin--good father--pray, pray for the soul of him who is
+father to my child, but who at dawn must die with many others upon my
+lord Duke's great gallows!"
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, wringing his hands, "what news is this?"
+
+"O good friar," sobbed the woman, "my lord's hand hath been so heavy
+upon us of late--so heavy: and there came messengers from Thrasfordham
+in Bourne bidding us thither with fair promises:--and my father, being
+head of our village, hearkened to them and we made ready to cross into
+Bourne. But my lord came upon us and burned our village of Shallowford
+and lashed my father with whips and thereafter hanged him, and took my
+man and many others and cast them into the great dungeon at Belsaye--
+and with the dawn they must hang upon the Duke's great gallows."
+
+So she ended and stood weeping as one that is hopeless and weary. But
+of a sudden she screamed and pointed at Black Roger with her finger:
+
+"'Tis Roger!" she cried, "'tis Black Roger, that slew my father!"
+
+Then Roger the Black groaned and hid his face within his arm and shrank
+before the woman's outstretched finger and, groaning, cowered to his
+knees; whereupon the archer turned his back and spat upon the floor
+while Walkyn glared and fingered his great axe: but in this moment my
+Beltane came beside him and laid his hand on Roger's stooping shoulder.
+
+"Nay," said he, "this is my friend henceforth, a man among men, who
+liveth to do great things as thus: To-night he will give back to thee
+the father of thy child, and break open the dungeon of Belsaye!"
+
+Thus spake my Beltane while all stared at his saying and held their
+peace because of their amaze: only Black Roger turned of a sudden and
+caught his hand and kissed it savagely.
+
+"Sir," said the woman, peering up in Beltane's face, "Lord--ah, would
+ye mock the weak and helpless--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane gently, "as God seeth me, to-night the prisoners
+shall go free, or this man and I die with them. So now be comforted--go
+you to Bourne, to Sir Benedict within Thrasfordham Keep, and say you
+come from Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon, who swore thee, by the honour of
+the Duke Beltane his father, that never again shall a man hang from the
+great gallows of Black Ivo the usurper--from this night it shall cease
+to be!"
+
+Now would the woman have knelt and kissed his hand, but Beltane smiled
+and brought her to the door. Then, wondering and amazed, she made her
+obeisance to Beltane and with her babe clasped to her bosom went forth
+into the night. Thereafter Beltane turned and looked grave-eyed upon
+the three.
+
+"My masters," quoth he, "ye have heard my words, how this night I go to
+take down Black Ivo's great gallows. Come ye with me? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried the three in one acclaim.
+
+"Do ye then stand with me henceforth 'gainst Black Ivo and all his
+might? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried they again.
+
+Then Beltane smiled and drew his sword and came to them, the great
+blade gleaming in his hand.
+
+"'Tis well!" said he, "but first come now and lay your hands here upon
+my sword and swear me this, each one,--To follow ever where I shall
+lead, to abide henceforth in brotherhood together, to smite evil within
+you and without, to be pitiful to the weak, and to honour God at all
+times."
+
+Then did the three, being upon their knees, lay their hands upon the
+sword and swear the oath as Beltane commanded; now came the white friar
+and stared upon the sword and beholding the motto graven in the steel,
+lifted up his hand to heaven and cried aloud:--
+
+"Now greeting and fair greeting to thee, lord Duke, may thy body be
+strong for war and thy head wise in the council, for Pentavalon hath
+dire need of thee, Beltane, son of Duke Beltane the Strong. Moreover I
+was sent to thee by Sir Benedict of Bourne who bids thee 'Arise and
+follow' for that the time is at hand."
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "art thou indeed from Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Even so, lord. In Thrasfordham be seven hundred chosen men-at-arms,
+and within Bourne, mayhap a thousand more. It is become a haven for
+those that flee from tyranny and bitter wrong. As for me, I journey
+where I will within the Duchy, serving the poor and ministering to the
+broken-hearted, and everywhere is black sin and suffering and death. So
+now in the name of these oppressed do I give thee welcome to this thy
+sorrowful Duchy, and may God make of thee Duke indeed!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Duke am I in blood and Duke will I yet be in very sooth an God so will
+it." Then turning to the three, who stood hearkening open-mouthed and
+wide of eye, he smiled and reached to them his hand.
+
+"Good friends," said he, "knowing nought of me yet were ye willing to
+follow my fortunes. For this do I thank ye one and all, and so shall my
+fortune, high or low, be thine, henceforth. To-day is Ivo Duke, and I
+thy companion-in-arms, no more, no less--this, I pray you all,
+remember."
+
+So saying, Beltane sheathed his sword and beholding Friar Martin on his
+knees beside that muffled figure, he knelt also, and the three with
+him. Thereafter at a sign from the friar, Beltane stooped and raised
+this slender, shrouded figure in his arms and reverently bore it out
+into the shadows.
+
+And there, all in the tender radiance of the moon, they buried her
+whose name they never knew, and stood a while in silence. Then,
+pointing to the new-turned earth, Friar Martin spake soft-voiced:
+
+"Lo, here--in but a little time, wild flowers shall bloom above her--
+yet none purer or sweeter than she! In a little shall the grass be
+green again, and she sleep here forgot by all--save God! And God, my
+brothers, is a gentle God and very pitiful--so now do we leave her in
+God's abiding care."
+
+And presently they turned, soft-footed, and went upon their way leaving
+the place to solitude.
+
+But from the vault of heaven the stars looked down upon that lonely
+grave like the watching eyes of holy angels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+
+Scarce a mile without the walls of the fair city of Belsaye my lord
+Duke had builded him a great gallows, had set it high upon a hill for
+all the world to see; from whose lofty cross-beams five score rogues
+had hanged ere now, had writhed and kicked their lives away and rotted
+there in company, that all the world might know how potent was the
+anger of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Day in, day out, from rosy morn till dewy eve, it frowned upon Belsaye,
+a thing of doom whose grim sight should warn rebellious townsfolk to
+dutiful submission; by night it loomed, a dim-seen, brooding horror,
+whose loathsome reek should mind them how all rogues must end that
+dared lift hand or voice against my lord Duke, or those proud barons,
+lords, and knights who, by his pleasure, held their fiefs with rights
+of justice, the high, the middle and the low.
+
+Day in, day out, the men of Belsaye eyed it askance 'neath scowling
+brows and, by night, many a clenched hand was shaken and many a
+whispered malediction sped, toward that thing of doom that menaced them
+from the dark.
+
+To-night the moon was full, and thus, following Friar Martin's bony
+outstretched finger, Beltane of a sudden espied afar the Duke's great
+gallows, rising grisly and stark against the moon's round splendour. So
+for a space, standing yet within the shade of the woods, Beltane stared
+fierce-eyed, the while Giles, with Roger at his elbow, pointed out
+divers shapes that dangled high in air, at sight of which the friar
+knelt with bowed head and lips that moved in prayer: and Walkyn,
+scowling, muttered in his beard.
+
+"Messire," said the archer, "my lord Duke's gallows is great and very
+strong, and we but five all told!"
+
+"I have mine axe!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Had we fifty axes we scarce should bring it down ere dawn: moreover,
+the night is very still and sounds carry far--"
+
+"Nathless," quoth Roger, "to-night we surely shall destroy it--my lord
+hath said so."
+
+"Aye--but how?" questioned Giles. "In Belsaye is that pale fox Sir Gui
+of Allerdale with many trusty men-at-arms to hold the town for Black
+Ivo and teach Belsaye its duty: how may we destroy my lord Duke's
+gallows 'neath the very beards of my lord Duke's garrison, wilt tell me
+that, my good, Black Rogerkin?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "that will I--when I have asked my lord." So
+saying, he came and touched Beltane and humbly put the question.
+
+Then, with his gaze yet upon the gallows, Beltane sighed and answered:
+
+"There hath been no rain for weeks, look you: the underbrush is dry,
+methinks, and should burn well!"
+
+"Aye, for sure," said Roger, "we shall burn Black Ivo's gallows to
+ashes, bowman, and a good end 'twill be."
+
+"By fire!" cried the archer, aghast, "but lord, so soon as they shall
+see the flames, Sir Gui and his men will sally out upon us!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "for we shall sally in."
+
+"Into Belsaye, mean you, lord?"
+
+"Certes," answered Beltane, "how else may we break open the dungeon?
+The night is young yet, but we have much to do--follow!" So saying,
+Beltane turned and keeping ever within the shadow of the trees, set off
+towards that distant hill where stood the gallows, black against the
+moon.
+
+Swiftly they went and for the most part in silence, for Beltane's mind
+was busied upon many matters.
+
+So betimes they climbed the hill and stood at last beneath the gallows,
+and, glancing up, Beltane beheld noisome shapes, black and shrivelled,
+that once had lived and laughed. Forthwith he drew his sword and fell
+to cutting down the brush, whereat friar Martin, girding up his frock,
+took Walkyn's sword and fell to likewise.
+
+Now, as Beltane laboured thus, he was suddenly aware of a wild and
+ragged figure, the which started up before him as if from the very
+ground. An old man he was, bent with years, yet with eyes that burned
+fierce and undimmed 'neath hoary brows, and shrivelled hands that
+gripped upon a rusty sword.
+
+"Who are ye," he cried, harsh-voiced, "who are ye that disturb this
+woeful place? 'Tis here that men are dragged to die--and, being dead,
+do hang i' the air to rot and rot--and thereby hangs a tale of wolves
+that howl and birds that shriek, aha!--carrion crows and hook-billed
+kites--they be well gorged since Ivo came. 'Caw!' they cry, 'caw!'--
+soft child's flesh and the flesh of tender maids--aha!--I know--I've
+watched--I've seen! Ah! since my lord Duke Beltane died, what sights
+these eyes have seen!"
+
+"Old man," quoth Beltane, bending near, "who art thou?"
+
+"I am the ghost that haunts this place, but, ages since, I was Sir
+Robert Bellesme of Garthlaxton Keep. But my wife they slew, my daughter
+ravished from me--and my son--Ah! Christ--my son! They hanged him here
+--yonder he hung, and I, his father, watched him die. But, by night,
+when all was still, I crept hither and found a hole to shelter me. And
+here I stayed to watch over him--my son who hung so quiet and so still.
+And the rough wind buffeted him, the cruel rain lashed him, and the hot
+sun scorched him, but still he hung there, so high!--so high! Yet I
+waited, for the strongest rope will break in time. And upon a moony
+night, he fell, and I gathered him in my arms, close here against my
+heart, and buried him--where none can know--save God. Many others have
+I buried also, for the strongest cords must break in time! And folk do
+say the devil bears them hence, since none are ever found--but I know
+where they lie--six hundred and seventy and nine--I know--these hands
+have buried them and I have kept a tally. Ah!--but you, gentle youth,
+what would ye here?"
+
+"Burn down the gallows," said Beltane, "'tis an accursed thing, so
+shall it shame earth and heaven no longer."
+
+"How!--how!" cried the ancient man, letting fall his rusty sword,
+"Destroy Black Ivo's gibbet? Dare ye--dare ye such a thing indeed? Are
+there men with souls unconquered yet? Methought all such were old, or
+dead, or fled away--dare ye this, youth?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane. "Watch now!" and hereupon he, together with the
+others, fell to hewing down the dry brush with might and main, and
+piling it about the gibbet's massy beams, while the ancient man,
+perched upon a rock hard by, watched them 'neath his shaggy brows and
+laughed soft and shrill.
+
+"Aha!" he cried, "the fire ye kindle here shall set the Duchy in a
+flame mayhap, to burn Black Ivo with Gui of Allerdale and Red
+Pertolepe--mayhap! For them, fire on earth and flame in hell--aha! To
+burn the gibbet! 'tis well bethought: so shall carrion kite and jay go
+light-bellied hereabouts, mayhap, oho! 'Caw,' they shall cry, 'Caw--
+give us to eat--fair white flesh!' Yet how may they eat when the
+gallows is no more?"
+
+Thus spake he with shrill laughter while Beltane laboured until the
+sweat ran from him, while Walkyn's great axe flashed and fell near by
+and steel glittered among the underbrush that clothed the slopes of the
+hill.
+
+Very soon they had stacked great piles of kindling about the gallows'
+weather-beaten timbers--twigs below, faggots above--cunningly ordered
+and higher than Beltane's head. Now as Beltane leaned upon his sword to
+wipe the sweat from his eyes, came Roger and Walkyn yet panting from
+their labour.
+
+"Master," said Roger, "they should burn well, I trow, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth Walkyn, "these beams be thick: methinks, when the
+others go, one man should stay to tend the fires until the flame gets
+fair hold--"
+
+"And that man I!" said Roger.
+
+"No, no," frowned Walkyn, "an one of us must die, it shall be me--"
+
+But now came the ancient man, leaning upon his ancient weapon.
+
+"No, children," said he, "'tis for age to die--death is sweet to the
+old and weary: so will I tend the fire. Yet, beseech thee, grant me
+this: that these my hands shall fire the gallows whereon they hanged my
+son, long ago: young was he, and tall--scarce yet a man--they hanged
+him yonder, so high--so high--so far beyond my care: and the carrion
+birds--kites, see you, and crows--and the wind and rain and dark--Ah,
+God! my son! I am but an old man and feeble, yet, beseech thee, let
+this be the hand to fire Black Ivo's gibbet!"
+
+Then Beltane took from his pouch flint and steel and tinder and gave
+them to the old man's trembling fingers as Giles o' the Bow came
+running with the stalwart friar behind him.
+
+So, while the five stood hushed and wide of eye, the old man knelt
+before them in his rags and struck flint to steel. Once he struck, and
+twice--and behold a spark that leapt to a small flame that died to a
+glow; but now, flat upon his belly lay Giles and, pursing his lips,
+puffed and blew until the glow brightened, spread, and burst into a
+crackling flame that leapt from twig to twig. And when the fire waxed
+hot, Beltane took thence a glowing brand, and, coming to the other
+great pile, fired it therewith. Up rose the flames high and higher
+until they began to lick, pale-tongued, about the gibbet's two great
+supporting timbers, and ever as they rose, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and
+the friar, laboured amain, stacking logs near by wherewith to feed the
+fires.
+
+"Enough," said Beltane at last, "it shall suffice, methinks."
+
+"Suffice?" cried the old man, his eyes bright in the ruddy glow, "aye,
+it shall suffice, sweet boy. See--see, the timbers catch e'en now. Ha!
+burn, good fire--eat, hungry flame! O, happy sight--would my dear son
+were here--they hanged his fair young body, but his soul--Ha, his
+soul! O souls of hanged men--O spirits of the dead, come about me, ye
+ghosts of murdered youth, come and behold the gibbet burn whereon ye
+died. What--are ye there, amid the smoke, so soon? Come then, let us
+dance together and trip it lightly to and fro--merrily, merrily! Hey
+boy, so ho then--so ho, and away we go!" Hereupon, tossing up gaunt
+arms, the old man fell to dancing and capering amid the sparks and
+rolling smoke, filling the air with wild talk and gabbling high-pitched
+laughter that rose above the roar of the fires. And so in a while
+Beltane, sighing, turned and led the way down the hill towards the
+glooming shadow of the woods; but ever as they went the flames waxed
+fiercer behind them and the madman's laughter shrilled upon the air.
+
+Swift-footed they plunged into the underbrush and thus hidden began to
+close in upon Belsaye town. And of a sudden they heard a cry, and
+thereafter the shattering blare of a trumpet upon the walls. And now
+from within the waking city rose a confused sound, a hum that grew
+louder and ever more loud, pierced by shout and trumpet-blast while
+high above this growing clamour the tocsin pealed alarm.
+
+Thus, in a while the trembling citizens of Belsaye, starting from their
+slumber, stared in pallid amaze beholding afar a great and fiery gibbet
+whose flames, leaping heavenward, seemed to quench the moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+
+Being yet in the shade of the woods, Beltane paused, hearkening to the
+distant uproar of Belsaye town and watching the torches that hovered
+upon its walls and the cressets that glowed on tower and bartizan.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth the friar, setting his rumpled frock in order,
+"are ye minded still to adventure breaking ope the dungeon of Belsaye?"
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded Beltane. "Know you the city, good friar?"
+
+"That do I, my brother: every lane and street, every hole and corner of
+it--'twas there I first drew breath. A fair, rich city, freed by
+charter long ago--but now, alas, its freedom snatched away, its ancient
+charter gone, it bleeds 'neath a pale-cheeked tyrant's sway--a pallid
+man who laughs soft-voiced to see men die, and smiles upon their
+anguish. O Belsaye, grievous are thy wrongs since Ivo came five years
+agone and gave thee up to pillage and to ravishment. O hateful day! O
+day of shame! What sights I saw--what sounds I heard--man-groans and
+screams of women to rend high heaven and shake the throne of God,
+methinks. I see--I hear them yet, and must forever. Jesu, pity!" and
+leaning against a tree near by, the stalwart friar shivered violently
+and hid his eyes.
+
+"Why, good brother Martin," said Beltane, setting an arm about him,
+"doth memory pain thee so, indeed? good Brother Martin, be comforted--"
+
+"Nay, nay--'tis past, but--O my son, I--had a sister!" said the good
+friar, and groaned. Yet in a while he raised his head and spake again:
+"And when Duke Ivo had wrought his will upon the city, he builded the
+great gibbet yonder and hanged it full with men cheek by jowl, and left
+Sir Gui the cruel with ten score chosen men for garrison. But the men
+of Belsaye have stubborn memories; Sir Gui and his butchers slumber in
+a false security, for stern men are they and strong, and wait but God's
+appointed time. Pray God that time be soon!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane. Now, even as he spake came the sound of a distant
+tucket, the great gates of Belsaye swung wide, and forth rode a company
+of men-at-arms, their bascinets agleam 'neath the moon.
+
+"Now!" spake the friar, "and you are for Belsaye, my brother, follow
+me; I know a way--albeit a moist way and something evil--but an you
+will follow,--come!" So saying Friar Martin set off among the trees,
+and Beltane, beckoning to the others, followed close. Fast strode the
+friar, his white robe fluttering on before, through moonlight and
+shadow, until they reached a brook or freshet that ran bubbling betwixt
+flowery banks; beside this strode the tall friar, following its winding
+course, until before them, amid the shadow--yet darker than the shadow
+--loomed high an embattled flanking tower of the walls of Belsaye town;
+but ever before them flitted the friar's white gown, on and on until
+the freshet became a slow-moving river, barring their advance--a broad
+river that whispered among the reeds on the one side and lapped against
+rugged wall on the other.
+
+Here the friar stayed to glance from gloomy wall and turret to fast
+waning moon on their left, then, girding up his gown, he stepped down
+into the reeds, and a moment later they saw him--to their amaze--
+fording the river that flowed scarce knee deep.
+
+So, needfully, Beltane followed, and, stepping into the water found his
+feet upon a narrow causeway cunningly devised. Thus, slowly and
+carefully, because of the flowing of the water, they came betimes to
+where the friar waited in the shadow of the massy wall; yet, even as
+they came near, the friar waved his arm, stooped--and was gone; whereon
+my Beltane stared amazed and the three muttered uneasily behind him.
+But, coming nearer, Beltane espied above the hurrying waters the curve
+of an arch or tunnel, and pointing it to the others, took a great
+breath and, stooping beneath the water, stumbled on and on until it
+shallowed, and he was free to breathe again.
+
+On he went, through water now breast-high, with slimy walls above him
+and around, seeing naught by reason of the pitchy blackness, and
+hearing only the smothered splash of those behind, and gasping breaths
+that boomed hollow in the dark. Yet presently he saw a gleam before him
+that broadened with each step, and, of a sudden, was out beneath the
+sky--a narrow strip wherein stars twinkled, and so beheld again friar
+Martin's white frock flitting on, ghost-like, before. In a while he
+brought them to a slimy stair, and climbing this, with ever growing
+caution, they found themselves at last beneath the frowning shadow of
+the citadel within the walls of Belsaye town. Now, looking north,
+Beltane beheld afar a fiery gallows that flamed to heaven, and from the
+town thitherward came a confused hum of the multitude who watched; but
+hereabouts the town seemed all deserted.
+
+"The dungeons lie beneath our feet," whispered Friar Martin. "Come!"
+
+So, keeping ever in the shadow of the great square keep, they went on,
+soft-treading and alert of eye till, being come to the angle of the
+wall, the friar stayed of a sudden and raised a warning hand. Then came
+Beltane with Walkyn close behind, and peering over the friar's broad
+shoulders, they beheld a sentinel who stood with his back to them,
+leaning on his spear, to watch the burning gallows, his chain-mail
+agleam and his head-piece glittering as he stirred lazily in time to
+the merry lilt he sang softly.
+
+Then, or ever Beltane could stay him, Walkyn o' the Dene laid by his
+axe, and, his soaked shoes soundless upon the stones, began to steal
+upon the unconscious singer, who yet lolled upon his spear some thirty
+paces away. With great body bowed forward and hairy fingers crooked,
+Walkyn stole upon him; six paces he went, ten--twenty--twenty-five--
+the soldier ceased his humming, stood erect and turned about; and
+Walkyn leapt--bore him backward down into the shadow--a shadow wherein
+their bodies writhed and twisted silently awhile. When Walkyn rose out
+of the shadow and beckoned them on.
+
+So, following ever the friar's lead, they came to a narrow doorway
+that gave upon a small guard-room lighted by a smoking torch socketed
+to the wall. The place was empty, save for a medley of arms stacked in
+corners, wherefore, treading cautiously, the friar led them a-down a
+narrow passage and so to a second and larger chamber where burned a
+fire of logs. Upon the walls hung shining head-pieces; cloaks and
+mantles lay where they had been flung on bench and floor, but none was
+there to give them let or hindrance. Then Friar Martin took a torch
+that smoked near by, and, crossing to the hearth, reached down a massy
+key from the wall, and with this in his hand, came to a door half
+hidden in a corner, beyond which were steps that wound downwards into
+the dark, a darkness close and dank, and heavy with corruption.
+
+But on went the friar--his torch lighting the way--down and ever down
+until they trod a narrow way 'twixt reeking walls, where breathed an
+air so close and foul the very torch languished. At length the friar
+stopped before a mighty door, thick-banded with iron bars and with
+massy bolts, and while Beltane held the torch, he fitted key to lock
+and thereafter the great door swung on screaming hinge and showed a
+dungeon beyond--a place foul and noisome, where divers pale-faced
+wretches lay or crouched, blinking in the torch's glare.
+
+"What?" cried one, coming to his feet, a squat broad-shouldered man--
+"be this the dawn so soon? Well, we be ready, better to hang i' the
+clean air than rot in a dungeon, say I. So we be ready, eh, my
+brothers?"
+
+But now, some groaned and wept and others laughed, while yet others got
+them to their knees, bowed of head and silent. Then went in the friar
+to them and laid his hands upon the squat man's shoulder and spake him
+gently.
+
+"And is it Osric," said he. "Day is not yet, my son, nor with the day
+shalt thou die nor any here, an ye be silent all and follow where we
+lead, soft-footed, so will we bring you to God's good world again.
+Rise, then, each one, speak nothing, but follow!"
+
+So then did these men, snatched of a sudden from the horror of death to
+the hope of new life, follow on stumbling feet, out from the noisome
+gloom of the dungeon, out from the clammy air breathing of death, up
+the narrow winding stair; and with each step came strength and manhood.
+Thus as they strode forth of the frowning keep, each man bore sword or
+gisarm. So, with breath in cheek, but hearts high-beating, they came
+one and all, to where the slimy stair led down into the gloom. Yet here
+Friar Martin paused, sighing, to look behind, whence rose the distant
+hum of those thronging townsfolk who yet crowded wall and street and
+market square to watch the gallows burn.
+
+"Now sweet Christ shield ye, good people of Belsaye!" he sighed.
+
+"What mean ye, my brother?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Alas! my son," groaned the friar, "I needs must think upon the coming
+day and of the vengeance of Sir Gui for this our work!"
+
+"His vengeance, friar?"
+
+"There will be torture and death busy hereabouts tomorrow, my son,
+for, the prisoners being gone, so will Sir Gui vent his anger on the
+townsfolk--'tis ever his custom--"
+
+"Ha!" quoth my Beltane, knitting his brows, "I had not thought on
+this!"--and with the word, he turned him back, drawing on his hood of
+mail.
+
+"Come, lord," whispered Black Roger in his ear, "let us be going while
+yet we may."
+
+"Aye, come, my son," spake the friar, low-voiced. "Tarry not, Belsaye
+is in the hand of God! Nay, what would you?"
+
+"I must go back," said Beltane, loosening sword in scabbard, "for needs
+must I this night have word with Gui of Allerdale."
+
+"Nay," whispered the friar, with pleading hand on Beltane's arm, "'tis
+thing impossible--"
+
+"Yet must I try, good brother--"
+
+"Ah, dear my son, 'twill be thy death--"
+
+"Why look you, gentle friar, I am in Belsaye, and Belsaye 'is in the
+hand of God!' So fear not for me, but go you all and wait for me beyond
+the river. And, if I come not within the hour, then press on with speed
+for Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say to Sir Benedict that, while
+_he_ liveth to draw sword, so is there hope for Pentavalon. But now--
+quick!--where lodgeth Sir Gui?"
+
+"Within the keep--there is a stair doth mount within the thickness of
+the wall--nay, I will be thy guide if go indeed thou must--"
+
+"Not so, good friar, be it thy duty to lead these prisoners to freedom
+and to safety within Bourne."
+
+"Then will I come," whispered Roger hoarse and eager, as the friar
+turned slow-footed to follow the others adown the slippery stair,
+"beseech thee, lord, thy man am I, twice sworn to thee till death, so
+suffer me beside thee."
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "Pentavalon's need of thee is greater e'en than
+mine, therefore will I adventure this thing alone. Go you with the
+friar, my Roger, and so farewell to each."
+
+"God keep thee, noble son!" whispered the friar, his hand upraised in
+blessing: but Roger stood, chin on breast and spake no word.
+
+Then Beltane turned him and sped away, soft-treading in the shadow of
+the great keep.
+
+The waning moon cast shadows black and long, and in these shadows
+Beltane crept and so, betimes, came within the outer guard-room and to
+the room beyond; and here beheld a low-arched doorway whence steps led
+upward,--a narrow stair, gloomy and winding, whose velvet blackness
+was stabbed here and there by moonlight, flooding through some deep-set
+arrow-slit. Up he went, and up, pausing once with breath in check,
+fancying he heard the stealthy sound of one who climbed behind him in
+the black void below; thus stayed he a moment, with eyes that strove to
+pierce the gloom, and with naked dagger clenched to smite, yet heard
+nought, save the faint whisper of his own mail, and the soft tap of his
+long scabbard against the wall; wherefore he presently sped on again,
+climbing swiftly up the narrow stair. Thus, in a while, he beheld a
+door above: a small door, yet stout and strong, a door that stood ajar,
+whence came a beam of yellow light.
+
+So, with sure and steady hand, Beltane set wide the door, that creaked
+faintly in the stillness, and beheld a small, square chamber where was
+a narrow window, and, in this window, a mail-clad man lolled, his
+unhelmed head thrust far without, to watch the glow that leapt against
+the northern sky.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger and, in three long strides was close
+behind, and, stooping above the man, sought and found his hairy throat,
+and swung him, mighty-armed, that his head struck the wall; then
+Beltane, sighing, laid him upon the floor and turned toward a certain
+arras-hung arch: but, or ever his hand came upon this curtain, from
+beyond a voice hailed--a voice soft and musical.
+
+"Hugo--O Hugo, spawn of hell, hither to me!"
+
+Then Beltane, lifting the curtain, opened the door and, striding into
+the chamber beyond, closed and barred the door behind him, and so
+stood, tall and menacing, looking on one who sat at a table busied with
+pen and ink-horn. A slender man this, and richly habited: a sleepy-eyed
+man, pale of cheek, with long, down-curving nose, and mouth thin-lipped
+and masterful, who, presently lifting his head, stared up in amaze,
+sleepy-eyed no longer: for now, beholding Beltane the mighty, sheathed
+in mail from head to foot, the pen dropped from his fingers and his
+long pale hands slowly clenched themselves.
+
+So, for a space, they fronted each other, speaking not, while eye met
+eye unswerving--the menacing blue and the challenging black, and,
+through the open casement near by came a ruddy glow that flickered on
+arras-hung wall and rugged roof-beam. Now raising his hand, Beltane
+pointed toward this glowing window.
+
+"Sir Gui," quoth he, "Lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, thou hast good
+eyes--look now, and tell me what ye see."
+
+"I see," said Sir Gui, stirring not, "I see a presumptuous knave--a dog
+who shall be flung headlong from the turret. Ha! Hugo!" he called, his
+black eyes yet unswerving, "O Hugo, son of the fiend, hither to me!"
+
+"Trouble not, my lord," quoth Beltane gently, "behold, the door is
+barred: moreover, Hugo lieth without--pray God I have not killed him.
+But, as for thee--look yonder, use thine eyes and speak me what thou
+dost see."
+
+But Sir Gui sat on, his thin lips upcurling to a smile, his black eyes
+unswerving: wherefore came Beltane and seized him in fierce hands and
+plucked him to his feet and so brought him to the window.
+
+"Ha!" he cried, "look now and tell me what ye see. Speak! speak--for,
+God help me! now am I minded to kill thee here and now, unarmed though
+ye be, and cast thy carrion to the dogs--speak!"
+
+Now, beholding the mail-clad face above him, the blue eyes aflame, the
+pale lips tight-drawn, Sir Gui, Seneschal of Belsaye, spake soft-voiced
+on this wise:
+
+"I see my lord Duke's gallows go up in flame--wherefore men shall die!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "said I not thine eyes were good, Lord
+Seneschal? Now, use thine ears--hearken! 'Twas I and five others, men
+from beyond the marches, fired this night Black Ivo's gibbet, moreover,
+to-night also have we broke the dungeon that lieth beneath this thy
+keep, and set thy prisoners free--I and these five, all men from the
+north, mark me this well! This have we done for a sign and portent--ha!
+look!" and Beltane pointed of a sudden to where the great gallows,
+outlined against the night in seething flame, swayed to and fro,
+crumbled, and crashed to earth 'mid whirling sparks and flame, while,
+from the town below rose a murmur that swelled and swelled to a shout,
+and so was gone.
+
+"Behold, lord Seneschal, Black Ivo's gallows to-night hath ceased to
+be: here is a sign, let those heed it that will. But for thee--this!
+To-night have I burned this gallows, to-night have I freed thy
+prisoners. Upon me therefore, and only me, be the penalty; for--mark me
+this, Seneschal!--spill but one drop of blood of these innocents of
+Belsaye, and, as God seeth me, so will I hunt thee down, and take thee
+and tear out thine eyes, and cut off thine hands, and drive thee forth
+to starve! And this do I swear by the honour of my father, Beltane the
+Strong, Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+But now, even as Sir Gui shrank back before the death in Beltane's
+look, amazed beyond all thought by his words, came a sudden shout, and
+thereafter a clash and ring of steel upon the stair without. And now,
+above the sudden din, hoarse and loud a battle-cry arose, at the sound
+of which Sir Gui's jaws hung agape, and he stood as one that doubts his
+ears; for 'twas a cry he had heard aforetime, long ago.
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+Then Beltane cast up the bar, and, plucking wide the door, beheld the
+broad, mail-clad back of one who held the narrow stair where flashed
+pike and gisarm.
+
+"Roger!" he called, "Black Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, 'tis I," cried Roger, parrying a pike-thrust, "make sure of
+thy work, master, I can hold these in check yet a while."
+
+"My work is done, Roger. To me--to me, I say!"
+
+So Roger, leaping back from the stair-head, turned about and ran to
+Beltane, stumbling and spattering blood as he came, whereupon Beltane
+clapped-to the door and barred it in the face of the pursuit. A while
+leaned Roger, panting, against the wall, then, beholding Sir Gui:
+
+"How!" he cried, "lives the pale fox yet? Methought thy work was done,
+master!" So saying, he swung aloft his bloody sword, but, even as the
+Seneschal waited the blow, smiling of lip, Beltane caught Black Roger's
+wrist.
+
+"Stay!" cried he, above the thunder of blows that shook the door,
+"would'st slay a man unarmed?"
+
+"Aye, master, as he hath slain many a man ere now!" quoth Roger,
+striving to free his arm. "The door is giving, and there be many
+without: and, since to-night we must die, so let us slay the white fox
+first."
+
+"Not so," said Beltane, "get you through the window--the river runs
+below: through the window--out, I say!" and, with the word, he stooped
+and bore Black Roger to the window.
+
+"But, lord--"
+
+"Jump!" cried Beltane, "jump, ere the door fall."
+
+"But you, master--"
+
+"Jump, I say: I will follow thee." So, groaning, Black Roger hurled his
+sword far out from the window, and leaping from the sill, was gone.
+
+Then Beltane turned and looked upon Gui of Allerdale. "Seneschal," said
+he, "I who speak am he, who, an God so wills, shall be Duke of
+Pentavalon ere long: howbeit, I will keep my promise to thee, so aid me
+God!"
+
+Thus saying, he mounted the window in his turn, and, even as the door
+splintered behind him, forced himself through, and, leaping wide,
+whirled over and over, down and down, and the sluggish river closed
+over him with a mighty splash; thereafter the placid waters went upon
+their way, bubbling here and there, and dimpling 'neath the waning
+moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+
+Down went my Beltane, weighted in his heavy mail--down and ever down
+through a world of green that grew dark and ever more dark, until,
+within the pitchy gloom beneath him was a quaking slime that sucked
+viciously at foot and ankle. Desperately he fought and strove to rise,
+but ever the mud clung, and, lusty swimmer though he was, his triple
+mail bore him down.
+
+And now his mighty muscles failed, lights flamed before his eyes, in
+his ears was a drone that grew to a rushing roar, his lungs seemed
+bursting, and the quaking ooze yearning to engulf him. Then my Beltane
+knew the bitter agony of coming death, and strove no more; but in that
+place of darkness and horror, a clammy something crawled upon his face,
+slipped down upon his helpless body, seized hold upon his belt and
+dragged at him fierce and strong; slowly, slowly the darkness thinned,
+grew lighter, and then--Ah, kind mercy of God! his staring eyes beheld
+the orbed moon, his famished lungs drank deep the sweet, cool air of
+night. And so he gasped, and gasping, strove feebly with arm and leg
+while ever the strong hand grasped at his girdle. And now he heard,
+faint and afar, a sound of voices, hands reached down and drew him up--
+up to good, firm earth, and there, face down among the grass, he lay
+awhile, content only to live and breathe. Gradually he became aware of
+another sound hard by, a sharp sound yet musical, and in a little, knew
+it for the "twang" of a swift-drawn bow-string. Now, glancing up,
+Beltane beheld an ancient tree near by, a tree warped and stunted
+wherein divers arrows stood, and behind the tree, Giles o' the Bow,
+who, as he watched, drew and loosed a shaft, which, flashing upward,
+was answered by a cry; whereon Giles laughed aloud.
+
+"Six!" he cried, "six in seven shots: 'tis sweet archery methinks, and
+quicker than a noose, my Rogerkin, and more deadly than thy axe, my
+surly Walkyn. Let the rogues yonder but show themselves, and give me
+arrows enow, so will I slay all Gui's garrison ere the moon fail me
+quite."
+
+But hereupon Beltane got him to his knees and made shift to stand, and,
+coming to the tree, leaned there, being faint and much spent.
+
+"Aha, sweet lord," cried the archer, "a man after my very heart art
+thou. What wonders have we achieved this night--paladins in sooth we
+be, all four! By the blessed bones of St. Giles, all Pentavalon shall
+ring with our doings anon."
+
+Said Beltane, faintly:
+
+"Where is my good Roger?"
+
+"Here, lord," a voice answered from the shade of a bush hard by: "'twas
+my comrade Walkyn dragged me up from death--even as he did thee."
+
+"We thought you gone for good, master."
+
+"Aye!" cried the archer, "so would ye all be dead, methinks, but for me
+and this my bow."
+
+"Friends," said Beltane, "'tis by doings such as this that men do learn
+each other's worth: so shall the bonds betwixt us strengthen day by
+day, and join us in accord and brotherhood that shall outlast this puny
+life. So now let us begone and join the others."
+
+So they turned their backs upon Belsaye town, and keeping to the brush,
+came at length to where upon the borders of the forest the white friar
+waited them, with the nine who yet remained of the prisoners; these,
+beholding Beltane, came hurrying to meet him, and falling upon their
+knees about him, strove with each other to kiss his hands and feet.
+
+"Good fellows," said Beltane, "God hath this night brought ye out of
+death into life--how will ye use your lives hereafter? List now:--even
+as ye have suffered, others are suffering: as ye have endured the gloom
+of dungeon and fear of death, so, at this hour, others do the like by
+reason of misrule and tyranny. Now here stand I, together with Sir
+Benedict of Bourne who holdeth Thrasfordham Keep, pledged to live
+henceforth, sword in hand, until these evils are no more--since 'tis
+only by bitter strife and conflict that evil may be driven from our
+borders. Thus, Pentavalon needeth men, strong-armed and resolute: if
+such ye be, march ye this hour to Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say
+to Sir Benedict that God having given you new life, so now will ye give
+your lives to Pentavalon, that tyranny may cease and the Duchy be
+cleansed of evil. Who now among ye will draw sword for freedom and
+Pentavalon?"
+
+Then sprang the squat man Osric to his feet, with clenched fist
+upraised and eyes ablaze 'neath his matted hair.
+
+"That will I!" he cried. "And I! And I! And I!" cried the rest, grim-faced
+and eager. "Aye--give us but swords, and one to lead, and we will
+follow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Go you then to Sir Benedict within Bourne and say to all men that
+Beltane the Duke hath this night burned down Black Ivo's shameful
+gibbet, for a sign that he is come at last and is at work, nor will he
+stay until he die, or Pentavalon be free!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY LEFT HIM IN
+THE FOREST
+
+
+  "Since all men breathing 'neath the sky
+   Good or evil, soon must die,
+   Ho! bring me wine, and what care I
+   For dying!"
+
+It was Giles Brabblecombe singing to himself as he knelt beside a fire
+of twigs, and Beltane, opening sleepy eyes, looked round upon a world
+all green and gold and dew-bespangled; a fair world and fragrant,
+whose balmy air breathed of hidden flowers and blooming thickets,
+whence came the joyous carolling of new-waked birds; and beholding all
+this and the glory of it, my Beltane must needs praise God he was
+alive.
+
+"Hail and good morrow to thee, brother!" cried the bowman, seeing him
+astir. "The sun shineth, look you, I sit upon my hams and sing for that
+this roasting venison smelleth sweet, while yonder i' the leaves be a
+mavis and a merle a-mocking of me, pretty rogues: for each and ever of
+which, _Laus Deo, Amen!_"
+
+"Why truly, God hath made a fair world, Giles, a good world to live in,
+and to live is to act--yet here have I lain most basely sleeping--"
+
+"Like any paunched friar, brother. But a few days since, I met thee in
+the green, a very gentle, dove-like youth that yet became a very lion
+of fight and demi-god of battle! Heroes were we all, last night--nay,
+very Titans--four 'gainst an army!--whiles now, within this
+balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the Bloody Axe with grim
+Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies
+busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow
+carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of
+wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector,
+an Ajax--a very Mars--do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed
+friar--Heigho! Yet even a demi-god must nod betimes, and Titans eat,
+look ye."
+
+Now looking from sun to earth and beholding the shortening of the
+shadows, Beltane leapt up. Quoth he:
+
+"Sluggard that I am, 'tis late! And Roger was wounded last night, I
+mind--"
+
+"Content you, brother, 'twas nought," said Giles bending above his
+cooking, "the kiss of a pike-head i' the thick o' the arm--no more."
+
+"Yet it must be looked to--"
+
+"I did it, brother, as I shoot--that is to say I did it most excellent
+well: 'twill be healed within the week."
+
+"How then--art leech as well as bowman?"
+
+"Quite as well, brother. When I was a monk I learned two good things,
+_videlicit_: never to argue with those in authority over me, and to
+heal the hurts of those that did. So, by my skill in herbs and
+leechcraft, Roger, having a hole in his arm, recks not of it--behold
+here he cometh, and Walkyn too, and _Laus Deo!_ with a trout! Now shall
+we feast like any pampered prelate."
+
+So when Beltane had stripped and bathed him in the brook, they
+presently sat down, all four together, and ate and talked and laughed
+right merrily, the while lark and thrush and blackbird carolled lustily
+far and near.
+
+"Now eat, brothers," cried the bowman, full-mouthed, "eat and spare
+not, as I do, for to-day I smell the battle from afar: Ho! Ho! the
+noise of captains and the shouting! Yesterday were we heroes, to-day
+must we be gods--yet cautious gods, for, mark me, I have but twelve
+shafts remaining, and with twelve shafts can but promise ye a poor
+twelve lives."
+
+But now came Roger wistful-eyed, and with belt a-swing in his hand.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "last night did we four rescue twelve. Now I'm fain
+to know if for these twelve I may cut twelve notches from my belt, or
+must we share their lives betwixt us and I count but three?"
+
+"Three?" laughed Giles, "Oho--out upon thee, Rogerkin! Our lord here
+claimeth six, since he the rescue planned, next, I claim three, since
+but for my goodly shooting ye all had died, then hath Walkyn two, since
+he saved thee from the fishes, which leaveth thee--one. _Quod erat
+demonstrandum!_"
+
+But now, seeing Roger's downcast look, Giles snatched the belt and gave
+it unto Beltane, who forthwith cut there-from twelve notches. And, in a
+while, having made an end of eating, Beltane rose and looked round upon
+the three.
+
+"Good comrades all," quoth he, "well do I know ye to be staunch and
+trusty; yet to-day am I minded to speak with him men call Pertolepe the
+Red, lest he shed innocent blood for that we slew his foresters--"
+
+"Twenty lusty fellows!" nodded Giles, with a morsel of venison on his
+dagger point.
+
+"Nay, there one escaped!" quoth Roger.
+
+"Yet he sore wounded!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Ha! Sir Pertolepe is a terrible lord!" quoth Giles, eyeing the morsel
+of venison somewhat askance. "'Twill be a desperate adventure,
+methinks--and we but four."
+
+"Yet each and all--gods!" quoth Walkyn, reaching for his axe.
+
+"Aye," nodded Giles, frowning at the piece of venison, "yet are we but
+four gods."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "for in this thing shall we be but one. Go
+you three to Bourne, for I am minded to try this adventure alone."
+
+"Alone, master!" cried Black Roger, starting to his feet.
+
+"Alone!" growled Walkyn, clutching his axe.
+
+"An death must come, better one should die than four," said Beltane,
+"howbeit I am minded to seek out Pertolepe this day."
+
+"Then do I come also, master, since thy man am I."
+
+"I, too," nodded Walkyn, "come death and welcome, so I but stand face
+to face with Pertolepe."
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, "so needs must I come also, since I have twelve
+shafts yet unsped," and he swallowed the morsel of venison with mighty
+relish and gusto.
+
+Then laughed Beltane for very gladness, and he looked on each with
+kindling eye.
+
+"Good friends," quoth he, "as ye say, so let it be, and may God's hand
+be over us this day."
+
+Now, as he spake with eyes uplift to heaven, he espied a faint, blue
+mist far away above the soft-stirring tree tops--a distant haze, that
+rose lazily into the balmy air, thickening ever as he watched.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, fierce-eyed of a sudden and pointing with rigid
+finger, "whence cometh that smoke, think ye?"
+
+"Why," quoth Roger, frowning, "Wendonmere village lieth yonder!"
+
+"Nay, 'tis nearer than Wendonmere," said Walkyn, shouldering his axe.
+
+"See, the smoke thickens!" cried Beltane. "Now, God forgive me! the
+while I tarry here Red Pertolepe is busy, meseemeth!" So saying, he
+caught up his sword, and incontinent set off at speed toward where the
+soft blue haze stole upon the air of morning, growing denser and ever
+denser.
+
+Fast and furious Beltane sped on, crashing through underbrush and
+crackling thicket, o'erleaping bush and brook and fallen tree, heedful
+of eye, and choosing his course with a forester's unerring instinct,
+praying fiercely beneath his breath, and with the three ever close
+behind.
+
+"Would I had eaten less!" panted Giles.
+
+"Would our legs were longer!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"Would my belt bore fewer notches!" quoth Roger.
+
+And so they ran together, sure-footed and swift, and ever as they ran
+the smoke grew denser, and ever Beltane's prayers more fervent. Now in
+a while they heard a sound, faint and confused: a hum, that presently
+grew to a murmur--to a drone--to a low wailing of voices, pierced of a
+sudden by a shrill cry no man's lips could utter, that swelled high
+upon the air and died, lost amid the growing clamour.
+
+"They've fired the ricks first!" panted Roger; "'tis ever Pertolepe's
+way!"
+
+"They be torturing the women!" hissed Walkyn; "'tis ever so Red
+Pertolepe's pleasure!"
+
+"And I have but twelve arrows left me!" groaned Giles.
+
+But Beltane ran in silence, looking neither right nor left, until,
+above the hum of voices he heard one upraised in passionate
+supplication, followed by another--a loud voice and jovial--and
+thereafter, a burst of roaring laughter.
+
+Soon Beltane beheld a stream that flowed athwart their way and, beyond
+the stream, a line of willows thick growing upon the marge; and again,
+beyond these clustering willows the straggling village lay. Then
+Beltane, motioning the others to caution, forded the stream and coming
+in the shade of the osiers, drew on his hood of mail, and so,
+unsheathing his long sword, peered through the leaves. And this is what
+he saw:
+
+A wide road flanked by rows of scattered cottages, rude of wall and
+thatch; a dusty road, that led away east and west into the cool depths
+of the forest, and a cringing huddle of wretched village folk whose
+pallid faces were all set one way, where some score of men-at-arms
+lolled in their saddles watching a tall young maid who struggled
+fiercely in the grasp of two lusty fellows, her garments rent, her
+white flesh agleam in the sunlight. A comely maid, supple and strong,
+who ever as she strove 'gainst the clutching hands that held her, kept
+her blazing eyes turned upon one in knightly mail who sat upon a great
+war-horse hard by, watching her, big chin in big mailed fist, and with
+wide lips up-curling in a smile: a strong man this, heavy and broad of
+chest; his casque hung at his saddle-bow, and his mail-coif, thrown
+back upon his wide shoulders, showed his thick, red hair that fell a-down,
+framing his square-set, rugged face.
+
+"Ha, Cuthbert," quoth he, turning to one who rode at his elbow--a
+slender youth who stared with evil eyes and sucked upon his finger,
+"Aha, by the fiend, 'tis a sweet armful, Sir Squire?"
+
+"Aye, my lord Pertolepe, 'tis rarely shaped and delicately fleshed!"
+answered the esquire, and so fell to sucking his finger again.
+
+"What, silly wench, will ye defy me still?" cried Sir Pertolepe, jovial
+of voice, "must ye to the whip in sooth? Ho, Ralph--Otho, strip me this
+stubborn jade--so!--Ha! verily Cuthbert, hast shrewd eyes, 'tis a
+dainty rogue. Come," said he smiling down into the girl's wide, fierce
+eyes, "save that fair body o' thine from the lash, now, and speak me
+where is thy father and brother that I may do justice on them, along
+with these other dogs, for the foul murder of my foresters yest're'en;
+their end shall be swift, look ye, and as for thyself--shalt find those
+to comfort thee anon--speak, wench!"
+
+But now came a woman pale and worn, who threw herself on trembling
+knees at Sir Pertolepe's stirrup, and, bowed thus before him in the
+dust, raised a passionate outcry, supplicating his mercy with bitter
+tears and clasped hands lifted heavenwards.
+
+"O good my lord Pertolepe," she wailed, "'twas not my husband, nor son,
+nor any man of our village wrought this thing; innocent are we, my
+lord--"
+
+"O witch!" quoth he, "who bade thee speak?" So saying he drew mail-clad
+foot from stirrup and kicked her back into the dust. "Ho, whips!" he
+called, "lay on, and thereafter will we hang these vermin to their own
+roof-trees and fire their hovels for a warning."
+
+But now, even as the struggling maid was dragged forward--even as
+Pertolepe, smiling, settled chin on fist to watch the lithe play of her
+writhing limbs, the willows behind him swayed and parted to a sudden
+panther-like leap, and a mail-clad arm was about Sir Pertolepe--a
+mighty arm that bore him from the saddle and hurled him headlong; and
+thereafter Sir Pertolepe, half stunned and staring up from the dust,
+beheld a great blade whose point pricked his naked throat, and, beyond
+this blade, a mail-clad face, pallid, fierce, grim-lipped, from whose
+blazing eyes death glared down at him.
+
+"Dog!" panted Beltane.
+
+"Ha! Cuthbert!" roared Red Pertolepe, writhing 'neath Beltane's
+grinding heel, "to me, Cuthbert--to me!"
+
+But, as the esquire wheeled upon Beltane with sword uplifted, out from
+the green an arrow whistled, and Cuthbert, shrill-screaming, swayed in
+his saddle and thudded to earth, while his great war-horse, rearing
+affrighted, plunged among the men-at-arms, and all was shouting and
+confusion; while from amid the willows arrows whizzed and flew, 'neath
+whose cruel barbs horses snorted, stumbling and kicking, or crashed
+into the dust; and ever the confusion grew.
+
+But now Sir Pertolepe, wriggling beneath Beltane's iron foot had
+unsheathed his dagger, yet, ere he could stab, down upon his red pate
+crashed the heavy pommel of Beltane's sword and Sir Pertolepe, sinking
+backward, lay out-stretched in the dust very silent and very still.
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and, stooping, caught Sir Pertolepe by
+the belt and dragged him into the shade of the willows, and being come
+to the stream, threw his captive down thereby and fell to splashing his
+bruised face with the cool water. And now, above the shouts and the
+trampling of hoofs upon the road, came the clash of steel on steel and
+the harsh roar of Walkyn and Black Roger as they plied axe and sword--
+"Arise! Ha, arise!" Then, as Beltane glanced up, the leaves near by
+were dashed aside and Giles came bounding through, his gay feather
+shorn away, his escalloped cape wrenched and torn, his broadsword a-swing
+in his hand.
+
+"Ho, tall brother--a sweet affray!" he panted, "the fools give back
+already: they cry that Pertolepe is slain and the woods full of
+outlaws; they be falling back from the village--had I but a few shafts
+in my quiver, now--" but here, beholding the face of Beltane's captive,
+Giles let fall his sword, staring round-eyed.
+
+"Holy St. Giles!" he gasped, "'tis the Red Pertolepe!" and so stood
+agape, what time a trumpet brayed a fitful blast from the road and was
+answered afar. Thereafter came Roger, stooping as he ran, and shouting:
+
+"Archers! Archers!--run, lord!"
+
+But Beltane stirred not, only he dashed the water in Sir Pertolepe's
+twitching face, wherefore came Roger and caught him by the arm,
+pleading:
+
+"Master, O master!" he panted, "the forest is a-throng with lances, and
+there be archers also--let us make the woods ere we are beset!"
+
+But Beltane, seeing the captive stir, shook off Black Roger's grasp;
+but now, one laughed, and Walkyn towered above him, white teeth agleam,
+who, staring down at Sir Pertolepe, whirled up his bloody axe to smite.
+
+"Fool!" cried Beltane, and threw up his hand to stay the blow, and in
+that moment Sir Pertolepe oped his eyes.
+
+"'Tis Pertolepe!" panted Walkyn, "'tis he that slew wife and child: so
+now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, "stand back--obey me--back, I say!" So,
+muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger,
+stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and
+with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir
+Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out
+into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and
+men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while
+above the jostling confusion rose the hoarse babel of their voices. But
+of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred
+throats a shout went up:
+
+"A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!"
+
+Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's
+broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's
+right ear.
+
+"Speak!" quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, "speak
+now as I commanded thee!"
+
+A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting
+his head, spake that all might hear:
+
+"Ho, sirs!" he cried, "I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one
+Beltane, who styleth himself--Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back,
+therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not
+by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!"
+
+Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoarse murmur that
+voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those
+two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir
+Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:
+
+"Go!" he commanded.
+
+So their disarray fell into rank and order, and wheeling about, they
+marched away along the forest road with helm agleam and pennons a-dance,
+the while Sir Pertolepe stared after them, wild of eye and with
+mailed hands clenched; once he made as if to call them back: but
+Beltane's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the dagger pricked his
+throat. And thus stood they, side by side, until the tramp of feet was
+died away, until the last trembling villager had slunk from sight and
+the broad road was deserted, all save for Cuthbert the esquire, and
+divers horses that lay stiffly in the dust, silent and very still.
+
+Then Beltane sighed and sheathed his dagger, and Sir Pertolepe faced
+him scrowling, fierce-eyed and arrogant.
+
+"Ha, outlaw!" quoth he, "give back my sword and I will cope with thee--
+wolf's head though thou art--aye, and any two other rogues beside."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I fight with such as thee but when I needs
+must. What--Roger!" he called, "go fetch hither a rope!"
+
+"Dog--would ye murder me?"
+
+"Not so," sighed Beltane, shaking his head, "have I not promised to
+leave thee alive within the greenwood? Yet I would see thee walk in
+bonds first."
+
+"Ha, dare ye bind me, then? He that toucheth me, toucheth Duke Ivo--
+dare ye so do, rogue?"
+
+"Aye, messire," nodded Beltane, "I dare so. Bring hither the rope,
+Roger." But when Roger was come nigh, Sir Pertolepe turned and stared
+upon him.
+
+"What!" cried he, jovial of voice yet deadly-eyed, "is it my runaway
+hangman in very sooth. Did I not pay thee enough, thou black-avised
+knave? Did I not love thee for thy skill with the noose, thou
+traitorous rogue? Now, mark me, Roger: one day will I feed thee to my
+hounds and watch them tear thee, as they have certain other rogues--
+aha!--you mind them, belike?"
+
+Pale of cheek and with trembling hands, Roger bound the arms of him
+that had been his over-lord, while Walkyn and Giles, silent and
+wide-eyed, watched it done.
+
+"Whither would ye take me?" quoth Red Pertolepe, arrogant.
+
+"That shalt thou know anon, messire."
+
+"How an I defy thee?"
+
+"Then must we carry thee, messire," answered Beltane, "yet thine own
+legs were better methinks--come, let us begone."
+
+Thus, presently, having forded the brook, they struck into the forest;
+first went Walkyn, axe on shoulder, teeth agleam; next strode Sir
+Pertolepe, head high, 'twixt pale-faced Roger and silent Beltane, while
+the bowman followed after, calling upon St. Giles beneath his breath
+and crossing himself: and ever and anon Walkyn would turn to look upon
+their scowling captive with eyes that glared 'neath shaggy brows.
+
+Now after they had gone some while, Sir Pertolepe brake silence and
+spake my Beltane, proud and fierce.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "if 'tis for ransom ye hold me, summon hither thy
+rogues' company, and I will covenant for my release."
+
+"I seek no ransom of thee, messire," answered Beltane, "and for my
+company--'tis here."
+
+"Here? I see but three sorry knaves!"
+
+"Yet with these same three did I o'ercome thy foresters, Sir
+Pertolepe."
+
+"Rogue, thou liest--'tis thing impossible!"
+
+"Moreover, with these three did I, last night, burn down Black Ivo's
+mighty gallows that stood without Belsaye town, and, thereafter set
+wide the dungeon of Belsaye and delivered thence certain woeful
+prisoners, and sent them abroad with word that I--Beltane, son of
+Beltane the Strong, Duke of Pentavalon, am come at last, bearing the
+sword of my father, that was wont to strike deep for liberty and
+justice: nor, having life, will I lay it by until oppression is no
+more."
+
+Now indeed did Sir Pertolepe stare upon my Beltane in amaze and spake
+no word for wonder; then, of a sudden he laughed, scornful and loud.
+
+"Ho! thou burner of gibbets!" quoth he, "take heed lest thy windy
+boasting bring thy lordly neck within a noose! Art lusty of arm, yet
+lustier of tongue--and as to thy father, whoe'er he be--"
+
+"Messire?" Beltane's voice was soft, yet, meeting the calm serenity of
+his gaze, Sir Pertolepe checked the jeer upon his lip and stared upon
+Beltane as one new-waked; beheld in turn his high and noble look, the
+costly excellence of his armour, his great sword and belt of silver--
+and strode on thereafter with never a word, yet viewing Beltane aslance
+'neath brows close-knit in dark perplexity. So, at last, they came into
+a little clearing deep-hid among the denser green.
+
+Beltane paused here, and lifting mailed hand, pointed to a certain
+tree. But hereupon, Sir Pertolepe, staring round about him and down
+upon his galling bonds, spake:
+
+"Sir knight," said he, "who thou art I know not, yet, if indeed thou
+art of gentle blood, then know that I am Sir Pertolepe, Baron of
+Trenda, Seneschal of Garthlaxton, lord warden of the marches: moreover,
+friend and brother-in-arms am I to Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "all this I know, for much of thee have I heard,
+messire: of thy dark doings, of the agony of men, the shame of women,
+and how that there be many desolate hearths and nameless graves of thy
+making, lord Pertolepe. Thou wert indeed of an high estate and strong,
+and these but lowly folk and weak--yet mercy on them had ye none. I
+have this day heard thee doom the innocent to death and bitter shame,
+and, lord, as God seeth us, it is enough!"
+
+Sir Pertolepe's ruddy cheek showed pale, but his blue eyes stared upon
+Beltane wide and fearless.
+
+"Have ye then dragged me hither to die, messire?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, all men must die, aye, e'en great lords such as thou,
+when they have sinned sufficiently: and thy sins, methinks, do reach
+high heaven. So have I brought thee hither into the wilderness that
+God's will may be wrought upon thee."
+
+"How--wilt forswear thyself?" cried Sir Pertolepe, writhing in his
+bonds.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Come Roger--Walkyn--bring me him to the tree, yonder."
+
+"Ha! rogue--rogue," panted Sir Pertolepe, "would'st leave me to die in
+a noose, unshriven and unannealed, my soul dragged hell-wards weighted
+with my sins?"
+
+Now, even as he spake, swift and sudden he leapt aside and would have
+fled; but Walkyn's fierce fingers dragged at his throat, and Roger's
+iron arms were close about him. Desperately he fought and struggled,
+but mighty though he was, his captors were mighty also, moreover his
+bonds galled him; wherefore, fighting yet, they dragged him to the
+tree, and to the tree Beltane fast bound him, whiles the forest rang
+and echoed with his panting cries until his great voice cracked and
+broke, and he hung 'gainst the tree, spent and breathless.
+
+Then spake Beltane, grim-lipped yet soft of voice:
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, fain would I hang thee as thou hast hanged many a man
+ere now--but this, methinks, is a better way: for here, unless some
+wanderer chance to find thee, must thou perish, an so God will it. Thus
+do we leave thee in the hands of God to grant thee life or death: and
+may he have mercy on thy guilty soul!"
+
+Thus said Beltane, sombre of brow and pale of cheek; and so, beckoning
+to the others, turned away, despite Sir Pertolepe's passionate threats
+and prayers, and plunging into the dense underbrush, strode swift-footed
+from the place, with the captive's wild cries ringing in his ears.
+
+Haphazard went Beltane, yet straining his ears to catch those mournful
+sounds that grew faint and fainter with distance till they were lost in
+the rustle of the leaves. But, of a sudden, he stayed his going and
+stood with his head aslant hearkening to a sound that seemed to have
+reached him from the solitudes behind; and presently it came again, a
+cry from afar--a scream of agony, hoarse and long drawn out, a hateful
+sound that checked the breath of him and brought the sweat out cold
+upon his brow; and now, turning about, he saw that his following was
+but two, for Walkyn had vanished quite. Now Giles, meeting Beltane's
+wide stare, must needs cough and fumble with his bow, whiles Roger
+stood with bowed head and fingers tight-clenched upon his quarter-staff:
+whereat, fierce-frowning, Beltane spake.
+
+"Wait!" he commanded, "wait you here!" and forthwith turned and ran,
+and so running, came again at last to that obscure glade whence now
+came a sound of groans, mocked, thereafter, by fierce laughter. Now,
+bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his
+bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's
+busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a
+hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his
+writhen face like a scarlet vizard.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"
+
+Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through
+the hair of his beard.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so
+do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of
+Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it
+be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall
+Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."
+
+Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.
+
+"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"
+
+So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane
+followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow
+and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the
+leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very
+sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned
+in a cry hoarse and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading,
+stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his cock's-comb
+flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into
+the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.
+
+"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is
+it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I
+am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"
+
+"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me
+driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my
+father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord
+Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle,
+and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook
+the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:
+
+"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the
+wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved
+thy father, e'en as I loved thee."
+
+"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and
+fingering his dagger.
+
+"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then,
+strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be
+hard-driven. Come!"
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his bloody head, proffering his throat
+to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester
+calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while
+Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching;
+then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe
+staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his
+severed bonds, he laughed hoarsely.
+
+"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and
+methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"
+
+So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him
+like a blind man, then, groaning, fell, and lay a'swoon, his bloody
+face hidden in the grass.
+
+And turning away, Beltane left him lying there with Beda the Jester
+kneeling above him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+
+Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until
+the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking
+not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles
+had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came
+Roger and touched him on the shoulder.
+
+"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."
+
+"Why, then--eat," said Beltane.
+
+Now while they set about building a fire, Beltane went aside and
+wandering slow and thoughtful, presently came to a broad glade or ride,
+and stretching himself out 'neath a tree, lay there staring up at the
+leafy canopy, pondering upon Sir Pertolepe his sins, and the marvellous
+ways of God. Lying thus, he was aware of the slow, plodding hoof-strokes
+of a horse drawing near, of the twang of a lute, with a voice
+sweet and melodious intoning a chant; and the tune was plaintive and
+the words likewise, being these:--
+
+  "Alack and woe
+   That love is so
+   Akin to pain!
+   That to my heart
+   The bitter smart
+   Returns again,
+   Alack and woe!"
+
+Glancing up therefore, Beltane presently espied a knight who bestrode a
+great and goodly war-horse; a youthful knight and debonair, slender and
+shapely in his bright mail and surcoat of flame-coloured samite. His
+broad shield hung behind his shoulder, balanced by a long lance whose
+gay banderol fluttered wanton to the soft-breathing air; above his
+mail-coif he wore a small bright-polished bascinet, while, at his
+high-peaked saddle-bow his ponderous war-helm swung, together with
+broad-bladed battle-axe. Now as he paced along in this right gallant
+estate, his roving glance, by hap, lighted on Beltane, whereupon,
+checking his powerful horse, he plucked daintily at the strings of his
+lute, delicate-fingered, and brake into song anew:--
+
+  "Ah, woe is me
+   That I should be
+   A lonely wight!
+   That in mankind
+   No joy I find
+   By day or night,
+   Ah, woe is me!"
+
+Thereafter he sighed amain and smote his bosom, and smiling upon
+Beltane sad-eyed, spake:
+
+"Most excellent, tall, and sweet young sir, I, who Love's lorn pilgrim
+am, do give thee woeful greeting and entreat now the courtesy of thy
+pity."
+
+"And wherefore pity, sir?" quoth Beltane, sitting up.
+
+"For reason of a lady's silver laughter. A notable reason this; for,
+mark me, ye lovers, an thy lady flout thee one hour, grieve not--she
+shall be kind the next; an she scorn thee to-day, despair nothing--she
+shall love thee to-morrow; but, an she laugh and laugh--ah, then poor
+lover, Venus pity thee! Then languish hope, and tender heart be rent,
+for love and laughter can ne'er be kin. Wherefore a woeful wight am I,
+foredone and all distraught for love. Behold here, the blazon on my
+shield--lo! a riven heart proper (direfully aflame) upon a field vert.
+The heart, methinks, is aptly wrought and popped, and the flame in
+sooth flame-like! Here beneath, behold my motto, 'Ardeo' which
+signifieth 'I burn.' Other device have I laid by for the nonce, what
+time my pilgrimage shall be accompt."
+
+But Beltane looked not so much upon the shield as on the face of him
+that bore it, and beholding its high and fearless look, the clear,
+bright eyes and humorous mouth (albeit schooled to melancholy) he
+smiled, and got him to his feet.
+
+"Now, well met, Sir Knight of the Burning Heart!" quoth he. "What would
+ye here, alone, within these solitudes?"
+
+"Sigh, messire. I sing and sigh, and sigh and sing."
+
+"'Tis a something empty life, methinks."
+
+"Not so, messire," sighed the rueful knight, "for when I chance to meet
+a gentle youth, young and well beseen--as thou, bedight in goodly mail
+--as thou, with knightly sword on thigh, why then, messire, 'tis ever my
+wont to declare unto him that she I honour is fairer, nobler, and
+altogether more worthy and virtuous than any other she soever, and to
+maintain that same against him, on horse or afoot, with lance, battle-axe
+or sword. Thus, see you messire, even a love-lorn lover hath
+betimes his compensations, and the sward is soft underfoot, and level."
+Saying which, the knight cocked a delicate eyebrow in questioning
+fashion, and laid a slender finger to the pommel of his long sword.
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "would'st fight with me?"
+
+"Right gladly would I, messire--to break the monotony."
+
+"I had rather hear thy song again."
+
+"Ha, liked you it in sooth? 'Tis small thing of mine own."
+
+"And 'tis brief!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Brief!" quoth the knight, "brief! not so, most notable youthful sir,
+for even as love is long enduring so is my song, it being of an hundred
+and seventy and eight cantos in all, dealing somewhat of the woes and
+ills of a heart sore smitten (which heart is mine own also). Within my
+song is much matter of hearts (in truth) and darts, of flames and
+shames, of yearnings and burnings, the which this poor heart must needs
+endure since it doth constant bleed and burn."
+
+"Indeed, messire, I marvel that you be yet alive," said Beltane
+gravely, whereat the young knight did pause to view him, dubious-eyed.
+Quoth he:
+
+"In sooth, most youthful and excellent sir, I have myself marvelled
+thereat betimes, but, since alive am I, now do I declare unto you that
+she for whom I sigh is the fairest, gentlest, noblest, most glorious
+and most womanly of all women in the world alive--"
+
+"Save one!" said Beltane.
+
+"Save none, messire!" said the young knight, eager-eyed.
+
+"One!" said Beltane.
+
+"None!" quoth the knight, as, casting aside ponderous lance he vaulted
+lightly from his saddle and drew his sword; but, seeing that Beltane
+bore no shield, paused to lay his own tenderly aside, and so faced him
+serene of brow and smiling of lip. "Sweet sir," said he gaily, "here
+methinks is fair cause for argument; let us then discuss the matter
+together for the comfort of our souls and to the glory of our ladies.
+As to my name--" "'Tis Jocelyn," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!" exclaimed the knight, staring.
+
+"That won a suit of triple mail at Dunismere joust, and wagered it
+'gainst Black Ivo's roan stallion within Deepwold forest upon a time."
+
+"Now, by Venus!" cried the knight, starting back, "here be manifest
+sorcery! Ha! by the sweet blind boy, 'tis black magic!" and he crossed
+himself devoutly. But Beltane, laughing, put back his hood of mail,
+that his long, fair hair fell a-down rippling to his shoulders.
+
+"Know you me not, messire?" quoth he.
+
+"Why," said Sir Jocelyn, knitting delicate brows, "surely thou art the
+forester that o'ercame Duke Ivo's wrestler; aye, by the silver feet of
+lovely Thetis, thou'rt Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Verily, messire," nodded Beltane, "and 'tis not meet that knight cross
+blade with lowly smith."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Jocelyn, rubbing at his smooth white chin, "yet art a
+goodly man withal--and lover to boot--methinks?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "ever and always."
+
+"Why then, all's well," quoth Sir Jocelyn with eyes a-dance, "for since
+true love knoweth nought of distinctions, therefore being lovers are
+we peers, and, being peers, so may we fight together. So come, Sir
+Smith, here stand I sword in hand to maintain 'gainst thee and all men
+the fame and honour of her I worship, of all women alive, maid or wife
+or widow, the fairest, noblest, truest, and most love-worthy is--"
+
+"Helen of Mortain!" quoth Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Helen?--Helen?--thou too!" exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, and forthwith
+dropped his sword, staring in stark amaze. "How--dost thou love her
+also?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "to my sorrow!"
+
+Then stooped Sir Jocelyn and, taking up his sword, slowly sheathed it.
+Quoth he, sad-eyed:
+
+"Life, methinks, is full of disappointments; farewell to thee, Sir
+Smith," and sighing, he turned away; yet ere he had taken lance and
+shield, Beltane spake:
+
+"Whither away, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"To sigh, and sing, and seek adventure. 'Twas for this I left my goodly
+castle of Alain and journeyed, a lorn pilgrim, hither to Pentavalon,
+since when strange stories have I heard that whisper in the air,
+speeding from lip to lip, of a certain doughty knight-at-arms, valiant
+beyond thought, that beareth a sword whose mighty sweep none may abide,
+who, alone and unaided slew an hundred and twenty and four within the
+greenwood, and thereafter, did, 'neath the walls of Belsaye town burn
+down Duke Ivo's gibbet, who hath sworn to cut Duke Ivo into gobbets,
+look you, and feed him to the dogs; which is well, for I love not Duke
+Ivo. All this have I heard and much beside, idle tales mayhap, yet
+would I seek out this errant Mars and prove him, for mine own behoof,
+with stroke of sword."
+
+"And how an he prove worthy?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Then will I ride with him, to share his deeds and glory mayhap, Sir
+Smith--I and all the ten-score lusty fellows that muster to my pennon,
+since in the air is whispered talk of war, and Sir Benedict lieth ready
+in Thrasfordham Keep."
+
+"Two hundred men," quoth Beltane, his blue eyes agleam, "two hundred,
+say you?" and, speaking, he stepped forward, unsheathing his sword.
+
+"How now," quoth Sir Jocelyn, "what would ye, sweet smith?"
+
+"I would have thee prove me for thy behoof, Sir Jocelyn; for I am he
+that with aid of five good men burned down the gibbet without Belsaye."
+
+"Thou!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "and thou art a smith! And yet needs must I
+credit thee, for thine eyes be truthful eyes. And did'st indeed slay so
+many in the green, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "there were but twenty; moreover I--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Sir Jocelyn, gaily, "be thou smith or be thou demi-god,
+now will I make proof of thy might and valiance." And he drew sword.
+
+So did these two youths face each other, smiling above their gleaming
+steel, and so the long blades rang together, and, thereafter, the air
+was full of a clashing din, in so much that Roger came running sword in
+hand, with Walkyn and Giles at his heels; but, seeing how matters
+stood, they sat them down on the sward, watching round-eyed and eager.
+
+And now Sir Jocelyn (happy-eyed), his doleful heart forgot, did show
+himself a doughty knight, skipping lightly to and fro despite his heavy
+armour, and laying on right lustily while the three a-sprawl upon the
+grass shouted gleefully at each shrewd stroke or skilful parry; but,
+once Sir Jocelyn's blade clashed upon Beltane's mailed thigh, and
+straightway they fell silent; and once his point touched the links on
+Beltane's wide breast, and straightway their brows grew anxious and
+gloomy--yet none so gloomy as Roger. But now, on a sudden, was the
+flash and ring of hard smitten steel, and behold, Sir Jocelyn's sword
+sprang from his grasp and thudded to earth a good three yards away;
+whereupon the three roared amain--yet none so loud as Roger.
+
+"Now by sweet Cupid his tender bow!" panted Sir Jocelyn--"by the
+cestus of lovely Venus--aye, by the ox-eyed Juno, I swear 'twas featly
+done, Sir Smith!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, taking up the fallen sword:
+
+"'Tis a trick I learned of that great and glorious knight, Sir Benedict
+of Bourne."
+
+"Messire," said Sir Jocelyn, his cheek flushing, "an earl am I of
+thirty and two quarterings and divers goodly manors: yet thou art the
+better man, meseemeth, and as such do I salute thee, and swear myself
+thy brother-in-arms henceforth--an ye will."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned, and looking upon the mighty three with
+kindling eye, beckoned them near.
+
+"Lord Jocelyn," said he, "behold here my trusty comrades, valiant men
+all:--this, my faithful Roger, surnamed the Black: This, Giles
+Brabblecombe, who shooteth as ne'er did archer yet: and here, Walkyn--
+who hath known overmuch of sorrow and bitter wrong. Fain would we take
+thee for our comrade, Lord Jocelyn, for God knoweth Pentavalon hath
+need of true men these days, yet first, know this--that I, and these my
+three good comrades do stand pledged to the cause of the weak and
+woefully oppressed within this sorrowful Duchy; to smite evil, nor
+stay till we be dead, or Black Ivo driven hence."
+
+"Ivo?--Ivo?" stammered Sir Jocelyn, in blank amaze, "'tis madness!"
+
+"Thus," said Beltane, "is our cause, perchance, a little desperate, and
+he who companies with us must company with Death betimes." "To defy
+Black Ivo--ha, here is madness so mad as pleaseth me right well! A
+rebellion, forsooth! How many do ye muster?"
+
+Answered Beltane:
+
+"Thou seest--we be four--"
+
+"Four!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "Four!"
+
+"But Sir Benedict lieth within Thrasfordham Keep, and God is in heaven,
+messire."
+
+"Aye, but heaven is far, methinks, and Duke Ivo is near, and hath an
+arm long and merciless. Art so weary of life, Sir Smith?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "but to what end hath man life, save to spend
+it for the good of his fellows?"
+
+"Art mad!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, "art surely mad! Heigho!--some day,
+mayhap, it shall be written how one Jocelyn Alain, a gentle, love-lorn
+knight, singing his woes within the greenwood, did meet four lovely
+madmen and straight fell mad likewise. So here, upon my sword, do I
+swear to take thee for my brother-in-arms, and these thy comrades for
+my comrades, and to spend my life, henceforth, to the good of my
+fellows!"
+
+So saying, Sir Jocelyn smiled his quick bright smile and reached out
+his hand to my Beltane, and there, leaning upon their swords, their
+mailed fingers clasped and wrung each other. Thereafter he turned upon
+the three, but even as he did so, Walkyn uttered a fierce cry, and
+whirling about with axe aloft, sprang into the green, whence of a
+sudden rose a babel of voices, and the sound of fierce blows and,
+thereafter, the noise of pursuit. A flicker of steel amid the green--a
+score of fierce faces all about him, and Beltane was seized from
+behind, borne struggling to his knees, to his face, battered by unseen
+weapons, dragged at by unseen hands, choked, half-stunned, his arms
+twisted and bound by galling thongs. Now, as he lay thus, helpless, a
+mailed foot spurned him fiercely and looking up, half-swooning, he
+beheld Sir Pertolepe smiling down at him.
+
+"Ha--thou fool!" he laughed jovially, "did'st think to escape me, then
+--thou fool, I have followed on thy tracks all day. By the eyes of God,
+I would have followed thee to hell! I want thee in Garthlaxton--there
+be gibbets for thee above the keep--also, there are my hounds--aye, I
+want thee, Messire Beltane who art Duke of Pentavalon! Ho! Arnulf--a
+halter for his ducal throat!" So, when they had cast a noose about his
+neck, they dragged Beltane, choking, to his feet, and led him away
+gasping and staggering through the green; and having eyes, he saw not,
+and having ears, he heard not, being very spent and sick.
+
+Now, as they went, evening began to fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+
+Little by little, as he stumbled along, Beltane's brain began to clear;
+he became aware of the ring and clash of arms about him, and the
+trampling of horses. Gradually, the mist lifting, he saw long files of
+men-at-arms riding along very orderly, with archers and pike-men.
+Little by little, amid all these hostile forms, he seemed to recognise
+a certain pair of legs that went on just before: sturdy legs, that yet
+faltered now and then in their stride, and, looking higher, he saw a
+broad belt whose edges were notched and saw-like, and a wide, mail-clad
+back that yet bent weakly forward with every shambling step. Once this
+figure sank to its knees, but stumbled up again 'neath the vicious
+prick of a pike-head that left blood upon the bronzed skin, whereat
+Beltane uttered a hoarse cry.
+
+"O Black Roger!" he groaned, "I grieve to have brought thee to this!"
+
+"Nay, lord," quoth Roger, lifting high his drooping head, "'tis but my
+wound that bleeds afresh. But, bond or free, thy man am I, and able yet
+to strike a blow on thy behalf an heaven so please."
+
+"Now God shield thee, brave Roger!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"O sweet St. Giles--and what of me, brother?" spake a voice in his
+ear, and turning, Beltane beheld the archer smiling upon him with
+swollen, bloody lips.
+
+"Thou here too, good Giles?"
+
+"Even so, tall brother, in adversity lo! I am with thee--since I
+found no chance to run other-where, for that divers rogues constrained
+me to abide--notably yon knave with the scar, whose mailed fist I had
+perforce to kiss, brother, in whose dog's carcase I will yet feather me
+a shaft, sweet St. Giles aiding me--which is my patron saint, you'll
+mind. _Nil desperandum_, brother: bruised and beaten, bleeding and in
+bonds, yet I breathe, nothing desponding, for mark me, _a priori_,
+brother, Walkyn and the young knight won free, which is well; Walkyn
+hath long legs, which is better; Walkyn hath many friends i' the
+greenwood, which is best of all. So do I keep a merry heart--_dum spiro
+spero_--trusting to the good St. Giles, which, as methinks you know is
+my--"
+
+The archer grew suddenly dumb, his comely face blanched, and glancing
+round, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe beside him, who leaned down from
+his great white horse to smile wry-mouthed, and smiling thus, put back
+the mail-coif from his pallid face and laid a finger to the linen clout
+that swathed his head above the brows.
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "for this I might hang thee to a tree,
+or drag thee at a horse's tail, or hew thee in sunder with this great
+sword o' thine which shall be mine henceforth--but these be deaths
+unworthy of such as thou--my lord Duke! Now within Garthlaxton be
+divers ways and means, quaint fashions and devices strange and rare,
+messire. And when I'm done, Black Roger shall hang what's left of thee,
+ere he go to feed my hounds. That big body o' thine shall rot above my
+gate, and for that golden head--ha! I'll send it to Duke Ivo in
+quittance for his gallows! Yet first--O, first shalt thou sigh that
+death must needs be so long a-coming!"
+
+But now, from where the van-ward marched, came galloping a tall
+esquire, who, reining in beside Sir Pertolepe, pointed down the hill.
+
+"Lord Pertolepe," he cried joyously, "yonder, scarce a mile, flies the
+banner of Gilles of Brandonmere, his company few, his men scattered
+and heavy with plunder."
+
+"Gilles!" quoth Sir Pertolepe. "Ha, is it forsooth Gilles of
+Brandonmere?"
+
+"Himself, lord, and none other. I marked plain his banner with the
+three stooping falcons."
+
+"And he hath booty, say you?"
+
+"In truth, my lord--and there be women also, three horse litters--"
+
+"Ah--women! Verily, good Fulk, hast ever a quick eye for the flutter of
+a kirtle. Now, mark me Fulk, Thornaby Mill lieth in our front, and
+beyond, the road windeth steep 'twixt high banks. Let archers line
+these banks east and west: let the pikemen be ambushed to the south,
+until we from the north have charged them with the horse--see 'tis
+done, Fulk, and silently--so peradventure, Sir Gilles shall trouble me
+no more. Pass the word--away!"
+
+Off rode Sir Fulk, and straightway the pounding hoofs were still, the
+jingle of bridle and stirrup hushed, and in its place a vague stir of
+bustle and excitement; of pikemen wheeling right and left to vanish
+southwards into the green, and of archers stringing bows and unbuckling
+quiver-caps ere they too wheeled and vanished; yet now Sir Pertolepe
+stayed four lusty fellows, and beckoning them near, pointed to the
+prisoners.
+
+"Good fellows," quoth he, nodding jovially upon the archers, "here be
+my three rogues, see you--who must with me to Garthlaxton: one to die
+by slow fire, one to be torn by my hounds, and one--this tall
+golden-haired youth--mark him well!--to die in slow and subtle fashion.
+Now these three do I put in charge of ye trusty four; guard them well,
+good fellows, for, an one escape, so shall ye all four die in his stead
+and in such fashion as he should have died. Ha! d'ye mark me well, my merry
+men?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded the four, scowling of brow yet pale-cheeked.
+
+"Look to it I find them secure, therefore, and entreat them tenderly.
+March you at the rear and see they take no harm; choose ye some secure
+corner where they may lie safe from chance of stray shafts, for I would
+have them come hale and sound to Garthlaxton, since to die well, a man
+must be strong and hearty, look you. D'ye mark me well, good fellows?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" growled the four.
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe, fondling his great chin, smiled upon Beltane and
+lifted Beltane's glittering sword on high, "Advance my banner!" he
+cried, and rode forward among his men-at-arms. On went the company,
+grimly silent now save for the snort of a horse, the champing of
+curbing bits and the thud of slow trampling hoofs upon the tender
+grass, as the west flamed to sunset. Thus in a while they came to a
+place where the road, narrowing, ran 'twixt high banks clothed in gorse
+and underbrush; a shadowy road, the which, winding downwards, was lost
+in a sharp curve. Here the array was halted, and abode very still and
+silent, with helm and lance-point winking in the last red rays of
+sunset.
+
+"O brother," whispered Giles, "ne'er saw I place sweeter or more apt
+for ambushment. Here shall be bloody doings anon, and we--helpless as
+babes! O me, the pity on't!" But now with blows and gibes the four
+archers dragged them unto a tall tree that stood beside the way, a tree
+of mighty girth whose far-flung branches cast a deep gloom. Within this
+gloom lay my Beltane, stirring not and speaking no word, being faint
+and sick with his hurts. But Giles the archer, sitting beside him,
+vented by turns bitter curses upon Sir Pertolepe and humble prayers to
+his patron saint, so fluent and so fast that prayers and curses became
+strangely blent and mingled, on this wise:
+
+"May Red Pertolepe be thrice damned with a candle to the blessed Saint
+Giles that is my comfort and intercessor. May his bones rot within him
+with my gold chain to sweet Saint Giles. May his tongue wither at the
+roots--ah, good Saint Giles, save me from the fire. May he be cursed in
+life and may the flesh shrivel on his bones and his soul be eternally
+damned with another candle and fifty gold pieces to the altar of holy
+Saint Giles--"
+
+But now hearing Roger groan, the archer paused to admonish him thus:
+
+"Croak not, Roger, croak not," quoth he, "think not upon thy vile body
+--pray, man, pray--pray thyself speechless. Call reverently upon the
+blessed saints as I do, promise them candles, Roger, promise hard and
+pray harder lest we perish--I by fire and thou by Pertolepe's hounds.
+Ill deaths, look you, aye, 'tis a cruel death to be burnt alive,
+Roger!"
+
+"To be torn by hounds is worse!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, my Rogerkin, the fire is slower, methinks--I have watched good
+flesh sear and shrivel ere now--ha! by Saint Giles, 'tis an evil
+subject; let us rather think upon two others."
+
+"As what, archer?"
+
+"The long legs of our comrade Walkyn. Hist! hark ye to that bruit! Here
+cometh Gilles of Brandonmere, meseemeth!" And now from the road in
+front rose the sound of an approaching company, the tramp of weary
+horses climbing the ascent with the sound of cheery voices upraised in
+song; and ever the sinking sun glinted redly on helm and lance-point
+where sat Sir Pertolepe's mailed riders, grim and silent, while the
+cheery voices swelled near and more near, till, all at once, the song
+died to a hum of amaze that rose to a warning shout that was drowned in
+the blare of a piercing trumpet blast. Whereat down swept glittering
+lance-point, forward leaned shining bascinet, and the first rank of Sir
+Pertolepe's riders, striking spurs, thundered upon them down the hill;
+came thereafter the shock of meeting ranks, with shouts and cries that
+grew to a muffled roar. Up rose the dust, an eddying cloud wherein
+steel flickered and dim forms strove, horse to horse and man to man,
+while Sir Pertolepe, sitting his great white charger, nursed his big
+chin and, smiling, waited his chance. Presently, from the eddying
+cloud staggered the broken remnant of Sir Gilles' van-ward, whereon,
+laughing fierce and loud, Sir Pertolepe rose in his stirrups with
+Beltane's long sword lifted high, his trumpets brayed the charge, and
+down the hill thundered Sir Pertolepe and all his array; and the road
+near by was deserted, save for the prisoners and the four archers who
+stood together, their faces set down-hill, where the dust rose denser
+and denser, and the roar of the conflict fierce and loud.
+
+But now, above the din and tumult of the fight below, shrill and high
+rose the notes of a horn winded from the woods in the east, that was
+answered--like an echo, out of the woods in the west; and, down the
+banks to right and left, behold Sir Pertolepe's archers came leaping
+and tumbling, pursued by a hissing arrow shower. Whereat up sprang
+Giles, despite his bonds, shouting amain:
+
+"O, Walkyn o' the Long Legs--a rescue! To us! Arise, I will arise!" Now
+while he shouted thus, came one of the four archers, and Giles was
+smitten to his knees; but, as the archer whirled up his quarter-staff
+to strike again, an arrow took him full in the throat, and pitching
+upon his face, he lay awhile, coughing, in the dust.
+
+Now as his comrades yet stared upon this man so suddenly dead, down
+from the bank above leapt one who bore a glittering axe, with divers
+wild and ragged fellows at his heels; came a sound of shouting and
+blows hard smitten, a rush of feet and, thereafter, silence, save for
+the din of battle afar. But, upon the silence, loud and sudden rose a
+high-pitched quavering laugh, and Giles spake, his voice yet shrill and
+unsteady.
+
+"'Twas Walkyn--ha, Saint Giles bless Walkyn's long legs! 'Twas Walkyn I
+saw--Walkyn hath brought down the outlaws--the woods be full of them.
+Oho! Sir Pertolepe's slow fire shall not roast me yet awhile, nor his
+dogs mumble the carcase, my Rogerkin!"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger feebly, "but what of my lord, see how still he
+lieth!"
+
+"Forsooth," exclaimed the archer, writhing in his bonds to stare upon
+Beltane, "forsooth, Roger, he took a dour ding upon his yellow pate,
+look ye; but for his mail-coif he were a dead man this hour--"
+
+"He lieth very still," groaned Roger.
+
+"Yet is he a mighty man and strong, my Rogerkin-never despond, man,
+for I tell thee--ha!--heard ye that outcry? The outlaws be at work at
+last, they have Sir Pertolepe out-flanked d'ye see--now might ye behold
+what well-sped shafts can do upon a close array--pretty work-sweet
+work! Would I knew where Walkyn lay!"
+
+"Here, comrade!" said a voice from the shade of the great tree.
+
+"How--what do ye there?" cried the archer.
+
+"Wait for Red Pertolepe."
+
+"Why then, sweet Walkyn, good Walkyn--come loose us of our bonds that
+we may wait with thee--"
+
+"Nay," growled Walkyn, "ye are the bait. When the outlaws have slain
+enough of them, Pertolepe's men must flee this way: so will Red
+Pertolepe stay to take up his prisoners, and so shall I slay him in
+that moment with this mine axe. Ha!--said I not so? Hark I they break
+already! Peace now--wait and watch." So saying, Walkyn crouched behind
+the tree, axe poised, what time the dust and roar of battle rolled
+toward them up the hill. And presently, from out the rolling cloud,
+riderless horses burst and thundered past, and after them--a staggering
+rout, mounted and afoot, spurring and trampling each other 'neath the
+merciless arrow-shower that smote them from the banks above. Horse and
+foot they thundered by until at last, amid a ring of cowering men-at-arms,
+Sir Pertolepe galloped, his white horse bespattered with blood
+and foam, his battered helm a-swing upon its thongs; grim-lipped and
+pale he rode, while his eyes, aflame 'neath scowling brows, swept the
+road this way and that until, espying Beltane 'neath the tree, he
+swerved aside in his career and strove to check his followers' headlong
+flight.
+
+"Stay," cried he striking right and left. "Halt, dogs, and take up the
+prisoners. Ha! will ye defy me-rogues, caitiffs! Fulk! Raoul! Denis!
+Ho, there!"
+
+But no man might stay that maddened rush, wherefore, swearing a great
+oath, Sir Pertolepe spurred upon Beltane with Beltane's sword lifted
+for the blow. But, from the shade of the tree a mighty form uprose, and
+Sir Pertolepe was aware of a hoarse, glad cry, saw the whirling flash
+of a broad axe and wrenched hard at his bridle; round staggered the
+white horse, down came the heavy axe, and the great horse, death-smitten,
+reared up and up, back and back, and crashing over, was lost 'neath
+the dust of swift-trampling hoofs.
+
+Now presently, Beltane was aware that his bonds cramped him no longer,
+found Roger's arm about him, and at his parched lips Roger's steel
+head-piece brimming with cool, sweet water; and gulping thirstily, soon
+felt the numbness lifted from his brain and the mist from his eyes; in
+so much that he sat up, and gazing about, beheld himself alone with
+Roger.
+
+Quoth he, looking down at his swollen wrists:
+
+"Do we go free then, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master--though ye had a woundy knock upon the head."
+
+"And what of Giles?"
+
+"He is away to get him arrows to fill his quiver, and to fill his purse
+with what he may, for the dead lie thick in the road yonder, and there
+is much plunder."
+
+"And Walkyn?"
+
+"Walkyn, master, having slain Sir Pertolepe's horse yonder, followeth
+Pertolepe, minded straight to slay him also."
+
+"Yet dost thou remain, Roger."
+
+"Aye, lord; and here is that which thou wilt need again, methinks; I
+found it hard by Sir Pertolepe's dead horse." So saying, Roger put
+Beltane's great sword into his hand. Then Beltane took hold upon the
+sword, and rising to his feet stretched wide his arms, and felt his
+strength renewed within him. Therefore he sheathed the sword and set
+his hand on Roger's broad, mail-clad shoulder.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou faithful Roger, God hath delivered us from
+shameful death, wherefore, I hold, He hath yet need of these our
+bodies."
+
+"As how, master?"
+
+"As I went, nigh swooning in my bonds, methought I heard tell that Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere had captive certain women; so now must we deliver
+them, thou and I, an it may be so."
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, "Sir Gilles marcheth with the remnant of his
+company, and we are but two. Let us therefore get with us divers of
+these outlaws."
+
+"I have heard tell that to be a woman and captive to Sir Gilles or
+Pertolepe the Red is to be brought to swift and dire shame. So now let
+us deliver these women from shame, thou and I. Wilt go with me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye lord, that will I: yet first pray thee aid me to bind a clout upon
+my arm, for my wound irketh me somewhat."
+
+And in a while, when Beltane had laved and bound up Roger's wound, they
+went on down the darkening road together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+
+It was a night of wind with a flying cloud-wrack overhead whence peeped
+the pallid moon betimes; a night of gloom and mystery. The woods about
+them were full of sounds and stealthy rustlings as they strode along
+the forest road, and so came to that dark defile where the fight had
+raged. Of what they saw and heard within that place of slaughter it
+bodeth not to tell, nor of those figures, wild and fierce, that
+crouched to strip the jumbled slain, or snarled and quarrelled over the
+work.
+
+"Here is good plunder of weapons and armour," quoth Roger, "'tis seldom
+the outlaws come by such. Hark to that cry! There died some wounded
+wight under his plunderer's knife!"
+
+"God rest his soul, Amen!" sighed Beltane. "Come, let us hence!" And
+forthwith he began to run. So in a little while they passed through
+that place of horror unseen, and so came out again upon the forest
+road. Ever and anon the moon sent down a feeble ray 'neath which the
+road lay a-glimmer 'twixt the gloom of the woods, whence came groans
+and wailings with every wind-gust, whereat Roger quailed, and fumbling
+at his sword-hilt, pressed closer upon Beltane.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "'tis an evil night--methinks the souls of the
+dead be abroad--hark to those sounds! Master, I like it not!--"
+
+"'Tis but the wind, Roger."
+
+"'Tis like the cries of women wailing o'er their dead, I have heard
+such sounds ere now; I would my belt bore fewer notches, master!"
+
+"They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!"
+
+"Master--an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire--
+remembering these same notches?"
+
+"Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger. Hark!" quoth
+Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the
+wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the
+sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road. Now as they drew near
+the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled 'neath a bush beside the
+way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger, stooping, "thou'rt of Brandonmere?"
+
+"Aye--give me water--I was squire to Sir Gilles--God's love--give me--
+water!"
+
+Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger
+bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.
+
+"Messire," said he, "I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women
+captive."
+
+"There is--but one, and she--a nun. But nuns are--holy women--so I
+withstood my lord in his--desire. And my lord--stabbed me--so must I
+die--of a nun, see you!--Ah--give me--water!"
+
+"Where doth he ride this night, messire?"
+
+"His men--few--very weary--Sir Pertolepe's--men-at-arms--caught us i'
+the sunken road--Sir Gilles--to Thornaby Mill--beside the ford--O God
+--water!"
+
+"'Tis here!" quoth Roger, kneeling beside him; then Beltane set the
+water to the squire's eager lips, but, striving to drink he choked,
+and choking, fell back--dead.
+
+So in a while they arose from their knees and went their way, while the
+dead youth lay with wide eyes that seemed to out-stare the pallid moon.
+
+Now as they went on very silently together, of a sudden Black Roger
+caught Beltane by the arm and pointed into the gloom, where, far before
+them, small lights winked redly through the murk.
+
+"Yon should be Sir Gilles' watch-fires!" he whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "so I think."
+
+"Master--what would ye now?"
+
+"Pray, Roger--I pray God Sir Gilles' men be few, and that they be sound
+sleepers. Howbeit we will go right warily none the less." So saying,
+Beltane turned aside from the road and led on through underbrush and
+thicket, through a gloom of leaves where a boisterous wind rioted;
+where great branches, dim seen, swayed groaning in every fierce gust,
+and all was piping stir and tumult. Twigs whipped them viciously,
+thorns dragged at them, while the wind went by them, moaning, in the
+dark. But, ever and anon as they stumbled forward, guiding themselves
+by instinct, the moon sent forth a pale beam from the whirling cloud-wrack
+--a phantom light that stole upon them, sudden and ghost-like,
+and, like a ghost, was gone again; what time Black Roger, following
+hard on Beltane's heel, crossed himself and muttered fragments of
+forgotten prayers. Thus at last they came to the river, that flowed
+before them vague in the half-light, whose sullen waters gurgled evilly
+among the willows that drooped upon the marge.
+
+"Master," said Roger, wiping sweat from his face, "there's evil
+hereabouts--I've had a warning--a dead man touched me as we came
+through the brush yonder."
+
+"Nay Roger, 'twas but some branch--"
+
+"Lord, when knew ye a branch with--fingers--slimy and cold--upon my
+cheek here. 'Twas a warning, master--he dead hand! One of us twain
+goeth to his death this night!"
+
+"Let not thine heart fail therefor, good Roger: man, being dead, liveth
+forever--"
+
+"Nay, but--the dead hand, master--on my cheek, here--Ah!--" Crying
+thus, Black Roger sprang and caught Beltane's arm, gripping it fast,
+for on the air, borne upon the wind, yet louder than the wind, a shrill
+sound rang and echoed, the which, passing, seemed to have stricken the
+night to silence. Then Beltane brake from Roger's clasp, and ran on
+beside the river, until, beyond the sullen waters the watch-fires
+flared before him, in whose red light the mill loomed up rugged and
+grim, its massy walls scarred and cracked, its great wheel fallen to
+ruin.
+
+Now above the wheel was a gap in the masonry, an opening roughly square
+that had been a window, mayhap, whence shone a warm, mellow light.
+
+"Master," panted Roger, "a God's name--what was it?"
+
+"A woman screamed!" quoth Beltane, staring upon the lighted window. As
+he spake a man laughed sleepily beside the nearest watch-fire, scarce a
+bow-shot away.
+
+"Look'ee, master," whispered Roger, "we may not cross by the ford
+because of the watch-fires--'tis a fair light to shoot by, and the
+river is very deep hereabouts."
+
+"Yet must we swim it, Roger."
+
+"Lord, the water is in flood, and our armour heavy!"
+
+"Then must we leave our armour behind," quoth Beltane, and throwing
+back his hood of mail, he began to unbuckle his broad belt, but of a
+sudden, stayed to point with outstretched finger. Then, looking whither
+he pointed, Roger saw a tree whose hole leaned far out across the
+stream, so that one far-flung branch well nigh scraped the broken roof
+of the mill.
+
+"Yon lieth our way, Roger--come!" said he.
+
+Being come to that side of the tree afar from the watch-fires, Beltane
+swung himself lightly and began to climb, but hearing a groan, paused.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what ails thee, Roger?"
+
+"Alas!" groaned Roger, "'tis my wound irketh me; O master, I cannot
+follow thee this way!"
+
+"Nay, let me aid thee," whispered Beltane, reaching down to him. But,
+despite Beltane's strong hand, desperately though he tried, Black Roger
+fell back, groaning.
+
+"Master," he pleaded, "O master, adventure not alone lest ill befall
+thee." "Aye, but I must, Roger."
+
+Then Roger leaned his head upon his sound arm, and wept full bitterly.
+
+"O master,--O sweet lord," quoth he, "bethink thee now of the warning--
+the dead hand--"
+
+"Yet must I go, my Roger."
+
+"Then--an they kill thee, lord, so shall they kill me also; thy man am
+I, to live or die with thee--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, sworn art thou to redeem Pentavalon: so now, in her name
+do I charge thee, haste to Sir Jocelyn, an he yet live--seek Giles and
+Walkyn and whoso else ye may, and bring them hither at speed. If ye
+find me not here, then hie ye all to Thrasfordham, for by to-morrow Sir
+Pertolepe and Gui of Allerdale will have raised the country against us.
+Go now, do even as I command, and may God keep thee, my faithful
+Roger." Then Beltane began to climb, but being come where the great
+branch forked, looked down to see Roger's upturned face, pale amid the
+gloom below.
+
+"The holy angels have thee in their keeping, lord and master!" he
+sighed, and so turned with head a-droop and was gone. And now Beltane
+began to clamber out across the swirl of dark waters, while the tough
+bough swung and swayed beneath him in every gust of wind, wherefore his
+going was difficult and slow, and he took heed only to his hands and
+feet.
+
+But, all at once, he heard a bitter, broken cry, and glancing up, it
+chanced that from his lofty perch he could look within the lighted
+window, and thus beheld a nun, whose slender, black-robed body writhed
+and twisted in the clasp of two leathern-clad arms; vicious arms, that
+bent her back and back across the rough table, until into Beltane's
+vision came the leathern-clad form of him that held her: a black-haired,
+shapely man, whose glowing eyes and eager mouth stooped ever nearer
+above the nun's white loveliness.
+
+And thus it was that my Beltane first looked upon Sir Gilles of
+Brandonmere. He had laid sword and armour by, but as the nun yet
+struggled in his arms, her white hand came upon and drew the dagger at
+his girdle, yet, ere she could strike, Sir Gilles had seen and leapt
+back out of reach.
+
+Then Beltane clambered on at speed, and with every yard their voices
+grew more loud--hers proud and disdainful, his low and soft, pierced,
+now and then, by an evil, lazy laugh.
+
+Now ever as Beltane went, the branch swayed more dizzily, bending more
+and more beneath his weight, and ever as he drew nearer, between the
+wind-gusts came snatches of their talk.
+
+"Be thou nun, or duchess, or strolling light-o'-love, art woman--by
+Venus! fair and passing fair!--captive art thou--aye, mine, I tell
+thee--yield thee--hast struggled long enough to save thy modesty--yield
+thee now, else will I throw thee to my lusty rogues without--make them
+sport--"
+
+"O--beast--I fear thee not! For thy men--how shall they harm me, seeing
+I shall be dead!"
+
+Down swayed the branch, low and lower, until Beltane's mailed foot,
+a-swing in mid air, found something beneath--slipped away--found it
+again, and thereupon, loosing the branch, down he came upon the ruined
+mill-wheel. Then, standing upon the wheel, his groping fingers found
+divers cracks in the worn masonry--moreover the ivy was thick; so,
+clinging with fingers and toes, up he went, higher and higher until his
+steel-mittened hands gripped the sill: thus, slowly and cautiously he
+drew himself up until his golden head rose above the sill and he could
+peer into the room.
+
+Sir Gilles half stood, half sat upon the table, while the nun faced
+him, cold and proud and disdainful, the gleaming dagger clutched to her
+quick-heaving bosom; and Sir Gilles, assured and confident, laughed
+softly as he leaned so lazily, yet ever he watched that gleaming steel,
+waiting his chance to spring. Now as they stood fronting each other
+thus, the nun stirred beneath his close regard, turned her head, and on
+the instant Beltane knew that she had seen him; knew by the sudden
+tremor of her lips, the widening of her dark eyes, wherein he seemed to
+read wonder, joy, and a passionate entreaty; then, even as he thrilled
+to meet that look, down swept languorous lid and curling lash, and,
+sighing, she laid the dagger on the table. For a moment Sir Gilles
+stared in blank amaze, then laughed his lazy laugh.
+
+"Ah, proud beauty! 'Tis surrender then?" said he, and speaking, reached
+for the dagger; but even as he did so, the nun seized the heavy table
+and thrust with sudden strength, so that Sir Gilles, taken unawares,
+staggered back and back--to the window. Then Beltane reached up into
+the room and, from behind, caught Sir Gilles by the throat and gripped
+him with iron fingers, strangling all outcry, and so, drawing himself
+over the sill and into the room, dragged Sir Gilles to the floor and
+choked him there until his eyes rolled upward and he lay like one dead.
+Then swiftly Beltane took off the belt of Sir Gilles and buckled it
+tight about the wrists and arms of Sir Gilles, and, rending strips from
+Sir Gilles' mantle that lay near, therewith fast gagged and bound him.
+Now it chanced that as he knelt thus, he espied the dagger where it
+lay, and taking it up, glanced from it to Sir Gilles lying motionless
+in his bonds. But as he hesitated, there came a sudden knocking on the
+door and a voice spake without:
+
+"My lord! my lord--'tis I--'tis Lupo. My lord, our men be few and
+wearied, as ye know. Must I set a guard beyond the ford, think you, or
+will the four watch-fires suffice?"
+
+Now, glancing up, scarce breathing, Beltane beheld the nun who crouched
+down against the wall, her staring eyes turned towards the door, her
+cheeks ashen, her lips a-quiver with deadly fear. Yet, even so, she
+spake. But that 'twas she indeed who uttered the words he scarce could
+credit, so soft and sweetly slumberous was her voice:
+
+"My lord is a-weary and sleepeth. Hush you, and come again with the
+dawn." Now was a moment's breathless silence and thereafter an evil
+chuckle, and, so chuckling, the man Lupo went down the rickety stair
+without.
+
+And when his step was died away, Beltane drew a deep breath, and
+together they arose, and so, speaking no word, they looked upon each
+other across the prostrate body of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+
+Eyes long, thick-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his
+and anon were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids; a nose tenderly
+aquiline; lips, red and full, that parted but to meet again in sweet
+and luscious curves; a chin white, and round, and dimpled.
+
+This Beltane saw 'twixt hood and wimple, by aid of the torch that
+flickered against the wall; and she, conscious of his look, stood with
+white hands demurely crossed upon her rounded bosom, with eyes abased
+and scarlet lips apart, as one who waits--expectant. Now hereupon my
+Beltane felt himself vaguely at loss, and finding he yet held the
+dagger, set it upon the table and spake, low-voiced.
+
+"Reverend Mother--" he began, and stopped--for at the word her dark
+lashes lifted and she stared upon him curiously, while slowly her red
+lips quivered to a smile. And surely, surely this nun so sweet and
+saintly in veiling hood and wimple was yet a very woman, young and
+passing fair; and the eyes of her--how deep and tender and yet how
+passionate! Now beholding her eyes, memory stirred within him and he
+sighed, whereat she sighed also and meekly bowed her head, speaking him
+with all humility.
+
+"Sweet son, speak on--thy reverend mother heareth."
+
+Now did Beltane, my Innocent, rub his innocent chin and stand mumchance
+awhile, finding nought to say--then:
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "lady--since I have found thee--let us go while
+yet we may."
+
+"Messire," says she, with eyes still a-droop, "came you in sooth--in
+quest of me?"
+
+"Yea, verily. I heard Sir Gilles had made captive of a nun, so came I
+to deliver her--an so it might be."
+
+"E'en though she were old, and wrinkled, and toothless, messire?"
+
+"Lady," says my Innocent, staring and rubbing his chin a little harder,
+"surely all nuns, young and old, be holy women, worthy a man's
+reverence and humble service. So would I now bear thee from this
+unhallowed place--we must be far hence ere dawn--come!"
+
+"Aye, but whither?" she sighed, "death is all about us, messire--how
+may we escape it? And I fear death no whit--now, messire!"
+
+"Aye, but I do so, lady, since I have other and greater works yet to
+achieve."
+
+"How, messire, is it so small a thing to have saved a nun--even though
+she be neither old, nor wrinkled, nor toothless?" And behold, the nun's
+meek head was high and proud, her humility forgotten quite.
+
+Then she frowned, and 'neath her sombre draperies her foot fell
+a-tapping; a small foot, dainty and slender in its gaily broidered shoe,
+so much at variance with her dolorous habit. But Beltane recked nought
+of this, for, espying a narrow window in the opposite wall, he came
+thither and thrusting his head without, looked down upon the sleeping
+camp. And thus he saw that Sir Gilles' men were few indeed, scarce
+three-score all told he counted as they lay huddled about the
+smouldering watch-fires, deep-slumbering as only men greatly wearied
+might. Even the sentinels nodded at their posts, and all was still save
+for the rush of a sudden wind-gust, or the snort and trampling of the
+horses. And leaning thus, Beltane marked well where the sentinels
+lolled upon their pikes, or marched drowsily to and fro betwixt the
+watch-fires, and long he gazed where the horses were tethered, two
+swaying, trampling lines dim-seen amid the further shadows. Now being
+busied measuring with his eye the distances 'twixt sentinel and
+sentinel, and noting where the shadows lay darkest, he was suddenly
+aware of the nun close beside him, of the feel of her, soft and warm
+against him, and starting at the contact, turned to find her hand,
+small and white, upon his mailed arm.
+
+"Sweet son," said she soft-voiced, from the shadow of her sombre hood,
+"thy reverend mother now would chide thee, for that having but short
+while to live, thou dost stand thus mumchance, staring upon vacancy--
+for, with the dawn, we die."
+
+Quoth Beltane, deeply conscious of the slender hand:
+
+"To die, nay--nay--thou'rt too young and fair to die--"
+
+Sighed she, with rueful smile:
+
+"Thou too art neither old nor cold, nor bent with years, fair son. Come
+then, till death let us speak together and comfort each other. Lay by
+thy melancholy as I now lay by this hood and wimple, for the night is
+hot and close, methinks."
+
+"Nay, lady, indeed 'tis cool, for there is much wind abroad," says
+Beltane, my Innocent. "Moreover, while standing here, methinks I have
+seen a way whereby we may win free--"
+
+Now hereupon she turned and looked on him, quick-breathing and with
+eyes brim-full of fear.
+
+"Messire!" she panted, "O messire, bethink thee. For death am I
+prepared--to live each moment fully till the dawn, then when they came
+to drag me down to--to shame, then should thy dagger free me quite--
+such death I'd smile to meet. But ah! should we strive to flee, and
+thou in the attempt be slain--and I alive--the sport of that vile
+rabblement below--O, Christ,--not that!" and cowering, she hid her
+face.
+
+"Noble lady," said Beltane, looking on her gentle-eyed, "indeed I too
+had thought on that!" and, coming to the table, he took thence the
+dagger of Sir Gilles and would have put it in her hand, but lo! she
+shrank away.
+
+"Not that, messire, not that," she sighed, "thy dagger let it be, since
+true knight art thou and honourable, I pray you give me thine. It is
+thy reverend mother asks," and smiling pale and wan, she reached out a
+white, imperious hand. So Beltane drew his dagger and gave it to her
+keeping; then, having set the other in his girdle, he crossed to the
+door and stood awhile to hearken.
+
+"Lady," said he, "there is no way for us but this stair, and meseemeth
+'tis a dangerous way, yet must we tread it together. Reach me now thy
+hand and set it here in my girdle, and, whatsoe'er befall, loose not
+thy hold." So saying, Beltane drew his sword and set wide the door.
+"Look to thy feet," he whispered, "and tread soft!" Then, with her
+trailing habit caught up in her left hand and with her right upon his
+belt, the nun followed Beltane out upon the narrow stair. Step by step
+they stole downwards into the dark, pausing with breath in check each
+time the timbers creaked, and hearkening with straining ears. Down they
+went amid the gloom until they spied an open door below, beyond which a
+dim light shone, and whence rose the snoring of wearied sleepers. Ever
+and anon a wind-gust smote the ancient mill and a broken shutter
+rattled near by, what time they crept a pace down the creaking stair
+until at last they stood upon the threshold of a square chamber upon
+whose broken hearth a waning fire burned, by whose uncertain light they
+espied divers vague forms that stirred now and then and groaned in
+their sleep as they sprawled upon the floor: and Beltane counted three
+who lay 'twixt him and the open doorway, for door was there none.
+Awhile stood Beltane, viewing the sleepers 'neath frowning brows, then,
+sheathing his sword, he turned and reached out his arms to the nun in
+the darkness and, in the dark, she gave herself, warm and yielding,
+into his embrace, her arms clung soft about him, and he felt her breath
+upon his cheek, as clasping his left arm about her, he lifted her high
+against his breast. And now, even as she trembled against him, so
+trembled Beltane also yet knew not why; therefore of a sudden he turned
+and stepped into the chamber. A man started up beside the hearth,
+muttering evilly; and Beltane, standing rigid, gripped his dagger to
+smite, but even then the muttering ceased, and falling back, the man
+rolled over and fell a-snoring again. So, lightly, swiftly, Beltane
+strode over the sprawling sleepers--out through the open doorway--out
+into the sweet, cool night beyond--out into the merry riot of the
+wind. Swift and sure of foot he sped, going ever where the shadows lay
+deepest, skirting beyond reach of the paling watch-fires, until he was
+come nigh where the horses stamped and snorted. Here he set the nun
+upon her feet, and bidding her stir not, crept towards the horses,
+quick-eyed and watchful. And thus he presently espied a man who leaned
+him upon a long pike, his face set toward the nearest watch-fire: and
+the man's eyes were closed, and he snored gently. Then Beltane shifted
+his dagger to his left hand, and being come within reach, drew back his
+mailed fist and smote the sleeper betwixt his closed eyes, and catching
+him as he fell, laid him gently on the grass.
+
+Now swift and silent came Beltane to where the horses champed, and
+having made choice of a certain powerful beast, slipped off his chain
+mittens and rolled back sleeve of mail and, low-stooping in the shadow,
+sought and found the ropes whereto the halters were made fast, and
+straightway cut them in sunder. Then, having looked to girth and
+bridle, he vaulted to the saddle, and drawing sword, shouted his
+battle-cry fierce and loud: "Arise! Arise!" and, so shouting, smote the
+frighted horses to right and left with the flat of the long blade, so
+that they reared up whinnying, and set off a-galloping in all
+directions, filling the air with the thunder of their rushing hoofs.
+
+And now came shouts and cries with a prodigious confusion and running
+to and fro about the dying watch-fires. Trumpets blared shrill, hoarse
+voices roared commands that passed unheeded in the growing din and
+tumult that swelled to a wild clamour of frenzied shouting:
+
+"Fly! fly! Pertolepe is upon us! 'tis the Red Pertolepe!"
+
+But Beltane, riding warily amid the gloom, came to that place where he
+had left the nun, yet found her not, and immediately was seized of a
+great dread. But as he stared wildly about him, he presently heard a
+muffled cry, and spurring thitherwards, beheld two dim figures that
+swayed to and fro in a fierce grapple. Riding close, Beltane saw the
+glint of mail, raised his sword for the blow, felt a shock--a searing
+smart, and knew himself wounded; but now she was at his stirrup, and
+stooping, he swung her up to the withers of his horse, and wheeling
+short about, spurred to a gallop; yet, as he rode, above the rush of
+wind and thud of hoofs, he heard a cry, hoarse and dolorous. On
+galloped Beltane all unheeding, until he came 'neath the leafy arches
+of the friendly woods, within whose gloom needs must he ride at a
+hand's pace. Thus, as they went, they could hear the uproar behind--a
+confused din that waxed and waned upon the wind.
+
+But Beltane, riding slow and cautious within the green, heeded this not
+at all, nor the throb of his wounded arm, nor aught under heaven save
+the pressure of this slender body that lay so still, so warm and soft
+within his arm; and as he went, he began to wish for the moon that he
+might see her face.
+
+Blue eyes, long and heavy-lashed! Surely blue eyes were fairest in a
+woman? And then the voice of her, liquid and soft like the call of
+merle or mavis. And she was a nun! How white and slim her hands, yet
+strong and resolute, as when she grasped the dagger 'gainst Sir Gilles;
+aye--resolute hands, like the spirit within her soft and shapely body.
+And then again--her lips; red and full, up-curving to sweet, slow
+smile, yet withal tinged with subtle mockery. With such eyes and such
+lips she might--aye, but she was a nun--a nun, forsooth!
+
+"Messire!" Beltane started from his reverie. "Art cold, messire?"
+
+"Cold!" stammered Beltane, "cold? Indeed no, lady."
+
+"Yet dost thou tremble!"
+
+"Nathless, I am not cold, lady."
+
+"Then wherefore tremble?"
+
+"Nay, I--I know not. In sooth, do I so, lady?"
+
+"Verily, sir, and therewith sigh, frequent and O, most dolorous to
+hear!"
+
+Now at this, my Beltane finding naught to say, straightway sighed
+again; and thus they rode awhile, speaking nothing.
+
+"Think you we are safe, messire?" she questioned him at last.
+
+"Tis so I pray, lady."
+
+"Thou hast done right valiantly to-night on my behalf," says she. "How
+came you in at the window?"
+
+"By means of a tree, lady."
+
+"Art very strong, messire, and valiant beyond thought. Thou hast this
+night, with thy strong hand, lifted me up from shameful death: so, by
+right, should my life be thine henceforth." Herewith she sighed,
+leaning closer upon his breast, and Beltane's desire to see her face
+grew amain.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks art cold indeed, or is it that I weary
+thee?"
+
+"Nay, thou'rt wondrous easy to bear thus, lady."
+
+"And whither do ye bear me, sir--north or south? And yet it mattereth
+nothing," says she, soft-voiced, "since we are safe--together!" Now
+hereafter, as Beltane rode, he turned his eyes full oft to heaven--
+yearning for the moon.
+
+"What woods be these, messire?" she questioned.
+
+"'Tis the wilderness that lieth betwixt Pentavalon and Mortain, lady."
+
+"Know ye Mortain, sir?"
+
+"Yea, verily," he answered, and sighed full deep. And as he sighed, lo,
+in that moment the moon peeped forth of a cloud-rift and he beheld the
+nun looking up at him with eyes deep and wistful, and, as she gazed,
+her lips curved in slow and tender smile ere her lashes drooped, and
+sighing, she hid her face against him in the folds of her mantle, while
+Beltane must needs bethink him of other eyes so very like, and yet so
+false, and straightway--sighed.
+
+"Messire," she murmured, "pray now, wherefore do ye sigh so oft?"
+
+"For that thine eyes do waken memory, lady."
+
+"Of a woman?"
+
+"Aye--of a woman."
+
+"And thou dost--love her, messire?"
+
+"Unto my dole, lady."
+
+"Ah, can it be she doth not love thee, messire?"
+
+"Indeed, 'tis most certain!"
+
+"Hath she then told thee so--of herself?"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "not in so many words, lady, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth the nun, suddenly erect, "thou must needs run away and
+leave her--poor sweet wretch--to mourn for thee, belike, and grieve--
+aye, and scorn thee too for a faint-heart!"
+
+"Nay, lady, verily I--"
+
+"O, indeed me thinks she must contemn thee in her heart, poor, gentle
+soul--aye, scorn and despise thee woefully for running away; indeed,
+'tis beyond all doubt, messire!"
+
+"Lady," quoth Beltane, flushing in the dark, "you know naught of the
+matter--"
+
+"Why then shalt thou tell me of it, messire--lo, I am listening." So
+saying, she settled herself more aptly within his encircling arm.
+
+"First, then," said Beltane, when they had ridden awhile in silence,
+"she is a duchess, and very proud."
+
+"Yet is she a woman, messire, and thou a man whose arms be very
+strong!"
+
+"Of what avail strong arms, lady, 'gainst such as she?"
+
+"Why, to carry her withal, messire."
+
+"To--to carry her!" quoth Beltane in amaze.
+
+"In very truth, messire. To lift her up and bear her away with thee--"
+
+"Nay--nay, to--bear her away? O, 'twere thing impossible!"
+
+"Is this duchess so heavy, messire?" sighed the nun, "is she a burden
+beyond even thy strength, sir knight?"
+
+"Lady, she is the proud Helen, Duchess of Mortain!" quoth Beltane,
+frowning at the encompassing shadows. Now was the nun hushed awhile,
+and when at last she spake her voice was low and wondrous gentle.
+
+"And is it indeed the wilful Helen that ye love, messire?"
+
+"Even she, unto my sorrow."
+
+"Thy sorrow? Why then, messire--forget her."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "would I might indeed, yet needs must I love her
+ever."
+
+"Alack, and is it so forsooth," quoth the nun, sighing likewise. "Ah
+me, my poor, fond son, now doth thy reverend mother pity thee indeed,
+for thou'rt in direful case to be her lover, methinks."
+
+Now did my Beltane frown the blacker by reason of bitter memory and the
+pain of his wound. "Her lover, aye!" quoth he, bitterly, "and she hath
+a many lovers--"
+
+"Lovers!" sighed the nun, "that hath she, the sad, sweet soul! Lovers!
+--O forsooth, she is sick of a very surfeit of lovers,--so hath she fled
+from them all!"
+
+"Fled from them?" cried Beltane, his wound forgot, "fled from them--
+from Mortain? Nay, how mean you--how--fled?"
+
+"She hath walked, see you, run--ridden--is riding--away from Mortain,
+from her lords, her counsellors, her varlets, her lovers and what not--
+in a word, messire, she is--gone!"
+
+"Gone!" quoth Beltane, breathless and aghast, "gone--aye--but whither?"
+
+"What matter for that so long as her grave counsellors be sufficiently
+vexed, and her lovers left a-sighing? O me, her counsellors! Bald-pates,
+see you, and grey-beards, who for their own ends would have her
+wed Duke Ivo--meek, unfortunate maid!"
+
+"Know you then the Duchess, lady?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and my heart doth grieve for her, poor, sweet wretch,
+for O, 'tis a sad thing to be a duchess with a multitude of suitors
+a-wooing in season and out, vaunting graces she hath not, and blind to
+the virtues she doth possess. Ah, messire, I give thee joy that,
+whatsoever ills may be thine, thou can ne'er be--a duchess!"
+
+"And think you she will not wed with Ivo, lady--think you so in truth?"
+
+"Never, while she is Helen."
+
+"And--loveth--none of her lovers?"
+
+"Why--indeed, messire--I think she doth--"
+
+"Art sure? How know you this?"
+
+"I was her bedfellow betimes, and oft within the night have heard her
+speak a name unto her pillow, as love-sick maids will."
+
+Now once again was Beltane aware of the throb and sting of his wounded
+arm, yet 'twas not because of this he sighed so deep and oft.
+
+"Spake she this name--often?" he questioned.
+
+"Very oft, messire. Aye me, how chill the wind blows!"
+
+"Some lord's name, belike?"
+
+"Nay, 'twas no lord's name, messire. 'Tis very dark amid these trees!"
+
+"Some knight, mayhap--or lowly squire?"
+
+"Neither, messire. Heigho! methinks I now could sleep awhile." So she
+sighed deep yet happily, and nestled closer within his shielding arm.
+
+But Beltane, my Innocent, rode stiff in the saddle, staring sad-eyed
+into the gloom, nor felt, nor heeded the yielding tenderness of the
+shapely young body he held, but plodded on through the dark, frowning
+blacker than the night. Now as he rode thus, little by little the pain
+of his wound grew less, a drowsiness crept upon him, and therewith, a
+growing faintness. Little by little his head drooped low and lower, and
+once the arm about the nun slipped its hold, whereat she sighed and
+stirred sleepily upon his breast. But on he rode, striving grimly
+against the growing faintness, his feet thrust far within the stirrups,
+his mailed hand tight clenched upon the reins. So, as dawn broke, he
+heard the pleasant sound of running water near by, and as the light
+grew, saw they were come to a grassy glade where ran a small brook--a
+goodly place, well-hidden and remote. So turned he thitherward, and
+lifting up heavy eyes, beheld the stars paling to the dawn, for the
+clouds were all passed away and the wind was gone long since. And, in a
+while, being come within the boskage of this green dell, feebly and as
+one a-dream, he checked the great horse that snuffed eagerly toward the
+murmuring brook, and as one a-dream saw that she who had slumbered on
+his breast was awake--fresh and sweet as the dawn.
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "I--I fear--I can ride--no farther!"
+
+And now, as one a-dream, he beheld her start and look at him with eyes
+wide and darkly blue--within whose depths was that which stirred within
+him a memory of other days--in so much he would have spoken, yet found
+the words unready and hard to come by.
+
+"Lady,--thine eyes, methinks--are not--nun's eyes!"
+
+But now behold of a sudden she cried out, soft and pitiful, for blood
+was upon him, upon his brow, upon his golden hair. And still as one
+a-dream he felt her slip from his failing clasp, felt her arms close
+about him, aiding him to earth.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt!" she cried. "O, thou'rt wounded! And I never guessed!"
+
+"'Tis but my arm--in sooth--and--"
+
+But she hushed him with soft mother-cries and tender-spoke commands,
+and aiding him to the brook, laid him thereby to lave his hurt within
+the cool, sweet water; and, waking with the smart, Beltane sighed and
+turned to look up at her. Now did she, meeting his eyes, put up one
+white hand, setting back sombre hood and snowy wimple, and stooping
+tenderly above him, behold, in that moment down came the shining glory
+of her lustrous hair to fall about the glowing beauty of her face,
+touching his brow like a caress.
+
+Then, at last, memory awoke within him, and lifting himself upon a
+feeble elbow, he stared upon her glowing loveliness with wide, glad
+eyes.
+
+"Helen!" he sighed, "O--Helen!" And, so sighing, fell back, and lay
+there pale and wan within the dawn, but with a smile upon his pallid
+lips.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+
+Beltane yawned prodigiously, stretched mightily, and opening sleepy
+eyes looked about him. He lay 'neath shady willows within a leafy
+bower; before him a brook ran leaping to the sunshine and filling the
+warm, stilly air with its merry chatter and soft, laughing noises,
+while beyond the rippling water the bank sloped steeply upward to the
+green silence of the woods.
+
+Now as Beltane lay thus 'twixt sleeping and waking, it seemed to him
+that in the night he had dreamed a wondrous dream, and fain he would
+have slept again. But now from an adjacent thicket a horse whinnied and
+Beltane, starting at the sound, felt his wound throb with sudden pain,
+and looking down, beheld his arm most aptly swathed in bandages of
+fair, soft linen. Now would he have sat up, but marvelled to find it so
+great a matter, and propping himself instead upon a weak elbow glanced
+about him expectantly. And lo, in that moment, one spake near by in
+voice rich and soft like the call of merle or mavis:
+
+"Beltane," said the voice, "Beltane the Smith!"
+
+With heart quick-beating, Beltane turned and beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing beside him, her glorious hair wrought into two long braids
+wherein flowers were cunningly entwined. Straightway he would have
+risen, but she forbade him with a gesture and, coming closer, sank
+beside him on her knees, and being there blushed and sighed, yet
+touched him not.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt," said she, "so must we bide here awhile, thou to win thy
+strength again, and I to--minister unto thee."
+
+Mutely awhile my Beltane gazed upon her shy, sweet loveliness, what
+time her bosom rose and fell tempestuous, and she bowed her head full
+low.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered at last, "O, art thou indeed the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Not so," she murmured, "Helen was duchess whiles she was in Mortain,
+but I that speak with thee am a lonely maid--indeed a very lonely maid
+--who hath sighed for thee, and wept for thee, and for thee hath left
+her duchy of Mortain, Beltane."
+
+"For me?" quoth Beltane, leaning near, "was it for me--ah, was it so in
+very sooth?"
+
+"Beltane," said she, looking not toward him, "last night did'st thou
+bear a nun within thine arms, and, looking on her with love aflame
+within thine eyes, did yet vow to her you loved this duchess. Tell me,
+who am but a lonely maid, is this so?"
+
+"Thou knowest I love her ever and always," he answered.
+
+"And yet," quoth she, shaking her head and looking up with eyes of
+witchery, "thou did'st love this nun also? Though 'tis true thou did'st
+name her 'reverend mother'! O, wert very blind, Beltane! And yet thou
+did'st love her also, methinks?"
+
+"Needs must I--ever and always!" he answered.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, but I would have thee love this lonely maid dearest of
+all henceforth an it may be so, for that she is so very lonely and hath
+sought thee so long--"
+
+"Sought me?" he murmured, gazing on her wide-eyed, "nay, how may this
+be, for with my kisses warm upon thy lips thou did'st bid me farewell
+long time since at Mortain, within the green."
+
+"And thou," she sighed, "and thou did'st leave me, Beltane! O, would
+thou had kissed me once again and held me in thine arms, so might we
+have known less of sorrow. Indeed methinks 'twas cruel to leave me so.
+Beltane."
+
+"Cruel!" says my Beltane, and thereafter fell silent from sheer amaze
+the while she sighed again, and bowed her shapely head and plucked a
+daisy from the grass to turn it about and about in gentle fingers.
+
+"So, Beltane," quoth she at last, "being young and cruel thou did'st
+leave the Duchess a lonely maid. Yet that same night did she, this
+tender maid, seek out thy lowly dwelling 'mid the green to yield
+herself joyfully unto thee thenceforth. But ah, Beltane! she found the
+place a ruin and thou wert gone, and O, methinks her heart came nigh to
+breaking. Then did she vow that no man might ever have her to his love
+--save only--thou. So, an thou love her not, Beltane, needs must she--
+die a maid!"
+
+Now Beltane forgot his weakness and rose to his knees and lifted her
+bowed head until he might look deep within the yearning tenderness of
+her eyes. A while she met his look, then blushing, trembling, all in a
+moment she swayed toward him, hiding her face against him; and,
+trembling also, Beltane caught her close within his arms and held her
+to his heart.
+
+"Dost thou love me so, indeed, my lady? Art thou mine own henceforth,
+Helen the Beautiful?"
+
+"Ah, love," she murmured, "in all my days ne'er have I loved other man
+than thou, my Beltane. So now do I give myself to thee; in life and
+death, in joy and sorrow, thine will I be, beloved!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"As thou art mine, so am I thine, henceforth and forever."
+
+And thus, kneeling together within the wilderness did they plight their
+troth, low-voiced and tremulous, with arms that clasped and clung and
+eager lips that parted but to meet again.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "ah, Beltane, hold me close! I've wearied for
+thee so long--so long; hold me close, beloved. See now, as thou dost
+hate the pomp and stir of cities, so, for thy sake have I fled hither
+to the wilderness, to live with thee amid these solitudes, to be thy
+love, thy stay and comfort. Here will we live for each other, and, hid
+within the green, forget the world and all things else--save only our
+great love!"
+
+But now it chanced that, raising his head, Beltane beheld his long
+sword leaning against a tree hard by, and beholding it thus, he
+bethought him straightway of the Duke his father, of Pentavalon and of
+her grievous wrongs; and his clasping hands grew lax and fell away and,
+groaning, he bowed his head; whereat she started anxious-eyed, and
+questioned him, soft and piteous:
+
+"Is it thy wound? I had forgot--ah, love, forgive me! See here a pillow
+for thy dear head--" But now again he caught her to him close and
+fierce, and kissed her oft; and holding her thus, spake:
+
+"Thou knowest I do love thee, my Helen? Yet because I love thee
+greatly, love, alas, must wait awhile--"
+
+"Wait?" she cried, "ah, no--am I not thine own?"
+
+"'Tis so I would be worthy of thee, beloved," he sighed, "for know that
+I am pledged to rest not nor stay until my task be accomplished or I
+slain--"
+
+"Slain! Thou?"
+
+"O, Helen, 'tis a mighty task and desperate, and many perchance must
+die ere this my vow be accomplished--"
+
+"Thy vow? But thou art a smith, my Beltane,--what hath humble smith to
+do with vows? Thou art my love--my Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Indeed," sighed Beltane, "smith was I aforetime, and therewithal
+content: yet am I also son of my father, and he--"
+
+"Hark!" she whispered, white hand upon his lips, "some one comes--
+through the leaves yonder!" So saying she sprang lightly to her feet
+and stood above him straight and tall: and though she trembled, yet he
+saw her eyes were fearless and his dagger gleamed steady in her hands.
+
+"Beltane, my love!" she said, "thou'rt so weak, yet am I strong to
+defend thee against them all."
+
+But Beltane rose also and, swaying on unsteady feet, kissed her once
+and so took his sword, marvelling to find it so heavy, and drew it from
+the scabbard. And ever upon the stilly air the rustle of leaves grew
+louder.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "they be very near! Hearken! Beltane--thine am
+I, in life, in death. An this be death--what matter, since we die
+together?"
+
+But, leaning on his sword, Beltane watched her with eyes of love yet
+spake no word, hearkening to the growing stir amid the leaves, until,
+of a sudden, upon the bank above, the underbrush was parted and a man
+stood looking down at them; a tall man, whose linked mail glinted
+evilly and whose face was hid 'neath a vizored casque. Now of a sudden
+he put up his vizor and stepped toward them down the sloping bank.
+
+Then the Duchess let fall the dagger and reached out her hands.
+
+"Godric!" she sighed, "O Godric!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+
+Thus came white-haired old Godric the huntsman, lusty despite his
+years, bright-eyed and garrulous with joy, to fall upon his knees
+before his lady and to kiss those outstretched hands.
+
+"Godric!" she cried, "'tis my good Godric!" and laughed, though with
+lips a-tremble.
+
+"O sweet mistress," quoth he, "now glory be to the kind Saint Martin
+that I do see thee again hale and well. These many days have I followed
+hard upon thy track, grieving for thee--"
+
+"Yet here am I in sooth, my Godric, and joyful, see you!"
+
+"Ah, dear my lady, thy wilfulness hath e'en now brought thee into dire
+perils and dangers. O rueful day!"
+
+"Nay, Godric, my wilfulness hath brought me unto my heart's desire. O
+most joyful day!"
+
+"Lady, I do tell thee here is an evil place for thee: they do say the
+devil is abroad and goeth up and down and to and fro begirt in mail,
+lady, doing such deeds as no man ever did. Pentavalon is rife with war
+and rumours of war, everywhere is whispered talk of war--death shall be
+busy within this evil Duchy ere long--aye, and even in Mortain,
+perchance--nay, hearken! Scarce was thy flight discovered when there
+came messengers hot-foot to thy guest, Duke Ivo, having word from Sir
+Gui of Allerdale that one hath arisen calling himself son of Beltane
+the Strong that once was Duke of Pentavalon, as ye know. And this is a
+mighty man, who hath, within the week, broke ope my lord Duke Ivo's
+dungeon of Belsaye, slain divers of my lord Duke's good and loyal
+subjects, and burnt down the great gallows of my lord Duke."
+
+"Ah!" sighed the Duchess, her brows knit thoughtfully, "and what said
+Duke Ivo to this, Godric?"
+
+"Smiled, lady, and begged instant speech with thee; and, when thou wert
+not to be found, then Duke Ivo smiled upon thy trembling counsellors.
+'My lords,' said he, 'I ride south to hang certain rogues and fools.
+But, when I have seen them dead, I shall come hither again to woo and
+wed the Duchess Helen. See to it that ye find her, therefore, else will
+I myself seek her through the length and breadth of Mortain until I
+find her--aye, with lighted torches, if need be!"
+
+"And dare he threaten us?" cried the Duchess, white hands clenched.
+
+"Aye, doth he, lady," nodded Godric, garrulous and grim. "Thereafter
+away he rode, he and all his company, and after them, I grieving and
+alone, to seek thee, dear my lady. And behold, I have found thee, the
+good Saint Martin be praised!"
+
+"Verily thou hast found me, Godric!" sighed the Duchess, looking upon
+Beltane very wistfully.
+
+"So now will I guide thee back to thine own fair duchy, gentle
+mistress, for I do tell thee here in Pentavalon shall be woeful days
+anon. Even as I came, with these two eyes did I behold the black ruin
+of Duke Ivo's goodly gallows--a woeful sight! And divers tales have I
+heard of this gallows-burner, how that he did, unaided and alone, seize
+and bear off upon his shoulders one Sir Pertolepe--called the 'Red'--
+Lord Warden of the Marches. So hath Duke Ivo put a price upon his head
+and decreed that he shall forthright be hunted down, and thereto hath
+sent runners far and near with his exact description, the which have I
+heard and can most faithfully repeat an you so desire?"
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the Duchess, a little wearily.
+
+"As thus, lady. Item: calleth himself Beltane, son of Beltane, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was: Item--"
+
+"Beltane!" said the Duchess, and started.
+
+"Item: he is very tall and marvellous strong. Item: hath yellow hair--"
+
+"Yellow hair!" said the Duchess, and turned to look upon Beltane.
+
+"Item: goeth in chain-mail, and about his middle a broad belt of gold
+and silver. Item: beareth a great sword whereon is graven the legend--
+lady, dost thou attend?--Ha! Saint Martin aid us!" cried Godric, for
+now, following the Duchess's glance, he beheld Beltane leaning upon his
+long sword. Then, while Godric stared open-mouthed, the Duchess looked
+on Beltane, a new light in her eyes and with hands tight clasped, while
+Beltane looking upon her sighed amain.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen, 'tis true that I who am Beltane the Smith,
+am likewise son of Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon. Behold, the sword I
+bear is the sword of the Duke my father, nor must I lay it by until
+wrong is vanquished and oppression driven hence. Thus, see you, I may
+not stay to love, within my life it must not be--yet-a-while," and
+speaking, Beltane groaned and bowed his head. So came she to him and
+looked on him with eyes of yearning, yet touched him not.
+
+"Dear my lord," said she, tender-voiced, "thou should'st make a noble
+duke, methinks: and yet alas! needs must I love my gentle Beltane the
+Smith. And I did love him so! Thou art a mighty man-at-arms, my lord,
+and terrible in war, meseemeth, O--methinks thou wilt make a goodly
+duke indeed!"
+
+"Mayhap," he answered heavily, "mayhap, an God spare me long enough.
+But now must I leave thee--"
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"Thou hast heard--I am a hunted man with a price upon my head, by my
+side goeth death--"
+
+"So will I go also," she murmured, "ever and always beside thee."
+
+"Thou? Ah, not so, beloved. I must tread me this path alone. As for
+thee--haste, haste and get thee to Mortain and safety, and there wait
+for me--pray for me, O my love!"
+
+"Beltane--Beltane," she sighed, "dost love me indeed--and yet would
+send me from thee?"
+
+"Aye," he groaned, "needs must it be so."
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "Beltane, thou shalt be Duke within the week,
+despite Black Ivo."
+
+"Duke--I? Of Pentavalon?"
+
+"Of Mortain!" she whispered, "an thou wilt wed me, my lord."
+
+"Nay," stammered Beltane, "nay, outcast am I, my friends very few--to
+wed thee thus, therefore, were shame--"
+
+"To wed me thus," said she, "should be my joy, and thy joy, and
+Pentavalon's salvation, mayhap. O, see you not, Beltane? Thou should'st
+be henceforth my lord, my knight-at-arms to lead my powers 'gainst Duke
+Ivo, teaching Mortain to cringe no more to a usurper--to free
+Pentavalon from her sorrows--ah, see you not, Beltane?"
+
+"Helen!" he murmured, "O Helen, poor am I--a beggar--"
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "an thou wed this lonely maid within the
+forest, then will I be beggar with thee; but, an thou take to wife the
+Duchess, then shalt thou be my Duke, lord of me and of Mortain, with
+her ten thousand lances in thy train."
+
+"Thou would'st give me so much," he sighed at last, "so much, my
+Helen?"
+
+"Nay," said she, with red lips curved and tender, "for this wide world
+to me is naught without thee, Beltane. And I do need thy mighty arm--to
+shelter me, Beltane, since Ivo hath defied me, threatening Mortain with
+fire and sword. So when he cometh, instead of a woman he shall find a
+man to withstand him, whose sword is swift and strong to smite and who
+doeth such deeds as no man ever did; so shalt thou be my love, my lord,
+my champion. Wilt not refuse me the shelter of thy strength, Beltane?"
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane lifted his head and seized her in his arms and
+held her close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"So be it, my Helen. To wife will I take thee so soon as may be, to
+hold thee ever in love and reverence, to serve thee ever, to live for
+thee and for thee to die an needs be."
+
+But now strode Godric forward, with hands outstretched in eager
+protest.
+
+"Lady," he cried, "O dear lady bethink thee, now, bethink thee, thy
+choice is a perilous choice--"
+
+"Yet is it my choice, Godric."
+
+"But, O, dear my mistress--"
+
+"O my faithful Godric, look now upon lord Beltane, my well-beloved who
+shall be Duke of Mortain ere the moon change. Salute thy lord, Godric!"
+
+So, perforce, came old Godric to fall upon his knee before Beltane, to
+take his hand and swear the oath of fealty.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said he, "son art thou of a mighty Duke; God send
+Mortain find in thee such another!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane.
+
+Thereafter Godric rose and pointed up to the zenith.
+
+"Behold, my lady," said he, "it groweth to noon and there is danger
+hereabouts--more danger e'en than I had dreamed. Let us therefore haste
+over into Mortain--to thy Manor of Blaen."
+
+"But Godric, see you not my lord is faint of his wound, and Blaen is
+far, methinks."
+
+"Not so, lady, 'tis scarce six hours' journey to the north, nay, I do
+know of lonely bridle-paths that shall bring us sooner."
+
+"To Blaen?" mused the Duchess. "Winfrida is there--and yet--and yet--
+aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my
+Beltane, and there shalt thou--wed with me--an it be so thy pleasure
+in sooth, my lord."
+
+So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide
+them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before
+him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future
+with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.
+
+Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and
+beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.
+
+"O loved Mortain!" she sighed, "O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a
+smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and
+flowers. 'Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful,
+who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these
+twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet
+Mortain!"
+
+By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages
+bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting
+shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing
+the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and
+whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset.
+And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which
+rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.
+
+Now as they drew near, being yet sheltered 'mid the green, old Godric
+halted in his stride and pointed to the highway that ran in the vale
+below.
+
+"Lady," quoth he, "mine eyes be old, and yet methinks I should know yon
+horseman that rideth unhelmed so close beside the lady Winfrida--that
+breadth of shoulder! that length of limb! Lady, how think ye?"
+
+"'Tis Duke Ivo!" she whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Godric, "armed, see you, yet with but two esquires--"
+
+"And with Winfrida!" said the Duchess, frowning. "Can it indeed be as I
+have thought, betimes? And Blaen is a very solitary place!"
+
+"See!" whispered Godric, "the Duke leaveth her. Behold him kiss her
+hand! Ha, he summoneth his esquires. Hey now, see how they ride--sharp
+spur and loose bridle, 'tis ever Ivo's way!"
+
+Now when the Duke and his esquires were vanished in the dusk and the
+sound of their galloping died away, the Duchess sprang lightly to the
+sward and bidding them wait until she summoned them, hasted on before.
+
+Thus, in a while, as Winfrida the Fair paced slowly along upon her
+ambling palfrey, her blue eyes a-dream, she was suddenly aware of a
+rustling near by and, glancing swiftly up, beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing before her, tall and proud, her black brows wrinkled faintly,
+her eyes stern and challenging.
+
+"Lady--dear my lady!" stammered Winfrida--"is it thou indeed--"
+
+"Since when," quoth the Duchess, soft-voiced yet menacing, "since when
+doth Winfrida hold sly meeting with one that is enemy to me and to
+Mortain?"
+
+"Enemy?--nay, whom mean you--indeed I--O Helen, in sooth 'twas but by
+chance--"
+
+"Is this treason, my lady Winfrida, or only foolish amourette?"
+
+"Sweet lady--'twas but chance--an you mean Duke Ivo--he came--I saw--"
+
+"My lady Winfrida, I pray you go before, we will speak of this anon.
+Come, Godric!" she called.
+
+Then the lady Winfrida, her beauteous head a-droop, rode on before,
+sighing deep and oft yet nothing speaking, with the Duchess proud and
+stern beside her while Beltane and Godric followed after.
+
+And so it was they came to the Manor of Blaen.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+
+Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to
+happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve,
+the Duchess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to
+deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so
+that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.
+
+Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she,
+busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings,
+and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and
+falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious
+head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane,
+kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she,
+soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.
+
+To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she
+the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady
+Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and
+her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow
+her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.
+
+Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within
+the garden, Beltane found himself alone. So he arose and walked amid
+the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of
+all. As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he
+came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing
+blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing. Now standing
+within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind
+him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and
+yielding form, and behold--it was Winfrida! Then Beltane would have
+loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his
+broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.
+
+"My lord Beltane," she sighed, "happy art thou to have won the love of
+our noble lady--aye, happy art thou! But as for me, alas! messire,
+meseemeth her heart is turned 'gainst me these days; I, who was her
+loved companion and childish play-fellow! So now am I very desolate,
+wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to
+forgiveness. Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly
+on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess--" here
+needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and
+thereafter spake, clear and loud: "so will I love thee also!" Then,
+while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her
+eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.
+
+But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a
+white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.
+And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake
+her voice was cold and distant.
+
+"Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?"
+
+"Why truly," stammered Beltane, "truly I--she was here but now--"
+
+"Here, my lord? Alone?"
+
+"She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her
+love aforetime, to--"
+
+"Would'st plead for her, in sooth?"
+
+"I would but have thee do her justice, Helen--"
+
+"Think you I am so unjust, my lord?"
+
+"Not so indeed. But she is so young--so fair--"
+
+"Aye, she is very fair, my lord--there be--others think the same."
+
+"Helen?" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+"And thou dost plead for her--and to me, my lord! And with her kisses
+yet burning thee!"
+
+"She did but kiss my hand--"
+
+"Thy hand, my lord! O aye, thy hand forsooth!"
+
+"Aye, my hand, lady, and therewith named me 'Duke'!" quoth Beltane,
+beginning to frown. Whereat needs must the Duchess laugh, very soft and
+sweet yet with eyes aglow beneath her lashes.
+
+"'Duke,' messire? She names thee so betimes, meseemeth. Thou art not
+Duke yet, nor can'st thou ever be but of my favour!"
+
+"And the time flieth apace," sighed Beltane, "and I have mighty things
+to do. O, methinks I have tarried here overlong!"
+
+"Ah--and would'st be going, messire?"
+
+"'Tis so methinks my duty."
+
+"Go you alone, messire--or goeth she with thee?"
+
+"Ah, God! How dare ye so think?" cried Beltane, in anger so fierce and
+sudden that though she fronted him yet smiling, she drew back a pace.
+Whereat his anger fell from him and he reached out his hands.
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O my Helen, what madness is this? Thou art she I
+love--doth not thine heart tell thee so?" and fain would he have caught
+her to him.
+
+"Ah--touch me not!" she cried, and steel flickered in her hand.
+
+"This--to me?" quoth he, and laughed short and bitter, and catching her
+wrist, shook the dagger from her grasp and set his foot upon it.
+
+"And hath it come to this--'twixt thee and me?" he sighed.
+
+"O," she panted, "I have loved thee nor shamed to show thee my love.
+Yet because my love is so great, so, methinks, an need be I might hate
+thee more than any man!" Then, quick-breathing, flushed and trembling,
+she turned and sped away, leaving Beltane heavy-hearted, and with the
+dagger gleaming beneath his foot.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Beltane, leaning forth of his lattice, stared upon the moon with
+doleful eyes, heavy with sense of wrong and big with self-pity.
+
+"I have dreamed a wondrous fair dream," said he within himself, "but
+all dreams must end, so is my dream vanished quite and I awake, and
+being awake, now will I arise and go upon my duty!" Then turned he to
+his bed that stood beside the window and forthwith began to arm
+himself; but with every lace he drew, with every strap he buckled, he
+sighed amain and his self-pity waxed the mightier. He bethought him of
+his father's sayings anent the love of women, and in his mind condemned
+them all as fickle and light-minded. And in a while, being armed from
+head to foot, in glistening coif and hauberk and with sword girt about
+his middle, he came back to the lattice and leaned him there to stare
+again upon the moon, to wait until the manor should be wrapped in sleep
+and to grieve for himself with every breath he drew.
+
+Being thus so profoundly occupied and, moreover, his head being thrust
+without the window, he heard nought of the tap upon his chamber door
+nor of the whispered sound of his name. Thus he started to feel a touch
+upon his arm, and turning, beheld the Duchess.
+
+She wore a simple robe that fell about her body's round loveliness in
+sweetly revealing folds; her hair, all unbraided, was caught up 'neath
+a jewelled fillet in careless fashion, but--O surely, surely, never had
+she looked so fair, so sweet and tender, so soft and desirable as now,
+the tear-drops yet agleam upon her drooping lashes and her bosom yet
+heaving with recent grief.
+
+"And--thou art armed, my lord?"
+
+"I ride for Thrasfordham-within-Bourne this night, my lady."
+
+"But I am come to thee--humbly--craving thy forgiveness, Beltane."
+
+"Nought have I to forgive thee, lady--save that thou art woman!"
+
+"Thou would'st not have me--a man, messire?"
+
+"'Twould be less hard to leave thee."
+
+"Thou art--leaving me then, Beltane?"
+
+"Yea, indeed, my lady. The woes of Pentavalon call to me with a
+thousand tongues: I must away--pray God I have not tarried too long!"
+
+"But art yet weak of thy wound, Beltane. I pray thee tarry--a little
+longer. Ah, my lord, let not two lives go empty because of the arts of
+a false friend, for well do I know that Winfrida, seeing me coming to
+thee in the garden, kissed thee of set purpose, that, beholding, I
+might grieve."
+
+"Is this indeed so, my lady?"
+
+"She did confess it but now."
+
+"Said she so indeed?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, after I had--pulled her hair--a little. But O, my
+Beltane, even when I thought thee base, I loved thee! Ah, go not from
+me, stay but until to-morrow, and then shalt thou wed me for thine own!
+Leave me not, Beltane, for indeed--I cannot live--without thee!"
+
+So saying, she sank down upon his couch, hiding her face in the pillow.
+
+Now came Beltane and leaned above her.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered; and falling upon his knees, he set his arms
+about her. Then lifted she her tearful face and looked upon him in the
+moonlight; and lying thus, of a sudden reached out white arms to him:
+and in her eyes was love, and on her quivering lips and in all the
+yearning beauty of her, love called to him.
+
+Close, close he caught her in his embrace, kissing her hard and fierce,
+and her long hair came down to veil them in its glory. Then, trembling,
+he lifted her in his arms and bore her forth of his chamber out into
+the hall beyond, where lights flickered against arras-hung wall. There,
+falling upon his knees before her, he hid his face within the folds of
+her habit.
+
+"O Helen!" he groaned, "thou art--so beautiful--so beautiful that I
+grow afraid of thee! Wed me this night or in mercy let me begone!"
+
+And now did the Duchess look down upon him with eyes of wonder changing
+to a great and tender joy, and stooping, put back his mail coif with
+reverent hand and laid her cheek upon that bowed and golden head.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "O Beltane of mine, now do I know thee indeed
+for a true man and noble knight! Such love as thine honoureth us both,
+so beloved, this night--within the hour, shalt thou wed with me, and I
+joy to hear thee call me--Wife!"
+
+Therewith she turned and left him there upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+
+Late though the hour, full soon the manor was astir; lights glimmered
+in the great hall where were gathered all the household of the Duchess,
+her ladies, her tire-women, the porters and serving men, even to the
+scullions--all were there, staring in wonderment upon the Duchess, who
+stood before them upon the dais in a rich habit of blue and silver and
+with her golden fillet on her brow.
+
+"Good friends," said she, looking round upon them happy-eyed, "hither
+have I summoned ye, for that this night, here before you all, 'tis my
+intent to wed this noble knight Beltane, son of Beltane Duke of
+Pentavalon aforetime, who shall henceforth be lord of me and of
+Mortain."
+
+Now did Winfrida the Fair start and therewith clench pink palms and
+look quick-eyed upon my Beltane, noting in turn his golden hair, his
+belt of silver and the great sword he bore: and, biting her red lip,
+she stooped her beauteous head, frowning as one in sudden perplexity.
+
+"So now," spake on the Duchess, "let us to the chapel where good Father
+Angelo shall give us heaven's blessing upon this our union."
+
+"Lady," said Godric, "Friar Angelo was summoned to the village this
+night, nor is he come again yet."
+
+"Then go fetch him," sighed the Duchess, "and O, Godric, hasten!"
+
+Thereafter turned she to the assemblage, gentle-eyed.
+
+"Friends," said she, "since I am greatly happy this night, so would I
+have ye happy likewise. Therefore I decree that such as are serfs among
+ye shall go free henceforth, and to such as are free will I give
+grants of land that ye may come to bless this night and remember it
+ever."
+
+But now, even as they fell on their knees, 'mid cries of gratitude and
+joyful acclaim, she, smiling and gracious, passed out of the hall: yet,
+as she went, beckoned the lady Winfrida to follow.
+
+Being come into her chamber, all three, the Duchess sank down beside
+the open lattice and looked out upon the garden all bathed in the
+tender radiance of the moon. Anon she sighed and spake:
+
+"My lady Winfrida, on this my wedding night a new life dawns for
+Mortain and for me, wherein old harms shall be forgiven and forgot, so
+come--kiss me, Winfrida."
+
+Then swiftly came the beauteous Winfrida to kneel at her lady's feet,
+to clasp her lady's slender hand, to kiss it oft and bathe it in her
+tears.
+
+"O sweet my lady, am I indeed forgiven?"
+
+"Aye, most truly."
+
+"Am I again thy loved companion and thy friend?"
+
+"So shall it be, Winfrida."
+
+"Then, O dear Helen, as sign all is forgot and we lovers again, let us
+pledge each other, here and now--to thy future happiness and glory."
+
+"Aye, be it so," sighed the Duchess, "bring wine, for I am athirst."
+
+Then turned she to the lattice again and Winfrida went lightly on her
+errand. Now, yet gazing upon the moon, the Duchess reached out and drew
+Beltane beside her.
+
+"Dear my love," she whispered, "in but a little hour I shall be thine:
+art happy in the thought? Nay," she sighed, white hands against his
+mailed breast, "beloved, wait--kiss me not again until the hour be
+passed. Lean here thy golden head and look with me upon the splendour
+of the night. See the pale moon, how placid and serene, how fair and
+stately she doth ride--"
+
+"So may thy life be in coming years!" said Beltane.
+
+"And wilt love me ever, Beltane, no matter what betide?"
+
+"Ever and always, so long as thou art Helen. Nay, why dost tremble?"
+
+"O my lord--see yonder--that cloud, how black--see how it doth furtive
+creep upon the gentle moon--"
+
+"'Tis a long way hence, my Helen!"
+
+"Yet will it come. Ah, think you 'tis a portent? O would the gentle
+Angelo were here--and yet, an he were come--methinks I might wish him
+hence--for that, loving thee so, yet am I a maid, and foolish--ah, who
+is here--not Angelo so soon? What, 'tis thou, Winfrida? Welcome--bring
+hither the goblet."
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand, who, rising, turned to Beltane looking on him soft-eyed
+across the brimming chalice.
+
+"Lord and husband," she breathed--"now do I drink to thy glory in arms,
+to our future, and to our abiding love!" So the Duchess raised the
+goblet to her lips. But lo! even as she drank, the thick, black cloud
+began to engulf the moon, quenching her radiant light in its murky
+gloom. So the Duchess drank, and handed the goblet to Beltane.
+
+"To thee, my Helen, whom only shall I love until death and beyond!"
+
+Then Beltane drank also, and gave the cup to Winfrida: but, even as he
+did so, the Duchess uttered a cry and pointed with hand a-tremble:
+
+"O Beltane, the moon--the moon that was so bright and glorious--'tis
+gone, the cloud hath blotted it out! Ah, Beltane, what doth this
+portend? Why do I tremble thus because the moon is gone?"
+
+"Nay, my beloved," quoth Beltane, kissing those slender fingers that
+trembled upon his lip and were so cold--so deadly cold, "dear Helen,
+it will shine forth again bright and radiant as ever."
+
+"Yet why is my heart so cold, Beltane, and wherefore do I tremble?"
+
+"The night grows chill, mayhap."
+
+"Nay, this cold is from within. O, I would the moon would shine!"
+
+"Nay, let us speak of our future, my Helen--"
+
+"The future?" she sighed, "what doth it hold? Strife and bitter war for
+thee and a weary waiting for me, and should'st thou be slain--Ah,
+Beltane, forgive these fears and vain imaginings. Indeed, 'tis most
+unlike me to fear and tremble thus. I was ever accounted brave until
+now--is't love, think you, doth make me coward? 'Tis not death I fear--
+save for thy dear sake. Death? Nay, what have we to do with such, thou
+and I--this is our wedding night, and yet--I feel as if this night--I
+were leading thee--to thy--death--. O, am I mad, forsooth? Hold me
+close, beloved, comfort me, Beltane, I--I am afraid." Then Beltane
+lifted her in his arms and brought her to the hearth, and, setting her
+in the fireglow, kneeled there, seeking to comfort her.
+
+And now he saw her very pale, sighing deep and oft and with eyes
+dilated and heavy.
+
+"Beltane," said she slowly, "I grow a-weary, 'tis--the fire,
+methinks." And smiling faintly she closed her eyes, yet sighed and
+gazed upon him as one new waked. "Did I sleep?" she questioned
+drowsily, "Beltane," she sighed, speaking low and thick--"I charge
+thee, whatsoe'er the future doth bring--yet love me alway--or I,
+methinks--shall--die!"
+
+Awhile she lay against him breathing deep and slow, then started of a
+sudden, looking upon him vague-eyed.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "art there, beloved? 'Tis dark, and my eyes--
+heavy. Methinks I--must sleep awhile. Take me--to my women. I must
+sleep--yet will I come to thee soon--soon, beloved." So Beltane brought
+her to the door, but as he came thither the broidered curtain was
+lifted and he beheld Winfrida, who ran to her mistress, kissing her oft
+and sighing over her.
+
+"Winfrida," sighed the Duchess, slumberous of voice, "I grow a-weary--I
+must sleep awhile--"
+
+"Aye, thou'rt overwrought, dear lady. Come, rest you until the holy
+Angelo be come, so shalt be thine own sweet self anon."
+
+And when the Duchess was gone, Beltane sat and stared upon the fire and
+felt himself vaguely troubled, yet even so, as he watched the leaping
+flame, his head nodded and he slept, yet sleeping, dreamed he heard the
+Duchess calling him, and opening his eyes, found the fair Winfrida
+beside him:
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she softly, "thy Duchess biddeth thee wait her
+in the chapel--follow me, messire!" Now being yet heavy with sleep,
+Beltane arose and followed her through an opening in the arras near by,
+and down a narrow stair, stumbling often as he went and walking as one
+in a dream. So by devious ways Winfrida brought him into a little
+chapel, where, upon the altar, was a crucifix with candles dim-burning
+in the gloom.
+
+"Wait here, my lord," said Winfrida, "so will I go prepare my lady,
+Friar Angelo doth stay to do his holy office." So speaking, Winfrida
+turned and was gone. Then Beltane came unto the altar and, kneeling
+there, leaned his heavy head upon the fair white altar cloth, and
+kneeling thus, fell asleep--The altar beneath him seemed of a sudden
+riven and split asunder and, while he gazed, behold the fair white
+altar cloth grew fouled and stained with blood--new blood, that
+splashed down red upon the white even as he watched. Then did Beltane
+seek to rise up from his knees, but a heavy weight bore him ever down,
+and hands huge and hairy gripped him fierce and strong. But beholding
+these merciless hands, a sudden mighty rage came upon Beltane, and
+struggling up, he stood upon his feet and drew sword; but the fierce
+hands had crept up to his naked throat, cutting off his breath, the
+sword was dashed from his loosening grasp, the weight about him grew
+too much for his strength, it bore him down and down into a pitchy
+gloom where all was very still. A wind, sweet and cool, breathed upon
+his cheek, grass was below and trees above him, shadowy trees beyond
+which a pallid moon rose high, very placid and serene. Now as Beltane
+stared heavenward the moon was blotted out, a huge and hairy face
+looked down in his, and hairy hands lifted him with mighty strength.
+Then Beltane thought to see the Duchess Helen standing by in her gown
+of blue and silver--
+
+"Helen!" he whispered.
+
+But she paid no heed, busied in fastening about her the nun's long
+cloak that veiled her down from head to foot. So the mighty arms that
+held Beltane bore him to a horse near by and across this horse he was
+flung; thereafter the monster mounted also, and they moved off amid the
+trees. Thus was Beltane borne from Blaen upon his wedding night--dazed,
+bleeding and helpless in his bonds. Yet even so, ever as they went he
+watched her who rode near by, now in moonlight, now in shadow, so
+youthful and shapely, but with hood drawn low as she had worn it when
+he bore her through the forest in his arms.
+
+And ever as they went he watched the pale gleam of her hand upon the
+bridle, or her little foot in its embroidered shoe, or the fold of her
+blue gown with its silver needle-work. And ever the trouble in his
+dazed brain grew the deeper; once, as they crossed a broad glade she
+rode up close beside him, and beneath her hood he saw a strand of her
+glorious hair, bright under the moon.
+
+Then did he writhe and struggle in his bonds.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen!" ...
+
+But a great hand, coarse and hairy, came upon his mouth, stopping the
+cry and choking him to silence.
+
+So they bore my Beltane southwards through the misty woods, on and ever
+on, till with the dawn they were come to a castle great and very
+strong, where battlement and tower frowned upon the paling stars.
+
+But with the dawn, 'mid the gloom of the little chapel of Blaen, came
+one who stood, haggard and pallid as the dawn, to stare wild-eyed upon
+a great sword and upon a torn and blood-stained altar-cloth; and so
+gazing, she shrank away back and back, crouching down amid the gloom.
+When at last the sun arose, it glittered on a long broad blade, across
+which, upon the rough pavement, lay one very silent and very still,
+amid the tumbled glory of her hair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+
+A horn, lustily winded, waked my Beltane from his swoon, waked him to a
+glimmering world vague and unreal, where lights flared and voices
+sounded, hoarse and faint, in question and answer. Thereafter, down
+rattled drawbridge and up creaked portcullis, and so, riding 'neath a
+deep and gloomy arch they came out into a courtyard, where were many
+vague forms that flitted to and fro--and many more lights that glinted
+on steel bascinet and hauberk of mail.
+
+Now as Beltane lay helpless in his bonds he felt a hand among his hair,
+a strong hand that lifted his heavy, drooping head and turned up his
+face to the glare of the torches.
+
+"How now, Fool!" cried a gruff voice, "here's not thy meat--ha, what
+would ye--what would ye, Fool?"
+
+"Look upon another fool, for fool, forsooth, is he methinks that cometh
+so into Garthlaxton Keep." Now hereupon, opening unwilling eyes,
+Beltane looked up into the face of Beda the Jester that bent above him
+with a ring of steel-begirt faces beyond.
+
+"Aha!" quoth the jester, clapping Beltane's pale and bloody cheek,
+"here is a fool indeed--forsooth, a very foolish fool, hither come
+through folly, for being great of body and small of wit, look you, his
+folly hath hither brought him in shape of a hairy, ape-like fool--"
+
+"Ape!" growled a voice, and the jester was seized in a hairy hand and
+shaken till his bells jingled; and now Beltane beheld his captor, a
+dwarf-like, gnarled and crooked creature, yet huge of head and with the
+mighty arms and shoulders of a giant; a fierce, hairy monster, whose
+hideousness was set off by the richness of his vesture. "Ape, quotha!"
+he growled. "Dare ye name Ulf the Strong ape, forsooth? Ha! so will I
+shake the flesh from thy bones!" But now, she who sat her horse near by
+so proud and stately, reached forth a white hand, touching Ulf the
+Strong upon the arm, and lo! in that moment, he loosed the breathless
+jester and spake with bowed head: "Dear my lady, I forgot!" Then
+turning to the grinning soldiery he scowled upon them. "Dogs," quoth
+he, "go to your master and say Helen, Duchess of Mortain bringeth a
+wedding gift to Ivo, called the Black. Behold here he that slew twenty
+within the green, that burned down Black Ivo's goodly gallows, that
+broke the dungeons of Belsaye and bore Red Pertolepe into the green,
+behold him ye seek--Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore
+Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+Now hereupon arose a mighty turmoil and excitement, all men striving to
+behold Beltane, to touch him and look upon his drooping face, but Ulf's
+mighty hand held them back, one and all. And presently came hasting
+divers esquires and knights, who, beholding Beltane, his costly mail,
+his silver belt and golden hair, seized upon him right joyfully and
+bore him into an inner ward, and threw him down upon the floor,
+marvelling and rejoicing over him, while Beltane lay there fast bound
+and helpless, staring up with frowning brow as one that strives to
+think, yet cannot. Now suddenly the noise about him ceased, all voices
+were hushed, and he was aware of one who stood near by, a doleful
+figure swathed in bandages, who leaned upon the arm of a tall esquire.
+And looking upon this figure, he saw it was Sir Pertolepe the Red.
+
+"Ha, by the eyes of God!" quoth Sir Pertolepe, "'tis he himself--O
+sweet sight--see, I grow better already! Who brought him, say you?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Duchess Helen!" said one. "Helen!" cried Sir
+Pertolepe, "Helen of Mortain?" "Aye, lord, as her wedding gift to our
+lord Duke Ivo." Now hereupon Beltane's staring eyes closed, the great
+muscles of his body twitched and writhed and stood out gnarled and
+rigid awhile, then he sighed, a slow, hissing breath, and lay there
+staring up wide-eyed at the vaulted roof again.
+
+"Came she herself, Raoul?"
+
+"Aye, good my lord."
+
+"Why, then--admit her. God's love, messires, would ye keep the glorious
+Helen without?"
+
+"Lord, she is gone--she and her ape-man both."
+
+"Gone? Gone, forsooth? 'Tis strange, and yet 'tis like the wilful
+Helen. Yet hath she left her wedding gift in my keeping. O a rare gift,
+a worthy gift and most acceptable. Strip me off his armour--yet no, as
+he came, so shall he bide until my lord Duke be come. Bring now
+shackles, strong and heavy, bring fetters and rivets, so will I sit
+here and see him trussed."
+
+And presently came two armourers with hammers and rivets, and shackled
+Beltane with heavy chains, the while Sir Pertolepe, sitting near,
+laughed and spake him right jovially.
+
+But Beltane suffered it all, uttering no word and staring ever straight
+before him with wide, vague eyes, knitting his brow ever and anon in
+troubled amaze like a child that suffers unjustly; wherefore Sir
+Pertolepe, fondling his big chin, frowned.
+
+"Ha!" quoth he, "let our Duke that hath no duchy be lodged secure--to
+the dungeons, aye, he shall sleep with rats until my lord Duke Ivo come
+to see him die--yet stay! The dungeons be apt to sap a man's strength
+and spirit, and to a weak man death cometh over soon and easy. Let him
+lie soft, feed full and sleep sound--let him have air and light, so
+shall he wax fat and lusty against my lord Duke's coming. See to it,
+Tristan!"
+
+So they led Beltane away jangling in his fetters, across divers
+courtyards and up a narrow, winding stair and thrust him within a
+chamber where was a bed and above it a loop-hole that looked out across
+a stretch of rolling, wooded country. Now being come to the bed,
+Beltane sank down thereon, and setting elbow to knee, rested his heavy
+head upon his hand as one that fain would think.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, and so whispering, his strong fingers writhed
+and clenched themselves within his yellow hair. And thus sat he all
+that day, bowed forward upon his hand, his fingers tight-clenched
+within his hair, staring ever at the square flagstone beneath his foot,
+heedless alike of the coming and going of his gaoler or of the food set
+out upon the bench hard by. Day grew to evening and evening to night,
+yet still he sat there, mighty shoulders bowed forward, iron fingers
+clenched within his hair, like one that is dead; in so much that his
+gaoler, setting down food beside the other untasted dishes, looked upon
+him in amaze and touched him.
+
+"Oho!" said he, "wake up. Here be food, look ye, and, by Saint Crispin,
+rich and dainty. And drink--good wine, wake and eat!"
+
+Then Beltane's clutching fingers relaxed and he raised his head,
+blinking in the rays of the lanthorn; and looking upon his rumpled
+hair, the gaoler stared and peered more close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Methought thou wert a golden man, yet art silver also, meseemeth."
+
+"Fellow," said Beltane harsh-voiced and slow, "Troy town was burned,
+and here was great pity, methinks, for 'twas a fair city. Yet to weep
+o'er it these days were a fond madness. Come, let us eat!"
+
+But as Beltane uprose in his jangling fetters, the gaoler, beholding
+his face, backed to the door, and slamming it shut, barred and fast
+bolted it, yet cast full many a glance behind as he hasted down the
+winding stair.
+
+Then Beltane ate and drank, and thereafter threw himself upon his
+narrow couch, but his fetters jangled often in the dark. Thus as he
+lay, staring upwards into the gloom, he was aware of the opening of the
+iron-clamped door, and beheld his gaoler bearing a lanthorn and behind
+him Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of his favourite esquire, who,
+coming near, looked upon Beltane nodding right jovially.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth he, "thou did'st dare set up thyself against
+Ivo our lord the Duke--O fool! 'Tis said thou hast sworn to drive him
+forth of Pentavalon--seeking her to wife, O fool of fools! Did'st
+think, presumptuous rogue, that she--the glorious Helen--that Helen
+the Beautiful, whom all men desire, would stoop to thee, an outcast--
+wolf's head and outlaw that thou art? Did'st dare think so, forsooth?
+To-morrow, belike, my lord Duke shall come, and mayhap shall bring the
+Duchess Helen in his train--to look upon the manner of thy dying--"
+
+Now hereupon up started Beltane that his fetters clashed, and laughed
+so sudden, so fierce and harsh, that Raoul the esquire clapped hand to
+dagger and even Red Pertolepe started.
+
+"Sweet lord," quoth Beltane, "noble messire Pertolepe, of thy boundless
+mercy--of thy tender ruth grant unto me this boon. When ye shall have
+done me to death--cut off this head of mine and send it to Helen--to
+Helen the beautiful, the wilful--in memory of what befell at Blaen."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED INTO
+BELTANE
+
+
+Six days came and went, and during all this time Beltane spake word to
+no man. Every evening came Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of Raoul
+the esquire, to view his prisoner with greedy eyes and ply him with
+jovial talk whiles Beltane would lie frowning up at the mighty roof-beams,
+or sit, elbows on knee, his fingers clenched upon that lock of
+hair that gleamed so strangely white amid the yellow.
+
+Now upon the seventh evening as he sat thus, came Sir Pertolepe
+according to his wont, but to-night he leaned upon the shoulder of Beda
+the Jester, whose motley flared 'gainst rugged wall and dingy flagstone
+and whose bells rang loud and merry by contrast with the gloom.
+
+Quoth Sir Pertolepe, seated upon the bench and smiling upon Beltane's
+grim figure:
+
+"He groweth fat to the killing, seest thou, my Beda, a young man and
+hearty, very hale and strong--and therefore meet for death. So strong a
+man should be long time a-dying--an death be coaxed and managed well.
+And Tristan is more cunning and hath more love for his craft than ever
+had Black Roger. With care, Beda--I say with care, messire Beltane
+should die from dawn to sundown."
+
+"Alack!" sighed the jester, "death shall take him over soon, as thou
+dost say--and there's the pity on't!"
+
+"Soon, Fool--soon? Now out upon thee for a fool ingrain--"
+
+"Forsooth, sweet lord, fool am I--mark these bells! Yet thou art a
+greater!"
+
+"How, sirrah?"
+
+"In that thou art a greater man, fair, sweet lord; greater in might,
+greater in body, and greater in folly."
+
+"Ha, would'st mock me, knave?"
+
+"For perceive me, fair and gentle lord, as this base body of ours being
+altogether thing material is also thing corruptible, so is it also a
+thing finite, and as it is a thing finite so are its sensations, be
+they of pleasure or pain, finite also--therefore soon must end. Now
+upon the other hand--"
+
+"How now? What babbling folly is here?"
+
+"As I say, most potent lord, upon the other hand--as the mind, being
+altogether thing transcendental, is also thing incorruptible, so is it
+also a thing infinite, and being a thing infinite so are its sensations
+infinite also--therefore everlasting."
+
+"Ha, there's reason in thy folly, methinks. What more?"
+
+"Bethink thee, lord, there be divers rogues who, having provoked thy
+potent anger, do lie even now awaiting thy lordly pleasure. E'en now
+irons be heating for them, moreover they are, by thy will, to suffer
+the grievous torment of the pulleys and the wheel, and these, as I do
+know, be sharp punishments and apt to cause prodigious outcry. Now, to
+hear one cry out beneath the torture is an evil thing for youthful
+ears--and one not soon forgot."
+
+"Aye, aye, forsooth, I begin to see thy meaning, good Fool--yet say
+on."
+
+"Let this thy prisoner be set within the cell above the torture
+chamber, so, lying within the dark he must needs hear them cry below,
+and in his mind shall he suffer as they suffer, every pang of racking
+wheel and searing iron. And, because the mind is thing infinite--"
+
+"Enough--enough! O most excellent Beda, 'tis well bethought. O, rare
+Fool, so shall it be."
+
+Forthwith Sir Pertolepe summoned certain of his guard, and,
+incontinent, Beltane was dragged a-down the winding stair and
+thereafter fast shut within a place of gloom, a narrow cell breathing
+an air close and heavy, and void of all light. Therefore Beltane sat
+him down on the floor, his back to the wall, staring upon the dark,
+chin on fist. Long he sat thus, stirring not, and in his heart a black
+void, deeper and more awful than the fetid gloom of any dungeon--a void
+wherein a new Beltane came into being.
+
+Now presently, as he sat thus, upon the silence stole a sound, low and
+murmurous, that rose and fell yet never quite died away. And Beltane,
+knowing what sound this was, clenched his hands and bowed his face upon
+his knees. As he listened, this drone grew to a sudden squealing cry
+that rang and echoed from wall to wall, whiles Beltane, crouched in
+that place of horror, felt the sweat start out upon him, yet shivered
+as with deadly cold, and ever the cries thrilled within the dark or
+sank to whimpering moans and stifled supplications. And ever Beltane
+hearkened to these fell sounds, staring blindly into the gloom, and
+ever the new Beltane grew the stronger within him.
+
+Hour after hour he crouched thus, so very silent, so very quiet, so
+very still, but long after the groans and wailings had died to silence,
+Beltane stared grim-eyed into the gloom and gnawed upon his fingers. Of
+a sudden he espied a glowing spark in the angle of the wall to the
+right--very small, yet very bright.
+
+Now as he watched, behold the spark changed to a line of golden light,
+so that his eyes ached and he was fain to shade them in his shackled
+arm; and thus he beheld a flagstone that seemed to lift itself with
+infinite caution, and, thereafter, a voice breathed his name.
+
+"Messire--messire Beltane!" And now through the hole in the floor
+behold a hand bearing a lanthorn--an arm--a shoulder--a shrouded head;
+thus slowly a tall, cloaked figure rose up through the floor, and,
+setting down the lanthorn, leaned toward Beltane, putting back the hood
+of his mantle, and Beltane beheld Beda the Jester.
+
+"Art awake, messire Beltane?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head. "And I have used mine ears! The
+wheel and the pulley are rare begetters of groans, as thou did'st
+foretell, Fool! 'Twas a good thought to drag me hither--it needed but
+this. Now am I steel, without and--within. O, 'tis a foul world!"
+
+"Nay, messire--'tis a fair world wherein be foul things: they call them
+'men.' As to me, I am but a fool--mark this motley--yet hither I
+caused thee to be dragged that I might save those limbs o' thine from
+wheel and pulley, from flame and gibbet, and set thee free within a
+world which I do hold a fair world. Yet first--those fetters--behold
+hammer and chisel! Oswin, thy gaoler, sleepeth as sweet as a babe, and
+wherefore? For that I decocted Lethe in his cup. Likewise the guard
+below. My father, that lived here before me (and died of a jest out of
+season), was skilled in herbs--and I am his son! My father (that bled
+out his life 'neath my lord's supper table) knew divers secret ways
+within the thickness of these walls--so do I know more of Pertolepe's
+castle than doth Pertolepe himself. Come, reach hither thy shackles and
+I will cut them off, a chisel is swifter than a file--"
+
+"And why would'st give me life, Fool?"
+
+"For that 'tis a useful thing, messire, and perchance as sweet to thee
+this night within thy dungeon as to me upon a certain day within the
+green that you may wot of?" So speaking, Beda the Jester cut asunder
+the chain that bound the fetters, and Beltane arose and stretched
+himself and the manacles gleamed on each wide-sundered wrist.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"What now?"
+
+Whereat the jester, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, looked up at
+him and spake on this wise:
+
+"Two days agone as I walked me in the green, dreaming such foolish
+dreams as a fool may, there came, very suddenly, a sorry wight--a wild
+man, very ragged--who set me his ragged arm about my neck and a sharp
+dagger to my throat; and thus, looking him within the eyes, I knew him
+for that same Roger from whose hand thou did'st save me aforetime.
+'Beda,' says he, 'I am he that hanged and tortured men at my lord's
+bidding: I am Roger, and my sins be many.' 'Then prithee,' says I,
+'prithee, Roger, add not another to thy sins by cutting the throat of a
+fool.' 'Needs must I,' says he, dolorous of voice, 'unless thou dost
+answer me two questions.' 'Nay, I will answer thee two hundred an thou
+leave my throat unslit,' says I. 'But two,' says Roger, sighing.
+'First, doth Pertolepe hold him I seek?' 'Him?' says I. 'Him they call
+Beltane?' says Roger, 'doth he lie prisoned within Garthlaxton?' 'He
+doth,' quoth I. Now for thine other question. ''Tis this,' says Roger,
+'Wilt aid us to win him free?' 'Why look ye, Roger,' says I, ''Tis only
+a fool that seeketh aid of a fool--and fool am I.' 'Aye,' says Roger,
+'but thou art a live fool; promise, therefore, or wilt be naught but a
+dead fool.' 'Roger,' says I, 'thou did'st once try to slay me in the
+green ere now.' 'Aye,' says Roger, 'and my lord Beltane saved thy
+carcass and my soul.' 'Aye,' quoth I, 'and e'en a fool can repay. So
+was I but now dreaming here within this boskage how I might perchance
+win this same Beltane to life without thy scurvy aid, Black Roger.
+Moreover, methinks I know a way--and thou spare me life to do it.'
+'Aye, forsooth,' says Roger, putting away his dagger, 'thou wert ever a
+fool of thy word, Beda--so now do I spare thy life, and sparing it, I
+save it, and thus do I cut another accursed notch from my belt.' 'Why,
+then,' says I, 'to-morrow night be at the riven oak by Brankton Thicket
+an hour before dawn.' 'So be it, Beda,' says he, and so I left him
+cutting at his belt. And lo, am I here, and within an hour it should be
+dawn. Follow, messire!" So saying, Beda rose, and taking the lanthorn,
+began to descend through the floor, having first shown how the
+flagstone must be lowered in place. Thereafter, Beltane followed the
+jester down a narrow stair built in the thickness of the wall, and
+along a passage that ended abruptly, nor could Beltane see any sign of
+door in the solid masonry that barred their way. Here Beda paused,
+finger on lip, and extinguished the lanthorn. Then, in the dark a hinge
+creaked faintly, a quivering hand seized Beltane's manacled wrist,
+drawing him on and through a narrow opening that yawned suddenly before
+them. Thereafter the hinge creaked again and they stood side by side
+within a small chamber where was a doorway hung across with heavy
+curtains beyond which a light burned. Now even as Beltane looked
+thitherward, he heard the rattle of dice and a sleepy voice that cursed
+drowsily, and shaking off the clutching, desperate fingers that strove
+to stay him, he came, soft-treading, and peered through the curtains.
+Thus he beheld two men that faced each other across a table whereon was
+wine, with dice and store of money, and as they played, these men
+yawned, leaning heavily upon the table. Back swept the curtains and
+striding into the room Beltane stared upon these men, who, yet leaning
+upon the table, stared back at him open-mouthed. But, beholding the
+look in his blue eyes and the smile that curled his mouth, they
+stumbled to their feet and sought to draw weapon--then Beltane sprang
+and caught them each about the neck, and, swinging them wide-armed,
+smote their heads together; and together these men sank in his grasp
+and lay in a twisted huddle across the table among the spilled wine. A
+coin rang upon the stone floor, rolled into a distant corner and came
+to rest, the jester gasped in the shadow of the curtains; and so came
+silence, broke only by the soft drip, drip of the spilled wine.
+
+"O, mercy of God!" whispered the jester hoarsely at last, "what need
+was there for this--they would have slept--"
+
+"Aye," smiled Beltane, "but not so soundly as now, methinks. Come, let
+us go."
+
+Silently the jester went on before, by narrow passage-ways that
+writhed and twisted in the thickness of the walls, up sudden flights of
+steps until at length they came out upon a parapet whose grim
+battlements scowled high in air. But as they hasted on, flitting
+soft-footed 'neath pallid moon, the jester of a sudden stopped, and
+turning, dragged Beltane into the shadows, for upon the silence came the
+sound of mailed feet pacing near. Now once again Beltane brake from the
+jester's clutching fingers and striding forward, came face to face with
+one that bare a pike on mailed shoulder, and who, beholding Beltane,
+halted to peer at him with head out-thrust; quoth he:
+
+"Ha! stand! Stand, I say and speak me who thou art?"
+
+Then Beltane laughed softly; said he:
+
+"O fool, not to know--I am death!" and with the word, he leapt. Came a
+cry, muffled in a mighty hand, a grappling, fierce yet silent, and
+Beda, cowering back, beheld Beltane swing a writhing body high in air
+and hurl it far out over the battlements. Thereafter, above the soft
+rustle of the night-wind, a sound far below--a faint splash, and Beda
+the Jester, shivering in the soft-stirring night wind, shrank deeper
+into the gloom and made a swift motion as though, for all his folly, he
+had crossed himself.
+
+Then came Beltane, the smile still twisting his mouth; quoth he:
+
+"Forsooth, my strength is come back again; be there any more that I may
+deal withal, good Fool?"
+
+"Lord," whispered the shivering jester, "methinks I smell the dawn--
+Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed him from the battlements, down winding stairs,
+through halls that whispered in the dark; down more stairs, down and
+ever down 'twixt walls slimy to the touch, through a gloom heavy with
+mildew and decay. On sped the jester, staying not to light the
+lanthorn, nor once touching, nor once turning with helping hand to
+guide Beltane stumbling after in the dark. Then at last, deep in the
+clammy earth they reached a door, a small door whose rusted iron was
+handed with mighty clamps of rusted iron. Here the jester paused to fit
+key to lock, to strain and pant awhile ere bolts shrieked and turned,
+and the door yawned open. Then, stooping, he struck flint and steel and
+in a while had lit the lanthorn, and, looking upon Beltane with eyes
+that stared in the pallor of his face, he pointed toward the yawning
+tunnel.
+
+"Messire," said he, "yonder lieth thy way to life and the world. As
+thou did'st give me life so do I give thee thine. Thou wert, as I
+remember thee, a very gentle, tender youth--to-night are three dead
+without reason--"
+
+"Reason, good Fool," said Beltane, "thou did'st see me borne in a
+prisoner to Garthlaxton; now, tell me I pray, who was she that rode
+with us?"
+
+"'Twas the Duchess Helen of Mortain, messire; I saw her hair, moreover--"
+
+But lo, even as the jester spake, Beltane turned, and striding down the
+tunnel, was swallowed in the dark.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+A faint glimmer growing ever brighter, a jagged patch of pale sky, a
+cleft in the rock o'er-grown with bush and creeping vines; this Beltane
+saw ere he stepped out into the cool, sweet air of dawn. A while he
+stood to stare up at the sky where yet a few stars showed paling to the
+day, and to drink in mighty breaths of the fragrant air. And thus,
+plain to his ears, stole the ripple of running water hard by, and going
+thitherward he stripped, and naked came down to the stream where was a
+misty pool and plunged him therein. Now as he bathed him thus, gasping
+somewhat because of the cold, yet glorying in the rush and tingle of
+his blood, behold, the leaves parted near by, and uprising in his naked
+might, Beltane beheld the face of one that watched him intently.
+
+"Master!" cried a voice harsh but very joyful, "O dear, my lord!" And
+Roger sprang down the bank and heedless of the water, plunged in to
+catch Beltane's hands and kiss them. "Master!" he cried. And thus it
+was these two met again. And presently, having donned clothes and
+harness, Beltane sat down him beside the brook, head upon hand, staring
+at the swift-running water, whiles Roger, sitting near, watched him in
+a silent ecstasy.
+
+"Whence come ye, Roger?"
+
+"From Thrasfordham-within-Bourne, lord. Ho, a mighty place, great and
+strong as Sir Benedict himself. And within Thrasfordham be many lusty
+fighting men who wait thy coming,--for, master, Bourne, aye and all the
+Duchy, doth ring with tales of thy deeds."
+
+"Hath Sir Benedict many men?"
+
+"Aye--within Thrasfordham five hundred and more."
+
+"So few, Roger?"
+
+"And mayhap as many again in Bourne. But, for Sir Benedict--a right
+lusty knight in sooth, master! and he doth hunger for sight of thee. He
+hath had me, with Walkyn and the archer, speak full oft of how we fired
+the gibbet and roars mighty laughs to hear how thou didst bear off Sir
+Pertolepe in the green--aye, Sir Benedict doth love to hear tell of
+that."
+
+"Aye; and what of Duke Ivo--where is he now, Roger?"
+
+"He hath reinforced Belsaye garrison and all the coast towns and
+castles of the Marches, and lieth at Pentavalon, gathering his powers
+to attack Thrasfordham, so men say, and hath sworn to burn it within
+the year, and all therein save only Sir Benedict--him will he hang;
+'tis so proclaimed far and wide."
+
+"And do men yet come in to Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Not so, master. Since Duke Ivo came they are afraid."
+
+"Ha! And what of the outlaws--there be many wild men within the
+forests."
+
+"The outlaws--hey, that doth mind me. I, with Giles and Walkyn and the
+young knight Sir Jocelyn brought down the outlaws upon Thornaby Mill.
+But when we found thee not, we burned it, and thereafter the outlaws
+vanished all within the wild-wood; Sir Jocelyn rode away a-singing
+mighty doleful, and we three came to Thrasfordham according to thy
+word. But when ye came not, master, by will of Sir Benedict we set
+out, all three, to find thee, and came to a cave of refuge Walkyn wots
+of: there do we sleep by night and by day search for thee. And behold,
+I have found thee, and so is my tale ended. But now, in an hour will be
+day, master, and with the day will be the hue and cry after thee. Come,
+let us haste over into Bourne, there shall we be safe so long as
+Thrasfordham stands."
+
+"True," nodded Beltane and rose to his feet. "Go you to Thrasfordham,
+Roger, Sir Benedict shall need such lusty men as thou, meseemeth."
+
+"Aye--but what of thee, master?"
+
+"I? O, I'm for the wild-wood, to a wild life and wilder doings, being
+myself a wild man, henceforth, lawful food for flame or gibbet, kin to
+every clapper-claw rogue and rascal 'twixt here and Mortain."
+
+"Nay master, within Thrasfordham ye shall laugh at Black Ivo and all
+his powers--let us then to Thrasfordham, beseech thee!"
+
+"Nay, I'm for the woods in faith, to seek me desperate rogues, wild men
+whose lives being forfeit, are void of all hope and fear. So, get thee
+to Sir Benedict and speak him this from me, to wit: that while he
+holdeth Ivo in check before Thrasfordham, I will arise indeed and bring
+with me flame and steel from out the wild-wood. When he shall see the
+night sky aflame, then shall he know I am at work, and when by day he
+heareth of death sudden and swift, then shall he know I am not idle.
+Bid him rede me this riddle: That bringing from chaos order, so from
+order will I bring chaos, that order peradventure shall remain. Haste
+you into Bourne, Roger, and so--fare thee well!"
+
+Now as he spake, Beltane turned on his heel and strode along beside the
+brook, but even as he went, so went Roger, whereon Beltane turned
+frowning.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Roger--Thrasfordham lieth behind thee!"
+
+"Aye, master, but death lieth before thee!"
+
+"Why then, death will I face alone, Roger."
+
+"Nay, master--not while Roger live. Thy man am I--"
+
+"Ha--wilt withstand me, Black Roger?"
+
+"Thy man am I, to follow thee in life and go down with thee in death--"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane came close, and in the dim light Black Roger
+beheld the new Beltane glaring down at him fierce-eyed and with great
+mailed fist clenched to smite; but even so Black Roger gave not back,
+only he drew dagger and strove to set it in Beltane's iron fingers.
+
+"Take this," quoth he, "for, an ye would be free of Roger, first must
+ye slay him, master." So Beltane took the dagger and fumbled with it
+awhile then gave it back to Roger's hand.
+
+"Roger!" muttered he, his hand upon his brow, "my faithful Roger! So,
+men can be faithful--" saying which he sighed--a long, hissing breath,
+and hid his face within his mittened hand, and turning, strode swiftly
+upon his way. Now in a while, they being come into the forest, Roger
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Master," said he, "whither do ye go?"
+
+"Nay, it mattereth not so long as I can lie hid a while, for I must
+sleep, Roger."
+
+"Then can I bring thee to a place where none shall ever find thee--
+Come, master!" So saying, Roger turned aside into the denser wood,
+bursting a way through a tangle of brush, plunging ever deeper into the
+wild until they came to a place where great rocks and boulders jutted
+up amid the green and the trees grew scant. Day was breaking, and
+before them in the pale light rose a steep cliff, whose jagged outline
+clothed here and there with brush and vines loomed up before them,
+barring their advance.
+
+But at the foot of this cliff grew a tree, gnarled and stunted, the
+which, as Beltane watched, Black Roger began to climb, until, being
+some ten feet from the ground, he, reaching out and seizing a thick
+vine that grew upon the rock, stepped from the tree and vanished into
+the face of the cliff. But in a moment the leaves were parted and Roger
+looked forth, beckoning Beltane to follow. So, having climbed the tree,
+Beltane in turn seized hold upon the vine, and stumbling amid the
+leaves, found himself on his knees within a small cave, where Roger's
+hand met his. Thereafter Roger led him to the end of the cavern where
+was a winding passage very rough and narrow, that brought them to a
+second and larger cave, as Beltane judged, for in the dark his hands
+could feel nought but space. Here Roger halted and whistled three
+times, a melodious call that woke many a slumbering echo. And in a
+while, behold a glow that grew ever brighter, until, of a sudden, a man
+appeared bearing a flaming pine-torch, that showed a wide cave whose
+rugged roof and walls glistened here and there, and whose rocky floor
+ended abruptly in a yawning gulf from whose black depths came soft
+murmurs and ripplings of water far below. Now, halting on the opposite
+side of this chasm, the man lifted his flaming torch and lo! it was
+Walkyn, who, beholding Beltane in his mail, uttered a hoarse shout of
+welcome, and stooping, thrust a plank across the gulf. So Beltane
+crossed the plank and gave his hand to Walkyn's iron grip and
+thereafter followed him along winding, low-roofed passage-ways hollowed
+within the rock, until they came to a cavern where a fire blazed, whose
+red light danced upon battered bascinets and polished blades that hung
+against the wall, while in one corner, upon a bed of fern, Giles o' the
+Bow lay snoring right blissfully.
+
+To him went Roger to shake him into groaning wakefulness and to point
+with eager finger to Beltane. Whereat up sprang Giles and came running
+with hands outstretched in welcome, yet of a sudden, paused and stood
+staring upon Beltane, as did the others also, for the place was very
+bright and moreover Beltane's mail-coif was fallen back. So they looked
+on him all three, yet spake no word. Therefore Beltane sat him down
+beside the fire and rested his head upon his hands as one that is
+weary. Sitting thus, he told them briefly what had chanced, but of the
+Duchess he said nothing. And in a while, lifting his head he saw them
+watching him all three, and all three incontinent glanced otherwhere.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Wherefore do ye stare upon me?"
+
+"Why, as to that, good brother," said the archer, "'tis but that--that
+we do think thee something--changed of aspect."
+
+"Changed!" said Beltane, and laughed short and bitter, "aye, 'tis like
+I am."
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, clenching mighty fists, "have they tormented
+thee--was it the torture, lord?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "'twas the torture. So now good comrades, here
+will I sleep awhile. But first--go forth with the sun and question all
+ye may of Ivo and his doings--where he doth lie, and where his forces
+muster--hear all ye can and bring me word, for methinks we shall be
+busy again anon!" Then, throwing himself upon the bed of fern that
+Roger had re-made, Beltane presently fell asleep. And while he slept
+came the three, very silent and treading very soft, to look down upon
+his sleeping face and the manacles that gleamed upon his wrists; and
+behold, even as he slept, he groaned and writhed, his tender lips grown
+fierce, a relentless, down-curving line--his jaws grim set, and between
+his frowning brows a lock of silky hair that gleamed snow-white among
+the yellow.
+
+"The torture!" growled Roger, and so, soft as they came, the three
+turned and left him to his slumber. But oft he moaned and once he spake
+a word, sudden and fierce 'twixt clenched teeth.
+
+And the word was:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+
+It was toward evening that Beltane awoke, and sitting up, looked about
+him. He was in a chamber roughly square, a hollow within the rock part
+natural and part hewn by hand, a commodious chamber lighted by a jagged
+hole in the rock above, a fissure all o'er-grown with vines and
+creeping plants whose luxuriant foliage tempered the sun's rays to a
+tender green twilight very grateful and pleasant.
+
+Now pendant from the opening was a ladder of cords, and upon this
+ladder, just beneath the cleft, Beltane beheld a pair of lusty,
+well-shaped legs in boots of untanned leather laced up with leathern
+thongs; as for their owner, he was hidden quite by reason of the leafy
+screen as he leaned forth of the fissure. Looking upon these legs,
+Beltane knew them by their very attitude for the legs of one who watched
+intently, but while he looked, they stirred, shifted, and growing lax,
+became the legs of one who lounged; then, slow and lazily, they began
+to descend lower and lower until the brown, comely face of Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills smiled down upon Beltane with a gleam of
+white teeth. Cried he:
+
+"Hail, noble brother, and likewise the good God bless thee! Hast slept
+well, it lacketh scarce an hour to sundown, and therefore should'st
+eat well. How say ye now to a toothsome haunch o' cold venison, in
+faith, cunningly cooked and sufficiently salted and seasoned--ha? And
+mark me! with a mouthful of malmsey, ripely rare? Oho, rich wine that I
+filched from a fatuous friar jig-jogging within the green! Forsooth,
+tall brother, 'tis a wondrous place, the greenwood, wherein a man shall
+come by all he doth need--an he seek far enough! Thus, an my purse be
+empty, your beefy burgher shall, by dint of gentle coaxing, haste to
+fill me it with good, broad pieces. But, an my emptiness be of the
+belly, then sweet Saint Giles send me some ambulating abbot or
+pensive-pacing prior; for your churchmen do ever ride with saddle-bags
+well lined, as I do know, having been bred a monk, and therefore with
+a rare lust to creature comforts."
+
+Now while he spake thus, the archer was busily setting forth the viands
+upon a rough table that stood hard by, what time Beltane looked about
+him.
+
+"'Tis a wondrous hiding-place, this, Giles!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, verily, brother--a sweet place for hunted men such as we. Here be
+caves and caverns enow to hide an army, and rocky passage-ways, narrow
+and winding i' the dark, where we four might hold all Black Ivo's
+powers at bay from now till Gabriel's trump--an we had food enow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"'Tis a fair thought that, and I've heard there be many outlaws in the
+woods hereabouts?"
+
+"Yea, forsooth. And each and every a clapper-claw, a rogue in faith. O
+very lewd, bloody-minded knaves see ye now, that would have slain me
+three days agone but for my comrade Walkyn. Scurvy dogs, fit for the
+halter they be, in faith!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, thoughtful of brow. "They be wild men, meseemeth?"
+
+"Desperate knaves, one and all; and look ye, they would have slain--"
+
+"Aye?" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All the off-scourings of town and village--and look ye, they would--"
+
+"Aye," said Beltane.
+
+"Thieves, rogues and murderers, branded felons, runaway serfs and
+villeins--"
+
+"'Tis well," said Beltane, "so shall they be my comrades henceforth."
+
+"Thy comrades!" stammered the archer, staring in amaze--"thy comrades!
+These base knaves that would have hanged me--me, that am free-born like
+my father before me--"
+
+"So, peradventure, Giles, will we make them free men also. Howbeit this
+day I seek them out--"
+
+"Seek them--'tis death!"
+
+"Death let it be, 'tis none so fearful!"
+
+"They will slay thee out of hand--a wild rabblement, lawless and
+disordered!"
+
+"So would I bring order among them, Giles. And thou shalt aid me."
+
+"I--aid thee? How--would'st have me company with such vile carrion? Not
+I, forsooth. I am a soldier, free-born, and no serf like Walkyn or
+villein like Roger. But sure you do but jest, brother, so will I laugh
+with thee--"
+
+But now, very suddenly, Beltane reached out his long arm and seizing
+Giles in mighty hand, dragged him to his knees; and Giles, staring up
+in amaze, looked into the face of the new Beltane whose blue eyes
+glared 'neath frowning brows and whose lips curled back from gleaming
+teeth.
+
+"Giles," said he softly, rocking the archer in his grasp, "O Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills, did I not save thy roguish life for thee?
+Did not Walkyn and Roger preserve it to thee? So doth thy life belong
+to Walkyn and to Roger and to me. Four men are we together, four
+brothers in arms, vowed to each other in the fulfilment of a purpose--
+is it not so?"
+
+"Yea, verily, lord. Good men and true are we all, but see you not,
+lord, these outlaws be lewd fellows--base-born--"
+
+"See you not, Giles, these outlaws be men, even as we, who, like us,
+can laugh and weep, can bleed and die--who can use their lives to
+purpose good or evil, even as we. Therefore, since they are men, I will
+make of them our comrades also, an it may be."
+
+Thus saying, Beltane loosed Giles and turning to the table, fell to
+eating again while the archer sat upon the floor nursing his bruised
+arm and staring open-mouthed.
+
+Quoth Beltane at last:
+
+"We will seek out and talk with these outlaws to-night, Giles!"
+
+"Talk with a pack of--yea, forsooth!" nodded Giles, rubbing his arm.
+
+"I am minded to strike such a blow as shall hearten Sir Benedict for
+the siege and shake Black Ivo's confidence."
+
+"Aha!" cried Giles, springing up so that his link-mail jingled, "aha! a
+sweet thought, tall brother! Could we fire another gibbet now--"
+
+"Know you where the outlaws lie hid, Giles?"
+
+"Nay, lord, none save themselves and Walkyn know that. Walkyn methinks,
+was great among them once."
+
+"And where is Walkyn?"
+
+"So soon as ye slept, lord, he and Roger went forth according to thy
+word. As for me, I stayed here to watch. From the spy-hole yonder you
+may command the road a-wind in the valley, and unseen, see you, may
+see. But come, an thy hunger be allayed, reach me thy hand that I may
+file off those iron bracelets."
+
+"Nay, let be, Giles. I will wear them henceforth until my vow be
+accomplished."
+
+Hereupon Beltane arose, and, climbing the ladder, looked forth through
+a screen of leaves and underbrush and saw that from the fissure the
+ground sloped steeply down, a boulder-strewn hill thick with gorse and
+bramble, at whose base the road led away north and south until it was
+lost in the green of the forest. Now as Beltane stood thus, gazing down
+at the winding road whose white dust was already mellowing to evening,
+he beheld one who ran wondrous fleetly despite the ragged cloak that
+flapped about his long legs, and whose rough-shod feet spurned the dust
+beneath them so fast 'twas a marvel to behold; moreover as he ran, he
+bounded hither and thither, and with every bound an arrow sped by him
+from where, some distance behind, ran divers foresters bedight in a
+green livery Beltane thought he recognized; but even as Beltane grasped
+the branches that screened him, minded to swing himself up to the
+fellow's aid, the fugitive turned aside from the road and came leaping
+up the slope, but, of a sudden, uttered a loud cry and throwing up his
+hands fell face down upon the ling and so lay, what time came up one of
+the pursuers that had outstripped his fellows, but as he paused, his
+sword shortened for the thrust, up sprang the fugitive, a great axe
+flashed and whirled and fell, nor need was there for further stroke.
+Then, while the rest of the pursuers were yet a great way off, Walkyn
+came leaping up the hill. Back from the ladder Beltane leapt and down
+through the fissure came Walkyn to fall cat-like upon his feet, to
+shake free the ladder after him, and thereafter to sit panting upon a
+stool, his bloody axe betwixt his knees.
+
+"Pertolepe's wolves!" he panted, "two of them have I--slain--within the
+last mile," and grinning, he patted the haft of his axe.
+
+"What news, Walkyn?"
+
+"Death!" panted Walkyn, "there be five dead men a-swing from the
+bartizan tower above Garthlaxton Keep, and one that dieth under the
+torture e'en now, for I heard grievous outcry, and all by reason of thy
+escape, lord."
+
+"Come you then from Garthlaxton?" quoth Beltane, frowning.
+
+"Aye, lord. For, see you, 'twas market day, so went I to one I know
+that is a swineherd, a trusty fellow that bringeth hogs each week unto
+Garthlaxton. So did we change habits and went to Garthlaxton together,
+driving the hogs before us. Thereafter, while he was away chaffering, I
+sat me down in the outer bailey tending my beasts, yet with eyes and
+ears wide and with my hand upon mine axe 'neath my cloak lest haply I
+might chance within striking distance of Red Pertolepe. And, sitting
+thus, I heard tell that he had marched out with all his array to join
+Black Ivo's banner. Whereupon was I mightily cast down. But it chanced
+the wind lifted my cloak, and one of the warders, spying mine axe, must
+think to recognise me and gave the hue and cry; whereat I, incontinent,
+fled ere they could drop the portcullis--and divers rogues after me.
+Aha! then did I lead them a right merry dance by moor and moss, by
+briar and bog, and contrived to slay of them five in all. But as to
+Pertolepe, a malison on him! he is not yet to die, meseemeth. But, some
+day--aye, some day!" So saying he kissed the great axe and setting it
+by came to the table and fell to eating mightily while Giles sat hard
+by busied with certain arrows, yet betwixt whiles watching Beltane who,
+crossing to the bed of fern, laid him down thereon and closed his eyes.
+But of a sudden he raised his head, hearkening to a whistle, soft and
+melodious, near at hand.
+
+"Aha!" exclaimed Giles, setting aside his arrows, "yonder should be
+Roger--a hungry Roger and therefore surly, and a surly Roger is rare
+sport to lighten a dull hour. Heaven send our Roger be surly!" So
+saying, the archer went forth and presently came hasting back with
+Roger at his heels scowling and in woeful plight. Torn and stained and
+besprent with mud, his rawhide knee-boots sodden and oozing water, he
+stood glowering at Giles beneath the bloody clout that swathed his
+head, his brawny fist upon his dagger.
+
+"No food left, say ye, Giles, no food, and I a-famishing? You and
+Walkyn drunk up all the wine betwixt ye, and I a-perish--ha--so now
+will I let it out again--" and out flashed his dagger.
+
+"Nay, 'tis but the archer's folly," quoth Walkyn--"sit, man, eat,
+drink, and speak us thy news."
+
+"News," growled Roger, seating himself at table, "the woods be thick
+with Pertolepe's rogues seeking my master, rogues known to me each one,
+that ran to do my bidding aforetime--in especial one Ralpho--that was
+my assistant in the dungeons once. Thrice did they beset me close, and
+once did I escape by running, once by standing up to my neck in a pool,
+and once lay I hid in a tree whiles they, below, ate and drank like
+ravening swine--and I a-famishing. A murrain on 'em, one and all, say
+I--in especial Ralpho that was my comrade once--may he rot henceforth--"
+
+"Content you, Roger, he doth so!" laughed grim Walkyn and pointed to
+his axe.
+
+"Forsooth, and is it so?" growled Roger, his scowl relaxing--"now will
+I eat full and blithely, for Ralpho was an arrant knave."
+
+Now when his hunger was somewhat assuaged, Roger turned and looked
+where Beltane lay.
+
+"My master sleepeth?" said he, his voice grown gentle.
+
+"Nay, Roger, I lie and wait thy news," spake Beltane, his eyes yet
+closed.
+
+"Why then, 'tis war, master--battle and siege. The country is up as far
+as Winisfarne. Black Ivo lieth at Barham Broom with a great company--I
+have seen their tents and pavilions like a town, and yet they come, for
+Ivo hath summoned all his powers to march against Thrasfordham. 'Twixt
+here and Pentavalon city, folk do say the roads be a-throng with bows
+and lances--lords and barons, knights and esquires, their pennons
+flutter everywhere."
+
+"'Tis well!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Well, master--nay, how mean you?"
+
+"That being at Barham Broom, they cannot be otherwhere, Roger. Saw you
+Pertolepe's banner among all these?"
+
+"Aye, master; they have set up his pavilion beside the Duke's."
+
+"Tell me now," said Beltane, coming to his elbow, "how many men should
+be left within Garthlaxton for garrison, think you?"
+
+"An hundred, belike!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Less," quoth Roger; "Garthlaxton is so strong a score of men have held
+it ere now. 'Tis accounted the strongest castle in all the Duchy, save
+only Thrasfordham."
+
+"Truly 'tis very strong!" said Beltane thoughtfully, and lying down
+again he closed his eyes and spake slow and drowsily--"Aye, 'tis so
+strong, its garrison, being secure, should sleep sound o' nights. So
+'twould be no great matter to surprise and burn it ere the dawn,
+methinks!"
+
+"Burn Garthlaxton!" cried the archer, and sprang up, scattering the
+arrows right and left.
+
+"Master!" stammered Roger, "master--"
+
+As for Walkyn, he, having his mouth full and striving to speak, choked
+instead.
+
+"Lord--lord!" he gasped at last, "to see Garthlaxton go up in flame--O
+blessed sight! Its blood-soaked walls crumble to ruin--ah, sweet, rare
+sight! But alas! 'tis a mighty place and strong, and we but four--"
+
+"There be outlaws in the wild-wood!" quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!--the outlaws!" cried Giles, and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But bethink thee, tall brother--of what avail a thousand such poor,
+ragged, ill-armed rogues 'gainst the walls of Garthlaxton? They shall
+not tear you the stones with their finger-nails nor rend them with
+their teeth, see'st thou!"
+
+"To burn Garthlaxton!" growled Walkyn, biting at his fingers. "Ha, to
+give it to the fire! But the walls be mighty and strong and the outlaws
+scattered. 'Twould take a week to muster enough to attempt a storm, nor
+have they engines for battery--"
+
+"Enough!" said Beltane rising, his brows close drawn, "now hearken, and
+mark me well; the hole whereby one man came out may let a thousand in.
+Give me but an hundred men at my back and Garthlaxton shall be aflame
+ere dawn. So, come now, Walkyn--bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But lord, these be very wild men, obedient to no law save their own,
+and will follow none but their own; lawless men forsooth, governed only
+by the sword and made desperate by wrong and fear of the rope--"
+
+"Then 'tis time one learned them other ways, Walkyn. So now I command
+thee, bring me to them--'tis said thou wert great among them once."
+
+Hereupon Walkyn rose and taking up his mighty axe twirled it lightly in
+his hand. "Behold, lord," said he, "by virtue of this good axe am I
+free of the wild-wood; for, long since, when certain lords of Black Ivo
+burned our manor, and our mother and sister and father therein, my twin
+brother and I had fashioned two axes such as few men might wield--this
+and another--and thus armed, took to the green where other wronged men
+joined us till we counted many a score tall fellows, lusty fighters
+all. And many of Ivo's rogues we slew until of those knights and
+men-at-arms that burned our home there none remained save Red Pertolepe
+and Gui of Allerdale. But in the green--love came--even to me--so I laid
+by mine axe and vengeance likewise and came to know happiness until--upon
+a day--they hanged my brother, and thereafter they slew--her--my wife
+and child--e'en as ye saw. Then would I have joined the outlaws again.
+But in my place they had set up one Tostig, a sturdy rogue and foul,
+who ruleth by might of arm and liveth but for plunder--and worse. Him I
+would have fought, but upon that night I fell in with thee. Thus, see
+you, though I am free of the wild, power with these outlaws have I
+none. So, an I should bring thee into their secret lurking-place,
+Tostig would assuredly give thee to swift death, nor could I save thee--"
+
+"Yet must I go," said Beltane, "since, while I live, vowed am I to free
+Pentavalon. And what, think you, is Pentavalon? 'Tis not her hills and
+valleys, her towns and cities, but the folk that dwell therein; they,
+each one, man and woman and child, the rich and poor, the high and low,
+the evil and the good, aye, all those that live in outlawry--these are
+Pentavalon. So now will I go unto these wild men, and once they follow
+my call, ne'er will I rest until they be free men every one. Each blow
+they strike, the wounds they suffer, shall win them back to honourable
+life, to hearth and home--and thus shall they be free indeed. So,
+Walkyn, bring me to the outlaws!"
+
+Then stood Walkyn and looked upon Beltane 'neath heavy brows, nothing
+speaking, and turned him of a sudden and, striding forth of the cave,
+came back bearing another great axe.
+
+"Lord," said he, "thy long sword is missing, methinks. Take now this
+axe in place of it--'twas my brother's once. See, I have kept it
+bright, for I loved him. He was a man. Yet man art thou also, worthy,
+methinks, and able to wield it. Take it therefore, lord Duke that art
+my brother-in-arms; mayhap it shall aid thee to bring order in the
+wild-wood and win Pentavalon to freedom. Howbeit, wheresoe'er thou dost
+go, e'en though it be to shame and failure, I am with thee!"
+
+"And I!" cried Giles, reaching for his bow.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Roger.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+
+The sun was down what time they left the hill country and came out upon
+a wide heath void of trees and desolate, where was a wind cold and
+clammy to chill the flesh, where rank-growing rush and reed stirred
+fitfully, filling the dark with stealthy rustlings.
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, shivering and glancing about him, "here is
+Hangstone Waste, and yonder the swamps of Hundleby Fen--you can smell
+them from here! And 'tis an evil place, this, for 'tis said the souls
+of murdered folk do meet here betimes, and hold high revel when the
+moon be full. Here, on wild nights witches and warlocks ride shrieking
+upon the wind, with goblins damned--"
+
+"Ha, say ye so, good Roger?" quoth the archer, "now the sweet Saint
+Giles go with us--amen!" and he crossed himself devoutly.
+
+So went they in silence awhile until they were come where the sedge
+grew thick and high above whispering ooze, and where trees, stunted and
+misshapen, lifted knotted arms in the gloom.
+
+"Lord," spake Walkyn, his voice low and awe-struck, "here is the marsh,
+a place of death for them that know it not, where, an a man tread awry,
+is a quaking slime to suck him under. Full many a man lieth 'neath the
+reeds yonder, for there is but one path, very narrow and winding--
+follow close then, and step where I shall step."
+
+"Aye, master," whispered Roger, "and look ye touch no tree as ye go;
+'tis said they do grow from the bones of perished men, so touch them
+not lest some foul goblin blast thee."
+
+So went they, following a narrow track that wound betwixt slow-stirring
+sedge, past trees huddled and distorted that seemed to writhe and
+shiver in the clammy air until, beyond the swamp, they came to a place
+of rocks where ragged crags loomed high and vague before them. Now, all
+at once, Walkyn raised a warning hand, as from the shadow of those
+rocks, a hoarse voice challenged:
+
+"Stand!" cried the voice, "who goes?"
+
+"What, and is it thou, rogue Perkyn?" cried Walkyn, "art blind not to
+know me?"
+
+"Aye," growled the voice, "but blind or no, I see others with thee."
+
+"Good friends all!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Stand forth that I may see these friends o' thine!" Drawing near,
+Beltane beheld a man in filthy rags who held a long bow in his hand
+with an arrow on the string, at sight of whom Roger muttered and Giles
+held his nose and spat.
+
+"Aha," growled the man Perkyn, peering under his matted hair, "I like
+not the looks o' these friends o' thine--"
+
+"Nor we thine, foul fellow," quoth Giles, and spat again whole-heartedly.
+
+"How!" cried Walkyn fiercely, "d'ye dare bid Walkyn stand, thou dog's
+meat? Must I flesh mine axe on thy vile carcase?"
+
+"Not till I feather a shaft in thee," growled Perkyn, "what would ye?"
+
+"Speak with Eric o' the Noose."
+
+"Aha, and what would ye with half-hung Eric, forsooth? Tostig's our
+chief, and Tostig's man am I. As for Eric--"
+
+"Aye--aye, and what of Eric?" spake a third voice--a soft voice and
+liquid, and a man stepped forth of the rocks with two other men at his
+heels.
+
+"Now well met, Eric o' the Noose," quoth Walkyn. "I bring promise of
+more booty, and mark this, Eric--I bring also him that you wot of."
+
+Now hereupon the man Eric drew near, a broad-set man clad in skins and
+rusty mail who looked upon Beltane with head strangely askew, and
+touched a furtive hand to his battered head-piece.
+
+"Ye come at an evil hour," said he, speaking low-voiced. "Tostig
+holdeth high feast and revel, for to-day we took a rich booty at the
+ford beyond Bassingthorp--merchants out of Winisfarne, with pack-horses
+well laden--and there were women also--in especial, one very fair. Her,
+Tostig bore hither. But a while since, when he bade them bring her to
+him, behold she had stabbed herself with her bodkin. So is she dead and
+Tostig raging. Thus I say, ye come in an evil hour."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane. "Methinks we come in good hour. I am fain
+to speak with Tostig--come!" and he stepped forward, but Eric caught
+him by the arm:
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "yonder be over five score lusty
+fellows, fierce and doughty fighters all, that live but to do the will
+of Tostig and do proclaim him chief since he hath proved himself full
+oft mightiest of all--"
+
+"Ah," nodded Beltane, "a strong man!"
+
+"Beyond equal. A fierce man that knoweth not mercy, swift to anger and
+joyful to slay at all times--"
+
+"Why, look you," sighed Beltane, "neither am I a lamb. Come, fain am I
+to speak with this Tostig."
+
+A while stood Eric, head aslant, peering at Beltane, then, at a
+muttered word from Walkyn, he shook his head and beckoning the man
+Perkyn aside, led the way through a cleft in the rocks and up a
+precipitous path beyond; and as he went, Beltane saw him loosen sword
+in scabbard.
+
+Ever as they clomb, the path grew more difficult, until at last they
+were come to a parapet or outwork with mantelets of osiers beyond,
+cunningly wrought, above which a pike-head glimmered and from beyond
+which a voice challenged them; but at a word from Eric the sentinel
+stood aside and behold, a narrow opening in the parapet through which
+they passed and so up another path defended by yet another parapet of
+osiers. Now of a sudden, having climbed the ascent, Beltane paused and
+stood leaning upon his axe, for, from where he now stood, he looked
+down into a great hollow, green and rock-begirt, whose steep sides were
+shaded by trees and dense-growing bushes. In the midst of this hollow a
+fire burned whose blaze showed many wild figures that sprawled round
+about in garments of leather and garments of skins; its ruddy light
+showed faces fierce and hairy; it glinted on rusty mail and flashed
+back from many a dinted head-piece and broad spear-head; and upon the
+air was the sound of noisy talk and boisterous laughter. Through the
+midst of this great green hollow a stream wound that broadened out in
+one place into a still and sleepy pool upon whose placid surface stars
+seemed to float, a deep pool whereby was a tall tree. Now beneath this
+tree, far removed from the fire, sat a great swarthy fellow, chin on
+fist, scowling down at that which lay at his feet, and of a sudden he
+spurned this still and silent shape with savage foot.
+
+"Oswin!" he cried, "Walcher! Throw me this useless carrion into the
+pool!" Hereupon came two sturdy rogues who, lifting the dead betwixt
+them, bore her to the edge of the silent pool. Once they swung and
+twice, and lo, the floating stars shivered to a sullen splash, and
+subsiding, rippled softly to the reedy banks.
+
+Slowly the swarthy giant rose and stood upon his legs, and Beltane knew
+him for the tallest man he had ever seen.
+
+"Oswin," quoth he, and beckoned with his finger, "Oswin, did I not bid
+thee keep watch upon yon dainty light o' love?" Now meeting the
+speaker's baleful eye, the man Oswin sprang back, striving to draw
+sword, but even so an iron hand was about his throat, he was lifted by
+a mighty arm that held him a while choking and kicking above the silent
+pool until he had gasped and kicked his life out 'midst shouts and
+gibes and hoarse laughter; thereafter again the sullen waters quivered,
+were still, and Tostig stood, empty-handed, frowning down at those
+floating stars.
+
+Then Beltane leapt down into the hollow and strode swift-footed, nor
+stayed until he stood face to face with Tostig beside the sullen pool.
+But swift as he had come, Roger had followed, and now stood to his
+back, hand on sword.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Tostig in staring amaze, and stood a while eying Beltane
+with hungry gaze. "By Thor!" said he, "but 'tis a good armour and
+should fit me well. Off with it--off, I am Tostig!" So saying, he drew
+a slow pace nearer, his teeth agleam, his great hands opening and
+shutting, whereat out leapt Roger's blade; but now the outlaws came
+running to throng about them, shouting and jostling one another, and
+brandishing their weapons yet striking no blow, waiting gleefully for
+what might befall; and ever Beltane looked upon Tostig, and Tostig,
+assured and confident, smiled grimly upon Beltane until the ragged
+throng about them, watching eager-eyed, grew hushed and still. Then
+Beltane spake:
+
+"Put up thy sword, Roger," said he, "in very truth this Tostig is a
+foul thing and should not die by thy good steel--so put up thy sword,
+Roger."
+
+And now, no man spake or moved, but all stood rigid and scarce
+breathing, waiting for the end. For Tostig, smiling no more, stood
+agape as one that doubts his senses, then laughed he loud and long, and
+turned as if to reach his sword that leaned against the tree and, in
+that instant, sprang straight for Beltane's throat, his griping hands
+outstretched; but swift as he, Beltane, letting fall his axe, slipped
+aside and smote with mailed fist, and as Tostig reeled from the blow,
+closed with and caught him in a deadly wrestling hold, for all men
+might see Beltane had locked one arm 'neath Tostig's bearded chin and
+that Tostig's shaggy head was bending slowly backwards. Then the
+outlaws surged closer, a dark, menacing ring where steel flickered; but
+lo! to Roger's right hand sprang Walkyn, gripping his axe, and upon his
+left came Giles, his long-bow poised, a shaft upon the string; so stood
+the three alert and watchful, eager for fight, what time the struggle
+waxed ever more fierce and deadly. To and fro the wrestlers swayed,
+locked in vicious grapple, grimly silent save for the dull trampling of
+their feet upon the moss and the gasp and hiss of panting breaths;
+writhing and twisting, stumbling and slipping, or suddenly still with
+feet that gripped the sod, with bulging muscles, swelled and rigid,
+that cracked beneath the strain, while eye glared death to eye. But
+Beltane's iron fingers were fast locked, and little by little, slow but
+sure, Tostig's swart head was tilting up and back, further and further,
+until his forked beard pointed upwards--until, of a sudden, there brake
+from his writhen lips a cry, loud and shrill that sank to groan and
+ended in a sound--a faint sound, soft and sudden. But now, behold,
+Tostig's head swayed loosely backwards behind his shoulders, his knees
+sagged, his great arms loosed their hold: then, or he could fall,
+Beltane stooped beneath and putting forth all his strength, raised him
+high above his head, and panting, groaning with the strain, turned and
+hurled dead Tostig down into the pool whose sullen waters leapt to a
+mighty splash, and presently subsiding, whispered softly in the reeds;
+and for a while no man stirred or spoke, only Beltane stood upon the
+marge and panted.
+
+Then turned he to the outlaws, and catching up his axe therewith
+pointed downwards to that stilly pool whose placid waters seemed to
+hold nought but a glory of floating stars.
+
+"Behold," he panted, "here was an evil man--a menace to well-being,
+wherefore is he dead. But as for ye, come tell me--how long will ye be
+slaves?"
+
+Hereupon rose a hoarse murmur that grew and grew--Then stood the man
+Perkyn forward, and scowling, pointed at Beltane with his spear.
+
+"Comrades!" he cried, "he hath slain Tostig! He hath murdered our
+leader--come now, let us slay him!" and speaking, he leapt at Beltane
+with levelled spear, but quick as he leapt, so leapt Walkyn, his long
+arms rose and fell, and thereafter, setting his foot upon Perkyn's
+body, he shook his bloody axe in the scowling faces of the outlaws.
+
+"Back, fools!" he cried, "have ye no eyes? See ye not 'tis he of whom I
+spake--he that burned Belsaye gallows and brake ope the dungeon of
+Belsaye--that is friend to all distressed folk and broken men; know ye
+not Beltane the Duke? Hear him, ye fools, hear him!"
+
+Hereupon the outlaws stared upon Beltane and upon each other, and
+fumbled with their weapons as men that knew not their own minds, while
+Beltane, wiping sweat from him, leaned upon his axe and panted, with
+the three at his elbow alert and watchful, eager for fight; but Perkyn
+lay where he had fallen, very still and with his face hidden in the
+grass.
+
+Of a sudden, Beltane laid by his axe and reached out his hands.
+
+"Brothers," said he, "how long will ye be slaves?"
+
+"Slaves, forsooth?" cried one, "slaves are we to no man--here within
+the green none dare gainsay us--we be free men, one and all. Is't not
+so, comrades?"
+
+"Aye! Aye!" roared a hundred voices.
+
+"Free?" quoth Beltane, "free? Aye, free to wander hither and thither,
+hiding forever within the wilderness, living ever in awe and dread lest
+ye die in a noose. Free to go in rags, to live like beasts, to die
+unpitied and be thrown into a hole, or left to rot i' the sun--call ye
+this freedom, forsooth? Hath none among ye desire for hearth and home,
+for wife and child--are ye become so akin to beasts indeed?"
+
+Now hereupon, divers muttered in their beards and others looked askance
+on one another. Then spake the man Eric, of the wry neck.
+
+"Messire," quoth he, "all that you say is sooth, but what remedy can ye
+bring to such as we. Say now?"
+
+Then spake Beltane on this wise:
+
+"All ye that have suffered wrong, all ye that be broken men--hearken!
+Life is short and quick to escape a man, yet do all men cherish it, and
+to what end? What seek ye of life--is it arms, is it riches? Go with
+me and I will teach ye how they shall be come by. Are ye heavy-hearted
+by reason of your wrongs--of bitter shame wrought upon the weak and
+innocent? Seek ye vengeance?--would ye see tyrants die?--seek ye their
+blood, forsooth? Then follow me!"
+
+Now at this the outlaws began to murmur among themselves, wagging their
+heads one to another and voicing their grievances thus:
+
+"They cut off mine ears for resisting my lord's taxes, and for this I
+would have justice!"
+
+"They burned me in the hand for striking my lord's hunting dog!"
+
+"I had a wife once, and she was young and fair; so my lord's son took
+her and thereafter gave her for sport among his huntsmen, whereof she
+died--and for this would I have vengeance!"
+
+"They burned my home, and therein wife and child--and for this would I
+have vengeance!"
+
+"They cut off my brother's hands!"
+
+"They put out my father's eyes!"
+
+Quoth Eric:
+
+"And me they sought to hang to mine own roof-tree!--behold this crooked
+neck o' mine--so am I Eric o' the Noose. Each one of us hath suffered
+wrong, great or little, so live we outlaws in the green, lawless men in
+lawless times, seeking ever vengeance for our wrongs. Who then shall
+bring us to our desire, how shall our grievous wrongs be righted? An we
+follow, whither would'st thou lead us?"
+
+"By dangerous ways," answered Beltane, "through fire and battle. But by
+fire men are purged, and by battle wrongs may be done away. An ye
+follow, 'tis like some of us shall die, but by such death our brethren
+shall win to honour, and home, and happiness, for happiness is all
+men's birthright. Ye are but a wild, unordered rabble, yet are ye men!
+'Tis true ye are ill-armed and ragged, yet is your cause a just one. Ye
+bear weapons and have arms to smite--why then lurk ye here within the
+wild-wood? Will not fire burn? Will not steel cut? He that is not
+coward, let him follow me!"
+
+"Aye," cried a score of harsh voices, "but whither--whither?"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Be there many among ye that know Sir Pertolepe the Red?"
+
+Now went there up a roar, deep-lunged and ominous; brawny fists were
+shaken and weapons flashed and glittered.
+
+"Ah--we know him--the Red Wolf--we know him--ah!"
+
+"Then tell me," said Beltane, "will not steel cut? Will not fire burn?
+Arise, I say, rise up and follow me. So will we smite Tyranny this
+night and ere the dawn Garthlaxton shall be ablaze!"
+
+"Garthlaxton!" cried Eric, "Garthlaxton!" and thereafter all men stared
+on Beltane as one that is mad.
+
+"Look now," said Beltane, "Sir Pertolepe hath ridden forth with all his
+company to join Black Ivo's banner. Thus, within Garthlaxton his men be
+few; moreover I know a secret way beneath the wall. Well, is't enough?
+Who among ye will follow, and smite for freedom and Pentavalon?"
+
+"That will I!" cried Eric, falling upon his knee.
+
+"And I! And I!" cried others, and so came they to crowd eagerly about
+Beltane, to touch his hand or the links of his bright mail.
+
+"Lead us!" they cried, "come--lead us!"
+
+"Nay first--hearken! From henceforth outlaws are ye none. Come now, one
+and all, draw, and swear me on your swords:--To make your strength a
+shelter to the weak; to smite henceforth but in honourable cause for
+freedom, for justice and Pentavalon--swear me upon your swords to abide
+by this oath, and to him that breaks it--Death. Swear!"
+
+So there upon their knees with gleaming swords uplifted, these wild men
+swore the oath. Then up sprang Walkyn, pointing to Beltane with his
+axe.
+
+"Brothers!" he cried, "behold a man that doeth such deeds as no man
+ever did--that burned the gallows--burst ope the dungeon of Belsaye
+and slew Tostig the mighty with naked hands! Behold Beltane the Duke!
+Is he not worthy to be our leader--shall we not follow him?" Then came
+a roar of voices:
+
+"Aye--let us follow--let us follow!"
+
+"On, then!" cried Walkyn, his glittering axe aloft. "To Garthlaxton!"
+
+Then from an hundred brawny throats a roar went up to heaven, a cry
+that hissed through clenched teeth and rang from eager lips, wilder,
+fiercer than before. And the cry was:--
+
+"Garthlaxton!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+
+It was in the cold, still hour 'twixt night and dawn that Beltane
+halted his wild company upon the edge of the forest where ran a
+water-brook gurgling softly in the dark; here did he set divers eager
+fellows to fell a tree and thereafter to lop away branch and twig, and
+so, bidding them wait, stole forward alone. Soon before him rose
+Garthlaxton, frowning blacker than the night, a gloom of tower and
+turret, of massy wall and battlement, its mighty keep rising stark and
+grim against a faint light of stars. Now as he stood to scan with
+purposeful eye donjon and bartizan, merlon and arrow-slit for gleam of
+light, for glint of mail or pike-head, he grew aware of a sound hard
+by, yet very faint and sweet, that came and went--a small and silvery
+chime he could by no means account for. So crept he near and nearer,
+quick-eyed and with ears on the stretch till he was stayed by the
+broad, sluggish waters of the moat; and thus, he presently espied
+something that moved in the gloom high above the great gateway,
+something that stirred, pendulous, in the cold-breathing air of coming
+dawn.
+
+Now as he peered upward through the gloom, came the wind, colder,
+stronger than before--a chill and ghostly wind that flapped the heavy
+folds of his mantle, that sighed forlornly in the woods afar, and
+softly smote the misty, jingling thing above--swayed it--swung it out
+from the denser shadows of scowling battlement so that Beltane could
+see at last, and seeing--started back faint and sick, his flesh a-creep,
+his breath in check 'twixt pale and rigid lips. And beholding what
+manner of thing this was, he fell upon his knees with head bowed low
+yet spake no prayer, only his hands gripped fiercely upon his axe;
+while to and fro in the dark above, that awful shape turned and swung--
+its flaunting cock's-comb dreadfully awry, its motley stained and rent
+--a wretched thing, twisted and torn, a thing of blasting horror.
+
+And ever as it swung upon the air, it rang a chime upon its little,
+silver bells; a merry chime and mocking, that seemed to gibe at coming
+day.
+
+Now in a while, looking upon that awful, dim-seen shape, Beltane spake
+low-voiced.
+
+"O Beda!" he whispered, "O manly heart hid 'neath a Fool's disguise! O
+Fool, that now art wiser than the wisest! Thy pains and sorrows have
+lifted thee to heaven, methinks, and freed now of thy foolish clay thou
+dost walk with angels and look within the face of God! But, by thine
+agonies endured, now do I swear this night to raise to thy poor Fool's
+body a pyre fit for the flesh of kings!"
+
+Then Beltane arose and lifting high his axe, shook it against
+Garthlaxton's frowning might, where was neither glint of armour nor
+gleam of pike-head, and turning, hasted back to that dark and silent
+company which, at his word, rose up from brake and fern and thicket,
+and followed whither he led, a long line, soundless and phantom-like
+within a phantom world, where a grey mist swirled and drifted in the
+death-cold air of dawn. Swift and silent they followed him, these wild
+men, with fierce eyes and scowling faces all set toward that mighty
+keep that loomed high against the glimmering stars. Axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, in rusty mail, in rags of leather and skins, they
+crept from bush to bush, from tree to tree, till they were come to that
+little pool wherein Beltane had bathed him aforetime in the dawn. Here
+they halted what time Beltane sought to and fro along the bank of the
+stream, until at last, within a screen of leaves and vines he found the
+narrow opening he sought. Then turned he and beckoned those ghostly,
+silent shapes about him, and speaking quick and low, counselled them
+thus:
+
+"Look now, this secret burrow leadeth under the foundations of the
+keep; thus, so soon as we be in, let Walkyn and Giles with fifty men
+haste to smite all within the gate-house, then up with portcullis and
+down with drawbridge and over into the barbican there to lie in ambush,
+what time Roger and I, with Eric here and the fifty and five, shall
+fire the keep and, hid within the dark, raise a mighty outcry, that
+those within the keep and they that garrison the castle, roused by the
+fire and our shout, shall issue out amazed. So will we fall upon them
+and they, taken by surprise, shall seek to escape us by the gate. Then,
+Walkyn, sally ye out of the barbican and smite them at the drawbridge,
+so shall we have them front and rear. How think you? Is it agreed?"
+
+"Agreed! agreed!" came the gruff and whispered chorus.
+
+"Then last--and mark this well each one--till that I give the word, let
+no man speak! Let death be swift, but let it be silent."
+
+Then, having drawn his mail-hood about his face and laced it close,
+Beltane caught up his axe and stepped into the tunnel. There he kindled
+a torch of pine and stooping 'neath the low roof, went on before. One
+by one the others followed, Roger and Giles, Walkyn and Eric bearing
+the heavy log upon their shoulders, and behind them axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, a wild company in garments of leather and garments
+of skins, soft-treading and silent as ghosts--yet purposeful ghosts
+withal.
+
+Soon came they to the iron door and Beltane stood aside, whereon the
+mighty four, bending brawny shoulders, swung the log crashing against
+the iron; thrice and four times smote they, might and main, ere rusted
+bolt and rivet gave beneath the battery and the door swung wide. Down
+went the log, and ready steel flashed as Beltane strode on, his torch
+aflare, 'twixt oozing walls, up steps of stone that yet were slimy to
+the tread, on and up by winding passage and steep-climbing stairway,
+until they came where was a parting of the ways--the first still
+ascending, the second leading off at a sharp angle. Here Beltane paused
+in doubt, and bidding the others halt, followed the second passage
+until he was come to a narrow flight of steps that rose to the stone
+roof above. But here, in the wall beside the steps, he beheld a rusty
+iron lever, and reaching up, he bore upon the lever and lo! the
+flagstone above the steps reared itself on end and showed a square of
+gloom beyond.
+
+Then went Beltane and signalled to the others; so, one by one, they
+followed him up through the opening into that same gloomy chamber where
+he had lain in bonds and hearkened to wails of torment; but now the
+place was bare and empty and the door stood ajar. So came Beltane
+thither, bearing the torch, and stepped softly into the room beyond, a
+wide room, arras-hung and richly furnished, and looking around upon the
+voluptuous luxury of gilded couch and wide, soft bed, Beltane frowned
+suddenly upon a woman's dainty, broidered shoe.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what place is this?"
+
+"'Tis Red Pertolepe's bed-chamber, master."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "'tis rank of him, methinks--lead on, Roger, go
+you and Walkyn before them in the dark, and wait for me in the bailey."
+
+One by one, the wild company went by Beltane, fierce-eyed and stealthy,
+until there none remained save Giles, who, leaning upon his bow, looked
+with yearning eyes upon the costly splendour.
+
+"Aha," he whispered, "a pretty nest, tall brother. I'll warrant ye full
+many a fair white dove hath beat her tender pinions--"
+
+"Come!" said Beltane, and speaking, reached out his torch to bed-alcove
+and tapestried wall; and immediately silk and arras went up in a puff
+of flame--a leaping fire, yellow-tongued, that licked at gilded roof-beam
+and carven screen and panel.
+
+"Brother!" whispered Giles, "O brother, 'tis a sin, methinks, to lose
+so much good booty. That coffer, now--Ha!" With the cry the archer
+leapt out through the tapestried doorway. Came the ring of steel, a
+heavy fall, and thereafter a shriek that rang and echoed far and near
+ere it sank to a silence wherein a voice whispered:
+
+"Quick, brother--the besotted fools stir at last--away!"
+
+Then, o'erleaping that which sprawled behind the curtain, Beltane sped
+along a passage and down a winding stair, yet pausing, ever and anon,
+with flaring torch: and ever small fires waxed behind him. So came he
+at last to the sally-port and hurling the blazing torch behind him,
+closed the heavy door. And now, standing upon the platform, he looked
+down into the inner bailey. Dawn was at hand, a glimmering mist wherein
+vague forms moved, what time Walkyn, looming ghostly and gigantic in
+the mist, mustered his silent, ghostly company ere, lifting his axe, he
+turned and vanished, his fifty phantoms at his heels.
+
+Now glancing upward at the rugged face of the keep, Beltane beheld thin
+wisps of smoke that curled from every arrow-slit, slow-wreathing
+spirals growing ever denser ere they vanished in the clammy mists of
+dawn, while from within a muffled clamour rose--low and inarticulate
+yet full of terror. Then Beltane strode down the zig-zag stair and came
+forthright upon Roger, pale and anxious, who yet greeted him in joyous
+whisper:
+
+"Master, I began to fear for thee. What now?"
+
+"To the arch of the parapet yonder. Let each man crouch there in the
+gloom, nor stir until I give word."
+
+Now as they crouched thus, with weapons tight-gripped and eyes that
+glared upon the coming day, a sudden trumpet brayed alarm upon the
+battlements--shouts were heard far and near, and a running of mailed
+feet; steel clashed, the great castle, waking at last, was all astir
+about them and full of sudden bustle and tumult. And ever the clamour
+of voices waxed upon the misty air from hurrying groups dim-seen that
+flitted by, arming as they ran, and ever the fifty and five, crouching
+in the dark, impatient for the sign, watched Beltane--his firm-set lip,
+his frowning brow; and ever from belching arrow-slit the curling
+smoke-wreaths waxed blacker and more dense. Of a sudden, out from the
+narrow sally-port burst a huddle of choking men, whose gasping cries
+pierced high above the clamour:
+
+"Fire! Fire! Sir Fulk is slain! Sir Fulk lieth death-smitten! Fire!"
+
+From near and far men came running--men affrighted and dazed with
+sleep, a pushing, jostling, unordered throng, and the air hummed with
+the babel of their voices.
+
+And now at last--up sprang Beltane, his mittened hand aloft.
+
+"Arise!" he cried, "Arise and smite for Pentavalon!" And from the gloom
+behind him a hoarse roar went up: "Arise! Arise--Pentavalon!" Then,
+while yet the war-cry thundered in the air, they swept down on that
+disordered press, and the bailey rang and echoed with the fell sounds
+of a close-locked, reeling battle; a hateful din of hoarse shouting, of
+shrieks and cries and clashing steel.
+
+Axe and spear, sword and pike and gisarm smote and thrust and swayed;
+stumbling feet spurned and trampled yielding forms that writhed,
+groaning, beneath the press; faces glared at faces haggard with the
+dawn, while to and fro, through swirling mist and acrid smoke, the
+battle rocked and swayed. But now the press thinned out, broke and
+yielded before Beltane's whirling axe, and turning, he found Roger
+beside him all a-sweat and direfully besplashed, his mailed breast
+heaving as he leaned gasping upon a broadsword red from point to hilt.
+
+"Ha, master!" he panted,--"'tis done already--see, they break and fly!"
+
+"On!" cried Beltane, "on--pursue! pursue! after them to the gate!"
+
+With axe and spear, with sword and pike and gisarm they smote the
+fugitives across the wide space of the outer bailey, under the narrow
+arch of the gate-house and out upon the drawbridge beyond. But here, of
+a sudden, the fugitives checked their flight as out from the barbican
+Walkyn leapt, brandishing his axe, and with the fifty at his back. So
+there, upon the bridge, the fight raged fiercer than before; men smote
+and died, until of Sir Pertolepe's garrison there none remained save
+they that littered that narrow causeway.
+
+"Now by the good Saint Giles--my patron saint," gasped Giles, wiping
+the sweat from him, "here was a good and sweet affray, tall brother--a
+very proper fight, _pugnus et calcibus_--while it lasted--"
+
+"Aye," growled Walkyn, spurning a smitten wretch down into the moat,
+"'twas ended too soon! Be these all in faith, lord?"
+
+But now upon the air rose shrill cries and piercing screams that seemed
+to split the dawn.
+
+"O--women!" cried Giles, and forthwith cleansed and sheathed his sword
+and fell to twirling his beard.
+
+"Aha, the women!" cried a ragged fellow, turning about, "'tis their
+turn--let us to the women--" But a strong hand caught and set him aside
+and Beltane strode on before them all, treading swift and light until
+he was come to the chapel that stood beside the banqueting hall. And
+here he beheld many women, young and fair for the most part, huddled
+about the high altar or struggling in the ragged arms that grasped
+them. Now did they (these poor souls) looking up, behold one in
+knightly mail stained and foul with battle, yet very young and comely
+of face, who leaned him upon a mighty, blood-stained axe and scowled
+'neath frowning brows. Yet his frown was not for them, nor did his blue
+eyes pause at any one of them, whereat hope grew within them and with
+white hands outstretched they implored his pity.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," said he, "as men this night have ye fought in
+goodly cause. Will ye now forget your manhood and new-found honour, ye
+that did swear to me upon your swords? Come, loose me these women!"
+
+"Not so," cried one, a great, red-headed rogue, "we have fought to
+pleasure thee--now is our turn--"
+
+"Loose me these women!" cried Beltane, his blue eyes fierce.
+
+"Nay, these be our booty, and no man shall gainsay us. How think ye,
+comrades?"
+
+Now Beltane smiled upon this red-haired knave and, smiling, drew a slow
+pace nearer, the great axe a-swing in his mailed hand.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, kind-voiced, "get thee out now, lest I slay thee!"
+Awhile the fellow glared upon Beltane, beheld his smiling look and
+deadly eye, and slowly loosing his trembling captive, turned and strode
+out, muttering as he went. Then spake Beltane to the shrinking women,
+yet even so his blue eyes looked upon none of them. Quoth he:
+
+"Ye are free to go whither ye will. Take what ye will, none shall
+gainsay you, but get you gone within this hour, for in the hour
+Garthlaxton shall be no more."
+
+Then beckoning Walkyn he bade him choose six men, and turning to the
+women--
+
+"These honourable men shall bring you safe upon your way--haste you to
+be gone. And should any ask how Garthlaxton fell, say, 'twas by the
+hand of God, as a sure and certain sign that Pentavalon shall yet arise
+to smite evil from her borders. Say also that he that spake you this
+was one Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore Duke of
+Pentavalon." Thus said Beltane unto these women, his brows knit, and
+with eyes that looked aside from each and every, and so went forth of
+the chapel.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+
+Morning, young and fragrant, bedecked and brave with gems of dewy fire;
+a blithe morning, wherein trees stirred whispering and new-waked birds
+piped joyous welcome to the sun, whose level, far-flung beams filled
+the world with glory save where, far to the south, a pillar of smoke
+rose upon the stilly air, huge, awful, and black as sin--a writhing
+column shot with flame that went up high as heaven.
+
+  "O merry, aye merry, right merry I'll be,
+   To live and to love 'neath the merry green tree,
+   Nor the rain, nor the sleet,
+   Nor the cold, nor the heat,
+   I'll mind, if my love will come thither to me."
+
+Sang Giles, a sprig of wild flowers a-dance in his new-gotten,
+gleaming bascinet, his long-bow upon his mailed shoulder, and, strapped
+to his wide back, a misshapen bundle that clinked melodiously with
+every swinging stride; and, while he sang, the ragged rogues about him
+ceased their noise and ribaldry to hearken in delight, and when he
+paused, cried out amain for more. Whereupon Giles, nothing loth, brake
+forth afresh:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss,
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?
+   'Tis when the day is new begun,
+   'Tis to the setting of the sun,
+   Is time for kissing ever done?
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"
+
+Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the
+many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood
+aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at
+Garthlaxton Keep.
+
+Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger
+paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word
+betwixt them.
+
+"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe
+a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton
+aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart
+of many a sorry wretch, methinks."
+
+"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with
+hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--God
+forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many
+shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless
+children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"
+
+"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So,
+Garthlaxton--smoke!"
+
+"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carcass
+smoked with thee!"
+
+"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "hell-fire shall
+have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So
+away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced
+throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our
+youthful, god-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is
+bright--"
+
+"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but
+a Fool!"
+
+"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall
+brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh,
+methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully
+touched his arm with tentative fingers.
+
+"Why, the torment is apt to change a man," said Walkyn, grim-smiling.
+"I have tried it and I know."
+
+Now hereupon Giles fell to whistling, Walkyn to silence and Roger to
+scowling; oft looking back, jealous-eyed, to where Beltane rode a black
+war-horse, his mail-coif thrown back, his chin upon his breast, his
+eyes gloomy and wistful; and as often as he looked, Roger sighed amain.
+Whereat at last the archer cried:
+
+"Good lack, Roger, and wherefore puff ye so? Why glower ye, man, and
+snort?"
+
+"Snort thyself!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, I had rather talk."
+
+"I had rather be silent."
+
+"Excellent, Roger; so will I talk for thee and me. First will I show
+three excellent reasons for happiness--_videlicit:_ the birds sing, I
+talk, and Garthlaxton burns.--"
+
+"I would thou did'st burn with it," growled Roger. "But here is a deed
+shall live when thou and I are dust, archer!"
+
+"Verily, good Roger, for here and now will I make a song on't for souls
+unborn to sing--a good song with a lilt to trip it lightly on the
+tongue, as thus:
+
+  "How Beltane burned Garthlaxton low
+   With lusty Giles, whose good yew bow
+   Sped many a caitiff rogue, I trow,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How!" exclaimed Roger, "here be two whole lines to thy knavish self
+and but one to our master?"
+
+"Aye," grumbled Walkyn, "and what of Roger?--what of me?--we were
+there also, methinks?"
+
+"Nay, show patience," said Giles, "we will amend that in the next
+triplet, thus:
+
+  "There Roger fought, and Walkyn too,
+   And Giles that bare the bow of yew;
+   O swift and strong his arrows flew,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How think ye of that, now?"
+
+"I think, here is too much Giles," said Roger.
+
+"Forsooth, and say ye so indeed? Let us then to another verse:
+
+  "Walkyn a mighty axe did sway,
+   Black Roger's sword some few did slay,
+   Yet Giles slew many more than they,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair--and the
+lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?"
+
+"I think it a lie!" growled Roger.
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the archer, "thou'rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty
+belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue. Yet for thy behoof my song shall
+be ended, thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"_Par Dex!_" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled
+forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for
+thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap--so come, rejoice,
+my rueful Rogerkin--smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is
+ablaze."
+
+"And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty
+and two good men slain."
+
+"Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our
+youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall
+better love a live one--and thou wert ever a fool, Roger--so born and
+so bred. As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall
+divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of
+solace. Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty
+toys--you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here. As, item:
+a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems--
+a pretty piece! Item: a golden girdle from the East--very sweet and
+rare. Item: four silver candlesticks--heavy, Roger! Item: a gold hilted
+dagger--a notable trinket. Item--"
+
+A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside
+the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues
+appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was
+filled with fierce shouts and cries.
+
+"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with
+the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"
+
+"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for
+your devils or demons!"
+
+Quoth the archer:
+
+"_In nomen Dominum_--Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"
+
+"Foul daughter of an accursed dam!" quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a
+cross in the dust with his bow-stave.
+
+"With the eyes of an angel!" said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a
+maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a
+ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her
+ripe young beauty.
+
+"'Tis Mellent!" cried the fellow. "'Tis the witch's daughter that hath
+escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft--"
+
+"Nay--nay," panted the maid 'twixt pallid lips, "nought am I but a poor
+maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother. Ah, show pity--"
+
+"Witch!" roared a score of voices, "Witch!"
+
+"Not so, in sooth--in very sooth," she gasped 'twixt sobs of terror,
+"nought but a poor maid am I--and the man thrice sought me out and
+would have shamed me but that I escaped, for that I am very swift of
+foot--"
+
+"She lured me into the bog with devil-fires!" cried Gurth.
+
+"And would thou had'st rotted there!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, edging
+nearer. Now hereupon the maid turned and looked at Giles through the
+silken curtain of her black and glossy hair, and beholding the entreaty
+of that look, the virginal purity of those wide blue eyes, the archer
+stood awed and silent, his comely face grew red, grew pale--then, out
+flashed his dagger and he crouched to spring on Gurth; but, of a
+sudden, Beltane rode in between, at whose coming a shout went up and
+thereafter a silence fell. But now at sight of Beltane, the witch-maid
+uttered a strange cry, and shrinking beneath his look, crouched upon
+her knees and spake in strange, hushed accents.
+
+"Messire," she whispered, "mine eyes do tell me thou art the lord
+Beltane!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so."
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "now glory be and thanks to God that I do see thee
+hale and well!" So saying, she shivered and covered her face. Now while
+Beltane yet stared, amazed by her saying, the bushes parted near by and
+a hooded figure stepped forth silent and soft of foot, at sight of whom
+all men gave back a pace, and Roger, trembling, drew a second cross in
+the dust with his bow-stave, what time a shout went up:
+
+"Ha!--the Witch--'tis the witch of Hangstone Waste herself!"
+
+Very still she stood, looking round upon them all with eyes that
+glittered 'neath the shadow of her hood; and when at last she spake,
+her voice was rich and sweet to hear.
+
+"Liar!" she said, and pointed at Gurth a long, white finger, "unhand
+her, liar, lest thou wither, flesh and bone, body and soul!" Now here,
+once again, men gave back cowering 'neath her glance, while Roger
+crossed himself devoutly.
+
+"The evil eye!" he muttered 'twixt chattering teeth, "cross thy
+fingers, Giles, lest she blast thee!" But Gurth shook his head and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "do ye forget? No witch hath power i' the sun! She
+can work no evil i' the sunshine. Seize her!--'tis an accursed hag--
+seize her! Bring her to the water and see an she can swim with a stone
+at her hag's neck. All witches are powerless by day. See, thus I spit
+upon and defy her!"
+
+Now hereupon a roar of anger went up and, for that they had feared her
+before, so now grew they more fierce; a score of eager hands dragged at
+her, hands that rent her cloak, that grasped with cruel fingers at her
+long grey hair, bending her this way and that; but she uttered no groan
+nor complaint, only the maid cried aloud most pitiful to hear, whereat
+Giles, dagger in hand, pushed and strove to come at Gurth. Then Beltane
+alighted from his horse and parting the throng with mailed hands, stood
+within the circle and looking round upon them laughed, and his laugh
+was harsh and bitter.
+
+"Forsooth, and must ye war with helpless women, O men of Pentavalon?"
+quoth he, and laughed again right scornfully; whereat those that held
+the witch relaxed their hold and fain would justify themselves.
+
+"She is a witch--a cursed witch!" they cried.
+
+"She is a woman," says Beltane.
+
+"Aye--a devil-woman--a notable witch--we know her of old!"
+
+"Verily," cried one, "'tis but a sennight since she plagued me with
+aching teeth--"
+
+"And me with an ague!" cried another.
+
+"She bewitched my shafts that they all flew wide o' the mark!" cried a
+third.
+
+"She cast on me a spell whereby I nigh did perish i' the fen--"
+
+"She is a hag--she's demon-rid and shall to the fire!" they shouted
+amain. "Ha!--witch!--witch!"
+
+"That doeth no man harm by day," said Beltane, "so by day shall no man
+harm her--"
+
+"Aye, lord," quoth Roger, "but how by night? 'tis by night she may work
+her spells and blast any that she will, or haunt them with goblins
+damned that they do run mad, or--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane frowning, "on me let her bewitchments fall;
+thus, see you, an I within this next week wither and languish 'neath
+her spells, then let her burn an ye will: but until this flesh doth
+shrivel on these my bones, no man shall do her hurt. So now let there
+be an end--free these women, let your ranks be ordered, and march--"
+
+"Comrades all!" cried red-haired Gurth, "will ye be slaves henceforth
+to this girl-faced youth? We have arms now and rich booty. Let us back
+to the merry greenwood, where all men are equal--come, let us be gone,
+and take these witches with us to our sport--"
+
+But in this moment Beltane turned.
+
+"Girl-faced, quotha?" he cried; and beholding his look, Gurth of a
+sudden loosed the swooning maid and, drawing sword, leapt and smote at
+Beltane's golden head; but Beltane caught the blow in his mailed hand,
+and snapped the blade in sunder, and, seizing Gurth about the loins,
+whirled him high in air; then, while all men blenched and held their
+breath waiting the thud of his broken body in the dust, Beltane stayed
+and set him down upon his feet. And lo! Gurth's cheek was pale, his eye
+wide and vacant, and his soul sat numbed within him. So Beltane took
+him by the throat, and, laughing fierce, shook him to and fro.
+
+"Beast!" said he, "unfit art thou to march with these my comrades. Now
+therefore do I cast thee out. Take thy life and go, and let any follow
+thee that will--Pentavalon needeth not thy kind. Get thee from among
+us, empty-handed as I found thee--thy share of treasure shall go to
+better men!"
+
+Now even as Beltane spake, Gurth's red head sank until his face was
+hidden within his hands; strong hands, that slowly clenched themselves
+into anger-trembling fists. And ever as Beltane spake, the witch,
+tossing back her long grey hair, looked and looked on him with bright
+and eager eyes; a wondering look, quick to note his shape and goodly
+size, his wide blue eyes, his long and golden hair and the proud, high
+carriage of his head: and slowly, to her wonderment came awe and
+growing joy. But Beltane spake on unheeding:
+
+"Thou dost know me for a hunted man with a price upon my head, but thou
+art thing so poor thy death can pleasure no man. So take thy life and
+get thee hence, but come not again, for in that same hour will I hang
+thee in a halter--go!" So, with drooping head, Gurth of the red hair
+turned him about, and plunging into the green, was gone; then Beltane
+looked awhile upon the others that stood shifting on their feet, and
+with never a word betwixt them.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "mighty deeds do lie before us--such works as
+only true men may achieve. And what is a man? A man, methinks, is he,
+that, when he speaketh, speaketh ever from his heart; that, being quick
+to hate all evil actions, is quicker to forgive, and who, fearing
+neither ghost nor devil, spells nor witchcraft, dreadeth only
+dishonour, and thus, living without fear, he without fear may die. So
+now God send we all be men, my brothers. To your files there--pikes to
+the front and rear, bows to the flanks--forward!"
+
+But now, as with a ring and clash and tramp of feet the ragged company
+fell into rank and order, the witch-woman came swiftly beside Beltane
+and, touching him not, spake softly in his ear.
+
+"Beltane--Beltane, lord Duke of Pentavalon!" Now hereupon Beltane
+started, and turning, looked upon her grave-eyed.
+
+"What would ye, woman?" he questioned.
+
+"Born wert thou of a mother chaste as fair, true wife unto the Duke thy
+father--a woman sweet and holy who liveth but to the good of others:
+yet was brother slain by brother, and thou baptised in blood ere now!"
+
+"Woman," quoth he, his strong hands a-tremble, "who art thou--what
+knowest thou of my--mother? Speak!"
+
+"Not here, my lord--but, an thou would'st learn more, come unto
+Hangstone Waste at the full o' the moon, stand you where the death-stone
+stands, that some do call the White Morte-stone. There shalt thou
+learn many things, perchance. Thou hast this day saved a witch from
+cruel death and a lowly beggar-maid from shame. A witch! A beggar-maid!
+The times be out a joint, methinks. Yet, witch and beggar, do we thank
+thee, lord Duke. Fare thee well--until the full o' the moon!" So spake
+she, and clasping the young maid within her arm they passed into the
+brush and so were gone.
+
+Now while Beltane stood yet pondering her words, came Roger to his
+side, to touch him humbly on the arm.
+
+"Lord," said he, "be not beguiled by yon foul witches' arts: go not to
+Hangstone Waste lest she be-devil thee with goblins or transform thee
+to a loathly toad. Thou wilt not go, master?"
+
+"At the full o' the moon, Roger!"
+
+"Why then," muttered Roger gulping, and clenching trembling hands, "we
+must needs be plague-smitten, blasted and everlastingly damned, for
+needs must I go with thee."
+
+Very soon pike and bow and gisarm fell into array; the pack-horses
+stumbled forward, the dust rose upon the warm, still air. Now as they
+strode along with ring and clash and the sound of voice and laughter,
+came Giles to walk at Beltane's stirrup; and oft he glanced back along
+the way and oft he sighed, a thing most rare in him; at last he spake,
+and dolefully:
+
+"Witchcraft is forsooth a deadly sin, tall brother?"
+
+"Verily, Giles, yet there be worse, methinks."
+
+"Worse! Ha, 'tis true, 'tis very true!" nodded the archer. "And then,
+forsooth, shall the mother's sin cleave unto the daughter--and she so
+wondrous fair? The saints forbid." Now hereupon the archer's gloom was
+lifted and he strode along singing softly 'neath his breath; yet, in a
+while he frowned, sudden and fierce: "As for that foul knave Gurth--ha,
+methinks I had been wiser to slit his roguish weasand, for 'tis in my
+mind he may live to discover our hiding place to our foes, and
+perchance bring down Red Pertolepe to Hundleby Fen."
+
+"In truth," said Beltane, slow and thoughtful, "so do I think; 'twas
+for this I spared his life."
+
+Now here Giles the Archer turned and stared upon Beltane with jaws
+agape, and fain he would have questioned further, but Beltane's gloomy
+brow forbade; yet oft he looked askance at that golden head, and oft he
+sighed and shook his own, what time they marched out of the golden
+glare of morning into the dense green depths of the forest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+
+Now at this time the fame of Beltane's doing went throughout the Duchy,
+insomuch that divers and many were they that sought him out within the
+green; masterless men, serfs new-broke from thraldom, desperate fellows
+beyond the law, thieves and rogues in dire jeopardy of life or limb:
+off-scourings, these, of camp and town and village, hither come seeking
+shelter with Beltane in the wild wood, and eager for his service.
+
+In very truth, a turbulent company this, prone to swift quarrel and
+deadly brawl; but, at these times, fiercer than any was Walkyn o' the
+Axe, grimmer than any was Roger the Black, whereas Giles was quick as
+his tongue and Eric calm and resolute: four mighty men were these, but
+mightier than all was Beltane. Wherefore at this time Beltane set
+himself to bring order from chaos and to teach these wild men the
+virtues of obedience; but here indeed was a hard matter, for these were
+lawless men and very fierce withal. But upon a morning, ere the sun had
+chased the rosy mists into marsh and fen, Beltane strode forth from the
+cave wherein he slept, and lifting the hunting horn he bare about his
+neck, sounded it fierce and shrill. Whereon rose a sudden uproar, and
+out from their caves, from sleeping-places hollowed within the rocks,
+stumbled his ragged following--an unordered rabblement, half-naked,
+unarmed, that ran hither and thither, shouting and rubbing sleep from
+their eyes, or stared fearfully upon the dawn. Anon Beltane sounded
+again, whereat they, beholding him, came thronging about him and
+questioned him eagerly on all sides, as thus:
+
+"Master, are we attacked forsooth?"
+
+"Is the Red Pertolepe upon us?"
+
+"Lord, what shall we do--?"
+
+"Lead us, master--lead us!"
+
+Then, looking upon their wild disorder, Beltane laughed for scorn:--
+
+"Rats!" quoth he, "O rats--is it thus ye throng to the slaughter, then?
+Were I in sooth Red Pertolepe with but a score at my back I had slain
+ye all ere sun-up! Where be your out-posts--where be your sentinels?
+Are ye so eager to kick within a hangman's noose?"
+
+Now hereupon divers growled or muttered threateningly, while others,
+yawning, would have turned them back to sleep; but striding among them,
+Beltane stayed them with voice and hand--and voice was scornful and
+hand was heavy: moreover, beside him stood Roger and Giles, with Walkyn
+and Eric of the wry neck.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "for that Pentavalon doth need men, so now must I
+teach ye other ways. Fall to your ranks there--ha! scowl and ye will
+but use well your ears--mark me, now. But two nights ago we burned
+down my lord Duke's great castle of Garthlaxton: think you my lord Duke
+will not seek vengeance dire upon these our bodies therefore? Think ye
+the Red Pertolepe will not be eager for our blood? But yest're'en, when
+I might have slain yon knavish Gurth, I suffered him to go--and
+wherefore? For that Gurth, being at heart a traitor and rogue ingrain,
+might straightway his him to the Duke at Barham Broom with offers to
+guide his powers hither. But when they be come, his chivalry and heavy
+armed foot here within the green, then will we fire the woods about
+them and from every point of vantage beset them with our arrows--"
+
+"Ha! Bows--bows!" cried Giles, tossing up his bow-stave and catching
+it featly--"Oho! tall brother--fair lord Duke, here is a sweet and
+notable counsel. Ha, bows! Hey for bows and bills i' the merry
+greenwood!"
+
+"So, perceive me," quoth Beltane, "thus shall the hunters peradventure
+become the hunted, for, an Duke Ivo come, 'tis like enough he ne'er
+shall win free of our ring of fire." Now from these long and ragged
+ranks a buzz arose that swelled and swelled to a fierce shout.
+
+"The fire!" they cried. "Ha, to burn them i' the fire!"
+
+"But so to do," quoth Beltane, "rats must become wolves. Valiant men ye
+are I know, yet are ye but a poor unordered rabblement, mete for
+slaughter. So now will I teach ye, how here within the wild-wood we may
+withstand Black Ivo and all his powers. Giles, bring now the book of
+clean parchment I took from Garthlaxton, together with pens and ink-horn,
+and it shall be henceforth a record of us every one, our names, our
+number, and the good or ill we each one do achieve."
+
+So there and then, while the sun rose high and higher and the mists of
+dawn thinned and vanished, phantom-like, the record was begun. Two
+hundred and twenty and four they mustered, and the name of each and
+every Giles duly wrote down within the book in right fair and clerkly
+hand. Thereafter Beltane numbered them into four companies; over the
+first company he set Walkyn, over the second Giles, over the third
+Roger, and over the fourth Eric of the wry neck. Moreover he caused to
+be brought all the armour they had won, and ordered that all men should
+henceforth go armed from head to foot, yet many there were that needs
+must go short awhile.
+
+Now he ordained these four companies should keep watch and watch day
+and night with sentinels and outposts in the green; and when they
+murmured at this he stared them into silence.
+
+"Fools!" said he, "an ye would lie secure, so must ye watch constantly
+against surprise. And furthermore shall ye exercise daily now, at the
+spoke command, to address your pikes 'gainst charge of horse or foot,
+and to that company adjudged the best and stoutest will I, each week,
+give store of money from my share of booty. So now, Walkyn, summon ye
+your company and get to your ward."
+
+Thus it was that slowly out of chaos came order, yet it came not
+unopposed, for many and divers were they that growled against this new
+order of things; but Beltane's hand was swift and heavy, moreover,
+remembering how he had dealt with Tostig, they growled amain but hasted
+to obey. So, in place of idleness was work, and instead of quarrel and
+riot was peace among the wild men and a growing content. Insomuch that
+upon a certain balmy eve, Giles the Archer, lolling beside the fire
+looking upon Black Roger, who sat beside him furbishing his mail-shirt,
+spake his mind on this wise:
+
+"Mark ye these lamb-like wolves of ours, sweet Roger? There hath been
+no blood-letting betwixt them these four days, and scarce a quarrel."
+
+ROGER. "Aye, this comes of my lord. My master hath a wondrous tongue,
+Giles."
+
+GILES. "My brother-in-arms hath a wondrous strong fist, Rogerkin--"
+
+ROGER. "Thy brother-in-arms, archer? Thine, forsooth! Ha!"
+
+GILES. "Snort not, my gentle Roger, for I fell in company with him ere
+he knew aught of thee--so thy snort availeth nothing, my Rogerkin.
+Howbeit, our snarling wolves do live like tender lambs these days, the
+which doth but go to prove how blessed a thing is a fist--a fist, mark
+you, strong to strike, big to buffet, and swift to smite: a capable
+fist, Roger, to strike, buffet and smite a man to the good of his
+soul."
+
+ROGER. "In sooth my master is a noble knight, ne'er shall we see his
+equal. And yet, Giles, methinks he doth mope and grieve these days. He
+groweth pale-cheeked and careworn, harsh of speech and swift to anger.
+Behold him now!" and Roger pointed to where Beltane sat apart (as was
+become his wont of late) his axe betwixt his knees, square chin propped
+upon clenched fist, scowling into the fire that burned before his
+sleeping-cave.
+
+"Whence cometh the so great change in him, think you, Giles?"
+
+"For that, while I am I and he is himself, thou art but what thou art,
+my Rogerkin--well enough after thy fashion, mayhap, but after all
+thou art only thyself."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, "and what of thee, archer?"
+
+"I am his brother-in-arms, Rogerkin, and so know him therefore as a
+wondrous lord, a noble knight, a goodly youth and a sweet lad. Some
+day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and
+will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time. A
+notable ballade, something on this wise:--
+
+  "Of gentle Beltane I will tell,
+   A knight who did all knights excel,
+   Who loved of all men here below
+   His faithful Giles that bare the bow;
+   For Giles full strong and straight could shoot,
+   A goodly man was Giles to boot.
+
+   A lusty fighter sure was Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles.
+   And Giles was handsome, Giles was young,
+   And Giles he had a merry--"
+
+"How now, Roger, man--wherefore interrupt me?"
+
+"For that there be too many of Giles hereabouts, and one Giles talketh
+enough for twenty. So will I to Walkyn that seldom talketh enough for
+one."
+
+So saying Roger arose, donned his shirt of mail and, buckling his sword
+about him, strode incontinent away.
+
+And in a while Beltane arose also, and climbing one of the many
+precipitous paths, answered the challenge of sentinel and outpost and
+went on slow-footed as one heavy in thought, yet with eyes quick to
+heed how thick was the underbrush hereabouts with dead wood and bracken
+apt to firing. Before him rose an upland crowned by a belt of mighty
+forest trees and beyond, a road, or rather track, that dipped and wound
+away into the haze of evening. Presently, as he walked beneath this
+leafy twilight, he heard the luring sound of running water, and turning
+thither, laid him down where was a small and placid pool, for he was
+athirst. But as he stooped to drink, he started, and thereafter hung
+above this pellucid mirror staring down at the face that stared up at
+him with eyes agleam 'neath lowering brows, above whose close-knit
+gloom a lock of hair gleamed snow-white amid the yellow. Long stayed he
+thus, to mark the fierce curve of nostril, the square grimness of jaw
+and chin, and the lips that met in a harsh line, down-trending and
+relentless. And gazing thus upon his image, he spake beneath his
+breath:
+
+"O lady! O wilful Helen! thy soft white hand hath set its mark upon me;
+the love-sick youth is grown a man, meseemeth. Well, so be it!" Thus
+saying, he laughed harshly and stooping, drank his fill.
+
+Now as he yet lay beside the brook hearkening to its pretty babel, he
+was aware of another sound drawing nearer--the slow plodding of a
+horse's hoofs upon the road below; and glancing whence it came he
+beheld a solitary knight whose mail gleamed 'neath a rich surcoat and
+whose shield flamed red with sunset. While Beltane yet watched this
+solitary rider, behold two figures that crouched in the underbrush
+growing beside the way; stealthy figures, that flitted from tree to
+tree and bush to bush, keeping pace with the slow-riding horseman; and
+as they came nearer, Beltane saw that these men who crouched and stole
+so swift and purposeful were Walkyn and Black Roger. Near and nearer
+they drew, the trackers and the tracked, till they were come to a place
+where the underbrush fell away and cover there was none: and here,
+very suddenly, forth leapt Roger with Walkyn at his heels; up reared
+the startled horse, and thereafter the knight was dragged from his
+saddle and Walkyn's terrible axe swung aloft for the blow, but Black
+Roger turned and caught Walkyn's arm and so they strove together
+furiously, what time the knight lay out-stretched upon the ling and
+stirred not.
+
+"Ha! Fool!" raged Walkyn, "loose my arm--what would ye?"
+
+"Shalt not slay him," cried Roger, "'tis a notch--'tis a notch from my
+accursed belt--shalt not slay him, I tell thee!"
+
+"Now out upon thee for a mad knave!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Knave thyself!" roared Black Roger, and so they wrestled fiercely
+together; but, little by little, Walkyn's size and bull strength began
+to tell, whereupon back sprang nimble Roger, and as Walkyn's axe
+gleamed, so gleamed Roger's sword. But now as they circled warily about
+each other, seeking an opening for blow or thrust, there came a rush of
+feet, and Beltane leapt betwixt them, and bestriding the fallen knight,
+fronted them in black and bitter anger.
+
+"Ha, rogues!" he cried, "art become thieves and murderers so soon,
+then? Would'st shed each other's blood for lust of booty like any other
+lawless knaves, forsooth? Shame--O shame on ye both!"
+
+So saying, he stooped, and lifting the unconscious knight, flung him
+across his shoulder and strode off, leaving the twain to stare upon
+each other shame-faced.
+
+Scowling and fierce-eyed Beltane descended into the hollow, whereupon
+up sprang Giles with divers others and would have looked upon and aided
+with the captive; but beholding Beltane's frown they stayed their
+questions and stood from his path. So came he to a certain cave
+hollowed within the hill-side--one of many such--but the rough walls of
+this cave Black Roger had adorned with a rich arras, and had prepared
+also a bed of costly furs; here Beltane laid the captive, and sitting
+within the mouth of the cave--beyond which a fire burned--fell to
+scowling at the flame. And presently as he sat thus came Roger and
+Walkyn, who fain would have made their peace, but Beltane fiercely bade
+them to begone.
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard
+by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would
+have slain him--"
+
+"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour,
+since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut
+from my belt another accursed notch--"
+
+"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live,
+this our refuge is secret no longer."
+
+"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but
+murderers and thieving knaves--"
+
+"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would
+but have borrowed--"
+
+"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!"
+Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger
+went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into
+the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the
+gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at
+sound whereof he started and turned him about.
+
+"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."
+
+"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways
+of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."
+
+Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of
+the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing,
+shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.
+Whereat spake Beltane in amaze:
+
+"How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"
+
+"Not so--ah, God! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"
+
+"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee
+so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle
+knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot
+and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves
+upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that
+trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth
+until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much
+I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."
+
+Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice
+his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood
+upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while.
+Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich
+surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin,
+showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little
+smooth-skinned and pale.
+
+"Sir knight," said Beltane, "free art thou to go hence, nor shall any
+stay or spoil thee. Yet first, hear this: thou art perchance some
+roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair
+lady. O folly! choose you something more worthy--a horse is a noble
+beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful. But see you, a woman's love is
+a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty. Give not
+thine heart into a woman's hand lest she tear it in her soft, white
+fingers: set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she tread
+it into the shameful mire. So fare thee well, sir knight. God go with
+thee and keep thee ever from the love of woman!"
+
+So saying Beltane rose, and lifting the bugle-horn he wore, sounded it;
+whereon came all and sundry, running and with weapons brandished--but
+Roger first of all.
+
+To all of whom Beltane spake thus:
+
+"Behold here this gentle knight our guest is for the nonce--entreat him
+courteously therefore; give him all that he doth lack and thereafter
+set him upon his way--"
+
+But hereupon divers cast evil looks upon the knight, murmuring among
+themselves--and loudest of all Walkyn.
+
+"He knoweth the secret of our hiding-place!"
+
+"'Tis said he knoweth the causeway through the fen!"
+
+"He will betray us!"
+
+"Dogs!" said Beltane, clenching his hands, "will ye defy me then? I say
+this knight shall go hence and none withstand him. Make way, then--or
+must I?" But now spake the youthful knight his gaze still bent upon
+the flame, nor seemed he to heed the fierce faces and eager steel that
+girt him round. "Nay, messire, for here methinks my quest is ended!"
+"Thy quest, sir knight--how so?" Then the knight turned and looked
+upon Beltane. Quoth he: "By thy size and knightly gear, by thy--thy
+yellow hair, methinks thou art Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong?"
+"Verily, 'tis so that I am called. What would you of me?" "This,
+messire." Herewith the stranger knight loosed belt and surcoat and drew
+forth a long sword whose broad blade glittered in the firelight, and
+gave its massy hilt to Beltane's grasp. And, looking upon its shining
+blade, Beltane beheld the graven legend "Resurgam." Now looking upon
+this, Beltane drew a deep, slow breath and turned upon the youthful
+knight with eyes grown suddenly fierce. Quoth he softly: "Whence had
+you this, sir knight?" "From one that liveth but for thee." "Ah!"
+said Beltane with scornful lip, "know ye such an one, in faith?" "Aye,
+messire," spake the knight, low-voiced yet eager, "one that doth
+languish for thee, that hath sent me in quest of thee bearing this thy
+sword for a sign, and to bid thee to return since without thee life is
+an emptiness, and there is none so poor, so heart-sick and woeful as
+Helen of Mortain!" "Ah--liar!" cried Beltane, and reaching out fierce
+hands crushed the speaker to his knees; but even so, the young knight
+spake on, soft-voiced and calm of eye: "Greater than thine is her love
+for thee, methinks, since 'tis changeless and abiding--Slay me an thou
+wilt, but while I live I will declare her true to thee. Whatever hath
+chanced, whate'er may chance, despite all doubts and enemies she doth
+love--love--love thee through life till death and beyond. O my lord
+Beltane--" "Liar!" spake Beltane again. But now was he seized of a
+madness, a cold rage and a deadly. "Liar!" said he, "thou art methinks
+one of her many wooers, so art thou greater fool. But Helen the
+Beautiful hath lovers a-plenty, and being what she is shall nothing
+miss thee: howbeit thou art surely liar, and surely will I slay thee!"
+So saying he swung aloft the great blade, but even so the young knight
+fronted the blow with eyes that quailed not: pale-lipped, yet smiling
+and serene; and then, or ever the stroke could fall--an arm, bronzed
+and hairy, came between, and Roger spake hoarse-voiced: "Master," he
+cried, "for that thy man am I and love thee, shalt ne'er do this till
+hast first slain me. 'Tis thus thou did'st teach me--to show mercy to
+the weak and helpless, and this is a youth, unarmed. Bethink thee,
+master--O bethink thee!" Slowly Beltane's arm sank, and looking upon
+the bright blade he let it fall upon the ling and covered his face
+within his two hands as if its glitter had blinded him. Thus did he
+stand awhile, the fetters agleam upon his wrists, and thereafter fell
+upon his knees and with his face yet hidden, spake: "Walkyn," said he,
+"O Walkyn, but a little while since I named thee 'murderer'! Yet what,
+in sooth, am I? So now do I humbly ask thy pardon. As for thee, sir
+knight, grant thy pity to one that is abased. Had I tears, now might I
+shed them, but tears are not for me. Go you therefore to--to her that
+sent thee and say that Beltane died within the dungeons of Garthlaxton.
+Say that I who speak am but a sword for the hand of God henceforth, to
+smite and stay not until wrong shall be driven hence. Say that this was
+told thee by a sorry wight who, yearning for death, must needs cherish
+life until his vow be accomplished." But as Beltane spake thus upon
+his knees, his head bowed humbly before them all, the young knight came
+near with mailed hands outstretched, yet touched him not. "Messire,"
+said he, "thou hast craved of me a boon the which I do most full and
+freely grant. But now would I beg one of thee." "'Tis thine," quoth
+Beltane, "who am I to gainsay thee?" "Messire, 'tis this; that thou
+wilt take me to serve thee, to go beside thee, sharing thy woes and
+perils henceforth." "So be it, sir knight," answered Beltane, "though
+mine shall be a hazardous service, mayhap. So, when ye will thou shalt
+be free of it." Thus saying he arose and went aside and sat him down
+in the mouth of the cave. But in a while came Roger to him, his
+sword-belt a-swing in his hand, and looked upon his gloomy face with eyes
+full troubled. And presently he spake, yet halting in his speech and
+timid: "Master," he said, "suffer me a question." "Verily," quoth
+Beltane, looking up, "as many as thou wilt, my faithful Roger."
+"Master," says Roger, twisting and turning the belt in hairy hands, "I
+would but ask thee if--if I might cut another notch from this my
+accursed belt--a notch, lord--I--the young knight--?" "You mean him
+that I would have murdered, Roger? Reach me hither thy belt." So
+Beltane took the belt and with his dagger cut thence two notches,
+whereat quoth Roger, staring: "Lord, I did but save one life--the
+young knight--" "Thou did'st save two," answered Beltane, "for had I
+slain him, Roger--O, had I slain him, then on this night should'st have
+hanged me for a murderer. Here be two notches for thee--so take back
+thy belt and go, get thee to thy rest--and, Roger--pray for one that
+tasteth death in life." So Roger took the belt, and turning softly,
+left Beltane crouched above the fire as one that is deadly cold.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+
+Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy
+elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the
+bank above. Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be
+captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid
+and rotund. A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things
+ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and
+rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat: a pilgrim-like hat,
+adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints. About his waist
+was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as
+well filled. A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who,
+though hurried along in the archer's lusty grip, smiled placidly, and
+spake him sweetly thus: "Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate--
+abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint
+Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead. Trot me
+not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a
+hell seventy times heated, and 'twould be a sad--O me! a very sad thing
+that thou should'st sniff brimstone on my account."
+
+"Why, Giles," quoth Beltane, blinking in the dawn, "what dost bring
+hither so early in the morning?"
+
+"Lord, 'tis what they call a Pardoner, that dealeth in relics, mouldy
+bones and the like, see you, whereby they do pretend to divers miracles
+and wonders--"
+
+"Verily, verily," nodded the little man placidly, "I have here in my
+wallet a twig from Moses' burning bush, with the great toe of Thomas a'
+Didymus, the thumb of the blessed Saint Alban--"
+
+"Ha, rogue!" quoth Giles, "when I was a monk we had four thumbs of the
+good Saint Alban--"
+
+"Why then, content you, fond youth," smiled the Pardoner, "my thumb is
+number one--"
+
+"Oh, tall brother," quoth Giles, "'tis an irreverent knave, that maketh
+the monk in me arise, my very toes do twitch for to kick his lewd and
+sacrilegious carcase--and, lord, he would kick wondrous soft--"
+
+"And therein, sweet and gentle lord," beamed the little buxom man,
+"therein lieth a recommendation of itself. Divers noble lords have
+kicked me very familiarly ere now, and finding me soft and tender have,
+forthwith, kicked again. I mind my lord Duke Ivo, did with his own
+Ducal foot kick me right heartily upon a time, and once did spit upon
+my cloak--I can show you the very place--and these things do breed and
+argue familiarity. Thus have I been familiar with divers noble lords--
+and there were ladies also, ladies fair and proud--O me!"
+
+"Now, by the Rood!" says Beltane, sitting up and staring, "whence had
+you this, Giles?"
+
+"My lord, 'twas found by the man Jenkyn snoring within the green,
+together with a mule--a sorry beast! a capon partly devoured, a pasty--
+well spiced! and a wine-skin--empty, alas! But for who it is, and
+whence it cometh--"
+
+"Sweet, courteous lord,--resplendent, youthful sir, I come from north
+and south, from east and west, o'er land, o'er sea, from village green
+and market-square, but lately from the holy shrine of the blessed Saint
+Amphibalus. As to who I am and what--the universal want am I, for I do
+stand for health, fleshly and spiritual. I can cure your diseases of
+the soul, mind and body. In very sooth the Pardoner of Pardoners am I,
+with pardons and indulgences but now hot from the holy fist of His
+Holiness of Rome: moreover I have a rare charm and notable cure for the
+worms, together with divers salves, electuaries, medicaments and
+nostrums from the farthest Orient. I have also store of songs and
+ballades, grave and gay. Are ye melancholic? Then I have a ditty merry
+and mirthful. Would ye weep? Here's a lamentable lay of love and
+languishment infinite sad to ease you of your tears. Are ye a sinner
+vile and damnèd? Within my wallet lie pardons galore with powerful
+indulgences whereby a man may enjoy all the cardinal sins yet shall his
+soul be accounted innocent as a babe unborn and his flesh go without
+penance. Here behold my special indulgence! The which, to him that
+buyeth it, shall remit the following sins damned and deadly--to wit:
+Lechery, perjury, adultery, wizardry. Murders, rapes, thievings and
+slanders. Then follow the lesser sins, as--"
+
+"Hold!" cried Beltane, "surely here be sins enough for any man."
+
+"Not so, potent sir: for 'tis a right sinful world and breedeth new
+sins every day, since man hath a rare invention that way. Here is a
+grievous thing, alas! yet something natural: for, since men are human,
+and human 'tis to sin, so must all men be sinners and, being sinners,
+are they therefore inevitably damned!"
+
+"Alas, for poor humanity!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Forsooth, alas indeed, messire, and likewise woe!" nodded the
+Pardoner, "for thou, my lord, thou art but human, after all."
+
+"Indeed at times, 'twould almost seem so!" nodded Beltane gravely.
+
+"And therefore," quoth the Pardoner, "and therefore, most noble, gentle
+lord, art thou most assuredly and inevitably--" The Pardoner sighed.
+
+"Damned?" said Beltane.
+
+"Damned!" sighed the Pardoner.
+
+"Along with the rest of humanity!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All men be more prone to sin when youth doth riot in their veins,"
+quoth the Pardoner, "and alas, thou art very young, messire, so do I
+tremble for thee."
+
+"Yet with each hour do I grow older!"
+
+"And behold in this hour come I, declaring to thee there is no sin so
+vile but that through me, Holy Church shall grant thee remission--at a
+price!"
+
+"A price, good Pardoner?"
+
+"Why, there be sins great and sins little. But, youthful sir, for
+thine own damnable doings, grieve not, mope not nor repine, since I,
+Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, Past Pardoner of the Holy See, will e'en now
+unloose, assoil and remit them unto thee--"
+
+"At a price!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Good my lord," spake Giles, viewing the Pardoner's plump person with a
+yearning eye, "pray thee bid me kick him hence!"
+
+"Not so, Giles, since from all things may we learn--with patience.
+Here now is one that hath travelled and seen much and should be wise--"
+
+"Forsooth, messire, I have been so accounted ere now," nodded the
+Pardoner.
+
+"Dost hear, Giles? Thus, from his wisdom I may perchance grow wiser
+than I am. So get thee back to thy duty, Giles. Begone--thy presence
+doth distract us."
+
+"Aye, base archer, begone!" nodded the Pardoner, seating himself upon
+the sward. "Thy visage dour accordeth not with deep-seated thought--
+take it hence!"
+
+"There spake wisdom, Giles, and he is a fool that disobeys. So, Giles
+--begone!"
+
+Hereupon Giles frowned upon the Pardoner, who lolling at his ease,
+snapped his fingers at Giles, whereat Giles scowled amain and scowling,
+strode away.
+
+"Now, messire," quoth the Pardoner, opening his wallet, "now in the
+matter of sinning, messire, an thou hast some pet and peculiar vice--
+some little, pretty vanity, some secret, sweet transgression--"
+
+"Nay, first," quoth Beltane, "'tis sure thou hast a tongue--"
+
+"O infallibly, messire; a sweet tongue--a tongue attuned to cunning
+phrases. God gave to women beauty, to flowers perfume, and to me--a
+tongue!"
+
+"Good Pardoner, a lonely wight am I, ignorant of the world and of its
+ways and doings. So for thy tongue will I barter base coin--what can'st
+tell me for this fair gold piece?"
+
+"That fain would I have the spending on't, noble, generous sir."
+
+"What more?"
+
+"Anything ye will, messire: for since I am the want universal and gold
+the universal need, needs must want need! And here is a rare-turned
+phrase, methinks?"
+
+"So thus do I wed need with want," nodded Beltane, tossing him the
+coin. "Come now, discourse to me of worldly things--how men do trim
+their beards these days, what sins be most i' the fashion, if Duke Ivo
+sleepeth a-nights, whether Pentavalon city standeth yet?"
+
+"Aha!" cried the Pardoner (coin safely pouched), "I can tell ye tales
+a-plenty: sly, merry tales of lovely ladies fair and gay. I can paint
+ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair--her soft,
+white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the
+languorous passion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like
+hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles,
+love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and--there amid
+the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love
+to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen
+fair, a Duchess proud--"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble
+do ye speak? Helen, forsooth--dare ye name her, O Thing?"
+
+Now before Beltane's swift and blazing anger the Pardoner's assurance
+wilted on the instant, and he cowered behind a lifted elbow.
+
+"Nay, nay, most potent lord," he stammered, "spit on me an ye will--
+spit, I do implore thee, but strike me not. Beseech thee sir, in what
+do I offend? The story runs that the proud and wilful lady is fled
+away, none know wherefore, why, nor where. I do but read the riddle
+thus: wherefore should she flee but for love, and if for love, then
+with a man, and if with a man--"
+
+"Enough of her!" quoth Beltane scowling, "woman and her wiles is of
+none account to me!"
+
+"How--how?" gasped the Pardoner, "of no account--! Woman--! But thou'rt
+youthful--of no account--! Thou'rt a man very strong and lusty--! Of no
+account, forsooth? O, Venus, hear him! Woman, forsooth! She is man's
+aim, his beginning and oft-times his end. She is the everlasting cause.
+She is man's sweetest curse and eke salvation, his slave, his very
+tyrant. Without woman strife would cease, ambition languish, Venus pine
+to skin and bone (sweet soul!) and I never sell another pardon and
+starve for lack of custom; for while women are, so will be pardoners.
+But this very week I did good trade in fair Belsaye with divers women--
+three were but ordinary indulgences for certain small marital
+transgressions; but one, a tender maid and youthful, being put to the
+torment, had denounced her father and lover--"
+
+"The torment?" quoth Beltane, starting. "The torment, say you?"
+
+"Aye, messire! Belsaye setteth a rare new fashion in torments of late.
+Howbeit, the father and lover being denounced before Sir Gui's
+tribunal, they were forthwith hanged upon my lord Gui's new gibbets--"
+
+"O--hanged?" quoth Beltane "hanged?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, by the neck as is the fashion. Now cometh this woeful
+wench to me vowing she heard their voices i' the night, and, to quiet
+these voices besought of me a pardon. But she had but two sorry silver
+pieces and pardons be costly things, and when she could get no pardon,
+she went home and that night killed herself--silly wench! Ha! my lord--
+good messire--my arm--holy saints! 'twill break!"
+
+"Killed herself--and for lack of thy pitiful, accursed pardon! Heard
+you aught else in Belsaye--speak!" and Beltane's cruel grip tightened.
+
+"Indeed--indeed that will I, good news, sweet news--O my lord, loose
+my arm!"
+
+"Thine arm, good Pardoner--thine arm? Aye, take it back, it availeth me
+nothing--take it and cherish it. To part with a pardon for but two
+silver pieces were a grave folly! So pray you forgive now my
+ungentleness and speak my thy good, sweet tidings." But hereupon, the
+Pardoner feeling his arm solicitously, held his peace and glowered
+sullenly at Beltane, who had turned and was staring away into the
+distance. So the Pardoner sulked awhile and spake not, until, seeing
+Beltane's hand creep out towards him, he forthwith fell to volubility.
+
+"'Tis told in Belsaye on right good authority that a certain vile
+knave, a lewd, seditious rogue hight Beltane that was aforetime a
+charcoal-burner and thereafter a burner of gibbets--as witness my lord
+Duke's tall, great and goodly gallows--that was beside a prison breaker
+and known traitor, hath been taken by the doughty Sir Pertolepe, lord
+Warden of the Marches, and by him very properly roasted and burned to
+death within his great Keep of Garthlaxton."
+
+"Roasted, forsooth?" said Beltane, his gaze yet afar off; "and,
+forsooth, burned to ashes; then forsooth is he surely dead?"
+
+"Aye, that is he; and his ashes scattered on a dung-hill."
+
+"A dung-hill--ha?"
+
+"He was but a charcoal-burning knave, 'tis said--a rogue base-born and
+a traitor. Now hereupon my lord, the good lord Sir Gui, my lord Duke's
+lord Seneschal of Belsaye--"
+
+"Forsooth," sighed Beltane, "here be lords a-plenty in Pentavalon!"
+
+"Hereupon the noble Sir Gui set a close watch upon the townsfolk
+whereby he apprehended divers suspected rogues, and putting them to the
+torture, found thereby proofs of their vile sedition, insomuch that
+though the women held their peace for the most part, certain men
+enduring not, did confess knowledge of a subterraneous passage 'neath
+the wall. Then did Sir Gui cause this passage to be stopped, and four
+gibbets to be set up within the market-place, and thereon at sunset
+every day did hang four men, whereto the towns folk were summoned by
+sound of tucket and drum: until upon a certain evening some six days
+since (myself standing by) came a white friar hight Friar Martin--well
+known in Belsaye, and bursting through the throng he did loud-voiced
+proclaim himself the traitor that had oped and shown the secret way
+into the dungeons unto that charcoal-rogue for whose misdeeds so many
+folk had suffered. So they took this rascal friar and scourged him and
+set him in the water-dungeons where rats do frolic, and to-night at
+sunset he dieth by slow fire as a warning to--Ah! sweet, noble, good my
+lord, what--what would ye--" for Beltane had risen and was looking down
+at the crouching Pardoner, suddenly haggard, pallid-lipped, and with
+eyes a-glare with awful menace; but now the Pardoner saw that those
+eyes looked through him and beyond--living eyes in a face of death.
+
+"Messire--messire!" quavered the Pardoner on trembling knees; but
+Beltane, as one that is deaf and blind, strode forward and over him,
+and as he went set his bugle to his lips and sounded a rallying note.
+Forthwith came men that ran towards him at speed, but now was there no
+outcry or confusion and their mail gleamed in the early sun as they
+fell into their appointed rank and company.
+
+Then Beltane set his hands unto his eyes and thereafter stared up to
+the heavens and round about upon the fair earth as one that wakes from
+a dream evil and hateful, and spake, sudden and harsh-voiced:
+
+"Now hither to me Walkyn, Giles and Roger. Ye do remember how upon a
+time we met a white friar in the green that was a son of God--they call
+him Brother Martin? Ye do remember brave Friar Martin?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we mind him!" quoth the three.
+
+"Ye will remember how that we did, within the green, aid him to bury a
+dead maid, young and fair and tender--yet done to shameful death?"
+
+"Verily master--a noble lady!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And very young!" said Roger.
+
+"And very comely, alas!" added Giles.
+
+"So now do I tell thee that, as she died--snatched out of life by
+brutal hands--so, at this hour, even as we stand idle here, other maids
+do suffer and die within Belsaye town. To-day, as we stand here, good
+Friar Martin lieth within the noisome water-dungeons where rats do
+frolic--"
+
+"Ha! the pale fox!" growled Walkyn. "Bloody Gui of Allerdale that I do
+live but to slay one day with Pertolepe the Red--"
+
+"Thou dost remember, Roger, how, within the Keep at Belsaye I sware an
+oath unto Sir Gui? So now--this very hour--must we march on Belsaye
+that this my oath may be kept." But here a murmur arose that hummed
+from rank to rank; heads were shaken and gruff voices spake on this
+wise:
+
+"Belsaye? 'Tis a long day's march to Belsaye--"
+
+"'Tis a very strong city--very strongly guarded--"
+
+"And we muster scarce two hundred--"
+
+"The walls be high and we have no ladders, or engines for battery and
+storm--"
+
+"Forsooth, and we have here much booty already--"
+
+"Ha--booty!" cried Beltane, "there spake tall Orson, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," cried another voice, loud and defiant, "and we be no soldiers,
+master, to march 'gainst walled cities; look'ee. Foresters are we, to
+live secure and free within the merry greenwood. Is't not so, good
+fellows?"
+
+"And there spake Jenkyn o' the Ford!" quoth Beltane. "Stand forth
+Orson, and Jenkyn with thee--so. Now hearken again. Within Belsaye men
+--aye, and women too! have endured the torment, Orson. To-day, at
+sundown, a noble man doth burn, Jenkyn."
+
+"Why, look'ee, master," spake Jenkyn, bold-voiced yet blenching from
+Beltane's unswerving gaze, "look'ee, good master, here is no matter for
+honest woodsmen, look'ee--"
+
+"Aye," nodded tall Orson, "'tis no matter of ours, so wherefore should
+us meddle?"
+
+"And ye have swords, I see," quoth Beltane, "and thereto hands
+wherewith to fight, yet do ye speak, forsooth, of booty, and fain would
+lie hid secure within the green? So be it! Bring forth the record,
+Giles, and strike me out the names of Orson and Jenkyn, the which,
+being shaped like men, are yet no men. Give therefore unto each his
+share of booty and let him go hence." So saying, Beltane turned and
+looked upon the close-drawn ranks that murmured and muttered no more.
+Quoth he:
+
+"Now, and there be any here among us so faint-hearted--so unworthy as
+this Orson and Jenkyn, that do hold treasure and safety above flesh and
+blood--if there be any here, who, regarding his own base body, will
+strike no blow for these distressed--why, let him now go forth of this
+our company. O men! O men of Pentavalon, do ye not hear them, these
+woeful ones--do ye not hear them crying to us from searing flame, from
+dungeon and gibbet--do ye not hear? Is there one, that, remembering the
+torments endured of groaning bodies, the dire wrongs of innocence
+shamed and trampled in the mire--lives there a man that will not
+adventure life and limb and all he doth possess that such things may be
+smitten hence and made an end of for all time? But if such there be,
+let him now stand forth with Orson here, and Jenkyn o' the Ford!"
+
+Thus spake Beltane quick and passionate and thereafter paused, waiting
+their answer; but no man spake or moved, only from their grim ranks a
+growl went up ominous and deep, and eyes grown bright and fierce glared
+upon tall Orson and Jenkyn o' the Ford, who shuffled with their feet
+and fumbled with their hands and knew not where to look.
+
+"'Tis well, 'tis well, good comrades all!" spake Beltane in a while,
+"this night, mayhap, shall we, each one, achieve great things. Go now,
+dig ye a pit and therein hide such treasure as ye will and thereafter
+arm ye at points, for in the hour we march. Eric, see each doth bear
+with him food, and Giles, look that their quivers be full."
+
+So saying, Beltane turned and coming to his sleeping-place, forthwith
+began to don his armour. And presently he was aware of Orson and Jenkyn
+standing without the cave and each with look downcast; and eke they
+fumbled with their hands and shuffled with their feet and fain were to
+speak yet found no word. But at last spake Jenkyn humbly and on this
+wise:
+
+"Master, here come I, look'ee, with Orson that is my comrade, look'ee--"
+
+"Nay, go get thee to thy 'booty'!" says Beltane, busied with his
+armour.
+
+"Nay, but look'ee master, we be--"
+
+"No men!" quoth Beltane, "thus would I be free of ye both--so get you
+hence."
+
+"But good master," spake Orson, "we do ha' changed our minds--it do be
+a direful thing to burn, and if they do ha' tormented maids--"
+
+"'Tis no matter of thine," quoth Beltane. "So go thy ways and meddle
+not."
+
+"But master, look'ee now, we be stout men, and look'ee, we be full of
+lust to fight--O master, let us go! Kneel, Orson, bend--bend thy long
+shanks, look'ee--" and forthwith on their knees fell Jenkyn and tall
+Orson with pleading eyes and eager hands outstretched.
+
+"O master, look'ee, let us go!"
+
+"Aye, we do ha' changed our minds, master!"
+
+"Then be it so!" said Beltane, "and I pray ye be ever faithful to your
+minds!" Then took they Beltane's hand to kiss and thereafter up they
+sprang and went rejoicing to their company.
+
+And, within the hour, mail and bascinet agleam, the two hundred and
+twenty and four marched forth of the hollow with step blithe and free,
+and swung away through the green till the sound of voice and laughter,
+the ring and clash of their going was died away and none remained, save
+where, cross-legged upon the sward, his open wallet on his knee, the
+round and buxom Pardoner sat to cherish a bruised arm and to stare from
+earth to heaven and from heaven to earth with eyes wider and rounder
+even than was their wont and custom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+
+Through broad glades deep-hid within the wild; by shady alleyway and
+leafy track they held their march south and by east, a close,
+well-ordered company striding long and free and waking the solitudes to
+a blithe babblement of laughing echoes. And who among them all so merry
+as Giles o' the Bow at the head of his sturdy archers? Oft trolling
+some merry stave or turning with some quip or jape upon his tongue, but
+with eyes quick to mark the rhythmic swing of broad, mail-clad
+shoulders, eyes critical, yet eyes of pride. Who so grimly eager as
+mighty Walkyn, his heavy axe lightly a-swing, his long legs schooling
+themselves to his comrade's slower time and pace? Who so utterly
+content as Black Roger, oft glancing from Beltane's figure in the van
+to the files of his pike-men, their slung shields agleam, their spears
+well sloped? And who so gloomy and thoughtful as Beltane, unmindful of
+the youthful knight who went beside him, and scarce heeding his
+soft-spoke words until his gaze by chance lighted upon the young
+knight's armour that gleamed in the sun 'neath rich surcoat; armour of
+the newest fashion of link, reinforced by plates of steel, gorget and
+breast, elbow and knee, and with cunningly jointed sollerets. Moreover,
+his shield was small and light according with the new fashion, and bare
+the blazon of two hands, tight clasped, and the legend: "Semper
+Fidelis."
+
+Now viewing all this with a smith's knowledgful eye, quick to note the
+costly excellence of this equipment, Beltane forthwith brake silence:
+
+"How do men name thee, sir knight?"
+
+Hereupon, after some delay, the young knight made answer:
+
+"Messire, the motto I bear upon my shield is a good motto methinks. So
+shalt call me Fidelis an ye will, my lord."
+
+"So be it, Sir Faithful," saying which Beltane fell to deep thought
+again.
+
+"I pray you, my lord," quoth Fidelis, "wherefore so sad, so full of
+gloom and thought?"
+
+"I seek how we may win through the gates of Belsaye, Sir Fidelis, for
+they go strongly guarded night and day; yet this day, ere sunset, ope
+to us they must. But how--how?"
+
+"My lord," spake Sir Fidelis, "I have heard say that few may go where
+many oft-times may not. Let first some two or three adventure it, hid
+'neath some close disguise--"
+
+"A disguise!" cried Beltane, "Ha--a disguise. 'Tis well bethought, good
+Fidelis. Forsooth, a disguise! And 'twill be market day!" Thereafter
+Beltane strode on, head bent in frowning thought, nor spake again for a
+space. And ever the files swung along behind in time to a marching song
+carolled blithe in the rich, sweet voice of Giles. At length Beltane
+raised his head and beholding the sun well-risen, halted his company
+beside a stream that flowed athwart their way, and sitting thereby,
+summoned to him the four--namely, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and Eric of
+the wry neck; and while they ate together, they held counsel on this
+wise:
+
+BELTANE. "How think ye of this our adventure, comrades all?"
+
+GILES. "Forsooth, as a man do I think well of it. Ho! for the twang of
+bowstrings! the whirr and whistle of well-sped shafts loosed from the
+ear! Ha! as an archer and a man 'tis an adventure that jumpeth with my
+desire. But--as a soldier, and one of much and varied experience, as
+one that hath stormed Belsaye ere now--with divers other towns, cities,
+keeps, and castles beyond number--as a soldier, I do think it but a
+gloomy business and foredoomed to failure--"
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore?"
+
+GILES. "Method, tall brother, method precise and soldier-like. War is a
+very ancient profession--an honourable profession and therefore to be
+treated with due reverence. Now, without method, war would become but a
+scurvy, sorry, hole-and-corner business, unworthy your true soldier. So
+I, a soldier, loving my profession, do stand for method in all things.
+Thus, would I attack a city, I do it _modo et forma:_ first, I set up
+my mantelets for my archers, and under cover of their swift shooting I
+set me up my mangonels, my trebuchets and balistae: then, pushing me
+up, assault the walls with cat, battering-ram and sap, and having made
+me a breach, would forthwith take me the place by sudden storm."
+
+ROGER. "Ha, bowman! here is overmuch of thee, methinks! And dost speak
+like a very archer-like fool--and forsooth, a foolish archer to boot.
+Sure, well ye know that engines for the battery have we none--"
+
+GILES. "Verily! So shall we none of Belsaye, methinks. Lacking engines,
+we lack for all--no method, no city! Remember that, dolt Rogerkin!"
+
+ROGER. "Nay, I remember Garthlaxton aflame, the gallows aflare, and the
+empty dungeon. So, an we go up 'gainst Belsaye again, shall we surely
+take it. Remember these, long-winded Giles, and being a soldier, be ye
+also--a man."
+
+BELTANE. "What think you, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. (patting his axe) "Of Gui of Allerdale, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And you, Eric?"
+
+ERIC. "That where thou dost go, messire, we follow."
+
+BELTANE. "'Tis well. Now here beside me sitteth Sir Fidelis, who though
+methinks the most youthful of us all, hath a head in council wiser than
+us all. For he hath spoke me that whereby though few in number and
+lacking engines for battery, Giles--we yet may win through the walls of
+Belsaye ere sun-down. Know you this country, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. "As my hand, lord."
+
+BELTANE. "Is there a village hereabouts?"
+
+WALKYN. "Aye, five miles west by south is Brand-le-Dene. But there is
+a mill scarce a mile down stream, I wot."
+
+BELTANE. "A mill? 'Twill serve--go ye thither. Here is money--buy
+therewith four hats and smocks the like that millers wear, and likewise
+four meal-sacks well stuffed with straw."
+
+WALKYN. (rising) "Smocks, master? Straw and meal-sacks?"
+
+BELTANE. "And haste, Walkyn. We must be far hence within the hour."
+
+Forthwith up rose Walkyn and summoning divers of his company strode
+away down stream, what time Giles, staring after him in wonderment,
+thereafter shook his head at Roger. Quoth he:
+
+"Tall brother and lord, now do I see that our Roger burneth for
+knowledge, panteth for understanding, and fain would question thee but
+that his mouth is full-crammed of meat. Yet do his bulging eyes
+supplicate the wherefore of smocks, and his goodly large ears do twitch
+for the why of sacks. O impatient Rogerkin, bolt thy food, man, gulp--
+swallow, and ask and importune my lord thyself!"
+
+"Not I--not I!" quoth Roger, "an my master lacketh for a smock or a
+sack, for me is no question of wherefore or why, so long as he doth
+get them!"
+
+"But the straw, Roger," said Giles, glancing askew at Beltane, "an thou
+should'st plague my lord with questions, how think ye then he shall
+answer of this straw?"
+
+"Thus, thou crafty Giles," answered Beltane. "Belsaye is strong, but
+strength may be, perchance, beguiled. So may a miller's smock hide a
+shirt of mail, and straw, I have heard, will burn." "Oho, a wile!"
+cried Giles, "Aha! some notable wile! What more?"
+
+"More shalt thou know, mayhap, in Belsaye market-place."
+
+And when Beltane had handled the well-worn smocks, had viewed the
+bulging meal-sacks that Walkyn and his fellows brought him, he arose.
+At his word the company fell to their ranks and forthwith swung off
+again south and by east, what time Giles carolled blithely, and divers
+chorused lustily: while Roger whistled and even grim Walkyn (bethinking
+him of Gui of Allerdale) rumbled hoarsely in his hairy throat.
+
+So the miles passed unheeded until, as the sun declined, they left the
+wild country behind; wherefore Beltane commanded all men to a strict
+silence and thus came they betimes to the edge of the woods, and
+halting within the green, beheld afar across the plain, the walls of
+fair Belsaye town.
+
+"We are well to time," quoth Beltane, glancing from sinking sun to
+lengthening shadow, "we have yet an hour to sunset, but in this hour
+much have we to do! Hark ye now!" and drawing the four about him, he
+spake them thus: "Walkyn and Roger and Eric shall into the town with me
+in miller's guise, each bearing his sack of flour, what time you,
+Giles, with Sir Fidelis and all our power bide here well hid till such
+time as ye shall see a smoke within Belsaye. And when ye see this
+smoke, rise up and make you ready one and all, yet stir not from the
+green till that ye hear my bugle-horn sound our rallying-note. Then
+come ye on amain, and being within the city, charge ye where my horn
+shall sound. How now, is't agreed?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded Giles, "'tis an excellent strategy in faith, and
+yet 'twere wiser methinks to suffer me in Roger's place: for being
+guileful in war, so should I be a very beguiling miller, whereas Roger,
+an we plastered him with flour, would ne'er be other than Rogerkin the
+Black."
+
+"Nay Giles, thy post is here. Let your bows be strung and ready, but
+set your pikes to the fore--and Giles, watch! Walkyn, bring now the
+smocks."
+
+So saying, Beltane tightened his belt, drew on his hood of mail and
+laced it close, and turning, found Sir Fidelis close by to aid him with
+the hooded smock; and Beltane wondered to see him so pale and his
+slender hands a-tremble.
+
+So the smocks were donned, with straw about their legs bound by withies
+as was the custom, and taking the sacks upon their shoulders, they
+turned aside into the green and were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+
+Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, rode hawk on fist
+at the head of divers noble knights and gentle esquires with verderers
+and falconers attendant. The dusty highway, that led across the plain
+to the frowning gates of Belsaye, was a-throng with country folk
+trudging on foot or seated in heavy carts whose clumsy wheels creaked
+and groaned city-wards; for though the sun was far declined, it was
+market-day: moreover a man was to die by the fire, and though such
+sights were a-plenty, yet 'twas seldom that any lord, seneschal,
+warden, castellan or--in fine, any potent lord dowered with right of
+pit and gallows--dared lay hand upon a son of the church, even of the
+lesser and poorer orders; but Sir Gui was a bold man and greatly
+daring. Wherefore it was that though the market-traffic was well nigh
+done, the road was yet a-swarm with folk all eager to behold and watch
+how a white friar could face death by the flame. So, on horse and
+afoot, in creaking cart and wain, they thronged toward the goodly city
+of Belsaye.
+
+Sir Gui rode at a hand-pace, and as he rode the folk drew hastily aside
+to give him way, and bent the knee full humbly or stood with bowed
+heads uncovered to watch him pass; but 'neath bristling brows, full
+many an eye glared fiercely on his richly-habited, slender figure,
+marking his quick, dark glance, the down-curving, high-bridged nose of
+him with the thin lips and the long, pointed chin below.
+
+Thus rode he, assured in his might and confident, heedless alike of
+the glory of day fast drawing into evening, of the green world whose
+every blade and leaf spake of life abundant, and of these trampling
+folk who bent so humbly at his passing, their cheeks aglow with health;
+thus, heeding but himself and his own most dear desires, how should he
+mark the four tall and dusty miller's men whose brawny backs were
+stooped each beneath its burden? And how should he, confident in his
+strength and might, hale and lusty in his body, come to think on death
+sharp and swift? Thus Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye
+town, rode upon his way, with eyes that glowed with the love of life,
+and tongue that curled 'twixt smiling lips as one that savoured its
+sweetness or meditated coming joys. Perceiving the which, two youthful
+esquires that rode near by nudged elbows, and set their heads together.
+
+"I know yon look--aha! 'tis the goldsmith's fair young wife. There have
+been lovers who loved love ere now--Pan, see you, and Jove himself they
+say: but Pan was coy, and Jove--"
+
+"Hist, he beckons us!"
+
+So came these young esquires beside Sir Gui who, tapping the dust from
+his habit with soft white hand, spake soft-voiced and sweet.
+
+"Ride on, sirs, and bid our careful warden stay awhile the execution of
+this traitorous friar. Let the square be lined with pikes as is our
+custom: let the prisoner be chained unto his stake see you, but let all
+things stay until I be come. There will be many folk in Belsaye,
+meseemeth, well--let them wait, and stare, and whisper, and--wait, till
+I be come!"
+
+Forward spurred the young esquires to do as was commanded, joyful to
+see the confusion that marked their swift career and making good play
+of their whips on the heads and shoulders of such as chanced to be
+within reach; in especial upon a mighty fellow in floured smock that
+bare a sack on his shoulder and who, stung with the blow, cried a curse
+on them in voice so harsh and bold that folk shrank from his
+neighbourhood, yet marvelled at his daring. Being come anon within the
+city Sir Gui dismounted beside the gate, and giving horse and falcon to
+an esquire, beckoned to him a grizzled man-at-arms; now as he did so, a
+tall miller passed him by, and stumbling wearily, set down his sack
+against the wall and panted.
+
+"Bare you the letter as I commanded, Rolf?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"What said she?"
+
+"Wept, my lord."
+
+"Spake she nought?"
+
+"Nought, my lord."
+
+"Lieth the goldsmith deep?"
+
+"Above the water-dungeons, my lord."
+
+"And she wept, say you? Methinks the goldsmith shall go free to-morrow!"
+
+So saying, Sir Gui went on into the city, and as he went, his smile was
+back again, and his tongue curved red betwixt his lips. And presently
+the tall miller hoisted his burden and went on into the city also;
+turned aside down a narrow passage betwixt gloomy houses, and so at
+last out into the square that hummed with a clamour hushed and
+expectant. But my lord Seneschal, unheeding ever, came unto a certain
+quiet corner of the square remote and shady, being far removed from the
+stir and bustle of the place; here he paused at an open doorway and
+turned to look back into the square, ruddy with sunset--a careless
+glance that saw the blue of sky, the heavy-timbered houses bathed in
+the warm sunset glow, the which, falling athwart the square, shone red
+upon the smock of a miller, who stooping 'neath his burden, stumbled
+across the uneven cobble-stones hard by. All this saw Sir Gui in that
+one backward glance; then, unheeding as ever, went in at the doorway
+and up the dark and narrow stair. But now it chanced that the miller,
+coming also to this door, stood a while sack on shoulder, peering up
+into the gloom within; thereafter, having set down his burden in
+stealthy fashion, he also turned and glanced back with eyes that
+glittered in the shadow of his hat: then, setting one hand within his
+smock, he went in at the door and, soft-footed began to creep up that
+dark and narrow stair. She sat in a great carven chair, her arms
+outstretched across the table before her, her face bowed low between,
+and the setting sun made a glory of her golden hair. Of a sudden she
+started, and lifting her head looked upon Sir Gui; her tears,
+slow-falling and bitter, staining the beauty of her face.
+
+"My lord--ah, no!" she panted, and started to her feet.
+
+"Dear and fair my lady--fear not. Strong am I, but very gentle--'tis
+ever my way with beauty. I do but come for my answer." And he pointed
+to a crumpled parchment that lay upon the table.
+
+"O, good my lord," she whispered, "I cannot! If thou art gentle indeed
+--then--"
+
+"He lieth above the water-dungeons, lady!" sighed Sir Gui.
+
+"Ah, the sweet Christ aid me!"
+
+"To-morrow he goeth to death, or lieth in those round, white arms.
+Lady, the choice is thine: and I pray you show pity to thy husband who
+loveth thee well, 'tis said." Now hereupon she sobbed amain and fell
+upon her knees with arms outstretched in passionate appeal--but lo! she
+spake no word, her swimming eyes oped suddenly wide, and with arms yet
+outstretched she stared and stared beyond Sir Gui in so much that he
+turned and started back amazed--to behold one clad as a dusty miller, a
+mighty man whose battered hat touched the lintel and whose great bulk
+filled the doorway--a very silent man who looked and looked with neck
+out-thrust, yet moved not and uttered no word. Hereupon Sir Gui spake
+quick and passion-choked:
+
+"Fool--fool! hence, thou blundering fool. For this shalt be flayed
+alive. Ha!--hence, thou dusty rogue!" But now this grim figure stirred,
+and lifting a great hand, spake hoarse and low:
+
+"Peace, knight! Hold thy peace and look!" The wide-eaved hat was tossed
+to the floor and Sir Gui, clenching his hands, would have spoken but
+the harsh voice drowned his words: "How, knight, thou that art Bloody
+Gui of Allerdale! Dost thou not know me, forsooth? I am Waldron, whose
+father and mother and sister ye slew. Aye, Waldron of Brand am I,
+though men do call me Walkyn o' the Dene these days. Brand was a fair
+manor, knight--a fair manor, but long since dust and ashes--ha! a merry
+blaze wherein father and mother and sister burned and screamed and
+died--in faith, a roguish blaze! Ha! d'ye blench? Dost know me,
+forsooth?"
+
+Then Sir Gui stepped back, drawing his sword; but, even so, death leapt
+at him. A woman, wailing, fled from the chamber, a chair crashed to the
+floor; came a strange, quick tapping of feet upon the floor and
+thereafter rose a cry that swelled louder to a scream--louder to a
+bubbling shriek, and dying to a groaning hiss, was gone.
+
+And, in a while, Walkyn, that had been Waldron of Brand, rose up from
+his knees, and running forth of the chamber, hasted down the dark and
+narrow stair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+
+The market-place was full of the stir and hum of jostling crowds; here
+were pale-faced townsfolk, men and women and children who, cowed by
+suffering and bitter wrong, spake little, and that little below their
+breath; here were country folk from village and farmstead near and far,
+a motley company that talked amain, loud-voiced and eager, as they
+pushed and strove to see where, in the midst of the square beyond the
+serried ranks of pike-men, a post had been set up; a massy post, grim
+and solitary, whose heavy chains and iron girdle gleamed ominous and
+red in the last rays of sunset. Near by, upon a dais, they had set up a
+chair fairly gilded, wherein Sir Gui was wont to sit and watch justice
+done upon the writhing bodies of my lord Duke's enemies. Indeed, the
+citizens of Belsaye had beheld sights many and dire of late, wherefore
+now they blenched before this stark and grisly thing and looked
+askance; but to these country folk such things were something newer,
+wherefore they pushed and strove amid the press that they might view it
+nearer--in especial two in miller's hooded smocks, tall and lusty
+fellows these, who by dint of shoulder and elbow, won forward until
+they were stayed by the file of Sir Gui's heavy-armed pikemen.
+Thereupon spake one, close in his fellow's ear:--
+
+"Where tarries Walkyn, think you?" said Beltane below his breath.
+
+"Master, I know not--he vanished in the press but now--"
+
+"And Eric?"
+
+"He watcheth our meal-sacks. Shall I not go bid him strike flint and
+steel? The time were fair, methinks?"
+
+"Not so, wait you until Sir Gui be come and seated in his chair of
+state: then haste you to bold Eric and, the sacks ablaze, shout 'fire;'
+so will I here amid the press take up the cry, and in the rush join
+with ye at the gate. Patience, Roger."
+
+And now of a sudden the throng stirred, swayed and was still; but from
+many a quivering lip a breath went up to heaven, a sigh--a whispered
+groan, as, through the shrinking populace, the prisoner was brought. A
+man of Belsaye he, a man strong and tender, whom many had loved full
+well. Half borne, half dragged betwixt his gaolers, he came on
+stumbling feet--a woeful shivering thing with languid head a-droop; a
+thing of noisome rags that told of nights and days in dungeon black and
+foul; a thing whose shrunken nakedness showed a multitude of small
+wounds, slow-bleeding, that spoke of teeth little yet vicious, bold
+with hunger in the dark; a miserable, tottering thing, haggard and
+pinched, that shivered and shook and stared upon all things with eyes
+vacant and wide.
+
+And thus it was that Beltane beheld again Friar Martin, the white friar
+that had been a man once, a strong man and a gentle. They brought him
+to the great post, they clasped him fast within the iron band and so
+left him, shivering in his chains with head a-droop. Came the sound of
+muffled weeping from the crowd, while high above, in sky deepening to
+evening, a star twinkled. Now in a while the white friar raised his
+heavy head and looked round about, and lo! his eyes were vacant no
+longer, and as folk strove to come more nigh, he spake, hoarse-voiced
+and feeble.
+
+"O children, grieve not for me, for though this body suffer a little,
+my soul doth sit serene. What though I stand in bonds, yet doth my soul
+go free. Though they burn my flesh to ashes yet doth my soul live on
+forever. So grieve not your hearts for me, my children, and, for
+yourselves, though ye be afflicted even as I--fear ye nothing--since I,
+that ye all do know for a truthful man, do tell ye 'tis none so hard to
+die if that our hearts be clean. What though ye suffer the grievous
+horror of a prison? Within the dark ye shall find God. Thus I amid the
+dreadful gloom of my deep dungeon did lie within the arms of God,
+nothing fearing. So, when the fire shall sear me, though this my flesh
+may groan, God shall reach down to me through smoke and flame and lift
+my soul beyond. O be ye therefore comforted, my children: though each
+must die, yet to the pure in heart death is none so hard--"
+
+Thus spake Friar Martin, shivering in his bonds, what time the crowd
+rocked and swayed, sobbing aloud and groaning; whereat Sir Gui's
+pikemen made lusty play with their spear-shafts.
+
+Then spake Beltane, whispering, to Roger, who, sweating with
+impatience, groaned and stared and gnawed upon his fingers:
+
+"Away, Roger!" And on the instant Roger had turned, and with brawny
+shoulders stooped, drove through the swaying press and was gone.
+
+Now with every moment the temper of the crowd grew more threatening;
+voices shouted, fists were clenched, and the scowling pike-men, plying
+vicious spear-butts, cursed, and questioned each other aloud: "Why
+tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+Hereupon a country fellow hard by took up the question:
+
+"Sir Gui!" he shouted, "Why cometh not Sir Gui?"
+
+"Aye!" cried others, "where tarries Sir Gui?" "Why doth he keep us?"
+"Where tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+"Here!" roared a voice deep and harsh, "Way--make way!" And suddenly
+high above the swaying crowd rose the head and shoulders of a man, a
+mighty man in the dusty habit of a miller, upon whose low-drawn hood
+and be-floured smock were great gouts and stains evil and dark; and
+now, beholding what manner of stains these were, all men fell silent
+and blenched from his path. Thus amid a lane of pallid faces that
+stared and shrank away, the tall miller came unto the wondering pike-men
+--burst their ranks and leapt upon the dais where stood the gilded
+chair.
+
+"Ho! soldiers and men-at-arms--good people of Belsaye--call ye for Gui
+in sooth? hunger ye for sight of Bloody Gui of Allerdale in faith? Why
+then--behold!" and from under his be-dabbled smock he drew forth a
+head, pale as to cheek and hair, whose wide eyes stared blindly as it
+dangled in his hairy hand; and now, staring up at this awful, sightless
+thing--that brow at whose frown a city had trembled, those pallid lips
+that had smiled, and smiling, doomed men and women to torment and
+death--a hush fell on Belsaye and no man spoke or stirred.
+
+Then, while all folk stood thus, rigid and at gaze, a wild cry was
+heard, shivering the stillness and smiting all hearts with sudden
+dread:--
+
+"Fire! Fire!"
+
+"Aye, fire!" roared the miller, "see yonder!" and he pointed where a
+column of thick smoke mounted slowly upon the windless air. But with
+the cry came tumult--a hurry of feet, shouts and yells and hoarse
+commands; armour clashed and pike-heads glittered, down-sweeping for
+the charge. Then Walkyn laughed, and hurling the pale head down at the
+nearest soldiery, drew from his smock his mighty axe and swung it, but
+lo! 'twixt him and the pike-men was a surging, ravening mob that
+closed, front and rear, upon knight and squire, upon pike-man and
+man-at-arms, men who leapt to grip mailed throats in naked hands, women
+who screamed and tore. And one by one, knight and squire, and man-at-arms,
+smiting, shrieking, groaning, were dragged down with merciless hands,
+to be wrenched at, torn, and trampled 'neath merciless feet, while high
+and clear above this fierce and dreadful clamour rose the shrill
+summons of a horn.
+
+And lo! a shout--a roar--drowning the shrieks of dying men, the
+screams of vengeful women, "Arise--arise--Pentavalon!" Came a rush of
+feet, a shock, and thereafter a confused din that rose and fell and,
+gradually ceasing, was lost in a sudden clamour of bells, fierce-pealing
+in wild and joyous riot.
+
+"Aha! 'tis done--'tis done!" panted Roger, stooping to cleanse his
+blade, "spite of all our lack of method, Giles--'tis done! Hark ye to
+those joy-bells! So doth fair Belsaye shout to all men she is free at
+last and clean of Gui and all his roguish garrison--"
+
+"Clean?" quoth Giles. "Clean, forsooth? Roger--O Roger man, I have
+seen men die in many and diver ungentle ways ere now, but these men--
+these men of Gui's, look--look yonder! O sweet heaven keep me ever from
+the tearing hands of vengeful mothers and women wronged!" And turning
+his back on the littered market square, Giles shivered and leaned him
+upon his sword as one that is sick.
+
+"Nay," said Black Roger, "Gui's black knaves being rent in pieces,
+Giles, we shall be saved the hanging of them--ha! there sounds my
+lord's horn, and 'tis the rallying-note--come away, Giles!"
+
+Side by side they went, oft stepping across some shapeless horror,
+until in their going they chanced on one that knelt above a child,
+small and dead. And beholding the costly fashion of this man's armour,
+Roger stooped, and wondering, touched his bowed shoulder:
+
+"Sir Fidelis," said he, "good young messire, and art thou hurt,
+forsooth?"
+
+"Hurt?" sighed Sir Fidelis, staring up great-eyed, "hurt? Nay, behold
+this sweet babe--ah, gentle Christ--so innocent--and slain! A tender
+babe! And yonder--yonder, what dire sights lie yonder--" and sighing,
+the youthful knight sank back across Black Roger's arm and so lay
+speechless and a-swoon.
+
+Quoth Roger, grim-smiling:
+
+"What, Giles, here's one that loveth woman's finger-work no more than
+thou!" Thus saying, he stooped and lifting the young knight in his
+arms, bore him across the square, stumbling now and then on things
+dim-seen in the dark, for night was at hand.
+
+So thus it was that the folk of fair Belsaye town, men and women with
+gnashing teeth and rending hands, made them an end of Tyranny, until
+with the night, there nothing remained of proud Sir Gui and all his
+lusty garrison, save shapeless blotches piled amid the gloom--and that
+which lay, forgotten quite, a cold and pallid thing, befouled with red
+and trampled mire; a thing of no account henceforth, that stared up
+with glazed and sightless eyes, where, remote within the sombre
+firmament of heaven, a great star glowed and trembled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+
+Lanthorns gleamed and torches flared in the great square of Belsaye
+where panting, shouting townsfolk thronged upon Beltane and his company
+with tears of joy, with laughter loud and high-pitched, with shouts and
+wild acclaim; many there were who knelt to kiss their sun-browned
+hands, their feet, the very links of their armour. And presently came
+Giles o' the Bow, debonair and smiling, a woman's scarf about his
+brawny throat, a dozen ribands and favours tied about each mailed arm.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "tall brother, I have been fairly kissed by full a
+score of buxom dames--the which is excellent good, for the women of
+Belsaye are of beauty renowned. But to kiss is a rare and notable
+science, and to kiss well a man should eat well, and forsooth, empty am
+I as any drum! Therefore prithee let us eat, that I may uphold my
+reputation, for, as the learned master Ovidius hath it, '_osculos_'--"
+
+But from the townsfolk a shout arose:
+
+"Comes the Reeve! 'Tis good master Cuthbert! Way for the Reeve!"
+
+Hereupon the crowd parting, a tall man appeared, his goodly apparel
+torn, his long white hair disordered, while in his hand he yet grasped
+a naked sword. Stern his face was, and lined beyond his years, moreover
+his broad shoulders were bowed with more than age; but his eye was
+bright and quick, and when he spake, his voice was strong and full.
+
+"Which, I pray, is chiefest among ye?"
+
+"That am I," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Messire," said the Reeve, "who and what men ye are I know not, but in
+the name of these my fellow-citizens do I thank ye for our deliverance.
+But words be poor things, now therefore, an it be treasure ye do seek
+ye shall be satisfied. We have suffered much by extortion, but if gold
+be your desire, then whatsoever gold doth lie in our treasury, the
+half of it is freely thine."
+
+"O most excellent Reeve!" cried Giles, "forsooth, a very proper spirit
+of gratitude."
+
+"Good master," spake Beltane, quelling the archer with a look, "these
+my comrades hither came that a noble man should not perish, and that
+Sir Gui of Allerdale should cease from evil, and behold, 'tis done! So
+I pray you, give us food and shelter for the night, for with the dawn
+we march hence."
+
+"But--O tall brother!" gasped Giles, "O sweet lord, there was mention
+made of treasure! A large-souled Reeve--a Reeve with bowels! 'Treasure'
+quoth he, and likewise 'gold!' And these be matters to excogitate upon.
+Moreover, _pecunioe obediunt omnia_, brother."
+
+"Money, forsooth!" quoth Beltane bitterly; "now out upon thee, Giles--
+how think ye money shall avail the like of us whose lives are forfeit
+each and every, whose foes be many and strong, who must ever be on our
+ward, quick to smite lest we be smitten--money, forsooth! So, good
+master Reeve, keep thy useless treasure, and, in its stead, give to us
+good steel--broadswords, sharp and well-tempered and stout link-mail--
+give of these to such as lack."
+
+"But--O brother," says Giles, "with gold may we gain all these."
+
+"Verily, Giles, but gaining all without gold we lack not for gold, nor
+have the added fear of losing it. He that would gain wealth must first
+win freedom, for without freedom the richest is but a sorry slave. So
+give us steel, good master Reeve."
+
+Now from Giles' archers and divers others beside a growl went up,
+spreading from rank to rank, what time Beltane clenched his hands,
+frowning ever blacker. Then forth stepped Jenkyn o' the Ford with tall
+Orson, which last spake with voice uplift:
+
+"Master," quoth he, "us do love gold--but fighting men us do be, and if
+'steel' says you--'steel' says we!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Jenkyn, "so look'ee master, here stands I wi' Orson my
+comrade look'ee, for witness that to-day we be better men than these
+growlers."
+
+But here, of a sudden, rose the shrill bray of a trumpet without the
+walls, a long flourish, loud and imperious; and at the sound a silence
+fell, wherein divers of the townsfolk eyed each other in fear swift-born,
+and drew nearer to the white-haired Reeve who stood leaning heavily upon
+his sword, his head stooped upon his broad chest. And in
+the silence, Giles spake:
+
+"Now, by the ever-blessed Saint Giles, there spake the summons of
+Robert of Hurstmanswyke--I know his challenge of old--ha, bows and
+bills!" So saying he bent and strung his bow.
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, loosening sword in sheath, "and Sir Robert is a
+dour fighter I've heard."
+
+"So soon!" groaned the Reeve, "so very soon! Now God pity Belsaye!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles, fidgeting uneasily with his bow, "forsooth, Sir
+Robert is a very potent lord--God help us all, say I!"
+
+"And Sir Robert likewise," quoth Roger, "for methinks an he come within
+Belsaye he is like to stay in Belsaye--mind ye Sir Gui, and mark ye my
+master's look!" And he pointed where Beltane stood near by, chin in
+fist, his eye bright and purposeful, his mouth grim-smiling; even as
+they watched he beckoned Walkyn and Eric to him and spake certain
+commands what time the trumpet brayed again in summons fierce and
+arrogant.
+
+"Good master Reeve," quoth Beltane, as Walkyn and Eric, obedient to his
+word, moved into the square to right and left, each with his company,
+"there is one without that groweth impatient. Let us therefore parley
+with him from the battlement above the gate."
+
+"Ah, messire," sighed the Reeve, "to what end? 'Tis Sir Robert's
+summons, and well I know he will demand speech with my lord Gui--alas
+for us and for Belsaye town!"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "be comforted. Answer as I shall direct and
+fear ye nothing. Come your ways."
+
+Now when Roger turned and would have followed, Giles plucked him by the
+arm:
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "Sir Robert will demand speech of Gui of Allerdale,
+mark ye that, my Rogerkin. Nor will he speak to any but Sir Gui--for a
+great lord and proud is Robert of Hurstmanswyke. Ha, what think ye,
+Roger?"
+
+"I think perchance he must go dumb then--come, let us follow."
+
+"Nay, but speak he must--since he may tell us much, aye, and speak he
+shall. So come, my Rogerkin, hither with me!"
+
+"With thee, Giles? And wherefore?"
+
+"A wile, sweet Roger, a notable wile--a wile of wiles. Hush! speak not,
+but come--for mark this:
+
+  "In faith a cunning man is Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles!"
+
+"So come, Rogerkin!" So saying, he gripped stout Roger's arm and
+plunged into the crowd.
+
+Being come out upon the battlement above the gate, Beltane, with the
+Reeve beside him, peering down through the dark, beheld beyond the
+moat, a knight supported by four esquires, and beyond these Beltane
+counted thirty lances what time the Reeve, steadying his voice,
+challenged them.
+
+Hereupon the knight spake:
+
+"Ha! do ye stir at last, dogs! Open in the Duke's name--'tis I, Robert,
+lord of Hurstmanswyke, with message to the lord Seneschal, Sir Gui, and
+captives from Bourne!"
+
+Then, grim-smiling in the dusk, Beltane spake: "Now greeting and
+fair greeting to thee, my lord, and to thy captives. Hath Thrasfordham
+fallen so soon?"
+
+"Thrasfordham, fool! 'tis not yet invested--these be divers of
+Benedict's spies out of Bourne, to grace thy gibbets. Come, unbar--down
+with the drawbridge; open I say--must I wait thy rogue's pleasure?"
+
+"Not so, noble lord. Belsaye this night doth welcome thee with open
+arms--and ye be in sooth Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke."
+
+"Ha, do ye doubt me, knave? Dare ye keep me without? Set wide the
+gates, and instantly, or I will see thee in a noose hereafter. Open!
+Open! God's death! will ye defy me? gate ho!"
+
+So Beltane, smiling yet, descended from the battlement and bade them
+set wide the gates. Down creaked drawbridge; bars fell, bolts groaned,
+the massy gates swung wide--and Sir Robert and his esquires, with his
+weary captives stumbling in their jangling chains, and his thirty
+men-at-arms riding two by two, paced into Belsaye market square; the
+drawbridge rose, creaking, while gates clashed and bar and chain
+rattled ominously behind them. But Sir Robert, nothing heeding, secure
+in his noble might, scowled about him 'neath lifted vizor, and summoned
+the Reeve to his stirrup with imperious hand:
+
+"How now, master Reeve," quoth he, "I am in haste to be gone: where
+tarries Sir Gui? Have ye not warned him of my coming? Go, say I crave
+instant speech with him on matters of state, moreover, say I bring
+fifty and three for him to hang to-morrow--go!"
+
+But now, while the Reeve yet stood, pale in the torchlight, finding
+nought to say, came Beltane beside him.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, "fifty and three is a goodly number; must they all
+die to-morrow?"
+
+"To-morrow? Aye--or whensoever Sir Gui wills."
+
+"Ah, fair lord," says Beltane, "then, as I guess, these fifty and three
+shall assuredly live on awhile, since Sir Gui of Allerdale will hang
+men no more."
+
+"Ha, dare ye mock me, knave?" cried Sir Robert, and clenching iron hand
+he spurred upon Beltane, but checked as suddenly, and pointed where,
+midst the shrinking populace, strode one in knightly armour, whose
+embroidered surcoat bore the arms, and whose vizored helm the crest of
+Sir Gui of Allerdale. Now beholding this silent figure, a groan of fear
+went up, divers men sank crouching on their knees, the Reeve uttered a
+hoarse gasp and covered his face, while even Beltane, staring wide-eyed,
+felt his flesh a-creep. But now Sir Robert rode forward:
+
+"Greeting, lord Seneschal!" said he, "you come betimes, messire, though
+not over hastily, methinks!"
+
+"Forsooth," quoth the figure, his voice booming in his great war-helm,
+"forsooth and verily there be three things no man should leave in
+haste: _videlicit_ and to wit: his prayers, his dinner and his lady.
+None the less came I hither to give thee greeting, good my lord."
+
+"My lord Seneschal, what manner of men be these of thine?"
+
+"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools--save
+one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a
+man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles."
+
+"Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at
+Beltane, "who is he?"
+
+"Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs."
+
+"He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."
+
+"Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I."
+
+"The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more."
+
+"Ha, said he so forsooth? dared he so asperse mine honour? Ha, here is
+matter for red-hot irons, the pincers and the rack, anon. But come, Sir
+Robert--thou dost bear news, belike; come your ways and drink a goblet
+of wine."
+
+"Nay, my lord, I thank thee, but I must hence this night to Barham
+Broom. But for my news, 'tis this: the out-law men call Beltane, hath,
+by devilish arts, sacked and burned Garthlaxton Keep."
+
+"Why, this I knew; there is a lewd song already made thereon, as thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Forsooth, a naughty song, a very gallows' song, in faith. Pray you,
+what more?"
+
+"There hath come unto the Duke one hight Gurth--a hang-dog rogue that
+doth profess to know the lurking-place of this vile outlaw, and
+to-morrow at sunset, Sir Pertolepe and I with goodly force march into
+the green. So now must I hence, leaving with thee these captives from
+Bourne that you shall hang above the walls for a warning to all such
+outlaws and traitors. Lastly, my lord Seneschal, drink not so deep
+a-nights, and so, fare thee well."
+
+Now as he yet spake rose the shrill notes of a horn, and turning about,
+Sir Robert beheld men whose mail glistened in the torchlight and whose
+long pikes hemmed him in close and closer what time a fierce shout went
+up: "Kill!" "Kill!"
+
+"Ho, treason!" he roared, and grasped at his sword hilt; but down came
+Roger's heavy broadsword upon Sir Robert's helm, beating him to earth
+where Walkyn's mighty foot crushed him down and his axe gleamed bright.
+Then, while the air rang with shouts and cries and the clatter of
+trampling hoofs, a white figure leapt and bestrode the fallen knight,
+and Walkyn glared down into the pale face of Friar Martin.
+
+"Forbear, Walkyn, forbear!" he cried, and speaking, staggered for very
+weakness and would have fallen but Walkyn's long arm was about him. And
+ever the uproar grew; the grim ranks of archers and pikemen drew closer
+about Sir Robert's shrinking men-at-arms what time the townsfolk,
+brandishing their weapons, shouted amain, "Kill! Kill!"
+
+Now Roger's blow had been full lusty and Sir Robert yet lay a-swoon,
+seeing which, divers of his company, casting down their arms, cried
+aloud for quarter; whereat the townsfolk shouted but the fiercer: "Slay
+them! Kill! Kill!" But now, high above this clamour, rose the shrill
+note of Beltane's horn bidding all men to silence. Hereupon there came
+to him the white friar, who, looking earnestly upon his mailed face,
+uttered a sudden glad cry and caught his hand and kissed it; then
+turned he to the surging concourse and spake loud and joyously:
+
+"Stay, good people of Belsaye! O ye children of affliction, spill not
+the blood of these thine enemies, but look, rather, upon this man! For
+this is he of whom I told ye in the days of your tribulation, this is
+he who burned the shameful gallows, who brake open the dungeon and hath
+vowed his life to the cause of the oppressed and weak. Behold now the
+son of Beltane the Strong and Just! Behold Beltane, our rightful Duke!"
+Now went there up to heaven a great and wild acclaim; shouts of joy and
+the thunderous battle-cry "Arise! Arise! Pentavalon!" Then, while all
+eyes beheld and all ears hearkened, Beltane spake him, plain and to the
+point, as was his custom:
+
+"Behold now, men of Belsaye, these our enemies do cry us mercy, and
+shall we not bestow it? Moreover one living hostage is better than two
+foemen slain. Entreat them gently, therefore, but let me see them
+lodged secure ere I march hence."
+
+But hereupon came many of the townsfolk with divers counsellors and
+chief men of the city who, kneeling, most earnestly prayed Beltane to
+abide for their defence.
+
+"Good my lord," quoth the Reeve, "bethink thee, when Duke Ivo shall
+hear of our doings he will seek bitter vengeance. Ah, my lord, 'twas
+but five years agone he stormed Belsaye and gave it up to pillage--and
+on that day--my wife--was slain! And when he had set up his great
+gallows and hanged it full with our men, he vowed that, should Belsaye
+anger him again, he would burn the city and all within it and, O my
+lord, my lord--I have yet a daughter--Ah, good my lord, leave us not
+to ravishment and death!"
+
+"Aye, go not from us, my lord!" cried the others. "Be thou our leader
+henceforth!" and thereto they besought him with eager cries and with
+hands outstretched.
+
+But Beltane shook his head; quoth he:
+
+"Look now, as men are born into the world but for the good of man, so
+must I to my duty. And methinks, this is my duty: to do such deeds as
+shall ring throughout this sorrowful Duchy like a trumpet-blast,
+bidding all men arise and take hold upon their manhood. Garthlaxton is
+no more, but there be many castles yet to burn whose flames, perchance,
+shall light such a fire within the souls of men as shall ne'er be
+quenched until Wrong and Tyranny be done away. So must I back to the
+wild-wood to wild and desperate doings. But, as for ye--I have heard
+tell that the men of Belsaye are brave and resolute. Let now the memory
+of wrongs endured make ye trebly valiant to maintain your new-got
+liberty. If Duke Ivo come, then let your walls be manned, for 'tis
+better to die free men than trust again to his mercy."
+
+"Verily, lord," said the Reeve, "but we do lack for leaders. Our
+provost and all our captains Duke Ivo hanged upon his gallows. Beseech
+thee, then, give to us a leader cunning in war."
+
+"That will I," answered Beltane, "on this condition--that every able
+man shall muster under arms each day within the market-square."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+Then summoned he Eric of the wry neck, together with Giles who came
+forthwith, being yet bedight in Sir Gui's harness.
+
+"Eric, I have marked thee well; methinks thou art one long bred to arms
+and learned in war?"
+
+"My lord Beltane, in other days I was the Duke thy father's High
+Constable of all the coast-wise towns."
+
+"Ha--say'st thou so in sooth? Then now do I make thee lord Constable of
+Belsaye. As to thee, Giles, thou guileful rogue, hast full oft vaunted
+thyself a soldier of experience, so now am I minded to prove thee and
+thy methods. How if I give thee charge over the bowmen of Belsaye?"
+
+"Why first, sweet, tall brother, first will I teach them to draw a bow,
+pluck a string, and speed a shaft as never townsman drew, plucked or
+sped--in fine, I will teach them to shoot: and, thereafter, devoutly
+pray the good Saint Giles (that is my patron saint) to send us Black
+Ivo and his dogs to shoot at!"
+
+"So be it. Choose ye now each ten men of your companies that shall
+abide here with ye what time I am away--yet first mark this: In your
+hands do I leave this fair city, to your care I give the lives and
+well-being of all these men and women and children. Come now, lay here
+your hands upon my sword and swear me to maintain Belsaye to the last
+man 'gainst siege or storm, so long as life be in you!"
+
+Now when they had sworn, Beltane turned him to the Reeve:
+
+"Good sir," quoth he, "I pray you loose now the captives from their
+chains. Let your prisoners be secured, and for the rest, let us now eat
+and drink lest we famish."
+
+Thus in a while, Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke, dazed and bewildered, and
+his four esquires, together with his thirty men-at-arms, stripped of
+armour and weapons, were led away and lodged secure beneath the keep.
+
+Now it chanced that as Beltane stood apart with head a-droop as one in
+thought, there came to him Sir Fidelis and touched him with gentle
+hand.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said he softly, "of what think you?"
+
+"Of Pentavalon, and how soonest her sorrows may be done away."
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire?"
+
+"Aye, truly, Fidelis."
+
+"Then wherefore let her suffer longer?"
+
+"Suffer? Aye, there it is--but how may I bring her woes to sudden end?
+I am too weak, her oppressors many, and my men but few--"
+
+"Few?" quoth Sir Fidelis, speaking with head low-stooped. "Few,
+messire? Not so. Ten thousand lances might follow thee to-morrow an
+thou but spake the word--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "mock me not, good Fidelis, thou dost know me a
+lonely man and friendless--to whom should I speak?"
+
+"To one that loveth thee now as ever, to one that yearneth for thee
+with heart nigh to breaking--to Helen--"
+
+"Ah!" quoth Beltane, slow and bitter, "speak word to Helen the
+Beautiful--the Wilful--the Wanton? No, a thousand times! Rather would I
+perish, I and all my hopes, than seek aid of such as she--"
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire? Nay, methinks better far thou
+dost love thy cold and cruel pride--so must Pentavalon endure her
+grievous wrongs, and so do I pity her, but--most of all--I pity thee,
+messire!"
+
+Now would Beltane have answered but found no word, and therefore fell
+to black and bitter anger, and, turning on his heel, incontinent strode
+away into the council-hall where a banquet had been spread. Frowning,
+he ate and drank in haste, scarce heeding the words addressed to him,
+wherefore others grew silent also; and thereafter, his hunger assuaged,
+strode he out into the square and summoned his company.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," spake he loud and quick, "howso poor and humble ye
+be, henceforth ye shall go, each and every, equipped in knightly mail
+from foot to head, your man's flesh as secure as flesh of any potent
+lord or noble of them all. Henceforth each man of us must fight as
+valiantly as ten. Now, if any there be who know the manage of horse and
+lance, let him step forth." Hereupon divers stepped out of the ranks,
+and Beltane counted of these fifty and two.
+
+"Master Reeve," spake Beltane, "give now for guerdon instead of gold,
+horses and equipment for these my comrades, stout lances and mail
+complete with goodly bascinets."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+"Roger, in thy command I set these fifty lances. See now to their
+arming, let them be mounted and ready with speed, for in this hour we
+ride."
+
+"Aye, master," cried Roger, his eyes a-dance, "that will I, moreover--"
+
+"Walkyn, to thee I give the pikes henceforth. As for our archers--
+Giles, which now think you fittest to command?"
+
+"Why truly, brother--my lord, if one there be can twang a lusty bow and
+hath a cool and soldier-like head 'tis Jenkyn o' the Ford, and after
+him Walcher, and after him--"
+
+"Jenkyn, do you henceforth look to our archers. Are these matters heard
+and known among ye?"
+
+"Aye!" came the thunderous answer.
+
+"'Tis well, for mark me, we go out to desperate doings, wherein
+obedience must be instant, wherein all must love like brothers, and,
+like brothers, fight shoulder to shoulder!"
+
+Now came there certain of the citizens to Beltane, leading a great and
+noble war-horse, richly caparisoned, meet for his acceptance. And thus,
+ere the moon rose, equipped with lance and shield and ponderous,
+vizored casque, Beltane, gloomy and silent, with Sir Fidelis mounted
+beside him, rode forth at the head of his grim array, at whose tramp
+and jingle the folk of Belsaye shouted joyful acclaim while the bells
+rang out right joyously.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE WITCH OF
+HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+It was very dark upon the forest road, where trees loomed gigantic
+against the pitchy gloom wherein dim-seen branches creaked and swayed,
+and leaves rustled faint and fitful in the stealthy night-wind; and
+through the gloom at the head of his silent company Beltane rode in
+frowning thought, his humour blacker than the night.
+
+Now in a while, Sir Fidelis, riding ever at his elbow, ventured speech
+with him:
+
+"Art very silent, messire. Have I angered thee, forsooth? Is aught
+amiss betwixt us?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, shortly:
+
+"Art over-young, sir knight, and therefore fond and foolish. Is a man a
+lover of self because he hateth dishonour? Art a presumptuous youth--
+and that's amiss!"
+
+"Art thou so ancient, messire, and therefore so wise as to judge 'twixt
+thy hates and loves and the abiding sorrows of Pentavalon?" questioned
+Fidelis, low-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Old enough am I to know that in all this world is no baser thing than
+the treachery of a faithless woman, and that he who seeketh aid of
+such, e'en though his cause be just, dishonoureth himself and eke his
+cause. So God keep me from all women henceforth--and as for thee, speak
+me no more the name of this light wanton."
+
+"My lord," quoth Sir Fidelis, leaning near, "my lord--whom mean you?"
+
+"Whom should I mean but Mortain Helen--Helen the Beautiful--"
+
+Now cried Sir Fidelis as one that feels a blow, and, in the dark, he
+seized Beltane in sudden griping fingers, and shook him fiercely.
+
+"And dare ye name her 'wanton!'" he cried. "Ye shall not--I say ye
+shall not!" But, laughing, Beltane smote away the young knight's hold
+and laughed again.
+
+"Is this light lady's fame so dear to thee, poor, youthful fool?" said
+he. "Aye me! doubt not her falsity shall break thy heart some day and
+teach thee wisdom--"
+
+A shout among the woods upon their right, a twinkling light that came
+and went amid the underbrush, and Walkyn appeared, bearing a lighted
+brand.
+
+"Lord," he growled, "here has been devil's work of late, for yonder a
+cottage lieth a heap of glowing ashes, and upon a tree hard by a dead
+man doth swing."
+
+"Learned ye aught else, Walkyn?"
+
+"Nothing, save that a large company passed here yesterday as I judge.
+Horse and foot--going south, see you," and he held his torch to the
+trampled road.
+
+"Going south--aye, Walkyn, to Barham Broom, methinks. Here is another
+debt shall yet be paid in full, mayhap," quoth Beltane grimly.
+"Forward!"
+
+The jingling column moved on again, yet had gone but a little way when
+Sir Fidelis, uttering a cry, swerved his horse suddenly and sprang to
+earth.
+
+"What now?" questioned Beltane, staring into the murk.
+
+"My lord--my lord, a woman lieth here, and--ah, messire--she is dead!"
+
+"O, a woman?" quoth Beltane, "and dead, say you? Why then, the world
+shall know less of evil and treachery, methinks. Come--mount, sir
+knight, mount, I say, and let us on!"
+
+But Sir Fidelis, on his knees beside that silent, dim-seen form, heeded
+him not at all, and with reverent, folded hands, and soft and tender
+voice, spake a prayer for the departed soul. Now hereupon Beltane knew
+sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have
+prayed--yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger
+grew more bitter.
+
+"Mount, mount, sir knight!" cried he harshly. "Better to seek
+vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees--mount, I say!"
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle,
+reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone. But in a while, Beltane
+perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and
+fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.
+
+"Wherefore slink ye behind me?" he demanded.
+
+Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled:
+
+"My lord Beltane, 'twas said thou wert a noble knight--very strong and
+very gentle--"
+
+"Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?"
+
+"Alas!" sighed the young knight; and again "alas!" and therewith a
+great sob brake from him.
+
+Of a sudden, from the gloom beside the way rose a woman's scream, and
+thereafter a great and fierce roar; and presently came Walkyn with his
+torch and divers of his men, dragging a woman in their midst, and lo!
+it was the witch of Hangstone Waste.
+
+Now she, beholding Beltane's face beneath his lifted vizor, cried out
+for very joy:
+
+"Now heaven bless thee, Duke Beltane! Ah, my lord--hear me!"
+
+"What would ye? What seek ye of such as I?"
+
+But hereupon Black Roger spurred beside Beltane, his eyes wide and
+fearful in the shadow of his helm, his strong, mailed hand a-tremble on
+Beltane's arm.
+
+"Beware, my lord, beware!" he cried, "'tis nigh the midnight hour and
+she a noted witch--heed her not lest she blight thy fair body, lest
+she--"
+
+"Peace, Roger! Now speak, woman--what would ye?"
+
+"A life, my lord!"
+
+"Ah, the blessed saints forfend--I feared so!" gasped Roger.
+
+But now the witch turned and looked on Roger, and he incontinent
+crossed himself and fell thenceforth to mumbling prayers beneath his
+breath.
+
+"Lord Duke, for that I am but a woman poor and helpless, now would I
+beseech thine aid for--"
+
+"Nay, tell me first, whence come ye?"
+
+"From Barham Broom, messire. Ah! spare aid for one that lieth in peril
+of death--the maid Mellent--they do proclaim her witch--they will burn
+her--"
+
+"O--a woman!" quoth Beltane, wrinkling his brows; and beholding Sir
+Fidelis watching him, straightway frowned the blacker.
+
+"Nay, messire, hear me!" cried the witch, "ah, turn not away! This
+maid, indeed, is not of common blood--a lady is she of birth and wide
+demesnes--"
+
+"Why then," said Beltane, heedful ever of the young knight's burning
+glance, "why then is she more apt for treachery and evil."
+
+"Not so, my lord; weak is she and beset by cruel enemies. I found her,
+a stranger, wandering lonely in the green, and she, being sick of heart
+and brain, spake wild words of a great wrong, vainly done and suffered,
+and of an abiding remorse. And when I had nursed her into health she
+told me a wondrous tale. So, lord Beltane, do I know that in her hands
+thy happiness doth lie."
+
+"Not so!" sighed Beltane. "Happiness and I are strangers henceforth--"
+
+But here once again came a hoarse and angry roar with the sound of
+desperate struggling amid the leaves hard by, whence came Jenkyn and
+Orson with divers others, dragging a strange, hairy, dwarf-like
+creature, great and shaggy of head and with the arms and shoulders of a
+giant; smirched was he in blood from a great wound above the brow and
+his rich habit was mired and torn. Now looking upon this monstrous
+creature that writhed and struggled mightily with his captors, groaning
+and roaring betimes, Beltane felt his flesh a-creep with swift and
+pregnant memory, and straightway beset the witch with fierce question:
+
+"Woman, what thing is this?"
+
+"My lord, 'tis naught but poor Ulf, a natural, messire, very strong and
+faithful, that hath fought mightily and is nigh slain in our defence--
+see how he bleeds! Let them not harm him, my lord!"
+
+"Yet have I seen him ere this, methinks."
+
+"But for the maid Mellent--thou wilt not let her burn--and for thy
+deeds?"
+
+"Mine, forsooth! How mean you?"
+
+"'Twas yester-eve we were beset hereabouts by a lewd company, and
+brought unto their lord, Sir Grilles of Brandonmere--a man beyond all
+other men base and vile--who, beholding her so young and fair would
+have forced her to his will."
+
+"Ha!--methinks Sir Gilles doth live too long!"
+
+"So to save her from his violence, I discovered to him her name and
+high estate, whereupon at first he would fain have her wed with him.
+But, angered by her scorn, he bore her with him to Duke Ivo at Barham
+Broom, and me also. And there I heard her denounced as witch, by whose
+spells thou, lord Beltane, wert freed of thy duress and Garthlaxton
+utterly destroyed. Thus, to-morrow she must burn, unless one can be
+found to champion her cause and prove her innocent by trial of combat.
+So, when they had let me go I came seeking thee, my lord, since 'tis
+said thou art a very strong man and swift to aid the defenceless." Now
+glancing aside upon Sir Fidelis, Beltane beheld him leaning forward
+with his lips apart and slender hands tight-clasped; whereupon he
+frowned and shook his head.
+
+"A woman!" quoth he, "nay, I had rather fight in a dog's cause."
+
+"Forsooth!" cried Roger, "for rogue is he and fool that would champion
+a vile witch."
+
+"Why, then, let us on, lord," growled Walkyn. "Why tarry we here?"
+
+But now, as the witch sank upon the road with pleading hands uplifted,
+Sir Fidelis rode beside her and, stooping, caught her outstretched
+hands; quoth he:
+
+"Of what avail to plead with such as these? So will I adventure me on
+behalf of this poor maid."
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane. "Walkyn, march ye one and all for Hundleby
+Fen--wait me there and let your watch be strict. But, an I come not
+within two days from now, then hie you each and every to reinforce Eric
+and Giles in Belsaye. As for Roger, he rideth with me to Barham Broom."
+
+"Ha, lord!--wilt fight, then, in the witch's cause?" cried Walkyn.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, though--forsooth I had rather fight in a dog's cause,
+for a dog, see you, is a faithful beast."
+
+"To Barham Broom?" quoth Roger, staring. "Thou and I, master, to Black
+Ivo--alone?" And speaking, he loosened sword in scabbard.
+
+"My lord Beltane," cried Sir Fidelis, beholding him with shining eyes,
+"an thou wilt do this noble thing, suffer me beside thee!"
+
+"Not so, messire," answered Beltane, shaking his head, "art over young
+and tender, methinks--go, get thee back to her that sent thee--keep
+thou thy fond and foolish dream, and may thy gentle heart go unbroken.
+Come, Roger!"
+
+So saying, Beltane wheeled about and rode away with Roger at his heels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH.
+
+
+Barham Broom was gay with the stir of flags and streamers, where, above
+broidered pavilion and silken tent, pennons and banderoles, penoncels
+and gonfalons fluttered and flew, beyond which long lines of smaller
+tents stretched away north and south, east and west, and made up the
+camp of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Beyond the confines of this great and goodly camp the lists had been
+formed, and here from earliest dawn a great concourse had been
+gathering; villein and vassal, serf and freedman from town and village:
+noble lords and ladies fair from castle hall and perfumed bower, all
+were here, for to-day a witch was to die--to-day, from her tortured
+flesh the flame was to drive forth and exorcize, once and for all, the
+demon who possessed her, by whose vile aid she wrought her charms and
+spells. So country wenches pushed and strove amid the throng, and
+dainty ladies leaned from canopied galleries to shudder with dread or
+trill soft laughter; but each and every stared at one who stood alone,
+'twixt armed guards, so young and fair and pale within her bonds, oft
+turning piteous face to heaven or looking with quailing eye where stake
+and chain and faggot menaced her with awful doom. And ever the kindly
+sun rose high and higher, and ever the staring concourse grew.
+
+Now, of a sudden the clarions rang out a point of war, and all voices
+were hushed, as, forth into the lists, upon his richly-caparisoned
+charger, my lord Duke Ivo rode, followed by his chiefest lords and
+barons; and as he rode, he smiled to himself full oft as one that
+meditates a hidden jest. Being come where the witch stood, her
+disordered garments rent by vicious handling, striving to veil her
+beauty in her long, dark hair, my lord Duke reined in his pawing steed
+to sit a while and look down at her 'neath sleepy lids; and, ever as he
+looked, his arching nostrils fluttered above curling lip, and ever he
+fingered his long, blue-shaven chin.
+
+"Alack!" cried he at last, "'tis a comely wench, and full young,
+methinks, to die so soon! But witchcraft is a deadly sin, abhorred by
+man and hateful unto God--"
+
+"My lord--my lord," spake the witch swift and passionate yet trembling
+'neath his sleepy gaze, "thou knowest I am no witch indeed--thou
+knowest--"
+
+"Nay, nay," quoth the Duke, shaking his head, and coming more near he
+stooped and spake her, low-voiced, "nay, she thou would'st name was a
+lady proud, soft and white, with hair bright and glorious as the sun--
+in sooth a fair lady--yet something too ambitious. But thou, though of
+her size and shape, art of a dark and swarthy hue and thy hair black,
+meseemeth. Of a verity thou art only the witch Mellent, and so, by
+reason of thy sun-browned skin and raven hair--aye, and for thy
+witchcraft--thou, alack! must die--unless thou find thee a champion.
+Verily I fear me no man will dare take up thy cause, for Sir Gilles is
+a lusty man and famous at the joust. Moreover--my will is known in the
+matter, so do I fear there none shall come to fight on thy behalf.
+Alack! that one should die so young!"
+
+"Ah, my lord--my lord Ivo," she whispered, eager and breathless, "show
+me a little mercy. For that, to be thy Duchess, I denied thee thy
+desire in the past, let me now be prisoned all my days, an it be thy
+will--but give me not to the fire--ah, God--not the fire! Pity--pity
+me for what I did for thee--be merciful--"
+
+"Did, wench--did?" quoth the Duke, gently. "Now when spake I with witch
+ere this? 'Tis true there was a lady--something of thy seeming--who, to
+gain much, promised much, and--achieved me nothing. So now do I know
+thee far one Mellent, a notable witch, that shall this day instead of
+ducal crown, wear crown of flame. Alack!--and so, farewell!"
+
+Thus speaking, my lord Duke rode on up the lists, where stood certain
+noble lords to hold his stirrup and aid him to earth; so mounted he to
+his place 'neath broidered canopy, and many a fair cheek blanched, and
+many a stout knight faltered in his speech, beholding that slow-creeping,
+stealthy smile and the twitch of those thin nostrils.
+
+Now once again the trumpet blew, and a herald stepped forth:
+
+"God save ye, lord Duke," he cried, "ye noble lords and ladies fair--
+good people all, God save ye. Know that before you here assembled, hath
+been brought one Mellent--that hath been denounced a notable witch and
+sorceress, who, by her fiendish arts and by the aid of demons foul and
+damned, doth seek the hurt of our lord the Duke, whom God and the
+saints defend. Forasmuch as this witch, yclept Mellent, did, by her
+unhallowed spells and magic, compass and bring about the escape from
+close duress of one Beltane, a notable outlaw, malefactor and enemy to
+our lord the Duke; and whereas she did also by aid of charms,
+incantations and the like devilish practices, contrive the sack,
+burning and total destruction of my lord Duke's good and fair castle of
+Garthlaxton upon the March. Now therefore it is adjudged that she be
+taken and her body burned to ashes here before you. All of which
+charges have been set forth and sworn to by this right noble lord and
+gallant knight Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--behold him here in person."
+
+Hereupon, while the trumpets brayed a flourish and fanfare, forth rode
+Sir Gilles upon a mighty charger, a grim and warlike figure in his
+shining mail and blazoned surcoat, his ponderous, crested war-helm
+closed, his long shield covering him from shoulder to stirrup, and his
+lance-point twinkling on high.
+
+Then spake again the herald loud and clear: "Good people all, behold
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere, who cometh here before you prepared to
+maintain the truth and justice of the charges he hath made--unto the
+death, 'gainst any man soever, on horse or on foot, with lance,
+battle-axe or sword. Now if there be any here do know this witch Mellent
+for innocent, if there be any here dare adventure his body for her
+innocence and run the peril of mortal combat with Sir Gilles, let him
+now stand forth."
+
+And immediately the trumpets sounded a challenge. Thereafter the herald
+paced slowly round the lists, and behind him rode Sir Gilles, his
+blazon of the three stooping falcons plain for all men to see, on
+gleaming shield and surcoat.
+
+North and south, and east and west the challenge was repeated, and
+after each the trumpet sounded a warlike flourish, yet no horseman
+paced forth and no man leapt the barriers; and the witch Mellent
+drooped pale and trembling betwixt her warders. But, of a sudden she
+opened swooning eyes and lifted her heavy head; for, from the distant
+woods, faint as yet and far, a horn brayed hoarsely--three notes,
+thrice repeated, defiant and warlike. And now, among the swaying
+crowds rose a hum that grew and grew, while ever and anon the horn rang
+out, fiercely winded--and ever it sounded nearer: until, of a sudden,
+out from the trees afar, two horsemen galloped, their harness bright
+in the sunshine, helm and lance-point twinkling, who, spurring knee
+and knee, thundered over the ling; while every tongue grew hushed, and
+every eye turned to mark their swift career.
+
+Tall were these men and lusty, bedight from head to foot in glistening
+mail, alike at all points save that one bare neither shield nor lance,
+and 'neath his open bascinet showed a face brown and comely, whereas
+his companion rode, his long shield flashing in the sun, his head and
+face hid by reason of his ponderous, close-shut casque. Swift they
+rode, the throng parting before them; knee and knee together they leapt
+the palisade, and reining in their horses, paced down the lists and
+halted before the pale and trembling captive. Then spake the knight,
+harsh-voiced behind his vizor:
+
+"Sound, Roger!"
+
+Forthwith the black-haired, ruddy man set a hunting horn to his lips,
+and blew thereon a flourish so loud and shrill as made the very welkin
+ring.
+
+Now came pursuivants and the chief herald, which last made inquisition
+thus:
+
+"Sir Knight, crest hast thou none, nor on thy shield device, so do I
+demand name and rank of thee, who thus in knightly guise doth give this
+bold defiance, and wherefore ye ride armed at points. Pronounce,
+messire!"
+
+Then spake the tall knight loud and fierce, his voice deep-booming
+within the hollow of his closed casque.
+
+"Name and rank have I laid by for the nonce, until I shall have
+achieved a certain vow, but of noble blood am I and kin unto the
+greatest--this do I swear by Holy Rood. To-day am I hither come in arms
+to do battle on behalf of yon innocent maid, and to maintain her
+innocence so long as strength abide. And furthermore, here before ye
+all and every, I do proclaim Sir Gilles of Brandonmere a shame and
+reproach unto his order. To all the world I do proclaim him rogue and
+thief and wilful liar, the which (God willing) I will here prove upon
+his vile body. So now let there be an end of words. Sound, Roger!"
+
+Hereupon he of the ruddy cheek clapped horn to lip and blew amain until
+his cheek grew redder yet, what time the heralds and pursuivants and
+marshals of the field debated together if it were lawful for a nameless
+knight to couch lance 'gainst one of noble blood. But now came Sir
+Gilles himself, choking with rage, and fuming in his harness.
+
+"Ha, thou nameless dog!" cried he, brandishing his heavy lance, "be
+thou serf or noble, art an errant liar--so will I slay thee out of
+hand!" Thus saying, he reined round the great roan stallion he
+bestrode, and galloped to one end of the lists. Now spake Black Roger
+low-voiced, and his hand shook upon his bridle:
+
+"Master, now do I fear for thee. Sir Gilles is a mighty jouster and
+skilled withal, moreover he rideth his famous horse Mars--a noble beast
+and fresh, while thine is something wearied. And then, master, direst
+of all, she thou would'st champion is a witch--"
+
+"That worketh no evil by day, Roger. So do I charge thee, whatsoe'er
+betide, look to the maid, take her across thy saddle and strive to
+bring her to safety. As for me, I will now with might and main seek to
+make an end of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere."
+
+So saying, Beltane rode to the opposite extremity of the lists.
+
+And now, while the trumpets blared, the two knights took their ground,
+Sir Gilles resplendent in lofty crest and emblazoned surcoat, the three
+stooping falcons conspicuous on his shield, his mighty roan charger
+pawing the ling with impatient hoof; his opponent, a gleaming figure
+astride a tall black horse, his round-topped casque unadorned by plume
+or crest. So awhile they remained, very still and silent, what time a
+single trumpet spake, whereat--behold! the two long lances sank feutred
+to the charge, the broad shields flashed, glittered and were still
+again; and from that great concourse a sound went up--a hum, that
+swelled, and so was gone.
+
+The maid Mellent had sunk upon her knees and was praying desperate
+prayers with face upturned to heaven; but none was there to mark her
+now amid that silent gathering--all eyes were strained to watch those
+grim and silent horsemen that fronted each other, the length of the
+lists between; even Duke Ivo, leaning on lazy elbow, looked with
+glowing eye and slow-flushing cheek, ere he let fall his truncheon.
+
+And, on the instant, shrill and fierce the trumpets brayed, and on the
+instant each knight struck spurs, the powerful horses reared, plunged,
+and sprang away at speed. Fast and faster they galloped, their riders
+low-stooped above the high-peaked saddles, shields addressed and lances
+steady, with pounding hooves that sent the turves a-flying, with
+gleaming helms and deadly lance-points a-twinkle; fast and ever faster
+they thundered down upon each other, till, with a sudden direful crash,
+they met in full career with a splintering of well-aimed lances, a
+lashing of wild hooves, a rearing of powerful horses, staggering and
+reeling beneath the shock. And now a thunderous cry went up, for the
+tall black horse, plunging and snorting, went down rolling upon the
+sward. But his rider had leapt clear and, stumbling to his feet, stood
+swaying unsteadily, faint and dazed with the blow of Sir Gilles' lance
+that had borne down the great black horse and torn the heavy casque
+from his head. So stood Beltane, unhelmed, staring dazedly from heaving
+earth to reeling heaven; yet, of a sudden, shook aloft the fragment of
+his splintered lance and laughed fierce and loud, to behold, 'twixt
+reeling earth and sky, a great roan stallion that foamed upon his bit
+'neath sharp-drawn rein, as, swaying sideways from the lofty saddle,
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere crashed to earth, transfixed through shield
+and hauberk, through breast and back, upon the shaft of a broken lance.
+High over him leapt Beltane, to catch the roan's loose bridle, to swing
+himself up, and so, with stirrups flying and amid a sudden clamour of
+roaring voices, to thunder down the lists where Roger's heavy sword
+flashed, as smiting right and left, he stooped and swung the maid
+Mellent before him.
+
+"Ride, Roger--ride! Spur--spur!" shouted Beltane above the gathering
+din, and shouting, drew his sword, for now before them, steel glittered
+and cries rang upon the air:
+
+"'Tis Beltane the outlaw! Seize him--slay him! 'Tis the outlaw!"
+
+But knee and knee, with loose rein and goading spur rode they, and
+nought could avail and none were quick enough to stay that headlong
+gallop; side by side they thundered over the ling, and knee and knee
+they leapt the barrier, bursting through bewildered soldiery,
+scattering frighted country-folk, and so away, over gorse and heather
+and with arrows, drawn at a venture, whistling by them. Betimes they
+reached the shelter of the woods, and turning, Beltane beheld a
+confusion of armed men, a-horse and a-foot, what time borne upon the
+air came a sound hoarse and menacing, a sound dreadful to hear--the
+sound of the hue and cry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+
+Fast they galloped 'neath the trees, stooping ever and anon to avoid
+some low-swung branch; through grassy rides and sunny glades, until all
+sound of pursuit was died away. So, turning aside into the denser
+green, Beltane stayed, and sprang down to tighten the great roan's
+saddle-girths, strained in the encounter. Now as he was busied thus,
+came the maid Mellent, very pale 'neath her long black hair, and spake
+him low-voiced and humble:
+
+"My lord Beltane, thou, at peril of thy body, hath saved to-day a
+sorrowful maid from the fiery torment. So to prove my gratitude and
+sorrow for past ill--now will I tell thee that in saving me, thou hast
+saved one that for ambition's sake, once did thee grievous wrong."
+
+"Thou!" saith Beltane, staring in amaze, "ne'er hast thou seen me until
+this day!"
+
+"Verily, messire--O messire, thou hast indeed seen me ere this and--to
+my bitter sorrow--for I who speak am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Nay--nay--" stammered Beltane, "here is thing impossible--thy
+night-black hair--"
+
+"'Tis but a wile that many women do know, messire, a device of the
+witch Jolette (that is no witch, but a noble woman) a device whereby I
+might lie hid awhile. O indeed, indeed I who speak to thee am the
+wicked Winfrida--Winfrida the Sorrowful!" Now herewith she sank before
+him on her knees and bowed her face within her hands, and Beltane saw
+that she trembled greatly. "My lord," she whispered, "now must I
+confess a thing beyond all words shameful, and though I fear death, I
+fear thy anger more. If, therefore, when I have spoke thee all, thou
+wilt slay me, then--O my lord--I pray thee--let death come swift--"
+
+"Master!" cried Roger of a sudden, "I hear horses--they be after us
+already! Mount--mount and let us ride--Hark! they come this way!"
+
+"Aye!" nodded Beltane, drawing his sword, "yet here is but one
+methinks--list, Roger--leave him to me!" So waited they all three, what
+time the slow-pacing hoofs drew near and nearer, until, peering through
+the leaves, they beheld a knight, who rode low-stooping in his saddle,
+to mark their tracks plain upon the tender grass. Forth stepped
+Beltane, fierce and threatening, his long sword agleam, and so paused
+to scowl, for the knight raised his head of a sudden and lo! 'twas Sir
+Fidelis.
+
+"Now what seek ye here, sir knight?" saith Beltane, nothing gentle.
+
+"Thee, my lord," quoth Fidelis, meek of aspect, "to share thy perils
+according to thy word. Put up thy sword, messire, thou wilt not harm
+thy companion in arms?"
+
+Now Beltane, finding nought to say, scowled sulkily to earth, and thus
+saw nothing of the eyes so deep and tender that watched him 'neath the
+shadow of the young knight's bascinet, nor the smile so sad and wistful
+that curled his ruddy lips, nor all the lithe and slender grace of him
+as he swayed to the impatient movements of the powerful animal he
+bestrode; but it chanced that Winfrida's eyes saw all this, and being a
+woman's eyes, beheld that which gave her breathing sudden pause--turned
+her red--turned her pale, until, with a gasp of fear she started, and
+uttering a cry, low and inarticulate, sped fleet-footed across the
+glade and was gone.
+
+Quoth Beltane, staring:
+
+"Now what aileth the maid, think ye? But 'tis no matter--we are well
+quit of her, meseemeth." So saying, he turned to behold Roger flat upon
+his belly and with his ear to the ground.
+
+"Master," cried he, "master, there be horsemen i' the forest
+hereabouts--a great company!"
+
+"Why then, do you mount, Roger, and hie thee with Sir Fidelis hot-foot
+to Walkyn at Hundleby Fen. Bid him set our bowmen in every place of
+vantage, and let every man stand to arms. So mayhap, Roger, will we
+this day make hunted men of them that hunt!" So saying, Beltane swung
+to saddle.
+
+"Aye--aye--but what o' thee, master?"
+
+"Mark ye this horse, Roger. Thou hast said 'twas of good speed and
+endurance, and methinks 'tis sooth. Howbeit, now shall he prove thy
+word, for here I wait the hunters, and to-day will I, keeping ever out
+of bow-shot, lead them through every quag, every bog and marsh 'twixt
+here and Hundleby Fen, and of those that follow still, thou and Walkyn
+and our merry men shall make an end, I pray God. So let all lie well
+hid, and watch for my coming. And now--farewell to thee, Roger."
+
+"But, master," quoth Roger, waxing rueful, "in this thou must run dire
+perils and dangers, and I not with thee. So pray thee let Sir Fidelis--
+hard!--Ha!--now God aid us--hark to that! Master, they've loosed the
+dogs on us!"
+
+Even as he spake, very faint and far as yet but plain to hear above the
+leafy stirring, the deep baying of a hound came down the wind.
+
+"Hunting-dogs, master! Ride--ride!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him,
+"O sweet Christ forgive me, for I have hunted down poor rogues with
+such ere now--"
+
+"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit,
+ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and
+whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go--obey
+me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger
+perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his
+eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir
+Fidelis:
+
+"How, messire--are ye not gone?"
+
+Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:
+
+"Thou seest, my lord--I go beside thee according to thy word--"
+
+"Presumptuous youth, I want thee not!"
+
+"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord--and I can be patient--"
+
+"Ha--dost defy me?"
+
+"Not so, my lord--nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than
+thyself, so do I pity thee--pity thee--thou that art so mighty and yet
+so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go
+beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a noble
+man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies--God send they
+soon may pass. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."
+
+Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed
+his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever
+averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce
+baying of the hounds.
+
+Said Beltane at last:
+
+"Messire, thou dost hear the hounds?"
+
+"In faith, my lord, I tremble to be gone, but an thou dost tarry, so
+must I."
+
+"Death shall follow hard after us this day, Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Why then, an death o'ertake us--I must die, messire."
+
+"Ha,--the hounds have winded us already, methinks! Hark!--Hark to
+them!" And in truth the air was full of their raving clamour, with,
+ever and anon, the shouts and cries of those that urged them on.
+
+"Hast a noble horse, Sir Fidelis. Now God send he bear thee well this
+day, for 'twill be hard and cruel going. Come--'tis time, methinks!"
+
+Thus speaking, Beltane gave his horse the rein and forth they rode
+together out into the broad and open glade, their armour glinting in
+the sun; and immediately the dogs gave tongue, louder, fiercer than
+before. Now looking back. Beltane beheld afar many mounted men who
+shouted amain, flourishing lance and sword, while divers others let
+slip the great dogs they held in leash; then, looking up the glade
+ahead, and noting its smooth level and goodly length, Beltane smiled
+grimly and drew sword. "Sir Fidelis," said he, "hast a mace at thy
+saddle-bow: betake thee to it, 'tis a goodly weapon, and--smite hard.
+'Twill be the dogs first. Now--spur!"
+
+Forward bounded the two high-mettled steeds, gathering pace with every
+stride, but the great hounds came on amain, while beyond, distant as
+yet, the hunters rode--knight and squire, mounted bowman and man-at-arms
+they spurred and shouted, filling the air with fierce halloo.
+Slowly the hounds drew nearer--ten great beasts Beltane counted--that
+galloped two and two, whining and whimpering as they came.
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane checked in his career, swerved, swung the
+plunging roan, and with long blade agleam, rode in upon the racing pack
+to meet their rush with deadly point and deep-biting edge; a slavering
+hound launched itself at his throat, its fangs clashing on the stout
+links of his camail, but as the great beast hung thus, striving to drag
+him from the saddle, down came the mace of Sir Fidelis and the snarling
+beast fell to be crushed 'neath the trampling hoofs of the war-horse
+Mars. And now did the mighty roan prove himself a very Mars indeed,
+for, beset round about by fierce, lean shapes that crouched and leapt
+with cruel, gleaming fangs, he stamped and reared and fought them off,
+neighing loud defiance. Thus, with lashing hoof, with whirling mace and
+darting sword fought they, until of the hounds there none remained save
+three that limped painfully to cover, licking their hurts as they went.
+
+But other foes were near, for as Beltane reined his snorting steed
+about, he swayed in his stirrups 'neath the shock of a cross-bow bolt
+that glanced, whirring, from his bascinet, and in that moment Sir
+Fidelis cried aloud:
+
+"My lord, my lord! alas, my poor horse is death-smitten!" Glancing
+round. Beltane beheld Sir Fidelis slip to earth as his charger, rearing
+high, crashed over, his throat transfixed by a cloth-yard shaft. Now
+did their many pursuers shout amain, fierce and joyful, goading their
+horses to swifter pace what time Beltane frowned from them to Sir
+Fidelis, who stood, mailed hands tight-clasped, watching Beltane eager
+and great-eyed.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, smiting hand to thigh in bitter anger, "now is my
+hope of ambush and surprise like to be marred by reason of thee, sir
+knight, for one horse may never carry us twain!"
+
+"Why then, I can die here, my lord, an it be so thy will!" spake Sir
+Fidelis, his pale lips a tremble, "yet is thy horse strong and--O in
+sooth I did yearn--for life. But, an thou wilt give me death--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane hoarsely. "Come, wherefore tarry ye?"
+
+Now leapt Sir Fidelis to the saddle of his fallen steed and snatched
+thence a wallet, whereat Beltane fell a-fuming, for bolts and arrows
+began to whirr and hum thick and fast. "Come--mount, sir knight--mount
+ye up behind me. Thy hand--quick! thy foot on my foot--so! Now set thy
+two arms fast about me and see thou loose me not, for now must we ride
+for the wild--brush and thicket, stock and stone, nought must let or
+stay us--so loose me not, sir knight!"
+
+"Ah--not while life remain, messire Beltane!" said the young knight
+quick-breathing, and speaking, took Beltane within two mailed arms that
+clasped and clung full close. Then, wheeling sharp about, Beltane
+stooping low, struck sudden spurs and they plunged, crashing, into the
+denser green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+
+Fast galloped the good horse, bursting through underbrush and thicket
+with the roar of the pursuit following ever distant and more distant;
+and ever Beltane spurred deeper into those trackless wilds where few
+dare adventure them by reason of evil spirits that do haunt these
+solitudes (as they do say) and, moreover, of ravening beasts.
+
+Strongly and well the good horse bore them, what time the sun waxed
+fierce and hot, filling the woods with a stifling heat, a close,
+windless air dank and heavy with the scent of leaves and bracken. The
+hue and cry had sunk long since, lost in distance, and nought broke the
+brooding silence but the stir of their going, as, checking their
+headlong pace, Beltane brought the powerful animal to slow and leisured
+gait. And presently, a gentle wind arose, that came and went, to fan
+brow and cheek and temper the sun's heat.
+
+And now, as they rode through sunlight and shadow, Beltane felt his
+black mood slowly lifted from him and knew a sense of rest, a content
+unfelt this many a day; he looked, glad-eyed, upon the beauty of the
+world about him, from green earth to an azure heaven peeping through a
+fretted screen of branches; he marked the graceful, slender bracken
+stirring to the soft-breathing air, the mighty boles of stately trees
+that reached out sinuous boughs one to another, to touch and twine
+together amid a mystery of murmuring leaves. All this he saw, yet
+heeded not at all the round-mailed arms that clasped him in their soft
+embrace, nor the slender hands that held upon his girdle.
+
+So rode they through bosky dell and dingle, until the sun, having
+climbed the meridian, sank slowly westwards; and Sir Fidelis spake
+soft-voiced:
+
+"Think you we are safe at last, my lord?"
+
+"Fidelis," saith Beltane, "Yest're'en did'st thou name me selfish,
+to-day, a babe, and, moreover, by thy disobedience hast made my schemes
+of no avail--thus am I wroth with thee."
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine, my lord," said Sir Fidelis, small of voice.
+
+"Ha--think you my anger so light a thing, forsooth?"
+
+"Messire, I think of it not at all."
+
+"By thy evil conduct are we fugitives in the wilderness!"
+
+"Yet is it a wondrous fair place, messire, and we unharmed--which is
+well, and we are--together, which is--also well."
+
+"And with but one beast to bear us twain!"
+
+"Yet he beareth us strong and nobly, messire!"
+
+"Fidelis, I would I ne'er had seen thee."
+
+"Thou dost not see me--now, lord--content you, therefore," saith
+Fidelis softly, whereat Beltane must needs twist in the saddle, yet saw
+no more than a mailed arm and shoulder.
+
+"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the
+middle of any other man than I."
+
+"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine
+for solitude?"
+
+"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast
+angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"
+
+"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be
+full long a-growing old--"
+
+"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do
+raven--"
+
+"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou,
+forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore
+here?"
+
+"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou
+wilt!"
+
+"Am I of so ill humour, indeed?"
+
+"Look within thyself, my lord."
+
+Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him
+again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy
+voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that
+mindeth me of bitter days."
+
+"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."
+
+Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis,
+head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved
+to wistful smile.
+
+"Came you in sooth from--the Duchess Helen, Fidelis?"
+
+"In truth, my lord."
+
+"Dost love her--also?"
+
+"Aye, my lord--also!"
+
+"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee
+to thy death, methinks, for she--this wilful Helen--"
+
+"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"
+
+"Fidelis, art a gentle knight--but very young, art fond and foolish,
+so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"
+
+"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this--that I
+do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus--
+give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping--stoop not to her
+wanton lure--ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had
+sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking
+him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.
+
+"Shame, messire--O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with
+lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen,
+I do name thee liar!--liar!"
+
+"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Fidelis, "unworthy art thou to take her name within thy
+lips--enough!" So saying Sir Fidelis stepped back a pace and drew his
+sword.
+
+Now Beltane, yet astride the mighty roan that snuffed the fragrant air
+and stooped to crop the tender herbage, looked upon the youthful
+paladin 'neath wrinkled brow, and pulled his lip as one in doubt. Anon
+he sighed and therewith smiled and shook his head.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"O Fidelis, now do I see that I must needs love thee some day. Fidelis,
+art a fool, but a right sweet fool, so do I humbly sue thy foolish
+pardon, and, as to Helen, may she prove worthy thy sweet faith and I
+thy love and friendship. So, fair knight, put up thy sword--come, mount
+and let us on. Sir Mars, methinks, doth snuff water afar, and I do
+yearn me for the cool of it."
+
+So in a while they rode on again, yet presently Sir Fidelis, meek-voiced,
+preferred a sudden question, thus:
+
+"Lord, fain would I know why thou dost contemn her so--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "here is a tale un-meet thy tender years. Speak
+we of other things--as thus, wherefore didst keep our lives in jeopardy
+to bring away the wallet that cumbereth thy hip?"
+
+"For that within doth lie, first--our supper--"
+
+"O foolish youth, these woods do teem with food!"
+
+"A neat's tongue, delicately seasoned--"
+
+"O!" said Beltane.
+
+"'Twixt manchets of fair white bread--"
+
+"Ah!" said Beltane.
+
+"With a small skin of rare wine--"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Beltane. "These be things forsooth worth a little
+risk. Now do I thirst and famish, yet knew it not."
+
+"An thou wilt eat, my lord?"
+
+"Nay, first will we find some freshet where we may bathe awhile. Ha, to
+plunge naked within some sweet pool--'tis a sweet thought, Fidelis?"
+
+But hereupon the young knight made answer none and fell into a reverie
+and Beltane also, what time they rode by murmuring rills, through
+swampy hollows, past brake and briar, until, as evening began to fall,
+they came unto a broad, slow-moving stream whose waters, aglow with
+sunset glory, split asunder the greeny gloom of trees, most pleasant to
+behold. Then, sighing for very gladness, Beltane checked his horse and
+spake right gleefully:
+
+"Light down, light down, good Fidelis; ne'er saw I fairer haven for
+wearied travellers! We have ridden hard and far, so here will we tarry
+the night!" and down to earth he sprang, to stride up and down and
+stretch his cramped limbs, the while Sir Fidelis, loosing off the
+great, high-peaked saddle, led the foam-flecked war-horse down to the
+water.
+
+Now because of the heat, Beltane laid by his bascinet, and, hearkening
+to the soft, cool ripple of the water, he straightway unbuckled his
+sword-belt and began to doff his heavy hauberk; perceiving the which,
+cometh Sir Fidelis to him something hastily.
+
+"What do you, messire?" he questioned.
+
+"Do, Fidelis? Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water--list
+how it murmureth 'neath the bank yonder. Come then, strip as I do,
+youth, strip and let us swim together--pray you aid me with this
+lacing."
+
+"My lord, I--indeed, I do think it unsafe--"
+
+"Unsafe, boy?"
+
+"An our foes should come upon us--"
+
+"O content you," quoth Beltane, stooping to loose off his spurs, "our
+foes were lost hours since, nor shall any find us here in the wild,
+methinks--pray you, loose me this buckle. Come, list how the waters do
+woo us with their pretty babble."
+
+"But, messire," quoth Fidelis, faint-voiced, and fumbling awkwardly
+with the buckle, "indeed I--I have no art in swimming."
+
+"Then will I teach thee."
+
+"Nay," spake the young knight hastily, his trouble growing, "I do dread
+the water!"
+
+"Well, there be shallows 'neath the alders yonder."
+
+"Aye, but the shallows will be muddy, and I--"
+
+"Muddy?" cried Beltane, pausing with his hauberk half on, half off, to
+stare at Sir Fidelis in amaze, "muddy, forsooth! Art a dainty youth in
+faith, and over-nice, methinks. What matter for a little honest mud,
+prithee?"
+
+"Why 'tis mud! And slimy under foot! And I love not mud! So will I none
+of the shallows!"
+
+"Then verily must I chide thee, Fidelis, for--"
+
+"Then verily will I unto yon boskage, messire, to prepare us a fire
+'gainst the 'beasts that raven,' and our bracken beds. Howbeit, bathe
+me I--will--not, messire!"
+
+"O luxurious youth, then will I, and shame thy nice luxuriousness!"
+quoth Beltane; and off came hauberk and quilted gambeson and away
+skipped Sir Fidelis into the green.
+
+So, presently, Beltane plunged him into the stream, and swimming with
+powerful strokes, felt his youth and strength redoubled thereby, and
+rejoiced to be alive. Thereafter he leapt ashore, his blood aglow with
+ardent life, and, as he clothed him, felt a great and mighty hunger.
+
+But scarce had he donned chausses and gambeson than he heard an outcry
+and sudden clamour within the green; whereupon, staying not for his
+armour, he caught up his sword and, unsheathing it as he ran, plunged
+in among the trees and there espied Sir Fidelis stoutly withstanding
+three foul knaves unwashed and ragged. Then shouted Beltane, and fell
+upon them right joyously and smote them gleefully and laughed to see
+them reel and scatter before his sudden onset; whereon, beholding Sir
+Fidelis pale and scant of breath, he stayed to clap him on the
+shoulder.
+
+"Blithely done, good Fidelis!" quoth he. "Rest thee awhile and catch
+thy wind, for fain am I to try a bout with yon tall rogues!" So saying,
+he advanced upon the scowling three, his eyes a-dance, his nimble feet
+light-poised for swift action--for lusty rogues were these, who,
+seeing him alone, forthwith met him point and edge, besetting him with
+many swashing blows, that, whistling, did but cleave the empty air or
+rang loud upon his swift-opposing blade. So hewed they, and smote amain
+until their brows shone moist and their breaths waxed short; whereat
+Beltane mocked them, saying:
+
+"Ha--sweat ye, forsooth? Do ye puff so soon? This cometh of foul eating
+and fouler life. Off--off! ye beefy do-nothings! An ye would be worthy
+fighters, eat less and bathe ye more!" Then Beltane laid on with the
+flat of his heavy sword and soundly belaboured these hard-breathing
+knaves, insomuch that one, hard-smitten on the crown, stumbled and
+fell, whereupon his comrades, to save their bones, leapt forthwith
+a-down the steepy bank and, plunging into the stream, made across to the
+farther side, splashing prodigiously, and cursing consumedly, for the
+water they liked not at all.
+
+Now as Beltane leaned him on his sword, watching their flounderings
+joyful-eyed, the weapon was dashed from his loosened hold, he staggered
+'neath the bite of vicious steel, and, starting round, beheld the third
+rogue, his deadly sword swung high; but even as the blow fell, Sir
+Fidelis sprang between and took it upon his own slender body, and,
+staggering aside, fell, and lay with arms wide-tossed. Then, whiles the
+robber yet stared upon his sword, shivered by the blow, Beltane leapt,
+and ere he could flee, caught him about the loins, and whirling him
+aloft, dashed him out into the stream. Then, kneeling by Sir Fidelis,
+he took his heavy head upon his arm and beheld his cheeks pale and wan,
+his eyes fast shut, and saw his shining bascinet scored and deep-dinted
+by the blow.
+
+"Fidelis!" he groaned, "O my brave Fidelis, and art thou slain--for my
+sake?" But in a while, what time Beltane kneeled and mourned over him
+full sore, the young knight stirred feebly, sighed, and spake.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered; and again, "Beltane!" Anon his white lids
+quivered, and, opening swooning eyes he spake again with voice grown
+stronger:
+
+"My lord--my lord--what of thy wound?"
+
+And lo! the voice was sweet to hear as note of merle or mavis; these
+eyes were long and deeply blue beneath their heavy lashes; eyes that
+looked up, brimful of tenderness, ere they closed slow and wearily;
+eyes so much at odds with grim bascinet and close-laced camail that
+Beltane must needs start and hold his breath and fall to sudden
+trembling what time Sir Fidelis lay there, pale and motionless, as one
+that is dead. Now great fear came upon Beltane, and he would have
+uttered desperate prayers, but could not; trembling yet, full gently he
+drew his arm from under that drooping head, and, stealing soft-footed
+to the river's marge, stood there staring down at the rippling waters,
+and his heart was rent with conflicting passions--amazement, fear,
+anger, joy, and a black despair. And of a sudden Beltane fell upon his
+knees and bowed him low and lower until his burning brow was hid in the
+cool, sweet grass--for of these passions, fiercest, strongest, wildest,
+was--despair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+Now in a while, he started to feel a hand among his hair, and the hand
+was wondrous light and very gentle; wherefore, wondering, he raised his
+head, but behold, the sun was gone and the shadows deepening to night.
+Yet even so, he stared and thrilled 'twixt wonder and fear to see Sir
+Fidelis bending over him.
+
+"Fidelis!" he murmured, "and is it thee in truth,--or do I dream?"
+
+"Dear my lord, 'tis I indeed. How long hast lain thus? I did but now
+wake from my swoon. Is it thy hurt?--suffer me to look."
+
+"Nay, 'tis of none account, but I did dream thee--dead--Fidelis!"
+
+"Ah, messire, thy hurt bleedeth apace--the steel hath gone deep! Sit
+you thus, thy back against the tree--so. Within my wallet I have a
+salve--wait you here." So, whiles Beltane stared dreamily upon the
+twilit river, Sir Fidelis hasted up the bank and was back again, the
+wallet by his side, whence he took a phial and goblet and mixed therein
+a draught which dreamy Beltane perforce must swallow, and thereafter
+the dreamy languor fell from him, what time Sir Fidelis fell to bathing
+and bandaging the ugly gash that showed beneath his knee. Now as he
+watched these busy, skilful fingers he knew a sudden, uneasy qualm,
+and forthwith spake his thought aloud:
+
+"Thy hands are wondrous--small and slender, Sir Fidelis!"
+
+"Belike, messire, they shall grow bigger some day."
+
+"Yet are they wondrous fair--and soft--and white, Fidelis!"
+
+"Mayhap, messire, they shall grow rough and brown and hairy anon--so
+content you."
+
+"Yet wherefore are they so soft, Fidelis, and so--maid-like? And
+wherefore--"
+
+"See you, my lord, thus must the bandage lie, fast-knotted--so. Nor
+must it slacken, lest the bleeding start afresh." So saying, Sir
+Fidelis arose, and taking the wallet in one hand and setting the other
+'neath Beltane's arm, led him to where, deep-bowered under screening
+willows, a fire burned cheerily, whereby were two beds of scented
+bracken.
+
+Dark and darker the shadows crept down, deepening to a night soft and
+warm and very still, whose quietude was unbroken save for the drowsy
+lap and murmur of the river and the sound the war-horse Mars made as he
+cropped the grass near by. Full of a languorous content lay Beltane,
+despite the smarting of his wound, what time Sir Fidelis came and went
+about the fire; and there, within this great and silent wilderness,
+they supped together, and, while they supped, Beltane looked oft upon
+Sir Fidelis, heedful of every trick of mail-girt feature and gesture of
+graceful hand as he ne'er had been ere now. Wherefore Sir Fidelis grew
+red, grew pale, was by turns talkative and silent, and was fain to
+withdraw into the shadows beyond the fire. And from there, seeing
+Beltane silent and full of thought, grew bold to question him.
+
+"Dost meditate our course to-morrow, my lord Beltane?"
+
+"Nay--I do but think--a strange thought--that I have seen thy face ere
+now, Fidelis. Yet art full young to bear arms a-field."
+
+"Doth my youth plague thee still, messire? Believe me, I am--older than
+I seem."
+
+"Thou, at peril of thy life, Fidelis, didst leap 'twixt me and death,
+so needs must I know thee for my friend, and yet--"
+
+"And yet, messire?"
+
+"Thou hast betimes the look and speech of one--of one beyond all
+traitors vile!"
+
+"Ah," murmured Sir Fidelis, a sudden tremor in his voice, "thou dost
+mean--?"
+
+"Helen of Mortain--poor Fidelis--whom thou dost love."
+
+"Whom thou dost hate, Beltane! And O, I pray thee, wherefore is thy
+hate so bitter?"
+
+"Fidelis, there lived a fool, that, for her beauty, loved her with a
+mighty love: that, for her seeming truth and purity, honoured her
+beyond all things: that, in the end, did find her beyond all things
+vile. Aye, there lived a fool--and I am he."
+
+"Ah, beseech thee," cried Sir Fidelis, white hands outstretched, "how
+know you her thus false to thee, Beltane?"
+
+"Know then, Sir Fidelis, that--upon our wedding-eve I was--by her
+command struck down--within the chapel--upon the very altar, and by
+her borne in bonds unto Garthlaxton Keep--a present to mine enemy, Duke
+Ivo--"
+
+"O, 'tis a lie--O dear my lord--'tis lie most foul--!"
+
+"In witness whereof behold upon my wrists the shameful irons from my
+dungeon--"
+
+"Alas! here was no work of Helen's--no thought, no will--Helen would
+have died to save thee this--"
+
+"So, Fidelis, do I scorn all women that do live upon this earth
+henceforth--but, above all, Helen the Beautiful! the Wilful! who in her
+white bosom doth bear a heart more foul than Trojan Helen, that was a
+woman false and damned. So now, all's said."
+
+Now fell Sir Fidelis upon his knees and spake quick and passionate:
+
+"Nay, Beltane, hear me! For now do I swear that he who told thee 'twas
+Helen wrought thee this vile wrong--who told thee this doth lie--O,
+doth lie! Now do I swear that never by word or thought or deed, hath
+she been false to thee--I do swear she loveth thee--ah, spurn me not--
+O, believe--"
+
+"Enough--enough, good Fidelis, perjure not thy sweet youth for one so
+much unworthy, for with these eyes did I behold her as they bore me in
+my bonds--and shall I not believe mine eyes?"
+
+"Never--ah! never, when they do shew thee Helen false and cruel to
+thee! Here was some vile magic--witchcraft--"
+
+"Enough, Fidelis, 'tis past and done. Here was a woman false--well,
+'tis none so singular--there have been others--there will be others.
+So, God keep thee, sweet youth, from the ways of women. Nay, let us
+speak of this no more, for in sooth I grow a-weary and we must ride
+with the dawn to-morrow. So, betake thee to thy rest, nor grieve thee
+for my sorrows past and done--mayhap they shall be things to smile upon
+one day."
+
+So saying, Beltane sighed, and laid him down among the bracken and
+thereafter Fidelis did the like; the fire sank and waned, and oft Sir
+Fidelis stirred restless in the shadows; the river murmured
+slumberously among the sedge, but Beltane, hearkening with drowsy ears,
+oft thought to hear another sound, very soft and repressed yet very
+dolorous, ere, worn and spent, and something weakened by wound and loss
+of blood, he sank at last to deep and gentle sleep.
+
+But in his sleep he dreamed that one knelt above him in the dark,
+keeping watch upon his slumbers in the attitude of one in prayer--one
+whom he knew, yet knew not; it seemed to Beltane in his dream, that
+this silent, slender shape, stooped of a sudden, low and lower, to kiss
+the iron fetters that bound his wrists; then Beltane strove to wake yet
+could not wake, but in his slumber sighed a name, soft-breathed and
+gentle as the languorous murmur of the stream:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+
+The rising sun, darting an inquisitive beam 'twixt a leafy opening,
+fell upon Beltane's wide, slow-heaving breast; crept upwards to his
+chin, his cheek, and finally strove to peep beneath his slumberous,
+close-shut lids; whereat Beltane stirred, yawned, threw wide and
+stretched his mighty arms, and thereafter, blinking drowsily, sat up,
+his golden hair be-tousled, and stared sleepily about him.
+
+Birds piped joyously near and far; hid among the leaves near by, the
+war-horse Mars stamped eager hoof and snuffed the fragrant air of
+morning; but Sir Fidelis was nowhere to be seen. Thus in a while
+Beltane arose to find his leg very stiff and sore, and his throat be
+parched with feverish thirst; wherefore, limping painfully, he turned
+where a little water-brook went singing o'er pebbly bed to join the
+slow-moving river; but, putting aside the leaves, he paused of a
+sudden, for there, beside the noisy streamlet he beheld Sir Fidelis,
+his bascinet upon the grass beside him, his mail-coif thrown back
+betwixt his shoulders, stooping to bathe his face in the sparkling
+water.
+
+Now would he have called a greeting, but the words died upon his lips,
+his breath stayed, and he stared at something that had caught in the
+links of the young knight's mail-coif, something that stirred light and
+wanton, kissed by the breath of early morn--a lock of bright hair that
+glowed a wondrous red-gold in the new-risen sun. So stood Beltane
+awhile, and, beholding this, a trembling seized him and therewith
+sudden anger, and he strode forth of the leaves. And lo! on the
+instant, on went hood of mail and thereafter shining bascinet, and Sir
+Fidelis arose. But, ere he could turn, Beltane was beside him, had
+caught him within a powerful arm, and, setting a hand 'neath mailed
+chin, lifted the young knight's head and scowled down into his face.
+
+Eyes long, black-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his,
+wide, yet fearless, and anon, were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids;
+a nose tenderly aquiline, lips red and full that met in ripe and
+luscious curves. This Beltane saw, and straightway his anger grew.
+
+"Ah!" cried he, hoarsely, "now, by the living God, who art thou, and--
+what?"
+
+"Thy--comrade-in-arms, lord Beltane."
+
+"Why hast thou the seeming of one beyond all women false? Why dost thou
+speak me betimes in her voice, look at me with her eyes, touch me with
+her soft, white, traitor's hands--answer me!"
+
+"My lord, we are akin, she and I--of the same house and blood--"
+
+"Then is thy blood foul with treachery!"
+
+"Yet did I save thy life, Beltane!"
+
+"Yet thy soft voice, thy red mouth and false eyes--thy very blood--all
+these do prove thee traitor--hence!" and Beltane threw him off.
+
+"Nay my lord!" he cried, "prithee take care, Beltane,--see--thou hast
+displaced the bandage, thy wound bleedeth amain--so will I bind it up
+for thee--"
+
+But Beltane, nothing heeding, turned and strode back into the green and
+there fell to donning his armour as swiftly as he might--albeit
+stealthily. Thereafter came he to the destrier Mars and, having saddled
+and bridled him with the same swift stealth, set foot in stirrup and
+would have mounted, yet found this a painful matter by reason of his
+wound; thus it befell, that, ere he could reach the saddle, the leaves
+parted close by and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane, why dost thou steal away thus? An it be thy will to
+leave me to perish alone here in the wilderness, first break thy fast,
+and suffer me to bind up thy hurt, so shalt thou ride hence in
+comfort." Now stood Beltane motionless and silent, nor turned nor dared
+he look upon Sir Fidelis, but bowed his head in bitter shame, and,
+therewith, knew a great remorse.
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," said he at last, "thy rebuke stingeth deep, for it is
+just, since I indeed did purpose thee a most vile thing! How vile a
+thing, then, am I--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--dear my lord, I would not have thee grieve, indeed 'twas
+but--"
+
+"Once ere this I would have slain thee, Fidelis--murdered thee before
+my wild fellows--I--I, that did preach them mercy and gentleness! To-day
+I would have left thee to perish alone within this ravening
+wilderness--that do bear so honourable a name! O Beltane, my father!
+Yet, believe me, I did love honour once, and was accounted gentle. I
+did set forth to do great things, but now--now do I know myself unfit
+and most unworthy. Therefore, Sir Fidelis, do thou take the horse and
+what thou wilt beside and leave me here, for fain am I to end my days
+within these solitudes with no eye to see me more--save only the eye of
+God!" So saying, Beltane went aside, and sitting 'neath a tree beside
+the river, bowed his head upon his hands and groaned; then came Sir
+Fidelis full swift, and stooping, touched his bowed head with gentle
+hand, whereat he but groaned again.
+
+"God pity me!" quoth he, "I am in sooth so changed, meseemeth some vile
+demon doth possess me betimes!" and, sighing deep, he gazed upon the
+rippling waters wide-eyed and fearful. And, as he sat thus, abashed
+and despairing, Sir Fidelis, speaking no word, bathed and bound up his
+wound, and, thereafter brought and spread forth their remaining viands.
+
+"Eat," said he gently, "come, let us break our fast, mayhap thy sorrows
+shall grow less anon. Come, eat, I pray thee, Beltane, for none will I
+eat alone and, O, I famish!"
+
+So they ate together, whiles the war-horse Mars, pawing impatient
+hoof, oft turned his great head to view them with round and wistful
+eye.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane suddenly, "thou didst name me selfish, and
+verily, a selfish man am I--and to-day! O Fidelis, why dost not
+reproach me for the evil I purposed thee to-day?"
+
+"For that I do most truly love thee, Beltane my lord!"
+
+"Yet wherefore did ye so yesterday, and for lesser fault?"
+
+"For that I did love thee, so would I see thee a strong man--yet
+gentle: a potent lord, yet humble: a noble man as--as thou wert said to
+be!"
+
+"Alas, my Fidelis, harsh have I been, proud and unforgiving--"
+
+"Aye, my lord--thou art unforgiving--a little!"
+
+"So now, Fidelis, would I crave forgiveness of all men." Then came the
+young knight nearer yet, his face radiant with sudden joy, his white
+hands clasped.
+
+"Lord!" he whispered, "O Beltane, could'st indeed forgive all--all harm
+done thee, howsoever great or small thy mind doth hold them--could'st
+forgive all!"
+
+"Aye, I could forgive them all, Fidelis--all save Helen--who hath
+broke this heart of mine and made my soul a thing as black as she hath
+whited this my hair."
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane heard a sound--a small sound 'twixt a sob and a
+moan, but when he raised his heavy head--lo! Sir Fidelis was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+The sun rose high, jet still Beltane sat there beside the stream,
+staring down into the gurgling waters, grieving amain for his
+unworthiness.
+
+Thus presently comes Sir Fidelis, and standing afar, spake in voice
+strange and bitter:
+
+"What do ye there, my lord? Dost dream ever upon thy woes and ills?
+Wilt dream thy life away here amid the wild, forsooth?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, very humbly:
+
+"And wherefore not, Sir Fidelis? Unfit am I for great achievements.
+But, as to thee, take now the horse and ride you ever north and west--"
+
+"Yea, but where is north, and where west--?"
+
+"The trees shall tell you this. Hearken now--"
+
+"Nay, my lord, no forester am I to find my way through trackless wild.
+So, an thou stay, so, perforce, must I: and if thou stay then art thou
+deeply forsworn."
+
+"How mean you, good sir?"
+
+"I mean Belsaye--I mean all those brave souls that do wait and watch,
+pale-cheeked, 'gainst Ivo's threatened vengeance--"
+
+"Ha--Belsaye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head.
+
+"Thou must save Belsaye from flame and ravishment, my lord!"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," cried Beltane, clenching his hands, "though I be
+unworthy to stand in my noble father's place, yet Belsaye must be saved
+or I die in it. O Fidelis, friend art thou indeed and wise beyond thy
+years!" But as Beltane arose, Sir Fidelis incontinent turned away, and
+presently came back leading the great horse. So in a while they set out
+northwards; but now were no arms to clasp and cling, since Sir Fidelis
+found hold otherwhere. Thus, after some going, Beltane questioned him:
+
+"Art easy, Fidelis?"
+
+"Aye, lord!"
+
+"Wilt not take hold upon my belt, as yesterday?"
+
+"Methinks I am better thus."
+
+"Nay then, shalt have stirrups and saddle, for I am fain to walk."
+
+"And re-open thy wound, messire? Nay, let be--I ride easily thus."
+
+"Art angered with me, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord, I do but pity thee!"
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For thy so great loneliness--in all thy world is none but Beltane, and
+he is very woeful and dreameth ever of his wrongs--"
+
+"Would'st call me selfish again, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay, lord--a martyr. O, a very martyr that huggeth his chains and
+kisseth his wounds and joyeth in the recollection of his pain."
+
+"Have I not suffered, Fidelis?"
+
+"Thou hast known the jangling gloom of a dungeon--'twas at Garthlaxton
+Keep, methinks?"
+
+"Fetters!" cried Beltane, "a dungeon! These be things to smile at--my
+grief is of the mind--the deeper woe of high and noble ideals
+shattered--a holy altar blackened and profaned--a woman worshipped as
+divine, and proved baser than the basest!"
+
+"And is this all, my lord?"
+
+"All!" quoth Beltane amazed. "All!" saith he, turning to stare.
+
+"So much of woe and tribulation for so little reason? Nay, hear me, for
+now will I make thee a prophecy, as thus: There shall dawn a day, lord
+Beltane, when thou shalt see at last and know Truth when she stands
+before thee. And, in that day thou shalt behold all things with new
+eyes: and in that day shalt thou sigh, and long, and yearn with all thy
+soul for these woeful hours wherein Self looms for thee so large thou
+art blind to aught else."
+
+"Good Fidelis, thy prophecy is beyond my understanding."
+
+"Aye, my lord, 'tis so I think, indeed!"
+
+"Pray thee therefore rede and expound it unto me!"
+
+"Nay, time mayhap shall teach it thee, and thou, methinks shalt
+passionately desire again the solitude of this wilderness."
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"For that it shall be beyond thy reach--and mine!" and Fidelis sighed
+in deep and troubled fashion and so fell to silence, what time Beltane,
+cunning in wood-lore, glancing hither and thither at knotted branch and
+writhen tree bole, viewing earth and heaven with a forester's quick
+eye, rode on into the trackless wilds of the forest-lands.
+
+Now here, thinketh the historian, it booteth not to tell of all those
+minor haps and chances that befell them; how, despite all Beltane's
+wood-craft, they went astray full oft by reason of fordless rivers and
+quaking swamps: of how they snared game to their sustenance, or how,
+for all the care and skill of Sir Fidelis, Beltane's wound healed not,
+by reason of continual riding, for that each day he grew more restless
+and eager for knowledge of Belsaye, so that, because of his wound he
+knew small rest by day and a fevered sleep by night--yet, despite all,
+his love for Fidelis daily waxed and grew, what time he pressed on
+through the wild country, north-westerly.
+
+Five weary days and nights wandered they, lost to sight and knowledge
+within the wild; days of heat and nights of pain and travail, until
+there came an evening when, racked with anguish and faint with thirst
+and weariness, Beltane drew rein within a place of rocks whereby was a
+shady pool deep-bowered in trees. Down sprang Fidelis to look anxiously
+on Beltane's face, pale and haggard in the light of a great moon.
+
+Says Beltane, looking round about with knitted brow:
+
+"Fidelis--O Fidelis, methinks I know this place--these rocks--the pool
+yonder--there should be a road hereabout, the great road that leadeth
+to Mortain. Climb now the steep and tell me an you can see a road,
+running north and south."
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis climbed the rocky eminence, and, being there,
+cried right joyously:
+
+"Aye, lord--'tis the road--the road!" and so came hastily down,
+glad-eyed. "'Tis the end of this wilderness at last, my lord!"
+
+"Aye!" sighed Beltane, "at last!" and groaning, he swayed in the
+saddle--for his pain was very sore--and would have fallen but for the
+ready arms of Sir Fidelis. Thereafter, with much labour, Beltane got
+him to earth, and Fidelis brought him where, beneath the steep, was a
+shallow cave carpeted with soft moss, very excellent suited to their
+need. Here Beltane laid him down, watching a little cataract that
+rippled o'er the rocky bank near by, where ferns and lichens grew; what
+time Sir Fidelis came and went, and, having set fire a-going whereby to
+cook their supper, brought an armful of fragrant heather to set 'neath
+Beltane's weary head. Then, having given him to drink of the cordial,
+fell to work bathing and bandaging his wound, sighing often to see it
+so swollen and angry.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane, "methinks there is some magic in thy touch,
+for now is my pain abated--hast a wondrous gentle hand--"
+
+"'Tis the cordial giveth thee respite, lord--"
+
+"Nay, 'tis thy hand, methinks. Sure no man e'er was blest with truer
+friend than thou, my Fidelis; brave art thou, yet tender as any woman,
+and rather would I have thy love than the love of any man or woman
+soever, henceforth, dear my friend. Nay, wherefore hang thy head?
+without thee I had died many times ere this; without thy voice to cheer
+me in these solitudes, thy strength and skill to aid me, I had fallen
+into madness and death. Wherefore I do love thee, Fidelis, and fain
+would have thee go beside me ever--so great is become my need of thee."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou dost know I will ne'er desert thee!"
+
+"So henceforth am I content--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"To-morrow, perchance, shall see the end of this our solitude and close
+comradeship--to-morrow we should reach Hundleby Fen. So, Fidelis,
+promise me, if thou, at any time hereafter should see me harsh, or
+proud, or selfish--do thou mind me of these days of our love and
+companionship. Wilt promise me?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" spake Sir Fidelis, low-bending to his task; and thereafter
+sighed, and bowed him lower yet.
+
+"Wherefore dost thou sigh?"
+
+"For that I feel as if--ah, Beltane!--as if this night should be the
+end of our love and comradeship!"
+
+"Nought but death shall do this, methinks."
+
+"Why then," said Fidelis as he rose, "an it must be, fain would I have
+death."
+
+But when Beltane would have questioned him further he smiled sad and
+wistful and went forth to the fire. Up rose the moon, a thing of glory
+filling the warm, stilly night with a soft and radiant splendour--a
+tender light, fraught with a subtle magic, whereby all things, rock and
+tree and leaping brook, found a new and added beauty.
+
+And in some while comes Sir Fidelis to set out their viands, neat and
+orderly, as was ever his custom, and thereafter must needs chide
+Beltane, soft-voiced, for his lack of hunger, and cut dainty morsels,
+wooing him thereby to eat.
+
+"Fidelis," says Beltane, "on so fair a night as this, methinks, the old
+fables and romances might well be true that tell of elves that dance on
+moony nights, and of shapely nymphs and lovely dryads that are the
+spirits of the trees. Aye, in the magic of so fair a night as this
+aught might happen--miracles and wonders."
+
+"Save one thing, dear my lord."
+
+"As what, my Fidelis?"
+
+"That thou should'st dream Helen pure and faithful and worthy to thy
+love--that, doubting thine own senses, thou should'st yearn and sigh to
+hold her once again, heart on heart--"
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," quoth Beltane, sighing deep, "why wilt thou awake a
+sleeping sorrow? My love was dead long since, meseemeth, and buried in
+mine heart. O Fidelis, mine eyes, mine ears, my every sense do tell me
+she is false--so is an end of love for me henceforth."
+
+"Dear my lord," spake Fidelis, and his voice thrilled strangely in
+Beltane's ears--"O, Beltane, my lord, could'st thou but doubt thyself a
+little--could'st thou, doubting thine own senses for love's sake,
+believe her now true--true as thou would'st have her, then Love indeed
+might work for thee a miracle this night and thou be loved as man of
+god-like faith."
+
+"Nay, sweet Fidelis, I am but a man, apt to evil betimes and betimes
+seeking good. Howbeit, now am I a weary man that fain would sleep. Come
+then, lay you down here beside me where I may touch thee an I awake i'
+the night." And, lying down, Beltane beckoned Fidelis beside him.
+
+So in a while the young knight came and did as Beltane bade, and side
+by side they lay within the shelter of the little cave; and in the
+dark, Beltane set his mighty arm about him and thereafter spake,
+wondering:
+
+"Art not cold, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord."
+
+"Then why dost tremble?"
+
+"Indeed I know not--mayhap I grieved that--the age of miracles--is
+passed away."
+
+Now at this Beltane wondered the more and would fain have questioned
+him, but in that moment sighed, and fell to slumber. But in his sleep
+he dreamed that Fidelis was beset by foes and cried to him for aid,
+whereon he would have hasted to his deliverance yet could not for that
+unseen hands held him fast; then strove he amain against these griping
+hands, and so awaked in sudden terror and lay there trembling in the
+dark; and in the dark he reached out cautious hand further and further
+and so found himself alone--for the young knight was gone.
+
+Now being very sick with the fever of his wound, dread came upon him,
+fear seized and shook him, and, trembling in the dark he called aloud
+"Fidelis! Fidelis!" But no sound heard he save the ripple of the brook
+near by. Groaning, he arose and, limping forth of the cave stood in the
+glory of the moon, voiceless now by reason of his ever-growing terror;
+conscious only of his passionate desire to find again the youth whose
+gentle voice had cheered him often in the dark, whose high courage and
+tender care had never failed. So, leaning upon his great sword, Beltane
+limped through light and shadow, heedless of direction, until he was
+stayed by the waters of the pool.
+
+A faint splash, a rippling of the sleepy waters, and, out into the
+moonlight came one that swam the pool with long, easy strokes; one that
+presently leapt lightly ashore and stood there to shake down the
+unwetted glory of her hair. At first he thought this some enchanted
+pool and she the goddess of the place, but even then she turned, and
+thus at last--he knew. And in that moment also, she beheld him amid the
+leaves; tall and fair she stood, proud and maidenly, nor moved she,
+nor spake: only she shook about her loveliness the shining mantle of
+her hair. And beholding the reproachful sadness of those clear, virgin
+eyes, Beltane, abashed by her very beauty, bowed his head, and turning,
+stumbled away and thus presently finding himself within the cave, threw
+himself down and clasped his head within fierce hands. Yet, even so,
+needs must he behold the slim, white beauty of her, the rippling
+splendour of her hair, and the deep, shy sadness of her eyes, and,
+because of her beauty he trembled, and because of her falsity he
+groaned aloud.
+
+Now as he lay thus, after some while he heard a swift, light footfall,
+the whisper of mail, and knew that she stood above him; yet he heeded
+not, wherefore at last she spake, sweet-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Beltane--dear my lord, now dost thou know who is Fidelis, and thou
+didst--love Fidelis!" But Beltane stirred not, and finding him silent,
+she spake on, yet faltering a little:
+
+"When I waked from my swoon within the chapel at--at Blaen, and found
+thee gone, I, distraught with woeful fear and a most strange sickness,
+took thy sword and therewith horse and armour and in that same hour
+fled from Blaen, none knowing. Many days I rode seeking thee, until
+Love brought me to thee in the green. But, O Beltane, for those dire
+chances of our--wedding night, by what spells and witchcraft our
+happiness was changed to sorrow and dire amaze, I know no more than
+thou. Ah, Beltane--dear my lord--speak--speak to me!" And falling on
+her knees she would have lifted his head. But of a sudden he shrank
+away, and rose to his feet.
+
+"Touch me not, I am but a man and thou--art woman, and there is evil in
+thee, so touch me not with thy false, alluring hands. O, thou hast
+deceived me now as ever--As Fidelis did I love thee above all men, but
+for what thou art, I do despise thee--"
+
+But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her
+white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon
+with love and supplication.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "Beltane! Is thy great love dead in very truth?
+nay, indeed I know it liveth yet even as mine, and shall live on
+forever. I know--I have seen it leap within thine eyes, heard it in thy
+voice--and wherefore did'st thou love Fidelis? Look at me, Beltane! I
+can be as brave, as faithful and tender as Fidelis! Look at me!"
+
+But Beltane dared not look, and trembled because of her so great
+beauty, and fain would speak yet could not.
+
+Whereat she, yet upon her knees, drew nearer.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "trust me. Despite thyself, O, trust me--so
+shalt thou find happiness at last and Pentavalon an end to all her
+sorrows. Be thou my lord, my master--my dear love and husband--ride
+with me this night to my fair Mortain--"
+
+"To Mortain?" cried Beltane wildly, "aye, to Blaen, belike--to silken
+wantonings and to--death! Tempt me not, O witch--aye, witch that
+weaveth spells of her beauty--tempt me not I say, lest I slay thee to
+mine own defence, for I know thee beyond all women fair, yet would I
+slay thee first--" But, groaning, Beltane cast aside his sword and
+covered burning eyes with burning palms, yet shook as with an ague fit.
+
+The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head
+sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her
+with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet. Stumbling, he
+turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse
+Mars.
+
+"To Mortain shalt thou ride to-night--I pray thee mount!" cried he,
+"Come--mount, I say!"
+
+Standing tall and proud before him she sighed and spake deep-sorrowing:
+
+"Then will I leave thee--an it must be so. But, in days to come,
+mayhap, thou shalt grieve for this hour, Beltane, nor shall all thy
+sighs nor all thy tears avail to bring it back again. Thou hast shamed
+me oft, yet for all thy bitter scorns I do forgive thee, aye, even the
+anguish of my breaking heart, for that my love doth rise beyond my
+pain; and so, dear my lord--fare thee well!"
+
+So she mounted, whereat the mettled charger must needs rear, and
+Beltane, staggering aside, catch at a tree and lean there.
+
+"Art sick, Beltane?" she cried in sudden fear--"how may I leave thee
+thus--art sick!"
+
+"Aye, Helen, for thy beauty. The devil is here, and I am here, so here
+is no place for thee--so get thee gone, spur--spur! for despising thee
+in my heart yet would I have thee stay: yet, an thou stay needs must I
+slay thee ere the dawn and myself thereafter!"
+
+Thus spake he, his voice loud, his speech quick and fevered.
+
+"Indeed, thou'rt sick, my lord--nor do I fear thee, thou noble son of
+noble father!"
+
+"My father! Forsooth he liveth in Holy Cross Thicket within Mortain; he
+bade me beware of women and the ways of women. So do I know thee witch,
+thou golden Helen. Ha! must Troy burn again--I loved thee once, but
+love is dead long since and turned corrupt--so get thee hence, Helen
+the Wilful!"
+
+"O, God pity thee, my Beltane, for thou dost love me yet, even as I
+love thee--thou lonely man-child! God pity thee, and me also!" and,
+crying thus, forlorn and desolate, the Duchess Helen rode upon her
+solitary way.
+
+Then turned Beltane and stumbled on he knew not whither, and betimes he
+laughed loud and high and betimes he was shaken by great and fierce
+sobs, yet found he never a tear. Thus, limping painfully, and stumbling
+anon as one smitten blind, he wandered awhile, and so at length found
+himself beside the little cave; and throwing himself down within its
+shadows, tore away the bandages her gentle hands had wrought.
+
+And lying there, it seemed that Fidelis yet lay beneath his arm, the
+Fidelis who was no Fidelis; and in the shadows he laughed amain--wild
+laughter that died of a sudden, choked by awful sobs, what time he
+clenched his hands upon his throbbing ears; yet still, above the sounds
+of his own anguish, needs must he hear again that forlorn and desolate
+cry:
+
+"O, God pity thee, Beltane!"
+
+And now followed long hours when demons vile racked him with anguish
+and mocked him with bitter gibes; a haunted darkness where was fear and
+doubt and terror of things unknown: yet, in the blackness, a light that
+grew to a glory wherein no evil thing might be, and in this glory SHE
+did stand, tall and fair and virginal. And from the depths of
+blackness, he cried to her in agony of remorse, and from the light she
+looked down on him with eyes brimful of yearning love and tenderness,
+for that a gulf divided them. But, across this hateful void she called
+to him--"O, God pity thee, my Beltane!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+
+A darkness, full of a great quietude, a grateful stillness, slumberous
+and restful; yet, little by little, upon this all-pervading silence, a
+sound crept, soft, but distressful to one who fain would sleep; a sound
+that grew, a sharp noise and querulous. And now, in the blackness, a
+glimmer, a furtive gleam, a faint glow that grew brighter and yet more
+bright, hurtful to eyes long used to deeps of gloom; but, with the
+noise, ever this light grew--from gleam to glow and from glow to
+dazzling glare; and so, at last, Beltane opened unwilling eyes--eyes
+that blinked and smarted as they beheld a leaping flame where a fire of
+twigs crackled merrily against a purple void beyond; beholding all of
+which, Beltane forthwith shut his eyes again. But those soft deeps
+wherein he had found so sweet oblivion, that great and blessed quietude
+were altogether vanished and beyond him to regain; wherefore Beltane
+felt himself aggrieved and sorrowed within himself, and so, presently
+oped his reluctant eyes and fell to watching the play of wanton spark
+and flame. None the less he knew himself yet aggrieved, also he felt a
+sudden loneliness, wherefore (as was become his custom of late) he
+called on one ever heedful and swift to answer his call.
+
+"Fidelis!" he called, "Fidelis!" Yet came there no one, and Beltane
+wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away. So,
+troubling not to move, he called again:
+
+"Fidelis--art sleeping, my Fidelis?"
+
+Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail
+gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.
+
+"Master!" he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, "O, master, art
+awake at last?--dost know Roger--thy man,--dost know thy Roger, lord?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger," says Beltane, yet aggrieved and
+querulous, "but I called not thee. Send me Fidelis--where tarries
+Fidelis?"
+
+"Master, I know not. He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone
+and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here. Thereafter went he
+afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according
+to his word."
+
+Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black
+Roger's pitiful face with eyes of wonder.
+
+"Why, Roger!" quoth he, "Why, Roger--?"
+
+"Thou hast been very nigh to death, master. A mad-man I found thee, in
+sooth--foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and
+magic. Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth--and strove and
+fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a
+vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend. So here hast thou lain
+on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir
+Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon
+thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and--"
+
+"Nay, here is no matter--tell me, tell me, where is Fidelis?"
+
+"Dear master I know not, forsooth!"
+
+"Went he by the forest road?"
+
+"Aye, master, the forest road."
+
+"Afoot?"
+
+"Afoot, lord."
+
+"Said he aught to thee of--of me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas all of thee and thy wound, and how to ease thy pain I must
+do this, forsooth, and that, forsooth, and to break the fever must mix
+and give thee certain cordials, the which I have done."
+
+"Said he aught beside--aught else, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master, he bid me pray for thee, the which I have also done,
+though I had rather fight for thee; nathless the sweet saints have
+answered even my poor prayers, for behold, thou art alive and shall be
+well anon."
+
+Now after this. Beltane lay with eyes fast shut and spake not; thus he
+lay so long, that Roger, thinking he slept again, would have moved
+away, but Beltane's feeble hand stayed him, and he spake, yet with eyes
+still closed.
+
+"By the forest road, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, master."
+
+"Alone, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, alone."
+
+"And--afoot, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, he bade me take his horse that I might come to thee the
+sooner."
+
+"And--bid thee--pray for me--for me, Roger!"
+
+"Verily, master. And pray I did, right lustily."
+
+"So do I thank thee, Roger," said Beltane, speaking ever with closed
+eyes. "Yet I would that God had let me die, Roger." And behold, from
+these closed eyes, great tears, slow-oozing and painful, that rolled
+a-down the pallid cheek, very bright in the fire-glow, and glistening
+like the fairest gems.
+
+"Master--O master!" cried Roger, "dost grieve thee for Sir Fidelis?"
+
+"Forsooth, I must, Roger--he was a peerless friend, methinks!"
+
+"Aye master, and--noble lady!"
+
+"Roger--O Roger, how learned you this? Speak!"
+
+"Lord, thou hast had visions and talked much within thy sickness. So do
+I know that thou dost love the Duchess Helen that men do call 'the
+Beautiful.' I do know that on thy marriage night thou wert snatched
+away to shameful prison. I do know that she, because her heart was as
+great as her love, did follow thee in knightly guise, and thou did most
+ungently drive her from thee. All this, and much beside, thou didst
+shout and whisper in thy fever."
+
+Quoth Beltane, plucking at Roger with feeble hand:
+
+"Roger--O Roger, since this thou knowest--tell me, tell me, can faith
+and treachery lie thus within one woman's heart--and of all women--
+her's?"
+
+"Master, can white be black? Can day be night? Can heaven be hell--or
+can truth lie? So, an Sir Fidelis be faithful (and faithful forsooth is
+he) so is the Duchess Helen faithful--"
+
+"Nay, an she be true--O Roger, an she be true indeed, how think you of
+the treachery, of--"
+
+"I think here was witchcraft, master, spells, see'st thou, and magic
+black and damned. As thou wert true to her, so was she true to thee, as
+true as--aye, as true as I am, and true am I, Saint Cuthbert knoweth
+that, who hath heard my prayers full oft of late, master."
+
+"Now God bless thee, Roger--O, God bless thee!" So crying, of a sudden
+Beltane caught Black Roger's sun-burned hand and kissed it, and
+thereafter turned him to the shadows. And, lying thus, Beltane wept,
+very bitterly yet very silent, until, like a grieving child he had wept
+himself to forgetfulness and sleep. So slept he, clasped within Roger's
+mailed arm. But full oft Black Roger lifted his bronzed right hand--the
+hand that had felt Beltane's sudden kiss--and needs must he view it
+with eyes of wonder, as if it had been indeed some holy thing, what
+time he kept his midnight vigil beside the fire.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED
+
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, art a very sweet and potent saint, and therefore
+hast good eyes--which is well; so canst thou see him for thyself, how
+weak he is and languid, that was a mighty man and lusty. Cherish him, I
+pray thee! A goodly youth thou dost know him, thou didst see him burn a
+gibbet, moreover I have told thee--and eke a knight of high degree. Yet
+doth he lie here direly sick of body. Cherish him, I pray! Moreover,
+sick is he of mind, for that he loveth one, a lady, methinks good and
+worthy--so bring them together, these twain, not above, as saints in
+heaven, but first as man and woman that shall beget such men as he,
+such noble dames as she, and make the world a better place therefor.
+See you to this matter, good Saint Cuthbert, and also the matter of his
+Dukedom. But when he shall be Duke indeed, and blest with her that is
+so fair a maid and apt to motherhood--I pray thee, Saint Cuthbert, let
+him not forget me whose soul he saved long since within the green in
+the matter of Beda that was a Jester--I pray thee let him have regard
+to Black Roger that am his man henceforth to the end. Amen. Holy Saint
+Cuthbert grant me this."
+
+It was Black Roger, praying in the dawn, his broadsword set upright in
+the ling, his hands devoutly crossed and his black head stooped full
+low; thus he saw not Beltane's eyes upon him until his prayer was
+ended.
+
+Quoth Beltane then:
+
+"May heaven grant thee thy prayer, Roger--'twas a good prayer and I the
+better for it."
+
+"Why, look now, master," says Roger, somewhat abashed, "I am a
+something better prayer than I was, and I pray in good Saxon English;
+thus do I call on Saint Cuthbert, that was a lusty Saxon ere that he
+was a saint."
+
+"But, Roger, what need to supplicate lest I forget thee? Think you I
+should forget my faithful Roger?"
+
+"Why, lord," says Roger, busily preparing wherewith to break their
+fast, "when a man marrieth, see you, and thereafter proceedeth
+forthwith to get him children, as the custom is--"
+
+"Nay, dost talk folly, Roger!" quoth Beltane, his pale cheek flushing.
+
+"Yet folly thou dost dream of, master, and she also--else wherefore
+love--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, doth Belsaye lie secure yet? What of Walkyn and our
+comrades? Marched they to Belsaye as I did command?"
+
+"Why, see you now, master, when our foes came not, and you came not, we
+sent word to Belsaye that, within two days we would march thither,
+according to thy word, and forthwith Giles sends word back that he was
+very well and wanted no long-legged Walkyn or surly Roger to share
+authority with him yet a while, and bid us twirl our thumbs within the
+green until he commanded our presence--with divers other ribald japes
+and wanton toys--whereon Walkyn and I waxed something wroth.
+Therefore, when ye came not, our comrades fell to factions and riot,
+whereat I, perforce, smote me one or two and Walkyn three or four and
+so brought peace among them. But when we would have tarried yet for
+thee, these rogue-fellows clamoured for Walkyn to lead them into the
+wild, back to their ancient outlawry; so loud they clamoured and so
+oft, that, in the end, Walkyn smiled--a strange thing in him, master--
+but he agreed, whereon we came nigh to cutting each other's throats,
+he and I. Howbeit, in the end he went, he and all the other rogues. So
+bided I alone in the Hollow, day and night, waiting thee, master, and
+at the last, cometh Sir Fidelis--and so all's said and behold thy
+breakfast--a coney, see you, lord, that I snared but yest're'en."
+
+"Our company gone--outlaws, spending their lives to no purpose--here is
+evil news, Roger!"
+
+"Here is tender meat, master, and delicate!"
+
+"Back to outlawry! And Walkyn too!"
+
+"Aye--but he smiled, master! Walkyn, methinks, is not a jovial soul,
+lord, and when he smileth it behoveth others to frown and--beware. So
+prithee eat hearty, lord, for, in a while the sun will stand above yon
+whin-bush, and then 'twill be the eleventh hour, and at the eleventh
+hour must I wash thy hurt and be-plaster it with this good ointment."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Then shalt thou sleep, master, and I to the woods with my bow to get
+us meat--sweet juicy venison, an the saints be kind!"
+
+"And wherefore at the eleventh hour?"
+
+"For that--She did so command me, master."
+
+"She?" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, master. She that the good Saint Cuthbert shall give to
+thy close embracements one day."
+
+"Think you so?" spake Beltane beneath his breath, and staring across
+the sunny glade with eyes of yearning, "think you so indeed, Roger?"
+
+"Of a surety, lord," nodded Roger, "seeing that I do plague the good
+saint on the matter continually--for, master, when I pray, I do pray
+right lustily."
+
+So, in a while, the meal done and crock and pannikin washed and set
+aside, Beltane's leg is bathed and dressed right skilfully with hands,
+for all their strength and hardness, wondrous light and gentle.
+Thereafter, stretched upon his bed of heather, Beltane watches Black
+Roger gird on belt and quiver, and, bow in hand, stride blithely into
+the green, and, ere he knows it, is asleep. And in his sleep, beholds
+one who bends to kiss him, white hands outstretched and all heaven in
+her eyes; and with her voice thrilling in his ears, wakes, to find the
+sun already westering and Black Roger near by, who, squatting before a
+rough table he has contrived set close beside the fire whereon a
+cooking pot seethes and bubbles, is busied with certain brewings,
+infusings and mixings in pipkin and pannikin, and all with brow of
+frowning portent.
+
+Whereat says Beltane, wondering:
+
+"What do ye, good Roger?"
+
+"Master, I mix thee thy decoction as She did instruct--She is a
+learned youth, master--Sir Fidelis. In these dried herbs and simples,
+look you, lieth thy health and strength and Pentavalon's freedom--aye,
+a notable youth in faith, thy Duchess."
+
+Hereupon Beltane, remembering his dream, must needs close his eyes that
+he may dream again, and is upon the portal of sleep when Roger's hand
+rouses him.
+
+"What would'st, Roger?"
+
+"Master--thy draught."
+
+"Take it hence!"
+
+"Nay, it must be swallowed, master."
+
+"Then swallow it thyself!"
+
+"Nay, lord, 'tis the hour for thy draught appointed by Sir Fidelis and
+She must be obeyed--come, master!" Forthwith, yet remembering his
+dream, Beltane opens unwilling eyes and more unwilling mouth and the
+draught is swallowed; whereupon comes languor and sleep, and therewith,
+more dreams.
+
+Anon 'tis even-fall, and the stars, one by one, peep forth of the
+darkening heaven, shadows steal and lengthen and lo! 'tis night; a
+night wherein the placid moon, climbing apace, fills the silent world
+with the splendour of her advent. And ever and always Beltane lies
+deep-plunged in slumber; but in his sleep he groans full oft and oft
+doth call upon a name--a cry faint-voiced and weak, yet full of a
+passionate yearning; whereupon cometh sturdy Roger to behold him in the
+light of the fire, to stoop and soothe him with gentle hand; thus needs
+must he mark the glitter of a tear upon that pale and sunken cheek,
+wherefore Black Roger's own eyes must needs fall a-smarting and he to
+grieving amain. In so much that of a sudden he stealeth swiftly from
+the cave, and, drawing sword setteth it up-right in the ling; then
+kneeling with bowed head and reverent hands, forthwith fell to his
+prayers, after this wise:--
+
+"Sweet Cuthbert--gentle saint--behind me in the shadows lieth my
+master--a-weeping in his slumber. So needs must I weep also, since I do
+love him for that he is a man. Good Saint Cuthbert, I have wrought for
+him my best as thou hast seen--tended his hurt thrice daily and
+ministered the potion as I was commanded. I have worked for him--prayed
+for him--yet doth he weep great tears within his sleep. So now do I
+place him in thy care, good saint, for thou dost know me but poor rogue
+Roger, a rough man and all unlearned, yet, even so, I do most truly
+love him and, loving him, do fear--for meseemeth his hurt is deeper
+than hurt of body, he doth pine him and grieve for lack of his heart's
+desire--a young man, sweet saint, that doth yearn for a maid right fair
+and noble, _pars amours,_ good saint, as is the custom. But alack, she
+is far hence and he lieth here sick and like to perish and I am but
+poor Roger--a very sinful man that knoweth not what to do. So do I call
+on thee, sweet saint--achieve me a miracle on his behalf, bring him to
+his heart's desire that he may wax hale and well and weep no more
+within his sleep. And this do I ask for his sake and his lady's sake
+and for the sake of Pentavalon Duchy--not forgetting poor Roger that
+doth plague thee thus for love of him. Amen!"
+
+Now behold! even as the prayer was ended came a faint stir and rustle
+amid the leaves hard by, and, lifting startled head, Black Roger beheld
+a radiant vision standing in the pale glory of the moon, whereat he
+knew fear and a great awe.
+
+"O, good Saint Cuthbert, and is it thou indeed?" he whispered, "Sweet
+saint, I thought not to win thee down from heaven thus, though forsooth
+I did pray right lustily. But, since thou art come--"
+
+"Hush, good Roger!" spake a voice soft and wondrous sweet to hear; and,
+so speaking, the shining figure raised the vizor of its helm. "O hush
+thee, Roger, for he sleepeth. All day, unseen, have I watched over him,
+nor can I leave him until his strength be come again. And sleep is life
+to him, so wake him not. Come your ways, for I would speak thee many
+things--follow!"
+
+As one that dreams, Roger stared into the eyes beneath the vizor, and
+as one that dreams he rose up from his knees, and, sheathing his sword,
+followed whither the gleaming vision led; yet betimes he blinked upon
+the moon, and once he shook his head and spake as to himself:
+
+"Verily--aye, verily, a lusty pray-er, I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+
+Slowly the days sped, dewy dawn and tender eve, days of sun and shadow
+and gentle rain; golden days wherein Beltane lay 'twixt sleep and
+wake, and nights of silver wherein he slept full deep and dreamed
+wondrously of gentle hands that soothed him with their touch, and warm
+soft lips on cheek and brow that filled him with a great and deep
+content.
+
+And in these days, who so cheery as Black Roger, full of a new-found
+gaiety, who laughed for small reason and ofttimes for none at all and
+was forever humming snatches of strange song as he stooped above pipkin
+and pannikin. Much given was he also to frequent comings and goings
+within the green to no apparent end, while Beltane, within the little
+cave, lay 'twixt sleep and waking; moreover, full oft as they ate their
+evening meal together, he would start, and falling to sudden silence,
+sit as one that hearkens to distant sounds. Yet withal was he ever
+heedful of Beltane's many wants, who, as health came, grew more eager
+to be gone, but finding himself too weak, straightway waxed moody and
+rebellious, whereat smiling Roger waxed firm, so needs must frowning
+Beltane be bathed and bandaged and swallow his draught--because of She
+who had so commanded.
+
+Now it befell upon a certain evening as Roger bent to peer into the pot
+that seethed and bubbled upon the fire and to sniff its appetising
+savour, he presently fell a-singing to himself in a voice gruff yet
+musical withal; whereupon Beltane, turning languid head, fell to
+watching this new Roger, and thereafter spake on this wise:
+
+BELTANE. "What do ye so oft within the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Hunt, that we may eat, master."
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen thee go full oft of late and leave thy bow
+behind, Roger."
+
+ROGER. "Whereby I judge that though thine eyes be shut ye do not always
+slumber, master, and methinks our supper is done--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nay--what do ye in the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, thy horse Mars hath a proud spirit and snorteth against
+his bonds. So, lest he break thy slumber, have I made him a shelter of
+wattles in the green."
+
+BELTANE. "Truly, Roger, thou art greatly changed methinks."
+
+ROGER (starting). "As how, master?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have heard thee called Roger the grim, and Roger the surly,
+ere now."
+
+ROGER (shaking woeful head). "Ere now, lord, I hanged men, conceiving
+it my duty."
+
+BELTANE. "And to-day you sing--and wherefore?"
+
+ROGER. "For joy in life, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And thou dost laugh, surly Roger--oft-times for little
+reason, meseemeth."
+
+ROGER. "For that my heart is renewed within me, master. Happiness is my
+bedfellow and companion--here is good reason for laughter, methinks."
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore art thou happy, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Item first: thou dost mend apace, lord. Item second: this mess
+of venison hath a savour most delectable. Item third: happiness is the
+birthright of every man. Moreover I have learned that behind the
+blackest cloud is a glory of sun, and beyond sorrow, joy. So do I
+rejoice that all is like to be well with thee."
+
+BELTANE (bitterly). "Well with me, say you? Is Pentavalon free, Roger?
+Do I not lie here, weak and helpless--my company scattered? O, call you
+this well, forsooth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis true thou art weak as yet, master, but thou shalt rise
+again stronger than aforetime--aye, thou shalt arise indeed, and all
+Pentavalon with thee. So let thine heart rejoice and sing, as mine
+doth."
+
+BELTANE (fiercely). "O evil day, that ere I gave my heart to woman's
+love, so do I lie here a useless thing--O day accursed!"
+
+ROGER. "O day most blessed, since woman's love hath lifted thee from
+death and shall be thy glory and Pentavalon's salvation, master!"
+
+BELTANE (eagerly). "Roger--Roger, speak you of the Duchess Helen? What
+mean you, man?"
+
+ROGER. "There be signs and portents, master, the very air is full o'
+them. Whiles we tarry here, others be up and doing--"
+
+BELTANE. "Others, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Notably Walkyn o' the Axe, master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Ha! and what of Walkyn?"
+
+ROGER. "He smiled, master, as I told thee ere this, and when Walkyn
+smileth it behoveth others to be wary. So now do I tell thee that
+Walkyn hath taken and burned Duke Ivo's great Castle of Brandonmere,
+that Winisfarne city hath risen 'gainst the Duke and all the border
+villages likewise--aha! master, there be scythe-blades and good brown
+bills a-twinkle all along the marches eager to smite for freedom and
+Pentavalon when time is ripe!"
+
+BELTANE (rising upon his knees). "Forsooth, is this so? O Roger, is
+this so in very truth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis very truth, master. Upon my sword I swear it!"
+
+BELTANE. "But whence had ye the wondrous news--how--when?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, 'twas three nights agone, as I wrestled prodigiously in
+prayer on thy behalf, one came to me and spake me many things
+marvellous good to hear. Moreover, I have met divers folk within the
+greenwood and upon the forest-road yonder, and with all do I hold
+converse."
+
+Then to Roger's amaze Beltane rose up, and standing square upon his
+feet lifted hands and eyes to heaven. "Now glory be to the living God,"
+quoth he, "that hath heard the prayers of such as I. So now do I swear,
+come life, come death, to walk my appointed way sword in hand,
+henceforth, nor will I turn aside for man or woman, heeding not the
+lure of friendship or of love. I do swear never to look upon a woman to
+love--"
+
+ROGER (fearfully). "Master--master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor to suffer woman's love to come 'twixt me and my duty--"
+
+ROGER (despairingly). "O master, swear it not--swear it not--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor shall aught let or stay me until Pentavalon win to
+freedom or my poor soul return whence it came. And this do I swear to
+the ears of God!"
+
+Now turned he to Roger, bright-eyed and with hands tight-clenched.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art witness to this my oath, an I do fail or
+falter henceforth, then in that same hour may sharp death be mine. So
+now bring to me sword and armour, for this night must I hence."
+
+Now was Roger sore troubled and fain was to speak, but beholding his
+master's flashing eye, he presently did as he was commanded. So Beltane
+took hold upon the sword and drew it, and looked glad-eyed upon its
+broad and shining blade. But when he would have wielded it, behold! he
+scarce could lift it; with teeth fierce-clenched he strove against his
+weakness until his breath waxed short and the sweat ran from him, but
+ever the great blade grew the heavier. Then he groaned to find himself
+so feeble, and cried aloud an exceeding bitter cry, and cast the sword
+from him, and, staggering, fell into Roger's waiting arms. Forthwith
+Roger bare him to the cave and laid him down upon his bed.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "O master, grieve not thyself, thou shalt be hale
+and strong anon, but the time is not yet. Comfort ye, comfort ye, my
+lord--ere long thou shalt be strong, aye, and mightier e'en than
+aforetime. So grieve not nor repine, my master!"
+
+But Beltane lay heeding not, nor would he eat despite all Roger's
+wheedling arts; but being fevered and athirst, drank deep of the
+sleeping draught, and thereafter, falling to his black humour, turned
+his face to the shadows, and, lying thus, straightway fell to weeping,
+very silently, because of his so great weakness, until, like a child,
+he had wept himself to sleep.
+
+Slowly the moon sank, the fire burned low and Roger snored blissfully
+hard by, but Beltane, blessed within his slumbers, dreamed again of one
+who stole, light of foot, to lie beside him watchful in the dark and
+with warm, soft arms set close about him like the sheltering arms of
+that mother he had never known.
+
+Thus slept Beltane, like a weary child upon a mother's breast, and knew
+great peace and solace and a deep and utter content.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+Day by day Beltane waxed in health and strength, and daily, leaning
+upon Roger's trusty arm he walked further afield. And day by day, with
+growing strength, so grew his doubt, and therewith, by times, a black
+despond; for needs must he think ever of Helen the Beautiful, and fain
+was he to tear her from his heart yet could not; then fain he would
+have hated her, but in his ears her cry rang still--"God pity thee, my
+Beltane!"--wherefore he was wont to fall to sudden gloom and
+melancholy.
+
+But upon a certain blithe evening Black Roger stood leaning on his
+bow-stave to watch where Beltane swam the pool with mighty strokes, who,
+laughing for very joy of it, presently sprang ashore, panting with his
+exertions, and fell to donning his garments.
+
+"How think ye, Roger," he cried, "am I fit to adventure me the world
+again?"
+
+"Forsooth, master, art well of thy wound and fever, and in a week or so
+mayhap thou shalt perchance be well enough--"
+
+"A week, Roger! I tell thee, man, this very day will I hence!"
+
+"But, master," says Roger, shaking cautious head, "thy world is a world
+of battles, and for battle art scarce yet strong enough--"
+
+"Say ye so, Roger? Then here and now shalt make trial of me. Art a tall
+and lusty fellow--come, man, let us try a fall together. And mark this,
+Roger, an thou canst put me on my back shalt have thy will in the
+matter, but, an I down thee, then hey! for horse and armour and the
+forest-road this very night. Come, is't agreed?"
+
+Now hereupon the wily Roger, noting the pallor of Beltane's sunken
+cheek and how his broad breast laboured yet, and moreover feeling
+himself aglow with lusty life and vigour, smiled grimly, nothing
+doubting the issue. Wherefore he nodded his head.
+
+"So be it, master," said he, "only take thy wind first." So saying he
+set aside bow and quiver, loosed off his sword, and tightening his
+belt, stepped towards Beltane, his broad back stooped, his knotted arms
+advanced and fingers crooked to grapple. Once and twice he circled,
+seeking a hold, then leapt he swift and low; arms and fingers clenched
+and locked, and Beltane was bent, swayed, and borne from his feet; but
+even so, with a cunning twist he brake Black Roger's hold and staggered
+free. Quoth he:
+
+"Art a very strong man, Roger, stronger than methought. Come again!"
+
+Once more they circled heedfully, for Beltane had grown more wary:
+thrice he sought a certain hold and thrice Black Roger foiled him, ere,
+sudden and grim, he leapt and closed; and breast to breast they strove
+fiercely, mighty arms straining and tight-clenched, writhing, swaying,
+reeling, in fast-locked, desperate grapple. Now to Roger's strength and
+quickness Beltane opposed craft and cunning, but wily Roger met guile
+with guile nor was to be allured to slack or change his gripe.
+Therefore of a sudden Beltane put forth his strength, and wrestled
+mightily, seeking to break or weaken Roger's deadly hold. But Roger's
+iron arms gripped and held him fast, crushed him, checked him.
+
+"Aha! master," panted Roger, "now I have thee!" and therewith heaved
+right lustily, felt Beltane yield and stagger, slacked his grip for the
+final hold, and, in that moment, his arms were burst asunder, he was
+whirled up, kicking, 'twixt earth and heaven, laid gently upon the
+sward and, sitting up, found Beltane lying breathless beside him.
+
+"'Twas a trick, Roger!" he panted, "I beat thee--but by an artifice--"
+
+"Yet beaten I am, master," quoth Roger, vastly rueful.
+
+"And art mightier than I thought thee, Roger."
+
+"Master, I have wrestled oft with Gefroi that was the Duke's wrestler."
+
+"Then art a better man than he, meseemeth," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Yet thou hast beaten me, master!"
+
+"So within the hour we will begone to our duty, Roger!"
+
+"Whither, lord?"
+
+"First to Winisfarne, and thence south to Belsaye, with every lusty
+fellow we can muster. How think you?"
+
+"I think the time is not yet, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"For that though things go well with thee and thy cause, yet shall they
+go better anon."
+
+"Nevertheless, Roger, within the hour we march. So come, first let us
+eat, for I do famish."
+
+So, when they had caught their breath again, together they arose and,
+coming to the cave beneath the steep, they re-made the fire and set the
+pot thereon; which done, Roger brought forth his lord's armour, bright
+and newly polished, and in a while Beltane stood, a shining figure from
+golden spur to gleaming bascinet. Thereafter, Roger armed him likewise,
+and as two brothers-in-arms they sat together and ate their meal with
+mighty appetite and gusto. Now presently, as they sat thus, Beltane
+espied a thing that lay by Roger's knee, and, taking it up, behold!
+'twas a wallet of fair-sewn leather, very artfully wrought, and, gazing
+upon it he must needs fall to sudden thought, whereto he sighed full
+deep and oft, till, finding Roger watching him, he forthwith checked
+his sighs and frowned instead.
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "whence had ye this thing?"
+
+"My lord, from--Her, the sweet knight Sir Fidelis, thy lady--"
+
+"Why wilt thou call her my lady, Roger?"
+
+"For that 'tis she you love and sigh for, she that doth love thee and
+shall bear thee right fair and lusty children yet, so do I pray, and my
+prayers are potent these days, for the good Saint Cuthbert heedeth me
+regardfully. So do I know that she shall yet lie within thine arms and
+yield thee thine heart's desire, _pars_--"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger--aye, a very fool, and talk arrant folly--"
+
+"Yet, master, here is folly shall be thy joy and her joy and--"
+
+"Enough, Roger! Hast forgot the oath I sware? And the ways of woman be
+crooked ways. And woman's love a light matter. Talk we of women no
+more."
+
+"How!" quoth Roger, staring, "speak we no more of--Her?"
+
+"No more!"
+
+"Forsooth, so be it, master, then will we talk of Sir Fidelis his love--"
+
+"Nor of Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, scratching his head, "must we go mumchance then,
+master?"
+
+"There be other matters for talk."
+
+"Aye--there's witchcraft, master. For mark me, when thou wert sick and
+nigh to God and the holy saints, the evil spell could not come nigh
+thee, and thou didst yearn and cry continually for nought but--Her. But
+now--now that thou'rt hale and strong again--"
+
+"I behold things with mind unclouded, Roger."
+
+"Save by enchantments damned, master. Since that evil day we met yon
+accursed witch of Hangstone, hast never been thyself."
+
+"Now do ye mind me how this woman did speak me of marvels and wonders,
+Roger--"
+
+"Artifice, lord--devilish toys to lure thee to fouler bewitchments."
+
+"Howbeit, I will seek her out."
+
+"Nay, good master, here shall be perils dire and deadly. O bethink
+thee, lest she change thee into a swine, or black dog, aye, or even a
+small shrew-mouse--I've heard of such ere now--or blast thee with fire,
+or loathly disease, or--"
+
+"None the less will I go."
+
+"Never say so, master!"
+
+"At the full o' the moon."
+
+"Lord, now do I beseech thee--"
+
+"And the moon will be full--to-night, Roger. Go you and saddle now the
+horse."
+
+Forthwith went Roger, gloomy and nothing speaking, what time Beltane
+sat there staring down at the wallet on his knee, bethinking him of
+many things, and, for that he was alone, sighing deep and oft; and so,
+very suddenly, hung the wallet to his girdle and thereafter arose.
+
+In a while cometh gloomy Roger leading the destrier Mars, whereon
+gloomy Beltane swung to saddle, and, looking round about him once and
+twice, rode slowly towards where, beyond the shade of trees, the forest
+road ran north and south.
+
+But, as for Roger, needs must he pause upon the edge of the clearing to
+look back at the little cave beneath the steep, whereby the small
+water-brook flowed murmurously; a while he stood thus, to frown and
+shake gloomy head; then lifted he his hand on high, much as he had bid
+one sorrowful farewell, and, turning about, trudged away after his
+lord.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+
+It had been an evening of cloud, but now the sky was clear and the moon
+shone bright and round as they reached that desolate, wind-swept heath
+that went by the name of Hangstone Waste, a solitary place at all
+times but more especially wild and awful 'neath the ghostly moon;
+wherefore Roger went wide-eyed and fearful, and kept fast hold of
+Beltane's stirrup.
+
+"Ha--master, master!" cried he 'twixt chattering teeth, "did'st not
+hear it, master?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, checking his horse, "what was it? where away?"
+
+"'Twas a cry, master--beyond the marsh yonder. 'Tis there again!"
+
+"'Twas an owl, Roger."
+
+"'Twas a soul, master, a poor damned soul and desolate! We shall see
+dire and dreadful sights on Hangstone Waste this night, master--holy
+Saint Cuthbert! What was yon?"
+
+"Nought but a bat, Roger."
+
+"A bat, lord? Never think so. Here was, belike, a noble knight or a
+lusty fellow be-devilled into a bat. Good master, let us go no further
+--if thou hast no thought for thyself, have a little heed for poor
+Roger."
+
+"Why look ye, good Roger, canst go where thou wilt, but, as for me, I
+ride for the White Morte-stone."
+
+"Nay then, an thou'rt blasted this night, master, needs must I be
+blasted with thee--yonder lieth the Morte-stone, across the waste. And
+now, may Saint Cuthbert and Saint Bede have us in their blessed care,
+Amen!"
+
+So they began to cross the rolling desolation of the heath and
+presently espied a great boulder, huge and solitary, gleaming white and
+ghostly 'neath the moon.
+
+Being come very nigh, Beltane checked his horse and was about to
+dismount, when Roger, uttering a sudden gasping cry, cowered to his
+knees, for in the air about them was a sound very sweet to hear--the
+whisper of lute-strings softly plucked by skilled and cunning fingers,
+and thereafter a man's voice, rich and melodious, brake forth into
+tender singing: and the words were these:--
+
+  "O moon! O gentle moon, to-night
+   Unveil thy softest, tend'rest light
+   Where feet I love, so small and white,
+      Do bear my love to me!"
+
+"Stand up, Roger, here is nought to harm us, methinks," quoth Beltane
+softly, "stand up, and hold my bridle."
+
+"But see now, master, there be devil-goblins a many that do pipe like
+very angels."
+
+"Nathless here's one that I must speak with," said Beltane, slipping to
+earth and looking about him with wondering eyes, for the voice had
+seemed to come from the grass at his feet. And while he yet sought to
+and fro in frowning perplexity the melodious voice brake forth anew:
+
+  "O little feet, more white than snow,
+   If through the thorny brake ye go,
+   My loving heart I'll set below
+      To take the hurt for thee."
+
+Now as the voice sank and the lute-strings quivered to silence,
+Beltane, coming behind the great rock, beheld a glow, very faint and
+feeble, that shone through thick-clustering leaves; and, putting aside
+a whin-bush that grew against the rock, perceived a low and narrow
+alley or passage-way leading downwards into the earth, lighted by a
+soft, mellow beam that brightened as he advanced and presently showed
+him a fair-sized chamber cunningly hollowed within the rock and adorned
+with rich furs and skins. And behold one who reclined upon a couch of
+skins, a slender, youthful figure with one foot wondrously be-wrapped
+and swathed, who, beholding Beltane's gleaming mail, sprang up very
+nimbly and fronted him with naked sword advanced.
+
+"Nay, hast forgot thy friend, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+Incontinent the sword was tossed aside, and with a joyous cry Sir
+Jocelyn sprang and caught him in close embrace.
+
+"Now by sweet Venus her downy dove--'tis Beltane!" he cried. "Now
+welcome and thrice welcome, my lordly smith, thou mighty son of noble
+father. Ah, lord Duke, I loved thee that day thou didst outmatch Gefroi
+the wrestler in the green. Since then much have I learned of thee and
+thy valiant doings, more especially of Barham Broom--how thou didst
+slay the vile Sir Gilles 'neath the eyes of Ivo and all his powers and
+thereby didst snatch from shame and cruel death one that is become the
+very heart of me, so needs must I love and honour and cherish thee so
+long as I be Jocelyn and thou thy noble self. Come, sit ye--sit ye
+here, for fain am I to question thee--"
+
+"But," said Beltane, wrinkling puzzled brow, "how came you hither--and
+art wounded, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, to desperation--O direly, Beltane. I do languish night
+and day, sleep doth bring me no surcease and music, alack, abatement
+none. Food--base food repelleth me and wine no savour hath. Verily,
+verily, wounded deep am I."
+
+"Forsooth," said Beltane, "thy foot doth wear bandages a many, but--"
+
+"Bandages?" cried Jocelyn, staring. "Foot? Nay, nay, my torment is not
+here," and he flourished his beswathed foot in an airy, dancing step.
+"Indeed, Beltane, herein do I confess me some small artifice, yet, mark
+me, to a sweet and worthy end. For my hurt lieth here,--sore smit am I
+within this heart o' mine."
+
+"Thy heart again, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Again?" said the young knight, wrinkling slender brows.
+
+"Aye, thou did'st sing thy heart's woe to me not so long since--in an
+hundred and seventy and eight cantos, and I mind thy motto: 'Ardeo'."
+
+"Nay, Beltane, in faith--indeed, these were folly and youthful folly,
+the tide hath ebbed full oft since then and I, being older, am wiser.
+Love hath found me out at last--man's love. List now, I pray thee and
+mark me, friend. Wounded was I at the ford you wot of beside the mill,
+and, thereafter, lost within the forest, a woeful wight! Whereon my
+charger, curst beast, did run off and leave me. So was I in unholy
+plight, when, whereas I lay sighful and distressed, there dawned upon
+my sight one beyond all beauty beautiful. Y-clad in ragged garb was
+she, yet by her loveliness her very rags were glorified. To me, shy as
+startled doe, came she and, with saintly pity sweet, did tend my hurt,
+which done, with much ado she did hither bring me. Each day, at morn
+and eve, came she with cates rare and delicate, and her gentle hands
+did woo my wound to health, the which indeed so swift grew well that I
+did feign divers pains betimes lest she should vanish from me quite--so
+grew my love. At the first loved I her something basely, for the beauty
+of her body fair, whereat she grieved and sorrowed and fled from my
+regard, and for an eternity of days came not again until yestere'en.
+And, Beltane, though base her birth, though friendless, poor and
+lonely, yet did my heart know her far 'bove my base self for
+worthiness. So did I, yestere'en, upon my knightly word, pledge her my
+troth, so shall she be henceforth my lady of Alain and chatelaine of
+divers goodly castles, manors, and demesnes. To-night she cometh to me
+in her rags, and to-night we set forth, she and I, to Mortain, hand in
+hand--nor shall my lips touch hers, Beltane, until Holy Church hath
+made us one. How think ye of my doing, friend?"
+
+"I do think thee true and worthy knight, Sir Jocelyn, and moreover--"
+
+But of a sudden, Roger's voice reached them from without, hoarse with
+terror.
+
+"Master--O master, beware! 'Tis the witch, lord--O beware!"
+
+And with the cry, lo! a hurry of feet running swift and light, a rustle
+of flying garments, and there, flushed and panting, stood the witch--
+the witch Mellent that was the lady Winfrida. Now, beholding Beltane,
+her eyes grew wide with swift and sudden fear--she quailed, and sank to
+her knees before him; and when Sir Jocelyn, smitten to mute wonder,
+would have raised her, she brake forth into bitter weeping and crouched
+away.
+
+"Nay, touch me not my lord, lest thou repent hereafter--for now do I
+see that happiness is not for me--now must I say such words as shall
+slay thy love for me, so touch me not."
+
+"Ha, never say so!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "not touch thee? art not mine
+own beloved Mellent?"
+
+"Nay, I am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Thou--Winfrida the rich and proud--in these rags? Thou, Winfrida the
+Fair?--thy raven hair--"
+
+"O, my hair, my lord? 'twas gold, 'tis black and shall be gold again,
+but I am that same Winfrida."
+
+"But--but I have seen Winfrida betimes in Mortain ere now."
+
+"Nay, then, didst but look at her, my lord, for thine eyes saw only the
+noble Helen's beauty. Alas! that ever I was born, for that I am that
+Winfrida who, for ambition's sake and wicked pride, did a most vile
+thing--O my lord Beltane, as thou art strong, be pitiful--as thou art
+deeply wronged, be greatly merciful."
+
+"How--how--mean you?" said Beltane, slow-speaking and breathing deep.
+
+"Lord--'twas I--O, how may I tell it? My lord Beltane, upon thy wedding
+night did I, with traitorous hand, infuse a potent drug within the
+loving-cup, whereby our lady Duchess fell into a swoon nigh unto death.
+And--while she lay thus, I took from her the marriage-robe--the gown of
+blue and silver. Thereafter came I, with my henchman Ulf the Strong
+and--found thee sleeping in the chapel. So Ulf--at my command--smote
+thee and--bound thee fast, and, ere the dawn, I brought thee--to
+Garthlaxton--O my lord!"
+
+"Thou--? It was--thou?"
+
+"I do confess it, my lord Beltane--traitor to thee, and base traitor to
+her--"
+
+"Why, verily--here was treachery--" quoth Beltane speaking slow and
+soft, "truly here--methinks--was treachery--and wherefore?"
+
+"O my lord, must I--tell this?"
+
+"I do ask thee."
+
+Then did Winfrida shrink within herself, and crouched yet further from
+Sir Jocelyn as though his eyes had hurt her.
+
+"Lord," she whispered, "I was--jealous! Duke Ivo wooed me long ere he
+loved the Duchess Helen, so was I jealous. Yet was I proud also, for I
+would suffer not his love until he had made me wife. And, upon a day,
+he, laughing, bade me bring him captive this mighty man that defied his
+power--that burned gibbets and wrought such deeds as no other man
+dared, swearing that, an I did so, he would wed with me forthright. And
+I was young, and mad with jealousy and--in those days--I knew love not
+at all. But O, upon a day, I found a new world wherein Love came to me
+--a love so deep and high, so pure and noble, that fain would I have
+died amid the flame than thus speak forth my shame, slaying this
+wondrous love by my unworthiness. Yet have I told my shame, and love is
+dead, methinks, since I am known for false friend and traitor vile--a
+thing for scorn henceforth, that no honourable love may cleave to. So
+is love dead, and fain would I die also!"
+
+Now, of a sudden, while yet Beltane frowned down upon her, came Sir
+Jocelyn, and kneeling beside Winfrida, spake with bent head:
+
+"Messire Beltane, thou seest before thee two that are one, henceforth.
+So do I beseech thee, forgive us our trespass against thee, an it may
+be so. But, if thy wrongs are beyond forgiveness, then will we die
+together."
+
+"O Jocelyn!" cried Winfrida breathlessly, "O dear my lord--surely never
+man loved like thee! Lord Beltane, forgive--for this noble knight's
+sake--forgive the sinful Winfrida!"
+
+"Forgive?" said Beltane, hoarsely, "forgive?--nay, rather would I
+humbly thank thee on my knees, for thou hast given back the noblest
+part of me. She that was lost is found again, the dead doth live. Helen
+is her noble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her. The
+happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world,
+methinks. O kneel not to me--and pray you--speak on this matter no
+more. Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy. Lady, hast won a true and
+leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a noble lady, who hath spoken truth
+at hazard of losing her love. And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed
+thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world
+but love. Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all!" So saying,
+Beltane turned very suddenly, and strode out, where, beside the great
+horse Mars, stood Roger, very pale in the moonlight, and starting and
+staring at every rustling leaf and patch of shadow.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art afraid of bats and owls, yet, forsooth, art
+a wiser man than I. Bring hither the horse."
+
+In a while cometh Sir Jocelyn and the lady Winfrida, hand in hand,
+aglow with happiness, yet with eyes moistly bright under the moon.
+
+"Good comrade-in-arms," quoth Beltane, "Mortain lieth far hence; now
+here is a goodly horse--"
+
+"O!" cried Winfrida shrinking, "surely 'tis the horse that bore Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere in the lists at Barham Broom--"
+
+"So now, my lady Winfrida, shall it bear thee and thy love to Mortain
+and happiness--O loved Mortain! So mount, Jocelyn, mount! Haste to thy
+happiness, man, and in thy joy, forget not Pentavalon, for her need is
+great. And thou hast goodly men-at-arms! How think ye, messire?"
+
+"Beltane," cried Sir Jocelyn gleefully, "Beltane, O dear my friend,
+doubt me not--I do tell thee we shall ride together yet, when the
+battle joins!" So saying, be sprang to saddle. Now turned Beltane to
+aid the lady Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's hold; but, even then, she fell
+upon her knees, and catching his hand to her bosom, kissed it.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said she, looking up 'neath glistening lashes--"as thou
+hast dealt with me, so may heaven deal with thee. May thy sore heart
+find solace until love find thee--and--dear my lord, I pray you where
+is--he--the young knight that rode with thee--for where he is, there
+also is--Helen--"
+
+"And thou dost know, too?"
+
+"I knew her that day in the forest when I fled away, for though I would
+have confessed my sin to thee, yet her cold scorn I could not have
+borne. Where is she now, my lord?"
+
+"Safe within Mortain, I pray."
+
+"Then come you to Mortain. Come with us this night--ah! come you to
+Mortain and--Helen!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned to look with yearning eyes towards the
+gloom of the forest beyond which lay the soft and peaceful valleys of
+fair Mortain, and she that called herself Fidelis, who had indeed been
+so faithful in all things, so patient and enduring; and, as his eyes
+yearned, so yearned the great passionate soul of him, insomuch that he
+must needs fall a-trembling, whereat Roger the watchful drew a soft
+pace nearer. So stood Beltane awhile, hands clenched, head bent,
+staring ever northwards, his blood aglow with eager love, his heart
+a-throb with passionate remorse.
+
+"Come, my lord," breathed Winfrida, "O come--in Mortain is rest and
+solace--and love!"
+
+"Rest?" said Beltane softly, "solace and love--O sweet thought! Yet I
+may not go hence, for here is sorrow and shame and suffering--sword
+and fire and battle. So must I bide here in Pentavalon--with my duty."
+So saying, he lifted Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's ready clasp and
+thereafter spake with head downbent: "An thou chance to see--her--
+within Mortain, I pray you say that the blind doth see at last and is
+gone to his duty, that, peradventure, he may be, some day, more worthy
+her great love. And now fare ye well, good friends, God have ye ever in
+His tender care. Come, Roger!"
+
+Then Beltane turned him suddenly away, and with broad back set towards
+Mortain, strode off across the desolate moor.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+
+Silent went Beltane, his lips firm-set, his wistful eyes staring ever
+before him, nor paused he once, nor once glanced back towards that
+happy Mortain which held for him all that was fair and sweet and noble;
+that pure and faithful heart wherein no evil could exist; that radiant
+body in whose soft, white loveliness lay all the joy, all the happiness
+the wide world might ever yield him.
+
+And now, because of her proved innocence, he was uplifted by a great
+and mighty joy, and therewith his step was light and swift; anon,
+because of his base doubt of her, he writhed 'neath the sharp-gnawing
+tooth of bitter remorse, and therewith his step grew heavy and slow.
+Now was he proud of her so great love for him, and again, he knew a
+profound and deep humility because of his so great unworthiness. Thus
+went he, nothing speaking, now with flying feet, now with steps that
+dragged, insomuch that watchful Roger fell to solemn wonderment, to a
+furtive unease, and so, at last, to speech.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in a voice of awe, but Beltane strode on unheeding,
+whereat Roger's eyes grew round and his ruddy cheek pale, and clenching
+his fist, he raised aloft his first and little fingers so that they
+formed two horns, and with the horns he touched Beltane lightly on the
+shoulder. "Master!" said he.
+
+Then Beltane started, and turning, looked at Roger, whereupon Roger
+immediately crossed his fingers.
+
+"Ha, Roger, I was deep in my thoughts, what would ye?"
+
+"Master, hast ever a pricking in the hairs of thy head?"
+
+"Not I."
+
+"Dost ever feel a tingling in the soles of thy feet?"
+
+"Not so, in truth."
+
+"Why then a shivering, quaking o' the back-bone?"
+
+"Roger, man, what troubles thee now?"
+
+"I do fear thou'rt be-devilled and moon-struck, master!"
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"Betimes thou dost smile upon the moon--for no reason; scowl upon the
+earth--for no reason; work with thy lips yet speak no word, and
+therewith do bite thy fingers-ends, clench thy fists--and all for no
+reason. Moreover, thou'rt quick and slow in thy gait, sighing gustily
+off and on--so it is I do sweat for thee."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, glancing furtively about, "in my youth I did see
+a goodly man be-devilled by horrid spells by an ancient hag that was a
+noted witch, and he acted thus--a poor wight that was thereafter
+damnably be-devilled into a small, black rabbit, see you--"
+
+"Saw you all this indeed, Roger?"
+
+"All but the be-devilling, master, for being young and sore frighted I
+ran away and hid myself. But afterwards saw I the old woman with the
+black rabbit in a cage--wherefore the vile hag was stoned to death, and
+the black rabbit, that was her familiar, also--and very properly. And,
+lord, because I do love thee, rather would I see thee dead than a
+rabbit or a toad or lewd cur--wherefore now I pray thee cross thy
+fingers and repeat after me--"
+
+"Nay, my faithful Roger, never fear, here is no witchcraft. 'Tis but
+that within the hour the blind doth see, the fool hath got him some
+little wisdom."
+
+"Master, how mean you?"
+
+"This night, Roger, I have learned this great truth: that white can
+never be black, nor day night, nor truth lie--and here is great matter
+for thought, wherefore as I walk, I think."
+
+Now hereupon Black Roger halted and looked upon Beltane glad-eyed.
+
+"Lord," he cried, "is it that ye do know the very truth at last--of Sir
+Fidelis--that glorious lady, thy Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Aye, the very truth at last, Roger."
+
+"Ha!--'tis so I petitioned the good Saint Cuthbert this very night!"
+
+"And lo! he hath answered thy prayer, Roger."
+
+"Verily he regardeth poor Roger these days, master, e'en though my belt
+doth yet bear many accursed notches."
+
+"They shall be fewer anon, Roger; there be many poor souls for thee to
+save in woeful Pentavalon."
+
+Hereafter went they a while in silence, until of a sudden Roger halted
+and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Master, we go the wrong way, methinks."
+
+"Not so, we be close upon the forest road, Roger."
+
+"But thou dost know her faithful, master, pure and holy in mind and
+body--at sure of this at last!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "at last!"
+
+"Why then, lord, let us incontinent seek her out."
+
+"She is in for Mortain, Roger, moreover--"
+
+"Nay, master, forsooth she is--hum! aye, she's in Mortain, mayhap, but
+'tis none so far to Mortain for such legs as thine and mine. And belike
+we may--chance upon her by the way, or--or she with us, or both!"
+
+"Even so, needs must I to my duty."
+
+"Thy duty!--aye, master--thy duty is to woo her, wed her, take her to
+thy arms and--"
+
+"I tell thee, Roger, ne'er will I speak word of love to her until I
+have proved myself in some sense fit and worthy. First will I free
+Pentavalon as I did swear--"
+
+"Nay, master, wed first thy Duchess, so shall she aid thee in thy vows,
+and thereafter--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane, "think ye 'tis so easy to thus gainsay the
+love that burns me? But shame were it that I, beggared in fortune, my
+friends few, should wed her in my dire need, dragging thereby peaceful
+Mortain to mine aid and the bloody arbitrament of battle. Moreover,
+hast forgot the oath I sware--that nought henceforth should let or stay
+me?"
+
+"Master," sighed Roger, "there be times, methinks, thou dost swear
+over-many oaths. Art man and woman full of youth and love, wherefore
+not marry? Wherefore heed a vow here or there? Needs must I wrestle
+with the good Saint Cuthbert in the matter."
+
+But here Beltane fell again to meditation and Roger likewise. So came
+they presently to the forest-road, and turning north towards Winisfarne
+they strode on, side by side, in silence profound and deep. And of a
+sudden upon this silence, rose a voice high-pitched and quavering:
+
+"O ye that have eyes, have pity--show mercy on one that is maimed and
+helpless, and creepeth ever in the dark."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+
+Forthwith Beltane paused, and presently beheld one that sat by the
+wayside--a man who crouched 'neath a dusty cloak and kept his white
+head down-bent and who now reached out a hand to grope and grope for
+the staff that lay near; wherefore Beltane took hold upon this hand and
+raised the white-haired traveller, and thereafter put the cudgel in his
+grasp.
+
+"Messire," said the blind man, "though I have no eyes I do know thee
+young, for thy clasp is strong and quick with life, yet wondrous
+gentle. God bless thee, youthful sir, for 'tis well to meet with
+gentleness within a world so cruel. Tell me, I pray, doth this road
+lead unto Belsaye town?"
+
+"Verily," answered Beltane, "but 'tis a long day's march thither."
+
+"Yet needs must I reach there, since I do bear a message. But, O young
+messire, when cruel men put out mine eyes, the good God, in His sweet
+clemency, made sharp mine ears. So do I know thy voice, methinks, for
+voice of one who, long months since, did cherish me in my need and
+hunger, and sent me unto the saintly Ambrose."
+
+"Ha!" cried Beltane joyously, "and is it thou indeed? Tell me, how doth
+my father?--is he well?--what said he?--how looked he? O, I do yearn
+for word of him!"
+
+"Thy father? How, young sir, is he indeed thy father? Then is thy name
+Beltane, for I have heard him name thee oft--"
+
+"Forsooth, and did he so? But how came you here, and wherefore?"
+
+"To seek thee, lord Beltane, according to thy saintly father's word.
+And the manner of it, thus: As we sat together of a certain fair noon
+within Holy Cross Thicket, there came to us thither a woman, young,
+methinks, and fair, for her speech was soft and wondrous sweet in mine
+ears. And she did hail thy father 'Duke,' and thereafter spake thy name
+full oft, and so they fell to many words, walking together up and down
+before the hut. Anon, sudden and silent as she came, she was gone, and
+thy father walked full long, praying oft as one that rejoiceth greatly,
+and oft as one in deep perplexity. In a while cometh he to me and gave
+me scrip and therewith food and money, and bade me seek thee in Belsaye
+and speak thee thus: 'Tell Beltane, my well-beloved, that I, his
+father, have heard of his great and knightly deeds and that I do glory
+in them, praising God. Say that through him my youth and strength are
+renewed and my great sin made easier to bear. Tell him that the woes of
+Pentavalon draw to an end, and that ere long she shall arise above her
+sorrows. Bid him be of good courage yet a little longer, for the lion
+is waked at last, and the leopard also.' Behold now, messire, all's
+said." And the blind man stood with down-bent head, one hand grasping
+the staff, his other arm hid within his wide sleeve, what time Roger
+watched him furtive and askance, and moreover, his bow-stave shook and
+quivered in his grasp; as for Beltane, he stood as one lost in happy
+thought, upon his lips a smile ineffably tender. Smiling yet, he turned
+and touched the blind man's stooping shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Greatly welcome is thy news and greatly would I thank thee. Pray you
+now, how may I show my gratitude?"
+
+"Messire, fain would I shelter me in Belsaye, for there is fire and
+sword and battle on the marches. But the way is long, and on my road
+hither two rogues took from me purse and scrip. Give me, therefore,
+enough to bear me on my way."
+
+"Aye, verily! Roger, thou dost bear the purse. Give him store of money
+and some of our food--see that he lacketh for nothing, Roger." So
+saying, Beltane turned him away and fell again to pondering his
+father's words.
+
+Now at sound of Roger's name the blind man started round and fixed
+Roger with the horror of his eyeless sockets, and, therewith, flung up
+an arm as though fearing a blow; and behold! this arm was but a
+mutilated stump, for hand was there none.
+
+"Roger!" he whispered, "not Roger the Black? No, no! There be a many
+Rogers. But who art thou dost bear such a name, and wherefore cower and
+gasp ye?"
+
+Then stood the blind man with head out-thrust and awful arm upraised,
+before which Black Roger shrank and shrank to cower in the deeper
+shadow.
+
+Of a sudden the blind man turned and coming beside Beltane, grasped him
+by the mantle.
+
+"Lord," he questioned, "who is he that trembleth before the maimed and
+blind?--who is he that croucheth yonder?"
+
+"Nay, fear ye nothing," said Beltane, "'tis none but my trusty Roger,
+my good comrade in arms--comfort ye!" Then he beckoned Roger and took
+the purse and gave to the blind man bounteously, saying:
+
+"See now, when you shall come to Belsaye go you to Eric that hath
+command of the town and to Giles that is captain of the archers, and
+say that I, Beltane, will come to Belsaye within the week, and all our
+company with me, God willing. Bid them be vigilant and watch for our
+coming; let bows be strung and wall and turret manned night and day. So
+now fare thee well, and God's hand guide thy sightless going."
+
+Then the blind man blessed Beltane, and turning, forthwith set out upon
+his way, and his staff tapped loud upon the forest-road. Right joyfully
+Beltane strode on again, his mind ever busied with thought of his
+father; but Roger's step was listless and heavy, so that Beltane must
+needs turn to look on him, and straightway marvelled to see how he hung
+his head, and that his ruddy cheek was grown wondrous pale and haggard.
+
+"Roger?" quoth he, "art sick, Roger?"
+
+"Sick, lord? nay--not sick, 'tis but that I--I--" But when he would
+have said more his voice failed him, his lip fell a-quivering, and even
+as Beltane stared in wonder, Black Roger groaned and flung himself upon
+his knees, and hid his face within his hands.
+
+"Why Roger! What ails thee, Roger, man?" said Beltane and laid a hand
+upon his shoulder, whereat Roger groaned again and shrank away.
+
+"Ah, lord, touch me not!" he cried, "unfit am I for hand of thine,
+unfit and all unworthy--"
+
+"Nay, good friend--"
+
+"Master--master!" groaned Roger, and therewith a great cry brake from
+him and he cast himself face downwards in the dust. "Unworthy am I to
+be thy man, so must I leave thee this night--aye, leave thee! For O my
+lord! yon poor blind man--'twas I--at the Red Pertolepe's command--
+'twas I--did burn out his eyes and--cut off his hand--'twas I--I--Black
+Roger! O Saint Cuthbert! O sweet Jesu! So all unworthy am I to be thy
+man!"
+
+And now great sobs shook him, fierce sobs and bitter, and he writhed
+there in the dust, groaning in the agony of his remorse. Little by
+little his passion spent itself, but still he lay there, yearning
+mightily for sound of his master's voice or touch of his hand, yet
+dared he not look up because of his abasement.
+
+At last, whenas his sobs had ceased, he lifted his wretched head and
+stared in wide-eyed wonder to see Beltane upon his knees, his mailed
+hands clasped and his lips moving in silent prayer; when, his prayer
+ended, he raised his head and straightway Roger's wonder grew, for
+behold! the eyes of Beltane were wondrous gentle, his mouth sweet-curved
+and tender, the old harsh lines of grim-curled lip and lowering
+brow had vanished quite; and thus at last Black Roger saw again the
+face of my Beltane that had smiled on him long since amid the green
+across the prostrate form of poor Beda the Jester. So now, my Beltane
+smiled, and smiling, reached forth his hand.
+
+"Roger," said he, "by shame and agony some men do win to new life and
+fuller manhood, and such a man, methinks, thou art. So hath God need of
+thee, and from this the dust of thy abasement, mayhap, shall lift thee,
+one day, high as heaven. Stand up, Roger, good my friend, stand up, O
+man, for he only is unworthy that ne'er hath wept remorseful in the
+dust for evil past and done."
+
+Then Roger grasped that strong, uplifting hand, and stood upon his
+feet, yet spake he no word; and presently they went on along the road
+together.
+
+And Roger's habit was stained with dust, and on his cheek the mark of
+bitter tears--but his head was high and manfully uplifted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+
+Now went they in silence again for that Beltane dreamed of many things
+while Roger marvelled within himself, oft turning to look on my
+Beltane's radiant face, while ever his wonder grew; so oft did he turn
+thus to gape and stare that Beltane, chancing to meet his look, smiled
+and questioned him, thus:
+
+"Why gape ye on me so, Roger man?"
+
+"For wonder, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"To see thee so suddenly thyself again--truly Saint Cuthbert is a
+potent saint!"
+
+"And thou a sturdy pray-er, good Roger."
+
+"And most vile sinner, lord. Howbeit I have dared supplicate on thy
+behalf and behold! thou art indeed thyself again--that same sweet and
+gentle youth that smote me on my knavish mazzard with thy stout
+quarter-staff in Shevening Thicket in the matter of Beda, Red
+Pertolepe's fool--a dour ding, yon, master--forsooth, a woundy rap!"
+
+Now fell they to thoughtful silence again, but oft Black Roger's stride
+waxed uneven, and oft he stumbled in his going, wherefore Beltane
+slackened his pace.
+
+"What is it, Roger?"
+
+"Naught but my legs, master. Heed 'em not."
+
+"Thy legs?"
+
+"They be shorter than thine, lord, and love not to wag so fast. An thou
+could'st abate thy speed a little--a very little, master, they shall
+thank thee dearly."
+
+"Art so weary, Roger?"
+
+"Master, I was afoot ere sunrise."
+
+"Why truly, Roger. Yet do I, to mine own selfish ends, keep thee from
+thy slumber thus. Verily a selfish man, I!"
+
+"Not so, master, indeed--"
+
+"So now will we halt, and thou shalt to thy rest."
+
+"Why then, lord, let us to the Hollow--it lieth scarce a mile through
+the brush yonder, and 'twas there I did appoint for Walkyn to meet with
+thee again--so shall we sleep secure; moreover I have a feeling--as it
+were one calling us thither, a wondrous strange feeling, master! Mayhap
+we shall come by news of Walkyn there--"
+
+"'Tis well bethought, Roger. Come thy ways."
+
+Forthwith turned they from the forest-road, and forcing their way
+through a leafy tangle, presently came out into a ride, or narrow
+glade; but they had gone only a very little distance when they espied
+the red glow of a fire within a thicket hard by, and therewith the
+sound of voices reached them:
+
+"Three great bags, I tell thee!" cried one voice, high and querulous,
+"three great, fair and goodly bags full crammed of sweet gold pieces!
+All my lord Duke's revenue of Winisfarne and the villages adjacent
+thereunto! Taxes, see ye, my lord Duke's taxes--and all stolen, reft,
+and ravished from me, Guido, Steward and Bailiff of the northern
+Marches, by clapper-claws and raveners lewd and damned! Woe's me for my
+lord's good money-bags!"
+
+"O, content thee!" spake another voice, sleepy and full-fed, "for, an
+these monies were the Duke's they were not thine, and if they were not
+thine thou wert not robbed, and, since thou wert not robbed, wherefore
+groan and glower ye on the moon? Moreover, thou hast yet certain monies
+thou didst--collect--from yon blind fellow, the which remindeth me I
+have not yet my share. So pray thee now disburse, good steward."
+
+Hereupon, ere Beltane could stay him, Roger slipped, soft-treading,
+into the undergrowth; upon whose vanishing the air grew very suddenly
+full of shouts and cries, of scuffling sounds and woeful pleadings; and
+striding forward, Beltane beheld two men that crouched on bended knees,
+while Roger, fierce and threatening, stood betwixt, a hairy hand upon
+the throat of each. Now beholding Beltane, they (these gasping rogues)
+incontinent beset him with whimpering entreaties, beseeching of him
+their lives. Ragged knaves they seemed, and in woeful plight--the one a
+lank fellow and saturnine, with long, down-trending, hungry nose; the
+other a little man, plump and buxom, whose round eyes blinked woefully
+in his round and rosy face as he bent 'neath Roger's heavy hand. Yet
+spake he to Beltane in soft and soothing accents, on this wise:
+
+"Resplendent sir, behold this thy most officious wight who doth my
+tender throat with hurtful hand encompass--doubtless to some wise and
+gracious end an he doth squeeze me thus at thy command. Yet, noble sir,
+humbly would I woo of thee the mercy of a little more air, lest this
+right noble youth do choke me quite!"
+
+But hereupon the lank fellow cried out, bold and querulous:
+
+"Take ye heed, for whoso dareth lay hand on me, toucheth the person of
+Duke Ivo's puissant self!"
+
+"Ha--say ye so?" growled Roger, and forthwith squeezed him until he
+gasped again.
+
+"Loose me, knave!" he panted, "Duke Ivo's Steward, I--Bailiff of the
+northern Marches with--towns and villages--adjacent thereunto--"
+
+"Unhand them, Roger," said Beltane, "entreat them gently--in especial
+my lord Duke's Steward and Bailiff of the Marches, if so he be in very
+truth."
+
+"Yea my lord, in very truth!" cried the Bailiff. "But two days since in
+ermined robe and chain of office, a notable man, I, courted by many,
+feared by more, right well be-seen by all, with goodly horse betwixt my
+knees and lusty men-at-arms at my beck and call. To-night, alas and
+woe! thou see'st me a ragged loon, a sorry wight the meanest rogue
+would scorn to bow to, and the very children jeer at--and all by reason
+of a lewd, black-avised clapper-claw that doth flourish him a mighty
+axe--O, a vile, seditious fellow ripe for the gallows."
+
+"Ah! with an axe say'st thou, sir Bailiff?"
+
+"O most infallibly an axe, messire--a ponderous axe with haft the
+length of this my leg. A vilely tall, base, and most unseemly dog that
+hath spoiled me of my lord's sweet money-bags, wherefore I yearn to see
+him wriggle in a noose. To the which end I journey in these my rags,
+unto my lord Duke on Barham Broom, with tale of wrong and outrage most
+abominable."
+
+"And dared they rob thee indeed?" quoth Beltane, "and thou my lord
+Duke's High Steward and Bailiff of the Marches! Come, sit ye down and
+tell me of the matter--and Roger, methinks he shall talk the better an
+thou keep thy fingers farther from his wind-pipe."
+
+So down sat they together round the fire, and, what time the little
+buxom man viewed Beltane 'twixt stealthy lids from golden spur to open
+bascinet, the Bailiff fell to his tale, as followeth:
+
+"Know then, good and noble sir knight, that I sat me, but two days
+since, in right fair and goodly estate, my lackeys to hand, my men-at-arms
+at my back (twenty tall fellows). I sat me thus, I say, within the
+square at Winisfarne, whither, by sound of trumpet, I had summoned me
+the knavish townsfolk to pay into my hand my lord Duke's rightful dues
+and taxes, which folk it is my custom to call upon by name and one by
+one. When lo! of a sudden, and all uncalled, comes me a great, tall
+fellow, this same black-avised knave, and forthwith seized him one of
+my lord's great money-bags, and when I would have denied him, set me
+his axe beneath my very nose. Thereafter took he the bags all three and
+scattered (O hateful--hateful sight!) my lord's good monies among the
+base rabblement. And, when my lusty fellows sought to apprehend me this
+rogue, he smote them dolefully and roared in hideous fashion 'Arise--
+Pentavalon!' And straightway, at this lewd shout, forth of the crowd
+leapt many other rogues bedight as gentle knights in noble mail,
+cap-à-pie, and fell upon us and smote us dire, and stripped me of my
+goodly apparel, and drave me forth of the town with stripes and blows
+and laughter most ungentle. So here sit I, poor Guido, Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches, in most vile estate, very full of woe yet,
+alack, empty of belly."
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "within thy pouch, methinks, a
+blind man's money."
+
+"How--a blind man?" gasped the Bailiff, "a blind man's monies, say'st
+thou? Nay messire, in very truth."
+
+"Search him, Roger."
+
+Hereupon Roger, having straightway choked him to silence with the one
+hand full soon had found the money with the other, and thereafter, he
+loosed the Bailiff that he might get his breath again; the which he no
+sooner had done than he fell to prayers and humble entreaties:
+
+"Sir knight--right noble sir, sure thou wilt not take thus from a
+woeful wight all that he hath."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I take only from my lord Duke's Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches. And now," said he, turning upon the small,
+round man, "thou hast marked me well, how say you, Pardoner?"
+
+"First, most truly potent, wise, yet very youthful, noble sir, that for
+all the world and all the glory thereof I would not anger thee."
+
+"Hast good eyes, Pardoner, and art quick to heed."
+
+"Nay, dull am I, sweet lord, aye, dull forsooth and slow beyond
+belief."
+
+"Would'st know me again? could'st bear my likeness in thy memory?"
+
+"Never, lord. Never, O never! I swear it by the toe of the blessed
+Didymus, by the arm of Saint Amphibalus thrice blessed, by--"
+
+"Why then, Pardoner, behold here my belt of silver, my good,
+long-bladed sword. And here--behold my yellow hair!" and off came bascinet,
+and back fell mail-coif, whereat the Bailiff started and caught his
+breath and stared on Beltane in sudden awe.
+
+"Dost mark me well, Pardoner?"
+
+"Aye, noble sir, verily and in truth do I. So, next time I think on
+thee thou wilt be a squat man, middle-aged and black-haired. For, my
+lord, a poor Pardoner I, but nought beside."
+
+Then Beltane did on coif and bascinet and rose to his feet, whereat the
+Bailiff cried out in sudden fear and knelt with hands upraised:
+
+"Slay me not, my lord! O messire Beltane, spare my life nor think I
+will betray thee, outlaw though thou art!"
+
+"Fear not, sir Bailiff," answered Beltane, "thy life is safe from me.
+But, when thou dost name me to thy lord, Duke Ivo, tell him that I
+spake thee this: That, whiles I do lie within the green he shall not
+sleep o' nights but I will be at work with fire and steel, nor rest nor
+stay until he and the evil of him be purged from this my father's duchy
+of Pentavalon--say I bid him remember this upon his pillow. Tell him
+that whiles I do hold the woods my powers grow daily, and so will I
+storm and burn his castles, one by one, as I did burn Garthlaxton. Say
+I bid him to think upon these things what time he wooeth slumber in the
+night. As to thee, thou wily Pardoner, when thou shalt come to betray
+this our meeting, say that I told thee, that as Belsaye rose, and
+Winisfarne, so shall town and village rise until Ivo and his like are
+driven hence, or Beltane slain and made an end of. And so--fare ye
+well! Come, Roger!" Then Beltane strode away with grim Roger at his
+heels what time the Bailiff and the Pardoner stared in dumb amaze.
+
+"Here," quoth the Pardoner at last, stroking his round chin, "here was
+a man, methinks, wherefore are we yet alive!"
+
+"Here," quoth the Bailiff, scratching his long nose, "here was a fool,
+methinks, for that we are alive. A traitor, see ye, Pardoner, whose
+yellow head is worth its weight in gold! Truly, truly, here was a very
+fool!" So saying, he arose, albeit furtively, and slipping forthwith
+into the shadow, crept furtively away until the fire-glow was lost and
+hidden far behind him. Then, very suddenly, he betook him to his heels,
+and coming to the forest-road, fled southwards towards Duke Ivo's great
+camp that lay on Barham Broom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+
+"Lord," said Roger, shaking his head, as they halted upon the edge of
+the Hollow, "lord, 'twere better thou hadst let me strangle them; those
+dogs will bay of thee to Black Ivo ere this time to-morrow!"
+
+"'Tis so I hope, Roger."
+
+"Hope?"
+
+"Could I but lure Black Ivo into the wild, Roger, where swamp and
+thicket should fight for us! Could I but draw him hither after me, of
+what avail the might of his heavy chivalry upon this narrow forest-road,
+his close-ranked foot-men a sure mark for the arrows of our war-wise
+foresters? Thus, our pikes in front, a charge in flank, his line
+once pierced needs must follow confusion and disorder. Then press we
+where his banner flieth, and, hemmed in by our pikes and gisarms and
+Giles's bowmen, he once our prisoner or slain, his great army would
+crumble and melt away, since they do serve but for base hire, whiles
+we, though few, do smite amain for home and children. O Roger man,
+could I but lure him into the green!"
+
+"Yet methinks there is a surer way, master."
+
+"How--as how, Roger?"
+
+"Wed thou thy Duchess, and so bring down on him all the powers of
+Mortain!"
+
+"Roger, dost well know my mind on this matter; prate ye no more!"
+
+"Then will I pray, master--so I do warn thee! Forsooth, I will this
+night fall to work upon the good saint and plague him right prayerfully
+that thy Duchess may come and save thee and thy Duchy in despite of
+thee, and having made thee Duke of Pentavalon with her lances,
+thereafter make thee Duke of Mortain in her own sweet body, for as I do
+know--"
+
+But Beltane was already descending the steep path leading down into the
+great green hollow that lay all silent and deserted 'neath the ghostly
+moon, where nought stirred in the windless air, where bush and tree
+cast shadows monstrous and distorted, and where no sound brake the
+brooding quiet save the murmurous ripple of the brook that flowed to
+lose itself in the gloomy waters of that deep and sullen pool.
+
+Swift and sure-treading as only foresters might, they descended the
+steep, and lured by some elfin fancy, Beltane must needs come to stand
+beside the pool and to stare down into those silent waters, very dark
+by reason of that great tree 'neath whose writhen branches Tostig the
+outlaw had fought and died; so stood Beltane awhile lost in
+contemplation, what time Roger, drawing ever nearer his master's elbow,
+shivered and crossed himself full oft.
+
+"Come away, master," said he at last, low-voiced, "I love not this pool
+at any time, more especially at the full o' the moon. On such nights
+ghosts do walk! Tostig was an ill man in life, but Tostig's ghost
+should be a thing to fright the boldest--prithee, come away."
+
+"Go get thee to thy rest, Roger. As for me, I would fain think."
+
+"But wherefore here?"
+
+"For that I am so minded."
+
+"So be it, master. God send thy thoughts be fair." So saying, Roger
+turned where, on the further side of the Hollow, lay those caves 'neath
+the rocky bank wherein the outlaws had been wont to sleep. But, of a
+sudden, Beltane heard a hoarse scream, a gasp of terror, and Roger was
+back beside him, his naked broad-sword all a-shake in his trembling
+hand, his eyes wide and rolling.
+
+"Master--O master!" he whimpered, "ghosts! 'neath the tree--Tostig--
+the Dead Hand!"
+
+"Nay, what folly is here, Roger?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Dead Hand--touched me--on the brow--in the shadow
+yonder! Aye--on the brow--'neath the tree! O master, dead men are we,
+'tis Tostig come to drag us back to hell with him!" And crouching on
+his knees, Roger fell to desperate prayers.
+
+Then Beltane turned whither Roger's shaking finger had pointed, and
+strode beneath the great tree. And peering up through the dark, he
+presently espied a shadowy thing that moved amid a gloom of leaves and
+branches; and, beholding what it was, he drew sword and smote high
+above his head.
+
+Something thudded heavily upon the grass and lay there, mute and rigid,
+while Beltane, leaning upon his sword, stared down at that fell shape,
+and breathing the noxious reek of it, was seized of trembling horror;
+nevertheless he stooped, and reaching out a hand of loathing in the
+dimness, found the cord whereby it had swung and dragged the rigid,
+weighty thing out into the radiance of the moon until he could see a
+pallid face twisted and distorted by sharp and cruel death. Now in this
+moment Roger sware a fierce, great oath, and forthwith kicked those
+stiffened limbs.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, "methought 'twas Tostig his ghost come for to drag us
+down into yon accursed pool--and 'tis naught but the traitor-rogue
+Gurth!"
+
+"And dead, Roger!"
+
+"Forsooth, he's dead enough, master--faugh!"
+
+"And it availeth nothing to kick a dead man, Roger."
+
+"Yet was he an arrant knave, master."
+
+"And hath paid for his knavery, methinks!"
+
+"A very rogue! a traitor! a rogue of rogues, master!"
+
+"Then hath he the more need of our prayers, Roger."
+
+"Prayers! How, lord, would'st pray for--this?"
+
+"Nay, Roger, but thou shalt, since thou art potent in prayer these
+days." So saying, Beltane knelt upon the sward and folded reverent
+hands; whereupon Roger, somewhat abashed, having set his sword upright
+in the ling as was his custom, presently knelt likewise, and clearing
+his throat, spake aloud in this fashion:
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, thou see'st here all that is left of one that in
+life was a filthy, lewd, and traitorous knave, insomuch that he hath,
+methinks, died of roguery. Now, most blessed saint, do thy best for the
+knavish soul of him, intercede on his behalf that he may suffer no more
+than he should. And this is the prayer of me, Black Roger, that has
+been a vile sinner as I have told thee, though traitor to no man, I
+praise God. But, most blessed and right potent saint, while I am at the
+ears of thee, fain would I crave thy aid on matter of vasty weight and
+import. To wit, good saint: let now Sir Fidelis, who, as ye well know,
+doth hide womanly beauties in ungentle steel--let now this brave and
+noble lady muster forthwith all the powers within her Duchy of Mortain
+--every lusty fellow, good saint--and hither march them to my master's
+aid. Let her smite and utterly confound Black Ivo, who (as oft I've
+told thee--moreover thine eyes are sharp), is but a rogue high-born,
+fitter for gallows than ducal crown, even as this most unsavoury Gurth
+was a rogue low-born. So when she hath saved my master despite himself,
+sweet saint, then do thou join them heart and body, give them joy
+abounding and happiness enduring, nor forget them in the matter of
+comely children. So bring to woeful Pentavalon and to us all and every,
+peace at last and prosperity--and to sorrowful Roger a belt wherein be
+no accursed notches and a soul made clean. _In nomen Dominum, Amen!_"
+
+"Master," quoth he, yet upon his knees and viewing Beltane somewhat
+askance, "here is the best I can do for such as yon Gurth; will't
+suffice, think ye?"
+
+"Aye, 'twill serve, Roger. But, for the other matter--"
+
+"Why see you, master, a man may freely speak his dear desires within
+his prayers--more especially when his prayers are potent, as mine.
+Moreover I warned thee--I warned thee I would pray for thee--and pray
+for thee I have." Now hereupon Beltane rose somewhat hastily and turned
+his back, what time Roger sheathed his sword.
+
+Then spake Beltane, turning him to the pool again:
+
+"We had store of tools and mattocks, I mind me. Go and look within the
+caves if there be ever a one left, for now must we bury this poor
+clay."
+
+"Ha, must we pray for him--_and_ bury him, master?"
+
+"And bury him, Roger."
+
+Then Roger sighed and shook his head and so left Beltane, who fell
+again to profound meditation; but of a sudden hearing a cry, he turned
+to behold Roger running very fleetly, who, coming near, caught him by
+the arm and sought to drag him away.
+
+"Run!" he panted, "run, master--I ha' just seen a goblin--run, master!"
+
+Now beholding the terror in Roger's eyes, Beltane unsheathed his sword.
+"Show me, Roger," said he.
+
+"Nay, lord--of what avail? Let's away, this place is rank o' deviltries
+and witchcraft--"
+
+"Show me, Roger--come!"
+
+Perforce, Roger led the way, very heedful to avoid each patch of
+shadow, until they were come opposite that cave where aforetime Beltane
+had been customed to sleep. Here Roger paused.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "there is a thing within that groaneth--
+goblin-groans, master. A thing very like unto a goblin, for I ha' seen it
+--a pale thing that creepeth--holy saints, 'tis here again--hark to it!"
+
+And in very truth Beltane heard a sound the which, soft though it was,
+checked his breath and chilled his flesh; and, as he peered into the
+gloomy recesses of the cavern, there moved something vague amid the
+shadows, something that rose up slow and painfully.
+
+Roger was down gasping on his knees, Beltane's hand was tight-clenched
+upon the hilt of his sword, as out into the moonlight crept one, very
+bent and feeble, shrouded in a long grey cloak; a pitiful figure, that,
+leaning a hand upon the rock, slowly raised a drooping head. Then
+Beltane saw that this was the witch Jolette.
+
+A while she stood thus, one hand supporting her against the rocky bank,
+the other hid within the folds of her long mantle.
+
+"O my lord!" said she, low-voiced, "all day long my heart hath been
+calling--calling to thee; so art come at last--thanks be to God--O my
+lord Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake, she reached out a hand to him so that the shrouding
+mantle fell away; then, beholding what it had hid, Beltane let fall his
+sword, and leaping forward, caught her within his arm.
+
+"Ah!--thou'rt hurt!" he cried.
+
+"My lord, I--strove to bind it up--I am cunning in herbs and simples--
+but my hurt is too deep for any leechcraft. To-night--soon--I must die.
+Lay me down, I pray thee. Thine arms are strong, lord Beltane, and--
+very gentle. How, dost grieve for a witch, lord--for poor Jolette? Nay,
+comfort ye--my life has been none so sweet I should dread to lose it."
+
+"How cometh this?" he questioned gently, on his knees beside her.
+
+"'Twas the Red Pertolepe's men--nay, messire, they have but killed me.
+But O, my dear lord--heed me well. A week agone lord Pertolepe marched
+hither seeking thee with a great company led by yon Gurth. And when he
+found thee not he hanged Gurth, yet tarried here awhile. Then I,
+knowing a secret path hither that none else do know, came and hearkened
+to their councils. So do I know that he is marched for Winisfarne--"
+
+"Ha, is this so!" cried Beltane, clenching his fist, "then will he hang
+and burn!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis like enough, messire. But--O heed me! He goeth for a deeper
+purpose--list, Beltane--O list--he goeth to seize upon the noble and
+saintly Abbess Veronica--to bear her captive unto Pentavalon city,
+there to hold her hostage for--for thee, Beltane--for thee!"
+
+"How mean you?"
+
+"When he hath her safe, Duke Ivo, because he hath learned to fear thee
+at last, will send envoys to thee demanding thou shalt yield up to him
+the town of Belsaye and thy body to his mercy, or this fair and noble
+lady Abbess shall be shamed and dishonoured, and know a death most
+dire. And--ah! because thou art the man thou art, thou must needs yield
+thyself to Ivo's cruel hands, and Belsaye to flame and ravishment."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, frowning, "within Belsaye are many women
+and children also, nor should these die that one might live, saintly
+abbess though she be."
+
+Now hereupon the witch Jolette raised herself, and set her two hands
+passionately on Beltane's shoulders, and looked upon him great-eyed and
+fearful.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--Beltane, my lord!" she panted, "but that I am under a
+vow, now could I tell thee a thing would fire thy soul to madness--but,
+O believe, believe, and know ye this--when Duke Ivo's embassy shall
+tell thee all, thou--shalt suffer them to take thee--thou shalt endure
+bonds and shame and death itself. So now thou shalt swear to a dying
+woman that thou wilt not rest nor stay until thou shalt free this lady
+Abbess, for on her safety doth hang thy life and the freedom of
+Pentavalon. Swear, O swear me this, my lord Beltane, so shall I die in
+peace. Swear--O swear!"
+
+Now, looking within her glowing eyes, feeling the tremble of her
+passionate-pleading hands, Beltane bowed his head.
+
+"I swear!" said he.
+
+"So now may God hear--this thy oath, and I--die in peace--"
+
+And saying this, Jolette sank in his arms and lay a while as one that
+swoons; but presently her heavy eyes unclosed and on her lips there
+dawned a smile right wondrous to behold, so marvellous tender was it.
+
+"I pray thee, lord, unhelm--that I may see thee--once again--thy golden
+hair--"
+
+Wondering, but nothing speaking, Beltane laid by his bascinet, threw
+back his mail-coif, and bent above her low and lower, until she might
+reach up and touch those golden curls with failing hand.
+
+"Lord Beltane!--boy!" she whispered, "stoop lower, mine eyes fail.
+Hearken, O my heart! Even as thy strong arms do cradle me, so--have
+these arms--held thee, O little Beltane, I--have borne thee oft upon my
+heart--ere now. Oft have hushed thee to rosy sleep--upon this bosom.
+'Twas from--these arms Sir Benedict caught thee on--that woeful day.
+For I that die here--against thy heart, Beltane--am Jolette, thy
+foster-mother--wilt thou--kiss me--once?"
+
+So Beltane stooped and kissed her, and, when he laid her down, Jolette
+the witch was dead.
+
+Full long Beltane knelt, absorbed in prayer, and as he prayed, he wept.
+So long knelt he thus, that at last cometh Roger, treading soft and
+reverently, and touched him.
+
+"Master!" he whispered.
+
+Then Beltane arose as one that dreams and stood a while looking down
+upon that pale and placid face, on whose silent lips the wondrous smile
+still lingered. But of a sudden, Roger's fingers grasped his arm.
+
+"Master!" he whispered again. Thereon Beltane turned and thus he saw
+that Roger looked neither on him nor on the dead and that he pointed
+with shaking finger. Now, glancing whither he pointed, Beltane beheld,
+high on the bank above them, a mounted knight armed cap-à-pie, who
+stared down at them through closed visor--a fierce and war-like figure
+looming gigantic athwart the splendour of the sinking moon. And even as
+they stared in wonder, a broad shield flashed, and knight and horse
+were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+
+"Lord!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "yonder certes was Hob-gob!
+Forsooth ne'er saw I night the like o' this! How think ye of yon
+devilish things? Here was it one moment, and lo! in the twinkle of an
+eye it is not. How think ye, master?"
+
+"I do think 'twas some roving knight."
+
+"Nay but, lord--how shall honest flesh and blood go a-vanishing away
+into thin air whiles a man but blinketh an eye?"
+
+"The ground hath sudden slope thereabouts, belike."
+
+"Nay, yonder was some arch-wizard, master--the Man o' the Oak, or
+Hob-gob himself. Saint Cuthbert shield us, say I--yon was for sure a
+spirit damned--"
+
+"Hark! Do spirits go in steel, Roger?" said Beltane, stooping for his
+sword; for indeed, plain and loud upon the prevailing quiet was the
+ring and clash of heavy armour, what time from the bushes that clothed
+the steep a tall figure strode, and the moon made a glory in polished
+shield, it gleamed upon close-vizored helm, it flashed upon brassart,
+vanbrace and plastron. Being come near, the grim and warlike figure
+halted, and leaning gauntleted hand upon long shield, stood silent a
+while seeming to stare on Beltane through the narrow slit of his great
+casque. But even as he viewed Beltane, so stared Beltane on him, on the
+fineness of his armour, chain and plate of the new fashion, on his
+breadth of shoulder and length of limb--from shining casque to
+gleaming shield, whereon was neither charge nor blazon; and so at last,
+spake my Beltane, very gentle and courteous:
+
+"Messire, an thou be come in peace, now shalt thou be right welcome--"
+
+"Peace!" quoth the knight loud and fierce, and his laughter rang hoarse
+within his helm. "Peace, forsooth! Thou art a tall and seemly youth, a
+youth fair spoken, and yet--ha! A belt of silver! And golden hair! And
+yet--so very youthful! Art thou in very truth this famous rogue whose
+desperate deeds do live on every tongue, who hath waked Duke Ivo from
+his long-time security, insomuch that he doth yearn him for that yellow
+head o' thine--art thou Beltane the Outlaw and Rebel?"
+
+"'Tis so men do call me, messire."
+
+"Verily, youth, methinks dost lie, for I have heard this outlaw is
+beyond all men wild and fierce and weaveth him demoniac spells and
+enchantments most accurst, whereby he maketh gate and door and mighty
+portcullis to ope and yield before his pointed finger, and bolt and bar
+and massy wall to give him passage when he will, as witness the great
+keep of Garthlaxton that he did burn with hellish fire. I have heard he
+doth commonly burn gibbets to warm him, and beareth off great lords
+beneath his arm as I might a small coney and slayeth him three or four
+with his every stroke. 'Tis said that he doth wax daily mightier and
+more fierce, since he doth drink hot blood and batteneth on flesh o'
+tender babes beneath the orbèd moon--"
+
+"Messire," said Beltane beginning to frown, "within thy wild and
+foolish talk is this much truth, that I, with divers trusty comrades,
+did indeed burn down the shameful gallows of Belsaye, and bore captive
+a certain lordly knave. As for Garthlaxton, the thing was simple--"
+
+"O boastful boy!" quoth the knight, tossing aside his shield, "O
+beardless one, since thou dost proclaim thyself this desperate rogue,
+here is reason just for some small debate betwixt us. Do on thy coif
+forthwith, for now will I strive to make an end of thee," and speaking,
+the knight unsheathed a long and ponderous sword.
+
+"How an I fight thee not, sir knight?"
+
+"Then must I needs belabour thee to the good of thy soul, sir outlaw.
+So on with thy coif, I say!"
+
+Incontinent ran Roger to fetch his bascinet the which Beltane slowly
+fitted on above his hood of mail, and thereafter, albeit unwillingly,
+fronted this doughty knight, foot to foot and point to point. Now
+stepped they a moment about each other, light-treading for all their
+weighty armour, and with long blades advanced; then, of a sudden they
+closed, and immediately the air shivered to the ring and grind of
+flashing, whirling steel. To and fro, and up and down they fought upon
+the level sward what time Black Roger rubbed complacent hands,
+grim-smiling and confident; and ever as they fought the stranger knight
+laughed and gibed, harsh and loud, from behind his grimly casque.
+
+"Ho!--fight, youth, fight!" cried he, "have done with love-taps! Sa-ha,
+have at thee--fight, I say!" A panther-like side-leap, a whirl of
+glimmering steel, and his long blade smote sparks from Beltane's
+bascinet, whereat Roger's smile, incontinent, vanished, and his face
+waxed suddenly anxious and long.
+
+But fierce and fiercer the stranger knight beset my Beltane, the while
+he lashed him with mocking tongue:
+
+"Call ye this fighting, sir youthful outlaw? Doth thine arm fail thee
+so soon? Tap not, I say, lest I grow angered and slay thee forthright!"
+
+Then, blow for blow, did Beltane the mighty fall on right furiously,
+but ever blade met blade whiles Roger danced on anxious feet, praying
+for the end. Of a sudden, shouted he joyously, for, flashing high in
+air, down came Beltane's long blade strong and true upon the knight's
+helm--a fell, deep-dinting stroke that drave the stranger reeling back.
+Fierce and swift leapt Beltane to smite again--came a shock of clashing
+steel, a flurry of stroke and counter-stroke, and thereafter, a hoarse
+shout of dismay from Roger: for Beltane stood as one dazed, staring
+upon his empty right hand what time the knight boomed derisive laughter
+through his vizor. Then sprang grim Roger, dagger aloft, but swifter
+than he, the knight's sword swung; flat fell that long blade on Roger's
+bascinet, wielded by an arm so strong that Roger, staggering aside,
+rolled upon the ling, and thereafter, sat up, round-eyed and fearful:
+
+"O master!" he panted, "here is none of--honest flesh and blood, 'tis--
+Hob-gob himself, as I did warn thee. May Saint Cuthbert, Saint Bede,
+Saint Edmund--"
+
+"Go to--cease thy windy prattling, Roger Thick-pate!" spake the knight,
+and letting fall his sword, he lifted his visor. And behold! a face
+lean and hawk-like, with eyes quick and bright, and a smiling mouth
+wry-twisted by reason of an ancient wound.
+
+"Know ye me not, lord Beltane?" quoth he, with look right loving, "hast
+forgot me indeed, most loved lad?" But swift came my Beltane, glad-eyed
+and with arms out-flung in eager welcome.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" he cried, "hast come at last? Now do I joy to see
+thee!"
+
+"My lord," says Benedict, wagging mailed finger. "Ha, Beltane, canst
+burn gibbets, storm mighty castles and out-face desperate odds, yet is
+old Benedict thy master at stroke of sword still--though, forsooth,
+hast dinted me my helm, methinks! O sweet lad, come to my arms, I've
+yearned for thee these many days." Herewith Sir Benedict caught Beltane
+within his close embrace, and patted him with gauntleted hands, and
+laughed for very gladness.
+
+"O foolish youth--O youthful fool!" quoth he, "surely thou of all fools
+art greatest, a youthful, god-like fool! O mighty son of mighty father,
+how mighty hath thy folly been! O lovely lad that hath attempted deeds
+impossible, pitting thyself 'gainst Ivo and all his might! Verily,
+Beltane, thou'rt the loveliest fool that ever man did love--"
+
+"Nay, but dear messire," says Beltane as Sir Benedict stayed for
+breath, "pray thee, where is thy meaning?"
+
+"Sweet lad, I do but strive to tell thee thou'rt a fool, yet so glad am
+I of thy foolish company the words do stick somewhat, but my meaning
+shall be manifest--now mark me! Didst not carry off the Red Pertolepe
+'neath the lances of his men-at-arms?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Didst not have thy hand on the throat of that cold, smiling rogue Sir
+Gui of Allerdale?"
+
+"Verily, messire."
+
+"And hold within thy grasp the life of that foul-living Gilles of
+Brandonmere, whose father I slew twelve years agone, I thank God!"
+
+"'Tis true, good Benedict."
+
+"And didst not suffer these arch-knaves to live on and work their
+pestilent wills, Beltane?"
+
+"Sir, I did, but--"
+
+"So art thrice a fool. When we see a foul and noxious worm, to tread it
+under foot is a virtuous act. So when a man doth constant sin 'gainst
+man and maid, to kill him--"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Sir Gui and Gilles of Brandonmere have made an end of sinning,
+methinks."
+
+"Why 'tis so I've heard of late, Beltane, and herein is some small
+comfort; but Red Pertolepe is yet to slay--"
+
+"Truly!" cried Beltane, clenching his fists, "and he marcheth on
+Winisfarne, to burn and hang--"
+
+"Content you, my lord Beltane, Waldron of Brand lieth in Winisfarne,
+and I am here--"
+
+"So doth my heart rejoice for thee, Benedict, thou right trusty and
+doughty friend. But how came ye hither, and wherefore? Methought thee
+yet in Thrasfordham!"
+
+"Aha, dear lad, so doth Ivo at this moment, I pray God. A week agone
+and, ere the investment was complete, wondrous news reached me from
+Waldron of Brand, whose sire bore my pennon in thy noble father's wars.
+And because I knew Waldron's word is ever less than his deed, and,
+belike, that I grow weary of sieges (seven have I withstood within
+these latter years) I, at dead of night, by devious and secret ways,
+stole forth of Thrasfordham--dight in this armour new-fashioned (the
+which, mark me! is more cumbrous than fair link-mail) howbeit, I got me
+clear, and my lord Beltane, here stand I to aid and abet thee in all
+thy desperate affrays, henceforth. Aha! methinks shall be great doings
+within the greenwood anon!"
+
+"Aye, but what of Thrasfordham? An Duke Ivo besiege it--"
+
+"He shall find five hundred and more right doughty fellows, with Sir
+Richard of Wark and Sir Brian of Shand (that were armour-bearers to thy
+knightly sire) to keep him in play."
+
+"And what would ye here, Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Fight, Beltane, fight! Methinks he shall lack nothing for hard smiting
+that rideth with thee--hey, boy, I do yearn amain for the shock of a
+charge!"
+
+"My company is but small, alas!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"'Tis so I've heard, my Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, and smiling his
+wry smile, he took a small hunting-horn that hung about his neck, "let
+us therefore make it larger--"
+
+"How so--how so, good Benedict?--Ha! mean you--"
+
+"Watch now!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict set the horn to his lip and winded it three
+times loud and shrill, and thereafter stood with hand upraised. And lo!
+upon the stillness a sound that grew and grew--a whisper, a rustling as
+of strong wind in trees, and presently upon the high banks to north and
+east and west a great company appeared, horse-men and footmen, whose
+armour flashed 'neath the moon, while high o'er bascinet and helm rose
+deadly pike and ponderous lance, rank upon rank, a very forest.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict loud-voiced, and pointing to the grim array:
+
+"Behold, lord Duke, hither have I brought thee five hundred archers and
+pike-men, with three hundred knights and men-at-arms, and each and
+every a man well tried and chosen, all vowed to follow thee and smite
+in Pentavalon's cause even as I, their lord, that do love thee for thy
+noble father's sake and for thine own sweet and knightly worth!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict fell upon his knee before that great assemblage
+and caught Beltane's hand and kissed it; whereon, from those gleaming
+ranks rose a deep and thunderous shout while lance and spear-head
+flashed again.
+
+Now looking from this right goodly array to the proud and war-like
+figure that bent so humbly at his feet, Beltane's heart swelled amain
+and all things grew blurred and misty in his sight.
+
+"Sir Benedict," said he hoarse-voiced, "thou good and noble knight--O
+Benedict, dear my friend, kneel not to me. For thy so great love, thy
+faith and loyalty, fain would I thank thee--yet words be so poor, and
+I--O, Benedict--"
+
+"Lord," said Benedict, "our camp lieth scarce three miles westward,
+come, I pray thee--"
+
+"Nay, first come ye, friend, and look upon a dead witch that was indeed
+a noble woman."
+
+So Beltane brought Sir Benedict where lay the dead Jolette, smiling yet
+as though into the eyes of God. Now beholding her, Sir Benedict
+beckoned Roger and bid him stimmon certain of his company, forthwith;
+and when Roger hasted back with divers awestruck fellows at his heels,
+they stood staring, amazed to behold these two great knights humbly
+kneeling side by side to pray for the soul of her who, all her days,
+had been scorned of men as the witch Jolette.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+
+At peep of day the trumpets blew, and Beltane, starting up from
+slumber, found the great camp all astir about him; the smoke of a
+hundred watch-fires rose up into the stilly air of morning and made a
+fragrant mist amid the trees beneath which armour glinted as guard
+relieved guard and the new-waked companies mustered under arms. And
+ever as the sun rose the bustle waxed and grew, with a coming and going
+about the fires where the morning meal was preparing; here a mighty
+furbishing of arms and armour, yonder a prodigious hissing and so-hoing
+where chargers and pack-horses were picketed, line upon line--goodly
+beasts that stamped and snorted and whinnied joyously--and everywhere
+was noise and cheer of talk and laughter; yet everywhere was method and
+a strict orderliness in all things, wherefore Beltane's very heart sang
+within him.
+
+Now as he stood thus, viewing all things keen-eyed and watchful, he was
+presently aware of Sir Benedict and Black Roger who walked together
+within a distant alley; and as they passed them to and fro Black Roger
+talked amain, what time Sir Benedict seemed to hearken right solemn and
+attentive, oft pausing to question him quick and eager, and oft to clap
+hand to Roger's brawny back; and sometimes laughed he blithe and joyous
+and sometimes hearkened with grizzled head a-droop, until a turn in the
+glade hid them from sight.
+
+Little by little, above the resinous fragrance of the fires rose other
+scents more delectable to the nostrils of a hungry man, thus, waking
+from his meditations Beltane turned him wistfully towards where, above
+the nearest fire, a goodly cooking pot seethed and bubbled invitingly.
+But even now a hand slipped within his arm and holding him thus, Sir
+Benedict viewed him joyful-eyed and smiled on him his wry and twisted
+smile.
+
+"Beltane," said he, wagging his head, "O Beltane, thou wilt mind how
+upon a time as I drank a bowl of milk with thee amid the green in
+Mortain, I did warn thee that she had red hair and was like to prove a
+spit-fire, therefore!"
+
+Now hereupon my Beltane must needs catch his breath and flush to the
+ears of him, and therewith strive to look at his ease, like the very
+youth he was.
+
+"How, messire, hath Roger babbled to thee?"
+
+"Babbled?" quoth Sir Benedict, shaking his head, "nay, Roger is no
+babbler of secret matters, for many do ken of thy love, Beltane--and I
+am thy friend, so is thy happiness my happiness. Thus do I say God and
+the sweet saints bless thee in thy love, dear lad, for a right noble
+lady is Helen the Beautiful and meet to thine embracements. By her so
+great love, by her proved faithfulness shalt thou yet win to
+happiness--"
+
+"Nay, dear my Benedict, first must Pentavalon win to peace."
+
+"Aye, by Helen's noble love, for--"
+
+"O Sir Benedict, I have sworn an oath!"
+
+"Aye, sweet lad, but Roger hath prayed a prayer!"
+
+"Hath he told thee so much, Benedict?"
+
+"So much," quoth Sir Benedict, pressing his arm, "so much, O man, that
+hereafter needs must I love thee and honour thee the more. Since man
+art thou, my Beltane, for all thy so great youthfulness."
+
+"Nay, Benedict, am none so youthful."
+
+"Thy very speech doth prove thee so, yet, being boy, thou art forsooth
+a man to-day."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that to-day I do know more of thee. 'Tis suffering, 'tis sorrow
+nobly borne doth make the man, Beltane."
+
+"Suffering, messire?"
+
+"Yon lock of hair showeth very white amid the gold, Beltane, but thou
+art better man therefore, methinks. The fetters of thy dungeon yet
+gleam upon thy wrists, Beltane. But truly I do think within thy prison
+was forged the sword shall avenge our woes and free Pentavalon at
+last."
+
+"Think you indeed, thou wise Benedict, that we by grief and sorrow do
+rise to find our nobler selves?"
+
+"Aye verily! 'Tis but by sorrow and suffering our strength or weakness
+groweth manifest, Beltane."
+
+"Yet--O Benedict--I did doubt her--plied her with scornful tongue and--
+drave her lonely from me!"
+
+"And dost grieve amain, and sorrow therefore, O youth!"
+
+"Yea, indeed, indeed--sleeping and waking!"
+
+"And do yearn to woo her to forgiveness on thy knees, to crush her in
+thine arms and kiss her breath away, O Lover?"
+
+"Aye, dear Sir Benedict, in such sort and so greatly that my passion
+oft doth fright me, so fiercely do I yearn and long--yet tremble and
+grow faint at thought of it!"
+
+"Yet art thou here, bedight in arms, O man--thy yearning body far
+removed from all temptation till thou hast proved thee worthy her
+embrace! And thus it is I know thee for a man, my Beltane!"
+
+"And thou, Benedict, thou hast yearned and trembled with love ere now,
+thou hast been a lover once, methinks?" But here Sir Benedict fell to
+silence, walking with face averted and gaze bent towards the dewy
+grass, and quickened his steps until they were come nigh unto the camp.
+Then lifted he his head; quoth he:
+
+"My lord Beltane, how think you of this thy new-found company?"
+
+"Men--ha! men, good Benedict--soldiers born and bred!"
+
+"Forsooth, and 'neath mine own eye, Beltane. There is not one but I
+have watched him in the stress of battle. Body o' me, but I have chosen
+needfully, there is none but hath proved his worthiness! See you the
+little man yonder, in half-mail with sword as great as himself--he that
+pipeth shrill-voiced as a boy? 'Tis Prat who alone stood off a score
+what time I lay wounded and pinned beneath my charger. Mark ye yon
+lusty fellow beside him? 'Tis Cnut that, single-handed, hewed him a
+path through Ivo's battle and bare away his own banner, the which doth
+grace my hall at Thrasfordham e'en now. And yonder is Dirk that was a
+slave, yet fighteth like a paladin. And there again is Siward, that
+with his brother maintained the sallyport 'gainst Ivo's van what time
+they drave us from the outer bailey. And yonder Cedric--but so could I
+name them each and every--ha! there sounds the welcome tucket! Come,
+let us break our fast, and there be many knights and esquires and
+gentles of degree do wait to pay thee homage."
+
+So presently came they into the midst of the camp, where, seated on the
+mossy ling, hungry and expectant, were many noble lords and gentle
+knights and esquires of degree, who, beholding Sir Benedict with
+Beltane, rose up with one accord. Young men were these for the most
+part, yet were there many grizzled heads and wrinkled brows among them--
+grim lords of the old Duke's following much versed in war, calm of
+judgment and wise in council; but one and all did they stare upon my
+Beltane in wonder at his youth because of his so famous deeds.
+
+Now spake to them Sir Benedict, short and soldier-like:
+
+"My lords, this is he of whom ye all have heard, Beltane hight, son of
+Beltane our Duke, for whom we together have held Thrasfordham so long
+and painfully. My lord Beltane, of all the knights and nobles of the
+Duke thy father's days, here do stand, sire or son, all that have
+withstood Black Ivo. Behold here Sir Bertrand, that was thy father's
+seneschal of Pentavalon City. Here, Sir John of Griswold whose sire
+bare thy father's banner, wherefore Griswold is ashes long since. Here
+Hubert of Erdington, that was thy father's marshal-of-the-field. Here,
+Hacon of Trant, that was wont to lead thy father's vanward, and here,
+Sir Brian of Hartismere, brother to Eric, called the Wry-neck. So now,
+all's said, my lord, wherefore I pray, let us eat."
+
+Forthwith down they sat together on the grass, all and sundry, and ate
+and drank and laughed and talked, insomuch that in brake and thicket
+near and far the birds carolled and chattered in pretty mockery.
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict when the meal was ended, "ere I met
+thee, 'twas my intent this hour to march on Winisfarne, according to my
+promise to Waldron of Brand, how say you?"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Beltane, "as soon as ye will."
+
+Thus, within the hour, the trumpets brayed 'to horse' and all was
+seeming hurry and confusion; yet a confusion, this, governed by
+soldierly method, so that, ere long, horsemen were mounted and footmen
+in array what time Beltane, bedight in goodly vizored casque, with
+lance and shield borne behind him, came where stood Sir Benedict beside
+a great and noble war-horse.
+
+Forthwith Beltane mounted, and forthwith from these well-ordered ranks
+a great shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+Now, reining in his eager beast, Beltane looked upon that stern array,
+and as he looked his eye kindled and his heart swelled within him.
+
+"O men!" said he, "I that ye do acclaim am but a man even as ye are
+men, to bear with ye the heat and labour of the day. What ye must
+endure that will I endure with you. Here stand I, ready to spill my
+blood that Wrong may cease. Even as ye, I am prepared to adventure me,
+life and limb, that Lust and Murder may cease to be and Innocence and
+Truth may walk again all unashamed. So shall I lead ye into battles and
+affrays desperate and bloody, where foes shall be a-many and we, few.
+But we do fight for hearth and home, and the thought of this, methinks,
+shall nerve us strong as giants. Yet is our way a perilous way, and
+some of us, belike, must die. But, by the blood of such, this our
+country is hallowed unto those that shall come after us, so shall our
+memories teach others how to die--and better--how to live that this our
+country may stand, hereafter, for all things great and noble. He that
+dieth for home and children shall, mayhap, from the floor of heaven,
+look down upon a great and happy people whose freedom he--by weary
+marches, by pain of wounds, by sharp and sudden death--he himself hath
+helped to purchase, and, in their peace and happiness, find an added
+joy.
+
+"O men! who would not be a man to fight in such just cause? Who would
+not cherish life that he might lose it to such noble purpose?
+
+"Now therefore, all ye that do love Pentavalon--follow!"
+
+Thus saying, my Beltane wheeled his horse; and with rhythmic ring and
+clash, together, rank on rank, horsemen and footmen, they followed hard
+behind, a silent, grim array, with eyes that gleamed 'neath helm and
+bascinet, and purposeful hands that griped full strong on lance and
+spear-shaft, as, coming to the forest-road, they swung away northwards
+towards Winisfarne.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI
+
+WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+
+Two and two they rode--for the way was oft-times narrow--their flanks
+well covered by light-armed archers who marched within the green, with
+mounted archers far in their van and others in their rear.
+
+A glory of sun dappled their way with dancing shadows, flowers were
+a-bloom in bank and hedgerow, and birds carolled blithe in the fragrant
+air, what time Sir Benedict rode beside Beltane, his ponderous casque
+a-swing at saddle-bow; and oft he turned his grizzled head to view my
+thoughtful Beltane as one might look upon a son, new-found.
+
+Now in a while Beltane turned and meeting his look reached out to him
+his hand.
+
+"Dear Benedict," said he, "how much--how very much I owe to thee. Thou
+art methinks the greatest knight that e'er couched lance--"
+
+"Save thy noble father!" quoth Sir Benedict with solemn nod.
+
+"My father--you were his esquire and much-loved comrade, Benedict?"
+
+"I was, Beltane."
+
+"Knew you my mother well, also?"
+
+"Thy mother? Why--aye, forsooth, I--knew thy mother--very well,
+Beltane."
+
+"What manner of woman was she, I pray?"
+
+"The fairest and noblest these eyes have e'er beheld!"
+
+"The--noblest?"
+
+"And purest! Hark ye, Beltane, and mark me well--there ne'er lived wife
+of so stainless honour as the noble woman that bare thee!"
+
+"And yet," sighed Beltane, with wrinkled brow, "within the garden of
+Pentavalon--my father--"
+
+"Thy father was a sick man, faint with wounds and spent with hardship.
+All that day, as we rode unto Pentavalon City, he and I, his mind oft
+wandered and he held wild talk in his fever. But hale was I, mind and
+body, and I do know the Duke thy father fell to strange and sudden
+madness upon that dreadful day, whereby came woe to Pentavalon, and
+bitter remorse to him. This do I swear, thy mother was noble wife and
+saintly woman!"
+
+"Loved she my father?"
+
+"Aye, verily--she was his wife! Thy father was a noble knight and
+peerless--and oft warring on the marches, but methinks--she was
+something lonely--at times, Beltane."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, and again "Alas!" So fell they incontinent to
+deep thought and rode full long in silence. But ever and anon as they
+paced along together thus, Sir Benedict must needs lift his head to
+gaze upon my Beltane, and his grim lips curved to smile infinite
+tender, and in his eyes was growing wonder.
+
+Quoth he at last:
+
+"Beltane, d'ye mark this our silent company, not a stave have they
+carolled since we set forth! But how shall a man sing and jest whose
+heart is set on great emprise? Verily thy words have fired e'en this
+shrivelled heart o' mine till I, even as they, methinks, do burn to
+fight Pentavalon's cause, to shield her from woeful shame and--ha!--
+such vile sights as yon!"
+
+Now looking where Sir Benedict pointed, Beltane beheld a thing,
+crookedly contorted, a-dangle from a knotted branch that jutted athwart
+the way, insomuch that the must needs stoop, cowering in his saddle,
+lest he touch the twisted feet of it.
+
+"Dead three days I judge!" mused Sir Benedict. "Much is possible to the
+Red Pertolepe in three days. And he hath a great and powerful
+following, 'tis said!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, pale-cheeked and frowning a little:
+
+"So would I have it, Benedict--they shall be the more for us to smite!"
+
+"I've heard he musters full three thousand, Beltane."
+
+"What then, good Benedict? Yon poor, dead thing we passed but now was
+worth a score of men to us--and there will be others--Sir Pertolepe
+loveth to see men hang! So perchance, ere we come to Winisfarne, the
+strength of thousands shall lie within these arms of ours."
+
+"'Tis a fair thought, lad--aye, 'tis a right fair thought! May all the
+poor souls done thus to sudden, cruel death, march within our slender
+ranks and smite with us, shoulder to shoulder, henceforth!"
+
+And now as they went, came they on many and divers signs of the Red
+Pertolepe's passing; here a smouldering heap of ruin whereby lay pale,
+stiff shapes half hidden in the grass--yonder a little child
+outstretched as though asleep, save for wide eyes that looked so
+blindly on the sun: and there, beyond, upon the white dust of the road,
+great gouts and pools that had trickled from something sprawled among
+the underbrush.
+
+And the soft wind crooned and whispered in the leaves--leaves that
+parting, showed other shapes swung high in air, whose pallid faces
+looked down on them, awful-eyed, from the tender green, faces drawn and
+haggard, with teeth agleam or open mouths whence screams had come, but
+very silent now until the Day of Judgment.
+
+So rode they, with death above them and around, death in many hateful
+shapes; and oft Sir Benedict bowed his head as one that prayed, the
+while his strong hands knit themselves to iron fists; and oft from
+those grim ranks behind a sound went up to heaven, a sound ominous and
+low, that was like unto a moan.
+
+Thus marched they, through heat and dust, through cool, green shadow,
+splashing through noisy brook and shallow ford, until, as the sun
+reached the zenith, they came to the brow of a hill and saw afar the
+walls and roofs of the prosperous town of Winisfarne.
+
+And ever as they drew nearer. Sir Benedict stared on it, his black
+brows close-knit, and fingered his square chin as one puzzled.
+
+"Beltane," quoth he at last, "'tis full ten years since I saw
+Winisfarne, and yet--meseemeth--it looked not so! 'Tis as though I
+missed somewhat, and yet--"
+
+But now came Roger, a dusty figure, spurring from the rear:
+
+"Master," he cried, pointing with eager finger, "O master, the keep--
+where is the great keep that stood yonder?"
+
+"Aye, verily--the keep!" nodded Sir Benedict, clapping mailed hand to
+thigh, "and 'twas a great and mighty hold as I do mind me!"
+
+Now looked they gloomily on each other and halted their array what time
+Sir Benedict passed word for bows to be strung and every eye and every
+ear to be strained right needfully; then moved they on again.
+
+Betimes they reached the outskirts of the town, for defences it had
+none, but no man moved therein and no sound reached them but the noise
+of their own going. Thus, in a while, with hands tight-clenched and
+lips firm-set they rode into the desolation of the market-place
+befouled by signs of battle fierce and fell, while beyond, a mass of
+charred ruin, lay all that was left of Winisfarne's once great and
+famous keep.
+
+Now above this ruin divers gibbets had been set up, and behold! these
+gibbets each bore a heavy burden. Then Beltane lighted from his horse,
+and going apart, laid by his casque and sat him down, his head bowed
+betwixt his hands as one that is direly sick. In a while as he sat
+thus, heedless of all things, cometh Roger.
+
+"Master," said he, "saw ye the gibbets yonder?"
+
+"I saw them, Roger."
+
+"Upon those gibbets be divers of our good fellows, master. There is
+Diccon and Peter of my company of pikes, and Gregory that was a fair
+good bowman, and there be others also--and master, these be not hanged
+men!"
+
+"Not hanged--?"
+
+"No, master! All these our men died in battle, as their wounds do
+testify--they were dead men already when Pertolepe hanged them on his
+gibbets. And Walkyn is not here, wherefore, methinks, he liveth yet.
+And Pertolepe is not here, yet where Pertolepe is, there shall we
+surely find Walkyn, for Walkyn hath sworn full oft--ha! master--
+master, behold what cometh here--see, yonder!"
+
+Then Beltane arose, and looking where Roger pointed, beheld a strange,
+misshapen thing, half beast, half man, that ran wondrous fleetly
+towards them, and, as it ran, flourished aloft a broken sword; now was
+he lost to sight behind some bush or quick-set, now he bounded high
+over stream or stone or fallen tree--nought was there could let or stay
+him--until he came where stood Sir Benedict's outposts, to whose
+conduct he yielded him forthwith and so was presently brought into the
+market-square.
+
+A wild figure this, great and hairy of head and with the arms and
+shoulders of a very giant; bedight was he in good link-mail, yet foul
+with dirt and mire and spattered with blood from heel to head, and in
+one great hand he griped still the fragment of a reddened sword. All
+a-sweat was he, and bleeding from the hair, while his mighty chest
+heaved and laboured with his running.
+
+So stood he betwixt his brawny captors what time he panted hoarse and
+loud, and stared about him fierce-eyed 'neath beetling brows. Thus, of
+a sudden he espied my Beltane standing bare-headed in his youthful
+might, whereon this monstrous man forthwith dashed aside his stalwart
+guards as they had been babes, and ran towards Beltane with hairy hands
+outstretched, whereon sprang Roger to front him, dagger a-gleam; but
+lo! Roger was caught up in those mighty arms and shaken helplessly.
+"Fool!" cried this grim fellow, "think ye I would harm Beltane that is
+my most loved lord henceforth? I am Ulf, called the Strong, and, as
+this my hateful body is strong, so is my love--lie there!" So saying,
+Ulf laid Roger upon his back, and coming to Beltane, fell upon his face
+before him and caught his mailed feet and kissed them.
+
+"Lord Beltane," he cried, harsh-voiced, "thou seest I do love thee--yet
+'twas I did bear thee captive to thy foe by command of one I love
+beyond all others. But thou, lord Beltane, thou at peril of thy life
+did save her from shame and fiery death when Ulf could not--so do I
+love thee, lord Beltane, and will be thy slave henceforth, to love and
+serve thee till I die--an thou wilt take me. Misshapen and unlovely ye
+behold me--a vile thing that men would jeer at but that they fear to
+die, for God who hath denied me all else, hath given me strength beyond
+all men. Yet do I hate myself and do hide me from the eyes of my
+fellows: but, an thou canst bear with me, canst suffer me beside thee
+and be not ashamed of my unloveliness, then will I front all eyes
+right boldly. Now lord, an thou wilt take Ulf for thy man, reach down
+to me thy hand."
+
+Then Beltane reached down and took Ulf's hairy hand in his.
+
+"Ulf," said he, "thou that God hath blessed with such noble strength,
+methinks 'neath thy grim shape thy heart is noble also, and thy soul,
+mayhap, straight and lovely. So will I make thee brother in arms to my
+faithful Roger, that ye two shall ride ever near me when the battle
+joins."
+
+Now Ulf the strong stood up erect upon his feet, and on his swart
+cheeks great tears rolled, glistening.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "O Beltane, my lord and master--" and bowed grim head
+with sudden sob, whereat Beltane questioned him full hastily, as thus:
+
+"Art wounded, Ulf! And whence come ye in such guise?"
+
+"Lord," says Ulf, wiping off his tears and choking upon a sob, "I came
+through Bloody Pertolepe's array."
+
+"Through?--nay, how mean you?" questioned Beltane, the while Sir
+Benedict and many wondering knights and esquires pressed round them in
+a ring.
+
+"I mean through, lord, for Walkyn's need is dire. So burst I through
+them--I had an axe but it brake in my hold, see you, even as this my
+sword--alack, there is no weapon that I do not break! Howbeit here am
+I, lord, hither come with word for one Sir Benedict of Bourne that did
+covenant to meet with Walkyn here at Winisfarne!"
+
+"Behold us here--speak on!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Thus, then, saith Walkyn o' the Dene: That scarce had he stormed and
+set fire to yonder prison-keep, than from the south cometh a great
+company, the which he at the first did take for ye. But, in a while,
+behold Sir Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner, the which giveth Walkyn
+much to think. Now cometh to him one beyond all women noble and
+gracious and holy (as I do know) the fair and stately Abbess Veronica,
+who, years agone, did build and endow yon great and goodly abbey,
+wherein all poor desolate souls should be cherished and comforted by
+her and her saintly nuns, and where the stricken fugitive might find
+sanctuary and peace and moreover be healed of his hurts. (All this know
+I since I was fugitive, hurt and very woeful and found me solace
+there.) So cometh this noble lady to Walkyn (and with her, I) and
+speaketh him calm and sweetly, thus: 'Yonder rideth Sir Pertolepe that
+is knight of noble birth, yet the rather would I trust myself and these
+my good sisters in thy hands, O man! So do I pray thee when thou goest
+hence, yield us the protection of thy strength, so shall heaven bless
+thee!' Hereon Walkyn frowned and plucked his beard awhile, but
+thereafter, came he to kneel and kiss her hand and swear to aid her the
+while life him lasted. Then summoned he his company (lusty fellows all)
+and called for thirty men that would remain to hold Red Pertolepe in
+play what time he seeketh place of greater vantage well beknown to him.
+Forthwith stood out one Tall Orson hight (a doughty fellow) and with
+him nine and twenty other lusty fellows, right willing (and with them,
+I) and thereafter Walkyn formeth his company (the nuns in the midst)
+and marched in haste for Brand that is a lonely tower. Then did these
+thirty (and with them I) shoot arrows amain on Pertolepe's vanguard
+from every place of vantage hereabouts, and met them with right lusty
+hand-strokes and stayed thus their advance until of the thirty there
+none remained alive save seven (and of these, I). And, since we could
+do no more, I (that do know this country from my misshapen youth)
+brought these men by secret ways unto the Tower of Brand that is
+desolate and a ruin, yet strong withal. And there lay Walkyn (that is a
+notable fighter) keeping watch and ward within the tower what time he
+waited thy succour. Now who so skilful and tender with our wounded as
+this sweet and gracious lady Abbess! Next day, sure enough, cometh
+Pertolepe with brave show of horse and foot (above three thousand,
+lords) and straightway sendeth he a haughty fellow to demand
+incontinent surrender--a loud-voiced knight whom Walkyn forthwith shot
+and slew with his own hand. Whereat Sir Pertolepe waxed exceeding wroth
+and came on amain and beset the tower on all sides, whereby they lost
+others of their men, for Walkyn's fellows shot exceeding strong and
+true (and with them, I). Then, O my lords, in all that fierce debate,
+who so brave and calm, heartening wearied and wounded with gentle voice
+and gentler hand, than this same noble lady Abbess! For two days lay we
+besieged whereby our food and drink began to fail (for the well within
+the tower is well-nigh dried up) yet none did eat or drink so sparingly
+as this same holy Abbess. Now on this (the second day, lords) cometh
+Pertolepe himself (under flag of truce, lords) and demands we yield to
+him the body of this same lady Abbess (to our ransom) swearing on his
+knightly word he then will march away forthwith, and seek our hurt no
+more. And, to save our lives, fain would this brave lady have yielded
+her to Pertolepe's hands. But Walkyn (mindful of his oath, lords),
+leaning him from the battlement, spake Red Pertolepe defiantly, calling
+him knave and liar, and therewith spat upon him, very fairly. Whereat
+Pertolepe sware to hang us one and all and the battle joined again
+fiercer than before. Therefore, on this the third day, seeing no hope
+of succour, Walkyn made him ready to sally out (a right desperate
+venture because of the women). Then spake I before them all, saying I
+doubted not I might win through, and bring thee to their aid (an ye had
+kept the tryst) would they but ply their shafts amain to cover me. The
+which was so agreed. Then did this saintly lady Abbess set her white
+hand on this my hateful head and prayed the sweet Christ to shield this
+my monstrous body, and I thereafter being bedight in right good mail
+(as thou seest) issued suddenly out of the tower whiles our foemen sat
+at meat, and ran among them roaring dreadfully and smote amain full
+many until my axe brake and I betook me to my sword and smote them as I
+ran what time Walkyn's archers shot right furiously and well. Thus came
+I through Bloody Pertolepe's array, and thus, lords, ye do behold a
+something weary man and a mighty hungry one withal!"
+
+Now came Sir Benedict to grasp Ulf's great hand.
+
+"Forsooth, hast done a great and noble thing!" quoth he. "Thy twisted
+body doth hide a great and manly soul, meseemeth, so ne'er shalt lack
+for friend whiles Benedict doth live!"
+
+And after Sir Benedict came many other knights and esquires of degree,
+to bring him of their own viands and press upon him rich and goodly
+wine. In so much that Ulf grew hot and awkward, and presently stole
+away to eat with Roger in a quiet corner.
+
+But now within the market-place was sound of song, of jest and
+laughter, where bow-strings were looked to heedfully, sword-belts
+buckled tighter, mail-coifs laced the closer, stirrup-chain and
+saddle-girth carefully regarded, whiles ever and anon all eyes turned
+where Beltane sat among the older knights, Sir Benedict beside him,
+hearkening to their counsel. And presently he rose and lifted his hand,
+whereat the trumpets blared and, thereafter, with ring of hoof and
+tramp of foot, marched they forth of Winisfarne, the sun bright on helm
+and shield, a right gallant array.
+
+And at their head rode Ulf the Strong.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII
+
+TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+
+By wild and lonely ways Ulf led them, through mazy thicket, o'er
+murmurous rill, through fragrant bracken that, sweeping to their
+saddle-girths, whispered as they passed; now rode they by darkling
+wood, now crossed they open heath; all unerring rode Ulf the Strong,
+now wheeling sharp and sudden to skirt treacherous marsh or swamp, now
+plunging into the gloom of desolate woods, on and on past lonely pools
+where doleful curlews piped, nor faltered he nor stayed until, as the
+sun grew low, they climbed a sloping upland crowned by mighty trees and
+thick with underbrush; here Ulf checked his horse and lifted long arm
+in warning, whereon the company halted, hard-breathing, yet very
+orderly and silent.
+
+Forthwith down lighted Beltane with Sir Benedict and Ulf who pointed
+before them with his finger.
+
+"Lords," said he, "beyond yon trees is a valley and in the valley the
+tower of Brand, the which you may see from the brush yonder--aha! and
+hear also, methinks!"
+
+And indeed the air was full of a strange droning sound that rose and
+fell unceasing, a drowsy, ominous hum.
+
+"Ah, Benedict," said Beltane, frowning a little, "I like not that
+sound! Summon we our wisest heads, for here is matter for thought and
+sudden action methinks!"
+
+Hereupon Sir Benedict beckoned to his five chiefest knights and they
+together followed Ulf's broad back up the slope until they were come
+within the little wood; and ever as they advanced the strange hum grew
+louder, hoarser--a distant roar, pierced, ever and anon, by sharper
+sound, a confused din that was the voice of desperate conflict.
+Presently Ulf brought them to the edge of the little wood and, parting
+twig and leaf, they looked forth and down. And what they saw was this:
+
+A little valley, wondrous green but very desolate-seeming, for here and
+there stood ruined walls and charred timbers that once had been fair
+dwellings; and in the midst of this small and ruined hamlet, a mighty
+tower uprose, hoary and weather-beaten, yet stark and grim against the
+sunset. All about this tower a great camp lay, set well out of bow-shot,
+and 'twixt camp and tower were many men whose armour flashed,
+rank on rank, and archers who, kneeling behind mantlets, shot amain at
+battlement and loophole. Against the tower were two great ladders,
+roughly fashioned and a-swarm with men; but ever as they strove to
+reach the battlement a mighty axe whirled and swung and a long sword
+flashed, and ever as they fell, so fell one of the besiegers.
+
+"There stand Walkyn and Tall Orson!" quoth Ulf, biting his nails. "Ha!--
+they be dour fighters--would I stood with them!"
+
+"We come in due season, methinks!" said Sir Benedict, stroking his
+square chin, "what is your counsel, my lords?"
+
+Quoth young Sir John of Griswold:
+
+"Let us to horse and sally out on them, the hill is with us and we
+shall--"
+
+"Slay and be slain!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Verily!" nodded grim Sir Bertrand, "dost speak like a very youth,
+John!"
+
+"Here, methinks," said Sir Benedict, "is work for pike and bow-string.
+First break we their charge, then down on them in flank with shock and
+might of all our lances."
+
+"Ha! 'tis well be-thought, Benedict!" growled old Hubert of Erdington,
+"so let me march with the pikes."
+
+"Art silent, lord Beltane," quoth Sir Hacon, "dost agree?"
+
+"Aye, truly," answered Beltane, rising, "but let our pikes march in V
+formation, our mightiest men at the point of the V, and with archers
+behind. Then, ere the foe do engage, let the V become an L, so shall we
+oppose them two faces. Now, when Sir Pertolepe's chivalry charge, let
+Sir Benedict with two hundred knights and men-at-arms spur in upon
+their flank, driving them confused upon their main battle, what time I,
+yet hid within the green, will sound my rallying note that Walkyn
+knoweth of old, whereat he shall sally out upon their further flank.
+Then will I, with my hundred horse, charge down upon their rear, so
+should we have them, methinks? How say you, my lords?"
+
+"Truly," quoth Sir Bertrand, closing his vizor, "thy father liveth
+again in thee, methinks!"
+
+Forthwith, pikemen and archers fell into array with Cnut at their head,
+while behind the spreading ranks of pikes Prat and his archers were
+ranged, bows strung and quivers slung before; and presently, at
+Beltane's word, they swung forth of the sheltering green, fierce-eyed,
+grim-lipped, bascinet and pike-head a-twinkle. Away they swung down the
+slope, a stalwart company swift-treading and light, and in their midst
+old Hubert of Erdington in his heavy armour, whose long sword flashed
+as he flourished his farewell.
+
+With rhythmic step and swing of broad mailed shoulders they marched
+until they were come down into the valley. And now, as they advanced
+swift and steady, rose shouts from besieged and besiegers; Sir
+Pertolepe's trumpets brayed defiance and alarm, and of a sudden, forth
+of his camp mailed horsemen rode rank upon rank, pennons a-flutter and
+armour flashing in the sunset glare. But, as they mustered to the
+charge, as shields flashed and lances sank, Sir Benedict's pikemen
+wheeled, their ranks swung wide, and lo! the V was become an L. Now
+from this L bows twanged and arrows flew amain above the kneeling
+pikemen, what time Sir Pertolepe's trumpets blared the charge, and down
+upon those slender ranks his heavy-armed chivalry thundered; horses
+reared and fell, screaming, beneath the whistling arrow-shower, but on
+swept the charge; those thin ranks bent and swayed 'neath the shock as
+lance crossed pike, but these pike-butts rested on firm ground and upon
+their deadly points, horses, smitten low, reared transfixed, and above
+these rocking pikes steel flashed and flickered where the stout archers
+plied their heavy broadswords, while, loud above the din, Sir Hubert's
+voice boomed hoarse encouragement what time he thrust and smote above
+the kneeling pikemen.
+
+Now out from the green Sir Benedict paced astride his great black
+charger, and behind him his two hundred steel-girt knights and
+men-at-arms, their vizors closed, their shields slung before, the
+points of their long and ponderous lances agleam high in air. Then
+turned Sir Benedict and looked on their grimly ranks, glad-eyed:
+
+"O sirs," quoth he, "who would not be a man to fight in such just
+cause!"
+
+So saying, he smiled his wry and twisted smile and closed his vizor:
+then, with shield addressed and feet thrust far within the stirrups he
+lightly feutred his deadly lance; and behold! down swept every lance
+behind him as, leaning low behind his shield, he shouted right
+joyously:
+
+"Come ye, messires--lay on this day for Pentavalon!"
+
+Forward bounded the great horses a-down the slope--away, away,
+gathering speed with every stride--away, away, across the level with
+flying rein and busy spur; and now a loud shouting and dire amaze among
+Sir Pertolepe's battle with desperate wheeling of ranks and spurring of
+rearing horses, while Sir Benedict's riders swept down on them, grim
+and voiceless, fast and faster. Came a roaring crash beneath whose dire
+shock Sir Pertolepe's ranks were riven and rent asunder, and over and
+through their red confusion Sir Benedict rode in thunderous, resistless
+might, straight for where, above their mid-most, close-set ranks,
+fluttered and flew Sir Pertolepe's Raven banner. Now, in hot haste, Sir
+Pertolepe launched another charge to check that furious onset, what
+time he reformed and strengthened his main battle; but, with speed
+unchecked, Sir Benedict's mighty ranks met them in full career--broke
+them, flung them reeling back on Sir Pertolepe's staggering van and all
+was wild disorder, above which roaring tumult the Raven banner reeled
+and swayed and the fray waxed ever fiercer.
+
+Now ran Beltane where stood Roger to hold his horse, with Ulf who
+leaned upon a goodly axe and young Sir John of Griswold, who clenched
+and wrung his mailed hands and bit upon his boyish lip and stamped in
+his impatience.
+
+"My lord," he cried, "my lord, suffer us to charge--ah! see--our good
+Sir Benedict will be surrounded--cut off--"
+
+"Nay, methinks he is too wise in war, he fighteth ever with calm head,
+Sir John."
+
+"But, messire, do but see--his charge is checked--see--see, he
+yieldeth ground--he giveth back!"
+
+"Aye, verily!" quoth Beltane, springing to saddle, "but behold how he
+orders his line! O lovely knight! O wise Benedict! See you not his
+wisdom now, Sir John? In his retreat he draweth Sir Pertolepe's main
+battle athwart our line of charge, their flank exposed and open--to
+horse, Sir John, to horse! Yet stir not until I give the word."
+Forthwith sprang Sir John to saddle and Roger and Ulf also, what time
+Beltane sat, his gaze upon the conflict, his bugle-horn in his hand; of
+a sudden he clapped it to lip and sounded the old fierce rallying note.
+High and shrill and loud it rang above the roar of battle, and lo!
+distant and far, like an answer to the call, from the grim and battered
+tower of Brand a mighty shout went up--"Arise! Arise!--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Oho!" cried Roger, sitting close on Beltane's left, "list ye to that,
+now! And see--ha! there cometh our long-legged Walkyn, first of them
+all! See how they order their pikes--O master, they be sweet and
+doughty fellows! See how Jenkyn's archers shoot--each man to the ear!"
+
+Awhile sat Beltane watching, wide-eyed, while Sir Benedict, fighting
+sword in hand, fell back and back before the furious onset of Sir
+Pertolepe's main battle until he had drawn the fight mid-way. Then,
+quick-breathing, my Beltane closed his vizor.
+
+"Now!" cried he, "now, good comrades all, God willing, we have them.
+Let each man choose his foe and smite this day for Liberty and
+Justice!"
+
+So saying, he levelled his lance, and a hundred lances sank behind him.
+Spurs struck deep, horses reared, plunged, and sped away. Before their
+galloping line rode Sir John of Griswold with Roger and Ulf: and before
+these, Beltane.
+
+He felt the wind a-whistle through the eye-vents of his casque, heard
+the muffled thunder of the galloping hoofs behind mingled with the
+growing din of battle; heard a shout--a roar of anger and dismay, saw a
+confusion of rearing horses as Sir Pertolepe swung about to meet this
+new attack, steadied his aim, and with his hundred lances thundering
+close behind, drove in upon those bristling ranks to meet them shield
+to shield with desperate shock of onset--felt his tough lance go home
+with jarring crash--saw horses that reared high and were gone, lost
+beneath the trampling fray, and found his lance shivered to the very
+grip. Out flashed his sword, for all about him was a staggering press
+of horses that neighed and screamed, and men who smote, shouting, and
+were smitten; unseen blows battered him while he thrust and hewed, and
+wondered to see his long blade so dimmed and bloody. And ever as he
+fought, through the narrow vent of his casque he caught small and
+sudden visions of this close-locked, desperate fray; of Ulf standing in
+his stirrups to ply his whirling axe whose mighty, crashing blows no
+armour might withstand; of grim Roger, scowling and fierce, wielding
+ponderous broad-sword; of young Sir John of Griswold, reeling in his
+saddle, his helpless arms wide-flung.
+
+So cut they bloody path through Pertolepe's deep array, on and forward
+with darting point and deep-biting edge, unheeding wounds or shock of
+blows, until Beltane beheld the press yield, thin out, and melt away,
+thereupon shouted he hoarse and loud, rode down a knight who sought to
+bar his way, unhorsed a second, and wheeling his snorting charger,
+wondered at the seeming quiet; then lifting his vizor, looked about
+him. And lo! wheresoever his glance fell were men that crawled
+groaning, or lay very mute and still amid a huddle of fallen horses,
+and, beyond these again, were other men, a-horse and a-foot, that
+galloped and ran amain for the shelter of the green. Sir Pertolepe's
+array was scattered up and down the valley--the battle was lost and
+won.
+
+Now while he yet sat thus, dazed by the shock of blows and breathing
+deep of the sweet, cool air, he beheld one rise up from where the
+battle-wrack lay thickest, an awful figure that limped towards him,
+holding aloft the broken shaft of an axe.
+
+"Aha, lord Beltane!" cried Ulf, wiping sweat and blood from him, "there
+be no more--left to smite, see you. The which--is well, for weapon--
+have I none. This axe was the third this day--broken, see you! Alas!
+there is no weapon I may use. Saw you Roger, lord, that is my comrade?"
+
+"Nay, good Ulf--ha, what of him?"
+
+"His horse was slain, lord. So fought he afoot, since when I saw him
+not."
+
+"And where is Sir Benedict and Walkyn--O see you not Sir Benedict? mine
+eyes are dazzled with the sun."
+
+But now Ulf uttered a joyful cry and pointed with his axe-shaft.
+
+"Yonder cometh Roger, lord, and with him the little archer, but whom
+bring they?"
+
+Very slowly they came, Roger and Prat the archer, up-bearing betwixt
+them good Sir Hubert of Erdington, his harness hacked and broken, his
+battered helm a-swing upon its thongs, his eyes a-swoon in the pallor
+of his face.
+
+Down sprang Beltane and ran to greet him and to catch his nerveless
+hands:
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth he, faintly, "full oft have I shed my blood for--
+Pentavalon--to-day I die, messire. But, as thou didst say--'tis well to
+die--in cause so noble! My lord, farewell to thee!"
+
+And with the word, even as he stood 'twixt Roger and the archer, the
+stout old knight was dead. So they laid Hubert of Erdington very
+reverently upon that trampled field he had maintained so well.
+
+"A right noble knight, my lord," quoth Prat, shaking gloomy head, "but
+for him, methinks our pikemen would have broke to their third onset!"
+
+"There is no man of you hath not fought like ten men this day!" said
+Beltane, leaning on his sword and with head a-droop. "Have we lost
+many, know ye?"
+
+"A fair good number, master, as was to be expected," quoth Roger,
+cleansing his sword on a tuft of grass, "Sir John of Griswold fell
+beside me deep-smitten through the helm."
+
+"And what of Sir Benedict?"
+
+"See yonder--yonder he rides, my lord!" cried Prat, "though methinks
+you scarce shall know him." And he pointed where, on spent and weary
+charger, one rode, a drooping, languid figure, his bright armour
+bespattered and dim, his dinted casque smitten awry; slowly he rode
+before his weary company until of a sudden espying Beltane, he uttered
+a great and glad cry, his drooping shoulders straightened, and he rode
+forward with mailed arms outstretched.
+
+"Beltane!" he cried, "praise be to God! One told me thou wert down--art
+well, sweet lad, and all unharmed? God is merciful!" And he patted
+Beltane's mailed shoulder, what time blood oozed from his steel
+gauntlet and his sobbing charger hung weary head and snorted purple
+foam. "O lad," quoth he, smiling his wry smile, "here was an hour worth
+living for--though Sir Bertrand is sore hurt and many do lie dead of my
+company."
+
+"And here," sighed Beltane, "brave Hubert of Erdington--behold!"
+
+"A gallant knight, Beltane! May I so valiantly die when that my time be
+come. Truly 'twas a sharp debate what time it lasted, there be many
+that will ride with us no more."
+
+"And thou, my lord?" cried Beltane suddenly, "thy cheek so pale--
+thou'rt hurt, Benedict!"
+
+"Nought to matter, lad, save that it is my sword-arm: nay indeed, my
+Beltane, 'twas but an axe bit through my vanbrace, 'twill heal within
+the week. But take now my horn and summon ye our scattered company, for
+I do lack the wind."
+
+Knight and man-at-arms, limping and afoot, on horses weary and blown,
+they came at the summons--archer and pike-man they came, a blood
+be-spattered company; many were they that staggered, faint with wounds,
+and many that sank upon the trampled grass a-swoon with weariness, but
+in the eyes of each and every was the look of men that triumph.
+
+Cnut was there, his bascinet gone, his fiery hair betousled: Tall Orson
+was there, leaning on a bent and battered pike, and there his comrade,
+Jenkyn o' the Ford, with many others that Beltane well remembered and
+others whose faces he knew not. So formed they their battle-scarred
+array what time Beltane viewed them with glowing eye and heart swelling
+within him.
+
+"Master!" cried Tall Orson of a sudden, "O master, us do be clean men
+and goodly fighters as us did promise thee time 'gone i' the Hollow,
+master, ye'll mind us as did promise so to be--I and Jenkyn as be my
+comrade?"
+
+"Aye, master!" cried Jenkyn o' the Ford, "aye, look'ee, we ha' kept our
+word to thee as we did promise, look'ee master! So now, speak word to
+us master, look'ee!"
+
+"Ye men!" quoth Beltane, hoarse-voiced, "O my good comrades all, your
+deeds this day shall speak when we are dust, methinks! Your foes this
+day did muster three thousand strong, and ye do number scarce a
+thousand--yet have ye scattered them, for that your cause is just--'tis
+thus ye shall lift Pentavalon from shame and give to her peace at
+last!"
+
+Then Tall Orson shook aloft his battered pike and shouted amain, and on
+the instant, others took up the cry--a hoarse roar that rolled from
+rank to rank; lance and sword, axe and pike were flourished high in
+air, and from these men who had marched so grimly silent all the day a
+great and mighty shout went up:
+
+"Arise, Pentavalon! Ha! Beltane--Pentavalon!" Now even as they shouted,
+upon this thunderous roar there stole another sound, high and clear and
+very sweet, that rose and swelled upon the air like the voices of
+quiring angels; and of a sudden the shouting was hushed, as, forth of
+the tower's gloomy portal the lady Abbess came, tall and fair and
+saintly in her white habit, her nuns behind her, two and two, their
+hands clasped, their eyes upraised to heaven, chanting to God a hymn of
+praise and thanksgiving. Slow paced they thus, the stately Abbess with
+head low-bended and slim hands clasped upon her silver crucifix until,
+the chant being ended, she raised her head and beheld straightway Sir
+Benedict unhelmed and yet astride his great charger. The silver
+crucifix fell, the slim hands clasped themselves upon her bosom and the
+eyes of the tall, white Abbess grew suddenly wide and dark: and even as
+she gazed on him, so gazed Sir Benedict on her.
+
+"Yolande!" said he, hoarse-voiced and low.
+
+"Benedict!" she murmured.
+
+Slowly Sir Benedict bowed his head, and turning, laid his hand on
+Beltane's mailed shoulder.
+
+"Lady," said he, "behold here Beltane--that is son to Beltane
+heretofore Duke and Lord of Pentavalon!"
+
+"Ah!" she whispered, "Beltane!" and of a sudden stretched out her arms
+in passionate yearning gesture, then, covering her face, sank upon her
+knees, "God pity me!" she sighed, "God pity me!" Thereafter she rose to
+her stately height and looked on Beltane, gentle and calm-eyed.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she, "I have heard tell thou art a noble
+knight, strong yet gentle--so should thy father be greatly blessed in
+thee--and thy--mother also. God have thee ever in His keeping--
+Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake the name her soft voice brake, and turning, she stood
+with head bowed upon her hands, and standing thus, spake again,
+deep-voiced and soft:
+
+"Sir Benedict, we are come to minister to the hurt, all is prepared
+within the tower, let them be brought to us I pray, and--my lord,
+forget not the sacred oath thou didst swear me--long years agone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+
+They found rich booty in Pertolepe's camp, with store of arms and
+armour and many goodly horses, and thither Sir Benedict's wearied
+followers betook them as night fell and knew blessed rest and sleep.
+But in the tower of Brand lights gleamed where the Abbess and her
+gentle nuns went to and fro among the wounded, ministering to their
+wants; and far beyond the camp, armour glinted ever and anon against
+the blackness of the surrounding woods, where outpost and sentinel kept
+vigilant watch and ward. Though late the hour Beltane sat wakeful, chin
+on fist, beside a glimmering watch-fire, oft turning his glance towards
+the massy, weather-beaten tower, bethinking him of the noble lady
+Abbess, of her strange looks and words, and so fell to brooding
+thought. High overhead the moon rode, obscured by flying clouds, a wild
+wrack up-whirling from the south: at fitful intervals was a wind that
+moaned drearily 'mid the gloom of distant woods, a desolate sound that
+sobbed upon the air, and dying to a wail, was gone. Now becoming aware
+of this, Beltane raised his head, and looked up at the ominous heavens
+and round about him. And thus he espied a light that hovered hither and
+thither above the distant battle-field, a small light whose red flame
+flashed back from cloven casque and riven shield, where eyes glared
+unseeing and mouths gaped mute and dumb from a dark confusion whence
+mailed arms stiffly rose with hands tight-clenched that seemed to
+menace heaven, and rigid feet whose spurred heels yet gored the flanks
+of rigid, fallen chargers; to and fro and up and down this small flame
+leaped merrily, dancing from dead face to dead face but staying never,
+a fiendish fire that seemed to mock the horror of wounds and gibe at
+solemn death.
+
+Now as he watched this devilish light, Beltane arose and reaching for
+his sword went soft-footed to meet it, then paused, for the light was
+moving towards him. Near and nearer it came, until, into the glow of
+the fire, his betousled head wild and bare, his link-mail yet befouled
+with battle, Walkyn strode, and hurling his torch upon the grass,
+crushed it out 'neath his heel. Then came he to the fire and stood
+there, arms crossed, frowning down at the flame.
+
+"Greeting to thee, Waldron of Brand!"
+
+Swift turned Walkyn, his gloomy scowl relaxed at Beltane's voice, and
+stooping, he took and kissed my Beltane's hand.
+
+"Whence come ye, Walkyn?"
+
+"From going to and fro among the dead, seeking Pertolepe, master. Ha!
+they do lie thick yonder, five hundred and twenty and three I counted
+of Bloody Pertolepe's following. And in the woods do lie certain
+others, that I, with divers of our company, pursued and cut off."
+
+"And what of their wounded?"
+
+"I saw none, master--nor have I seen Pertolepe. I have viewed all the
+slain, but Pertolepe is not there, yet have I smitten and slain three
+Pertolepes this day--hawks, see you, in eagle's feathers! So is my
+work yet to do, and I grieve still for Pertolepe's head."
+
+"Sit ye down, Walkyn, here with me beside the fire." Forthwith Walkyn
+obeyed and stretching himself on the grass fell to toying with the
+haft of his axe and scowling at the fire again.
+
+"This was, methinks, thy father's tower and demesne of Brand, Walkyn?"
+
+"Aye, lord, here was I born--yon ruined walls did hear my father's
+groans--the screams of my mother and sister amid the flame. And Red
+Pertolepe was there, and Gui of Allerdale and Roger and young Gilles of
+Brandonmere--all were there with six other noble knights; but these six
+we slew long since, my brother and I. All these were here that day--and
+Sir Pertolepe--laughed--full loud, 'twas told me. So 'twere just he
+should have died here to-day, methinks? 'Twas for this I lured him
+hither--and he liveth yet!"
+
+"But God is a just God, Walkyn! Now therefore leave him to God
+henceforth--!"
+
+"To God!" cried Walkyn, his eyes wild, his hands tight-clenched, "to
+God!--ha! master, ye left him to God on a time and because of thee, I--
+I that had my dagger at his rogue's throat--I, yearning to slay him,
+did but mark him i' the brow--aye, forsooth, we left him to God and lo!
+to-day he burneth, he slayeth and hangeth as was ever his wont--"
+
+"God's time is not ours, Walkyn, but for the evil wrought by Sir
+Pertolepe, Sir Pertolepe needs must answer when God so wills. So leave
+him to the vengeance of God--lest the fire of thy vengeance consume
+thee quite. Thou art strong, and few may cope with thee in fight, yet
+hath vengeance fettered and made thee bond-slave. Forego thy vengeance
+then, and be free, good comrade."
+
+"Nay master, an I so do, what is left me?"
+
+"The love of thy fellows, Walkyn. Thou art, forsooth, a man, so do I
+love thee, and perchance within a new Pentavalon thou may'st come to
+new fortune and honour. Thou shalt hold again thy father's lands--"
+
+"To what end, lord? As ye do know, my wife and child do lie in nameless
+grave, done to cruel death by dogs of Pertolepe: my brother rotted in a
+noose--set there by Pertolepe. So am I a lonely man henceforth; one
+thing only seek I of life, master."
+
+"And that, Walkyn?"
+
+"The head of Bloody Pertolepe!" So saying, Walkyn rose, and stood
+scowling down at the fire again, whose glow shone ominous and red upon
+the broad blade of the mighty axe that lay on the grass at his feet.
+
+Now of a sudden forth from the shadows, swift and silent on his long
+legs came crooked Ulf, and stooping, would have lifted the weapon, but
+in that moment Walkyn snarled, and set his foot upon it.
+
+"Off!" he growled, "touch not mine axe, thou vile mannikin--lest I
+tread on thee!"
+
+But scarce were the words spoken, than, with great back low-crouched,
+Ulf sprang, and whirling mighty Walkyn aloft, mailed feet on high, held
+him writhing above the fire: then, swinging about, hurled him, rolling
+over and over, upon the ling; so lay Walkyn awhile propped on an elbow,
+staring on Ulf with wide eyes and mouth agape what time, strung for
+sudden action, Beltane sat cross-legged upon the green, looking from
+one to the other.
+
+"Mannikin?" roared Ulf, great hands opening and shutting, "unworthy to
+touch axe of thine, thou pestilent beast! Dare ye so say to one gently
+born, base fellow? Now will I break thee thine accursed axe--and thee
+thereafter, an ye will!"
+
+So saying, Ulf the Mighty caught up the axe and wheeling it full-armed,
+smote and buried it in a young tree close by--wrenched it free and
+smote again. And lo! with prodigious crack and rending of fibres the
+tall tree swayed, crashing to earth. Now while Ulf yet stood to stare
+amazed upon this wondrous axe, upon its sharp-glittering, flawless
+edge, Walkyn had risen, dagger in hand; but even as he crouched to
+spring, a voice spake--a gentle voice but commanding; and in the
+fire-glow stood the white Abbess, tall and gracious, the silver
+crucifix agleam upon her bosom.
+
+"Children!" she sighed; and looking from scowling Walkyn to frowning
+Ulf she reached a slim hand to each. "O children," said she, "lay by
+your steel and give to me your hands!"
+
+Fumbling and awkward, Walkyn sheathed his dagger while Ulf laid the
+mighty axe upon the grass very tenderly, as it had been a sleeping
+child; so came they both, shame-faced, unto the lady Abbess and gave
+her each a hand. Holding them thus she looked with sad, sweet eyes from
+one grim face to the other, and drew them nearer the fire.
+
+"Walkyn, son of God," said she, "behold here Ulf whose valiant heart
+and mighty strength have been our salvation! Ulf, child of Heaven, whom
+God hath made so mighty, behold here brave Walkyn who did protect the
+weak and helpless and fighteth for the right! Come then, as ye are
+children of God, go ye in brotherly love together henceforth, and may
+heaven bless ye, valiant sons!"
+
+Thus saying, she set their hands one in another, and these hands
+gripped and held.
+
+Quoth Ulf, sighing:
+
+"Forsooth, I did but mean to try the balance of thine axe, Walkyn. And
+truly it is a mighty weapon and a peerless--one that even my strength
+cannot break!"
+
+Quoth Walkyn, grim-smiling:
+
+"There is in this world no axe like unto it save one that was my
+brother's--and shall be thine henceforth, Ulf the Strong. Come now, and
+I will give it unto thee." Then bent they reverently before the Abbess,
+saluted Beltane and, side by side, strode away together.
+
+"Would all feuds might so end, sweet son," sighed the Abbess, her
+wistful eyes down-bent upon the fire.
+
+"Would there were more sweet souls abroad to teach men reason!" quoth
+Beltane.
+
+"Why sit you here, my son, wakeful and alone and the hour so late?"
+
+"For that sleep doth fly my wooing, holy mother."
+
+"Then fain would I share thy vigil awhile."
+
+Forthwith Beltane brought her a stool, rough and rudely fashioned, and
+while she sat, he lay beside her in the firelight; and thus, despite
+her hood and wimple, he saw her face was of a calm and noble beauty,
+smooth and unwrinkled despite the silver hair that peeped forth of her
+loosened hood. A while they sat thus, nothing speaking, he viewing her,
+she gazing ever on the fire; at last:
+
+"Thou'rt young, messire," she said wistfully, "yet in thy life hath
+been much of strife, I've heard. Thou hast known much of hardship, my
+son, and sorrow methinks?"
+
+"So do I live for that fair day when Peace shall come again, noble
+lady."
+
+"Full oft have I heard tell of thee, my son, strange tales and
+marvellous. Some do liken thee to a demon joying in slaughter, and
+some to an archangel bearing the sword of God."
+
+"And how think you, reverend mother?"
+
+"I think of thee as a man, my son. I have heard thee named 'outlaw' and
+'lawless ravener,' and some do call thee 'Beltane the Smith.' Now
+wherefore smith?"
+
+"For that smith was I bred, lady."
+
+"But thou'rt of noble blood, lord Beltane."
+
+"Yet knew I nought of it until I was man grown."
+
+"Thy youth--they tell me--hath been very lonely, my son--and desolate."
+
+"Not desolate, for in my loneliness was the hermit Ambrose who taught
+me many things and most of all, how to love him. So lived I in the
+greenwood, happy and content, until on a day this saintly Ambrose told
+me a woeful tale--so did I know this humble hermit for the noble Duke,
+my father."
+
+"Thy father! The Duke! A hermit! Told he of--all his sorrows, my son?"
+
+"All, reverend mother, and thereafter bade me beware the falsity of
+women."
+
+The pale cheek of the Abbess grew suddenly suffused, the slim hand
+clenched rigid upon the crucifix at her bosom, but she stirred not nor
+lifted her sad gaze from the fire.
+
+"Liveth thy father yet, my son?"
+
+"'Tis so I pray God, lady."
+
+"And--thy mother?"
+
+"'Tis so I've heard."
+
+"Pray you not for--for her also?"
+
+"I never knew my mother, lady."
+
+"Alas! poor lonely mother! So doth she need thy prayers the more. Ah,
+think you she hath not perchance yearned with breaking heart for her
+babe? To have kissed him into rosy slumber! To have cherished his
+boyish hurts and sorrows! To have gloried in his youthful might and
+manhood! O sure there is no sorrow like the loneliness of desolate
+motherhood. Would'st seek this unknown mother, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Truly there be times when I do yearn to find her--and there be times
+when I do fear--"
+
+"Fear, my lord?"
+
+"Holy mother, I learned of her first as one false to her vows,
+light-minded and fickle from her youth--"
+
+"O hath there been none to speak thee good of her--in all these years?"
+
+"There was Jolette, that folk did call a witch, and there is Sir
+Benedict that doth paint her pure and noble as I would have her. Yet
+would I know for myself, fain would I be sure ere we do meet, if she is
+but the woman who bore me, or the proud and noble mother I fain would
+love."
+
+"Could'st not love her first and judge her after, my son? Could not her
+very motherhood plead her cause with thee? Must she be weighed in the
+balance ere thou yield her a son's respect and love? So many weary
+years--'tis something hard, methinks! Nay, heed me not, my lord--seek
+out thy mother, unbeknown--prove for thyself her worthiness or falsity,
+prove for thyself her honour or her shame--'tis but just, aye, 'tis but
+just in very truth. But I, beholding things with woman's eyes, know
+only that a mother's love shrinketh not for any sin, but reacheth down
+through shame and evil with sheltering arms outstretched--a holy thing,
+fearless of sin, more lasting than shame and stronger than death
+itself."
+
+So saying, the lady Abbess rose and turned to look up at the lights
+that burned within the tower.
+
+"'Tis late, my lord," she sighed, "get thee now to thy rest, for I must
+begone to my duty till the dawn. There be many sick, and good Sir
+Bertrand lieth very nigh to death--he ne'er will see another dawn,
+methinks, so needs must I away. Good night, sweet son, and in thy
+prayers forget not thy--thy most unhappy mother!"
+
+Then she lifted her hand and blessed him, and, ere he rose up from his
+knees she set that white hand upon his bowed head and touched his
+yellow hair--a light touch, furtive and shy, but a touch that was like
+to a caress.
+
+Thereafter, Beltane, coming into his hut of woven wattle, rolled
+himself in his weather-worn mantle and presently fell to slumber.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX
+
+TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+
+Next day Sir Bertrand died of his hurts, so they buried him beside
+young Sir John of Griswold and sturdy old Hubert of Erdington and a
+hundred and twenty and five others of their company who had fallen in
+that desperate affray; therefore tarried they a while what time their
+sick and wounded grew towards health and strength by reason of the
+skill and tender care of the lady Abbess and her nuns.
+
+Now on the afternoon of this day. Sir Benedict being sick a-bed of his
+wound, Beltane sat in council among the oldest and wisest of the
+knights, and presently summoned Walkyn and Ulf, Roger and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, speaking them on this wise:
+
+"Good comrades, list ye now! These noble knights and I have hither
+summoned ye for that ye are of good and approved courage and moreover
+foresters born and cunning in wood-lore. As ye do know, 'tis our intent
+to march for Belsaye so soon as our wounded be fit. But first must we
+be 'ware if our road be open or no. Therefore, Walkyn, do ye and Ulf
+take ten men and haste to Winisfarne and the forest-road that runneth
+north and south: be ye wary of surprise and heedful of all things. You,
+Roger and Jenkyn, with other ten, shall seek the road that runneth east
+and west; marching due south you shall come to the northern road where
+ye shall wait two hours (but no longer) for Walkyn. Ye are woodsmen!
+Heed ye the brush and lower branches of the trees if any be broken,
+mark well the track in dusty places and seek ye the print of feet in
+marshy places, learn all ye may from whomsoever ye may and haste ye
+hot-foot back with tidings good or ill. Is it understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" quoth the four.
+
+"And look'ee master," said Jenkyn, "there be my comrade Orson the
+Tall, look'ee. His hurt is nigh healed and to go wi' us shall be his
+cure--now, look'ee lord, shall he go wi' us?"
+
+"Nay, Roger shall answer thee this, Jenkyn. So now begone and God speed
+ye, good comrades all!" Hereupon the mighty four made their obeisance
+and hasted away, rejoicing.
+
+Now Sir Benedict's hurt had proved an evil one and deep, wherefore the
+Abbess, in accent soft and tender, had, incontinent, ordered him to
+bed, and there, within the silken tent that had been Sir Pertolepe's,
+Beltane oft sat by, the while she, with slim and dexterous fingers,
+washed and anointed and bound the ugly wound: many times came she,
+soft-treading, gentle and gracious ever; and at such times Beltane
+noticed that full often he would find her deep, sad gaze bent upon him;
+he noticed also that though her voice was low and gentle, yet she spake
+ever as one 'customed to obedience. Thus it was, that Sir Benedict
+being ordered to his couch, obeyed the soft-spoke command, but being
+kept there all day, grumbled (albeit to Beltane): being kept there the
+second day he fell to muttered oaths and cursing (albeit to Beltane):
+but at sunset he became unruly, in so much that he ventured to
+remonstrate with the lady Abbess (albeit humbly), whereon she smiled,
+and bidding Beltane reach her cup and spoon, forthwith mixed a
+decoction and dosed Sir Benedict that he fell asleep and slumbered
+amain.
+
+Thus, during this time, Beltane saw and talked much with the lady
+Abbess: oft went he to watch her among the sick and to aid her when he
+might; saw how fierce faces softened when she bent to touch fevered
+brow or speak them cheerily with smiling lip despite the deep and
+haunting sadness of her eyes; saw how eagerly rough hands were
+stretched forth to furtive touch her white habit as she passed; heard
+harsh voices grow sudden soft and all unfamiliar--voices that broke in
+murmurous gratitude. All this saw and heard he and failed not, morn and
+eve, to kneel him at her feet to hear her bless him and to feel that
+soft, shy touch among his hair.
+
+So passed two days, but neither Roger, nor Walkyn, nor Ulf, nor indeed
+any of the twenty chosen men had yet returned or sent word or sign,
+wherefore Beltane began to wax moody and anxious. Thus it was that upon
+a sunny afternoon he wandered beside a little rivulet, bowered in
+alder and willow: here, a merry brook that prattled over pebbly bed and
+laughed among stones and mossy boulders, there a drowsy stream that,
+widening to dreamy pool, stayed its haste to woo down-bending branches
+with soft, kissing noises.
+
+Now as Beltane walked beside the stream, head a-droop and very
+thoughtful, he paused of a sudden to behold one richly dight in
+gambeson of fair-wrought leather artificially quilted and pinked, who
+sat ensconced within this greeny bower, his back to a tree, one
+bandaged arm slung about his neck and in the other hand a long
+hazel-branch trimmed with infinite care, whereunto a line was tied.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" cried Beltane, "methought thee asleep: what do ye so
+far from camp and bed?"
+
+"I fish, lad, I fish--I ply a tentative angle. Nay--save thy breath, I
+have caught me nothing yet, save thoughts. Thoughts do flock a many,
+but as to fish--they do but sniff my bait and flirt it with their
+wanton tails, plague take 'em! But what o' fish? 'Tis not for fish
+alone that man fisheth, for fishing begetteth thought and thought,
+dreams--and to dream is oft-times sweet!"
+
+"But--Benedict, what of the Abbess?"
+
+"The Abbess? Ha, the Abbess, Beltane! Sweet soul, she sleepeth. At noon
+each day needs must she sleep since even she is mortal and mortals must
+sleep now and then. The Abbess? Come sit ye, lad, what time I tickle
+the noses of these pestilent fish. Sit ye here beside me and tell me,
+how think ye of this noble and most sweet lady?"
+
+"That, for thy truancy, she will incontinent mix thee another sleeping
+draught, Benedict."
+
+"Ha--then I'll never drink it!" quoth Sir Benedict, settling his
+shoulder against Beltane and frowning at his line. "Am I a babe,
+forsooth, to be dosed to slumber? Ha, by the foul fiend his black dam,
+ne'er will I drink it, lad!"
+
+"Then will she smile on thee, sad-eyed, and set it to thy lip, and woo
+thee soft-voiced, so shalt thou swallow it every drop--"
+
+"Not so--dear blood of all the saints! Must I be mewed up within an
+accursed bed on such a day and all by reason of a small axe-stroke?
+Malediction, no!"
+
+"She is wondrous gentle with the sick, Benedict--"
+
+"She is a very woman, Beltane, and therefore gentle, a noble lady sweet
+of soul and body! To die for such were joyful privilege, methinks, aye,
+verily!" and Sir Benedict, forgetful of his line, drooped his head and
+sighed.
+
+"And thou didst know her well--long years agone, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye, long--years--agone!"
+
+"Very well, Benedict?"
+
+"Very well."
+
+"She was 'Yolande' then, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye," quoth Sir Benedict, lifting his head with a start and looking at
+Beltane askance, "and to-day she is the lady Abbess Veronica!"
+
+"That shall surely dose thee again and--"
+
+"Ha! bones and body o' me, not so! For here sit I, and here angle I,
+fish or no fish, thunder o' God, yes! Aye, verily, here will I sit till
+I have caught me a fish, or weary and go o' my own free will--by
+Beelzebub I vow, by Bel and the Dragon I swear it! And furthermore--"
+
+Sir Benedict paused, tilted his head and glancing up, beheld the lady
+Abbess within a yard of them. Gracious she stood in her long white
+habit and shook her stately head in grave rebuke, but beholding his
+abashed look and how the rod sagged in his loosened hold, her lips
+parted of a sudden and her teeth gleamed in a smile wondrous young and
+pleasant to see.
+
+"O Benedict!" said she, "O child most disobedient! O sir knight! Is
+this thy chivalry, noble lord--to steal away for that a poor soul
+must needs sleep, being, alas! so very mortal?"
+
+"Forsooth and indeed, dear my lady," quoth Sir Benedict, fumbling with
+his angle, "the sun did woo me forth--and the wind, see you--the wind--"
+
+"Nay, I see it not, my lord, but I did hear something of thy fearsome,
+great oaths as I came hither."
+
+"Oaths, lady?" said Sir Benedict, fingering his chin, "Forsooth and did
+I so? Mayhap 'twas by reason that the fish, see you, the pestilent
+fish--Ha! Saint Benedict! I have a bite!" Up sprang Sir Benedict,
+quite forgetting his wounded arm, capering lightly to and fro, now in
+the water, now out, with prodigious stir and splash and swearing oaths
+galore, until, his pallid cheek flushed and bright eyes a-dance, he had
+won the fish into the shallows and thence landed it right skilfully,
+where it thrashed and leapt, flashing in the sun.
+
+"Ha, Yolande!" he cried, "in the golden days thou wert ever fond of a
+goodly trout fresh caught and broiled upon a fire of--"
+
+"Benedict!" cried the Abbess, and, all forgetful of his hurt, caught
+him by his wounded arm, "O Sir Benedict!" Now, man of iron though he
+seemed, Sir Benedict must needs start and flinch beneath her hold and
+grow livid by reason of the sharp pain of it; whereat she loosed him of
+a sudden and fell away, white hands tight clasped together.
+
+"Ah Benedict!--I have hurt thee--again!" she panted.
+
+"Not so, 'twas when I landed the fish--my lady Abbess!" Now at this she
+turned away and standing thus awhile very silent, presently raised her
+hand, whereat came two of her gentle nuns.
+
+"Dear my daughters," said she, "take now Sir Benedict unto the camp and
+look to his hurt, anoint it as ye have seen me do. Go!"
+
+Nothing speaking, Sir Benedict bowed him humbly to the stately Abbess
+and went away between the two white-robed sisters and so was gone.
+
+Slowly the Abbess turned to Beltane who had risen and was regarding her
+with a new and strange intensity, and meeting that look, her own glance
+wavered, sank, and she stood awhile gazing down into the murmurous
+waters; and as she stood thus, aware of his deep-searching eyes, into
+her pale cheek crept a flush that deepened and ever deepened.
+
+"My lord," said she, very low and placid-seeming, "why dost thou look
+on me so?"
+
+And for all her stately calm, her hand, which had clenched itself upon
+the silver crucifix, was woefully a-tremble. "What--is it--my lord
+Beltane?"
+
+"A thought, noble lady."
+
+"What is thy thought?"
+
+"Lady, 'tis this--that, an I might find a mother such as thee, then
+would I pay her homage on my knees, and love her and honour her for
+what I do know her, praying God to make me worthy--!" So saying, he
+came a step towards her, faltered, stopped, and reached out appealing
+hands to her.
+
+From red to white and from white to red again the colour flushed in
+cheek and brow while the Abbess hearkened to his words; then she
+looked on him with proud head uplifted and in her eyes a great and
+wondrous light, quick and passionate her slim hands came out to meet
+his--
+
+A sudden clamour in the air! A clash of arms! A running of swift feet
+and Walkyn sprang betwixt them, his face grimed with dust and sweat,
+his armour gone, his great axe all bloody in his hand: "Master!" he
+cried, "in Winisfarne lieth Pertolepe with over a thousand of his
+company, I judge--and in the woods 'twixt here and Winisfarne is Hollo
+of Revelsthorne marching on us through the woods with full five
+thousand of Ivo's picked levies, new come from Barham Broom!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX
+
+TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+
+Within the camp was prodigious stir, a fanfare of trumpets and hoarse
+commands, where archers and pikemen, knights and men-at-arms were
+mustering; but nowhere was hurry or confusion, wherefore Beltane's
+heart rejoiced and he smiled glad-eyed as he came where, before Sir
+Benedict and the assembled council, stood Roger and Ulf with fifteen of
+their twenty men.
+
+"Walkyn," said Sir Benedict, what time his esquire strapped and buckled
+him into his bright armour, "where-abouts do they hold their march?"
+
+"Scarce twenty miles from here due west, lord."
+
+"Ha, and they come through the forest, ye say?" questioned Sir Brian,
+"so shall they move more slowly, methinks."
+
+"Why see you, messire," said Walkyn, "they march by way of Felindre
+that was once a fair town, and from Felindre is a road that leadeth
+through the wild unto this valley of Brand."
+
+"So have we, I judge, 'twixt six and seven hours," quoth Hacon of
+Trant.
+
+"Less, Hacon, less!" said Sir Benedict, beginning to stride up and down
+in his clanking armour, "Sir Rollo ever rideth with busy spur, and he
+will doubtless push on amain nor spare his men that he may take us
+unprepared. Put it at five hours, Hacon, mayhap less!"
+
+"'Tis so I pray!" said Beltane, glancing towards the glowing west, "and
+in two hours it will be dark, my lords! Walkyn, thy company doth lack
+for five, meseemeth?" "Aye, master--for five; two fell in Winisfarne
+where I lay in bonds; other three were slain in the pursuit."
+
+"Saw Sir Rollo aught of thee?"
+
+"Nay, lord, we lay well hid."
+
+"'Tis very well. Are they many?"
+
+"Of horsemen I counted full three thousand, master."
+
+"And I, lord," quoth Ulf, "did reckon over two thousand foot."
+
+"'Tis a fairish company!" said Sir Brian.
+
+"And I do lack my sword-arm!" sighed Sir Benedict, "but my left hath
+served me well ere now."
+
+"And Sir Pertolepe lieth yet in Winisfarne!" said Beltane thoughtfully.
+
+"Aye," nodded Sir Benedict, "and shall march south to cut off our
+retreat if haply any of us escape Sir Rollo's onfall."
+
+"So should we strike camp and march forthright," said Sir Brian.
+
+"March--aye, but whither?" questioned Sir Hacon. "We are threatened on
+two fronts and for the rest, we have the trackless wilderness! Whither
+would'st march, Brian?"
+
+"South to Belsaye," answered Sir Benedict. "South through the wild
+until we strike the western road by Thornaby. I with certain others
+will form a rear-guard and hold Sir Rollo in play what time our main
+body presses on at speed."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Hacon, "and what of Red Pertolepe? Truly our case is
+desperate methinks, old comrade!"
+
+"Why, 'tis not the first time we have out-faced desperate odds, Hacon!"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict--thy cool head and cunning strategy have saved
+us from dungeon and death a score of times, but then were we a chosen
+company, swift at onfall or retreat, well mounted and equipped--
+to-night we go hampered with our wounded and these lady nuns. So is our
+case desperate, Benedict, and needeth desperate remedy--"
+
+"And that, methinks, I've found, messire!" quoth Beltane, and rising
+up he looked upon them all, his eye bright with sudden purpose. "Hark
+ye, my lords! Great and valiant knights do I know ye, one and all--wise
+in experience of battle and much versed in warlike stratagem beyond my
+understanding; but this is the wild-wood where only wood-craft shall
+advantage us. Within these wilds your tactics shall avail nothing nor
+all your trampling chivalry--here must be foresters that may go silent
+and unseen amid the leaves, 'neath whose trained feet no twig shall
+snap, who smite unseen from brush and thicket and being wise in
+wood-craft thus make the forest their ally. And, lords, I am a forester;
+all my days the greenwood hath been my home, and in my loneliness I made
+the trees my friends. So, I pray you, let me with three hundred chosen
+foresters keep our rear to-night, and this night the forest shall fight
+for us and Sir Rollo rue the hour he dared adventure him within the
+green. Messires, how say you?"
+
+"Why my lord, 'tis very well!" sighed Sir Benedict, glancing down at
+his wounded arm, "I, for one, do agree right heartily."
+
+"And I!" nodded Sir Brian.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Sir Hacon, "though 'tis a far cry to Belsaye and I
+love not to be pent within walls, and with Red Pertolepe threatening
+our flank 'tis a very parlous case, methinks."
+
+"And thou art ever at thy best where danger is, Hacon," said Sir
+Benedict, "so will I give thee charge of our van-ward!" Now hereupon
+Sir Hacon's gloom vanished and rising up, he smiled and forthwith did
+on his great war-helm.
+
+"Then it is agreed!" said Beltane and beckoned to Roger and Walkyn;
+quoth he:
+
+"Good friends, go now and choose three hundred trusty fellows, skilled
+foresters all; look that each doth bear flint and steel for by yon
+clouds I judge 'twill be a dark night. Let every fire within the camp
+be quenched and the ground well cooled with water, that by the feel of
+it none may know how long we have removed--see you to this, Ulf."
+
+Now when the mighty three were gone about the business, their fifteen
+lusty fellows at their heels, Beltane turned and pointed westward, and
+lo! the sun was set.
+
+"Messires," said he, "you were wise, methinks, to mount and away ere
+the night fall. To-night, since the moon is hid, 'twill be very dark
+amid the trees, therefore let Orson guide you--he is forest-bred and
+well knoweth the way to Thornaby. Heaven prosper you, for in your
+valiant keeping is the safety of--of our noble lady Abbess--and her
+ladies. So mount, my lords, press on with what speed ye may, and God
+aid us this night each and every--fare ye well!"
+
+Presently the trumpets sounded and forthwith armour was buckled on,
+horses saddled, while everywhere was stir and bustle of departure, what
+time, within his osier hut, my Beltane was busily doing on his armour,
+and, being in haste, making slow business of it; thrice he essayed to
+buckle a certain strap and thrice it escaped him, when lo! came a slim
+white hand to do it for him, and turning, he beheld the lady Abbess.
+And in her eyes was yet that soft and radiant look, but nought said she
+until Beltane stood armed from head to heel, until she had girt the
+great sword about him; then she set her hands upon his shoulders:
+
+"Beltane," said she soft-voiced, "thou didst yearn for thy mother, so
+is she come to thee at last, dear son!" So saying, she drew him down
+into her embrace. "O Beltane, son of mine, long, long have I waited--
+aye, bitter, weary years, and oft-times in my sorrow I have dreamed of
+this hour--the arms about thee are thy mother's arms!"
+
+Now fell Beltane upon his knees and caught those white and gentle hands
+and kissed them; quoth he:
+
+"Mother--O dear my mother, ne'er did I know how deep had been my need
+of thee until now. And yet, all unknowing, I have yearned for thee; in
+my youth I did love all sweet and gentle things in thy stead--the
+trees, the tender flowers, the murmurous brooks--these did I love in
+place of thee for that mine heart did yearn and hunger for a mother's
+tender love--" Here needs must she stoop, all soft whispers and tender
+mother-cries, to kiss him oft, to lay her cheek upon his golden head
+and murmur over him.
+
+"And thou wilt love thy mother, Beltane--thou wilt love thy unknown
+mother--now and always, for that she is thy mother?"
+
+"I will love her and honour her now and always, for that my mother is a
+sweet and noble woman!"
+
+"And thou didst need me, Beltane, in thy lonely childhood thou didst
+need me, and I--O God pity me--I was far from thee! But, dear my son,
+because I could not cherish thee within these arms I strove to love and
+cherish all motherless children for thy dear sake and to grieve for all
+sorrowing mothers. So builded I the nunnery at Winisfarne and there
+sought to bring solace and comfort to desolate hearts because my heart
+was so desolate for thee, my babe, my Beltane. And I have prayed
+unceasing unto God, and He, in His infinite mercy, hath given thee to
+my arms again--"
+
+A trumpet brayed harsh and loud near by, whereat those tender mother-arms
+drew him closer yet within their sheltering embrace.
+
+"Sweet son," she sighed, "methinks death is very near each one of us
+to-night--but I have held thee to my heart, have felt thy kisses and
+heard thy loving words--now if death come how shall it avail 'gainst
+such love as ours? Sir Benedict telleth me thou hast chosen the post of
+danger--'tis so I would have it, dear my son, and thy proud mother's
+prayers go with thee--God keep thee--O God keep thee, my Beltane--ah,
+there sounds again the clarion bidding me from thee! Kiss now thy
+mother farewell, for alas! I must be gone!"
+
+So presently Beltane brought the Abbess where stood Sir Benedict with
+an easy-paced jennet for her use and his company formed up in column
+beyond the camp. Then Beltane lifted the lady Abbess to the saddle and
+with her hand yet clasped in his, reached the other to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord of Bourne," said he, "dear my friend, to thy care I give this
+lady Abbess, Duchess of Pentavalon--my well-beloved and noble mother.
+O Benedict, no prouder son than I in all the world, methinks--nor one
+so humble! God send we meet again anon, but now--fare ye well!" Saying
+the which, Beltane caught his mother's hand to his lips, and turning
+him suddenly about, hasted to Roger and Walkyn and the chosen three
+hundred. And in a while, the nuns and wounded in their midst, Sir
+Benedict's steel-clad column moved forward up the slope. First rode Sir
+Hacon and his knights in the van and last Sir Benedict with his grim
+men-at-arms to form a rear-ward, while archers and pikemen marched upon
+their flanks. With ring of steel, with jingle of stirrup and
+bridle-chain they swung away up the slope and plunging into the gloom of
+the forest were gone; only Sir Benedict paused to turn in his saddle and
+lift unwounded arm in salutation ere he too vanished into the shadows
+of the wild-wood. Awhile stood Beltane before the three hundred, his
+head bowed as one in meditation until the sound of voices, the ring
+and clash of their companions' going was died away; then looked he at
+the cloudy sky already deepening to evening, and round about upon the
+encircling woods.
+
+"The wind is from the south, methinks!" said he.
+
+"Aye, master," nodded Walkyn.
+
+"South-westerly!" quoth Roger.
+
+Now came Beltane and looked upon his company, tall, lusty fellows they,
+whose bold, sun-tanned faces proclaimed them free men of the
+forest-lands; and beholding their hardy look Beltane's eye brightened.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "we be foresters all, and the wild-wood our home
+and playground. But yonder from the west do march full five thousand of
+Duke Ivo's knights and soldiery-men, they, of courts, of town and city,
+so now will we teach them 'tis an ill thing to adventure them 'gainst
+trained foresters within the green. List now--and mark me well, for, an
+our plan do fail, there shall few of us live to see to-morrow's sun."
+
+Then Beltane spake them plain and to the point, insomuch that when all
+was said, these hardy foresters stood mute awhile, desperate fellows
+though they were; then laughed they fierce and loud, and flourished
+sword and bow-stave and so fell to clamourous talk.
+
+Now did Beltane divide the three hundred into five companies of sixty;
+over the first company he set Walkyn, over the second, Roger, over the
+third, Ulf, over the fourth Jenkyn o' the Ford. Then spake he on this
+wise:
+
+"Walkyn, take now these sixty good fellows and march you north-westerly
+yonder across the valley; let your men lie well hid a bow-shot within
+the forest, but do you stay upon the verge of the forest and watch for
+the coming of our foes. And when they be come, 'tis sure they will
+plant outposts and sentinels within the green, so be ye wary to smite
+outpost and sentinel suddenly and that none may hear within the camp
+nor take alarm; when 'tis done, cry you thrice like unto a curlew that
+we may know. Are all things understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" they cried, one and all.
+
+"Why then, be ye cautious each and every, for, an our foes do take
+alarm, so shall it be our death. March, Walkyn--away!"
+
+Forthwith Walkyn lifted his axe and strode off up the slope until he
+and his sixty men had vanished quite into the glooming woods to the
+north-west.
+
+"Jenkyn, didst hear my commands to Walkyn, so shalt thou do also--your
+post doth lie to the east, yonder."
+
+"Aye, master, and look'ee now--my signal shall be three owl-hoots,
+master, look'ee!"
+
+So saying, Jenkyn turned, his sixty at his heels, and swung away until
+they were lost to sight in the woods to the east.
+
+"Ulf the Strong, thy post doth lie south-westerly, and Roger's
+south-easterly; thus I, lying south, shall have ye on my left and right:
+go get ye to your places, watch ye, and wait in patience for the
+signals, and when time for action cometh, be swift and sure."
+
+Away marched Roger and Ulf with their companies, and presently were
+gone, and there remained within the little valley only Beltane and his
+sixty men. Awhile he stood to look to the north and east and west but
+nought saw he save the dense gloom of forest growing dark and ever
+darker with evening. Then of a sudden turned he, and summoning his
+company, strode away into the forest to the south.
+
+Thus, as night fell, the valley of Brand lay deserted quite, and no
+sound brake the pervading quiet save the wind that moaned feebly
+through those dark and solitary woods wherein Death lay hid, so very
+silent--so very patient, but Death in grim and awful shape.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI
+
+HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+
+A hum upon the night-wind, lost, ever and anon, in wailing gust, yet a
+hum that never ceased; a sound that grew and grew, loud and ever more
+loud until it seemed to fill the very night, a dreadful sound, ominous
+and threatening, a sound to shake the boldest heart--the ring and
+tramp of an armed, oncoming multitude.
+
+Now, lying amid the leaves and fern with Cnut and the small man Prat
+beside him. Beltane presently espied certain figures moving in the
+valley below, stealthy figures that were men of Sir Rollo's van-ward.
+Soft-creeping they approached the deserted camp, soft-creeping they
+entered it; and suddenly their trumpets brayed loud and long, and,
+dying away, gave place to the ring and trampling thunder of the
+advancing host.
+
+On they came, knights and men-at-arms, rank upon rank, company by
+company, until the valley seemed full of the dull gleam of their armour
+and the air rang loud with clash and jingle and the trample of
+countless hooves. Yet still they came, horsemen and foot-men, and ever
+the sound of them waxed upon the air, a harsh, confused din--and ever,
+from the glooming woods above, Death stared down on them.
+
+And now the trumpets blew amain, lights flickered and flared, as one by
+one, fires were lighted whose red glow flashed back from many a helm
+and shield and breast-plate, from broad gisarm and twinkling
+lance-point, what time, above the confused hum, above stamping hooves
+and clashing armour, voices shouted hoarse commands.
+
+So, little by little, from chaos order was wrought, pack-horse and
+charger were led away to be watered and picketed and gleaming figures
+sank wearily about the many camp-fires where food was already
+preparing. In a while, from the stir of the camp, bright with its many
+watch-fires, divers small groups of men were detached, and, pike and
+gisarm on shoulder, began to mount toward the forest at varying
+points.
+
+Hereupon, Beltane reached out in the dark and touched the small man
+Prat the Archer. Quoth he:
+
+"Hither come their outposts, go now and bring up my company,--and bid
+them come silently!"
+
+Forthwith Prat sank down among the fern and was gone, while Beltane
+watched, keen-eyed, where four men of Sir Hollo's outposts climbed the
+slope hard by. And one was singing, and one was cursing, and two were
+quarrelling, and all four, Beltane judged, were men aweary with long
+marching. Thus, singing, cursing, quarrelling, came they to keep their
+ward within these dark and silent woods, crashing through the
+underbrush careless of their going and all unheeding the sombre,
+stealthy forms that rose up so silently behind them and before from
+brush and brake and thicket, creeping figures that moved only when the
+night-wind moaned in the shivering leaves.
+
+Beltane's dagger was out and he rose up from the fern, crouched and
+strung for action--but from the gloom near by rose a sudden, strange
+flurry amid the leaves, a whimpering sound evil to hear and swiftly
+ended, a groan, a cry choked to strangling gasp and thereafter--
+silence, save for the fitful wailing of the wind--a long, breathless
+pause; then, high and clear rose the cry of an owl thrice repeated, and
+presently small Prat was beside him in the fern again.
+
+"Lord," said he softly, albeit panting a little, "these men were fools!
+We do but wait our comrades' signals now." And he fell to cleansing his
+dagger-blade carefully with a handful of bracken.
+
+"Ha--list ye!" whispered Cnut, "there sounds Ulf's warning, methinks!"
+
+And from the gloom on their left a frog croaked hoarsely.
+
+A hundred watch-fires blazed in the valley below and around each fire
+armour glittered; little by little the great camp grew to silence and
+rest until nought was heard but the stamp and snorting of the many
+horses and the cries of the sentinels below. But ever dagger in hand
+Beltane strained eyes and ears northward across the valley, while big
+Cnut bit his nails and wriggled beside him in the bracken, and small
+Prat softly snapped his fingers; so waited they with ears on the
+stretch and eyes that glared ever to the north.
+
+At last, faint and far across the valley, rose the doleful cry of a
+curlew thrice repeated, the which was answered from the east by the
+hooting of an owl, which again was caught up like an echo, and repeated
+thrice upon their right.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger.
+
+"Look," said he, "Cnut--Prat, look north and tell me what ye see!"
+
+"Fire, my lord!" quoth Prat. "Ha! it burneth well--see, see how it
+spreads!"
+
+"And there again--in the east," said Cnut, "Oho! Jenkyn is busy--look,
+master!"
+
+"Aye, and Roger too!" said Beltane, grim-lipped, "our ring of fire is
+well-nigh complete--it lacketh but for us and Ulf--to work, then!"
+
+Came the sound of flint meeting steel--a sound that spread along the
+ranks that lay unseen beyond Prat and Cnut. And behold--a spark! a
+glow! a little flame that died down, leapt up, caught upon dry grass
+and bracken, seized upon crackling twigs, flared up high and ever
+fiercer--a devouring flame, hungry and yellow-tongued that licked along
+the earth--a vengeful flame, pitiless and unrelenting--a host of fiery
+demons that leapt and danced with crackling laughter changing little by
+little to an angry roar that was the voice of awful doom.
+
+Now of a sudden above the hiss of flame, from the valley of Brand a cry
+went up--a shout--a roar of fear and amaze and thereafter rose a wild
+clamour; a babel inarticulate, split, ever and anon, by frantic
+trumpet-blast. But ever the dreadful hubbub waxed and grew, shrieks and
+cries and the screaming of maddened horses with the awful, rolling
+thunder of their fierce-galloping hooves!
+
+Within that valley of doom Death was abroad already, Death in many dire
+shapes. Proud knights, doughty archers and men-at-arms who had fronted
+death unmoved on many a stricken field, wept aloud and crouched upon
+their knees and screamed--but not so loud as those wild and maddened
+horses, that, bursting all bonds asunder, reared and leapt with lashing
+hooves, and, choked with rolling smoke-clouds, blinded by flame,
+plunged headlong through and over the doomed camp, wave upon wave of
+wild-flung heads and tossing manes. On they came, with nought to let or
+stay them, their wild hooves trampling down hut of osier and silken
+tent, spurning the trembling earth and filling the air with flying
+clods; and wheresoever they galloped there was flame to meet them, so
+swerved they, screaming their terror and fled round and round within
+the valley. So raced they blindly to and fro and back and forth,
+trampling down, maiming and mangling 'neath reddened, cruel hooves all
+and every that chanced to lie athwart their wild career: on and ever on
+they galloped until sobbing, panting, they fell, to be crushed 'neath
+the thundering hooves behind.
+
+Within the little valley of Brand Death was rife in many and awful
+shapes that no eye might see, for the many watch-fires were scattered
+and trampled out; but up from that pit of doom rose shrieks and cries
+and many hateful sounds--sounds to pierce the brain and ring there
+everlastingly.
+
+Thus Beltane, marching swift to the south at the head of his three
+hundred foresters, heard nought of their joyful acclaim, heeded not
+their triumph, saw nought of watchful Roger's troubled glances, but
+went with head bowed low, with pallid cheek and eyes wide-staring, for
+he saw yet again the fierce leap of those merciless flames and in his
+ears rang the screams and cries of Sir Rollo's proud chivalry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+
+The sun was high as they came to the western road that led to the ford
+at Thornaby, but upon the edge of the forest Beltane stopped of a
+sudden to stare up at an adjacent tree.
+
+"What is't, master?" questioned Roger, halting beside him.
+
+"An arrow--and new-shot by the look of it!" said Beltane, gloomily.
+
+"Aye master, and it hath travelled far--see, it hath scarce pierced the
+bark!"
+
+"'Twas shot from the brush yonder, methinks," said Beltane, pointing to
+the dense underwood that skirted the opposite side of the dusty
+highway. "Reach me it down, Roger!" so saying Beltane stooped and hove
+Roger aloft until he could grasp and draw the arrow from the tree.
+
+"Here is no woodsman's shaft, master!" quoth Roger, turning the missile
+over in his hand ere he gave it to Beltane, "no forester doth wing his
+shafts so."
+
+"True!" nodded Beltane, frowning at the arrow. "Walkyn, Ulf! here hath
+been an ambushment, methinks--'tis a likely place for such. Let our
+company scatter and search amid the fern hereabouts--"
+
+But even as he spake came a cry, a clamour of voices, and Prat the
+archer came frowning and snapping his restless fingers.
+
+"My lord," said he, "yonder doth lie my good comrade Martin and three
+other fellows of my archer-company that marched with Sir Benedict, and
+all dead, lord, slain by arrows all four."
+
+"Show me!" said Beltane.
+
+And when he had viewed and touched those stark and pallid forms that
+lay scattered here and there amid the bracken, his anxious frown
+deepened. "These have been dead men full six hours!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, lord," says Prat, "and 'tis unmeet such good fellows should lie
+here for beasts to tear; shall we bury them?"
+
+"Not so!" answered Beltane, turning away. "Take their shafts and fall
+to your ranks--we must march forthright!"
+
+Thus soon the three hundred were striding fast behind Beltane, keeping
+ever to the forest yet well within bow-shot of the road, and, though
+they travelled at speed they went very silently, as only foresters
+might.
+
+In a while Beltane brought them to those high wooded banks betwixt
+which the road ran winding down to Thornaby Ford--that self-same hilly
+road where, upon a time, the Red Pertolepe had surprised the lawless
+company of Gilles of Brandonmere; and, now as then, the dark defile was
+littered with the wrack of fight, fallen charges that kicked and
+snorted in their pain or lay mute and still, men in battered harness
+that stared up from the dust, all unseeing, upon the new day. They lay
+thick within the sunken road but thicker beside the ford, and they
+dotted the white road beyond, grim signs of Sir Benedict's stubborn
+retreat. Hereupon Beltane halted his hard-breathing foresters and
+bidding them rest awhile and break their fast, hasted down into the
+roadway with Walkyn and Cnut and Black Roger.
+
+"Aha!" cried Walkyn, pointing to divers of the slain that hampered
+their going, "these be Pertolepe's rogues--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, throwing back his mail-coif, "and yonder lie four,
+five--six of Sir Benedict's good fellows! It hath been a dour fight
+hereabouts--they have fought every yard of the way!"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Cnut, "Sir Benedict is ever most fierce when he
+retreats, look you." A while stood Beltane in that dark defile, the
+which, untouched as jet by the sun's level beams, struck dank and
+chill, a place of gloom and awful silence--so stood he, glancing from
+one still form to another, twice he knelt to look more closely on the
+dead and each time he rose thereafter, his brow was blacker and he
+shivered, despite his mantle.
+
+"'Tis strange," said he, "and passing strange that they should all lie
+dead--not a living man among them! How think you Roger?"
+
+"I think, lord, others have been here afore us. See you this knight
+now, his gorget loosed off--"
+
+"O messire!" said a faint voice hard by, "if ye have any pity save me
+from the crone--for the love of Christ let not the hag slay me as she
+hath so many--save me!"
+
+Starting round, Beltane espied a pale face that glared up at him from a
+thick furze-bush beside the way, a youthful face albeit haggard and
+drawn.
+
+"Fear not!" said Beltane, kneeling beside the wounded youth, "thy life
+is safe from us. But what mean you by talk of hag and crone?"
+
+"Ah, messire, to-day, ere the dawn, we fell upon Sir Benedict of
+Bourne--a seditious lord who hath long withstood Duke Ivo. But though
+his men were few they fought hard and gained the ford ahead of us. And
+in the fight I, with many others as ye see, was smitten down and the
+fight rolled on and left us here in the dust. As I lay, striving to
+tend my hurt and hearkening to the sighs and groans of the stricken, I
+heard a scream, and looking about, beheld an ancient woman--busied with
+her knife--slaying--slaying and robbing the dead--ah, behold her--with
+the black-haired archer--yonder!"
+
+And verily Roger stepped forth of the underwood that clothed the steep,
+dragging a thing of rags and tatters, a wretched creature, bent and
+wrinkled, that mopped and mowed with toothless chaps and clutched a
+misshapen bundle in yellow, talon-like fingers, and these yellow
+fingers were splotched horribly with dark stains even as were the rags
+that covered her. She whined and whimpered querulously, mouthing
+inarticulate plaints and prayers as Roger haled her along, with Cnut
+and Walkyn, fierce and scowling, behind. Having brought her to Beltane,
+Roger loosed her, and wrenching away her bundle, opened it, and lo! a
+yellow-gleaming hoard of golden neck-chains, of rings and armlets, of
+golden spurs and belt-buckles, the which he incontinent scattered at
+Beltane's feet; whereon the gibbering creature screamed in high-pitched,
+cracked and ancient voice, and, screeching, threw herself upon
+the gold and fell to scrabbling among the dust with her gnarled and
+bony fingers; and ever as she raked and raked, she screeched harsh and
+high--a hateful noise that ended, of a sudden, in a wheezing sob, and
+sinking down, she lay outstretched and silent, her wrinkled face in the
+dust and a cloth-yard shaft transfixing her yellow throat.
+
+So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were
+yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an
+archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting
+loud and hoarse.
+
+"Ha!" cried Cnut, "'tis lusty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?"
+
+"I'm sped, Cnut!" groaned Siward, "but yon hag lieth dead, so am I--
+content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind--
+for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him
+she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the
+brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach
+my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!" And Siward, feebly pointing to the
+ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.
+
+Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him
+tender and compassionate.
+
+"Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?"
+
+"O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!"
+
+Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very
+carefully, bore him down toward the ford.
+
+"Messire," quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, "art very
+strong and wondrous gentle withal!" Presently Beltane brought him
+beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound
+above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a
+strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as
+he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while
+this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.
+
+"Ho!" cried he, "'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this
+was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth
+fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir
+Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he
+fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog
+blazoned on the shield of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous
+news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped
+Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir
+Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him,
+'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful
+thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother
+that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may
+remember it in her prayers?"
+
+"I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed
+that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee
+well!" So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time
+the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye
+and mouth.
+
+Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very
+soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into
+the green.
+
+Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain
+southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain;
+what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through
+the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon
+the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and
+the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen
+arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.
+
+"Ha, Benedict!" quoth Sir Brian, "they do know thee, methinks, 'spite
+thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many
+minutes!"
+
+"So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!" Sir Benedict
+groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his
+chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front
+the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times
+Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote
+left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully
+nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back
+their assailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to
+three fresh knights.
+
+"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves
+thee well, Benedict!"
+
+"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, God be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict,
+eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle
+knight's gorget--"
+
+"Yet shore clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the
+esquire.
+
+"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and
+sighed again.
+
+"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when
+steel is ringing, man."
+
+"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha,
+Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I
+say!"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a
+moment and--"
+
+The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted
+hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the
+dust.
+
+"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.
+
+"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen
+archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the
+riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank,
+and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the
+nuns they make for!"
+
+Nothing saying, Sir Benedict spurred forward beside his hard-pressed
+company; in the midst of the column was dire tumult and shouting,
+where, from the dense woods upon their left a body of knights sheathed
+in steel from head to foot were cutting their way toward the lady
+Abbess, who, conspicuous in her white habit, was soothing her
+frightened palfrey. All about her a shouting, reeling press of Sir
+Benedict's light-armed footmen were giving back and back before the
+swing of ponderous axe and mace and sword, were smitten down and
+trampled 'neath those resistless, steel-clad ranks.
+
+"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this
+close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice
+and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of
+sword until he had won beside the Abbess.
+
+"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close--close,
+Yolande--stoop--ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee--the debate
+waxeth a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath
+the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and
+thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back
+before the sweep of that long sword.
+
+"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good
+Hacon spurs in to our relief--ha, mighty lance!"
+
+"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what
+avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so--dear
+Benedict--let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair
+lives be saved--ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See--O see how fast
+they fall and die about us! I must go--I will go! My lord, let me pass--
+loose my bridle--"
+
+A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar
+of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang,
+two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous
+broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced--
+the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a
+mighty shout rent the air:
+
+"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his
+swaying ranks, the bloody gap in his column closed up and Sir
+Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but
+scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red
+confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels,
+and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.
+
+"Mother!" he cried.
+
+"Dear, dear son of mine--and thou art safe? Thanks be to God who hath
+heard the passion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned,
+and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near
+by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.
+
+"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look--Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue--a
+rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into
+the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring
+behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted
+company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down
+beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other.
+So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged
+swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust
+where horsemen and footmen strove together in desperate grapple, where
+knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of
+Beltane's lusty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.
+
+Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward
+with mighty axe whirled aloft.
+
+"Ha--Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, Bloody Pertolepe--turn, thou
+dog! 'Tis I--'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into
+the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until
+he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger,
+wielded a bloody mace, and who, hearing that hoarse cry, turned and met
+the shearing axe with blazoned shield--and behold! the gorgeous shield
+was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was
+beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn,
+bounding up, shouldered him aside--his axe whirled and fell once, and
+Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold--whirled and
+fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head
+and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow
+beneath his fiery hair--whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights
+and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their
+reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming
+with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.
+
+But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes
+behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the
+forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in
+their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that
+devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced
+and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted
+gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and
+vizored war-helm and astride a noble horse, and there, too, was Roger,
+grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper;
+quoth he:
+
+"Ha--'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape
+me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in hell--"
+
+"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.
+
+"Aye--and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought--"
+
+"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is
+ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl
+deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lad," said Sir Benedict as they rode together, "hast
+told me nought of thy doings last night--what of Sir Rollo?"
+
+"Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye assured Sir Rollo shall
+not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir
+Brian?"
+
+"Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy noble
+lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou,
+'twill be healed--Ha, they charge us again--stand firm, pikes!" So
+shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once
+again the road echoed to the din of battle.
+
+Thus all day long they fought their way south along the forest-road,
+as, time and again, Sir Pertolepe's heavy chivalry thundered down upon
+them, to check and break before that hedge of deadly pikes. So marched
+this valiant rear-guard, parched with thirst, choked with dust, grim
+with blood and wounds, until, as the sun sank westwards, the woods
+thinned away and they beheld at last, glad-eyed and joyful, the walls
+and towers of fair Belsaye town. Now just beyond the edge of the
+woods, Sir Benedict halted his shrunken column, his dusty pikemen drawn
+up across the narrow road with archers behind supported by his cavalry
+to hold Sir Pertolepe's powers in check amid the woods what time the
+nuns with the spent and wounded hasted on towards the city.
+
+Hereupon Beltane raised his vizor and setting horn to lip, sounded the
+rally. And lo! from the city a glad and mighty shout went up, the while
+above the square and frowning keep a great standard arose and flapping
+out upon the soft air, discovered a red lion on a white field.
+
+"Aha, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, "yon is a rare-sweet sight--behold
+thy father's Lion banner that hath not felt the breeze this many a
+year--"
+
+"Aye, lords," growled Walkyn, "and yonder cometh yet another lion--a
+black lion on red!" and he pointed where, far to their left, a red
+standard flaunted above the distant glitter of a wide-flung battle
+line.
+
+"Hast good eyes, Walkyn!" said Sir Benedict, peering 'neath his hand
+toward the advancing host, "aye, verily--'tis Ivo himself. Sir
+Pertolepe must have warned him of our coming."
+
+"So are we like to be crushed 'twixt hammer and anvil," quoth Sir
+Hacon, tightening the lacing of his battered casque.
+
+"So will I give thee charge of our knights and men-at-arms--what is
+left of them, alas!--to meet Black Ivo's banner, my doleful Hacon!"
+spake Sir Benedict.
+
+"Nay, Benedict," said Sir Hacon, grim-smiling, "my dole is but
+caution!" So saying, he closed his vizor and rode away to muster his
+chivalry to meet their new assailants the while Sir Benedict fell to
+re-forming his scanty ranks of pikemen and archers. Meantime Beltane,
+sitting his weary charger, glanced from Sir Pertolepe's deep array of
+knights and men-at-arms that thronged and jostled each other in the
+narrow forest-road to the distant flash and glitter of Duke Ivo's
+mighty van-ward, and from these again to the walls of Belsaye. And as
+he looked thither he saw the great drawbridge fall, the portcullis
+raised, and the gates flung wide to admit the fugitives; even at that
+distance he thought to recognise the Abbess, who paused to turn and
+gaze towards him, as, last of all, she rode to safety into the city.
+Then my Beltane sighed, and, closing his vizor, turned to find Ulf
+beside him with Roger and Walkyn, who stood to watch the while Sir
+Benedict rode to and fro, ordering his company for their perilous
+retreat across the plain. Swift and silent his war-worn veterans fell
+to their appointed ranks; his trumpets blew and they began to fall back
+on Belsaye town. Grimly silent they marched, and ever Beltane gazed
+where, near and ever more near, flashed and flickered Duke Ivo's
+hard-riding van-ward.
+
+And now from the forest-road Sir Pertolepe's company marched, and
+forming in the open, spurred down upon them.
+
+"Stand firm, pikes!" roared Cnut.
+
+"Aim low, archers!" squealed small Prat, and forthwith the battle
+joined.
+
+The weary rear-guard rocked and swayed beneath the onset, but Prat and
+his archers shot amain, arrows whistled while pike and gisarm thrust
+and smote, as, encompassed now on three sides, they fell back and back
+towards the yawning gates of Belsaye; and ever as he fought, Beltane
+by times turned to watch where Duke Ivo's threatening van-ward
+galloped--a long line of gleaming shields and levelled lances gay with
+the glitter of pennon and banderol.
+
+Back and back the rear-guard staggered, hewing and smiting; twice
+Beltane reeled 'neath unseen blows and with eyes a-swim beheld Roger
+and Ulf, who fought at either stirrup: heard of a sudden shrieks and
+cries and the thunder of galloping hooves; was aware of the flash of
+bright armour to his left, rank upon rank, where charged Duke Ivo's
+van-ward before whose furious onset Sir Benedict's weary pikemen were
+hurled back--their centre swayed, broke, and immediately all was dire
+uproar and confusion.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--these be fresh men on fresh horses," cried Sir Benedict,
+"but hey--body o' me--all's not lost yet--malediction, no! And 'tis
+scarce half a mile to the gates. Ha--yonder rides lusty Hacon to stay
+their rush--in upon them. Beltane--Ho, Pentavalon!"
+
+Shouting thus, Sir Benedict plunged headlong into the raging fury of
+the battle; but, as Beltane spurred in after him, his weary charger,
+smitten by an arrow, reared up, screaming, yet ere he fell, Beltane,
+kicking free of the stirrups, rolled clear; a mighty hand plucked him
+to his feet and Ulf, roaring in his ear, pointed with his dripping axe.
+And, looking whither he pointed, Beltane beheld Sir Benedict borne down
+beneath a press of knights, but as he lay, pinned beneath his squealing
+charger, Beltane leapt and bestrode him, sword in hand.
+
+"Roger!" he shouted, "Ulf--Walkyn--to me!"
+
+All about him was a swaying trample of horses and men, an iron ring
+that hemmed him in, blows dinted his long shield, they rang upon his
+helmet, they battered his triple mail, they split his shield in sunder;
+and 'neath this hail of blows Beltane staggered, thrice he was smitten
+to his knees and thrice he arose, and ever his long blade whirled and
+darted.
+
+"Yield thee, sir knight--yield thee!" was the cry.
+
+"Ho, Roger!" he shouted hoarsely, "Ulf--Walkyn, to me!"
+
+An axe bit through his great helm, a sword bent against his stout mail,
+a knight spurred in upon him, blade levelled to thrust again, but
+Beltane's deadly point darted upward and the snorting charger plunged
+away--riderless.
+
+But now, as he fought on with failing arm, came a joyous roar on his
+right where Ulf smote direly with bloody axe, upon his left hand a
+broad-sword flickered where Roger fought silent and grim, beyond him
+again, Walkyn's long arms rose and fell as he whirled his axe, and hard
+by Tall Orson plied goring pike. So fought these mighty four until the
+press thinned out and they had cleared them a space amid the battle,
+the while Beltane leaned him, spent and panting, upon his reeking
+sword.
+
+Now, as he stood thus, from a tangle of the fallen near by a bent and
+battered helm was lifted and Sir Benedict spake, faint and short of
+breath:
+
+"'Twas nobly done--sweet lad! 'Tis enough, methinks--there be few of
+us left, I fear me, so--get thee hence--with such as be alive--hence,
+Beltane, for--thy sweet mother's sake. Nay, heed not--old Benedict, I
+did my best and--'tis a fitting couch, this--farewell to thee, my
+Beltane--" So saying, Sir Benedict sank weakly to an elbow and from
+elbow upon his face, and lay there, very still and mute.
+
+"Master--master!" cried Roger, "we shall win to Belsaye yet, see--see,
+Giles hath out-flanked them with his pikes and archers, and--ha! yonder
+good Eric o' the Noose chargeth them home!"
+
+But Beltane leaned him upon his sword very spent and sick, and stared
+ever upon Sir Benedict's motionless form, his harness bent and hacked,
+his proud helm prone in the trampled ling. Slowly, and with fumbling
+hands, Beltane sheathed his sword, and stooping, raised Sir Benedict
+upon his shoulder and strove to bear him out of the fight, but twice he
+staggered in his going and would have fallen but for Roger's ready arm.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "master, let me aid thee with him!" But nothing
+saying, Beltane stumbled on until they came where stood Ulf holding a
+riderless horse, on the which he made shift to mount with Roger's aid;
+thereafter Ulf lifted Sir Benedict to his hold.
+
+"And, pray you," said Beltane, slow and blurred of speech, "pray you
+what of noble Sir Hacon?"
+
+"Alack, lord," growled Ulf, "yonder is he where they lie so thick, and
+slain, methinks,--yet will I bring him off--"
+
+"Aye, lord," cried Tall Orson, great tears furrowing the grime of his
+cheeks, "and little Prat do be killed--and lusty Cnut do be killed wi'
+him--and my good comrade Jenkyn do lie smitten to death--O there do be
+none of us left, methinks, lord!"
+
+So, faint and heart-sick, with Sir Benedict limp across his saddle bow,
+Beltane rode from that place of death; beside him went Roger, stumbling
+and weary, and behind them strode mighty Ulf with Sir Hacon upon his
+shoulder. In a while, as they went thus, Beltane, glancing back at the
+fight, beheld stout Eric with the men of Belsaye, well mounted and
+equipped, at fierce grapple with Duke Ivo's van-ward, what time Giles
+and his archers supported by lusty pikemen, plied Sir Pertolepe's weary
+forces with whizzing shafts, drawing and loosing marvellous fast.
+
+So came they at last unto the gates of Belsaye town that were already
+a-throng with many wounded and divers others of Sir Benedict's company
+that had won out of the affray; now upon the drawbridge Beltane paused
+and gave Sir Benedict and brave Hacon into kindly, eager hands, then,
+wheeling, with Ulf and Roger beside him, rode back toward the battle.
+And ever as they went came scattered groups of Sir Benedict's stout
+rear-guard, staggering with weariness and limping with wounds, the
+while, upon the plain beyond, Eric with his men-at-arms and Walkyn with
+the survivors of the foresters and Giles with his archers and pikemen,
+holding the foe in play, fell back upon the town, compact and orderly.
+Thus, they in turn began to cross the drawbridge, archers and pikemen,
+and last of all, the men-at-arms, until only Eric o' the Noose and a
+handful of his horsemen, with Beltane, Roger and Ulf remained beyond
+the drawbridge, whereon the enemy came on amain and 'neath their
+furious onset brave Eric was unhorsed; then Beltane drew sword and with
+Roger and Ulf running at either stirrup, spurred in to the rescue.
+
+A shock of hard-smitten steel--a whirl and flurry of blows--a shout of
+triumph, and, reeling in his saddle, dazed and sick, Beltane found
+himself alone, fronting a bristling line of feutred lances; he heard
+Roger shout to him wild and fearful, heard Walkyn roar at him--felt a
+sudden shock, and was down, unhelmed, and pinned beneath his stricken
+charger. Half a-swoon he lay thus, seeing dimly the line of on-rushing
+lance-points, while on his failing senses a fierce cry smote:
+
+"'Tis Beltane--the Outlaw! Slay him! Slay him!"
+
+But now of a sudden and as one that dreamed, he beheld a tender face
+above him with sad-sweet eyes and lips that bent to kiss his brow, felt
+soft arms about him--tender arms that drew his weary head upon a
+gentle bosom to hide and pillow it there; felt that enfolding embrace
+tighten and tighten in sudden shuddering spasm, as, sighing, the lady
+Abbess's white-clad arms fell away and her proud head sank beside his
+in the dust.
+
+And now was a rush and roar of fierce voices as over them sprang Roger
+and Giles with Ulf and Eric, and, amid the eddying dust, axe and sword
+swung and smote, while came hands strong yet tender, that bare Beltane
+into the city.
+
+Now beyond the gate of the city was a well and beside the well they
+laid Beltane and bathed him with the sweet cool water, until at length
+the mist vanished from his sight and thus he beheld the White Abbess
+who lay upon a pile of cloaks hard by. And beholding the deadly pallor
+of lip and cheek, the awful stains that spotted her white robe and the
+fading light in those sad-sweet eyes, Beltane cried aloud--a great and
+bitter cry, and fell before her on his knees.
+
+"Mother!" he groaned, "O my mother!"
+
+"Dear my Beltane," she whispered faintly, striving to kiss his hand,
+"death is none so--painful, so grieve not thine heart for me, sweet
+son. And how may a mother--die better than for her own--beloved son?
+Beltane, if God--O if God in His infinite mercy--shall think me worthy
+--to be--one of His holy angels, then will I be ever near thee when thy
+way proveth dark--to comfort thee--to aid thee. O dear my son--I
+sought thee so long--so long--'tis a little hard to leave thee--so
+soon. But--God's will--fare thee well, I die--aye--this is death,
+methinks. Beltane, tell thy father that I--O--dear my--my Beltane--"
+
+So died the gracious lady Abbess that had been the proud Yolande,
+Duchess of Pentavalon, wept and bemoaned by full many who had known
+her tender care; and, in due season, she was laid to rest within the
+fair Minster of Belsaye. And thereafter, Beltane took to his bed and
+abode there many days because of his wounds and by reason of his so
+great sorrow and heart-break.
+
+But, that night, through the dark hours was strange stir and hum beyond
+the walls of Belsaye, and, when the dawn broke, many a stout heart
+quailed and many a cheek blanched to see a great camp whose fortified
+lines encompassed the city on all sides, where lay Ivo the Black Duke
+to besiege them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII
+
+TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+
+Six days and nights my Beltane kept his bed, seeing and speaking to no
+man; and it is like he would have died but for the fostering care of
+the good Friar Martin who came and went softly about him, who watched
+and tended and prayed over him long and silently but who, perceiving
+his heart-sickness, spake him not at all. Day in and day out Beltane
+lay there, heedless of all but his great sorrow, sleeping little and
+eating less, his face hid in his pillow or turned to the wall, and in
+all this time he uttered no word nor shed a single tear.
+
+His wounds healed apace but his soul had taken a deeper hurt, and day
+and night he sorrowed fiercely for his noble mother, wherefore he lay
+thus, heeding nought but his great grief. But upon the seventh night,
+he dreamed she stood beside his couch, tall and fair and gracious, and
+looked down on him, the mother-love alight within her sweet, sad eyes.
+Now within her hand she bare his sword and showed him the legend graven
+upon the bright steel:
+
+RESURGAM
+
+And therewith she smiled wondrous tender and put the great weapon into
+his grasp; then stooped and kissed him, and, pointing upward with her
+finger, was gone.
+
+And now within his sleep his anguished heart found solacement in slow
+and burning tears, and, sleeping yet, he wept full bitterly, insomuch
+that, sobbing, he awoke. And lo! beneath his right hand was the touch
+of cold steel and his fingers clenched tight upon the hilt of his great
+sword.
+
+Then my Beltane arose forthwith, and finding his clothes near by, clad
+himself and did on his mail, and, soft-treading, went forth of his
+narrow chamber. Thus came he where Friar Martin lay, deep-breathing in
+his slumber, and waking him not, he passed out into the dawn. And in
+the dawn was a gentle wind, very cool and grateful, that touched his
+burning brow and eyes like a caress; now looking up to heaven, where
+stars were paling to the dawn, Beltane raised the hilt of his sword
+and pressed it to his lips.
+
+"O blessed mother!" he whispered, "God hath surely found thee worthy to
+be one of His holy angels, so hast thou stooped from heaven to teach to
+me my duty. Thus now will I set by my idle grieving for thee, sweet
+saint, and strive to live thy worthy son--O dear my mother, who, being
+dead, yet liveth!"
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and went softly up the narrow stair
+that led to the battlements.
+
+It was a bleak dawn, full of a thick, low-lying mist beyond the walls,
+but within this mist, to north and south and east and west, was a faint
+stir, while, ever and anon, rose the distant cry of some sentinel
+within Duke Ivo's sleeping camp, a mighty camp whose unseen powers held
+the fair city in deadly grip. In Belsaye nothing stirred and none waked
+at this dead hour save where, high on the bartizan above the square and
+mighty keep, the watchman paced to and fro, while here and there from
+curtain wall and massy tower, spear-head and bascinet gleamed.
+
+Slow and light of foot Beltane climbed the narrow stair that led up to
+one of the two square towers that flanked the main gate, but, being
+come thither, he paused to behold Giles, who chancing to be captain of
+the watch, sat upon a pile of great stones beside a powerful mangonel
+or catapult and stared him dolefully upon the lightening east: full oft
+sighed he, and therewith shook despondent head and even thus fell he to
+soft and doleful singing, groaning to himself 'twixt each verse, on
+this wise:
+
+  "She will not heed her lover's moan,
+   His mopèd tear, his deep-fetched groan,
+   So doth he sit, and here alone
+      Sing willow!
+
+("With three curses on this foul mist!)
+
+  "The little fishes fishes woo,
+   Birds blithe on bough do bill and coo,
+   But lonely I, with sad ado
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may Saint Anthony's fire consume Bernard, the merchant's round,
+plump son!)
+
+  "'Tis sure a maid was made for man,
+   'Twas e'en so since the world began,
+   Yet doleful here, I only can
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may the blessed saints have an eye upon her tender slumbers!")
+
+Here Giles paused to sigh amain, to fold his arms, to cross his legs,
+to frown and shake gloomy head; having done the which, he took breath
+and sang again as followeth:--
+
+  "Alack-a-day, alas and woe!
+   Would that Genevra fair might know
+   'Tis for her love Giles of the Bow
+      Sings willow!"
+
+But now, chancing to turn and espy Beltane, Giles fell suddenly
+abashed, his comely face grew ruddy 'neath its tan and he sprang very
+nimbly to his feet:
+
+"Ha, tall brother--good brother," he stammered, "noble lord, God den to
+ye--hail and good morrow! Verily and in faith, by Saint Giles (my
+patron saint, brother) I do rejoice to see thee abroad again, as will
+our surly Rogerkin that doth gloom and glower for thee and hath hung
+about thy chamber door morn and noon and night, and our noble Sir
+Benedict and Walkyn--but none more unfeignedly than Giles that doth
+grow glad because of thee--"
+
+"That is well," quoth Beltane, seating himself upon the battlement,
+"for verily thy song was vastly doleful, Giles!"
+
+"My song, lord, my song? Ha--hum! O verily, my song is a foolish song
+or the song of a fool, for fool am I, forsooth--a love-lorn fool; a
+doleful fool, a very fool of fools, that in my foolish folly hath set
+his foolish heart on thing beyond reach of such base fool as I. In a
+word, tall brother, I'm a fool, _videlicet_--a lover!"
+
+"Truly, hast the speech and outward seeming of your approved lover,
+Giles," nodded Beltane.
+
+"Aye, verily!" sighed Giles, "aye, verily--behold my beard, I have had
+no heart to trim it this sennight! Alack, I--I that was so point-de-vice
+am like to become a second Diogenes (a filthy fellow that never washed
+and lived in a foul tub!). As for food, I eat no more than the
+chameleon that doth fill its belly with air and nought else, foolish
+beast! I, that was wont to be a fair figure of a man do fall away to
+skin and bone, daily, hourly, minute by minute--behold this leg, tall
+brother!" And Giles thrust out a lusty, mailed limb. "Here was a leg
+once--a proper shapely leg to catch a woman's eye--see how it hath
+shrunk, nay, faith, 'tis hidden in mine armour! But verily, my shanks
+will soon be no thicker than my bowstave! Lastly I--I that loved
+company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I
+creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and
+there make much ado--and such is love, O me!"
+
+"Doth the maid know of thy love?"
+
+"Nay lord, good lack, how should she?--who am I to speak of it? She is
+a fair lady and noble, a peerless virgin, while I--I am only Giles--
+poor Giles o' the Bow, after all!"
+
+"Truly, love is teaching thee wisdom, Giles," said Beltane, smiling.
+
+"Indeed, my lord, my wisdom teacheth me this--that were I the proudest
+and noblest in the land yet should I be unworthy!" and Giles shook
+miserable head and sighed again full deep.
+
+"Who is she, Giles?"
+
+"She is Genevra, daughter to the Reeve! And the Reeve is a great man in
+Belsaye and gently born, alas! And with coffers full of good broad
+pieces. O would she were a beggar-maid, the poorest, the meanest, then
+might I woo her for mine own. As it is, I can but look and sigh--for
+speak me her I dare not--ha, and there is a plump fellow!" Here Giles
+clenched bronzed fist. "A round and buxom fellow he, a rich merchant's
+son doth woo her boldly, may speak with her, may touch her hand! So do
+I ofttimes keep him shooting at the butts by the hour together and
+therein do make me some small amend. Yet daily do I mope and pine, and
+pine and mope--O tall brother, a most accursed thing is this love--and
+dearer than my life, heigho!"
+
+"Nay, pluck up thy heart, thou'rt a man, Giles."
+
+"Aye, verily, but she is a maid, brother, therein lieth vasty
+difference, and therefore do I fear her for her very sweetness and
+purity--fear her? Faith, my knees do knock at sound of her voice, her
+very step doth set me direly a-tremble. For she is so fair--so pure and
+nigh the angels, that I--alack! I have ever been a something light
+fellow in matters of love--forget not I was bred a monk, noble brother!
+Thus, brother, a moping owl, I--a very curst fellow, gloomy and silent
+as the grave, saving my breath for sighs and groans and curses fell,
+wherefore I have builded me a 'mockery' above the wall and there-from
+do curse our foes, as only a churchman may, brother."
+
+"Nay, how mean you, Giles?" questioned Beltane, staring.
+
+"Follow me, lord, and I will show thee!" So saying, Giles led the way
+down to the battlement above the great gates, where was a thing like
+unto a rough pulpit, builded of massy timbers, very stout and strong,
+and in these timbers stood many arrows and cross-bow bolts.
+
+"Here, lord," quoth Giles, "behold my 'mockery' wherefrom it is my wont
+and custom to curse our foes thrice daily. The which is a right good
+strategy, brother, in that my amorous anguish findeth easement and I do
+draw the enemy's shafts, for there is no man that heareth my
+contumacious dictums but he forthwith falleth into rageful fury, and an
+angry fellow shooteth ever wide o' the mark, brother. Thus, thrice
+daily do we gather a full sheaf of their ill-sped shafts, whereby we
+shall not lack for arrows an they besiege us till Gabriel's trump--
+heigho! Thus do I live by curses, for, an I could not curse, then would
+my surcharged heart assuredly in sunder burst--aye me!"
+
+Now whiles they sat thus in talk, up rose the sun, before whose joyous
+beams the stealthy mists slunk away little by little, until Beltane
+beheld Duke Ivo's mighty camp--long lines of tents gay with fluttering
+pennon and gonfalon, of huts and booths set well out of bowshot behind
+the works of contravallation--stout palisades and barriers with
+earthworks very goodly and strong. And presently from among these
+booths and tents was the gleam and glitter of armour, what time from
+the waking host a hum and stir arose, with blare and fanfare of trumpet
+to usher in the day: and in a while from the midst of the camp came the
+faint ring and tap of many hammers.
+
+Now as the mists cleared, looking thitherward, Beltane stared wide-eyed
+to behold wooden towers in course of building, with the grim shapes of
+many powerful war-engines whose mighty flying-beams and massy
+supporting-timbers filled him with great awe and wonderment.
+
+"Ha!" quoth Giles, "they work apace yonder, and by Saint Giles they
+lack not for engines; verily Black Ivo is a master of siege tactics--
+but so is Giles, brother! See where he setteth up his mangonels,
+trebuchets, perriers and balistae, with bossons or rams, towers and
+cats, in the use of the which he is right cunning--but so also is
+Giles, brother! And verily, though your mangonels and trebuchets are
+well enough, yet for defence the balista is weapon more apt, methinks,
+as being more accurate in the shooting and therefore more deadly--how
+think you, lord?"
+
+"Indeed Giles, being a forester I could scarce tell you one from
+another."
+
+"Ha--then you'll know nought of their nature and use, lord?"
+
+"Nought, Giles. Ne'er have I seen their like until now."
+
+"Say ye so, brother?" cried Giles full eager, his brown eyes a-kindle,
+"say ye so in very truth? Then--an it be so thy wish--I might instruct
+thee vastly, for there is no man in the world to-day shall discourse
+you more fluent and learned upon siege-craft, engines and various
+tormenta than I. So--an it be thy wish, lord--?"
+
+"It is my wish: say on, Giles."
+
+"Why then firstly, lord, firstly we have the great Mangon or mangonel,
+_fundis fundibula_, that some do also term _catapultum_, the which
+worketh by torsion and shall heave you great stones of the bigness of a
+man fully two hundred yards an it be dry weather; next is the
+Trebuchet, like to the mangon save that it swingeth by counterpoise;
+next cometh the Balista or Springald that worketh by tension--a pretty
+weapon! and shall shoot you dart or javelin so strong as shall
+transpierce you six lusty fellows at a time, hauberk and shield, like
+so many fowl upon a spit--very sweet to behold, brother! Then have we
+the Bore or Cat that some again do name _musculus_ or mouse for that it
+gnaweth through thick walls--and some do call this hog, sow, _scrofa_
+or _sus_, brother, and some again, _vulpes_.
+
+"And this Cat is a massy pole that beareth a great and sharp steel
+point, the which, being mounted within a pent-house, swingeth merrily
+to and fro, much like to a ram, brother, and shall blithely pick you a
+hole through stone and mortar very pleasing to behold. Then we have
+the Ram, _cancer testudo_, that battereth; next we have the Tower or
+Beffroi that goeth on wheels--yonder you shall see them a-building. And
+these towers, moving forward against your city, shall o'ertop the walls
+and from them archers and cross-bowmen may shoot into your town what
+time their comrades fill up and dam your moat until the tower may come
+close unto your walls. And these towers, being come against the wall,
+do let fall drawbridges over which the besiegers may rush amain and
+carry your walls by assault. Lastly, there be Mantlets--stakes wattled
+together and covered with raw-hide--by the which means the besiegers
+make their first approaches. Then might I descant at goodly length upon
+the Mine and Furnace, with divers and sundry other stratagems, devices,
+engines and tormenta, but methinks this shall mayhap suffice thee for
+the nonce?"
+
+"Aye, verily--'twill suffice!" said Beltane, rising. "Truly war is even
+more terrible than I had thought."
+
+"Why lord, 'tis an art--a notable art and--ha! this doth mind me of my
+heart, heigho! And of all terrible things, of all the woes and ills
+man-hearts may know is--love. O me, alack and woe!"
+
+"When doth thy watch end, Giles?"
+
+"It ended an hour agone, but to what end? Being a lover I sleep little
+and pine much, and this is a fair good place and solitary, so will I
+pine awhile and likewise mope and languish, alack!"
+
+So presently, as Beltane descended the stair, he heard the archer break
+forth again in doleful song.
+
+Across the wide market-square went Beltane, with brow o'ercast and head
+low-bowed until he came to one of the many doors of the great minster;
+there paused he to remove bascinet and mail-coif, and thus bareheaded,
+entered the cathedral's echoing dimness. The new-risen sun made a glory
+of the great east window, and with his eyes uplifted to this
+many-coloured glory, Beltane, soft-treading, crossed dim aisle and
+whispering transept; but, as he mounted the broad steps of the
+sanctuary he paused with breath in check, for he heard a sound--a soft
+sound like the flutter of wings or the rustle of silken draperies. Now
+as he stood thus, his broad, mail-clad shoulders and golden hair bathed
+in the refulgence of the great window, it seemed to him that from
+somewhere near there breathed a sigh, tremulous and very soft, and
+thereafter was the quick, light tread of feet, and silence.
+
+A while stood Beltane scarce breathing, then, slow and reverent, he
+approached the high altar; and ever as he went was a fragrance,
+wonder-sweet, that grew stronger and stronger until he was come behind
+the high altar where was his mother's grave. And lo! upon that long,
+white stone lay flowers a-bloom, roses and lilies whose dewy loveliness
+filled the place with their pure and fragrant sweetness. So looked he
+round about and upon these flowers with grateful wonder, and sinking to
+his knees, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer.
+
+But presently, as he knelt thus, he was roused by the clank of steel
+and a shuffling step, wherefore he arose and crossing to the shadows of
+the choir, sat him down within the deeper gloom to wait until his
+disturber should be gone. Slowly these halting steps advanced, feet
+that stumbled oft; near they came and nearer, until Beltane perceived
+a tall figure whose armour gleamed dully and whose shoulders were bowed
+like one that is feeble or very weary.
+
+"Yolande!" said a voice, a hoarse voice but very tender, "Yolande,
+beloved!" And on the word the voice broke and ended upon a great sob,
+swift followed by another and yet another, the fierce sobbing of a
+man.
+
+Then Beltane clenched his hands and rose up, for behold! this man was
+Sir Benedict. But now, and very suddenly, Sir Benedict was upon his
+knees, and bent and kissed that white, smooth stone whereon as yet was
+no inscription.
+
+"Yolande!" he whispered, "now thou art one among the holy angels, O
+forget not thy most unworthy Benedict. God--O God! Father to whom all
+hearts are open, Thou dost know how as child and maid I loved her, how
+as a wife I loved her still--how, in my madness, I spake my love--and
+she, being saint and woman, bade me to my duty. So, by her purity, kept
+she my honour unstained--"
+
+Beltane's long scabbard struck the carven panelling, a soft blow that
+yet echoed and re-echoed in vaulted arch and dim roof, and, glancing
+swiftly up, Sir Benedict beheld him.
+
+And kneeling thus beside the grave of the woman he had loved, Sir
+Benedict looked up into Beltane's face with eyes wide, eyes unflinching
+but dimmed with great grief and pain.
+
+Quoth he, firm-voiced:
+
+"My lord, thou hast learned my life's secret, but, ere thou dost judge
+me, hear this! Long ere thy princely father met thy mother, we loved,
+she and I, and in our love grew up together. Then came the Duke thy
+father, a mighty lord; and her mother was ambitious and very guileful--
+and she--but a maid. Thus was she wed. Then rode I to the foreign wars
+seeking death--but death took me not. So, the wars ended, came I home
+again, burning ever with my love, and sought her out, and beholding the
+sadness in her eyes I spake my love; and forgetful of honour and all
+save her sweet soul and the glory of her beauty, I tempted her--aye,
+many times!--tempted her in fashion merciless and cruel insomuch that
+she wept many bitter tears, and, upon a day, spake me thus: 'Benedict,
+'tis true I loved thee, for thou wert a noble knight--but now, an thy
+love for me be so small that thou canst bring me to this shame, then--
+take me where thou wilt--but--ne'er shall all thy love nor all my
+tears thereafter cleanse us from the shame of it.' Thus went I from
+her, nor have I looked on woman since. So followed I thy father in all
+his warring and all my days have I fought much--fierce foes within me
+and without, and lived--a very solitary life. And to-day she lieth
+dead--and I am here, old and worn, a lonely man and sinful, to be
+judged of as ye will."
+
+Then came Beltane and looked down into Sir Benedict's pale, sad face.
+And beholding him thus in his abasement, haggard with wounds and bowed
+with grief, needs must Beltane kneel also and thereafter spake thus:
+
+"Sir Benedict, who am I, to judge of such as thou?"
+
+"I tempted her--I wooed her to shame, I that loved her beyond life--did
+cause her many bitter tears--alas!"
+
+"Yet in the end, Sir Benedict, because thy love was a great and noble
+love, thou didst triumph over base self. So do I honour thee and pray
+that I, in like case, may act as nobly."
+
+"And now--she lieth dead! So for me is life ended also, methinks!"
+
+"She is a saint in heaven, Benedict, living forever. As to thee, on
+whose skill and valiance the safety of this fair city doth hang--so
+hath God need of thee here, methinks. So now for thy sake and for her
+sake needs must I love thee ever and always, thou noble knight. She,
+being dead, yet liveth and shall go betwixt us henceforth, drawing us
+together in closer bonds of love and amity--is it not so, dear my
+friend?" And speaking, Beltane reached out his hands across his
+mother's narrow grave, and straightway came Sir Benedict's hands, swift
+and eager, to meet and clasp them.
+
+For a while knelt they thus, hand clasping hand above that long, white
+stone whence stole to them the mingled fragrance of the flowers, like a
+silent benediction. And presently, together they arose and went their
+way; but now, seeing how Sir Benedict limped by reason of his wounds,
+Beltane set an arm about him. So came they together out of the shadows
+into the glory of the morning.
+
+Now as they came forth of the minster, the tocsin rang loud in sudden
+alarm.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIV
+
+HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUT OF HER FEAR
+
+
+Within the market-place all was dire confusion; men hasted hither and
+thither, buckling on armour as they went, women wept and children
+wailed, while ever the bell clashed out its fierce summons.
+
+Presently, through the populace cometh Sir Brian of Hartismere,
+equipped in his armour and leaning on the mailed arm of his brother
+Eric of the wry neck, but perceiving Sir Benedict and Beltane, they
+turned and came up forthwith.
+
+"Eric--Brian, what meaneth the tumult?" questioned Sir Benedict, his
+eye kindling, "are we attacked--so soon?"
+
+"Not so," answered Sir Brian, "at the least--not by Ivo's men."
+
+"'Tis worse than that," sighed Eric, shaking his head, "yonder cometh a
+churchman, borne on the shoulders of his monks, and with choristers and
+acolytes attendant."
+
+"Ha!" said Sir Benedict, frowning and rubbing his chin, "I had dreaded
+this! The citizens do shake and shiver already, I'll warrant me! There
+is nought like a cowl with bell, book and candle to sap the courage of
+your citizen soldier. Let us to the walls!"
+
+In a corner hard by the main gate they beheld Giles, holding forth to
+Roger and Walkyn and Ulf, but perceiving Sir Benedict he ceased
+abruptly, and advancing, saluted the noble company each in turn, but
+addressed himself to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, eyes a-dance, "yonder cometh a pompous prior that
+was, not very long since, nought but massy monk that did upon a time
+(though by dint of some small persuasion) bestow on me a goodly ass. My
+lord, I was bred a monk, so do I know, by divers signs and portents,
+he cometh here to ban the city with book, bell and candle, wherefore
+the townsfolk, fearing greatly, do shiver and shake, especially the
+women and maids--sweet souls! And, lord, by reason of the matter of the
+ass, I do know this priest prolific of damnatory pronouncements and
+curses contumacious (O verily). Yet I, messire (having been bred a
+monk) shall blithely him out-curse, an the joy be permitted me, thus
+turning tears to laughter and gloomy fear to loud-voiced merriment--my
+lord, messires, how say you?"
+
+"'Tis blasphemy unheard!" quoth Sir Brian.
+
+"Save in the greenwood where men do breathe God's sweet air and live
+free!" said wry-necked Eric.
+
+"And," spake Sir Benedict, stroking his square chin, "there is a fear
+can be quelled but by ridicule, so may thy wit, sir archer, avail more
+than our wisdom--an thou canst make these pale-cheeked townsfolk laugh
+indeed. How think you, my Beltane?"
+
+"That being the wise and valiant knight thou art, Sir Benedict, thy
+will during the siege is law in Belsaye, henceforth."
+
+Now hereupon Giles made his obeisance, and together with Roger and
+Walkyn and Ulf, hasted up to the battlement above the gateway.
+
+"Benedict," said Sir Brian as they climbed the turret stair, "blasphemy
+is a dread and awful thing. We shall be excommunicate one and all--
+better methinks to let the populace yield up the city and die the
+death, than perish everlastingly!"
+
+"Brian," quoth Sir Benedict pausing, something breathless by reason of
+his recent sickness, "I tell thee fire and pillage and ravishment of
+women is a thing more dread and awful--better, methinks, to keep
+Innocence pure and unspotted while we may, and leave hereafter in the
+hands of God and His holy angels!"
+
+Upon the tower there met them the Reeve, anxious of brow, who pointed
+where the townsfolk talked together in fearful undertones or clustered,
+mute and trembling, while every eye was turned where, in the open,
+'twixt town and camp, a procession of black-robed priests advanced,
+chanting very solemn and sweet.
+
+"My lords," said the Reeve, looking round with haggard eyes, "an these
+priests do come to pronounce the Church's awful malediction upon the
+city--then woe betide! Already there be many--aye, some of our chiefest
+citizens do fear the curse of Holy Church more than the rapine of Ivo's
+vile soldiery, fair women shamed, O Christ! Lords--ha, messires, there
+is talk afoot of seizing the gates, of opening to this churchman and
+praying his intercession to Ivo's mercy--to Ivo the Black, that knoweth
+nought of mercy. Alas, my lords, once they do ope the gates--"
+
+"That can they in nowise do!" said Sir Benedict gently, but with face
+grim and hawk-like. "Every gate is held by stout fellows of my own
+following, moreover I have good hope yon churchman may leave us yet
+uncursed." And Sir Benedict smiled his wry and twisted smile. "Be you
+our tongue, good Reeve, and speak this churchman as thy bold heart
+dictateth."
+
+Solemn and sweet rose the chanting voices growing ever more loud, where
+paced the black-robed priests. First came acolytes swinging censers,
+and next, others bearing divers symbolic flags and standards, and after
+these again, in goodly chair borne on the shoulders of brawny monks, a
+portly figure rode, bedight in full canonicals, a very solid cleric he,
+and mightily round; moreover his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+Slow and solemn the procession advanced, and ever as they came the
+choristers chanted full melodiously what time the white-robed acolytes
+swung their censers to and fro; and ever as they came, the folk of
+Belsaye, from wall and turret, eyed these slow-pacing, sweet-singing
+monks with fearful looks and hearts cold and full of dire misgiving.
+Beyond the moat over against the main gate, the procession halted, the
+chair with its portly burden was set down, and lifting up a white,
+be-ringed hand, the haughty cleric spake thus, in voice high-pitched,
+mellifluous and sweet:
+
+"Whereas it hath pleased ye, O rebellious people of Belsaye, to deny,
+to cast off and wantonly repudiate your rightful allegiance to your
+most just, most merciful and most august lord--Ivo, Duke of Pentavalon
+(whom God and the saints defend--amen!) and whereas ye have moreover
+made captive and most barbarously entreated certain of your lord Duke
+his ambassadors unto you sent; now therefore--and let all ears be
+opened to my pronouncements, since Holy Church doth speak ye, one and
+all, each and every through humble avenue of these my lips--list, list,
+O list, rebellious people, and mark me well. For inasmuch as I, Prior
+of Holy Cross within Pentavalon City, do voice unto ye, one and all,
+each and every, the most sacred charge of Holy Church, her strict
+command or enactment, mandate or caveat, her holy decree, _senatus
+consultum_, her writ, edict, precept or decretal, namely and to wit:
+That ye shall one and all, each and every, return to your rightful
+allegiance, bowing humbly, each and every, to the will of your lawful
+lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend) and shall forthwith make
+full and instant surrender of this his ancient city of Belsaye unto
+your lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend--amen!) Failing the
+which, I, in the name of Holy Church, by power of papal bull new come
+from Rome--will, here and now, pronounce this most rebellious city
+(and all that therein be) damned and excommunicate!"
+
+Now hereupon, from all the townsfolk crowding wall and turret a groan
+went up and full many a ruddy cheek grew pale at this dire threat.
+Whereupon the Prior, having drawn breath, spake on in voice more stern
+and more peremptory:
+
+"Let now your gates unbar! Yield ye unto your lord Duke his mercy! Let
+the gates unbar, I say, lest I blast this wicked city with the most
+dread and awful ban and curse of Holy Church--woe, woe in this life,
+and, in the life to come, torment and everlasting fire! Let the gates
+unbar!"
+
+Now once again the men of Belsaye sighed and groaned and trembled in
+their armour, while from crowded street and market-square rose buzz of
+fearful voices. Then spake the Reeve in troubled tones, his white head
+low-stooped above the battlement.
+
+"Good Prior, I pray you an we unbar, what surety have we that this our
+city shall not be given over to fire and pillage and ravishment?"
+
+Quoth the Prior:
+
+"Your lives are your lord's, in his hand resteth life and death,
+justice and mercy. So for the last time I charge ye--set wide your
+rebellious gates!"
+
+"Not so!" cried the Reeve, "in the name of Justice and Mercy ne'er will
+we yield this our city until in Belsaye no man is left to strike for
+maid and wife and child!"
+
+At the which bold words some few men shouted in acclaim, but for the
+most part the citizens were mumchance, their hearts cold within them,
+while all eyes stared fearfully upon the Prior, who, lifting white
+hand again, rose up from cushioned chair and spake him loud and clear:
+
+"Then, upon this rebellious city and all that therein is, on babe, on
+child, on youth, on maid, on man, on wife, on the hale, the sick, the
+stricken in years, on beast, on bird, and on all that hath life and
+being I do pronounce the church's dread curse and awful ban:--ex--"
+
+The Prior's mellifluous voice was of a sudden lost and drowned in
+another, a rich voice, strong and full and merry:
+
+"Quit--quit thy foolish babblement, thou fat and naughty friar; too
+plump art thou, too round and buxom to curse a curse as curses should
+be cursed, so shall thy curses avail nothing, for who doth heed the
+fatuous fulminations of a fat man? But as to me, I could have out-cursed
+thee in my cradle, thou big-bellied thing of emptiness--go to for a
+sounding brass and tinkling cymbal!"
+
+Thus, from his "mockery" perched high above the battlement, spake
+Giles, with many and divers knowing gestures of arm, waggings of the
+head, rollings of the eyes and the like, what time Roger and Walkyn and
+Ulf, their heads bent close together, busied themselves above a great
+and bulging wine-skin.
+
+And now on wall and tower and market-square a great silence had fallen,
+yet a silence broken now and then by sound of stifled laughter, while
+the Prior, staring in wonder and amaze, suddenly clenched white fist,
+and, albeit very red and fiery of visage, strove whole-heartedly to
+curse on:
+
+"Ha--now upon the lewd populace of this most accursed and rebellious
+city do I call down the--"
+
+"Upon thy round and barrel-like paunch," cried Giles, "do I pronounce
+this dire and dreadful ban, _videlicet_, Sir Fatness, _nota bene_ and
+to wit: may the fiend rend it with gruesome gripings--aye, rend it with
+claws and beak, _unguibus et rostro_, most mountainous monk!"
+
+Here, once again came sounds of stifled merriment, what time the Prior,
+puffing out his fat cheeks, fell to his curses full-tongued:
+
+"Upon this evil city be the malison of Holy Church, her maledictions
+bitter, her imprecation and anathema. I do pronounce all within this
+city ex--"
+
+"Abate thee, friar, abate!" roared Giles, "cease thy rumbling, thou
+empty wine-butt. An thou must deal in curses, leave them to one more
+apt and better schooled--to Giles, in faith, who shall forthwith curse
+thee sweet and trippingly as thus--now mark me, monk! Aroint, aroint
+thee to Acheron dark and dismal, there may the foul fiend seize and
+plague thee with seven and seventy plaguey sorrows! May Saint Anthony's
+fire frizzle and fry thee--woe, woe betide thee everlastingly--(bate
+thy babble, Prior, I am not ended yet!) In life may thou be accursed
+from heel to head, within thee and without--(save thy wind, Prior, no
+man doth hear or heed thee!) Be thou accursed in father and in mother,
+in sister and in brother, in oxen and in asses--especially in asses! Be
+thou accursed in sleeping and in waking, eating and drinking, standing,
+sitting, lying--O be thou accursed completely and consumedly! Here now,
+methinks, Sir Monkish Tunbelly, is cursing as it should be cursed. But
+now--(hush thy vain babbling, heed and mark me well!)--now will I to
+dictums contumacious, from cursing thee I will to song of thee, of thy
+plump and pertinacious person--a song wherein shall pleasant mention be
+o' thy round and goodly paunch, a song that shall be sung, mayhap, when
+thee and it are dusty dust, O shaveling--to wit:
+
+  "O frater fat and flatulent, full foolish, fatuous Friar
+   A prime plump priest in passion seen, such pleasure doth inspire,
+   That sober souls, 'spite sorrows sad, shall sudden, shout and sing
+   Because thy belly big belittleth baleful ban ye bring.
+   Wherefore with wondrous wit withal, with waggish wanton wiles,
+   I joyful chant to glorify the just and gentle Giles."
+
+And now behold! fear and dread were forgotten quite, and wheresoever
+Beltane looked were men who bent and contorted themselves in their
+merriment, and who held their laughter yet in check to catch the
+archer's final words.
+
+"Thus, thou poor and pitiful Prior, for thy rude speech and curses
+canonical we do requite thee with song sweet-sung and of notable rhyme
+and metre. Curse, and Belsaye shall out-curse thee; laugh, and Belsaye
+laugheth at thee--"
+
+"Sacrilege!" gasped the Prior, "O 'tis base sacrilege! 'Tis a vile,
+unhallowed city and shall go up in flame--"
+
+"And thou," cried Giles, "thou art a fiery churchman and shall be
+cooled. Ho, Rogerkin--loose off!"
+
+Came the thudding crash of a powerful mangonel, whose mighty beam,
+swinging high, hurled aloft the bulging wine-skin, the which, bursting
+in mid-air, deluged with water all below--prior and monk, acolyte and
+chorister; whereat from all Belsaye a shout went up, that swelled to
+peal on peal of mighty laughter, the while, in stumbling haste, the
+dripping Prior was borne by dripping monks back to Duke Ivo's mighty
+camp. And lo! from this great camp another sound arose, a roar of
+anger, fierce and terrible to hear, that smote Belsaye to silence. But,
+out upon the battlement, plain for all folk to see, sprang Giles
+flourishing his six-foot bow.
+
+"Archers!" he cried, "archers, ye hear the dogs bay yonder--fling back
+their challenge!
+
+  "Ho, archers! shout and rend the skies,
+   Bold archers shout amain
+   Belsaye, Belsaye--arise, arise!
+   Pentavalon--Beltane!"
+
+Then from tower and turret, from wall and keep and market-square a
+great and joyous shout was raised--a cry fierce and loud and very
+purposeful, that rolled afar:
+
+"Arise, arise!--ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, smiling his wry smile as he turned to
+descend the tower, "methinks yon roguish archer's wit hath served us
+better than all our wisdom. Belsaye hath frighted away fear with
+laughter, and her men, methinks, will fight marvellous well!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXV
+
+TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+
+A fair and strong city was Belsaye, for (as hath been said) to north
+and east of it the river flowed, a broad stream and deep, while south
+and west it was fortified by a goodly moat; wherefore it was to south
+and west that the besiegers mustered their chief force and set up their
+mightiest engines and towers. Day in, day out, mangonel, trebuchet and
+balista whirred and crashed from keep and tower and curtain-wall, while
+from every loophole and crenelle long-bows twanged and arrows flew; yet
+with each succeeding dawn the besiegers' fence-works crept nearer,
+closing in upon the city until, within close bowshot of the walls, they
+set up earthworks and stockades and from these strong barriers plied
+the defenders with cloth-yard shaft and cross-bow bolt what time their
+mighty engines advanced, perriers and rams wherewith to batter and
+breach the city's massy walls.
+
+So day in, day out, Eric's chosen men plied trebuchet and balista, and
+Beltane, beholding the dire havoc wrought by heavy stone and whizzing
+javelin among the dense ranks of the besiegers despite their mantlets
+and stout palisades, grew sick at times and was fain to look
+otherwhere. But the besiegers were many and Duke Ivo had sworn swift
+destruction on Belsaye; thus, heedless of all else, he pushed on the
+attack until, despite their heavy losses, his men were firmly
+established close beyond the moat; wherefore my Beltane waxed full
+anxious and was for sallying out to destroy their works: at the which,
+gloomy Sir Hacon, limping in his many bandages, grew suddenly jovial
+and fain was to call for horse and lance forthwith.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict placidly:
+
+"Nay, let them come, messires; they are a sea, but Belsaye is a rock.
+Duke Ivo is cunning in war, but is, mark me! a passionate man, and he
+who fighteth in blind anger, fighteth ill. So let them come, I say the
+time for us to beware is when Ivo's hot temper shall have cooled. Ha,
+look yonder!" and Sir Benedict pointed where a great wooden tower,
+urged forward by rope and pulley and winch, was creeping near and
+nearer the walls, now stopping jerkily, now advancing, its massy
+timbers protected from fire by raw hides, its summit bristling with
+archers and cross-bow men, who from their lofty post began to sweep
+wall and turret with their whizzing shafts.
+
+"Now mark yon tower," said Sir Benedict, closing his vizor, "here shall
+be good sport for Eric's perriers--watch now!" and he nodded where on
+the battlement below, crouched Eric with Walkyn and Roger who laboured
+at the winches of a great trebuchet hard by. To left and right on wall
+and turret, Eric glanced, then blew a blast upon the horn he carried;
+and immediately, from wall and turret mangonels, trebuchets and
+balistae unknown of until now crashed and whirred, and the tall tower
+shook and quivered 'neath the shock of great stones and heavy bolts,
+its massy timbers were split and rent, insomuch that it was fain to be
+withdrawn.
+
+Thereafter the besiegers brought up a long pent-house or cat unto the
+edge of the moat, and sheltered within this cat were many men who fell
+to work filling up the moat with bags of earth and stone werewith to
+form a causeway across which they might assault the wall with bore and
+ram; and because this cat was builded very strong, Eric's engines
+battered it in vain, wherefore he presently desisted; thus, hour by
+hour the causeway grew and lengthened. So needs must Beltane seek Sir
+Benedict and point this out with anxious finger.
+
+"Let them come, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, placid as was his wont,
+"once they are close against the wall with ram a-swing, I will make
+their labour of no avail; you shall see me burn them with a devil's
+brew I learned of in the foreign wars. So, let them come. Beltane!"
+
+Thus, day in, day out, was roar of conflict about the walls of Belsaye
+town, and ever Sir Benedict, with Beltane beside him, went to and fro,
+quick of eye and hand, swift to foresee and counteract the tactics of
+the besiegers, meeting cunning artifice with crafty strategem;
+wheresoever was panic or pressing need there was Sir Benedict,
+calm-voiced and serene. And Beltane, watching him thus, came to
+understand why this man had withstood the powers of Duke Ivo all these
+years, and why all men trusted to his judgment.
+
+Thus, all day was rage of battle, but with the night peace came, since
+in the dark men might not see to aim and slay each other. And by night
+the folk of Belsaye made good their battered walls what time the
+besiegers prepared fresh devices of attack. Every morning at sunrise it
+was Beltane's custom to steal to the great minster and, soft-treading
+despite his armour, come to his mother's grave to hold communion with
+her in his prayers. And lo! upon that hallowed stone there always he
+found fragrant flowers, roses and lilies, new-gathered, upon whose
+sweet petals the dew yet sparkled, and ever his wonder grew.
+
+More than once he had thought to hear again that indefinable stir and
+whisper the which had thrilled him on that first morning, and, starting
+up, he would peer into the vague shadows. Twice he had thought to see a
+draped figure bending above that long, white stone, a veiled figure
+slender and graceful, that upon his approach, soft though it was,
+flitted swiftly into the dark recesses of the choir. Once he had
+followed, and stood amazed to see it vanish through the carven
+panelling, though door could he find none. Therefore was he sore
+perplexed and oft would touch the dewy flowers as half expecting they
+should vanish also. Now upon a certain dawn he had hid himself within
+the shadows and waited with bated breath and heart strangely a-throb.
+And with the day-spring she came again, tall and gracious in her
+clinging draperies and long green veil. Then, even as she bent to lay
+the flowers upon the grave came Beltane, soft of foot, and spake ere
+she was 'ware of him.
+
+"Lady--!" now though his voice was very low and gentle she started, the
+flowers fell from her loosened clasp, and, after a moment, she turned
+and fronted him, proud head up-flung beneath her veil. So stood they
+within that place of silence, while high above, the great window grew
+luminous with coming day.
+
+"Lady," said he again, "for thy sweet flowers, for thy sweeter thought
+for one that is--gone, fain would I thank thee, for she who lieth here
+I found, and loved, and have lost again a while. She did love all fair
+things, so loved she the flowers, methinks; yet I, who have grieved for
+my noble mother, ne'er thought to bring her flowers--this did need a
+woman's gentle soul. So, for thy flowers, I do most truly thank thee."
+
+Very still she stood, nor spake nor moved, save for the sweet hurry of
+her breathing; and beholding her thus, of a sudden Beltane's heart
+leapt and he fell a-trembling though wherefore he knew not, only
+yearned he mightily to look beneath her veil. And now it seemed to him
+that, in the stillness, she must needs hear the passionate throbbing of
+his heart; twice would he have spoken yet could not; at last:
+
+"Beseech thee," he whispered, "O beseech thee unveil, that I may behold
+the face of one so tender to her that was my dear-loved mother--O
+beseech thee!"
+
+As he spake, he drew a swift pace nearer, hand outstretched in
+supplication, but, because this hand shook and quivered so, he clenched
+it, whereat the unknown shrank back and back and, turning swift and
+sudden, was gone.
+
+A while stood my Beltane, his head a-droop, and fell to wonderment
+because of the so painful throbbing of his heart. Then knelt he above
+his mother's grave with hands tight-clasped.
+
+"Dear mother in heaven," he sighed, "being an angel, thou dost know all
+my heart, its hopes and fears--thou hast seen me tremble--thou dost
+know wherefore this my heart doth yearn so bitterly. O sweet mother
+with God, plead thou on my behalf that I may be worthy her love--meet
+to her embracements--fit for so great happiness. Angel of God, thou
+dost know how great is my desire--how empty life without her--O
+mother--aid me!"
+
+In a while he arose and immediately beheld that which lay beyond his
+mother's grave full in the radiance of the great east window--a thing
+small and slender and daintily wrought; and stooping, he picked up a
+little shoe. Of soft leather it was fashioned, cunningly pinked, and
+sewn, here and there, with coloured silks; and as he stared down at it,
+so small-seeming in his mailed hand, his heart leapt again, and again
+his strong hand fell a-trembling. Of a sudden he raised his eyes to
+heaven, then, coming to his mother's grave, very reverently took thence
+a single great bloom and thrusting the shoe in the wallet at his girdle
+(that same wallet Sir Fidelis had borne) went out into the golden dawn.
+
+Like one in a dream went Beltane, heedless of his going; by silent
+street and lane where none stirred at this early hour, thus he wandered
+on until he was stayed by a high wall wherein was set a small, green
+door.
+
+As he stood, staring down at the rose he held and lost in pleasant
+dream, he was aroused by a scrambling sound near by, and, glancing up,
+beheld a mailed head and shoulders rise suddenly above the wall and so
+looked into the face of Giles o' the Bow. Now in his teeth Giles bare a
+great red rose--even as that which Beltane held.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, sharp and stern, "whence had ye that flower?"
+
+For answer, Giles, straddling the wall, laid finger to lip, then
+dropping cat-like to his feet, drew Beltane down an adjacent lane.
+
+"Lord," said he, "yonder is the Reeve's garden and in the Reeve's
+garden cometh the Reeve to taste the sweet dawn, wherefore Giles doth
+incontinent vanish him over the Reeve's wall because of the Reeve;
+nevertheless needs must I bless the Reeve because of the Reeve's
+daughter--though verily, both in my speech and in the Reeve's garden is
+too much Reeve, methinks. As to this rose, now--ha!"
+
+"How came you by the rose, Giles?"
+
+"Why, in the first place, tall brother, I stole it--"
+
+"Stole it!" repeated Beltane, and behold! his frown was gone
+completely.
+
+"But, in the second place, brother, 'twas given to me--"
+
+"Given to thee--by whom?" and immediately Beltane's frown was back
+again.
+
+"And therefore, in the third place, brother, Giles this day would not
+change skins with any lord, duke, archduke, pope or potentate that e'er
+went in skin--"
+
+"Who gave it thee?--speak, man!"
+
+"Faith, lord, I had it from one as pure, as fair, as--"
+
+"Aye, but what like is she?"
+
+"Like unto this flower for sweetness, lord, and--ha, saints and
+martyrs! whence had ye that bloom, tall brother--speak!" and Giles
+pointed to the rose in Beltane's fingers.
+
+"What like is she--answer me!"
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, shaking gloomy head, "she is very like a woman,
+after all, methinks--"
+
+"Mean ye the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Even so, lord!"
+
+"Doth she wear ever a--a green veil, Giles?"
+
+"Verily, lord, and with a most sweet grace--"
+
+"And her shoes--"
+
+"Her shoes, tall brother, O methinks her sweet shoe doth kiss the earth
+so sweet and light poor earth must needs love and languish as doth poor
+Giles! Her shoe--"
+
+"Is it aught like to this, Giles?" and forthwith Beltane took out the
+little shoe.
+
+"Aye, 'tis her very own, master!" groaned Giles. "Ah, woe is me, for if
+she hath given to thee rose and therewith her pretty shoe--thou hast,
+belike, her heart also, and with her heart--"
+
+"Nay, take it, Giles,--take it!" quoth Beltane, sighing. "I did but
+find it in my going, and this rose--I found also, but this will I keep.
+Methinks thy love is what thy heart telleth thee--a maid very gentle
+and sweet--so God prosper thy wooing, Giles!"
+
+So saying, Beltane thrust the shoe upon bewildered Giles and, turning
+swiftly about, hasted away. But even then, while the archer yet stared
+after him, Beltane turned and came striding back.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, "how tall is the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Lord, she is better than tall--"
+
+"Ha--is she short of stature, good Giles?"
+
+"Messire, God hath shaped her lovely body no higher and no lower than
+my heart. Small is she and slender, yet in her sweet and slender
+shapeliness is all the beauty of all the women that all men have ever
+loved--"
+
+"Small, say you, Giles--small? Then give me back yon lovely thing!"
+
+Saying the which, Beltane caught the shoe from Giles's hold and strode
+away blithe and debonair, leaving the garrulous archer dumb for once
+and beyond all words amazed.
+
+Now as Beltane went very deep in thought there met him Friar Martin,
+who bore upon his arm a great basket full of green vegetables and
+sweet herbs. Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Good friar, what do ye abroad so early?"
+
+"Sweet son, I praise the good God for His mercies and pant by reason of
+this my weighty basket."
+
+"Indeed 'tis a something well-laden basket," said Beltane, relieving
+the friar of his burden with gentle force.
+
+"Why, verily, my children are hungry children and clamour to be filled.
+And see you, my son, I have a secret of a certain broth whereof these
+lentils and these sweet herbs do so tickle their palates that to
+satisfy them is a hard matter--more especially Orson and Jenkyn--who
+being nigh cured of their hurts do eat like four men and vaunt my
+cooking full-mouthed, insomuch that I must needs grow heedful of vain
+pride."
+
+"Fain would I see these children of thine an I may, good friar, so will
+I bear thy burden for thee."
+
+"Verily they shall rejoice to see thee," quoth the friar, "but for my
+basket, methinks 'tis better suited to my habit than thy knightly mail--"
+
+For answer Beltane slipped the basket on his arm and they went on
+together talking whole-heartedly of many things. Thus the gentle friar
+brought him at last to a low-arched portal within a narrow lane, and
+pushing open the door, ushered him into the great refectory of the
+abbey, where Beltane set down the basket, and Friar Martin, rolling up
+his sleeves, brought pot and pannikin but paused to smile and shake his
+head, as from a stone-flagged passage hard by came the sound of voices
+raised in altercation.
+
+"My children do grow a little fractious at times," quoth he, "as is but
+natural, methinks. Yonder you shall hear Orson and Jenkyn, who having
+saved each other's life in battle and loving like brothers, do oft
+contend together with tongues most ungentle; go you, my son, and quiet
+me the naughty rogues."
+
+So saying, Friar Martin fell to washing and preparing his herbs and
+vegetables whiles Beltane, hasting down the passage, opened a certain
+door and entered a cool and airy dormitory, where upon pallets neat and
+orderly lay divers fellows whose hurts were swathed in fair white
+linen, and who, despite their bandages, started up on hand or elbow to
+greet Beltane right gladly. And behold! beside each man's couch was a
+bowl wherein roses bloomed.
+
+"Master," quoth Tall Orson, "us do be glad to see thee--in especial me--
+and Jenkyn that I did save the carcase of and as do be a liar as do
+say my roses do be a-fading, master, and as his roses do bloom fairer
+than my roses and--"
+
+"And look'ee master, so they be, for I ha' watered mine wi' Orson's
+drinking-water, while he snored, look'ee--" "So Jenkyn do be thief as
+well, master--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane smiling, and seating himself on Orson's bed, "stint
+now your angers and tell me who gave ye flowers so fair?"
+
+"Master, she do be an angel!"
+
+"Heed him not, lord, for look'ee, she is a fair and lovely woman, and
+look'ee, a good woman is better than an angel, look'ee!"
+
+"And what like is she?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"She do be like to a stag for grace o' body, and wi' the eyes of a
+stag--"
+
+"Nay, master, her eyes do be maid's eyes, look'ee, very soft and sweet,
+and her hair, look'ee--"
+
+"Her hair do be like a forest-pool brim-full o' sunset--"
+
+"Not so, master, her hair is red, look'ee--"
+
+"And each day she do bring us flowers, master--"
+
+"And suckets, look'ee, very sweet and delicate, master."
+
+In a while Beltane arose and going from bed to bed spake with each and
+every, and went his way, leaving Orson and Jenkyn to their
+recriminations.
+
+Being come back into the refectory, he found Friar Martin yet busied
+with the preparations of his cooking, and seating himself upon the
+great table hard by, fell to a profound meditation, watched ever and
+anon by the friar's kindly eyes: so very silent and thoughtful was he
+that the friar presently looked up from slicing and cutting his
+vegetables and spake with smile wondrous tender:
+
+"Wherefore so pensive, my son?"
+
+"Good father, I think and dream of--red roses!"
+
+Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here
+was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white
+cowl.
+
+"A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!" quoth he.
+
+"As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!"
+
+"'She,' my son?"
+
+"As Helen, good friar, as Helen the Beautiful, Duchess of Mortain!"
+
+"Ah!" sighed the friar, and forthwith popped the leek into the pot. "I
+prithee, noble son, reach me the salt-box yonder!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVI
+
+CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+
+Next morning, ere the sun was up, came Beltane into the minster and
+hiding within the deeper gloom of the choir, sat there hushing his
+breath to listen, trembling in eager anticipation. Slowly amid the
+dimness above came a glimmer from the great window, a pale beam that
+grew with dawn until up rose the sun and the window glowed in many-hued
+splendour.
+
+And in a while to Beltane's straining senses came the faint creak of a
+door, a soft rustle, the swift light tread of feet, and starting forth
+of his lurking place he stepped forward with yearning arms
+outstretched--then paused of a sudden beholding her who stood at gaze,
+one slender foot advanced and white hands full of roses and lilies, one
+as fair, as sweet and pure as the fragrant blooms she bore. Small was
+she and slender, and of a radiant loveliness, red of lip and grey-eyed:
+now beholding Beltane thus suddenly, she shrank and uttered a soft cry.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "fear me not, sweet maid, methought thee other than
+thou art--I grieve that I did fright thee--forgive me, I pray," so
+saying, he sighed and bowing full humbly, turned, but even so paused
+again: "Thou art methinks the Reeve's fair daughter--thou art the lady
+Genevra?" he questioned.
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then, an thou dost love, gentle maid, heaven send thee happier in thy
+love than I." At the which Genevra's gentle eyes grew softer yet and
+her sweet mouth full pitiful and tender.
+
+"Art thou so unhappy, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, truly!" he sighed, and drooped mournful head.
+
+"Ah, messire, then fain would I aid thee an I might!" said she,
+soft-voiced.
+
+"Then where, I pray you, is she that came here yesterday?"
+
+"Nay, lord, how may I tell thee this? There be many women in Belsaye
+town."
+
+"For me," quoth Beltane, "in all the world there is but one and to this
+one, alas! thou canst not aid me, yet for thy kind intent I thank thee,
+and so farewell, sweet maid." Thus saying, he took three steps away
+from her, then turning, came back in two. "Stay," quoth he, slipping
+hand in wallet, "know you this shoe?"
+
+Now beholding this, Genevra's red lips quivered roguishly, and she
+bowed her little, shapely head:
+
+"Indeed, my lord, 'tis mine!" said she.
+
+"Then pray you, who was she did wear it yesterday--?"
+
+"Aye, messire, 'twas yesterday I--missed it, wilt not give it me
+therefore? One shoe can avail thee nothing and--and 'tis too small for
+thee to wear methinks--"
+
+"Did she--she that lost this yesterday, send thee to-day in her
+stead?"
+
+"Wilt not give a poor maid her shoe again, messire?"
+
+"O Genevra, beseech thee, who was she did wear it yesterday--speak!"
+
+"Nay, this--this I may not tell thee, lord Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that I did so promise--and yet--what seek you of her, my lord?"
+
+"Forgiveness," said Beltane, hot and eager, "I would woo her sweet
+clemency on one that hath wrought her grievous wrong. O sweet Genevra,
+wilt not say where I may find her?"
+
+A while stood the maid Genevra with bowed head as one in doubt, then
+looked on him with sweet maiden eyes and of a sudden smiled
+compassionate and tender.
+
+"Ah, messire," said she, "surely thine are the eyes of one who loveth
+greatly and well! And I do so love her that fain would I have her
+greatly loved--so will I tell thee despite my word--hearken!" And
+drawing him near she laid white finger to rosy lip and thereafter spake
+in whispers. "Go you to the green door where yesterday thou didst meet
+with Gi--with the captain of the archers--O verily we--she and I, my
+lord, did see and hear all that passed betwixt you--and upon this door
+knock you softly three times. Go--yet, O prithee say not 'twas Genevra
+told thee this!" and again she laid white finger to roguish, pouting
+lip.
+
+Then Beltane stooped, and catching that little hand kissed it, and
+thereafter hasted blithely on his way.
+
+Swift of foot went he and with eyes a-dance, nor paused in his long
+stride until he was come to a certain high wall wherein was set the
+small, green door, whereon he knocked three times. And presently he
+heard the bar softly raised, the door was opened slow and cautiously,
+and stooping, Beltane stepped beneath the lintel and stood suddenly
+still, staring into the face of Black Roger. And even as Beltane stared
+thus amazed, so stared Roger.
+
+"Why, master--" quoth he, pushing back his mail-coif to rumple his
+black hair, "why, master, you--you be early abroad--though forsooth
+'tis a fair morning and--"
+
+"Roger," quoth Beltane, looking round upon a fair garden a-bloom with
+flowers, "Roger, where is the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Ha, so ye do know, master--who hath discovered it--?"
+
+"Where is she, Roger?"
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, giving a sudden sideways jerk of his head, "how
+should Roger tell thee this?" Now even as he spake, Roger must needs
+gesture again with his head and therewith close one bright, black eye,
+and with stealthy finger point to a certain tall hedge hard by; all of
+which was seen by one who stood beyond the hedge, watching Beltane with
+eyes that missed nought of him, from golden spur to golden head; quick
+to note his flushing cheek, his parted lips and the eager light of his
+blue eyes; one who perceiving him turn whither Roger's sly finger
+pointed, gathered up her flowing robe in both white hands that she
+might flee the faster, and who, speeding swift and light, came to a
+certain leafy bower where stood a tambour frame, and sitting there,
+with draperies well ordered, caught up silk and needle, yet paused to
+close her eyes and set one hand upon rounded bosom what time a quick,
+firm step drew near and ever nearer with clash and ring of heavy mail
+until Beltane stood before her. And how was he to know of the eyes that
+had watched him through the hedge, or that the hand that held the
+needle had paused lest he should see how direfully it trembled: how
+should my Beltane know all this, who was but a very man?
+
+A while stood he, viewing her with eyes aglow with yearning tenderness,
+and she, knowing this, kept her face down-bent, therefore. Now
+beholding all the beauty of her, because of her gracious loveliness,
+his breath caught, then hurried thick and fast, insomuch that when he
+would have spoken he could not; thus he worshipped her in a look and
+she, content to be so worshipped, sat with head down-bent, as sweetly
+demure, as proud and stately as if--as if she ne'er in all her days had
+fled with hampering draperies caught up so high!
+
+So Beltane stood worshipping her as she had been some young goddess in
+whose immortal beauty all beauty was embodied.
+
+At last he spake, hoarse and low and passionate:
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly the Duchess lifted stately head and looked on him: but
+now, behold! her glance was high and proud, her scarlet mouth firm-set
+like the white and dimpled chin below and her eyes swept him with look
+calm and most dispassionate.
+
+"Ah, my lord Beltane," she said, sweet-voiced, "what do you here within
+the privacy of Genevra's garden?"
+
+Now because of the sweet serenity of her speech, because of the calm,
+unswerving directness of her gaze, my Beltane felt at sudden loss, his
+outstretched arms sank helplessly and he fell a-stammering.
+
+"Helen, I--I--O Helen, I have dreamed of, yearned for this hour! To see
+thee again--to hear thy voice, and yet--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+Now stood Beltane very still, staring on her in dumb amaze, and the
+pain in his eyes smote her, insomuch that she bent to her embroidery
+and sewed three stitches woefully askew.
+
+"O surely, surely I am mad," quoth he wondering, "or I do dream. For
+she I seek is a woman, gentle and prone to forgiveness, one beyond all
+women fair and brave and noble, in whose pure heart can nothing evil
+be, in whose gentle eyes her gentle soul lieth mirrored, whose tender
+lips be apt and swift to speak mercy and forgiveness. Even as her soft,
+kind hands did bind up my wounds, so methought she with gentle sayings
+might heal my grieving heart--and now--now--"
+
+"O my lord," she sighed, bending over idle fingers, "methinks you came
+seeking an angel of heaven and find here--only a woman."
+
+"Yet 'tis this woman I do love and ever must--'tis this woman I did
+know as Fidelis--"
+
+"Alas!" she sighed again, "alas, poor Fidelis, thou didst drive him
+from thee into the solitary wild-wood. So is poor Fidelis lost to thee,
+methinks--"
+
+"Nay, Helen--O Helen, be just to me--thou dost know I loved Fidelis--"
+
+"Yet thou didst spurn and name him traitor and drave him from thee!"
+
+Now of a sudden he strode towards her, and as he came her bosom
+swelled, her lashes drooped, for it seemed he meant to clasp her to his
+heart. But lo! being only man, my Beltane paused and trembled, and
+dared not touch her, and sinking before her on his knees, spake very
+humbly and with head low-bowed.
+
+"Helen--show me a little mercy!" he pleaded. "Would'st that I abase
+myself? Then here--here behold me at thy feet, fearing thee because of
+my unworthiness. But O believe--believe, for every base doubt of thee
+this heart hath known, now doth it grieve remorseful. For every harsh
+and bitter word this tongue hath spoke thee, now doth it humbly crave
+thy pitiful forgiveness! But know you this, that from the evil hour I
+drave thee from me, I have known abiding sorrow and remorse, for
+without thee life is indeed but an empty thing and I a creature lost
+and desolate--O Helen, pity me!"
+
+Thus spake he, humble and broken, and she, beholding him thus, sighed
+(though wondrous softly) and 'neath her long lashes tears glittered
+(though swift dashed away) but--slowly, very slowly, one white hand
+came out to him, faltered, stopped, and glancing up she rose in haste
+and shrank away. Now Beltane, perceiving only this last gesture, sprang
+up, fierce-eyed:
+
+"How?" quoth he, "am I then become a thing so base my presence doth
+offend thee--then, as God liveth, ne'er shalt see me more until thou
+thyself do summon me!"
+
+Even as he spake thus, swift and passionate, Giles clambered the
+adjacent wall and dropping softly within the garden, stared to behold
+Beltane striding towards him fierce-eyed, who, catching him by the arm
+yet viewing him not, spun him from his path, and coming to the green
+door, sped out and away.
+
+Now as Giles stood to rub his arm and gape in wonderment, he started to
+find the Duchess beside him; and her eyes were very bright and her
+cheeks very red, and, meeting her look, poor Giles fell suddenly
+abashed.
+
+"Noble lady--" he faltered.
+
+"Foolish Giles!" said she, "go, summon me my faithful Roger." But as
+she spake, behold Roger himself hasting to her through the roses.
+
+"Roger," said she, frowning a little, "saw you my lord go but now?"
+
+"Aye, verily, dear my lady," quoth he, ruffling up his hair, "but
+wherefore--"
+
+"And I," said Giles, cherishing his arm, "both saw and felt him--"
+
+"Ha," quoth Roger, "would'st have him back, sweet mistress?"
+
+"Why truly I would, Roger--"
+
+"Then forsooth will I go fetch him."
+
+"Nay--rather would I die, Roger."
+
+"But--dear lady--an thou dost want him--"
+
+"I will bring him by other means!" said the Duchess, "aye, he shall
+come despite himself," and her red lips curved to sudden roguish smile,
+as smiling thus, she brought them to a certain arbour very shady and
+remote, and, seating herself, looked from one tanned face to the other
+and spake them certain matters, whereat the archer's merry eyes grew
+merrier yet, but Roger sighed and shook his head; said he:
+
+"Lady, here is tale shall wring his noble heart, methinks, wherefore
+the telling shall wring mine also--"
+
+"Then speak not of it, Roger. Be this Giles's mission."
+
+"Aye, Rogerkin, leave it to me. In faith, noble lady, I will with
+suggestion soft and subtle, with knowing look and wily wag of head, so
+work upon my lord that he shall hither hot-foot haste--"
+
+"At moonrise," said the Duchess softly, "this evening at moonrise!"
+
+"Verily, lady, at moonrise! And a blue camlet cloak, say you?"
+
+"Come, Giles, and I will give it thee."
+
+Meanwhile, Beltane, hurt and angry, betook him to the walls where bow
+and perrier had already begun their deadly morning's work; and coming
+to a quiet corner of the battlement, he leaned him there to watch
+where the besiegers, under cover of the cat that hourly crept more
+nigh, worked amain to dam the moat.
+
+Now as he leaned thus, a hand slipped within his arm, and turning, he
+beheld Sir Benedict.
+
+"A right fair morning, my Beltane," quoth he.
+
+"Aye, truly, Benedict," sighed Beltane, "though there be clouds to the
+west. And the causeway across the moat groweth apace; I have watched
+yon cat creep a full yard--"
+
+"Aye, verily, by mid-day, Beltane, 'twill reach our wall, then will
+they advance their ram to the battery, methinks."
+
+"And what then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then shall we destroy their ram forthwith with devil-fire, dear lad!"
+
+"Aye, and how then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then, belike will they plant ladders on the causeway and attempt the
+wall by storm, so shall we come to handstrokes at last and beset them
+with pitch and boiling oil and hew their ladders in sunder."
+
+"And after, Benedict?"
+
+"Hey-day, Beltane, here be a many questions--"
+
+"Aye, Benedict, 'tis that I do look into the future. And what future
+can there be? Though we maintain our walls a year, or two, or three,
+yet in the end Belsaye must fall."
+
+"And I tell thee, Beltane, were Ivo twice as strong Belsaye should yet
+withstand him. So gloom not, lad, Belsaye is safe, the sun shineth and
+behold my arm--'tis well-nigh healed, thanks to--to skilful nursing--"
+
+"Of the Duchess Helen, Benedict?"
+
+"Ha--so hast found it out--at last, lad--"
+
+"Knew you she was here?"
+
+"Aye, verily."
+
+"And told me not?"
+
+"For that she did so command, Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore came she hither?"
+
+"For thy dear sake in the first place, and--"
+
+"Nay, mock me not, friend, for I do know myself of none account."
+
+"And in the second place, Beltane, to save this fair city of Belsaye."
+
+"Nay, how mean you?"
+
+"I mean that Belsaye cannot fall whiles it holdeth Helen the Proud. And
+the reason this--now mark me, Beltane! Since her father's death Duke
+Ivo hath had his glutton eye on fair Mortain, whereof her counsellors
+did ken, yet, being old men and averse to war, would fain have had her
+wed with him. Now upon a day word reached me in Thrasfordham bidding me
+come to her and Waldron of Brand at Winisfarne. So, as thou dost know,
+stole I from my goodly castle and marched north. But on the way she
+came to me bedight in mail, and she and I took counsel together.
+Wherefore came she hither to Belsaye and sent speedy messengers to Sir
+Jocelyn of Alain and others of her greatest lords and knights, bidding
+them come down with all their powers--nay, why shake ye gloomy head,
+fond boy? Body o' me, Beltane, I tell thee this--to-day she--"
+
+"To-day," sighed Beltane, frowning, "to-day she spurneth me! Kneeling
+at her feet e'en as I was she shrank away as I had leprous been!"
+
+"Aye, lad, and then--didst woo as well as kneel to her, didst clasp her
+to thee, lift her proud head that needs must she give to thine her
+eyes--she is in sooth very woman--did you this, my Beltane?"
+
+"Ah, dear Benedict, she that I love was not wont to shrink from me
+thus! 'Tis true I am unworthy--and yet, she spurned me--so is her love
+dead, methinks!"
+
+"So art thou but youth, and foolish youth, and belike, foolish, hungry
+youth--so come, let us break our fast together."
+
+"Not I, Benedict, for if love be dead, no mind have I to food."
+
+"O lad--lad!" sighed Sir Benedict, "would I had one as fair and noble
+to love me in such sort!" And turning, he gazed sad-eyed towards
+Belsaye's great minster, and sighing, went his way.
+
+And presently, as Beltane leaned thus, grieving and alone, cometh Giles
+that way, who, pausing beside him, peered down where the besiegers, but
+ill-sheltered by battered mantlet and palisades, strove amain to bring
+up one of their rams, since the causeway across the moat was well-nigh
+complete.
+
+"Holy saints!" quoth Giles, "the rogues grow bold and venturesome,
+methinks!" So saying, he strung his powerful bow, and laying arrows to
+his hand fell to drawing and loosing amain. So swift shot he and with
+aim so true, that in a while the enemy gave over their attempt and
+betook them to cover what time their archers and cross-bowmen plied the
+wall with a storm of shafts and bolts.
+
+Upon this Giles, laying by his bow, seated himself in corner well
+screened from harm, beckoning Beltane to do the like, since the enemy's
+missiles whizzed and whistled perilously near. But sighing, Beltane
+closed his vizor and heedless of flying bolt and arrow strode to the
+narrow stair that led up to the gate-tower and being come there sat him
+down beside the great mangonel. But lo! very soon Giles was there also
+and even as Beltane sighed, so sighed Giles.
+
+"Heigho--a sorry world, brother!" quoth he, "a sorry world!" and
+forthwith fell to his archery, yet now, though his aim was true as
+ever, he sighed and murmured plaintively 'twixt every shot: "Alack, a
+sorry world!" So deep and oft were his sighs, so plaintive his groans,
+that Beltane, though plunged in bitter thought, must needs at length
+take heed of him.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, looking up, "a heaven's name, what aileth thee,
+man?"
+
+"'Tis my eyes, lord."
+
+"Thine eyes are well enough, Giles, and see wondrous well to judge by
+thy shooting."
+
+"Wondrous well--aye, there it is, tall brother, mine eyes do see
+wondrous well, mine eyes do see so much, see you, that they do see
+over-much, over-much, aye--too, too much. Alack, 'tis a sorry and
+woeful world, brother! beshrew my eyes, I say!"
+
+"And wherefore, Giles?"
+
+"For that these eyes do see what other eyes see not--thine, methinks,
+saw nought of a fine, lusty and up-standing fellow in a camlet cloak
+within the Reeve's garden this morning, I'll warrant me now? A tall,
+shapely rogue, well be-seen, see you, soft-voiced and very debonair?"
+
+"Nay, not I," said Beltane, and sighing he arose and descended to the
+battlement above the gates. And presently, behold Giles was there also!
+
+"Brother," quoth he, selecting an arrow with portentous care, "'tis an
+ill thing to be cursed with eyes such as mine, I tell thee!"
+
+"Aye, and wherefore, Giles?" said Beltane, yet intent on his own
+thoughts.
+
+"For that they do see more than is good for this heart o' mine--as this
+fellow in the blue camlet cloak--"
+
+"What fellow, Giles?"
+
+"The buxom fellow that was in the Reeve's garden this morning."
+
+"Why then," quoth Beltane, turning away, "go you not to the Reeve's
+garden, Giles."
+
+All day long Beltane kept the wall, eating not at all, wherefore his
+gloom waxed the more profound; so spake he to few men and oft exposed
+himself to shaft and missile. And so, all day long, wheresoever he
+came, on tower or keep, in corners most remote, there sure was Giles to
+come also, sighing amain and with brow of heavy portent, who, so oft as
+he met Beltane's gloomy eye, would shake his head in sad yet knowing
+fashion. Thus, as evening fell, Beltane finding him at his elbow yet
+despondent, betook him to speech at last; quoth he:
+
+"Giles, art thou sick?"
+
+"Aye, lord, by reason of this fellow in the blue camlet--"
+
+"What fellow?"
+
+"The tall and buxom fellow in the Reeve's garden."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, frowning. "In the garden, say you--what manner of
+man is this?"
+
+"O brother--a shapely man, a comely man--a man of words and cunning
+phrases--a man shall sing you sweet and melodious as any bird--why, I
+myself can sing no sweeter!"
+
+"Cometh he there often, Giles?"
+
+"Why lord, he cometh and he goeth--I saw him there this morning!"
+
+"What doeth he there?"
+
+"Nay, who shall say--Genevra is wondrous fair, yet so is she that is
+Genevra's friend, so do I hope belike 'tis she--"
+
+"Hold thy peace, Giles!"
+
+Now beholding Beltane's fierce eye and how his strong hands clenched
+themselves, Giles incontinent moved further off and spake in accents
+soft and soothing:
+
+"And yet, tall brother, and yet 'tis belike but some gentle troubadour
+that singeth songs to their delectation, and 'tis meet to hark to songs
+sweet-sung--at moonrise, lord!"
+
+"And wherefore at moonrise?"
+
+"'Tis at this sweet hour your minstrel singeth best. Aye me, and to-night
+there is a moon!" Hereupon Beltane must needs turn to scowl upon
+the moon just topping the distant woods. Now as they sat thus, cometh
+Roger with bread and meat for his lord's acceptance; but Beltane,
+setting it aside, stared on Roger with baleful eye.
+
+"Roger," said he, "wherefore hast avoided me this day?"
+
+"Avoided thee, master--I?"
+
+"And what did you this morning in the Reeve's garden?"
+
+"Master, in this big world are two beings that I do truly love, and
+thou art one and the other Sir Fidelis thy right sweet and noble lady--
+so is it my joy to serve her when I may, thus daily do I go aid her
+with the sick."
+
+"And what of him that singeth; saw you this troubadour within the
+garden?"
+
+"Troubadour?" quoth Roger, staring.
+
+"Why verily," nodded Giles, "my lord meaneth the tall and goodly fellow
+in the cloak of blue camlet, Roger."
+
+"Ne'er have I seen one in blue cloak!" said Roger, "and this do I
+swear!"
+
+"None the less," said Beltane, rising, "I will seek him there myself."
+
+"At moonrise, lord?" questioned Giles.
+
+"Aye," said Beltane grimly; "at moonrise!" and scowling he turned away.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Giles, nudging Roger with roguish elbow, "it worketh,
+Roger, it worketh!"
+
+"Aye, Giles, it worketh so well that an my master get his hands on this
+singing fellow--then woe betide this singing fellow, say I."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVII
+
+TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+
+The moon was already filling the night with her soft splendour when
+Beltane, coming to a certain wall, swung himself up, and, being there,
+paused to breathe the sweet perfume of the flowers whose languorous
+fragrance wrought in him a yearning deep and passionate, and ever as
+love-longing grew, bitterness and anger were forgot. Very still was it
+within this sheltered garden, where, fraught by the moon's soft magic,
+all things did seem to find them added beauties.
+
+But, even as he paused thus, he heard a step approaching, a man's
+tread, quick and light yet assured, and he beheld one shrouded in a
+long cloak of blue, a tall figure that hasted through the garden and
+vanished behind the tall yew hedge.
+
+Down sprang Beltane fierce-eyed, trampling the tender flowers under
+cruel feet, and as he in turn passed behind the hedge the moon
+glittered evilly on his dagger blade. Quick and soft of foot went he
+until, beholding a faint light amid the leaves, he paused, then hasted
+on and thus came to an arbour bowered in eglantine.
+
+She sat at a table where burned a rushlight that glowed among the
+splendour of her hair, for her head was bowed above the letter she was
+writing.
+
+Now as he stood regarding her 'neath frowning brows, she spake, yet
+lifted not her shapely head.
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"Helen, where is he that came here but now?"
+
+Slowly she lifted her head, and setting white hands 'neath dimpled
+chin, met his frown with eyes of gentleness.
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, my lord."
+
+"Helen," said he again, grim-lipped, "whom dost wait for?"
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, messire."
+
+Frowning he obeyed, and came a pace nearer.
+
+"What do you here with pen and ink-horn?"
+
+"My lord, I write."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"To such as it pleaseth me."
+
+"I pray you--show me."
+
+"Nay, for that doth not please me, messire."
+
+"I pray you, who was he that came hither but now--a tall man in a long
+blue cloak?"
+
+"I saw him not, my lord."
+
+"So needs must I see thy letter."
+
+"Nay, that thou shalt not, my lord," said she, and rose to her stately
+height.
+
+"Aye, but I shall!" quoth Beltane softly, and came a pace yet nearer.
+
+Now because of the grim and masterful look of him, her heart fell
+a-fluttering, yet she fronted him scornful-eyed, and curled her red lip
+at him.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks you do forget I am the--"
+
+"I remember thou art woman and thy name--Helen!"
+
+Now at this laughed she softly and thereafter falleth to singing very
+sweet and blithe and merry withal.
+
+"The letter!" said he, "give me thy letter!"
+
+Hereupon she took up the letter, and, yet singing, crumpled it up
+within white fingers.
+
+Then Beltane set by the table and reaching out sudden arms, caught her
+up 'neath waist and knee, and lifting her high, crushed her upon his
+breast.
+
+"Helen!" said he, low-voiced and fierce, "mine art thou as I am thine,
+forever, 'twas so we plighted our troth within the green. Now for thy
+beauty I do greatly love thee, but for thy sweet soul and purity of
+heart I do reverence and worship thee--but an thou slay my reverent
+worship then this night shalt thou die and I with thee--for mine art
+thou and shalt be mine forever. Give me thy letter!"
+
+But now her eyes quailed 'neath his, her white lids drooped, and
+sighing, she spake small-voiced:
+
+"O my lord, thine arms are so--so tyrannous that I do fear thee--
+almost! And how may a poor maid, so crushed and helpless thus, gainsay
+thee? So prithee, O prithee take my poor letter an thou wilt ravish it
+from one so defenceless--O beseech thee, take it!"
+
+So she gave the crumpled parchment into his hand, yet while he read it,
+nestled closer in his arms and hid her face against him; for what he
+read was this:
+
+"Beloved, art thou angered, or sorrowful, or humble in thy foolish
+jealousy? If angered, then must I woo thee. If sorrowful, cherish thee.
+But being Beltane, needs must I love thee ever--so write I this,
+bidding thee come, my Beltane the Smith, for I--"
+
+The crumpled letter fell to the ground.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "Beloved, I am all of this, so do I need thy
+comfort, thy cherishing, and all thy dear love--turn thy head--O Helen,
+how red is thy sweet mouth!" Then stooped he, and so they kissed each
+other, such kisses as they ne'er had known, until she sighed and
+trembled and lay all breathless in his arms.
+
+"O my lord," she whispered, "have mercy, I pray! Dear Beltane, loose me
+for I--I have much to tell thee."
+
+And because of her pleading eyes he loosed her, and she, sinking upon
+the bench, leaned there all flushed and tremulous, and looking on him,
+sighed, and sighing, put up her hands and hid her face from his regard.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "how wondrous a thing is this our love, so
+great and fierce it frighteth me--see how I tremble!" and she held out
+to him her hands.
+
+Then came he and knelt before her, and kissed those slender fingers
+amain.
+
+"Dear hands of Fidelis," said he, "but for their tender skill and
+gentle care I had not lived to know this night--O brave, small hands
+of Fidelis!"
+
+"Poor Fidelis!" she sighed, "but indeed it wrung my heart to see thy
+woeful face when I did tell thee Fidelis was lost to thee--Nay,
+Beltane, stay--O prithee let me speak--"
+
+Quoth Beltane 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Wherefore wert so cold and strange to me but yesterday?"
+
+"Dear my heart," she murmured, "I needs must make thee suffer a little--
+just a very little, for that I had known so much of pain and heartache
+because of thee. But I was glad to see thee bear the wallet of poor
+Fidelis--and O, 'twas foolish in thee to grieve for him, for he being
+gone, thy Helen doth remain--unless, forsooth, thou had rather I came
+to thee bedight again in steel--that did so chafe me, Beltane--indeed,
+my tender skin did suffer much on thy account--"
+
+"Then soon with my kisses will I seek--" But a cool, soft hand schooled
+his hot lips to silence and the while he kissed those sweet arresting
+fingers, she spake 'twixt smiling lips: "Prithee where is my shoe that
+was Genevra's? Indeed, 'twas hard matter to slip it off for thee,
+Beltane, for Genevra's foot is something smaller than mine--a very
+little! Nay, crush me not, messire, but tell me, what of him ye came
+hither seeking--the man in the long cloak--what of him?"
+
+"Nought!" answered Beltane, "the world to-night doth hold but thee and
+me--"
+
+"Aye, my Beltane, as when sick of thy wound within the little cave I
+nursed thee, all unknown. O love, in all thy sickness I was with thee,
+to care for thee. Teaching good Roger to tend thee and--to drug thee to
+gentle sleep that I might hold thee to me in the dark and--kiss thy
+sleeping lips--"
+
+"Ah!" he sighed, "and methought 'twas but a dream! O Helen, sure none
+ever loved as we?"
+
+"Nay, 'twere thing impossible, Beltane."
+
+"And thou art truly mine?"
+
+"Beltane--thou dost know this! Ah, love--what would you?" For of a
+sudden his mighty arms were close about her, and rising, he lifted her
+upon his breast. "What would'st do with me, Beltane?"
+
+"Do?" quoth he, "do? This night, this very hour thou shalt wed me--"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord--bethink thee--"
+
+"It hath been my thought--my dearest dream since first I saw thee
+within the woods at Mortain--so now shalt wed me--"
+
+"But, Beltane--"
+
+"Shalt wed me!"
+
+"Nay, love, I--I--thou art so sudden!"
+
+"Aye, within this hour shalt call me 'husband'!"
+
+"Wilt force me, my lord?"
+
+"Aye, verily," said Beltane, "as God sees me, I will!"
+
+"Why then," she sighed, "how may I gainsay thee!" and she hid her face
+against him once more. But, as he turned to leave the arbour, she
+stayed him:
+
+"I prithee, now, whither dost take me, Beltane?"
+
+"To the minster--anywhere, so that I find good Friar Martin."
+
+"Nay, prithee, Beltane, prithee set me down!"
+
+"What would'st, my Helen?"
+
+"Loose me and shalt see."
+
+So Beltane, sighing, let her go, whereupon she took a small silver
+whistle that hung at her girdle and sounded it.
+
+"Ah--what do you?" he questioned.
+
+"Wait!" said she, roguish-eyed.
+
+And in a while came the sound of steps from the outer garden, and
+looking thither, Beltane beheld a tall man in cloak of blue camlet, and
+when this man drew near, behold! it was Giles.
+
+"Giles!" quoth he, "thou wily rogue--"
+
+"Giles," spake the Duchess softly, "I pray you let them come!"
+
+Then Giles bowed him low, and smiling, hasted joyously away.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lord," said the Duchess a little breathlessly,
+"because thou art true man and thy love is a noble love, I did lure
+thee hither to-night that I might give myself to thee in God's holy
+sight--an so it be thy will, my lord. O Beltane, yonder Giles and Roger
+do bring--Friar Martin to make me--thy wife--wherefore I do grow
+something fearful. 'Tis foolish in me to fear thee and yet--I do--a
+little, Beltane!" So saying, she looked on him with eyes full sweet
+and troubled, wherefore he would have kissed her, but steps drew nigh
+and lo! without the arbour stood the white friar with Giles and Roger
+in the shadows behind.
+
+Now came Beltane and took the friar's hand.
+
+"Holy father," said he, "O good Friar Martin, though I am but what I
+am, yet hath this sweet and noble lady raised me up to be what I have
+dreamed to be. To-night, into my care she giveth her sweet body and
+fair fame, of which God make me worthy."
+
+"Sweet children," spake the friar, "this world is oft-times a hard and
+cruel world, but God is a gentle God and merciful, wherefore as he hath
+given to man the blessed sun and the sweet and tender flowers, so hath
+he given him love. And when two there be who love with soul as well as
+body, with mind as well as heart, then methinks for them this world may
+be a paradise. And, my children, because I do love thee for thy sweet
+lives and noble works, so do I joy now to bind ye one to another."
+
+Then hand in hand, the Duchess and my Beltane knelt together, and
+because he had no ring, needs must she give to him one of hers; so were
+they wed.
+
+As one that dreamed, Beltane knelt there murmuring the responses, and
+thus knelt he so long that he started to feel a soft touch upon his
+cheek, and looking up, behold! they were alone.
+
+"Dost dream, my lord?" she questioned, tender-voiced.
+
+"Aye, verily," he answered, "of the wonder of our love and thee,
+beloved, as I did see thee first within the thicket at Mortain,
+beautiful as now, though then was thy glorious hair unbound. I dream of
+thine eyes beneath thy nun's veil when I did bear thee in my arms from
+Thornaby--but most do I dream of thee as Fidelis, and the clasp of thy
+dear arms within the dark."
+
+"But thou didst leave me in Mortain thicket despite my hair, Beltane!
+And thou didst tell me mine eyes were not--a nun's eyes, Beltane--"
+
+"Wherefore this night do I thank God!" said he, drawing her close
+beside him on the bench.
+
+"And for my arms, Beltane, thou didst think them man's arms--because
+they went bedight in mail, forsooth!"
+
+"So this night shall they go bedight in kisses of my mouth! loose me
+this sleeve, I pray--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane,--I do beseech thee--"
+
+"Art not my wife?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then loose me thy sleeve, Helen."
+
+So blushing, trembling, needs must she obey and yield her soft arms to
+his caresses and hide her face because of their round, white nakedness.
+
+But in a while she spake, low and very humble.
+
+"Dear my lord, the moon doth set already, methinks!"
+
+"Aye, but there is no cloud to dim her glory to-night, Helen!"
+
+"But the hour waxeth--very late, my lord and I--must away."
+
+"Aye, beloved, let us go."
+
+"Nay my lord, I--O dear Beltane--"
+
+"Wife!" said he, "dear my love and wife, have I not waited long
+enough?"
+
+Hand in hand they walked amid the flowers with eyes only for each other
+until came they to a stair and up the stair to a chamber, rich with
+silk and arras and sweet with spicy odours, a chamber dim-lighted by a
+silver lamp pendent from carven roof-beam, whose soft glow filled the
+place with shadow. Yet even in this tender dimness, or because of it,
+her colour ebbed and flowed, her breath came apace and she stood before
+him voiceless and very still save for the sweet tumult of her bosom.
+
+Then Beltane loosed off his sword and laid it upon the silken couch,
+but perceiving how she trembled, he set his arm about her and drew her
+to the open lattice where the moon made a pool of glory at their feet.
+
+"Dost fear me, Helen?"
+
+"Nay, my lord, I--think not."
+
+"Then wherefore dost tremble?"
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou methinks dost--tremble also?"
+
+Then Beltane knelt him at her feet and looked upon her loveliness with
+yearning eyes, yet touched her not:
+
+"O beloved maid!" said he, "this is, methinks, because of thy sweet
+virgin eyes! For I do so love thee, Helen, that, an it be thy will,
+e'en now will I leave thee until thy heart doth call me!"
+
+Now stooped she and set her white arms about him and her soft cheek to
+his hot brow.
+
+"Dear my lord and--husband," she whispered, "'tis for this so sweet
+tenderness in thee that I do love thee best, methinks!"
+
+"And fear me no more?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, I do fear thee when--when thou dost look on me so, but--
+when thou dost look on me so--'tis then I do love thee most, my
+Beltane!"
+
+Up to his feet sprang Beltane and caught her to him, breast to breast
+and lip to lip.
+
+The great sword clattered to the floor; but now, even as she sank in
+his embrace, she held him off to stare with eyes of sudden terror as,
+upon the stilly night broke a thunderous rumble, a shock, and
+thereafter sudden roar and outcry from afar, that swelled to a wild
+hubbub of distant voices and cries, lost, all at once, in the raving
+clamour of the tocsin.
+
+Locked thus within each other's arms, eye questioned eye, while ever
+the bell beat out its fierce alarm. And presently, within the garden
+below, was the sound of running feet and, coming to the casement,
+Beltane beheld a light that hovered to and fro, growing ever nearer and
+brighter, until he saw that he who bore it was Black Roger; and Roger's
+face shone with sweat and his breath laboured with his running.
+
+"Master!" he panted, "O master--a mine! a mine! They have breached the
+wall beside the gate--hark, where they storm the city! Come, master, O
+come ere it be too late!"
+
+Now Beltane clenched his fists and scowled on pale-faced Roger and from
+him to the radiant sky, yet when he spake his voice was low and even:
+
+"I thank thee, faithful Roger! Go you and summon such of our foresters
+as ye may, muster them in the market-square, there will I come to
+thee."
+
+Now when Roger's flickering light had vanished he turned, and found
+Helen close beside him; her cheeks were pale, but in her hand she held
+his sword.
+
+"'Tis well thou wert not all unarmed, my lord!" she sighed, and
+forthwith belted the weapon about him. "Kneel down, I prithee, that I
+may lace for thee thy hood of mail." And when it was done she knelt
+also, and taking his hand pressed it to her throbbing heart, and
+holding him thus fell to prayer:
+
+"O God of mercy, have in care those that fight in our defence this
+night, in especial guard and shield this man of mine that I do love
+beyond all men--O God of mercy, hear us!"
+
+So they arose, and as he looked on her so looked she on him, and of a
+sudden clasped him in close and passionate embrace:
+
+"Beltane--Beltane!" she sobbed, "God knoweth I do so love thee that thy
+dear flesh is mine, methinks, and the steel that woundeth thee shall
+hurt me also. And--O love--an thou should'st die to-night, then surely
+will this heart of mine die with thee--no man shall have my love other
+than thou--so to my grave will I go thy virgin wife for thy dear sake.
+Fare thee well Beltane, O dear my husband, fare thee well. Tarry no
+longer, lest I pray thee on my knees to go not to the battle."
+
+So Beltane kissed her once and went forth of the chamber, looking not
+back. She heard the ring of his armour a-down the stair, the quick
+tread of his feet, and leaning from the casement watched him go; and
+he, knowing her there, looked not up, but with teeth hard shut and iron
+hands clenched, strode fast upon his way.
+
+And now, since he looked not up, it seemed to her she was out of his
+thoughts already, for his face was stern and set, and in his eyes was
+the fierce light of battle.
+
+And she, kneeling alone in the failing glory of the moon, hid her face
+within yearning, desolate arms and wept long and bitterly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVIII
+
+FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+
+Now as Beltane hasted along he heard the tread of mailed feet, and
+looking round beheld the white friar, and 'neath his white frock mail
+gleamed, while in his hand he grasped a heavy sword. Close on his heels
+came many men, old men these for the most part, grey of beard and white
+of head, and their armour, even as they, was ancient and rusty; but the
+faces that stared from casque and mail-hood were grim and sorrow-lined,
+stern faces and purposeful, and the eyes that gleamed 'neath shaggy
+brows ere now had looked on sons and brothers done to death by fire and
+gallows, and wives and daughters shamed and ravished. And ever as they
+came Friar Martin smote, sword in hand, on door and shuttered window,
+and cried hoarse and loud:
+
+"Ye men of Belsaye--fathers and husbands, arm ye, arm ye! Ye greybeards
+that have seen Duke Ivo's mercy, arm ye! Your foes be in, to burn, to
+loot again and ravish! O ye husbands and fathers, arise, arise--arm,
+arm and follow me to smite for wife and children!"
+
+So cried the tall white friar, pallid of cheek but dauntless of eye,
+and ever as he cried, smote he upon door and shutter with his sword,
+and ever his company grew.
+
+Within the square was Roger, hoarse-voiced, with Beltane's battered
+war-helm on a pike whereto the foresters mustered--hardy and brown-faced
+men, fitting on bascinet and buckling belt, yet very quiet and
+orderly. And beside Roger, Ulf the Mighty leaned him upon his axe, and
+in the ranks despite their bandages stood Orson the Tall and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, even yet in wordy disputation.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"How many muster ye, Roger?"
+
+"One hundred and nine, master."
+
+"And where is Walkyn--where Giles?"
+
+"With Sir Benedict, hard by the gate, master. My lord, come take thy
+helm--come take it, master, 'twill be a close and bitter fight--and
+thou art no longer thine own man--bethink thee of thy sweet wife, Sir
+Fidelis, master!"
+
+So Beltane did on the great casque and even now came Sir Brian beside
+whom Sir Hacon limped, yet with sword bloody.
+
+"Ha, my lord," he cried, "mine eyes do joy to see thee and these goodly
+fellows--'tis hard and fierce business where Benedict and his pikes do
+hold the gate--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," quoth Sir Brian, "they press their attack amain, for
+one that falleth, two do fill his place."
+
+"Verily, and what fighting man could ask more of any foe? And we be
+fighting men, praise be to Saint Cuthbert--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, crossing himself, "Saint Cuthbert be our aid this
+night."
+
+Forthwith Beltane formed his column and with Ulf and Roger beside him
+marched from the square. By narrow streets went they, 'neath dim-lighted
+casements where pale faces looked down to pray heaven's aid on
+them.
+
+So came they where torch and lanthorn smoked and gleamed, by whose
+fitful light they beheld a barricade, rough and hastily contrived,
+whence Sir Benedict fought and Walkyn smote, with divers of their stout
+company and lusty fellows from the town. Above, upon the great flanking
+tower of the gate, was Giles with many archers who plied their whizzing
+shafts amain where, 'twixt outer and inner wall, the assailants sought
+to storm the barricade; but the place was narrow, and moreover, beyond
+the breach stout Eric, backed by his fierce townsmen, fought in
+desperate battle: thus, though the besiegers' ranks were constantly
+swelled by way of the breach, yet in that confined space their very
+numbers hampered them, while from sheltered wall and gate-tower Giles
+and his archers showered them with whistling shafts very fast and
+furious; so in that narrow place death was rife and in the fitful
+torch-glare was a sea of tossing steel and faces fierce and wild, and
+ever the clamour grew, shouts and screams and cries dreadful to be
+heard.
+
+Now as Beltane stood to watch this, grim-lipped, for it needed but few
+to man the barricade, so narrow was it, Roger caught his arm and
+pointed to the housetops above them; and what he saw, others saw also,
+and a cry went up of wonder and amaze. For, high upon the roof, his
+mail agleam, his white robe whiter in the torch-glare, stood Friar
+Martin, while crouched behind him to left and right were many men in
+ancient and rusty armour, men grey-bearded and white of head, at sight
+of whom the roar of battle died down from sheer amaze until all men
+might hear the friar's words:
+
+"Come, ye men of Belsaye!" he cried, "all ye that do love wife or
+daughter or little child--all ye that would maintain them innocent and
+pure--follow me!"
+
+As he ended, his sword flashed, and, even as he sprang, so sprang all
+those behind him--down, down they leapt upon the close-ranked foemen
+below, so swift, so sudden and unexpected, that ere they could be met
+with pike or sword the thing was done. And now from that narrow way,
+dim-lit by lanthorn and torch-glare, there rose a sound more awful to
+hear than roar of battle, a hoarse and vicious sound like to the
+worrying snarl of many great and fierce hounds.
+
+With ancient swords, with axe and dagger and fierce-rending teeth they
+fought, those fathers of Belsaye; thick and fast they fell, yet never
+alone, while ever they raved on, a company of madmen, behind the
+friar's white robe. Back and back the besiegers reeled before that
+raging fury--twice the white friar was smitten down yet twice he arose,
+smiting the fiercer, wherefore, because of his religious habit, the
+deathly pallor of his sunken cheek and the glare of his eyes, panic
+came, and all men shrank from the red sweep of his sword.
+
+Then Sir Benedict sounded his horn, and sword in hand leapt over the
+barricade, and behind him Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn and
+their serried pikemen, while Sir Brian and Sir Hacon limped in their
+rear.
+
+"The breach!" cried Sir Benedict, "seize we now the breach!"
+
+"The breach! The breach!" roared a hundred voices. And now within the
+gloom steel rasped steel, groping hands seized and griped with
+merciless fingers; figures, dim-seen, sank smitten, groaning beneath
+the press. But on they fought, slipping and stumbling, hewing and
+thrusting, up and up over ruined masonry, over forms that groaned
+beneath cruel feet--on and ever on until within the narrow breach
+Beltane's long sword darted and thrust and Ulf's axe whirled and fell,
+while hard by Walkyn's hoarse shout went up in roaring triumph.
+
+So within this narrow gap, where shapeless things stirred and whimpered
+in the dark, Beltane leaned breathless upon his sword and looked down
+upon the watch-fires of Duke Ivo's great camp. But, even as he gazed,
+these fires were blotted out where dark figures mounted fresh to the
+assault, and once again sword and axes fell to their dire work.
+
+And ever as he fought Beltane bethought him of her whose pure lips
+voiced prayers for him, and his mighty arm grew mightier yet, and he
+smote and thrust untiring, while Walkyn raged upon his left, roaring
+amain for Red Pertolepe, and Ulf the strong saved his breath to ply his
+axe the faster.
+
+Now presently as they fought thus, because the breach was grown very
+slippery, Beltane tripped and fell, but in that instant two lusty
+mailed legs bestrode him, and from the dimness above Roger's voice
+hailed:
+
+"Get thee back, master--I pray thee get back and take thy rest awhile,
+my arm is fresh and my steel scarce blooded, so get thee to thy rest--
+moreover thou art a notch, lord--another accursed notch from my belt!"
+
+Wherefore Beltane presently crept down from the breach and thus beheld
+many men who laboured amain beneath Sir Benedict's watchful eye to
+build a defence work very high and strong where they might command the
+breach. And as Beltane sat thus, finding himself very spent and weary,
+cometh Giles beside him.
+
+"Lord," said he, leaning him on his bow, "the attack doth languish,
+methinks, wherefore I do praise the good God, for had they won the
+town--ah, when I do think on--her--she that is so pure and sweet--and
+Ivo's base soldiery--O sweet Jesu!" and Giles shivered.
+
+"Forsooth, thou didst see fair Belsaye sacked--five years agone,
+Giles?"
+
+"Aye, God forgive me master, for I--I--O, God forgive me!"
+
+"Thou once did show me a goodly chain, I mind me, Giles."
+
+"Aye, but I lost it--I lost it, master!" he cried eagerly, "O verily I
+did lose it, so did it avail me nothing."
+
+"Moreover, Giles, thou didst with knowing laugh, vaunt that the women
+of Belsaye town were marvellous fair--and methinks didst speak truly,
+Giles!"
+
+Now at this Giles bowed his head and turning him about, went heavily
+upon his way. Then, sighing, Beltane arose and came where stood Sir
+Benedict who forthwith hailed him blithely:
+
+"Can we but hold them until the dawn, Beltane--and mark me, we can,
+here is a work shall make us strong 'gainst all attacks," and he
+pointed to the growing barricade. "But what of our noble Friar Martin?
+But for him, Beltane, but for him and his ancient company we had been
+hard put to it, lad. Ha, 'neath that white gown is saint and friar,
+and, what is better--a man! Now God be praised, yonder cometh the dawn
+at last! Though forsooth this hath been a sorry wedding-night for thee,
+dear lad--and for her, sweet maid--"
+
+"Thou dost know then, Benedict?"
+
+"Think ye not good Roger hasted to tell me, knowing thy joy is my joy--
+ha! list ye to those blessed joy-bells! glory be to God, there doth
+trusty Eric tell us he hath made an end of such as stormed the breach.
+But who cometh here? And by this hand, in tears!"
+
+Already in the east was a roseate glory by whose soft light Beltane
+beheld Tall Orson, who grasped a bloody sword in one hand and wiped
+away his tears with the other. He, perceiving Beltane and Sir Benedict,
+limped to them forthwith and spake, albeit hoarse and brokenly.
+
+"Lords, I do be bid hither to bring ye where he lieth a-dying--the
+noblest as do be in this world alive--his white robe all bloodied,
+lords, yet his face do be an angel's face!"
+
+"Ah," sighed Beltane rising, "is it the noble Friar Martin, Orson?"
+
+"Aye, lord, it do be he--as blessed me wi' his poor hand as do be so
+faint and feeble."
+
+So saying, Orson brought them to a house beside the wall, wherein, upon
+a pallet, the white friar lay with Jenkyn beside him, and the
+white-haired Reeve and many other of the sturdy townsfolk about him.
+
+Now came Beltane to kneel beside the friar, who, opening swooning eyes,
+smiled and spake faint-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane--noble son, my work on earth is ended, methinks--so
+doth God call me hence--and I do go right gladly. These dying eyes grow
+dim--but with the deathless eyes of the soul I do see many things most
+plainly--so, dear and valiant children, hear ye this! The woes of
+Belsaye are past and done--behold, thy deliverance is at hand! I see
+one that rideth from the north--and this I give thee for a sign--he is
+tall, this man, bedight in sable armour and mounted upon a great white
+horse. And behind him marcheth a mighty following--the woods be bright
+with the gleam of armour! O ye valiant men--O children of Belsaye that
+I have loved so well, let now your hearts be glad! O Belsaye town, thy
+shames and sorrows be passed away forever. I see thee through the years
+a rich city and a happy, thy gates ever open to the woeful and
+distressed! Rejoice, rejoice--thy sorrows are past and done--even as
+mine. Ah, list--list ye to those bells! Hear ye not their joyful
+clamour--hearken!"
+
+But indeed, silence had fallen upon Belsaye, and no sound brake the
+quiet save the distant hum and stir of conflict upon the broken wall.
+Nevertheless the friar's dying face waxed bright with a wondrous
+happiness.
+
+"O blessed--blessed sound!" he whispered. Of a sudden he rose up from
+his pillow with radiant eyes uplifted, and stretched up arms in eager
+welcome.
+
+"Sweet Jesu!" he whispered. Slowly his arms sank, the thin hands strove
+to fold themselves--fell apart, and, sighing rapturously, Friar Martin
+sank back upon his pillows like one that is weary, and, with the sigh,
+was dead. And lo! in that same moment, from tower and belfry near and
+far, rose a sudden wild and gladsome clamour of bells ringing out peal
+on peal of rapturous joy, insomuch that those who knelt beside that
+couch of death lifted bowed heads--eye questioning eye in a wonder
+beyond words.
+
+And now, all at once was the ring and tramp of mailed feet coming
+swiftly, and in the doorway stood Roger, his riven mail befouled with
+battle.
+
+"Lords!" he panted, "rejoice--rejoice! our woes and sorrows be past and
+done--hark ye to the bells! Our deliverance cometh from the north--you
+shall see the woods alight with--the gleam of their armour!"
+
+Nothing saying, Beltane arose and went soft-treading from the chamber,
+past the blood and horror of the breach, and climbing the flanking
+tower beside the gate, looked to the north. And there he beheld a
+mighty company that marched forth of the woods, rank upon rank, whose
+armour, flashing in the early sun, made a dazzling splendour against
+the green. Company by company they mustered on the plain, knights and
+men-at-arms with footmen and archers beyond count.
+
+And presently, before this deep array, two standards were advanced--a
+white banner whereon was a red lion and a banner on whose blue ground
+black leopards were enwrought.
+
+Now as Beltane gazed upon this glorious host he felt a gentle hand
+touch him and turning, beheld the Duchess Helen, and her cheek showed
+pale with her long night vigil.
+
+"My Beltane," said she, flushing 'neath his regard, "lord Duke of
+Mortain, behold yonder thy goodly powers of Mortain that shall do thy
+bidding henceforth--look yonder, my lord Duke!"
+
+"Duke!" quoth Beltane, "Duke of Mortain--forsooth, and am I so indeed?
+I had forgot this quite, in thy beauty, my Helen, and did but know that
+I had to wife one that I do love beyond all created things. And now,
+beloved, thy sweet eyes do tell me thy night was sleepless."
+
+"Mine eyes--ah, look not on them, Beltane, for well I know these poor
+eyes be all red and swollen with weeping for thee--though indeed I
+bathed them ere I sought thee--"
+
+"Sweet eyes of love!" said he, setting his arm about her, "come let me
+kiss them!"
+
+"Ah, no, Beltane, look yonder--behold where salvation cometh--"
+
+"I had rather look where my salvation lieth, within these dear eyes--
+nay, abase them not. And didst weep for me, and wake for me, my Helen?"
+
+"I was so--so fearful for thee, my lord."
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And very sorrowful--"
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And--heartsick--"
+
+"Aye, sweet my wife--but what more?"
+
+"And--very lonely, Beltane--"
+
+Then my Beltane caught her close and kissed her full long, until she
+struggled in his embrace and slipping from him, stood all flushed and
+breathless and shy-eyed. But of a sudden she caught his hand and
+pointed where, before the glittering ranks of Mortain's chivalry, a
+herald advanced.
+
+"Look, Beltane," she said, "oh, look and tell me who rideth yonder!"
+
+Now behind this herald two knights advanced, the one in glittering
+armour whose shield was resplendent with many quarterings, but
+beholding his companion, Beltane stared in wondering awe; for lo! he
+saw a tall man bedight in sable armour who bore a naked sword that
+flashed in the sun and who bestrode a great, white charger. And because
+of Friar Martin's dying words, Beltane stood awed and full of amaze.
+
+Nearer and nearer they came until all men might read the cognizance
+upon the first knight's resplendent shield and know him for one Sir
+Jocelyn, lord of Alain, but his companion they knew not, since neither
+charge nor blazon bore he of any sort. Of a sudden the herald set
+clarion to lip and blew a challenge that was taken up and answered from
+within the camp, and forth came Duke Ivo, bare-headed in his armour
+and with knights attendant, who, silencing the heralds with a gesture,
+spake loud and fierce.
+
+"Sir Jocelyn, lord of Alain, why come ye against me in arms and so
+ungently arrayed, wherefore come ye in such force, and for what?"
+
+Then answered Sir Jocelyn:
+
+"My lord Ivo, thou wert upon a time our honoured guest within Mortain,
+thou didst with honeyed word and tender phrase woo our fair young
+Duchess to wife. But--and heed this, my lord!--when Helen the
+Beautiful, the Proud, did thy will gainsay, thou didst in hearing of
+divers of her lords and counsellors vow and swear to come one day and
+seek her with flaming brands. So here to-day stand I and divers other
+gentles of Mortain--in especial this right noble lord--to tell thee
+that so long as we be men ne'er shalt set foot across our marches.
+Lastly, we are hither come to demand the safe conduct from Belsaye of
+our lady Duchess Helen, and such of the citizens as may choose to
+follow her."
+
+"So!" quoth Duke Ivo, smiling and fingering his long, blue chin, "'tis
+war ye do force on me, my lord of Alain?"
+
+"Nay, messire," answered Sir Jocelyn, "that must be asked of this sable
+knight--for he is greater than I, and leadeth where I do but follow."
+
+Now hereupon the black knight paced slowly forward upon his great,
+white horse nor stayed until he came close beside Duke Ivo. Then
+reining in his charger, he lifted his vizor and spake in voice deep and
+strong.
+
+"O thou that men call Ivo the Duke, look upon this face--behold these
+white hairs, this lined brow! Bethink thee of the innocent done to
+cruel death by thy will, the fair cities given to ravishment and flame--
+and judge if this be just and sufficient cause for war, and bitter
+war, betwixt us!"
+
+Now beholding the face of the speaker, his proud and noble bearing, his
+bold eyes fierce and bright and the grim line of nose and chin, Duke
+Ivo blenched and drew back, the smile fled from his lip, and he stared
+wide of eye and breathless.
+
+"Beltane!" quoth he at last, "Beltane--ha! methought thee dusty bones
+these many years--so it is war, I judge?"
+
+For answer Duke Beltane lifted on high the long sword he bore.
+
+"Ivo," said he, "the cries and groans of my sorrowful and distressed
+people have waked me from my selfish griefs at last--so am I come for
+vengeance on their innocent blood, their griefs and wrongs so long
+endured of thee. This do I swear thee, that this steel shall go
+unsheathed until I meet thee in mortal combat--and ere this sun be set
+one of us twain shall be no more."
+
+"Be it so," answered Black Ivo, "this night belike I shall hang thee
+above the ruins of Belsaye yonder, and thy son with thee!" So saying,
+he turned about and chin on fist rode into his camp, where was mounting
+and mustering in hot haste.
+
+"Beltane," spake the Duchess, clasping Beltane's hand, "dost know at
+last?"
+
+"Aye," answered he with eyes aglow, "But how cometh my noble father
+yonder?"
+
+"I sought him out in Holy Cross Thicket, Beltane. I told him of thy
+valiant doings and of thy need of instant aid, and besought him to take
+up arms for thee and for me and for dear Mortain, and to lead my army
+'gainst--"
+
+But Beltane, falling before her on his knee spake quick and passionate:
+
+"O Helen--Helen the Beautiful! without thee I had been nought, and less
+than nought! Without thee, Pentavalon had groaned yet 'neath cruel
+wrong! Without thee--O without thee, my Helen, I were a thing lost and
+helpless in very truth!"
+
+Now hereupon, being first and foremost a woman, young and loving and
+passionate, needs must she weep over him a little and stoop to cherish
+his golden head on her bosom, and holding it thus sweetly pillowed, to
+kiss him full oft and thereafter loose him and blush and sigh and turn
+from his regard, all sweet and shy demureness like the very maid she
+was.
+
+Whereat Beltane, forgetful of all but her loveliness, heedful of nought
+in the world but her warm young beauty, rose up from his knees and,
+trembling-mute with love, would have caught her to his eager arms; but
+of a sudden cometh Giles, breathless--hasting up the narrow stair and,
+all heedless of his lord, runneth to fling himself upon his knees
+before the Duchess, to catch her robe and kiss it oft.
+
+"O dear and gracious lady!" he cried, "Genevra hath told me! And is it
+true thou hast promised me a place within thy court at fair Mortain--is
+it true thou wilt lift me up that I may wed with one so much o'er me in
+station--is it true thou wilt give me my Genevra, my heart's desire--
+all unworthy though I be--I--O--" And behold! Giles's ready tongue
+faltered for very gratitude and on each tanned cheek were bright,
+quick-falling tears.
+
+"Giles," said she, "thou wert true and faithful to my lord when his
+friends were few, so methinks thou should'st be faithful and true to
+thy sweet Genevra--so will I make thee Steward and Bailiff of Mortain
+an my lord is in accord--"
+
+"Lord," quoth Giles brokenly, "ere thou dost speak, beseech thee hear
+this. I have thought on thy saying regarding my past days--and grieved
+sorely therefore. Now an ye do think my shameful past beyond
+redemption, if these arms be too vile to clasp her as my wife, if my
+love shall bring her sorrow or shame hereafter, then--because I do
+truly love her--I will see her no more; I will--leave her to love one
+more worthy than I. And this I do swear thee, master--on the cross!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Giles, he that knoweth himself unworthy, if that his love be a true
+love, shall by that love make himself, mayhap, worthier than most. He
+that loveth so greatly that in his love base self is forgot--such a
+man, methinks, doth love in God-like fashion. So shall it be as my lady
+hath said."
+
+Then Giles arose, and wiping off his tears strove to speak his thanks
+but choked upon a sob instead, and turning, hasted down the turret
+stair.
+
+Now presently within the city Sir Benedict's trumpets Hew, and looking
+from the battlement Beltane beheld Sir Hacon mustering their stout
+company, knights and men-at-arms, what time Roger and Walkyn and Ulf
+ordered what remained of their pikemen and archers.
+
+"Beloved!" sighed Beltane, drawing his Duchess within his arm, "see
+yonder, 'tis horse and saddle--soon must I leave thee again."
+
+Now did she sigh amain, and cling to him and droop her lovely head, yet
+when she spake her words were brave:
+
+"My Beltane, this love of mine is such that I would not have thee fail
+in duty e'en though this my heart should break--but ah! husband, stay
+yet a little longer, I--I have been a something lonely wife hitherto,
+and I--do hate loneliness, Beltane--" A mailed foot sounded upon the
+stone stair and, turning about, they beheld a knight in resplendent
+armour, blazoned shield slung before.
+
+"Greeting to thee, my lord Duke of Mortain, and to thy lovely lady
+wife," spake a cheery voice, and the speaker, lifting his vizor,
+behold! it was Sir Benedict. "I go in mine own armour to-day, Beltane,
+that haply thy noble father shall know me in the press. Ha, see where
+he ordereth his line, 'twas ever so his custom, I mind me--in four
+columns with archers betwixt. Mark me now lad, I have brought thee here
+a helm graced with these foolish feathers as is the new fashion--white
+feathers, see you--that my lady's sweet eyes may follow thee in the
+affray."
+
+"For that, dear Benedict," cried she, "for that shalt kiss me, so off
+with thy great helm!" Forthwith Sir Benedict did off his casque, and
+stooping, kissed her full-lipped, and meeting Beltane's eye, flushed
+and laughed and was solemn all in a moment.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, dear lad," quoth he, "I envy thee and grieve for thee! To
+possess such a maid to wife--and to leave her--so soon! May God bring
+thee safe again to her white arms. Ah, youth is very sweet, lad, and
+love--true love is youth's fair paradise and--body o' me, there sound
+our tuckets! See where Ivo formeth his main battle--and yonder he
+posteth a goodly company to shut us up within the city. So must we wait
+a while until the battle joins--thy noble father is wondrous wise in
+war--O verily he hath seen, behold how he altereth his array! O wise
+Beltane!"
+
+Now Duke Ivo threw out a screen of archers and horsemen to harass the
+powers of Mortain what time he formed his battle in three great
+companies, a deep and formidable array of knights and men-at-arms whose
+tall lances rose, a very forest, with pennons and banderols a-flutter
+in the gentle wind of morning. Far on the left showed the banner of
+his marshal Sir Bors; above his right battle flew the Raven banner of
+Sir Pertolepe the Red, and above his main battle rose his own standard--
+a black lion on a red field. So mustered he his powers of Pentavalon,
+gay with stir of pennons and rich trappings; the sun flashed back from
+ponderous casques and bascinets innumerable and flamed on blazoned
+shields. And beholding their might and confident bearing, Beltane
+clenched nervous hands and his mouth grew hard and grim, so turned he
+from this formidable host to where, just beyond the woods, his father's
+banner flew beside the leopards of Mortain. Conspicuous upon his white
+charger he beheld Duke Beltane, a proud and warlike figure, who sat his
+stamping war-horse deep in converse with Sir Jocelyn, while behind were
+the dense ranks of Mortain. Suddenly, Sir Jocelyn wheeled his charger
+and galloped along Mortain's front, his rich armour glittering, until
+he halted at the head of that knightly company posted upon the left.
+
+Meantime, Black Ivo's archers advancing, fell into arrow formation and
+began to ply the Mortain ranks with clouds of shafts and bolts 'neath
+which divers men and horses fell--what time Black Ivo's massed columns
+moved slowly forward to the attack--yet Duke Beltane, sitting among his
+knights, stirred not, and the army of Mortain abode very silent and
+still. But of a sudden Duke Beltane wheeled his horse, his sword
+flashed on high, whereat trumpets brayed and on the instant Sir Jocelyn
+wheeled off to the left, he and all his company, and gathering speed
+began to skirt Duke Ivo's advanced pikemen and archers, and so rode
+down upon those men of Pentavalon who were drawn up against Belsaye.
+Hereupon Black Ivo would have launched a counter-charge to check Sir
+Jocelyn's attack, but his advanced lines of cross-bowmen and archers
+hampered him. Once again Duke Beltane's sword flashed up, the first
+line of Mortain's great array leapt forward and with levelled lances
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's ranks, scattering and trampling down
+his archers; but as they checked before the serried pikes behind, forth
+galloped Duke Beltane's second line and after this a third--
+o'erwhelming Ivo's pikemen by their numbers, and bursting over and
+through their torn ranks, reformed, and, spurring hard, met Ivo's rank
+with crashing shock in full career. And, behind this raging battle,
+Duke Beltane rode at the head of his reserves, keen-eyed and watchful,
+what time Sir Jocelyn was hotly engaged upon the left, nigh unto the
+town itself.
+
+"Ah, Beltane!" sighed the Duchess, shivering and covering her face--
+"'tis horrible, horrible--see how they fall!"
+
+"Nay, my brave Fidelis, heed rather how valiant Sir Jocelyn and his
+knights drive in their advanced lines--ha! Benedict, see how he breaks
+their array--an he can but turn their flank--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--yonder cometh the Raven banner where Pertolepe spurreth
+in support--"
+
+"Aye, but yonder doth my father launch yet another charge--ha!
+Benedict, let us out and aid them--the way lieth open beyond the
+drawbridge an we can but turn Ivo's flank!" quoth Beltane looking ever
+upon the battle, "O, methinks the time is now, Benedict!"
+
+With Helen's soft hand a-tremble in his, Beltane hasted down from the
+tower and Sir Benedict followed, until they were come to the square
+where, amid the joyful acclaim of the populace, their small and hardy
+following were drawn up; and, as they came, from townsfolk and soldiery
+a shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+"My lord Duke of Mortain," quoth Sir Benedict, "I and thy company do
+wait thee to lead us."
+
+But Beltane smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Not so, my lord of Bourne, thou art so cunning in war and hast led us
+so valiantly and well--shalt lead us to this battle, the which I pray
+God shall be our last! As for me, this day will I march with the
+foresters--so mount, my lord."
+
+Hereupon, from foresters, from knights and men-at-arms another shout
+arose what time Sir Benedict, having knelt to kiss the Duchess Helen's
+white hand, found it woefully a-tremble.
+
+"Alas, my lady Helen," said he, "methinks thine is the harder part this
+day. God strengthen thy wifely heart, for God, methinks, shall yet
+bring him to thine embrace!" So saying, Sir Benedict mounted and rode
+to the head of his lances, where flew his banner. "Unbar the gates!" he
+cried. And presently the great gates of Belsaye town swung wide, the
+portcullis clanked up, the drawbridge fell, and thus afar off they
+beheld where, 'mid swirling dust-cloud the battle raged fierce and
+fell.
+
+And behold a sorry wight who hobbled toward them on a crutch, so begirt
+and bandaged that little was to see of him but bright eyes.
+
+"O Sir Hacon!" cried the Duchess, "did I not bid thee to thy bed?"
+
+"Why truly, dear my lady, but since I may not go forth myself, fain
+would I see my good comrades ride into the battle--faith, methinks I
+might yet couch a lance but for fear of this thy noble lady, my lord
+Beltane--aye me, this shall be a dismal day for me, methinks!"
+
+"Nay, then I will keep thee company, good Sir Hacon!" smiled the
+Duchess a little tremulously, "shalt watch with me from the bartizan
+and tell me how the day goeth with us."
+
+And now Sir Benedict lifted aloft his lance, the trumpet sounded, and
+with ring and tramp he with his six hundred knights and men-at-arms
+rode forth of the market-square, clattering through the narrow street,
+thundering over the drawbridge, and, forming in the open, spurred away
+into the battle.
+
+Then Beltane sighed, and kneeling, kissed his lady's white hands:
+
+"Beloved," spake he low-voiced, "e'en now must I go from thee, but
+howsoever fortune tend--thine am I through life--aye, and beyond."
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'twixt quivering lips, "O loved Beltane, take
+heed to thy dear body, cover thee well with thy shield since thy hurts
+are my hurts henceforth and with thee thou dost bear my heart--O risk
+not my heart to death without good cause!" So she bent and kissed him
+on the brow: but when he would have risen, stayed him. "Wait, my lord!"
+she whispered and turning, beckoned to one behind her, and lo! Genevra
+came forward bearing a blue banner.
+
+"My lord," said the Duchess, "behold here thy banner that we have
+wrought for thee, Genevra and I."
+
+So saying, she took the banner and gave it into Beltane's mailed hand.
+But as he arose, and while pale-cheeked Genevra, hands clasped upon
+the green scarf at her bosom, looked wet-eyed where the archers stood
+ranked, forth stepped Giles and spake quick and eager.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "to-day methinks will be more hard smiting than chance
+for good archery, wherefore I do pray let me bear thy standard in the
+fight--ne'er shall foeman touch it whiles that I do live--lord, I pray
+thee!"
+
+"Be it so, Giles!" So Giles took the banner whiles Beltane fitted on
+his great, plumed helm; thereafter comes Roger with his shield and Ulf
+leading his charger whereon he mounted forthwith, and wheeling, put
+himself at the head of his pikemen and archers, with Roger and Ulf
+mounted on either flank and Giles bestriding another horse behind.
+
+Yet now needs must he turn to look his last upon the Duchess standing
+forlorn, and beholding the tender passion of her tearless eyes he
+yearned mightily to kiss them, and sighed full deep, then, giving the
+word, rode out and away, the blue standard a-dance upon the breeze; but
+his heart sank to hear the clash and clang of gate and portcullis,
+shutting away from him her that was more to him than life itself.
+
+Now when they had gone some way needs must he look back at Belsaye, its
+battered walls, its mighty towers; and high upon the bartizan he beheld
+two figures, the one be-swathed in many bandages, and one he knew who
+prayed for him, even then; and all at once wall and towers and distant
+figures swam in a mist of tears wherefore he closed his bascinet, yet
+not before Giles had seen--Giles, whose merry face was grim now and
+hard-set, and from whose bright bascinet a green veil floated.
+
+"Lord," said he, blinking bright eyes, "we have fought well ere now,
+but to-day methinks we shall fight as ne'er we fought in all our days."
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "verily, Giles, methinks we shall!"
+
+Thus saying, he turned and looked upon the rolling battle-dust and
+settling his feet within the stirrups, clenched iron fingers upon his
+long sword.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIX
+
+HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+
+All day long the din and thunder of battle had roared upon the plain;
+all day the Duchess Helen with Sir Hacon at her side had watched the
+eddying dust-clouds rolling now this way, now that, straining anxious
+eyes to catch the gleam of a white plume or the flutter of the blue
+banner amid that dark confusion. And oft she heard Sir Hacon mutter
+oaths half-stifled, and oft Sir Hacon had heard snatches of her
+breathless prayers as the tide of battle swung to and fro, a desperate
+fray whence distant shouts and cries mingled in awful din. But now, as
+the sun grew low, the close-locked fray began to roll southwards fast
+and ever faster, a mighty storm of eddying dust wherein armour gleamed
+and steel glimmered back and forth, as Duke Ivo and his proud array
+fell back and back on their last stronghold of Pentavalon City.
+Whereupon Sir Hacon, upon the bartizan, cursed no more, but forgetful
+of his many wounds, waxed jubilant instead.
+
+"Now, by Holy Rood!" he cried, "see, lady--they break--they break!
+'Twas that last flanking onset! None but Beltane the Strong could have
+marshalled that last charge--drawing on Black Ivo to attempt his
+centre, see you, and crushing in his flanks--so needs must their main
+battle fall back or meet attack on two sides! Oho, a wondrous crafty
+leader is Duke Beltane the Strong! See--ha, see now how fast he driveth
+them--and southward--southward on Pentavalon town!"
+
+"So do I thank God, but see how many--O how many do lie fallen by the
+way!"
+
+"Why, in battle, most gentle lady, in battle men must needs fall or
+wherefore should battles be? Much have I seen of wars, lady, but ne'er
+saw eyes sterner fray than this--"
+
+"And I pray God," spake the Duchess, shivering, "these eyes may ne'er
+look upon another! O 'tis hateful sight--see--look yonder!" and she
+pointed where from the awful battle-wrack reeled men faint with wounds
+while others dragged themselves painfully across the trampled ground.
+
+"Why, 'twas a bloody business!" quoth the knight, shaking his bandaged
+head.
+
+"Sir Hacon," said the Duchess, frowning and pale, "I pray you summon me
+the Reeve, yonder." And when the Reeve was come, she spake him very
+soft and sweet:
+
+"Messire, I pray you let us out and aid the poor, stricken souls
+yonder."
+
+"But lady, the battle is not yet won--to open our gates were unwise,
+methinks."
+
+"Good Reeve, one died but lately whom all men loved, but dying, Friar
+Martin spake these words--'I see Belsaye rich and happy, her gates ever
+open to the woeful and distressed.' Come, ope the gates and let us out
+to cherish these afflicted."
+
+Thus presently forth from Belsaye rode the Duchess Helen, with Sir
+Hacon beside her and many of the townsfolk, hasting pale-cheeked and
+trembling to minister unto the hurt and dying, and many there were that
+day who sighed out their lives in blessings on her head.
+
+But meantime the battle roared, fierce and furious as ever, where Black
+Ivo's stubborn ranks, beset now on three sides, gave back sullenly,
+fighting step by step.
+
+And amid the blood and dust, in the forefront of that raging tumult, a
+torn and tattered blue banner rocked and swayed, where Beltane with
+Giles at his right hand led on his grim foresters, their ranks woefully
+thinned and with never a horse among them. But Roger was there, his
+face besmeared with blood that oozed 'neath his dinted bascinet, and
+Ulf was there, foul with slaughter, and there was Walkyn fierce and
+grim, while side by side amid the trampling pikemen behind, Jenkyn and
+Tall Orson fought. And presently to Beltane came Walkyn, pointing
+eagerly to their left.
+
+"Master," he cried, "yonder flaunteth Pertolepe's banner, beseech thee
+let us make thitherward--"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, stooping 'neath the swing of a gisarm, "O
+forget thy selfish vengeance, man, and smite but for Pentavalon this
+day--her foes be many enow, God wot! Ho!" he roared, "they yield! they
+yield! Close up pikes--in, in--follow me!" Forward leapt he with Roger
+beside him and the blue banner close behind, and forward leapt those
+hardy foresters where the enemy's reeling line strove desperately to
+stand and re-form. So waxed the fight closer, fiercer; griping hands
+fumbled at mailed throats and men, locked in desperate grapple, fell
+and were lost 'neath the press; but forward went the tattered banner,
+on and on until, checking, it reeled dizzily, dipped, swayed and
+vanished; but Roger had seen and sprang in with darting point.
+
+"Up, man," he panted, covering the prostrate archer with his shield,
+"up, Giles, an ye can--we're close beset--"
+
+"But we be here, look'ee Roger--'tis we, look'ee!" cried a voice
+behind.
+
+"Aye, it do be us!" roared another voice, and Roger's assailants were
+borne back by a line of vicious-thrusting pikes.
+
+"Art hurt, Giles?"
+
+"Nay," quoth the archer, getting to unsteady legs, "but they've spoiled
+me Genevra's veil, methinks--and our flag is something smirched, but,
+as for me, I'll sing ye many a song yet!"
+
+"Then here's twice I've saved thee, Giles, so art two accursed notches
+from my--"
+
+A mace beat Roger to his knees, but, ere his assailant could strike
+again, Giles's broadsword rose and fell.
+
+"So are we quits, good Roger!" he cried, "Ha, see--they break! On,
+pikes, on! Bows and bills, sa-ha!"
+
+Up rose the dust, forward swept the battle as Black Ivo's hosts gave
+back before the might of Mortain; forward the blue banner reeled and
+staggered where fought Beltane fierce and untiring, his long shield
+hacked and dinted, his white plumes shorn away, while ever his hardy
+foresters smote and thrust on flank and rear. Twice Black Roger fell
+and twice Giles leapt 'twixt him and death, and perceiving his haggard
+eyes and the pallor of his grimed and bloody cheek, roared at him in
+fierce anxiety:
+
+"Fall out, Roger, fall out and rest ye, man!"
+
+"Not whiles I can stand, archer!"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger."
+
+"Belike I am, Giles--"
+
+"And therefore do I love thee, Rogerkin! Ha, bear up man, yonder is
+water--a muddy brook--"
+
+"O blessed Saint Cuthbert!" panted Roger.
+
+Now before them was a water-brook and beyond this brook Black Ivo's
+harassed columns made a fierce and desperate rally what time they
+strove to re-form their hard-pressed ranks; but from Duke Beltane's
+midmost battle the trumpets brayed fierce and loud, whereat from a
+thousand parched throats a hoarse cry rose, and chivalry and foot, the
+men of Mortain charged with levelled lance, with goring pike, with
+whirling axe and sword, and over and through and beyond the brook the
+battle raged, sweeping ever southwards.
+
+Presently before them the ground sloped sharply down, and while Beltane
+shouted warning to those behind, his voice was drowned in sudden
+trumpet-blast, and glancing to his left, he beheld at last all those
+knights and men-at-arms who had ridden with his father in their reserve
+all day--a glittering column, rank on rank, at whose head, his sable
+armour agleam, his great, white charger leaping 'neath the spur, Duke
+Beltane rode. Swift and sure the column wheeled and with lances couched
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's reeling flank.
+
+A crash, a sudden roaring clamour, and where had marched Black Ivo's
+reserve of archers and pikemen was nought but a scattered rout. But on
+rode Duke Beltane, his lion banner a-flutter, in and through the
+enemy's staggering columns, and ever as he charged thus upon their
+left, so charged Sir Jocelyn upon their right. Then Beltane leaned him
+on his sword, and looking down upon the battle, bowed his head.
+
+"Now praise be to God and his holy saints!" quoth he, "yonder is
+victory at last!"
+
+"Aye, master," said Roger hoarsely, "and yonder as the dust clears you
+shall see the walls and towers of Pentavalon City!"
+
+"And lord--lord," cried Walkyn, "yonder--in their rear--you shall see
+Red Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner! Why tarry we here, lord? See,
+their ranks break everywhere--'twill be hot-foot now for the city
+gates--ha, let us on, master!"
+
+"Aye, verily," quoth Beltane, looking westward, "it groweth to sunset
+and the city is yet to storm. To your ranks, there--forward!"
+
+Now as they advanced, Beltane beheld at last where, high above
+embattled walls and towers, rose Pentavalon's mighty keep wherein he
+had been born; and, remembering his proud and gentle mother, he drooped
+his head and grieved; and bethinking him of his proud and gentle Helen,
+he took fresh grip upon his sword, and lengthening his stride, looked
+where Black Ivo's broken columns, weary with battle, grim with blood
+and wounds, already began to ride 'neath the city's frowning gateway,
+while hard upon their straggling rearguard Duke Beltane's lion banner
+fluttered. A desperate hewing and thrusting in the narrow gateway, and
+Black Ivo's shattered following were driven in and the narrow streets
+and alleys of the town full of battle and slaughter. Street by street
+the town was won until before them loomed the mighty keep of
+Pentavalon's ducal stronghold. Outer and inner bailey were stormed and
+so at last came they, a desperate, close-fighting company, into the
+great tilt-yard before the castle.
+
+Now of a sudden a shout went up and thereafter was a great quiet--a
+silence wherein friend and foe, panting and weary, stood alike at gaze.
+And amid this expectant hush the two Dukes of Pentavalon fronted each
+other. No word said they, but, while all eyes watched them, each took
+lance and riding to the extremity of the courtyard, wheeled, and
+couching their lances, spurred fiercely against each other. And now men
+held their breath to behold these two great knights, who, crouched low
+in their saddles, met midway in full career with crash and splintering
+shock of desperate onset. Duke Beltane reeled in his stirrups,
+recovered, and leaning forward stared down upon his enemy, who,
+prostrate on his back, slowly lifted gauntleted hand that, falling
+weakly, clashed upon the stones--a small sound, yet plain to be heard
+by reason of that breathless hush.
+
+Slow and stiffly Duke Beltane dismounted, and reeling in his gait, came
+and knelt beside Black Ivo and loosed off his riven helm. Thereafter,
+slow and painfully, he arose, and looking round upon all men, spake
+faint-voiced.
+
+"God--hath judged--betwixt us this day!" said he, "and to-day--
+methinks--He doth summon me--to judgment--" Even as he spake he lifted
+his hands, struggling with the lacing of his helmet, staggered, and
+would have fallen, wherefore Beltane sprang forward. Yet one there was
+quicker than he, one whose goodly armour, smirched and battered, yet
+showed the blazon of Bourne.
+
+"Benedict!" quoth Duke Beltane feebly, "faithful wert thou to the last!
+O Benedict, where is my noble son!"
+
+"Father!" cried Beltane, "thou hast this day won Pentavalon from her
+shame and misery!" But the Duke lay very still in their arms and spake
+no word.
+
+So, when they had uncovered his white head, they bore him tenderly into
+the great banqueting hall and laid him on goodly couch and cherished
+him with water and wine, wherefore, in a while, he opened swooning
+eyes.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered, "dear and noble son--thy manhood--hath belike
+won thy father's soul to God's mercy. So do I leave thee to cherish all
+those that--have known wrong and woe--by reason of my selfish life!
+Dear son, bury me with thy--noble mother, but let me lie--at her feet,
+Beltane. O had I been less selfish--in my sorrow! But God is merciful!
+Benedict--kiss me--and thou, my Beltane--God calleth me--to rest. _In
+manus tuas--Domine!_" Then Duke Beltane, that had been the Hermit
+Ambrose, clasped his mailed hands and smiling wondrous glad and tender,
+yielded his soul to God.
+
+In a while Beltane came forth into the courtyard and beheld Sir Jocelyn
+mustering their knightly prisoners in the ward below, for, with Black
+Ivo's death, all resistance was ended. And now the trumpets blared,
+rallying their various companies, but Beltane abode very full of
+sorrowful thoughts. To him presently cometh Giles yet grasping the blue
+standard befouled with dust and blood, the which he laid reverently at
+Beltane's feet.
+
+"Lord," said he, "my trust is ended. See, yonder standeth our company
+of foresters!" and he pointed where a single rank of grimed and weary
+men lay upon the hard flag-stones or leaned on their battered weapons.
+
+"Giles--O Giles, is this all?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we muster but seventy and one all told, and of these Tall
+Orson lieth dead yonder in Jenkyn's arms, and Roger--poor Roger is
+a-dying, methinks--and Ulf and Walkyn are not."
+
+But even as he spake he turned and started, for, from the ward below a
+hunting horn brayed feebly.
+
+"'Tis our forester's rally, master!" quoth he, "and see--Jesu, what men
+are these?" For into the courtyard, followed by many who gaped and
+stared in wonderment, six men staggered, men hideously stained and
+besplashed from head to foot, and foremost came two. And Walkyn was one
+and Ulf the Strong the other.
+
+Now as he came Walkyn stared in strange, wild fashion, and choked often
+in his breathing, and his mailed feet dragged feebly, insomuch that he
+would have fallen but for Ulf's mighty arm. Being come where Beltane
+stood with Sir Benedict and many other wondering knights and nobles,
+Walkyn halted and strove to speak but choked again instead. In one hand
+bare he his great axe, and in the other a torn and stained war-cloak.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in sobbing breaths, "a good day for thee--this--lord
+Duke--a good day for Pentavalon--a joyous day--blessed day for me--
+You'll mind they slew mother and father and sister, lord--brother and
+wife and child? Empty-hearted was I and desolate therefore, but--to-day,
+ha, to-day I die also, methinks. So, an ye will, lord Duke--keep
+thou mine axe in memory--of Walkyn--'tis a goodly axe--hath served me
+well today--behold!"
+
+Now as he spake he loosed a corner of the war-cloak, and from its
+grimed and ghastly folds there rolled forth into the red light of the
+cleanly sun a thing that trundled softly across the pavement and
+stopping, shewed a pallid face crowned with red hair, 'neath which upon
+the brow, betwixt the staring eyes, was a jagged scar like to a cross.
+
+Now while all men stared upon this direful thing, holding their
+breaths, Walkyn laughed loud and high, and breaking from Ulf's clasp,
+staggered to where it lay and pointed thereto with shaking finger.
+
+"Behold!" he cried, "behold the head of Bloody Pertolepe!" Therewith he
+laughed, and strove to kick it with feeble foot--but staggered instead,
+and, loosing his axe, stretched wide his long arms and fell, face
+downward.
+
+"Bloody Pertolepe--is dead!" he cried, and choked; and choking--died.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXX
+
+WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+It was not the piping of throstle or sweet-throated merle that had
+waked my Beltane, who with slumberous eyes stared up at carven canopy,
+round him upon rich arras, and down upon embroidered bed-covering and
+silken pillow, while through the narrow lattice the young sun played
+upon gilded roof-beam and polished floor. So lay Beltane, blinking
+sleepy eyes and hearkening to a soft and melodious whistling from the
+little garden below his casement.
+
+Being thus heavy with sleep, he wondered drowsily what great content
+was this that filled him, and wherefore? Wondering yet, he sighed, and
+because of the sun's radiance, closed slumberous eyes again and would
+have slept; but, of a sudden the whistling ceased, and a rich, sweet
+voice fell to gentle singing.
+
+  "Hark! in the whisper of the wind
+   Love calleth thee away,
+   Each leaf a small, soft voice doth find,
+   Each pretty bird doth cry in kind,
+   O heart, haste north to-day."
+
+Beltane sat up broad awake, for Blaen lay to the north, and in Blaen--
+But Giles was singing on:
+
+  "Youth is quick to speed away,
+   But love abideth ever.
+   Fortune, though she smile to-day,
+   Fickle is and will not stay,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+
+  "The world doth change, as change it must,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+   Proud ambition is but dust,
+   The bow doth break, the sword doth rust,
+   But love abideth ever."
+
+Beltane was leaning half out of the casement, of the which fact who so
+unconscious as Giles, busily furbishing armour and bascinet.
+
+"Giles!" he cried, "O Giles--rouse ye, man!"
+
+"How, lord--art awake so early?" questioned Giles, looking up innocent
+of eye.
+
+"Was it not for this thou didst sing, rogue Giles? Go now, bid Roger
+have three horses saddled, for within the hour we ride hence."
+
+"To Mortain, lord?" questioned Giles eagerly.
+
+"Aye, Giles, to Mortain--north to Blaen; where else should we ride
+to-day?"
+
+So saying, Beltane turned back into his sumptuous chamber and fell to
+donning, not his habiliments of state, but those well-worn garments,
+all frayed by his heavy mail. Swift dressed he and almost stealthily,
+oft pausing to glance into the empty garden below, and oft staying to
+listen to some sound within the massy building. And thus it was he
+started to hear a soft knocking at the door, and turning, beheld Sir
+Benedict.
+
+"Forsooth, art up betimes, my lord Duke," quoth he, bright eyes
+a-twinkle, "and verily I do commend this so great zeal in thee since
+there be many and divers matters do need thy ducal attention--matters
+of state and moment--"
+
+"Matters of state?" saith Beltane, something troubled.
+
+"There be many noble and illustrious lords come in to pay thee homage
+and swear to thee divers fealty oaths--"
+
+"Then must they wait, Benedict."
+
+"Wait, my lord--men so illustrious! Then this day a deputation waiteth
+on thee, merchants and what not--"
+
+"These must wait also, Benedict--" saith Beltane, his trouble growing.
+
+"Moreover there is high festival at the minster with much chanting and
+glorification in thy behalf--and 'tis intended to make for thee a
+triumphal pageant--fair maidens to strow flowers beneath thy horse's
+feet, musicians to pleasure thee with pipe and tabor--and--"
+
+"Enough, enough, Benedict. Prithee why must I needs endure this?"
+
+"Such things do wait upon success, Beltane, and moreover thou'rt Duke!
+Aye, verily thou'rt Duke! The which mindeth me that, being Duke, it
+behoveth thee--"
+
+"And yet, Benedict, I do tell thee that all things must wait awhile,
+methinks, or better--do you attend them for me--"
+
+"Nay--I am no Duke!" quoth Sir Benedict hastily.
+
+"Yet thou art my chiefest counsellor and lord Seneschal of Pentavalon.
+So to thy wise judgment I do entrust all matters soever--"
+
+"But I have no warranty, thou cunning boy, and--"
+
+"Shalt have my bond, my ducal ring, nay, the very crown itself, howbeit
+this day--"
+
+"Wilt ride for Mortain, O lover?" said Sir Benedict, smiling his wry
+smile.
+
+"Aye, verily, dear Benedict, nor shall aught under heaven let or stay
+me--yet how knew ye this, Benedict?"
+
+"For that 'tis so my heart would have prompted had I been so blessed as
+thou art, dear my Beltane. And knowing thou needs must to thy beauteous
+Helen, I have a meal prepared within my chamber, come your ways and let
+us eat together."
+
+So came they to a handsome chamber hard by where was spread a goodly
+repast whereto they did full justice, though talking much the while,
+until one tapped lightly upon the door, and Roger entered bearing
+Beltane's new-burnished mail.
+
+"Nay, good Roger," said Beltane, smiling, "need for that is done
+methinks; we ride light to-day!" But Sir Benedict shook wise head.
+
+"My lord 'tis true our wars be ended I thank God, and we may sheathe
+our swords at last, but the woods be full of Black Ivo's scattered
+soldiery, with outlaws and other masterless men."
+
+"Ha, verily, lords," quoth Roger, "there shall many turn outlaw,
+methinks--"
+
+"Then must we end outlawry!" said Beltane, frowning.
+
+"And how would'st do it, Beltane?"
+
+"Make an end of the game laws, Benedict--throw wide the forests to all
+who will--"
+
+"But master, thus shall every clapper-claw rogue be free to kill for
+his base sport thy goodly deer, or belike a hart of ten, fit for sport
+of kings--"
+
+"Well, let them in this thing be kings. But I do hold a man's life
+dearer than a stag's. So henceforth in Pentavalon the woods are free--I
+pray you let this be proclaimed forthwith, my lord."
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict, as with Roger's aid Beltane did on his armour:
+
+"There is a postern beyond the pleasaunce yonder shall bring you forth
+of the city and no man the wiser."
+
+"Why, then, bring ye the horses thither, Roger, and haste ye!"
+
+Now when Roger was gone, Sir Benedict arose and setting his hands on
+Beltane's shoulders questioned him full serious:
+
+"Mean ye forsooth to make the forests free, Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict."
+
+"This shall cause much discontent among the lords--"
+
+"Well, we wear swords, Benedict! But this I swear, whiles I am Duke,
+never again shall a man hang for killing of my deer. Moreover, 'tis my
+intent forthwith to lower all taxes, more especially in the market
+towns, to extend their charters and grant them new privileges."
+
+"Beltane, I fear thy years shall be full of discord."
+
+"What matter, an my people prosper? But thou art older and much wiser
+than I, Benedict, bethink thee of these things then, I pray, and judge
+how best such changes may be 'stablished, for a week hence, God
+willing, I summon my first council. But now, dear Benedict, I go to
+find my happiness."
+
+"Farewell, my lord--God speed thee, my Beltane! O lad, lad, the heart
+of Benedict goeth with thee, methinks!" and Sir Benedict turned
+suddenly away. Then Beltane took and clasped those strong and able
+hands.
+
+"Benedict," said he, "truer friend man never had than thou, and for
+this I do love thee--and thou art wise and valiant and great-hearted,
+and thou didst love my noble mother with a noble love, and for this do
+I love thee best of all, dear friend."
+
+Then Benedict lifted his head, and like father and son they kissed each
+other, and together went forth into the sweet, cool-breathing morn.
+
+Beyond the postern were Giles and Black Roger with the horses, and
+Giles sang blithe beneath his breath, but Roger sighed oft and deep.
+
+Now being mounted, Beltane reined close beside Sir Benedict and smiled
+full joyous and spake him thus, low-voiced:
+
+"Dear Benedict, to-day one that loveth thee doth ride away, but in a
+week two that love thee shall return. And needs must these two love
+thee ever and always, very greatly, Benedict, since but for thee they
+had not come to their joy." So saying, he touched spur to flank and
+bounded away, with Giles and Roger spurring behind.
+
+Soon were they free of the city and reaching that rolling down where
+the battle had raged so lately, Beltane set his horse to a stretching
+gallop, and away they raced, over upland and lowland until they beheld
+afar to their right the walls and towers of Belsaye. But on they rode
+toward the green of the woods, and ever as they rode Giles sang full
+blithely to himself whiles Roger gloomed and sighed; wherefore at last
+the archer turned to clap him on the shoulder.
+
+"What aileth thee, my Rogerkin?" quoth he.
+
+"Ha," growled Roger, "the world waggeth well with thee, Giles, these
+days, but as for me--poor Roger lacketh. Saint Cuthbert knoweth I have
+striven and likewise plagued him sore upon the matter, and yet my
+belt--my accursed belt yet beareth a notch--behold!"
+
+"Why, 'tis but a single notch, Roger."
+
+"Yet a notch it is, forsooth, and how shall my heart go light and my
+soul clean until I have a belt with notches not one?"
+
+"Belike thou hast forgot some of the lives thou didst save, Roger--mine
+thou didst save four times within the battle, I mind me--"
+
+"Nay, 'twas but twice, Giles."
+
+"Why, then 'twas thrice, Roger--the banner hampered me and--"
+
+"'Twas but twice, alack!" sighed Roger, "Saint Cuthbert knoweth 'twas
+but twice and being a very watchful saint may not be cheated, Giles."
+
+"Why then, Roger, do ye beset him in prayer, so, while thou dost hold
+him in play thus, I will snick away thy solitary notch so sweetly he
+shall never know--"
+
+"Alack, 'twill not avail, Giles. I must needs bear this notch with me
+unto the grave, belike."
+
+"Nay, Roger, I will to artifice and subtle stratagem on thy behalf as--
+mark me! I do know a pool beside the way! Now if I slip within the pool
+and thou should'st pull me from the pool--how then? Ha--'tis well
+bethought, let's do't!"
+
+"Were it any but Saint Cuthbert!" sighed Roger, "but I do thank thee
+for thy kindly thought, Giles."
+
+Now after this went they some way in silence, Beltane riding ahead very
+full of thought, and his companions behind, the one smiling and
+debonair, the other frowning and sad.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Giles at last, "as thou sayest, Roger, the world
+waggeth well with me. Hast heard, belike, our lady Duchess hath been
+pleased to--"
+
+"Aye, I've heard, my lord Bailiff--who hath not?"
+
+"Nay, I did but mention it to two or three," quoth Giles. "Moreover our
+lord doth smile on me these days, though forsooth he hath been familiar
+with me since first I found him within the green--long ere he found
+thee, Rogerkin! I rode a white ass, I mind me, and my lord walked
+beside me very fair and soft-spoken, whereupon I called him--Sir Dove!
+O me--a dove, mark you! Since when, as ye know, we have been comrades,
+he and I, nay, brothers-in-arms, rather! Very close in his counsels!--
+very near to all his thoughts and actions. All of the which cometh of
+possessing a tongue as ready as my wit, Rogerkin!"
+
+Now as he hearkened, Roger's frown grew blacker and his powerful hand
+clenched upon the bridle.
+
+"And yet," quoth Giles, "as I am in my lord's dear friendship, so art
+thou in mine, Roger, man, nor in my vaulting fortunes will I e'er
+forget thee. Belike within Mortain shalt aid me in my new duties, or
+shall I speak my lord on thy behalf?"
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger suddenly, "first tell me this, my lord Steward and
+high Bailiff of Mortain, did the Duke my master chance ever to take thy
+hand, to wet it with his tears and--kiss it?"
+
+"Art mad, Roger! Wherefore should my lord do this?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "wherefore?"
+
+And when Giles had whistled awhile and Roger had scowled awhile, the
+archer spake again:
+
+"Hast never been in love, Roger?"
+
+"Never, Saint Cuthbert be praised!"
+
+"Then canst know nought of the joy and wonder of it. So will I make for
+thee a song of love, as thus: open thine ears and hearken:
+
+  "So fair, so sweet, so pure is she
+   I do thank God;
+   Her love an armour is to me
+   'Gainst sorrow and adversity,
+   So in my song right joyfully
+   I do thank God for love.
+
+  "Her love a cloak is, round me cast,
+   I do thank God;
+   To cherish me 'gainst fortunes blast.
+   Her love, forgetting evils past,
+   Shall lift me up to heaven at last,
+   So I thank God for love."
+
+"Here is a fair song, methinks; dost not wonder at love now, Roger, and
+the glory of it?"
+
+"I wonder," quoth Roger, "how long thou shalt believe all this when
+thou art wed. I wonder how long thou wilt live true to her when she is
+thy wife!"
+
+Now hereupon the archer's comely face grew red, grew pale, his bronzed
+hands flew to his belt and leapt on high, gripping his dagger; but
+Roger had seen, his fingers closed on the descending wrist and they
+grappled, swaying in their saddles.
+
+Grim and silent they slipped to earth and strove together on the ling.
+But Roger had Giles in a cruel wrestling-hold, wrenched him, bent him,
+and bearing him to earth, wrested away the dagger and raised it above
+the archer's naked throat. And Giles, lying powerless beneath, looked
+up into Roger's fierce scowling face and seeing no pity there, his pale
+cheek grew paler and in his eyes came an agony of broken hopes; but his
+gaze quailed not and when he spake, his voice was firm.
+
+"Strike true, comrade!" said he.
+
+The hand above him wavered; the dagger was dashed aside and covering
+his face, Black Roger crouched there, his broad shoulders and powerful
+figure quaking and shivering. Then Giles arose and stepping to his
+dagger, came back with it grasped in his hand.
+
+"Roger!" said he.
+
+Quoth Roger, his face still hidden:
+
+"My throat is bare also, archer!"
+
+"Roger--comrade, give to me thy belt!"
+
+Now at this Roger looked up, wondering.
+
+"My belt?" quoth he, "what would ye, Giles?"
+
+"Cut away thy last notch, Roger--thy belt shall go smooth-edged
+henceforth and thy soul clean, methinks."
+
+"But I meant to slay thee, Giles."
+
+"But spared me, Roger, spared me to life and--love, my Rogerkin. O
+friend, give me thy belt!"
+
+So Roger gave him the belt, wherefrom Giles forthwith cut the last
+notch, which done, they together, like mischievous lads, turned to look
+where their lord rode far ahead; and beholding him all unconscious and
+lost in thought, they sighed their relief and mounting, went on
+together.
+
+Now did Roger oft glance at Giles who kept his face averted and held
+his peace, whereat Roger grew uneasy, fidgeted in his saddle, fumbled
+with the reins, and at last spake:
+
+"Giles!"
+
+"Aye, Roger!"
+
+"Forgive me!"
+
+But Giles neither turned nor spake, wherefore contrite Roger must needs
+set an arm about him and turn him about, and behold, the archer's eyes
+were brimming with great tears!
+
+"O Giles!" gasped Roger, "O Giles!"
+
+"Roger, I--I do love her, man--I do love her, heart and soul! Is this
+so hard to believe, Roger, or dost think me rogue so base that true
+love is beyond me? 'Tis true I am unworthy, and yet--I do verily love
+her, Roger!"
+
+"Wilt forgive me--can'st forgive me, Giles?"
+
+"Aye, Roger, for truly we have saved each other's lives so oft we must
+needs be friends, thou and I. Only thy words did--did hurt me, friend--
+for indeed this love of mine hath in it much of heaven, Roger. And--
+there be times when I do dream of mayhap--teaching--a little Giles--to
+loose a straight shaft--some day. O sweet Jesu, make me worthy, amen!"
+
+And now Beltane glancing up and finding the sun high, summoned Giles
+and Roger beside him.
+
+"Friends," said he, "we have journeyed farther than methought. Now let
+us turn into the boskage yonder and eat."
+
+So in a while, the horses tethered, behold them within a leafy bower
+eating and drinking and laughing like the blithe foresters they were,
+until, their hunger assuaged, they made ready to mount. But of a sudden
+the bushes parted near by and a man stepped forth; a small man he,
+plump and buxom, whose quick, bright eyes twinkled 'neath his wide-eaved
+hat as he saluted Beltane with obeisance very humble and lowly. Quoth he:
+
+"Right noble and most resplendent lord Duke Beltane, I do most humbly
+greet thee, I--Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, past Pardoner of the Holy See--who
+but a poor plain soul am, do offer thee my very insignificant, yet most
+sincere, felicitous good wishes."
+
+"My thanks are thine. Pardoner. What more would you?"
+
+"Breath, lord methinks," said Giles, "wind, my lord, after periods so
+profound and sonorous!"
+
+"Lord Duke, right puissant and most potential, I would but tell thee
+this, to wit, that I did keep faith with thee, that I, by means of this
+unworthy hand, did set thee beyond care, lift thee above sorrow, and
+gave to thee the heaven of thy most warm and earnest desires."
+
+"How mean you, Pardoner?"
+
+"Lord Duke, when thou didst bestow life on two poor rogues upon a time,
+when one rogue stole away minded to betray thee to thine enemy, the
+second rogue did steal upon the first rogue, and this second rogue bare
+a small knife whereof the first rogue suddenly died. And thus Duke Ivo,
+thine enemy, came not before Belsaye until thou and thy company were
+safe within its walls. So by reason of this poor second rogue,
+Pentavalon doth rejoice in freedom. To-day is singing on every village
+green--happiness is in the very air, for 'tis Pentavalon's Beltane, and
+Beltane is a sweet season; so doth this poor second rogue find him
+recompense. Verily art well named, lord Beltane, since in thee
+Pentavalon's winter is passed away and spring is come--O happy season
+of Beltane, O season of new beginnings and new hopes! So, my lord
+Beltane, may it ever be Beltane with thee, may it be sweet spring ever
+within thy noble heart. God keep thee and farewell."
+
+So saying the Pardoner turned about, and plunging into the dense green,
+was gone.
+
+"A pestilent wordy fellow, lord," quoth Giles, "one of your windy
+talkers that talketh that no other talker may talk--now give me a good
+listener, say I."
+
+"And yet," said Beltane, swinging to saddle, "spake he truly I wonder?
+Had Ivo been a little sooner we had not been here, methinks!"
+
+On they rode, through sun and shadow, knee and knee, beneath leafy
+arches and along green glades, talking and laughing together or plunged
+in happy thought.
+
+Quoth Beltane of a sudden:
+
+"Roger, hast heard how Giles waxeth in fortune these days?"
+
+"And methinks no man is more worthy, master. Giles is for sure a man of
+parts."
+
+"Aye--more especially of tongue, Roger."
+
+"As when he did curse the folk of Belsaye out o' their fears, master.
+Moreover he is a notable archer and--"
+
+"Art not envious, then, Roger?"
+
+"Not I, master!"
+
+"What would'st that I give unto thee?"
+
+"Thy love, master."
+
+"'Tis thine already, my faithful Roger."
+
+"And therewithal am I content, master."
+
+"Seek ye nought beside?"
+
+"Lord, what is there? Moreover I am not learned like Giles, nor ready
+of tongue, nor--"
+
+"Art wondrous skilled in wood-lore, my Rogerkin!" quoth Giles.
+"Forsooth, lord, there is no man knoweth more of forestry than my good
+comrade Roger!"
+
+"So will I make of him my chiefest huntsman, Giles--"
+
+"Master--O master!" gasped Roger.
+
+"And set thee over all my foresters of Pentavalon, Roger."
+
+"Why master, I--forsooth I do love the greenwood--but lord, I am only
+Roger, and--and how may I thank thee--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane, and spurred to a gallop.
+
+Thus rode they through the leafy by-ways, avoiding town and village;
+yet oft from afar they heard the joyous throb of bells upon the air, or
+the sound of merry voices and happy laughter from village commons where
+folk rejoiced together that Ivo's iron yoke was lifted from them at
+last. But Beltane kept ever to the woods and by-ways, lest, being
+recognised, he should be stayed longer from her of whom he dreamed,
+bethinking him ever of the deep, shy passion of her eyes, the soft
+tones of her voice, the clinging warmth of her caress, and all the
+sweet, warm beauty of her. Betimes they crossed the marches into
+Mortain, but it was late evening ere they saw at last the sleepy manor
+of Blaen, its white walls and steepy roofs dominated by its one square
+watch-tower, above which a standard, stirring lazily in the gentle
+air, discovered the red lion of Pentavalon.
+
+And now Beltane's breath grew short and thick, his strong hand trembled
+on the bridle, and he grew alternate hot and cold. So rode they into
+the echoing courtyard whither hasted old Godric to welcome them, and
+divers servants to take their horses. Being ushered forthwith into the
+garden, now who so silent and awkward as my Beltane, what time his lady
+Duchess made known to him her gentle ladies, among whom sweet Genevra,
+flushed of cheek, gazed breathless upon Giles even as Giles gazed upon
+her--who so mumchance as Beltane, I say, who saw and heard and was
+conscious only of one among them all. And who so stately, so
+calm-voiced and dignified as this one until--aye, until they stood alone
+together, and then--
+
+To see her sway to his fierce arms, all clinging, yearning womanhood,
+her state and dignity forgotten quite! To hear her voice soft and low
+and all a-thrill with love, broken with sighs and sinking to
+passionate-whispered questioning:
+
+"And thou art come back to me at last. Beltane! Hast brought to me my
+heart unharmed from the battle, beloved! And thou didst take no hurt--
+no hurt, my Beltane? And art glad to see--thy--wife, Beltane? And dost
+love me--as much as ever, Beltane? O wilt never, never leave me
+desolate again, my lord--art thou mine--mine henceforth as I am thine,
+Beltane? And wilt desire me ever near thee, my lord?"
+
+"Helen," said he, "O my 'Helen the Beautiful'--our wars be ended, our
+time of waiting is done, I thank God! So am I here to claim thee,
+beloved. Art glad to be in mine arms--glad I am come to--make thee mine
+own at last, Helen?"
+
+"I had died without thee, Beltane--I would not live without thee now,
+my Beltane. See, my lord, I--O how may I speak if thus you seal my
+lips, Beltane? And prithee how may I show thee this gown I wear for
+thee if thou wilt hold me so--so very close, Beltane?"
+
+And in a while as the moon rose she brought him into that bower he well
+remembered and bade him admire the beauty of her many flowers, and he,
+viewing her loveliness alway, praised the flowers exceeding much yet
+beheld them not at all, wherefore she chid him, and yet chiding,
+yielded him her scarlet mouth. Thus walked they in the fragrant garden
+until Genevra found them and sweet-voiced bid them in to sup. But the
+Duchess took Genevra's slender hands and looked within her shy, sweet
+eyes.
+
+"Art happy, sweet maid?" she questioned.
+
+"O dear my lady, methinks in all this big world is none more happy than
+thy grateful Genevra."
+
+"Then haste thee back to thy happiness, dear Genevra, to-morrow we will
+see thee wed."
+
+And presently came they within a small chamber and here Beltane did off
+his armour, and here they supped together, though now the lady Helen
+spake little and ate less, and oft her swift-flushing cheek rebuked the
+worshipping passion of his eyes; insomuch that presently she arose and
+going into the great chamber beyond, came back, and kneeling at his
+feet, showed him a file.
+
+"Beltane," said she, "thou didst, upon a time, tell poor Fidelis
+wherefore thy shameful fetters yet bound thy wrists--so now will thy
+wife loose them from thee."
+
+Then, while Beltane, speaking not, watched her downbent head and busy
+hands, she filed off his fetters one by one, and kissing them, set them
+aside.
+
+But when she would have risen he prevented her, and with reverent
+fingers touched the coiled and braided glory of her hair.
+
+"O Helen," he whispered, "loose me down thy hair."
+
+"Nay, dear Beltane--"
+
+"My hands are so big and clumsy--"
+
+"Thy hands are my hands!" and she caught and kissed them.
+
+"Let down for me thy hair, beloved, I pray thee!"
+
+"Forsooth my lord and so I will--but--not yet."
+
+"But the--the hour groweth late, Helen!"
+
+"Nay--indeed--'tis early yet, my lord--nay, as thou wilt, my Beltane,
+only suffer that I--I leave thee a while, I pray."
+
+"Must I bide here alone, sweet wife?"
+
+"But indeed I will--call thee anon, my lord."
+
+"Nay, first--look at me, my Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly she lifted her head and looked on him all sweet and
+languorous-eyed.
+
+"Aye, truly--truly thine eyes are not--a nun's eyes, Helen. So will I
+wait thy bidding." So he loosed her and she, looking on him no more,
+turned and hasted into the further chamber.
+
+And after some while she called to him very soft and sweet, and he,
+trembling, arose and entered the chamber, dim-lighted and fragrant.
+
+But now, beholding wherefore she had left him, his breath caught and he
+stood as one entranced, nor moved, nor spake he a while.
+
+"O Helen!" he murmured at last, "thou art glorious so--and with thy
+long hair--"
+
+But now, even as he came to her, the Duchess Helen put out the little
+silver lamp. But in the moonlit dusk she gave her lips to his, and her
+tender arms were close about him.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'neath his kiss, "dear my lord and husband,
+here is an end at last of sorrow and heart-break, I pray."
+
+"Here--my Helen, beginneth--the fulness of life, methinks!"
+
+Now presently upon the stillness, from the court below, stole the notes
+of a lute and therewith a rich voice upraised in singing:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss?
+   Tell me this, now tell me this.
+   'Tis when the day is scarce begun,
+   'Tis from the setting of the sun.
+   Is time for kissing ever done,
+   Tell me this, now tell me this."
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beltane The Smith, by Jeffery Farnol
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10064 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beltane The Smith, by Jeffery Farnol
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Beltane The Smith
+
+Author: Jeffery Farnol
+
+Release Date: November 12, 2003 [EBook #10064]
+[Date last updated: March 18, 2004]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELTANE THE SMITH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+BY
+
+
+JEFFERY FARNOL
+
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," ETC.
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+FREDERICK HUGHSON HAWLEY
+
+TO WHOM BELTANE IS NO STRANGER I DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE
+
+Jeffery Farnol
+
+London, August, 1915.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     II HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+    III HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     IV OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+      V WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+     VI HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+    VII HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS
+      A NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+   VIII HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+     IX WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE
+      WISDOM OF A FOOL
+
+      X HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+     XI WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND
+      HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+    XII WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+   XIII HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+    XIV HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+     XV HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY
+      LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST
+
+    XVI OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+   XVII OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+  XVIII HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+    XIX CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+     XX HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+    XXI OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+   XXII CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+  XXIII OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+   XXIV OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+    XXV HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+   XXVI OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED
+      INTO BELTANE
+
+  XXVII HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+ XXVIII OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+   XXIX HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+    XXX HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+   XXXI HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+  XXXII HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+ XXXIII HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+  XXXIV HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+   XXXV HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+  XXXVI HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+ XXXVII HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+ XXXVIII OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE
+     WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+   XXXIX HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+      XL FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+     XLI HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+    XLII HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+   XLIII HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+    XLIV HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+     XLV HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+    XLVI HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE
+      ANSWERED
+
+   XLVII HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+  XLVIII HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+    XLIX HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+       L TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+      LI HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+     LII HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+    LIII OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+     LIV HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+      LV HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+     LVI WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+    LVII TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+   LVIII HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+     LIX TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+      LX TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+     LXI HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+    LXII HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+   LXIII TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+    LXIV HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUR OF HER FEAR
+
+     LXV TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+    LXVI CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+   LXVII TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+  LXVIII FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+    LXIX HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+     LXX WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous
+
+Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand
+
+She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
+miller
+
+Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate
+
+
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
+chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
+Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.
+
+Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
+of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
+murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
+the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.
+
+A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
+stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
+of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
+its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
+could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
+likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
+having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
+Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
+ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
+not.
+
+Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
+live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
+thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
+implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
+had need of.
+
+Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
+they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
+and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
+Beltane had said:
+
+"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
+ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
+sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
+called 'Desire of the World.'"
+
+But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:
+
+"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
+awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and
+passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is
+an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin
+into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and
+honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very
+manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought
+but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many
+died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night,
+lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and
+murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and
+broken dreams and ideals.
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the
+whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the
+brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life;
+the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women
+and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all
+these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and
+sighing, fell asleep.
+
+Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye
+quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand
+voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous
+tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and
+man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented
+casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their
+strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks;
+or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist,
+poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours,
+illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced
+that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he
+suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree,
+near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with
+a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal,
+he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his
+grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush
+again:
+
+"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"
+
+"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you
+a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"
+
+Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I
+now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."
+
+"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his
+grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight
+with thee."
+
+"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long
+cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil,
+in the sunset.
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee,
+good fellow."
+
+"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for
+that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?
+Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst?
+Out upon thee, messire smith!"
+
+"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight
+with thee, where would be the reason?"
+
+"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for
+such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."
+
+"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly
+touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."
+
+"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right
+fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my
+duty--"
+
+"How thy duty?"
+
+"I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me
+this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black
+usurper's heel, all the sins of hell are loose, murder and riot, lust
+and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and
+you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's
+amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush
+stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried
+thy mettle."
+
+Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:
+
+"You speak me riddles, sir."
+
+"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now
+mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous ass, a slave, a
+nincompoop, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit
+at thee!"
+
+Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his
+brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned
+him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning
+wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this
+strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and
+twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.
+
+"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good
+beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A
+mighty arm, a noble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the
+breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted
+and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang
+nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the
+blade and gave its massy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:
+
+"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you
+shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore
+it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck
+deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might
+oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and
+mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and
+undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er
+behold its equal!"
+
+So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance
+of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple
+cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this
+word:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now
+what it doth signify."
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"'I shall arise!'"
+
+"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look
+you, and the motto of a great and noble house, and, by the Rood, I
+think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and
+taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and
+wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny
+me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."
+
+Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and
+the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and
+thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and
+so they engaged.
+
+And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought
+together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the
+stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile,
+mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
+his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
+stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
+loud, taunting him on this wise:
+
+"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
+belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
+brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
+boy!"
+
+Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
+grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
+stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
+with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
+strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
+very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
+as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
+the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
+once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
+redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
+he but laughed again, saying:
+
+"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
+leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
+upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
+head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
+sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
+so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.
+
+But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
+all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
+bent earthwards and spake no word.
+
+Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
+with kindly, approving eyes.
+
+"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
+that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
+cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
+o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
+in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
+With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
+thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
+and spake:
+
+"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
+little better this time, an so God wills."
+
+"Aye, so thou shalt, sweet youth," cried the stranger, clapping him
+upon the shoulder, "yet not now, for I must begone, yet shall I
+return."
+
+"Then I pray you leave with me the sword till you be come again."
+
+"The sword--ha! doth thy soul cleave unto it so soon, my good, sweet
+boy? Leave the sword, quotha? Aye, truly--some day. But for the nonce--
+no, no, thy hand is not fitted to bear it yet, nor worthy such a blade,
+but some day, belike--who knows? Fare thee well, sweet youth, I come
+again to-morrow."
+
+And so the tall, grim stranger turned him about, smiling his wry smile,
+and strode away through the green. Then Beltane went back, minded to
+finish his painting, but the colours had lost their charm for him,
+moreover, the light was failing. Wherefore he put brushes and colours
+aside, and, stripping, plunged into the cool, sweet waters of a certain
+quiet pool, and so, much heartened and refreshed thereby, went betimes
+to bed. But now he thought no more of women and the ways of women, but
+rather of this stranger man, of his wry smile and of his wondrous
+sword-play; and bethinking him of the great sword, he yearned after
+it, as only youth may yearn, and so, sighing, fell asleep. And in his
+dreams all night was the rushing thunder of many fierce feet and the
+roaring din of bitter fight and conflict.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Up to an elbow sprang Beltane to find the sun new risen, filling his
+humble chamber with its golden glory, and, in this radiance, upon the
+open threshold, the tall, grim figure of the stranger.
+
+"Messire," quoth Beltane, rubbing sleepy eyes, "you wake betimes,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Aye, sluggard boy; there is work to do betwixt us." "How so, sir?"
+
+"My time in the greenwood groweth short; within the week I must away,
+for there are wars and rumours of wars upon the borders."
+
+Quoth Beltane, wondering:
+
+"War and conflict have been within my dreams all night!"
+
+"Dreams, boy! I tell thee the time groweth ripe for action--and, mark
+me this! wherein, perchance, thou too shalt share, yet much have I to
+teach thee first, so rise, slug-a-bed, rise!"
+
+Now when Beltane was risen and clad he folded his arms across his broad
+chest and stared upon the stranger with grave, deep-searching eyes.
+
+"Who art thou?" he questioned, "and what would you here again?"
+
+"As to thy first question, sir smith, 'tis no matter for that, but as
+for thy second, to-day am I come to teach thee the use and manage of
+horse and lance, it being so my duty."
+
+"And wherefore thy duty?"
+
+"For that I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who yet liveth, being dead."
+
+Now Beltane frowned at this, and shook his head, saying:
+
+"More riddles, messire? Yet now will I speak thee plain, as thus: I am
+a smith, and have no lust to strife or knightly deeds, nor will I e'er
+attempt them, for strife begetteth bitter strife and war is an evil
+thing. 'They that trust to the sword shall perish by the sword,' 'tis
+so written, and is, meseemeth, a faithful saying. This sorry world hath
+known over much of war and hate, of strife and bloodshed, so shall
+these my hands go innocent of more."
+
+Then indeed did the stranger stare with jaws agape for wonder at my
+Beltane's saying, and, so staring, turned him to the door and back
+again, and fain would speak, yet could not for a while. Then:
+
+"Besotted boy!" he cried. "O craven youth! O babe! O suckling! Was it
+for this thou wert begot? Hast thou no bowels, no blood, no manhood?
+Forsooth, and must I spit on thee indeed?"
+
+"And so it be thy will, messire," said Beltane, steady-eyed.
+
+But as they stood thus, Beltane with arms yet crossed, his lips
+up-curving at the other's fierce amaze, the stranger grim-faced and
+frowning, came a shadow athwart the level glory of the sun, and,
+turning, Beltane beheld the hermit Ambrose, tall and spare beneath his
+tattered gown, bareheaded and bare of foot, whose eyes were bright and
+quick, despite the snow of hair and beard, and in whose gentle face and
+humble mien was yet a high and noble look at odds with his lowly guise
+and tattered vesture; at sight of whom the grim-faced stranger, of a
+sudden, bowed his grizzled head and sank upon his knee.
+
+"Lord!" he said, and kissed the hermit's long, coarse robe. Whereon the
+hermit bent and touched him with a gentle hand.
+
+"_Benedicite_, my son!" said he. "Go you, and leave us together a
+while."
+
+Forthwith the stranger rose from his knee and went out into the glory
+of the morning. Then the hermit came to Beltane and set his two hands
+upon his mighty shoulders and spake to him very gently, on this wise:
+
+"Thou knowest, my Beltane, how all thy days I have taught thee to love
+all fair, and sweet, and noble things, for they are of God. 'Twere a
+fair thought, now, to live out thy life here, within these calm, leafy
+solitudes--but better death by the sword for some high, unselfish
+purpose, than to live out a life of ease, safe and cloistered all thy
+days. To live for thine own ends--'tis human; to die for some great
+cause, for liberty, or for another's good--that, my son, were God-like.
+And there was a Man of Sorrows Whose word was this, that He came
+'not to bring peace on this earth, but a sword.' For good cannot
+outface evil but strife must needs follow. Behold now here another
+sword, my Beltane; keep it henceforth so long as thou keep honour." So
+saying, Ambrose the Hermit took from beneath his habit that for which
+Beltane had yearned, that same great blade whereon whose steel was
+graven the legend:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+So Ambrose put the sword in Beltane's hand, saying:
+
+"Be terrible, my son, that evil may flee before thee, learn to be
+strong that thou may'st be merciful." Then the hermit stretched forth
+his hands and blessed my Beltane, and turned about, and so was gone.
+
+But Beltane stood awhile to swing the great blade lightly to and fro
+and to stare upon it with shining eyes. Then, having hid it within his
+bed, he went forth into the glade. And here he presently beheld a great
+grey horse tethered to a tree hard by, a mettled steed that tossed its
+noble head and snuffed the fragrant air of morning, pawing at the earth
+with impatient hoof. Now, as he stood gazing, came the stranger and
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Messire," said he, "try an thou canst back the steed yonder."
+
+Beltane smiled, for he had loved horses all his days, and loosing the
+horse, led it out into the open and would have mounted, but the
+spirited beast, knowing him not, reared and plunged and strove to break
+the grip upon the bridle, but the grip was strong and compelling; then
+Beltane soothed him with gentle voice and hand, and, of a sudden,
+vaulted lightly into the saddle, and being there, felt the great beast
+rear under him, and, laughing joyously, struck him with open palm and
+set off at a thunderous gallop. Away, away they sped up the sunny
+glade, past oak and beech and elm, through light and shadow, until
+before them showed a tree of vast girth and mighty spread of branches.
+Now would Beltane have reined aside, but the great horse, ears flat and
+eyes rolling, held blindly on. Then Beltane frowned and leaning
+forward, seized the bridle close beside the bit, and gripping it so,
+put forth his strength. Slowly, slowly the great, fierce head was drawn
+low and lower, the foam-flecked jaws gaped wide, but Beltane's grip
+grew ever the fiercer until, snorting, panting, wild-eyed, the great
+grey horse faltered in his stride, checked his pace, slipped, stumbled,
+and so stood quivering in the shade of the tree. Thereafter Beltane
+turned him and, galloping back, drew rein where the stranger sat,
+cross-legged, watching him with his wry smile.
+
+"Aye," he nodded, "we shall make of thee a horseman yet. But as to
+lance now, and armour--"
+
+Quoth Beltane, smiling:
+
+"Good sir, I am a smith, and in my time have mended many a suit of
+mail, aye, and made them too, though 'twas but to try my hand. As for a
+lance, I have oft tilted at the ring astride a forest pony, and
+betimes, have run a course with wandering men-at-arms."
+
+"Say you so, boy?" said the stranger, and rising, took from behind a
+tree a long and heavy lance and thrust it into Beltane's grip; then,
+drawing his sword, he set it upright in the sward, and upon the hilt he
+put his cap, saying:
+
+"Ride back up the glade, and try an thou canst pick up my cap on thy
+point, at a gallop." So Beltane rode up the glade and wheeling at a
+distance, came galloping down with levelled lance, and thundered by
+with the cap fluttering from his lance point.
+
+"Art less of a dullard than I thought thee," said the stranger, taking
+back his cap, "though, mark me boy, 'tis another matter to ride against
+a man fully armed and equipped, lance to lance and shield to shield,
+than to charge a harmless, ancient leathern cap. Still, art less of a
+dullard than I thought thee. But there is the sword, now--with the
+sword thou art indeed but a sorry fool! Go fetch the sword and I will
+e'en belabor thee again."
+
+So Beltane, lighting down from the horse that reared and plunged no
+more, went and fetched the great sword; and when they had laid their
+jerkins by (for the sun was hot) they faced each other, foot to foot
+and eye to eye. Then once again the long blades whirled and flew and
+rang together, and once again the stranger laughed and gibed and struck
+my Beltane how and where he would, nor gave him stay or respite till
+Beltane's mighty arm grew aweary and his shoulder ached and burned;
+then, when he recked not of it, the stranger, with the same cunning
+stroke, beat the sword from Beltane's hand, and laughed aloud and
+wagged his head, saying:
+
+"Art faint, boy, and scant o' breath already? Methinks we ne'er shall
+make of thee a lusty sworder!" But beholding Beltane's flushing cheek
+and drooping eye, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Go to!" cried he, "art young and all unlearned as yet--heed not my
+gibes and quirks, 'tis ever so my custom when steel is ringing, and
+mark me, I do think it a good custom, as apt to put a man off his ward
+and flurry him in his stroke. Never despair, youth, for I tell thee,
+north and south, and east and west my name is known, nor shall you find
+in any duchy, kingdom or county, a sworder such as I. For, mark me now!
+your knight and man-at-arms, trusting to his armour, doth use his sword
+but to thrust and smite. But--and mark me again, boy! a man cannot go
+ever in his armour, nor yet be sure when foes are nigh, and, at all
+times, 'tis well to make thy weapon both sword and shield; 'tis a
+goodly art, indeed I think a pretty one. Come now, take up thy sword
+and I will teach thee all my strokes and show thee how 'tis done."
+
+Thus then, this stranger dwelt the week with Beltane in the greenwood,
+teaching him, day by day, tricks of sword and much martial lore beside.
+And, day by day, a friendship waxed and grew betwixt them so that upon
+the seventh morning, as they broke their fast together, Beltane's heart
+was heavy and his look downcast; whereat the stranger spake him thus:
+
+"Whence thy dole, good youth?"
+
+"For that to-day needs must I part with thee."
+
+"And thy friends are few, belike?"
+
+"None, messire," answered Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Aye me! And yet 'tis well enough, for--mark me, youth!--friends be
+ofttimes a mixed blessing. As for me, 'tis true I am thy friend and so
+shall ever be, so long as you shall bear yon goodly blade."
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Moreover thou art my scholar, and like, perchance, to prove thyself,
+some day, a notable sworder and a sweet and doughty fighter, belike."
+
+"Yet hast never spoken me thy name, messire."
+
+"Why, hast questioned me but once, and then thou wert something of a
+blockhead dreamer, methought. But now, messire Beltane, since thou
+would'st know--Benedict of Bourne am I called."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane rose and stood upon his feet, staring wide-eyed at
+this grim-faced stranger who, with milk-bowl at lip, paused to smile
+his wry smile. "Aha!" said he, "hast heard such a name ere now, even
+here in the greenwood?"
+
+"Sir," answered Beltane, "betimes I have talked with soldiers and
+men-at-arms, so do I know thee for that same great knight who, of all the
+nobles of Pentavalon, doth yet withstand the great Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Call you that black usurper 'great,' youth? Body o' me! I knew a
+greater, once, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "there was him men called 'Beltane the Strong.'"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Benedict, setting down his milk-bowl, "what know you
+of Duke Beltane?"
+
+"Nought but that he was a great and lusty fighter who yet loved peace
+and mercy, but truth and justice most of all."
+
+"And to-day," sighed Sir Benedict, "to-day we have Black Ivo! Aye me!
+these be sorry days for Pentavalon. 'Tis said he woos the young Duchess
+yonder. Hast ever seen Helen of Mortain, sir smith?"
+
+"Nay, but I've heard tell that she is wondrous fair."
+
+"Hum!" quoth Sir Benedict, "I love not your red-haired spit-fires.
+Methinks, an Ivo win her, she'll lead him how she will, or be broke in
+the adventure--a malison upon him, be it how it may!"
+
+So, having presently made an end of eating, Sir Benedict arose and
+forthwith donned quilted gambeson, and thereafter his hauberk of bright
+mail and plain surcoat, and buckling his sword about him, strode into
+the glade where stood the great grey horse. Now, being mounted, Sir
+Benedict stayed awhile to look down at Beltane, whiles Beltane looked
+up at him.
+
+"Messire Beltane," said he, pointing to his scarred cheek, "you look
+upon my scar, I think?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, flushing hot:
+
+"Nay, sir; in truth, not I."
+
+"Why look now, sweet youth, 'tis a scar that likes me well, though
+'twas in no battle I took it, yet none the less, I would not be without
+it. By this I may be known among a thousand. 'Benedict o' the Mark,'
+some call me, and 'tis, methinks, as fair a name as any. But look now,
+and mark me this well, Beltane,--should any come to thee within the
+green, by day or night, and say to thee, 'Benedict o' the Mark bids
+thee arise and follow,'--then follow, messire, and so, peradventure,
+thou shalt arise indeed. Dost mark me well, youth?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Benedict."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed Sir Benedict, "thou'rt a fair sized babe to bear
+within a cloak, and thou hast been baptized in blood ere now--and there
+be more riddles for thee, boy, and so, until we meet, fare thee well,
+messire Beltane!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict of Bourne smiled his twisted smile and,
+wheeling his horse, rode away down the glade, his mail glistening in
+the early light and his lance point winking and twinkling amid the
+green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+
+Now it fell out upon a day, that as Beltane strode the forest ways,
+there met him a fine cavalcade, gay with the stir of broidered
+petticoat and ermined mantle; and, pausing beneath a tree, he stood to
+hearken to the soft, sweet voices of the ladies and to gaze enraptured
+upon their varied beauty. Foremost of all rode a man richly habited, a
+man of great strength and breadth of shoulder, and of a bearing high
+and arrogant. His face, framed in long black hair that curled to meet
+his shoulder, was of a dark and swarthy hue, fierce looking and
+masterful by reason of prominent chin and high-arched nose, and of his
+thin-lipped, relentless mouth. Black were his eyes and bold; now
+staring bright and wide, now glittering 'twixt heavy, narrowed lids;
+yet when he smiled they glittered brightest, and his lips showed
+moistly red. Beside him rode a lady of a wondrous dark beauty, sleepy
+eyed and languid; yet her glance was quick to meet the Duke's bold
+look, and, 'neath her mantle, her fingers met, once in a while, and
+clung with his, what time his red lips would smile; but, for the most
+part, his brow was gloomy and he fingered his chin as one in thought.
+
+As he paced along upon his richly caparisoned steed, pinching at his
+long, blue-shaven chin with supple fingers, his heavy brows drawn low,
+of a sudden his narrowed lids widened and his eyes gleamed bright and
+black as they beheld my Beltane standing in the shade of the tree.
+
+"Aha!" said he, drawing rein, "what insolent, long-legged rogue art
+thou, to stand gaping at thy betters?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"No rogue, messire, but an honest man, I pray God, whom folk call
+Beltane the Smith."
+
+The staring eyes grew suddenly narrow, the scarlet mouth curled in a
+slow smile, and the tall man spake, yet with his gaze bent ever upon
+Beltane:
+
+"Fair lords," he said, "and you, most sweet and gentle ladies, our
+sport hath been but poor, hitherto--methinks I can show you a better,
+'tis a game we play full oft in my country. Would that our gracious
+lady of Mortain were here, nor had balked us of her wilful company. Ho!
+Gefroi!" he called, "come you and break me the back of this 'honest'
+rogue." And straightway came one from the rear, where rode the servants
+and men-at-arms, a great, bronzed fellow, bearded to the eyes of him,
+loosing his sword-belt as he came; who, having tossed aside cap and
+pourpoint, strode toward Beltane, his eyes quick and bright, his teeth
+agleam through the hair of his beard.
+
+"Come, thou forest rogue," said he, "my lord Duke loveth not to wait
+for man or maid, so--have at thee!"
+
+Great he looked and tall as Beltane's self, a hairy man of mighty girth
+with muscles that swelled on arm and breast and rippled upon his back.
+Thus, as he stood and laughed, grimly confident and determined, not a
+few were they who sighed for Beltane for his youth's sake, and because
+of his golden curls and gentle eyes, for this Gefroi was accounted a
+very strong man, and a matchless wrestler withal.
+
+"'Tis a fair match, how think you, Sir Jocelyn?" said the Duke, and
+turned him to one who rode at his elbow; a youthful, slender figure
+with long curled hair and sleepy eyes, "a fair match, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"In very sooth, sweet my lord, gramercy and by your gracious leave--not
+so," sighed Sir Jocelyn. "This Gefroi o' thine is a rare breaker of
+necks and hath o'er-thrown all the wrestlers in the three duchies; a
+man is he, set in his strength and experienced, but this forester, tall
+though he be, is but a beardless youth."
+
+The Duke smiled his slow smile, his curving nostrils quivered and were
+still, and he glanced toward Sir Jocelyn through veiling lids. Quoth
+he:
+
+"Art, rather, for a game of ball, messire, or a song upon a lute?" So
+saying he turned and signed to Gefroi with his finger; as for Sir
+Jocelyn, he only curled a lock of his long hair, and hummed beneath his
+breath.
+
+Now Beltane, misliking the matter, would fain have gone upon his way,
+but wheresoever he turned, there Gefroi was also, barring his path,
+wherefore Beltane's eye kindled and he raised his staff threateningly.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "stand from my way, lest I mischief thee."
+
+But Gefroi only laughed and looked to his lord, who, beckoning an
+archer, bid him lay an arrow to his string.
+
+"Shoot me the cowardly rogue so soon as he turn his back," said he,
+whereat Gefroi laughed again, wagging his head.
+
+"Come, forest knave," quoth he, "I know a trick to snap thy neck so
+sweetly shalt never know, I warrant thee. Come, 'twill take but a
+moment, and my lord begins to lack of patience."
+
+So Beltane laid by his staff, and tightening his girdle, faced the
+hairy Gefroi; and there befell that, the which, though you shall find
+no mention of it in any chronicle, came much to be talked of
+thereafter; so that a ballade was writ of it the which beginneth thus:
+
+  'Beltane wrestled in the green
+   With a mighty man,
+   A goodlier bout was never seen
+   Since the world began,'
+
+While Beltane was tightening his girdle, swift and sudden Gefroi
+closed, pinning his arms in a cunning hold, and thrice he swung my
+Beltane from his feet so that many clapped their hands the while the
+squires and men-at-arms shouted lustily. Only Sir Jocelyn curled the
+lock of hair upon his finger and was silent.
+
+To him quoth my lord Duke, smiling:
+
+"Messire, an you be in a mind to wager now, I will lay you this my roan
+stallion 'gainst that suit of triple mail you won at Dunismere joust,
+that Gefroi breaks thy forester's back within two falls--how say you?"
+
+"Sweet my lord, it liketh me beyond telling, thy roan is a peerless
+beast!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, and so fell once more to humming his song
+beneath his breath.
+
+Now Beltane had wrestled oft with strangers in the greenwood and had
+learned many cunning and desperate holds; moreover, he had learned to
+bide his time; thus, though Gefroi's iron muscles yet pinned his arms,
+he waited, calm-eyed but with every nerve a-quiver, for that moment
+when Gefroi's vicious grip should slacken.
+
+To and fro the wrestlers swayed, knee to knee and breast to breast,
+fierce and silent and grim. As hath been said, this Gefroi was a very
+cunning fellow, and once and twice, he put forth all his strength
+seeking to use a certain cruel trick whereby many a goodly man had died
+ere now; but once, and twice, the hold was foiled, yet feebly and as
+though by chance, and Gefroi wondered; a third time he essayed it
+therefore, but, in that moment, sudden and fierce and strong, Beltane
+twisted in his loosened grasp, found at last the deadly hold he sought,
+and Gefroi wondered no more, for about him was a painful grip that grew
+ever tighter and more relentless. Now Gefroi's breath grew short and
+laboured, the muscles stood out on his writhing body in knotted cords,
+but ever that cruel grip grew more deadly, crushing his spirit and
+robbing him of his wonted strength. And those about them watched that
+mighty struggle, hushed for wonder of it; even Sir Jocelyn had forgot
+his lock of hair, and hummed no more.
+
+For, desperately though he fought and struggled, they saw Gefroi's
+great body was bending slowly backward; his eyes stared up, wild and
+bloodshot, into the fierce, set face above him; swaying now, he saw the
+wide ring of faces, the quiver of leaves and the blue beyond, all a-swim
+through the mist of Beltane's yellow hair, and then, writhing in
+his anguish, he turned and buried his teeth in Beltane's naked arm, and
+with a cunning twist, broke from that deadly grip and staggered free.
+
+Straightway the air was full of shouts and cries, some praising, some
+condemning, while Gefroi stood with hanging arms and panted. But
+Beltane looking upon his hurt, laughed, short and fierce, and as Gefroi
+came upon him, stooped and caught him below the loins. Then Beltane the
+strong, the mighty, put forth his strength and, whirling Gefroi aloft,
+hurled him backwards over his shoulder. So Gefroi the wrestler fell,
+and lay with hairy arms wide-tossed as one that is dead, and for a
+space no man spake for the wonder of it.
+
+"By all the Saints, but 'twas a mighty throw!" sighed Sir Jocelyn,
+"though alack! sweet my lord, 'twould almost seem my forester hath
+something spoiled thy wrestler!"
+
+"And is the roan stallion thine" frowned the Duke, "and to none would I
+lose him with a fairer grace, for 'twas a good bout as I foretold: yet,
+by the head of St. Martin! meseemeth yon carrion might have done me
+better!" So saying, my lord Duke gave his horse the spur and, as he
+passed the prostrate form of Gefroi, leaned him down and smote the
+wrestler thrice with the whip he held and so rode on, bidding his
+followers let him lie.
+
+But Sir Jocelyn paused to look down at Beltane, who was setting his
+dress in order.
+
+"Sir forester, thou hast a mighty arm," quoth he, "and thy face liketh
+me well. Here's for thee," and tossing a purse to Beltane's feet, he
+rode upon his way.
+
+So the gay cavalcade passed 'neath the leafy arches, with the jingle of
+bridle and stirrup and the sound of jest and laughter, and was
+presently lost amid the green; only Gefroi the wrestler lay there upon
+his back and groaned. Then came Beltane and knelt and took his heavy
+head upon his knee, whereat Gefroi opened his eyes and groaned again.
+
+"Good fellow," said Beltane, "I had not meant to throw thee so heavily--"
+
+"Nay, forester, would it had been a little harder, for a ruined man am
+I this day."
+
+"How so--have you not life?"
+
+"I would 'twere death. And I bit you--in the arm, I mind me?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas in the arm."
+
+"For that am I heartily sorry, forester. But when a man seeth fame and
+fortune slipping from him--aye, and his honour, I had nigh forgot that--
+fame and fortune and honour, so small a thing as a bite may be
+forgiven?"
+
+"I forgive thee--full and freely."
+
+"Spoke like an honest forester," said Gefroi, and groaned again. "The
+favour of a lord is a slippery thing--much like an eel--quick to
+wriggle away. An hour agone my lord Duke held me in much esteem, while
+now? And he struck me! On the face, here!" Slowly Gefroi got him upon
+his feet, and having donned cap and pourpoint, shook his head and
+sighed; quoth he:
+
+"Alack! 'tis a ruined man am I this day! Would I had broken thy neck,
+or thou, mine--and so, God den to ye, forester!" Then Gefroi the
+wrestler turned and plodded on his way, walking slow and with drooping
+head as one who knoweth not whither he goes, or careth. Now, as he
+watched, Beltane bethought him of the purse and taking it up, ran after
+Gefroi and thrust it into his hand.
+
+"'Twill help thee to find a new service, mayhap." So saying my Beltane
+turned upon his heel and strode away, while Gefroi stood staring wide-eyed
+long after Beltane was vanished amid the trees.
+
+So thus it was that Beltane looked his first upon Duke Ivo of
+Pentavalon, and thus did he overthrow Gefroi the famous wrestler. And
+because of this, many were they, knights and nobles and esquires, who
+sought out Beltane's lonely hut beside the brook, with offers of
+service, or to try a fall with him. But at their offers Beltane laughed
+and shook his head, and all who came to wrestle he threw upon their
+backs. And thus my Beltane dwelt within the greenwood, waxing mightier
+day by day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+Upon a day Beltane stood at his forge fashioning an axe-head. And,
+having tempered it thereafter in the brook, he laid it by, and
+straightening his back, strode forth into the glade all ignorant of the
+eyes that watched him curiously through the leaves. And presently as he
+stood, his broad back set to the bole of a tree, his blue eyes lifted
+heavenwards brimful of dreams, he brake forth into a song he had made,
+lying sleepless upon his bed to do it.
+
+Tall and stately were the trees, towering aloft, nodding slumberously
+in the gentle wind; fair were the flowers lifting glad faces to their
+sun-father and filling the air with their languorous perfume; yet
+naught was there so comely to look upon as Beltane the Smith, standing
+bare-armed in his might, his golden hair crisp-curled and his lifted
+eyes a-dream. Merrily the brook laughed and sang among the willows,
+leaping in rainbow-hues over its pebbly bed; sweet piped the birds in
+brake and thicket, yet of all their music none was there so good to
+hear as the rich tones of Beltane the Smith.
+
+So thought the Duchess Helen of Mortain where she sat upon her white
+palfrey screened by the thick-budded foliage, seeing nought but this
+golden-locked singer whose voice thrilled strangely in her ears. And
+who so good a judge as Helen the Beautiful, whose lovers were beyond
+count, knights and nobles and princelings, ever kneeling at her haughty
+feet, ever sighing forth vows of service and adoration, in whose honour
+many a stout lance had shivered, and many a knightly act been wrought?
+Wherefore I say, who so good a judge as the Duchess Helen of Mortain?
+Thus Beltane the maker of verses, all ignorant that any heard save the
+birds in the brake, sang of the glories of the forest-lands. Sang how
+the flowers, feeling the first sweet promise of spring stirring within
+them, awoke; and lo! the frost was gone, the warm sun they had dreamed
+of through the long winter was come back, the time of their waiting
+passed away. So, timidly, slowly, they stole forth from the dark,
+unveiling their beauties to their lord the sun and filling the world
+with the fragrance of their worship.
+
+Somewhat of all this sang Beltane, whiles the Duchess Helen gazed upon
+him wide-eyed and wondering.
+
+Could this be Beltane the Smith, this tall, gentle-eyed youth, this
+soft-voiced singer of dreams? Could this indeed be the mighty wrestler
+of whom she had heard so many tales of late, how that he lived an
+anchorite, deep hidden in the green, hating the pomp and turmoil of
+cities, and contemning women and all their ways?
+
+Now, bethinking her of all this, the Duchess frowned for that he was
+such a goodly man and so comely to look on, and frowning, mused, white
+chin on white fist. Then she smiled, as one that hath a bright thought,
+and straightway loosed the golden fillet that bound her glowing
+tresses so that they fell about her in all their glory, rippling far
+down her broidered habit. Then, the song being ended, forth from her
+cover rode the lady of Mortain, and coming close where Beltane leaned
+him in the shade of the tree, paused of a sudden, and started as one
+that is surprised, and Beltane turning, found her beside him, yet spake
+not nor moved.
+
+Breathless and as one entranced he gazed upon her; saw how her long
+hair glowed a wondrous red 'neath the kisses of the dying sun; saw how
+her purpled gown, belted at the slender waist, clung about the beauties
+of her shapely body; saw how the little shoe peeped forth from the
+perfumed mystery of its folds, and so stood speechless, bound by the
+spell of her beauty. Wherefore, at length, she spake to him, low and
+sweet and humble, on this wise:
+
+"Art thou he whom men call Beltane the Smith?"
+
+He answered, gazing at her lowered lashes:
+
+"I am Beltane the Smith."
+
+For a space she sat grave and silent, then looked at him with eyes that
+laughed 'neath level brows to see the wonder in his gaze. But anon she
+falls a-sighing, and braided a tress of hair 'twixt white fingers ere
+she spoke:
+
+"'Tis said of thee that thou art a hermit and live alone within these
+solitudes. And yet--meseemeth--thine eyes are not a hermit's eyes,
+messire!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, with flushing cheek and eyes abased:
+
+"Yet do I live alone, lady."
+
+"Nor are thy ways and speech the ways of common smith, messire."
+
+"Yet smith am I in sooth, lady, and therewithal content."
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and
+languorous, and shook her head, and sighed.
+
+"Alas, messire, methinks then perchance it may be true that thou, for
+all thy youth, and despite thine eyes, art a mocker of love, a despiser
+of women? And yet--nay--sure 'tis not so?"
+
+Then did Beltane the strong come nigh to fear, by reason of her fair
+womanhood, and looked from her to earth, from earth to sky, and, when
+he would have answered, fell a-stammering, abashed by her wondrous
+beauty.
+
+"Nay lady, indeed--indeed I know of women nought--nought of myself, but
+I have heard tell that they be--light-minded, using their beauty but to
+lure the souls of men from high and noble things--making of love a
+jest--a sport and pastime--" But now the Duchess laughed, very soft
+and sweeter, far, to Beltane's thinking than the rippling music of any
+brook, soever.
+
+"Aye me, messire anchorite," said she smiling yet, "whence had you this
+poor folly?"
+
+Quoth Beltane gravely:
+
+"Lady, 'twas from one beyond all thought wise and learned. A most holy
+hermit--"
+
+"A hermit!" says she, merry-eyed, "then, an he told thee this, needs
+must he be old, and cold, and withered, and beyond the age of love,
+knowing nought of women save what memory doth haunt his evil past. But
+young art thou and strong, and should love come to thee--as come,
+methinks, it may, hearken to no voice but the pleading of thine own
+true heart. Messire," she sighed, "art very blind, methinks, for you
+sing the wonders of these forest-lands, yet in thy song is never a word
+of love! O blind! O blind! for I tell thee nought exists in this great
+world but by love. Behold now, these sighing trees love their lord the
+sun, and, through the drear winter, wait his coming with wide-stretched,
+yearning arms, crying aloud to him in every shuddering blast the tale
+of their great longing. And, after some while, he comes, and at his advent
+they clothe themselves anew in all their beauty, and with his warm breath
+thrilling through each fibre, put forth their buds, singing through
+all their myriad leaves the song of their rejoicing. Something the like
+of this, messire, is the love a woman beareth to a man, the which, until
+he hath felt it trembling in his heart, he hath not known the joy of
+living."
+
+But Beltane answered, smiling a little as one that gloried in his
+freedom:
+
+"No woman hath ever touched my heart, yet have I lived nor found it
+lonely, hitherto."
+
+But hereupon, resting her white fingers on his arm, she leaned nearer
+to him so that he felt her breath warm upon his cheek, and there stole
+to him the faint, sweet perfume of her hair.
+
+"Beware, O scorner of women! for I tell thee that ere much time hath
+passed thou shalt know love--aye, in such fashion as few men know--
+wherefore I say--beware, Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane the strong, the mighty, shook his head and smiled.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "a man's heart may be set on other things, flowers may
+seem to him fairer than the fairest women, and the wind in trees
+sweeter to him than their voices."
+
+Now as she hearkened, the Duchess Helen grew angry, yet straightway,
+she dissembled, looking upon him 'neath drooping lashes. Soft and
+tender-eyed and sighing, she answered:
+
+"Ah, Beltane! how unworthy are such things of a man's love! For if he
+pluck them, that he may lay these flowers upon his heart, lo! they fade
+and wither, and their beauty and fragrance is but a memory. Ah,
+Beltane, when next ye sing, choose you a worthier theme."
+
+"Of what shall I sing?" said Beltane.
+
+Very soft she answered, and with eyes abased:
+
+"Think on what I have told thee, and sing--of love."
+
+And so she sighed, and looked on him once, then wheeled her palfrey,
+and was gone up the glade; but Beltane, as he watched her go, was
+seized of a sudden impulse and over-took her, running.
+
+"Beseech thee," cried he, barring her path, "tell me thy name!"
+
+Then Helen the Beautiful, the wilful, laughed and swerved her palfrey,
+minded to leave him so; but Beltane sprang and caught the bridle.
+
+"Tell me thy name," said he again.
+
+"Let me go!"
+
+"Thy name, tell me thy name."
+
+But the Duchess laughed again, and thinking to escape him, smote her
+horse so that it started and reared; once it plunged, and twice, and so
+stood trembling with Beltane's hand upon the bridle; wherefore a sudden
+anger came upon her, and, bending her black brows, she raised her
+jewelled riding-rod threateningly. But Beltane only smiled and shook
+his head, saying:
+
+"Unless I know thy name thou shalt not fare forth of the greenwood."
+
+So the proud lady of Mortain looked down upon Beltane in amaze, for
+there was none in all the Duchy, knight, noble or princeling, who dared
+gainsay her lightest word; wherefore, I say, she stared upon this bold
+forest knave with his golden hair and gentle eyes, his curved lips and
+square chin; and in eyes and mouth and chin was a look of
+masterfulness, challenging, commanding. And, meeting that look, her
+heart leapt most strangely with sudden, sweet thrill, so that she
+lowered her gaze lest he should see, and when she spake her voice was
+low and very sweet:
+
+"Tell me I pray, why seek you my name, and wherefore?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, soft and slow as one that dreams:
+
+"I have seen thine eyes look at me from the flowers, ere now, have
+heard thy laughter in the brook, and found thy beauty in all fair
+things: methinks thy name should be a most sweet name."
+
+Now was it upon her lips to tell him what he asked, but, being a woman,
+she held her peace for very contrariness, and blushing beneath his
+gaze, looked down and cried aloud, and pointed to a grub that crawled
+upon her habit. So Beltane loosed the bridle, and in that moment, she
+laughed for very triumph and was off, galloping 'neath the trees. Yet,
+as she went, she turned and called to him, and the word she called
+was:--
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Long stood Beltane where she had left him, the soft shadows of night
+deepening about him, dreaming ever of her beauty, of her wondrous hair,
+and of the little foot that had peeped forth at him 'neath her habit,
+and, full of these thoughts, for once he was deaf to the soft voices of
+the trees nor heard the merry chatter of the brook. But later, upon his
+bed he lay awake full long and must needs remember yet another Helen,
+with the same wondrous hair and eyes of mystery, for whose sake men had
+died and a noble city burned; and, hereupon, his heart grew strangely
+heavy and cold with an unknown dread.
+
+Days came and went, and labouring at the forge or lying out in the
+sunshine gazing wistfully beyond the swaying tree-tops, Beltane would
+oft start and turn his head, fancying the rustle of her garments in
+his ears, or her voice calling to him from some flowery thicket; and
+the wind in the trees whispered "Helen!" and the brook sang of Helen,
+and Helen was in his thoughts continually.
+
+Thus my Beltane forgot his loves the flowers, and sang no more the
+wonders of the forest-lands.
+
+And oft-times the Duchess, seated in state within her great hall of
+Mortain looking down upon her knights and nobles, would sigh, for none
+was there so noble of form nor so comely as Beltane the Smith. Hereupon
+her white brow would grow troubled and, turning from them all, she
+would gaze with deep, unfathomable eyes, away across the valley to
+where, amid the mystery of the trees, Beltane had his lonely dwelling.
+
+Wherefore it was, that, looking up one evening from where he sat busied
+with brush and colours upon a border of wondrous design, Beltane beheld
+her of whom he was dreaming; and she, standing tall and fair before
+him, saw that in his look the which set her heart a-fluttering at her
+white breast most strangely; yet, fearing she should betray aught of
+it, she laughed gaily and mocked him, as is the way of women, saying:
+
+"Well, thou despiser of Love, I hearkened vainly for thy new song as I
+rode hither through the green."
+
+Red grew my Beltane's cheek and he looked not to her as he answered:
+
+"Lady, I have no new song."
+
+"Why then, is thy lesson yet unlearned?" said she. "Have ye no love but
+for birds and flowers?" and her red lip curled scornfully.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Is there aught more worthy?"
+
+"O Beltane!" she sighed, "art then so simple that such will aye content
+thee; doth not thy heart hunger and cry within thee for aught beside?"
+
+Then Beltane bowed his head, and fumbled with his brush and dropped it,
+and ere he could reach it she had set her foot upon it; thus it chanced
+that his hand came upon her foot, and feeling it beneath his fingers,
+he started and drew away, whereat she laughed low and sweet, saying:
+
+"Alack, and doth my foot affright thee? And yet 'tis none so fierce and
+none so large that thou shouldst fear it thus, messire--thou who art so
+tall and strong, and a mighty wrestler withal!"
+
+Now, looking up, he saw her lips curved and scarlet, and her eyes
+brimful of laughter, and fain would he have taken up the brush yet
+dared not. Therefore, very humbly, she stooped and lifting the brush
+put it in his hand. Then, trembling 'neath the touch of her soft
+fingers, Beltane rose up, and that which he had hidden deep within his
+heart brake from him.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "O Helen, thou art so wondrous fair and belike
+of high estate, but as for me, I am but what I am. Behold me" he cried,
+stretching wide his arms, "I am but Beltane the Smith; who is there to
+love such as I? See, my hands be hard and rough, and would but bruise
+where they should caress, these arms be unfitted for soft
+embracements. O lady, who is there to love Beltane the Smith?"
+
+Now the Duchess Helen laughed within herself for very triumph, yet her
+bosom thrilled and hurried with her breathing, her cheek grew red and
+her eyes bright and tender, wherefore she stooped low to cull a flower
+ere she answered.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "Beltane, women are not as thy flowers, that
+embraces, even such as thine, would crush them."
+
+But Beltane stooped his head that he might not behold the lure and
+beauty of her, and clenched his hands hard and fierce and thereafter
+spake:
+
+"Thou art so wondrous fair," said he again, "and belike of noble
+birth, but--as for me, I am a smith!"
+
+Awhile she stood, turning the flower in gentle fingers yet looking upon
+him in his might and goodly youth, beholding his averted face with its
+strong, sweet mouth and masterful chin, its curved nostrils and the
+dreaming passion of his eyes, and when she spake her voice was soft
+and very sweet.
+
+"Above all, thou art--a man, messire!"
+
+Then did my Beltane lift his head and saw how the colour was deepened
+in her cheek and how her tender eyes drooped before his.
+
+"Tell me," he said, "is there ever a woman to love such a man? Is there
+ever a woman who would leave the hum and glitter of cities to walk with
+such as I in the shadow of these forest-lands? Speak, Oh speak I do
+beseech thee!" Thus said he and stopped, waiting her answer.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she whispered, "let thine own heart speak me this."
+
+All blithe and glorious grew the world about him as he stooped and
+caught her in his arms, lifting her high against his heart. And, in
+this moment, he forgot the teaching of Ambrose the Hermit, forgot all
+things under heaven, save the glory of her beauty, the drooping languor
+of her eyes and the sweet, moist tremor of her mouth. And so he kissed
+her, murmuring 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Fairer art thou than all the flowers, O my love, and sweeter thy
+breath than the breath of flowers!"
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his, and in
+all the world for her was nought save the deep, soft voice of Beltane,
+and his eyes, and the new, sweet ecstasy that thrilled within her.
+Surely nowhere in all the world was there such another man as this, so
+strong and gentle, so meet for love and yet so virginal. Surely life
+might be very fair here in the green solitudes, aye, surely, surely--
+
+Soft with distance came the peal of bells, stealing across the valley
+from the great minster in Mortain, and, with the sound, memory waked,
+and she bethought her of all those knights and nobles who lived but to
+do her will and pleasure, of Mortain and the glory of it; and so she
+sighed and stirred, and, looking at Beltane, sighed again. Quoth she:
+
+"Is this great love I foretold come upon thee, Beltane?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"Truly a man hath not lived until he hath felt a woman's kisses upon
+his lips!"
+
+"And thou wilt flout poor Love no more?"
+
+"Nay," he answered, smiling, "'tis part of me, and must be so
+henceforth--forever!"
+
+But now she sighed again, and trembled in his arms and clasped him
+close, as one beset by sudden fear, while ever soft with distance came
+the silvery voices of the bells, low yet insistent, sweet yet
+commanding; wherefore she, sighing, put him from her.
+
+"Why then," said she, with drooping head, "fare thee well, messire.
+Nay, see you not? Methinks my task is done. And it hath been a--
+pleasing task, this--of teaching thee to love--O, would you had not
+learned so soon! Fare thee well. Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane looked upon her as one in deep amaze, his arms fell from
+her and he stepped back and so stood very still and, as he gazed, a
+growing horror dawned within his eyes.
+
+"What art thou?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she murmured, "ah--look not so!"
+
+"Who art thou--and what?" he said.
+
+"Nay, did I not tell thee at the first? I am Helen--hast thou not
+known? I am Helen--Helen of Mortain."
+
+"Thou--thou art the Duchess Helen?" said Beltane with stiffening lips,
+"thou the Duchess and I--a smith!" and he laughed, short and fierce,
+and would have turned from her but she stayed him with quivering hands.
+
+"And--did'st not know?" she questioned hurriedly, "methought it was no
+secret--I would have told thee ere this had I known. Nay--look not so,
+Beltane--thou dost love me yet--nay, I do know it!" and she strove to
+smile, but with lips that quivered strangely.
+
+"Aye, I love thee, Helen of Mortain--though there be many fair lords to
+do that! But, as for me--I am only a smith, and as a smith greatly
+would I despise thee. Yet may this not be, for as my body is great, so
+is my love. Go, therefore, thy work here is done, go--get thee to thy
+knightly lovers, wed this Duke who seeks thee--do aught you will but
+go, leave me to my hammers and these green solitudes."
+
+So spake he, and turning, strode away, looking not back to where she
+stood leaning one white hand against a tree. Once she called to him but
+he heeded not, walking ever with bowed head and hearing only the tumult
+within him and the throbbing of his wounded heart. And now, in his pain
+needs must he think of yet another Helen and of the blood and agony of
+blazing Troy town, and lifting up his hands to heaven he cried aloud:
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+All in haste Beltane came to his lonely hut and taking thence his cloak
+and great sword, he seized upon his mightiest hammer and beat down the
+roof of the hut and drave in the walls of it; thereafter he hove the
+hammer into the pool, together with his anvil and rack of tools and so,
+setting the sword in his girdle and the cloak about him, turned away
+and plunged into the deeper shadows of the forest.
+
+But, ever soft and faint with distance, the silvery voices of the bells
+stole upon the warm, stilly air, speaking of pomp and state, of pride
+and circumstance, but now these seemed but empty things, and the
+Duchess Helen stood long with bent head and hands that strove to shut
+the sounds away. But in the end she turned, slow-footed amid the
+gathering shadows and followed whither they called.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But that night, sitting in state within her great hall of Mortain, the
+Duchess Helen sighed deep and oft, scarce heeding the courtesies
+addressed to her and little the whispered homage of her guest Duke Ivo,
+he, the proudest and most potent of all her many wooers; yet to-night
+her cheek burned beneath his close regard and her woman's flesh
+rebelled at his contact as had never been aforetime. Thus, of a sudden,
+though the meal was scarce begun, she arose and stepped down from the
+dais, and when her wondering ladies would have followed forbade them
+with a gesture. And so, walking proud and tall, she passed out before
+them, whereat Duke Ivo's black brow grew the blacker, and he stared
+before him with narrowed eyes, beholding which, the faces of my lady's
+counsellors waxed anxious and long; only Winfrida, chiefest of the
+ladies, watched the Duke 'neath drooping lids and with a smile upon her
+full, red lips.
+
+Now the Duchess, being come to her chamber, lifted her hands and tore
+the ducal circlet from her brow and cast it from her, and, thereafter,
+laid by her rings and jewels, and coming to the open casement fell
+there upon her knees and reached forth her pale hands to where, across
+the valley, the dark forest stretched away, ghostly and unreal, 'neath
+the moon.
+
+"My beloved!" she whispered, "O my beloved!" And the gentle night-wind
+bore her secret in its embrace away across the valley to the dim
+solitudes of the woods. "Beltane!" she sighed, "love hath come into
+mine heart even as it came to thee, when I recked not of it. My
+beloved--O my beloved!" Anon she rose and stood awhile with head bowed
+as one that dreams, and of a sudden her cheek glowed warmly red, her
+breath caught and she gazed upon the moon with eyes of yearning
+tenderness; thereafter she laughed, soft and happily and, snatching up
+a cloak, set it about her and fled from the chamber. So, swift and
+light of foot, she sped by hidden ways until she came where old Godric,
+her chief huntsman, busied himself trimming the shaft of a boar-spear,
+who, beholding his lady, rose up in amaze.
+
+"Godric," said she, white hands upon his arm, "thou didst love me or
+ever I could walk?"
+
+"Aye, verily thou hast said, dear my lady."
+
+"Love you me yet?"
+
+"Truly thou knowest that I love thee."
+
+"Thou hast heard, Godric, how that my counsellors have long desired me
+to wed with Duke Ivo, and do yet await my answer to his suit--nay
+hearken! So to-night shall my mind be known in the matter once and for
+all! Come, my Godric, arm you and saddle two horses--come!"
+
+"Nay, sweet my lady, what would ye?"
+
+"Fly hence with thee, my Godric! Come--the horses!"
+
+"Fly from Mortain, and thou the Duchess? Nay, dear lady, 'tis madness,
+bethink thee! O dear my Mistress--O little Helen that I have cherished
+all thy days, bethink thee--do not this thing--"
+
+"Godric, did not the Duke, my father, strictly charge thee to follow
+ever my call?"
+
+"Aye, my lady."
+
+"Then follow now!" And so she turned and beckoned, and Godric perforce
+followed after.
+
+Hand in hand they went a-down the winding stair, down, to the great,
+dim courtyard that whispered to their tread. And, thereafter, mounting
+in haste, the Duchess galloped from Mortain, unheeding stern old Godric
+by her side and with never a look behind, dreaming ever of Beltane with
+cheeks that crimsoned 'neath her hood.
+
+Fast and faster she rode 'neath the pale moon, her eyes ever gazing
+towards the gloom of the forest, her heart throbbing quick as the
+hoof-beats of her horse. So at last, being come to that glade whereby
+Beltane had his dwelling, she lighted down, and bidding Godric wait,
+stole forward alone.
+
+Autumn was at hand, and here and there the fallen leaves rustled sadly
+under foot while the trees sighed and mourned together for that the
+flowers so soon must wither and die. But in the heart of the Duchess
+Helen, Spring was come, and all things spake to her of coming joys
+undreamed till now as she hasted on, flitting through the pallid
+moonbeams that, falling athwart rugged hole and far-flung branch,
+splashed the gloom with radiant light. Once she paused to listen, but
+heard nought save the murmur of the brook and the faint stirring of
+leaves. And now, clear and strong the tender radiance fell athwart the
+lonely habitation and her heart leapt at the sight, her eyes grew moist
+and tender and she hurried forward with flying steps, then--beholding
+the ruin of thatch and wall, she stopped and stood aghast, gazing
+wide-eyed and with her heart numb in her bosom. Then she shivered, her
+proud head drooped and a great sob brake from her, for that she knew she
+was come too late, her dreams of wandering with Beltane through sunny
+glades were nought but dreams after all. Beltane the Smith was gone!
+
+Then a great loneliness and desolation came upon her and, sinking down
+at the foot of that tree whereby he had been wont to lean so often, her
+yearning arms crept about its rugged hole and she lay there in the
+passion of her grief weeping long and bitterly.
+
+But the gentle trees ceased mourning over their own coming sorrow in
+wonder at the sight, and bending their heads together, seemed to
+whisper one to the other saying:
+
+"He is gone, Beltane the Smith is gone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+
+Deep, deep within the green twilight of the woods Ambrose the Hermit
+had builded him a hut; had built and framed it of rude stones and
+thatched it with grass and mosses. And from the door of the hut he had
+formed likewise a path strewn thick with jagged stones and sharp
+flints, a cruel track, the which, winding away through the green, led
+to where upon a gentle eminence stood a wooden cross most artfully
+wrought and carven by the hermit's skilled and loving fingers.
+
+Morning and evening, winter and summer it was his custom ever to tread
+this painful way, wetting the stones with the blood of his atonement.
+
+Now upon a certain rosy dawn, ere yet the sun was up, Beltane standing
+amid the leaves, saw the hermit issue forth of the hut and, with bowed
+head and folded hands, set out upon his appointed way. The cruel stones
+grew red beneath his feet yet he faltered not nor stayed until, being
+come to the cross, he kneeled there and, with gaunt arms upraised,
+prayed long and fervently so that the tears of his passion streamed
+down his furrowed cheeks and wetted the snow of his beard.
+
+In a while, having made an end, he arose and being come to his hut once
+more, he of a sudden espied Beltane standing amid the leaves; and
+because he was so fair and goodly to look upon in his youth and might,
+the pale cheek of the hermit flushed and a glow leapt within his sunken
+eyes, and lifting up his hand, he blessed him.
+
+"Welcome to this my solitude, my son," quoth he, "and wherefore hast
+thou tarried in thy coming? I have watched for thee these many days.
+Come, sit you here beside me in this blessed sun and tell me of thy
+latter doings."
+
+But the eyes of Beltane were sad and his tongue unready, so that he
+stammered in his speech, looking ever upon the ground; then, suddenly
+up-starting to his feet, he strode before the hut, while Ambrose the
+wise looked, and saw, yet spake not. So, presently, Beltane paused, and
+looking him within the eyes spake hurriedly on this wise:
+
+"Most holy father, thou knowest how I have lived within the greenwood
+all my days nor found it lonely, for I did love it so, that I had
+thought to die here likewise when my time should come. Yet now do I
+know that this shall never be--to-day I go hence."
+
+"Wherefore, my son?"
+
+"There is come a strange restlessness upon me, a riot and fever of the
+blood whereby I am filled with dreams and strange desires. I would go
+forth into the great world of men and cities, to take my rightful place
+therein, for until a man hath loved and joyed and sorrowed with his
+fellows, he knoweth nought of life."
+
+"Perchance, my son, this is but the tide of youthful blood that tingles
+in thy veins? Or is it that thou hast looked of late within a woman's
+eyes?"
+
+Then Beltane kneeled him at the feet of Ambrose and hid his face
+betwixt his knees, as he had been wont to do whiles yet a little child.
+
+"Father," he murmured, "thou hast said." Now looking down upon this
+golden head, Ambrose sighed and drew the long curls through his fingers
+with a wondrous gentleness.
+
+"Tell me of thy love, Beltane," said he.
+
+Forthwith, starting to his feet, Beltane answered:
+
+"'Tis many long and weary months, my father, and yet doth seem but
+yesterday. She came to me riding upon a milk-white steed. At first
+methought her of the fairy kind thither drawn by my poor singing, yet,
+when I looked on her again, I knew her to be woman. And she was fair--
+O very fair, my father. I may not tell her beauty for 'twas compounded
+of all beauteous things, of the snow of lilies, the breath of flowers,
+the gleam of stars on moving waters, the music of streams, the
+murmur of wind in trees--I cannot tell thee more but that there is a
+flame doth hide within her hair, and for her eyes--O methinks 'tis for
+her eyes I do love her most--love her? Aye, my body doth burn and
+thrill with love--alas, poor fool, alas it should be so! But, for that
+she is proud and of an high estate, for that I am I, a poor worker of
+iron whom men call Beltane the Smith, fit but to sigh and sigh and
+forever sigh, to dream of her and nothing more--so must I go hence,
+leaving the sweet silence of the woods for the strife and noise of
+cities, learning to share the burdens of my fellows. See you not, my
+father, see you not the way of it?" So spake Beltane, hot and
+passionate, striding to and fro upon the sward, while Ambrose sat with
+bitterness in his heart but with eyes ineffably gentle.
+
+"And is this love of thine so hopeless, my Beltane?"
+
+"Beyond all thought; she is the Duchess Helen of Mortain!"
+
+Now for a while the hermit spake not, sitting chin in hand as one who
+halts betwixt two courses.
+
+"'Tis strange," he said at length, "and passing strange! Yet, since
+'tis she, and she so much above thee, wherefore would ye leave the
+tender twilight of these forests?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"My father, I tell thee these woods be full of love and her. She
+looketh at me from the flowers and stealeth to me in their fragrance;
+the very brooks do babble of her beauty; each leaf doth find a little
+voice to whisper of her, and everywhere is love and love and love--so
+needs must I away."
+
+"And think you so to escape this love, my Beltane, and the pain of it?"
+
+"Nay my father, that were thing impossible for it doth fill the
+universe, so must I needs remember it with every breath I draw, but in
+the griefs and sorrows of others I may, perchance, learn to bear mine
+own, silent and patiently, as a man should."
+
+Then Ambrose sighed, and beckoning Beltane to his knee, laid his hands
+upon his shoulders and looked deep within his eyes.
+
+"Beltane my son," said he, "I have known thee from thy youth up and
+well do I know thou canst not lie, for thy heart is pure as yet and
+uncorrupt. But now is the thing I feared come upon thee--ah, Beltane,
+hast thou forgot all I have told thee of women and the ways of women,
+how that their white bodies are filled with all manner of wantonness,
+their hands strong in lures and enticements? A woman in her beauty is
+a fair thing to the eyes of a man, yet I tell thee Beltane, they be
+snares of the devil, setting father 'gainst son and--brother 'gainst
+brother, whereby come unnatural murders and bloody wars."
+
+"And yet, needs must I love her still, my father!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so," sighed Ambrose, "'tis ever so, and as for thee, well do
+I know the blood within thee for a hot, wild blood--and thou art young,
+and so it is I fear for thee."
+
+But, looking up, Beltane shook his head and answered:
+
+"Holy father, thou art wise and wondrous learned in the reading of
+books and in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, yet methinks this
+love is a thing no book can teach thee, a truth a man must needs find
+out for himself." "And think you I know nought of love, Beltane, the
+pain and joy of it--and the shame? Thou seest me a poor old man and
+feeble, bent with years and suffering, one who but waiteth for the time
+when my grievous sin shall be atoned for and God, in His sweet
+clemency, shall ease me of this burden of life. Yet do I tell thee
+there was a time when this frail body was strong and tall, well-nigh,
+as thine own, when this white hair was thick and black, and these dim
+eyes bold and fearless even as thine."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, well do I know women and the ways of women! Come, sit you
+beside me and, because thou art fain to go into the world and play thy
+man's part, so now will I tell thee that the which I had thought to
+bear with me to the grave."
+
+Then Ambrose the Hermit, leaning his head upon his hand, began to speak
+on this wise:
+
+"Upon a time were two brothers, nobles of a great house and following,
+each alike lovers of peace yet each terrible in war; the name of the
+one was Johan and of the other Beltane. Now Beltane, being elder, was
+Duke of that country, and the country maintained peace within its
+borders and the people thereof waxed rich and happy. And because these
+twain loved each other passing well the way of the one was ever the way
+of the other so that they dwelt together in a wondrous amity, and as
+their hearts were pure and strong so waxed they in body so that there
+was none could cope with them at hand-strokes nor bear up against the
+might of their lances, and O, methinks in all this fair world nought
+was there fairer than the love of these two brethren!
+
+"Now it befell, upon a day, that they set out with a goodly company to
+attend a tourney in a certain town whither, likewise, were come many
+knights of renown, nobles and princes beyond count eager to prove their
+prowess, thither drawn by the fame of that fair lady who was to be
+Queen of Beauty. All lips spake of her and the wonder of her charms,
+how that a man could not look within her eyes but must needs fall into
+a passion of love for her. But the brethren smiled and paid small heed
+and so, together, journeyed to the city. The day of the joust being
+come, forth they rode into the lists, side by side, each in his triple
+mail and ponderous helm, alike at all points save for the golden
+circlet upon Duke Beltane's shining casque. And there befell, that day,
+a mighty shivering of lances and many a knightly deed was wrought. But,
+for these brethren there was none of all these knights and nobles who
+might abide their onset; all day long they together maintained the
+lists till there none remained to cope with them, wherefore the marshal
+would have had them run a course together for proof which was the
+mightier. But Beltane smiled and shook his head saying, 'Nay, it is not
+meet that brother strive with brother!' And Johan said: 'Since the day
+doth rest with us, we will share the glory together.' So, amid the
+acclaim of voice and trumpet, side by side they came to make obeisance
+to the Queen of Beauty, and gazing upon her, they saw that she was
+indeed of a wondrous beauty. Now in her hand she held the crown that
+should reward the victor, yet because they were two, she knew not whom
+to choose, wherefore she laughed, and brake the crown asunder and gave
+to each a half with many fair words and gentle sayings. But, alas, my
+son! from that hour her beauty came betwixt these brethren, veiling
+their hearts one from the other. So they tarried awhile in that fair
+city, yet companied together no more, for each was fain to walk apart,
+dreaming of this woman and the beauty of her, and each by stealth wooed
+her to wife. At last, upon an evening, came Johan to his brother and
+taking from his bosom the half of the crown he had won, kissed it and
+gave it to Beltane, saying: 'The half of a crown availeth no man, take
+therefore my half and join it with thine, for well do I know thy heart,
+my brother--and thou art the elder, and Duke; go therefore and woo
+this lady to wife, and God speed thee, my lord.' But Beltane said:
+'Shame were it in me to take advantage of my years thus; doth age or
+rank make a man's love more worthy? So, get thee to thy wooing, my
+brother, and heaven's blessing on thee.' Then grew Johan full of joy,
+saying: 'So be it, dear my brother, but am I come not to thee within
+three days at sunset, then shalt know that my wooing hath not
+prospered.' Upon the third day, therefore, Beltane the Duke girded on
+his armour and made ready to ride unto his own demesne, yet tarried
+until sunset, according to his word. But his brother Johan came not.
+Therefore he, in turn, rode upon his wooing and came unto the lady's
+presence in hauberk of mail, and thus ungently clad wooed her as one in
+haste to be gone, telling her that this world was no place for a man to
+sigh out his days at a woman's feet, and bidding her answer him' Yea'
+or 'Nay' and let him be gone to his duty. And she, whom so many had
+wooed on bended knee, spake him' Yea'--for that a woman's ways be
+beyond all knowledge--and therewith gave her beauty to his keeping. So,
+forthwith were they wed, with much pomp and circumstance, and so he
+brought her to his Duchy with great joy and acclaim. Then would Johan
+have departed over seas, but Beltane ever dissuaded him, and fain these
+brethren would have loved each other as they had done aforetime, yet
+was the beauty of this woman ever betwixt them. Now, within that year,
+came news of fire and sword upon the border, of cruel rape and murder,
+so Beltane sent forth his brother Johan with an army to drive back the
+invaders, and himself abode in his great castle, happy in the love of
+his fair, young wife. But the war went ill, tidings came that Johan his
+brother was beaten back with much loss and he himself sore wounded.
+Therefore the Duke made ready to set forth at the head of a veteran
+company, but ere he rode a son was born to him, so needs must he come
+to his wife in his armour, and beholding the child, kissed him.
+Thereafter Duke Beltane rode to the war with a glad heart, and fell
+upon his enemies and scattered them, and pursued them far and smote
+them even to their own gates. But in the hour of his triumph he fell,
+by treachery, into the hands of his cruelest enemy, how it mattereth
+not, and for a space was lost to sight and memory. But as for Johan,
+the Duke's brother, he lay long sick of his wounds, so came the Duchess
+and ministered to him; and she was fair, and passing fair, and he was
+young. And when his strength was come again, each day was Johan minded
+to ride forth and seek the Duke his brother--but he was young, and she
+passing fair, wherefore he tarried still, bound by the lure of her
+beauty. And, upon a soft and stilly eve as they walked together in the
+garden, she wooed Johan with tender look and word, and wreathed her
+white arms about him and gave to his her mouth. And, in that moment
+came one, fierce and wild of aspect, in dinted casque and rusty mail
+who stood and watched--ah God!"
+
+Here, for a while, the hermit Ambrose stayed his tale, and Beltane saw
+his brow was moist and that his thin hands clenched and wrung each
+other.
+
+"So thus, my son, came Duke Beltane home again, he and his esquire Sir
+Benedict of Bourne alone of all his company, each alike worn with
+hardship and spent with wounds. But now was the Duke stricken of a
+greater pain and leaned him upon the shoulder of his esquire, faint and
+sick of soul, and knew an anguish deeper than any flesh may know. Then,
+of a sudden, madness came upon him and, breaking from the mailed arms
+that held him, he came hot-foot to the courtyard and to the hall
+beyond, hurling aside all such as sought to stay him and so reached at
+last my lady's bower, his mailed feet ringing upon the Atones. And,
+looking up, the Duchess saw and cried aloud and stood, thereafter, pale
+and speechless and wide of eye, while Johan's cheek grew red and in his
+look was shame. Then the Duke put up his vizor and, when he spake, his
+voice was harsh and strange: 'Greeting, good brother!' said he, 'go
+now, I pray you, get you horse and armour and wait me in the courtyard,
+yet first must I greet this my lady wife.' So Johan turned, with
+hanging head, and went slow-footed from the chamber. Then said the
+Duke, laughing in his madness, 'Behold, lady, the power of a woman's
+beauty, for I loved a noble brother once, a spotless knight whose
+honour reached high as heaven, but thou hast made of him a something
+foul and base, traitor to me and to his own sweet name, and 'tis for
+this I will requite thee!' But the Duchess spake not, nor blenched even
+when the dagger gleamed to strike--O sweet God of mercy, to strike!
+But, in that moment, came Benedict of Bourne and leapt betwixt and took
+the blow upon his cheek, and, stanching the blood within his tattered
+war-cloak, cried: 'Lord Duke, because I love thee, ne'er shalt thou do
+this thing until thou first slay me!' A while the Duke stood in amaze,
+then turned and strode away down the great stair, and coming to the
+courtyard, beheld his brother Johan armed at all points and mounted,
+and with another horse equipped near by. So the Duke laughed and closed
+his vizor and his laughter boomed hollow within his rusty casque, and,
+leaping to the saddle, rode to the end of the great tilt-yard, and,
+wheeling, couched his lance. So these brethren, who had loved each
+other so well, spurred upon each other with levelled lances but, or
+ever the shock came--O my son, my son!--Johan rose high in his stirrups
+and cried aloud the battle-cry of his house 'Arise! Arise! I shall
+arise!' and with the cry, tossed aside his lance lest he might harm the
+Duke his brother--O sweet clemency of Christ!--and crashed to earth--
+and lay there--very still and silent. Then the Duke dismounted and,
+watched by pale-faced esquires and men-at-arms, came and knelt beside
+his brother, and laid aside his brother's riven helm and, beholding his
+comely features torn and marred and his golden hair all hatefully
+bedabbled, felt his heart burst in sunder, and he groaned, and rising
+to stumbling feet came to his horse and mounted and rode away 'neath
+grim portcullis and over echoing drawbridge, yet, whithersoever he
+looked, he saw only his brother's dead face, pale and bloody. And fain
+he would have prayed but could not, and so he came into the forest. All
+day long he rode beneath the trees careless of his going, conscious
+only that Benedict of Bourne rode behind with his bloody war-cloak
+wrapped about him. But on rode the Duke with hanging head and listless
+hands for before his haggard eyes was ever the pale, dead face of Johan
+his brother. Now, as the moon rose, they came to a brook that whispered
+soft-voiced amid the shadows and here his war-horse stayed to drink.
+Then came Sir Benedict of Bourne beside him, 'Lord Duke,' said he,
+'what hast thou in thy mind to do?' 'I know not,' said the Duke,
+'though methinks 'twere sweet to die.' 'Then what of the babe, lord
+Duke?' and, speaking, Sir Benedict drew aside his cloak and showed the
+babe asleep beneath. But, looking upon its innocence, the Duke cried
+out and hid his face, for the babe's golden curls were dabbled with the
+blood from Sir Benedict's wound and looked even as had the face of the
+dead Johan. Yet, in a while, the Duke reached out and took the child
+and setting it against his breast, turned his horse. Said Sir Benedict:
+'Whither do we ride, lord Duke?' Then spake the Duke on this wise: 'Sir
+Benedict, Duke Beltane is no more, the stroke that slew my brother
+Johan killed Duke Beltane also. But as for you, get you to Pentavalon
+and say the Duke is dead, in proof whereof take you this my ring and
+so, farewell.' Then, my Beltane, God guiding me, I brought thee to
+these solitudes, for I am he that was the Duke Beltane, and thou art my
+son indeed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+
+Thus spake the hermit Ambrose and, having made an end, sat thereafter
+with his head bowed upon his hands, while Beltane stood wide-eyed yet
+seeing not, and with lips apart yet dumb by reason of the wonder of it;
+therefore, in a while, the hermit spake again:
+
+"Thus did we live together, thou and I, dear son, and I loved thee
+well, my Beltane: with each succeeding day I loved thee better, for as
+thine understanding grew, so grew my love for thee. Therefore, so soon
+as thou wert of an age, set in thy strength and able to thine own
+support, I tore myself from thy sweet fellowship and lived alone lest,
+having thee, I might come nigh to happiness."
+
+Then Beltane sank upon his knees and caught the hermit's wasted hands
+and kissed them oft, saying:
+
+"Much hast thou suffered, O my father, but now am I come to thee again
+and, knowing all things, here will I bide and leave thee nevermore."
+Now in the hermit's pale cheek came a faint and sudden glow, and in his
+eyes a light not of the sun.
+
+"Bethink thee, boy," said he, "the blood within thy veins is noble.
+For, since thou art my son, so, an thou dost leave me and seek thy
+destiny thou shalt, perchance, be Duke of Pentavalon--an God will it
+so."
+
+But Beltane shook his head. Quoth he:
+
+"My father, I am a smith, and smith am I content to be since thou, lord
+Duke, art my father. So now will I abide with thee and love and honour
+thee, and be thy son indeed."
+
+Then rose the hermit Ambrose to his feet and spake with eyes uplifted:
+
+"Now glory be to God, Who, in His mercy, hath made of thee a man, my
+Beltane, clean of soul and innocent, yet strong of arm to lift and
+succour the distressed, and therefore it is that you to-day must leave
+me, my well-beloved, for there be those whose need of thee is greater
+even than mine."
+
+"Nay, dear my father, how may this be?"
+
+Now hereupon Ambrose the Hermit stood awhile with bent head, and spake
+not, only he sighed full oft and wrung his hands.
+
+"I thought but of myself!" he groaned, "great sorrow is oft-times
+greatly selfish. Alas, my son--twenty weary years have I lived here
+suing God's forgiveness, and for twenty bitter years Pentavalon hath
+groaned 'neath shameful wrong--and death in many hateful shapes. O God
+have mercy on a sinner who thought but on himself! List, my son, O
+list! On a day, as I kneeled before yon cross, came one in knightly
+armour and upon his face, 'neath the links of his camail, I saw a great
+scar--the scar this hand had wrought. And, even as I knew Sir Benedict,
+in that same moment he knew me, and gave a joyous cry and came and fell
+upon his knee and kissed my hand, as of old. Thereafter we talked, and
+he told me many a woeful tale of Pentavalon and of its misery. How,
+when I was gone, rose bitter fight and faction, barons and knights
+striving together which should be Duke. In the midst of the which
+disorders came one, from beyond seas, whom men called Ivo, who by might
+of sword and cunning tongue made himself Duke in my place. Sir Benedict
+told of a fierce and iron rule, of the pillage and ravishment of town
+and city, of outrage and injustice, of rack and flame and gibbet--of a
+people groaning 'neath a thousand cruel wrongs. Then, indeed, did I see
+that my one great sin a thousand other sins had bred, and was I full of
+bitter sorrow and anguish. And, in my anguish, I thought on thee, and
+sent to thee Sir Benedict, and watched thee wrestle, and at stroke of
+sword, and praised God for thy goodly might and strength. For O, dear
+my son, meseemeth that God hath raised thee up to succour these
+afflicted, to shield the weak and helpless--hath made thee great and
+mightier than most to smite Evil that it may flee before thee. So in
+thee shall my youth be renewed, and my sins, peradventure, purged
+away."
+
+"Father!" said Beltane rising, his blue eyes wide, his strong hands
+a-tremble, "O my father!" Then Ambrose clasped those quivering hands and
+kissed those wide and troubled eyes and spake thereafter, slow and
+soft:
+
+"Now shall I live henceforth in thee, my son, glorying in thy deeds
+hereafter. And if thou must needs--bleed, then shall my heart bleed
+with thee, or if thou meet with death, my Beltane, then shall this
+heart of mine die with thee."
+
+Thus speaking, the hermit drew the sword from Beltane's girdle and
+held the great blade towards heaven.
+
+"Behold, my son," said he, "the motto of our house, 'I will arise!' So
+now shalt thou arise indeed that thy destiny may be fulfilled. Take
+hold upon thy manhood, my well-beloved, get thee to woeful Pentavalon
+and, beholding its sorrows, seek how they may be assuaged. Now my
+Beltane, all is said--when wilt thou leave thy father?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, gathering his cloak about him:
+
+"An so it be thy wish, my father, then will I go this hour."
+
+Then Ambrose brought Beltane into his humble dwelling where was a
+coffer wrought by his own skilful fingers; and from this coffer he drew
+forth a suit of triple mail, wondrously fashioned, beholding the
+which, Beltane's eyes glistened because of the excellence of its
+craftsmanship.
+
+"Behold!" quoth the hermit, "'tis an armour worthy of a king, light is
+it, yet marvellous strong, and hath been well tried in many a desperate
+affray. 'Tis twenty years since these limbs bore it, yet see--I have
+kept it bright from rust lest, peradventure, Pentavalon should need
+thee to raise again the battle cry of thy house and lead her men to
+war. And, alas dear son, that day is now! Pentavalon calls to thee from
+out the gloom of dungeon, from the anguish of flame, and rack, and
+gibbet--from blood-soaked hearth and shameful grave she calls thee--
+so, my Beltane, come and let me arm thee."
+
+And there, within his little hut, the hermit Ambrose, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was, girt the armour upon Beltane the mighty, Duke of
+Pentavalon to be, if so God willed; first the gambeson of stuffed and
+quilted leather, and, thereafter, coifed hauberk and chausses, with
+wide sword-belt clamped with broad plates of silver and studs of gold,
+until my Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot. Then
+brought Ambrose a wallet, wherein were six gold pieces, and put it in
+his hand, saying:
+
+"These have I kept against this day, my Beltane. Take them to aid thee
+on thy journey, for the county of Bourne lieth far to the south."
+
+"Do I then journey to Bourne, my father?"
+
+"Aye, to Sir Benedict, who yet doth hold the great keep of
+Thrasfordham. Many sieges hath he withstood, and daily men flee to him
+--stricken men, runaway serfs, and outlaws from the green, all such
+masterless men as lie in fear of their lives."
+
+Said Beltane, slow and thoughtful:
+
+"There be many outlaws within the green, wild men and sturdy fighters
+as I've heard. Hath Sir Benedict many men, my father?"
+
+"Alas! a pitiful few, and Black Ivo can muster bows and lances by the
+ten thousand--"
+
+"Yet doth Sir Benedict withstand them all, my father!"
+
+"Yet must he keep ever within Bourne, Beltane. All Pentavalon, save
+Bourne, lieth 'neath Ivo's iron foot, ruled by his fierce nobles, and
+they be strong and many, 'gainst whom Sir Benedict is helpless in the
+field. 'Tis but five years agone since Ivo gave up fair Belsaye town to
+ravishment and pillage, and thereafter, builded him a mighty gallows
+over against it and hanged many men thereon."
+
+Now hereupon, of a sudden, Beltane clenched his hands and fell upon his
+knees.
+
+"Father," said he, "Pentavalon indeed doth cry, so must I now arise and
+go unto her. Give me thy blessing that I may go."
+
+Then the hermit laid his hands upon Beltane's golden head and blessed
+him, and whispered awhile in passionate prayer. Thereafter Beltane
+arose and, together, they came out into the sunshine.
+
+"South and by west must you march, dear son, and God, methinks, shall
+go beside thee, for thy feet shall tread a path where Death shall lie
+in wait for thee. Let thine eyes be watchful therefore, and thine ears
+quick to hear. Hearken you to all men, yet speak you few words and
+soft. But, when you act, let your deeds shout unto heaven, that all
+Pentavalon may know a man is come to lead them who fears only God. And
+so, my Beltane, fare-thee-well! Come, kiss me, boy; our next kiss,
+perchance--shall be in heaven."
+
+And thus they kissed, and looked within each other's eyes; then Beltane
+turned him, swift and sudden, and strode upon his way. But, in a
+little, looking back, he saw his father, kneeling before the cross,
+with long, gaunt arms upraised to heaven.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS A
+NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+
+The morning was yet young when my Beltane fared forth into the world, a
+joyous, golden morning trilling with the glad song of birds and rich
+with a thousand dewy scents; a fair, sweet, joyous world it was indeed,
+whose glories, stealing in at eye and ear, filled him with their
+gladness. On strode my Beltane by rippling brook and sleepy pool, with
+step swift and light and eyes wide and shining, threading an unerring
+course as only a forester might; now crossing some broad and sunny
+glade where dawn yet lingered in rosy mist, anon plunging into the
+green twilight of dell and dingle, through tangled brush and scented
+bracken gemmed yet with dewy fire, by marsh and swamp and lichened
+rock, until he came out upon the forest road, that great road laid by
+the iron men of Rome, but now little better than a grassy track, yet
+here and there, with mossy stone set up to the glory of proud emperor
+and hardy centurion long since dust and ashes; a rutted track, indeed,
+but leading ever on, 'neath mighty trees, over hill and dale towards
+the blue mystery beyond.
+
+Now, in a while, being come to the brow of a hill, needs must my
+Beltane pause to look back upon the woodlands he had loved so well and,
+sighing, he stretched his arms thitherward; and lo! out of the soft
+twilight of the green, stole a gentle wind full of the scent of root
+and herb and the fresh, sweet smell of earth, a cool, soft wind that
+stirred the golden hair at his temples, like a caress, and so--was
+gone. For a while he stood thus, gazing towards where he knew his
+father yet knelt in prayer for him, then turned he slowly, and went his
+appointed way.
+
+Thus did Beltane bid farewell to the greenwood and to woodland things,
+and thus did the green spirit of the woods send forth a gentle wind to
+kiss him on the brow ere he went out into the world of men and cities.
+
+Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery
+tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song,
+and the song was right merry and the words likewise:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a maid to a man, I trow."
+
+Looking about, Beltane saw the singer, a comely fellow whose long legs
+bestrode a plump ass; a lusty man he was, clad in shirt of mail and
+with a feather of green brooched to his escalloped hood; a long-bow
+hung at his back together with a quiver of arrows, while at his thigh
+swung a heavy, broad-bladed sword. Now he, espying Beltane amid the
+leaves, brought the ass to a sudden halt and clapped hand to the pommel
+of his sword.
+
+"How now, Goliath!" cried he. "_Pax vobiscum,_ and likewise
+_benedicite_! Come ye in peace, forsooth, or is it to be _bellum
+internecinum?_ Though, by St. Giles, which is my patron saint, I care
+not how it be, for mark ye, _vacuus cantat coram latrone viator,_ Sir
+Goliath, the which in the vulgar tongue signifieth that he who travels
+with an empty purse laughs before the footpad--moreover, I have a
+sword!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, saying:
+
+"I have no lust to thy purse, most learned bowman, or indeed to aught
+of thine unless it be thy company."
+
+"My company?" quoth the bowman, looking Beltane up and down with merry
+blue eyes, "why now do I know thee for a fellow of rare good judgment,
+for my company is of the best, in that I have a tongue which loveth to
+wag in jape or song. Heard ye how the birds and I were a-carolling? A
+right blithesome morn, methinks, what with my song, and the birds'
+song, and this poor ass's bells--aye, and the flowers a-peep from the
+bank yonder. God give ye joy of it, tall brother, as he doth me and
+this goodly ass betwixt my knees, patient beast."
+
+Now leaning on his quarter-staff Beltane smiled and said:
+
+"How came ye by that same ass, master bowman?"
+
+"Well--I met a monk!" quoth the fellow with a gleam of white teeth. "O!
+a ponderous monk, brother, of most mighty girth of belly! Now, as ye
+see, though this ass be sleek and fat as an abbot, she is something
+small. 'And shall so small a thing needs bear so great a mountain o'
+flesh?' says I (much moved at the sight, brother). 'No, by the blessed
+bones of St. Giles (which is my patron saint, brother), so thereafter
+(by dint of a little persuasion, brother) my mountainous monk, to ease
+the poor beast's back, presently got him down and I, forthwith, got up--
+as being more in proportion to her weight, sweet beast! O! surely
+ne'er saw I fairer morn than this, and never, in so fair a morn, saw I
+fairer man than thou, Sir Forester, nor taller, and I have seen many
+men in my day. Wherefore an so ye will, let us company together what
+time we may; 'tis a solitary road, and the tongue is a rare shortener
+of distance."
+
+So Beltane strode on beside this garrulous bowman, hearkening to his
+merry talk, yet himself speaking short and to the point as was ever his
+custom; as thus:
+
+BOWMAN. "How do men call thee, tall brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "Beltane."
+
+BOWMAN. "Ha! 'Tis a good name, forsooth I've heard worse--and yet,
+forsooth, I've heard better. Yet 'tis a fairish name--'twill serve. As
+for me, Giles Brabblecombe o' the Hills men call me, for 'twas in the
+hill country I was born thirty odd years agone. Since then twelve
+sieges have I seen with skirmishes and onfalls thrice as many. Death
+have I beheld in many and divers shapes and in experience of wounds and
+dangers am rich, though, by St. Giles (my patron saint), in little
+else. Yet do I love life the better, therefore, and I have read that
+'to despise gold is to be rich.'"
+
+BELTANE. "Do all bowmen read, then?"
+
+BOWMAN. "Why look ye, brother, I am not what I was aforetime--_non sum
+quails eram _--I was bred a shaveling, a mumbler, a be-gowned
+do-nothing--brother, I was a monk, but the flesh and the devil made of me
+a bowman, heigho--so wags the world! Though methinks I am a better
+bowman than ever I was a monk, having got me some repute with this my
+bow."
+
+BELTANE (shaking his head). "Methinks thy choice was but a sorry one
+for--"
+
+BOWMAN (laughing). "Choice quotha! 'Twas no choice, 'twas forced upon
+me, _vi et armis._ I should be chanting prime or matins at this very
+hour but for this tongue o' mine, God bless it! For, when it should
+have been droning psalms, it was forever lilting forth some blithesome
+melody, some merry song of eyes and lips and stolen kisses. In such
+sort that the good brethren were wont to gather round and, listening,--
+sigh! Whereof it chanced I was, one night, by order of the holy Prior,
+drubbed forth of the sacred precincts. So brother Anselm became Giles
+o' the Bow--the kind Saints be praised, in especial holy Saint Giles
+(which is my patron saint!). For, heed me--better the blue sky and the
+sweet, strong wind than the gloom and silence of a cloister. I had
+rather hide this sconce of mine in a hood of mail than in the mitre of
+a lord bishop--_nolo episcopare,_ good brother! Thus am I a fighter,
+and a good fighter, and a wise fighter, having learned 'tis better to
+live to fight than to fight to live."
+
+BELTANE. "And for whom do ye fight?"
+
+BOWMAN. "For him that pays most, _pecuniae obediunt omnia,_ brother."
+
+BELTANE (frowning). "Money? And nought beside?"
+
+BOWMAN (staring). "As what, brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "The justice of the cause wherefore ye fight."
+
+BOWMAN. "Justice quotha--cause! O innocent brother, what have such
+matters to do with such as I? See you now, such lieth the case. You,
+let us say, being a baron (and therefore noble!) have a mind to a
+certain other baron's castle, or wife, or both--(the which is more
+usual) wherefore ye come to me, who am but a plain bowman knowing
+nought of the case, and you chaffer with me for the use of this my body
+for so much money, and thereafter I shoot my best on thy behalf as in
+mine honour bound. Thus have I fought both for and against Black Ivo
+throughout the length and breadth of his Duchy of Pentavalon. If ye be
+minded to sell that long sword o' thine, to none better market could ye
+come, for there be ever work for such about Black Ivo."
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, 'tis so I hear."
+
+BOWMAN. "Nor shall ye anywhere find a doughtier fighter than Duke Ivo,
+nor a leader quicker to spy out the vantage of position and attack."
+
+BELTANE. "Is he so lusty a man-at-arms?"
+
+BOWMAN. "With lance, axe, or sword he hath no match. I have seen him
+lead a charge. I have watched him fight afoot. I have stormed behind
+him through a breach, and I know of none dare cope with him--unless it
+be Sir Pertolepe the Red."
+
+BELTANE. "Hast ne'er heard tell, then, of Benedict of Bourne?"
+
+BOWMAN (clapping hand to thigh). "Now by the blood and bones of St.
+Giles 'tis so! Out o' the mouth of a babe and suckling am I corrected!
+Verily if there be one to front Black Ivo 'tis Benedict o' the Mark. To
+behold these two at handstrokes--with axes--ha, there would be a sweet
+affray indeed--a sight for the eyes of holy archangels! Dost know aught
+of Sir Benedict, O Innocence?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen him."
+
+BOWMAN. "Then, my soft and gentle dove-like youth, get thee to thy
+marrow-bones and pray that kind heaven shall make thee more his like,
+for in his shoes doth stand a man--a knight--a very paladin!"
+
+BELTANE. "Who fighteth not for--hire. Sir Bowman!"
+
+BOWMAN. "Yet who hireth to fight, Sir Dove-eyed Giant, for I have
+fought for him, ere now, within his great keep of Thrasfordham within
+Bourne. But, an ye seek employ, his is but a poor service, where a man
+shall come by harder knocks than good broad pieces."
+
+BELTANE. "And yet, 'spite thy cunning and all thy warring, thy purse
+goeth empty!"
+
+BOWMAN. "My purse, Sir Dove? Aye, I told thee so for that I am by
+nature cautious--_sicut mos est nobis_! But thy dove's eyes are honest
+eyes, so now shall you know that hid within the lining of this my left
+boot be eighty and nine gold pieces, and in my right a ring with stones
+of price, and, moreover, here behold a goodly chain."
+
+So saying, the bowman drew from his bosom a gold chain, thick and long
+and heavy, and held it up in the sunlight.
+
+"I got this, Sir Dove, together with the ring and divers other toys, at
+the storming of Belsaye, five years agone. Aha! a right good town is
+Belsaye, and growing rich and fat against another plucking."
+
+"And how came Belsaye to be stormed?" Quoth Giles the Bowman, eying
+his golden chain:
+
+"My lord Duke Ivo had a mind to a certain lady, who was yet but a
+merchant's daughter, look ye. But she was young and wondrous fair, for
+Duke Ivo hath a quick eye and rare judgment in such pretty matters. But
+she (and she but a merchant's daughter!) took it ill, and when Duke
+Ivo's messengers came to bear her to his presence, she whined and
+struggled, as is ever woman's way, and thereafter in the open street
+snatched a dagger and thereupon, before her father's very eye did slay
+herself (and she but a merchant's daughter!), whereat some hot-head
+plucked out sword and other citizens likewise, and of my lord Duke's
+messengers there none escaped save one and he sore wounded. So Belsaye
+city shut its gates 'gainst my lord Duke and set out fighting-hoards
+upon its walls. Yet my lord Duke battered and breached it, for few can
+match him in a siege, and stormed it within three days. And, by Saint
+Giles, though he lost the merchant's daughter methinks he lacked not
+at all, for the women of Belsaye are wondrous fair."
+
+The rising sun made a glory all about them, pouring his beams 'twixt
+mighty trees whose knotted, far-flung branches dappled the way here and
+there with shadow; but now Beltane saw nought of it by reason that he
+walked with head a-droop and eyes that stared earthward; moreover his
+hands were clenched and his lips close and grim-set. As for Giles o'
+the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full
+melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a
+while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin
+with strong, brown fingers.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir
+Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er
+saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to
+twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well--hast the makings of a
+right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!"
+
+"Yet a lover of peace am I!" said Beltane, his head yet drooping.
+
+"Peace, quotha--peace? Ha? by all the holy saints--peace! A soft word!
+A woman's word! A word smacking of babes and milk! Out upon thee, what
+hath a man with such an arm--aye, and legs--to do with peace? An you
+would now, I could bring ye to good service 'neath Duke Ivo's banner.
+'Tis said he hath sworn, this year, to burn Thrasfordham keep, to hang
+Benedict o' the Mark and lay waste to Bourne. Aha! you shall see good
+fighting 'neath Ivo's banner, Sir Dove!"
+
+Then Beltane raised his head and spake, swift and sudden, on this wise:
+
+"An I must fight, the which God forbid, yet once this my sword is drawn
+ne'er shall it rest till I lie dead or Black Ivo is no more."
+
+Then did the archer stare upon my Beltane in amaze with eyes full wide
+and mouth agape, nor spake he for awhile, then:
+
+"Black Ivo--thou!" he cried, and laughed amain. "Go to, my tender
+youth," said he, "methinks a lute were better fitted to thy hand than
+that great sword o' thine." Now beholding Beltane's gloomy face, he
+smiled within his hand, yet eyed him thoughtfully thereafter, and so
+they went with never a word betwixt them. But, in a while, the archer
+fell to snuffing the air, and clapped Beltane upon the shoulder.
+
+"Aha!" quoth he, "methinks we reach the fair Duchy of Pentavalon; smell
+ye aught, brother?" And now, indeed, Beltane became aware of a cold
+wind, foul and noisome, a deadly, clammy air breathing of things
+corrupt, chilling the flesh with swift unthinking dread; and, halting
+in disgust, he looked about him left and right.
+
+"Above--above!" cried Giles o' the Bow, "this is Sir Pertolepe's
+country--look you heavenward, Sir Innocence!"
+
+Then, lifting his eyes to the shivering leaves overhead, Beltane of a
+sudden espied a naked foot--a down-curving, claw-like thing,
+shrivelled and hideous, and, glancing higher yet, beheld a sight to
+blast the sun from heaven: now staring up at the contorted horror of
+this shrivelled thing that once had lived and laughed, Beltane let fall
+his staff and, being suddenly sick and faint, sank upon his knees and,
+covering his eyes, crouched there in the grass the while that grisly,
+silent thing swayed to and fro above him in the gentle wind of morning
+and the cord whereby it hung creaked faintly.
+
+"How now--how now!" cried Giles; "do ye blench before this churlish
+carrion? Aha! ye shall see the trees bear many such hereabouts. Get up,
+my qualmish, maid-like youth; he ne'er shall injure thee nor any man
+again--save by the nose--faugh! Rise, rise and let us be gone."
+
+So, presently Beltane, shivering, got him to his feet and looking up,
+pale-faced, beheld upon the ragged breast a parchment with this legend
+in fair, good writing:
+
+HE KILLED A DEER
+
+Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be
+a plenty, but a stag is a noble creature and something scarcer--
+moreover they be the Duke's."
+
+"By whose order was this done?"
+
+"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red.
+But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of
+gentle blood."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"'Tis so the law!"
+
+"And who made the law?"
+
+"Why--as to that," quoth Giles, rubbing his chin, "as to that--what
+matters it to you or me? Pah! come away lest I stifle!"
+
+But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse
+at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about
+and set the very leaves a-quiver. Once it came, and twice, and so--was
+gone. Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff,
+and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and
+dragging him from the ass all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush
+whence the cry had come. And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon
+whose threshold a child lay--not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the
+cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in
+hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed
+hauberks glittered in the sun. Close and ever closer they beset the
+hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but
+ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close. Beside the man a
+woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and
+garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry,
+leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in
+that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled
+'neath a pike-thrust. Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in
+his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body
+and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and
+wild. So for a space, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane,
+laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they
+writhing upon the sward. Then Beltane turned to see Giles o' the Bow,
+who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.
+
+"Look!" he cried, pointing with quivering finger, "one dead and one
+sore hurt--Saint Giles save us, what have ye done? These be Sir
+Pertolepe's foresters--behold his badge!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.
+
+"How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then? I was too meek and
+gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou'rt afraid--get you gone!"
+
+"Art surely mad!" quoth Giles. "The saints be my witness here was no
+act of mine!" So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through
+the green. Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the
+hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman. Said he:
+
+"Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?"
+
+"Wife and child--and dead!" the man muttered, "child and wife--and
+dead! A week ago, my brother--and now, the child, and then the wife!
+Child and wife and brother--and dead!" Then Beltane came, minded to aid
+him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his
+great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at
+heart, turned him away. And, in a while, being come to the road once
+more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its
+bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his
+brow grew dark and troubled.
+
+"'Tis thus have I made beginning," he sighed, "so now, God aiding me,
+ne'er will I rest 'till peace be come again and tyranny made an end
+of!"
+
+Then, very solemnly, did my Beltane kneel him beside the way and
+lifting the cross hilt of his sword to heaven kissed it, and thereafter
+rose. And so, having cleansed the steel within the earth, he sheathed
+the long blade and went, slowfooted, upon his way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+The sun was high, and by his shadow Beltane judged it the noon hour;
+very hot and very still it was, for the wind had died and leaf and twig
+hung motionless as though asleep. And presently as he went, a sound
+stole upon the stillness, a sound soft and beyond all things pleasant
+to hear, the murmurous ripple of running water near by. Going aside
+into the green therefore, Beltane came unto a brook, and here, screened
+from the sun 'neath shady willows, he laid him down to drink, and to
+bathe face and hands in the cool water.
+
+Now as he lay thus, staring sad-eyed into the hurrying waters of the
+brook, there came to him the clicking of sandalled feet, and glancing
+up, he beheld one clad as a black friar. A fat man he was, jolly of
+figure and mightily round; his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+"Peace be unto thee, my son!" quoth he, breathing short and loud, "an
+evil day for a fat man who hath been most basely bereft of a goodly ass
+--holy Saint Dunstan, how I gasp!" and putting back the cowl from his
+tonsured crown, he puffed out his cheeks and mopped his face. "Hearkee
+now, good youth, hath there passed thee by ever a ribald in an
+escalloped hood--an unhallowed, long-legged, scurvy archer knave
+astride a fair white ass, my son?"
+
+"Truly," nodded Beltane, "we parted company scarce an hour since."
+
+The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped
+his face again; quoth he:
+
+"Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert
+and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a
+thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most
+vicious rogue, _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_!"
+
+"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four
+saints with as many curses, and all for one small ass!"
+
+The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed:
+
+"'Twas a goodly ass, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy
+gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover
+'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to
+steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--_per de_
+'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times damned and
+beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to
+the lowest pit of Acheron--_damnatus est_, amen! Yet, my son, here--by
+the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty
+most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis
+something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"
+
+Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept
+towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long
+and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness
+of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a
+heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he
+paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked
+voice:
+
+"O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one
+that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the
+tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the
+eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's
+right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and,
+bowing his head upon his hands, closed his eyes.
+
+"Oho!" cried the friar, "and is it thou, Simon? Trouble ye the world
+yet, child of Satan?"
+
+Hereupon the blind man fell upon his knees. "Holy father," he groaned,
+clasping his withered arms upon his gaunt breast, "good Friar Gui I die
+of hunger; aid me lest I perish. 'Tis true I am outlaw and no man may
+minister unto me, yet be merciful, give me to eat--O gentle Christ, aid
+me--"
+
+"How!" cried the friar, "dare ye speak that name, ye that are breaker
+of laws human and divine, ye that are murderer, dare ye lift those
+bloody hands to heaven?"
+
+"Holy sir," quoth Beltane, "he hath but one; I pray you now give him to
+eat."
+
+"Feed an outlaw! Art mad, young sir? Feed a murderer, a rogue banned by
+Holy Church, a serf that hath raised hand 'gainst his lord? He should
+have hanged when the witch his daughter burned, but that Sir Pertolepe,
+with most rare mercy, gave to the rogue his life."
+
+"But," sighed Beltane, "left him to starve--'tis a death full as sure
+yet slower, methinks. Come, let us feed him."
+
+"I tell thee, fond youth, he is excommunicate. Wouldst have me
+contravene the order of Holy Church? Go to!"
+
+Then my Beltane put his hand within his pouch and taking thence a gold
+piece held it out upon his palm; said he:
+
+"Friar, I will buy the half of thy pasty of thee!" Hereupon Friar Gui
+stared from the gold to the pasty, and back again.
+
+"So much!" quoth he, round-eyed. "Forsooth 'tis a noble pasty and yet--
+nay, nay, tempt me not--_retro Sathanas!_" and closing his eyes he
+crossed himself. Then Beltane took out other two gold pieces and set
+them in the blind man's bony hand, saying:
+
+"Take these three gold pieces and buy you food, and thereafter--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the blind man, "gold! Now the Saints keep and bless thee,
+young sir, sweet Jesu love thee ever!" and fain would he have knelt to
+kiss my Beltane's feet. But Beltane raised him up with gentle hand,
+speaking him kindly, as thus:
+
+"Tell now, I pray you, how came ye to slay?"
+
+"Stay! stay!" cried Friar Gui, "bethink thee, good youth--so much gold,
+'tis a very fortune! With so much, masses might be sung for his
+wretched soul; give it therefore to Holy Church, so shall he,
+peradventure, attain Paradise."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "I had rather he, of a surety, attain a
+full belly, Sir Friar." Then, turning his back upon the friar, Beltane
+questioned the blind man again, as thus:
+
+"Tell me, an ye will, how ye came to shed blood?" and the outlaw,
+kneeling at Beltane's feet answered with bowed head:
+
+"Noble sir, I had a daughter and she was young and fair, therefore came
+my lord Pertolepe's chief verderer to bear her to my lord. But she
+cried to me and I, forgetting my duty to my lord, took my quarter-staff
+and, serf though I was, smote the chief verderer that he died
+thereafter, but, ere he died, he named my daughter witch. And, when
+they had burned her, they put out mine eyes, and cut off my hand, and
+made of me an outlaw. So is my sin very heavy upon me."
+
+Now when the man had made an end, Beltane stood silent awhile, then,
+reaching down, he aided the blind man to his feet.
+
+"Go you to Mortain," said he, "seek out the hermit Ambrose that liveth
+in Holy Cross Thicket; with him shall you find refuge, and he,
+methinks, will surely win thy soul to heaven."
+
+So the blind man blessed my Beltane and turning, crept upon his
+solitary way.
+
+"Youth," said the friar, frowning up into Beltane's gentle eyes, "thou
+hast this day put thy soul in jeopardy--the Church doth frown upon this
+thy deed!"
+
+"And yet, most reverend sir, God's sun doth shine upon this my body!"
+
+FRIAR. "He who aideth an evil-doer is enemy to the good!"
+
+BELTANE. "Yet he who seeketh to do good to evil that good may follow,
+doeth no evil to good."
+
+FRIAR. "Ha! thou art a menace to the state--"
+
+BELTANE. "So shall I be, I pray God, the whiles this state continue!"
+
+FRIAR. "Thou art either rogue or fool!"
+
+BELTANE. "Well, thou hast thy choice."
+
+FRIAR. "Alack! this sorry world is full of rogues and fools and--"
+
+BELTANE. "And friars!"
+
+FRIAR. "Who seek the salvation of this wretched world."
+
+BELTANE. "As how?"
+
+FRIAR. "Forsooth we meditate and pray--"
+
+BELTANE. "And eat!"
+
+FRIAR. "Aye verily, we do a little in that way as the custom is, for
+your reverent eater begetteth a devout pray-er. The which mindeth me I
+grow an hungered, yet will I forego appetite and yield thee this fair
+pasty for but two of thy gold pieces. And, look ye, 'tis a noble pasty
+I had this day from my lord Pertolepe's own table."
+
+BELTANE. "That same lord that showed mercy on yonder poor maimed
+wretch? Know you him?"
+
+FRIAR. "In very sooth, and 'tis a potent lord that holdeth me in some
+esteem, a most Christian knight--"
+
+BELTANE. "That ravisheth the defenceless! Whose hands be foul with the
+blood of innocence--"
+
+FRIAR. "How--how? 'Tis a godly lord who giveth bounteously to Holy
+Church--"
+
+BELTANE. "Who stealeth from the poor--"
+
+FRIAR. "Stealeth! Holy Saint Dunstan, dare ye speak thus of so great a
+lord--a son of the Church, a companion of our noble Duke? Steal,
+forsooth! The poor have nought to steal!"
+
+BELTANE. "They have their lives."
+
+FRIAR. "Not so, they and their lives are their lord's, 'tis so the law
+and--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence came this law?"
+
+FRIAR. "It came, youth--it came--aye, of God!"
+
+BELTANE. "Say rather of the devil!"
+
+FRIAR. "Holy Saint Michael--'tis a blasphemous youth! Never heard ears
+the like o' this--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence cometh poverty and famine?"
+
+FRIAR. "'Tis a necessary evil! Doth it not say in Holy Writ, 'the poor
+ye have always with you'?"
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, so shall ye ever--until the laws be amended. So needs
+must men starve and starve--"
+
+FRIAR. "There be worse things! And these serfs be born to starve, bred
+up to it, and 'tis better to starve here than to perish hereafter,
+better to purge the soul by lack of meat than to make of it a fetter of
+the soul!"
+
+"Excellently said, holy sir!" quoth Beltane, stooping of a sudden. "But
+for this pasty now, 'tis a somewhat solid fetter, meseemeth, so now do
+I free thee of it--thus!" So saying, my Beltane dropped the pasty into
+the deeper waters of the brook and, thereafter, took up his staff. "Sir
+Friar," said he, "behold to-day is thy soul purged of a pasty against
+the day of judgment!"
+
+Then Beltane went on beside the rippling waters of the brook, but above
+its plash and murmur rose the deeptoned maledictions of Friar Gui.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE WISDOM OF A
+FOOL
+
+
+As the day advanced the sun grew ever hotter; birds chirped drowsily
+from hedge and thicket, and the warm, still air was full of the
+slumberous drone of a myriad unseen wings. Therefore Beltane sought the
+deeper shade of the woods and, risking the chance of roving thief or
+lurking foot-pad, followed a devious course by reason of the
+underbrush.
+
+Now as he walked him thus, within the cool, green twilight, watchful of
+eye and with heavy quarter-staff poised upon his shoulder, he presently
+heard the music of a pipe now very mournful and sweet, anon breaking
+into a merry lilt full of rippling trills and soft, bubbling notes most
+pleasant to be heard. Wherefore he went aside and thus, led by the
+music, beheld a jester in his motley lying a-sprawl beneath a tree. A
+long-legged knave was he, pinched and something doleful of visage yet
+with quick bright eyes that laughed 'neath sombre brows, and a wide,
+up-curving mouth; upon his escalloped cape and flaunting cock's-comb
+were many little bells that rang a silvery chime as, up-starting to his
+elbow, he greeted my Beltane thus:
+
+"Hail, noble, youthful Sir, and of thy sweet and gracious courtesy I
+pray you mark me this--the sun is hot, my belly lacketh, and thou art a
+fool!"
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane, leaning him upon his quarter-staff.
+
+"For three rarely reasonable reasons, sweet sir, as thus:--item, for
+that the sun burneth, item, my belly is empty, and item, thou, lured by
+this my foolish pipe art hither come to folly. So I, a fool, do greet
+thee, fool, and welcome thee to this my palace of ease and pleasaunce
+where, an ye be minded to list to the folly of a rarely foolish fool, I
+will, with foolish jape and quip, befool thy mind to mirth and jollity,
+for thou art a sad fool, methinks, and something melancholic!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"'Tis a sad world and very sorrowful!"
+
+"Nay--'tis a sweet world and very joyful--for such as have eyes to see
+withal!"
+
+"To see?" quoth Beltane, frowning, "this day have I seen a dead man
+a-swing on a tree, a babe dead beside its cradle, and a woman die upon
+a spear! All day have I breathed an air befouled by nameless evil;
+whithersoever I go needs must I walk 'twixt Murder and Shame!"
+
+"Then look ever before thee, so shalt see neither."
+
+"Yet will they be there!"
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine in high heaven, so must these things be till
+God and the saints shall mend them. But if thou must needs be doleful,
+go make thee troubles of thine own but leave the woes of this wide
+world to God!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, shaking his head, "how if God leave these things
+to thee and me?"
+
+"Why then methinks the world must wag as it will. Yet must we repine
+therefore? Out upon thee for a sober, long-legged, doleful wight. Now
+harkee! Here sit I--less fool! A fool who hath, this day, been driven
+forth of my lord's presence with blows and cruel stripes! And
+wherefore? 'Twas for setting a bird free of its cage, a small matter
+methinks--though there be birds--and birds, but mum for that! Yet do I
+grieve and sigh therefore, O doleful long-shanks? Not so--fie on't! I
+blow away my sorrows through the music of this my little pipe and,
+lying here, set my wits a-dancing and lo! I am a duke, a king, a very
+god! I create me a world wherein is neither hunger nor stripes, a world
+of joy and laughter, for, blessed within his dreams, even a fool may
+walk with gods and juggle with the stars!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "but how when he awake?"
+
+"Why then, messire," laughed the fellow, leaping nimbly to his feet,
+"why then doth he ask alms of thee, as thus: Prithee most noble
+messire, of thy bounty show kindness to a fool that lacks everything
+but wit. So give, messire, give and spare not, so may thy lady prove
+kind, thy wooing prosper and love strengthen thee."
+
+Now when the jester spake of love, my Beltane must needs sigh amain and
+shake a doleful head.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "within my life shall be no place for love, methinks."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed the jester, "thy very look doth proclaim thee lover,
+and 'tis well, for love maketh the fool wise and the wise fool, it
+changeth saints into rogues and rogues into saints, it teacheth the
+strong man gentleness and maketh the gentle strong. 'Tis sweeter than
+honey yet bitter as gall--Love! ah, love can drag a man to hell or lift
+him high as heaven!"
+
+"Aye verily," sighed Beltane, "I once did dream of such a love, but now
+am I awake, nor will I dream of love again, nor rest whiles Lust and
+Cruelty rule this sorrowful Duchy--"
+
+"Ha, what would ye then, fond youth?"
+
+"I am come to smite them hence," said Beltane, clenching mighty fists.
+
+"How?" cried the jester, wide of eye. "Alone?"
+
+"Nay, methinks God goeth with me. Moreover, I have this sword!" and
+speaking, Beltane touched the hilt of the great blade at his side.
+
+"What--a sword!" scoffed the jester, "think ye to mend the woes of thy
+fellows with a sword? Go to, thou grave-visaged, youthful fool! I tell
+thee, 'tis only humour and good fellowship can mend this wretched
+world, and there is nought so lacking in humour as a sword--unless it
+be your prating priest or mumbling monk. A pope in cap and bells, now--
+aha, there would be a world indeed, a world of joy and laughter! No
+more gloom, no more bans and damnings of Holy Church, no more groaning
+and snivelling in damp cloister and mildewed chapel, no more burnings
+and hangings and rackings--"
+
+"Yet," said Beltane, shaking his head, "yet would kings and dukes
+remain, Christian knights and godly lords to burn and hang and rack the
+defenceless."
+
+"Aye, Sir Gravity," nodded the jester, "but the Church is paramount
+ever; set the pope a-blowing of tunes upon a reed and kings would lay
+by their sceptres and pipe too and, finding no time or lust for
+warring, so strife would end, swords rust and wit grow keen. And wit,
+look you, biteth sharper than sword, laughter is more enduring than
+blows, and he who smiteth, smiteth only for lack of wit. So, an you
+would have a happy world, lay by that great sword and betake thee to a
+little pipe, teach men to laugh and so forget their woes. Learn wisdom
+of a fool, as thus: 'Tis better to live and laugh and beget thy kind
+than to perish by the sword or to dangle from a tree. Here now is
+advice, and in this advice thy life, thus in giving thee advice so do I
+give thee thy life. And I am hungry. And in thy purse is money
+wherewith even a fool might come by food. And youth is generous! And
+thou art very young! Come, sweet youthful messire, how much for thy
+life--and a fool's advice?"
+
+Then Beltane smiled, and taking out one of his three remaining gold
+pieces, put it in the jester's hand.
+
+"Fare thee well, good fool," said he, "I leave thee to thy dreams; God
+send they be ever fair--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the jester, spinning the coin upon his thumb, "ha, now do
+I dream indeed; may thy waking be ever as joyous. Farewell to thee,
+thou kind, sweet, youthful fool, and if thou must hang some day on a
+tree, may every leaf voice small prayers for thy gentle soul!"
+
+So saying, the jester nodded, waved aloft his bauble, and skipped away
+among the trees. But as Beltane went, pondering the jester's saying,
+the drowsy stillness was shivered by a sudden, loud cry, followed
+thereafter by a clamour of fierce shouting; therefore Beltane paused
+and turning, beheld the jester himself who ran very fleetly, yet with
+three lusty fellows in close pursuit.
+
+"Messire," panted the jester, wild of eye and with a trickle of blood
+upon his pallid face, "O sweet sir--let them not slay me!"
+
+Now while he spake, and being yet some way off, he tripped and fell,
+and, as he lay thus the foremost of his pursuers, a powerful, red-faced
+man, leapt towards him, whirling up his quarter-staff to smite; but, in
+that moment, Beltane leapt also and took the blow upon his staff and
+swung it aloft, yet stayed the blow, and, bestriding the prostrate
+jester, spake soft and gentle, on this wise:
+
+"Greeting to thee, forest fellow! Thy red face liketh me well, let us
+talk together."
+
+But, hereupon, as the red-faced man fell back, staring in amaze, there
+came his two companions, albeit panting and short of breath.
+
+"What, Roger," cried one, "doth this fellow withstand thee?"
+
+But Roger only growled, whiles Beltane smiled upon the three, gentle-eyed,
+but with heavy quarter-staff poised lightly in practised hand; quoth he:
+
+"How now, would ye harm the fool? 'Tis a goodly fool forsooth, yet with
+legs scarce so nimble as his wit, and a tongue--ha, a golden tongue to
+win all men to humour and good fellowship--"
+
+"Enough!" growled red-faced Roger, "Sir Pertolepe's foresters we be,
+give us yon scurvy fool then, that we may hang him out of hand."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "first let us reason together, let us hark to
+the wisdom of Folly and grow wise--"
+
+"Ha, Roger!" cried one of the men, "tap me this tall rogue on his
+golden mazzard!"
+
+"Or," said Beltane, "the fool shall charm thy souls to kindliness with
+his pipe--"
+
+"Ho, Roger!" cried the second forester, "split me this tall talker's
+yellow sconce, now!"
+
+"Come," growled Roger, threatening of mien, "yield us the fool, 'tis an
+arrant knave hath angered his lord!"
+
+"What matter for that," said Beltane, "so he hath not angered his God?
+Come now, ye be hearty fellows and have faces that might be honest,
+tell me, how long will ye serve the devil?"
+
+"Devil? Ha, what talk be this? We serve no devil!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "though they call him Pertolepe the Red,
+hereabouts."
+
+"Devil!" cried Black Roger aghast. And, falling back a step he gaped in
+amaze from Beltane to his gaping fellows. "Devil, forsooth!" he gasped,
+"aha, I've seen many a man hang for less than this--"
+
+"True," sighed Beltane, "men hang for small matters here in Pentavalon,
+and to hang is an evil death, methinks!"
+
+"So, so!" nodded Black Roger, grim-smiling, "I've watched them kick a
+fair good while, betimes!"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, his eyes widening, "those hands of thine, belike,
+have hanged a man ere this?"
+
+"Aye, many a score. Oho! folk know Black Roger's name hereabouts. I
+carry ever a noose at my girdle here--behold it!" and he showed a coil
+of rope that swung at his belt.
+
+Now looking from the man's grim features to this murderous cord,
+Beltane blenched and shivered, whereat Black Roger laughed aloud, and
+pointed a scornful finger.
+
+"Look'ee, 'tis fair, good rope this, and well-tried, and shall bear
+even thy great carcase sweetly--aye, sweetly--"
+
+"How--would'st hang me also?" said Beltane faintly, and the heavy
+quarter-staff sagged in his loosened grip.
+
+"Hang thee--aye. Thou didst withstand us with this fool, thou hast
+dared miscall our lord--we be all witnesses to it. So now will we--"
+
+But swift as lightning-flash, Beltane's long quarter-staff whirled and
+fell, and, for all his hood of mail, Black Roger threw wide his arms
+and, staggering, fell upon his face and so lay; then, fierce and grim,
+he had leapt upon the other two, and the air was full of the rattle and
+thud of vicious blows. But these foresters were right lusty fellows and
+they, together, beset my Beltane so furiously, right and left, that he
+perforce gave back 'neath their swift and grievous blows and, being
+overmatched, turned and betook him to his heels, whereat they,
+incontinent, pursued with loud gibes and fierce laughter. But on ran
+Beltane up the glade very fleetly yet watchful of eye, until, seeing
+one had outstripped his fellow, he checked his going somewhat,
+stumbling as one that is spent, whereat the forester shouted the louder
+and came on amain. Then did my cunning Beltane leap aside and, leaping,
+turned and smote the fellow clean and true upon the crown, and,
+laughing to see him fall, ran in upon the other forester with whirling
+quarter-staff. Now this fellow seeing himself stand alone, stayed not
+to abide the onset, but turning about, made off into the green. Then
+Beltane leaned him, panting, upon his staff, what time the fallen man
+got him unsteadily to his legs and limped after his comrade; as for the
+jester, he was gone long since; only Black Roger lay upon his face and
+groaned faintly, ever and anon. Wherefore came Beltane and stood above
+him as one in thought and, seeing him begin to stir, took from him his
+sword and coil of rope and loosing off his swordbelt, therewith bound
+his hands fast together and so, dragged him 'neath a tree that stood
+hard by. Thus when at last Black Roger opened his eyes, he beheld
+Beltane standing above him and in his hand the deadly rope. Now,
+looking from this to the desolation about him, Black Roger shivered,
+and gazing up into' the stern face above, his florid cheek grew pale.
+
+"Master," said he hoarsely, "what would ye?"
+
+"I would do to thee as thou hast done to others."
+
+"Hang me?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, and setting the noose about his neck, cast the
+rope across a branch.
+
+"Master, how shall my death profit thee?"
+
+"The world shall be the better, and thy soul know less of sin, mayhap."
+
+"Master," said Black Roger, stooping to wipe sweat from his face with
+fettered hands, "I have store of money set by--"
+
+But Beltane laughed with pallid lips, and, pulling upon the rope,
+dragged Black Roger, choking, to his feet.
+
+"Master," he gasped, "show a little mercy--"
+
+"Hast ever shown mercy to any man--speak me true!"
+
+"Alack!--no, master! And yet--"
+
+"How then shall ye expect mercy? Thou hast burnt and hanged and
+ravished the defenceless, so now shall be an end of it for thee, yet--O
+mark me this, thy name shall live on accursed in memory long after
+thou'rt but poor dust."
+
+"Aye, there be many alive to curse Black Roger living, and many dead to
+curse me when I'm dead; poor Roger's soul shall find small mercy
+hereafter, methinks--ha, I never thought on this!"
+
+"Thou had'st a mother--"
+
+"Aye, but they burned her for a witch when I was but a lad. As for me,
+'tis true I've hanged men, yet I was my lord's chief verderer and did
+but as my lord commanded."
+
+"A man hath choice of good or evil."
+
+"Aye. So now, an I must die--I must, but O master, say a prayer for me--
+my sins lie very heavy--"
+
+But Beltane, trembling, pulled upon the rope and swung Black Roger
+writhing in mid-air; then, of a sudden, loosing the rope, the forester
+fell and, while he lay gasping, Beltane stooped and loosed the rope
+from his neck.
+
+"What now?" groaned the forester, wild-eyed, "Sweet Jesu--ah, torture
+me not!"
+
+"Take back thy life," said Beltane, "and I pray God that henceforth
+thou shalt make of it better use, and live to aid thy fellows, so shall
+they, mayhap, some day come to bless thy memory."
+
+Then Black Roger, coming feebly to his knees, looked about him as one
+that wakes upon a new world, and lifted wide eyes from green earth to
+cloudless sky.
+
+"To live!" quoth he, "to live!" And so, with sudden gesture, stooped
+his head to hide his face 'neath twitching fingers.
+
+Hereupon Beltane smiled, gentle-eyed, yet spake not, and, turning,
+caught up his staff and went softly upon his way, leaving Black Roger
+the forester yet upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+
+The sun was low what time Beltane came to a shrine that stood beside
+the way, where was a grot built by some pious soul for the rest and
+refreshment of wearied travellers; and here also was a crystal spring
+the which, bubbling up, fell with a musical plash into the basin
+hollowed within the rock by those same kindly hands. Here Beltane
+stayed and, when he had drunk his fill, laid him down in the grateful
+shade and setting his cloak beneath his head, despite his hunger,
+presently fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was down and the world was
+become a place of mystery and glooming shadow; a bird called
+plaintively afar off in the dusk, the spring bubbled softly near by,
+but save for this a deep silence brooded over all things; above the
+gloom of the trees the sky was clear, where bats wheeled and hovered,
+and beyond the purple upland an orbed moon was rising.
+
+Now as Beltane breathed the cool, sweet air of evening and looked about
+him drowsily, he suddenly espied a shadow within the shadows, a dim
+figure--yet formidable and full of menace, and he started up, weapon in
+fist, whereupon the threatening figure stirred and spake:
+
+"Master--'tis I!" said a voice. Then Beltane came forth of the grot and
+stared upon Black Roger, grave-eyed.
+
+"O Hangman," said he, "where is thy noose?"
+
+But Roger quailed and hung his head, and spake with eyes abased:
+
+"Master, I burned it, together with my badge of service."
+
+"And what would ye here?"
+
+"Sir, I am a masterless man henceforth, for an I hang not men for Sir
+Pertolepe, so will Sir Pertolepe assuredly hang me."
+
+"And fear ye death?"
+
+"Messire, I--have hanged many men and--there were women also! I have
+cut me a tally here on my belt, see--there be many notches--and every
+notch a life. So now for every life these hands have taken do I vow to
+save a life an it may be so, and for every life saved would I cut away
+a notch until my belt be smooth again and my soul the lighter."
+
+"Why come ye to me, Black Roger?"
+
+"For that this day, at dire peril, I saw thee save a fool, Master. So
+now am I come to thee to be thy man henceforth, to follow and serve
+thee while life remain."
+
+"Why look now," quoth Beltane, "mine shall be a hard service and a
+dangerous, for I have mighty wrongs to set aright."
+
+"Ha! belike thou art under some vow also, master?"
+
+"Aye, verily, nor will I rest until it be accomplished or I am slain.
+For mark this, lonely am I, with enemies a many and strong, yet because
+of my vow needs must I smite them hence or perish in the adventure.
+Thus, he that companies me must go ever by desperate ways, and 'tis
+like enough Death shall meet him in the road."
+
+"Master," quoth Black Roger, "this day have ye shown me death yet given
+me new life, so beseech thee let me serve thee henceforth and aid thee
+in this thy vow."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane smiled and reached forth his hand; then Black
+Roger falling upon his knee, touched the hand to lip, and forehead and
+heart, taking him for his lord henceforth, and spake the oath of
+fealty: but when he would have risen, Beltane stayed him:
+
+"What, Black Roger, thou hast sworn fealty and obedience to me--now
+swear me this to God:--to hold ever, and abide by, thy word: to shew
+mercy to the distressed and to shield the helpless at all times!"
+
+And when he had sworn, Black Roger rose bright-eyed and eager.
+
+"Lord," said he, "whither do we go?"
+
+"Now," quoth Beltane, "shew me where I may eat, for I have a mighty
+hunger."
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Roger, scratching his chin, "Shallowford village
+lieth but a bowshot through the brush yonder--yet, forsooth, a man
+shall eat little there, methinks, these days."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"For that 'twas burned down, scarce a week agone--"
+
+"Burned!--and wherefore?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe fell out with his neighbour Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--
+upon the matter of some wench, methinks it was--wherefore came Sir
+Gilles' men by night and burned down Shallowford with twenty hunting
+dogs of Sir Pertolepe's that chanced to be there: whereupon my lord
+waxed mighty wroth and, gathering his company, came into the demesne of
+Sir Gilles and burned down divers manors and hung certain rogues and
+destroyed two villages--in quittance."
+
+"Ah--and what of the village folk?"
+
+"My lord, they were but serfs for the most part, but--for Sir
+Pertolepe's dogs--twenty and two--and roasted alive, poor beasts!"
+
+But here Black Roger checked both speech and stride, all at once, and
+stood with quarter-staff poised as from the depth of the wood came the
+sound of voices and fierce laughter.
+
+"Come away, master," he whispered, "these should be Sir Pertolepe's
+men, methinks."
+
+But Beltane shook his head:
+
+"I'm fain to see why they laugh," said he, and speaking, stole forward
+soft-footed amid the shadows; and so presently parting the leaves,
+looked down into an open dell or dingle full of the light of the rising
+moon; light that glinted upon the steel caps and hauberks of some score
+men, who leaned upon pike or gisarm about one who sat upon a fallen
+tree--and Beltane saw that this was Giles the Bowman. But the arms of
+Giles were bound behind his back, about his neck hung a noose, and his
+face showed white and pallid 'neath the moon, as, lifting up his head,
+he began to sing:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a--"
+
+The rich voice was strangled to a gasping sob as the rope was tightened
+suddenly about the singer's brawny throat and he was swung, kicking,
+into the air amid the hoarse gibes and laughter of the men-at-arms.
+But, grim and silent, Beltane leaped down among them, his long blade
+glittering in the moonlight, and before the mighty sweep of it they
+fell back, crowding upon each other and confused; then Beltane,
+turning, cut asunder the cord and Giles Brabblecombe fell and lay
+'neath the shade of the tree, wheezing and whimpering in the grass.
+
+And now with a clamour of cries and fierce rallying shouts, the
+men-at-arms, seeing Beltane stand alone, set themselves in array and
+began to close in upon him. But Beltane, facing them in the tender
+moonlight, set the point of his sword to earth and reached out his
+mailed hand in salutation.
+
+"Greeting, brothers!" said he, "why seek ye the death of this our
+brother? Come now, suffer him to go his ways in peace, and God's
+blessing on ye, one and all."
+
+Now at this some laughed and some growled, and one stood forth before
+his fellows staring upon Beltane 'neath close-drawn, grizzled brows:
+
+"'Tis a rogue, and shall dance for us upon a string!" laughed he.
+
+"And this tall fellow with him!" said another.
+
+"Aye, aye, let us hang 'em together," cried others.
+
+"Stay!" said Beltane, "behold here money; so now will I ransom this
+man's life of ye. Here be two pieces of gold, 'tis my all--yet take
+them and yield me his life!"
+
+Hereupon the men fell to muttering together doubtfully, but in this
+moment the grizzled man of a sudden raised a knotted fist and shook it
+in the air.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, pointing to Beltane, "look ye, Cuthbert, Rollo--see ye
+not 'tis him we seek? Mark ye the size of him, his long sword and belt
+of silver--'tis he that came upon us in the green this day and slew our
+comrade Michael. Come now, let us hang him forthwith and share his
+money betwixt us after."
+
+Then my Beltane sighed amain, and sighing, unsheathed his dagger.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "and must we shed each other's blood forsooth? Come
+then, let us slay each other, and may Christ have pity on our souls!"
+
+Thus saying, he glanced up at the pale splendour of the moon, and round
+him on the encircling shadows of the woods dense and black beneath the
+myriad leaves, and so, quick-eyed and poised for action, waited for the
+rush.
+
+And, even as they came upon him, he sprang aside where the gloom lay
+blackest, and they being many and the clearing small, they hampered
+each other and fell into confusion; and, in that moment, Beltane leapt
+among them and smote, and smote again, now in the moonlight, now in
+shadow; leaping quick-footed from the thrust of sword and pike,
+crouching 'neath the heavy swing of axe and gisarm; and ever his
+terrible blade darted with deadly point or fell with deep-biting edge.
+Hands gripped at him from the gloom, arms strove to clasp him, but his
+dagger-hand was swift and strong. Pike heads leapt at him and were
+smitten away, axe and gisarm struck, yet found him not, and ever, as he
+leapt, he smote. And now in his ears were cries and groans and other
+hateful sounds, and to his nostrils came a reek of sweating flesh and
+the scent of trampled grass; while the moon's tender light showed faces
+wild and fierce, that came and went, now here--now there; it glinted on
+head-piece and ringed mail, and flashed back from whirling steel--a
+round, placid moon that seemed, all at once, to burst asunder and
+vanish, smitten into nothingness. He was down--beaten to his knee,
+deafened and half blind, but struggling to his feet he staggered out
+from the friendly shadow of the trees, out into the open. A sword,
+hard-driven, bent and snapped short upon his triple mail, the blow of a
+gisarm half stunned him, a goring pike-thrust drove him reeling back,
+yet, ringed in by death, he thrust and smote with failing arm. Axe and
+pike, sword and gisarm hedged him in nearer and nearer, his sword grew
+suddenly heavy and beyond his strength to wield, but stumbling,
+slipping, dazed and with eyes a-swim, he raised the great blade aloft,
+and lifting drooping head, cried aloud the battle-cry of his house--
+high and clear it rang above the din:
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+And even in that moment came one in answer to the cry, one that leapt
+to his right hand, a wild man and hairy who plied a gleaming axe and,
+'twixt each stroke, seemed, from hairy throat, to echo back the cry:
+
+"Arise! Arise!"
+
+And now upon his left was Black Roger, fierce-eyed behind his buckler.
+Thereafter a voice hailed them as from far away, a sweet, deep voice,
+cheery and familiar as one heard aforetime in a dream, and betwixt
+every sentence came the twang of swift-drawn bow-string.
+
+"O tall brother, fall back! O gentle paladin, O fair flower of lusty
+fighters, fall back and leave the rest to our comrades, to me and my
+good bow, here!"
+
+So, dazed and breathless, came Beltane on stumbling feet and leaned him
+gasping in the shadow of a great tree whereby stood Giles o' the Bow
+with arrows planted upright in the sod before him, the which he
+snatched and loosed so fast 'twas a wonder to behold. Of a sudden he
+uttered a shout and, setting by his bow, drew sword, and leaping from
+the shadow, was gone.
+
+But, as for Beltane, he leaned a while against the tree as one who is
+very faint; yet soon, lifting heavy head, wondered at the hush of all
+things, and looking toward the clearing saw it empty and himself alone;
+therefore turned he thitherwards. Now as he went he stumbled and his
+foot struck a something soft and yielding that rolled before him in the
+shadow out--out into the full brilliance of the moon, and looking down,
+he beheld a mangled head that stared up at him wide-eyed and with mouth
+agape. Then Beltane let fall his reeking sword and staggering out into
+the light, saw his bright mail befouled with clotted blood, and of a
+sudden the world went black about him and he fell and lay with his face
+among the trampled grass.
+
+In a while he groaned and opened his eyes to find Black Roger bathing
+his face what time Giles o' the Bow held wine to his lips, while at his
+feet, a wild figure grim and ragged, stood a tall, hairy man leaning
+upon a blood-stained axe.
+
+"Aha!" cried the bowman. "Come now, my lovely fighter, my gentle giant,
+sup this--'tis life, and here behold a venison steak fit for Duke Ivo's
+self, come--"
+
+"Nay, first," says Beltane, sitting up, "are there many hurt?"
+
+"Aye, never fear for that, my blood-thirsty dove, they be all most
+completely dead save one, and he sore wounded, _laus Deo, amen!_"
+
+"Dead!" cried Beltane, shivering, "dead, say you?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Paladin, all sweetly asleep in Abraham's bosom. We three here
+accounted for some few betwixt us, the rest fell 'neath that great
+blade o' thine. O sweet Saint Giles! ne'er saw I such sword-work--point
+and edge, sa-ha! And I called thee--dove!--aye 'dove' it was, I mind
+me. O blind and worse than blind! But _experientia docet_, tall
+brother!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane bowed his head and clasping his hands, wrung them.
+
+"Sweet Jesu forgive me!" he cried, "I had not meant to slay so many!"
+
+Then he arose and went apart and, kneeling among the shadows, prayed
+long and fervently.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND HOW GOOD
+FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+
+Now when Beltane's mighty hunger was assuaged he sat--his aching head
+yet ringing with the blow--and stared up at the moon, sad and wistful-eyed
+as one full of heaviness the while Black Roger standing beside him
+gazed askance at the archer who sat near by whistling softly and busied
+with certain arrows, cleaning and trimming them ere he set them back in
+his quiver. And presently Black Roger spake softly, low-stooping to
+Beltane's ear:
+
+"Lord, we have saved the life of yon prating archer-fellow, and behold
+my belt lacketh for one notch, which is well. So come, let us go our
+ways, thou and I, for I love not your talkers, and this fellow hath
+overmuch to say."
+
+But now, ere Beltane could make reply, came the hairy man--but behold
+his rags had given place to fair garments of tanned leather (albeit
+something small) together with steel cap and shirt of ringed mail, and,
+about his middle, a broad belt where swung a heavy sword; being come to
+Beltane he paused leaning upon his axe, and gazed upon him fierce-eyed:
+
+"Messire," said he, "who ye are I know not, what ye are I care not, for
+art quick of foot and mighty of arm, and when ye fight, cry a point of
+war, a battle-shout I knew aforetime ere they enslaved and made of me a
+serf--and thus it is I would follow thee."
+
+Quoth Beltane, his aching head upon his hand:
+
+"Whither?"
+
+"To death if needs be, for a man must die soon or late, yet die but
+once whether it be by the steel, or flame, or rope. So what matter the
+way of it, if I may stand with this my axe face to face with Gilles of
+Brandonmere, or Red Pertolepe of Garthlaxton Keep: 'twas for this I
+followed his foresters."
+
+"Who and whence are you?"
+
+"Walkyn o' the Dene they call me hereabouts--though I had another name
+once--but 'twas long ago, when I marched, a lad, 'neath the banner of
+Beltane the Strong!"
+
+"What talk be this?" grunted Black Roger, threatening of mien, "my lord
+and I be under a vow and must begone, and want no runaway serf crawling
+at our heels!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Walkyn, "spake I to thee, hangman? Forsooth, well do I know
+thee, Roger the Black: come ye into the glade yonder, so will I split
+thy black poll for thee--thou surly dog!"
+
+Forth leapt Black Roger's sword, back swung Walkyn's glittering axe,
+but Beltane was between, and, as they stood thus came Giles o' the Bow:
+
+"Oho!" he laughed, "must ye be at it yet? Have we not together slain of
+Sir Pertolepe's foresters a round score?--"
+
+"'Twas but nineteen!" growled Roger, frowning at Walkyn.
+
+"So will I make of this hangman the twentieth!" said Walkyn, frowning
+at Roger.
+
+"'Tis a sweet thought," laughed the archer, "to it, lads, and slay each
+other as soon as ye may, and my blessings on ye. As for us, Sir
+Paladin, let us away--'tis true we together might give check to an
+army, yet, minding Sir Pertolepe's nineteen foresters, 'twere wiser to
+hie us from Sir Pertolepe's country for the nonce: so march, tall
+brother--march!"
+
+"Ha!" snarled Walkyn, "fear ye Red Pertolepe yet, bowman? Well, we want
+ye not, my lord and I, he hath a sword and I an axe--they shall suffice
+us, mayhap, an Pertolepe come. So hie thee hence with the hangman and
+save thy rogue's skin."
+
+"And may ye dangle in a noose yet for a prating do-nothing!" growled
+Roger.
+
+"Oho!" laughed Giles, with a flash of white teeth, "a hangman and a
+serf--must I slay both?" But, ere he could draw sword, came a voice
+from the shadows near by--a deep voice, clear and very sweet:
+
+"Oh, children," said the voice, "oh, children of God, put up your
+steel and pray for one whose white soul doth mount e'en now to heaven!"
+and forth into the light came one clad as a white friar--a tall man and
+slender, and upon his shoulder he bare a mattock that gleamed beneath
+the moon. His coarse, white robe, frayed and worn, was stained with
+earth and the green of grass, and was splashed, here and there, with a
+darker stain; pale was he, and hollow-cheeked, but with eyes that
+gleamed 'neath black brows and with chin long and purposeful. Now at
+sight of him, fierce-eyed Walkyn cried aloud and flung aside his axe
+and, falling on his knees, caught the friar's threadbare robe and
+kissed it.
+
+"Good brother!" he groaned, "O, gentle brother Martin, pity me!"
+
+"What, Walkyn?" quoth the friar. "What do ye thus equipped and so far
+from home?"
+
+"Home have I none, henceforth, O my father."
+
+"Ah! What then of thy wife, Truda--of thy little son?"
+
+"Dead, my father. Red Pertolepe's men slew them this day within the
+green. So, when I had buried them, I took my axe and left them with
+God: yet shall my soul go lonely, methinks, until my time be come."
+
+Then Friar Martin reached out his hand and laid it upon Walkyn's bowed
+head: and, though the hand was hard and toil-worn, the touch of it was
+ineffably gentle, and he spake with eyes upraised to heaven:
+
+"O Christ of Pity, look down upon this stricken soul, be Thou his stay
+and comfort. Teach him, in his grief and sorrow, to pity the woes of
+others, that, in comforting his fellows, he may himself find comfort."
+
+Now when the prayer was ended he turned and looked upon the others,
+and, beholding Beltane in his might and glittering mail, he spake,
+saluting him as one of rank.
+
+"Sir Knight," said he, "do these men follow thee?"
+
+"Aye, verily," cried the archer, "that do I in sooth--_Verbum sat
+sapienti_--good friar."
+
+"Not so," growled Roger, "'tis but a pestilent archer that seeketh but
+base hire. I only am my lord's man, sworn to aid him in his vow." "I
+also," quoth Walkyn, "an so my lord wills?"
+
+"So shall it be," sighed Beltane, his hand upon his throbbing brow.
+
+"And what have ye in mind to do?"
+
+"Forsooth," cried Giles, "to fight, good friar, _manibus pedibusque_."
+
+"To obey my lord," said Roger, "and speak good Saxon English."
+
+"To adventure my body in battle with joyful heart," quoth Walkyn.
+
+"To make an end of tyranny!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Alas!" said the friar, "within this doleful Duchy be tyrants a many,
+and ye are but four, meseemeth; yet if within your hearts be room for
+pity--follow me, and I will show you a sight, mayhap shall nerve you
+strong as giants. Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed the white friar with the three upon his heels who
+wrangled now no more; and in a while the friar paused beside a new-digged
+grave.
+
+"Behold," said he, "the bed where we, each one, must sleep some day,
+and yet 'tis cold and hard, methinks, for one so young and tender!" So
+saying he sighed, and turning, brought them to a hut near by, an humble
+dwelling of mud and wattles, dim-lighted by a glimmering rush. But,
+being come within the hut Beltane stayed of a sudden and held his
+breath, staring wide-eyed at that which lay so still: then, baring his
+head, sank upon his knees.
+
+She lay outstretched upon a bed of fern, and looked as one that sleeps
+save for the deathly pallor of her cheek and still and pulseless bosom:
+and she was young, and of a wondrous, gentle beauty.
+
+"Behold," said the friar, "but one short hour agone this was alive--a
+child of God, pure of heart and undefiled. These gentle hands lie
+stilled forever: this sweet, white body (O shame of men!) blasted by
+brutality, maimed and torn--is nought but piteous clay to moulder in
+the year. Yet doth her radiant soul lie on the breast of God forever,
+since she, for honour, died the death--Behold!" So saying, the friar
+with sudden hand laid bare the still and marble bosom; and, beholding
+the red horror wrought there by cruel steel, Beltane rose up, and
+taking off his cloak, therewith reverently covered the pale, dead
+beauty of her, and so stood awhile with eyes close shut and spake,
+soft-voiced and slow, 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"How--came this--thing?"
+
+"She was captive to Sir Pertolepe, by him taken in a raid, and he would
+have had her to his will: yet, by aid of my lord's jester, she escaped
+and fled hither. But Sir Pertolepe's foresters pursued and took her
+and--so is she dead: may God requite them!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, hoarse-voiced, "so do they all lie dead
+within the green!"
+
+"Save one!" said Roger.
+
+"But he sore wounded!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"How!" cried the friar aghast, "have ye indeed slain Sir Pertolepe's
+foresters?"
+
+"Nineteen!" nodded Roger, grimly.
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, "may God save the poor folk hereabouts, for
+now will Sir Pertolepe wreak vengeance dire upon them."
+
+"Then," said Beltane, "then must I have word with Sir Pertolepe."
+
+Now when he said this, Black Roger stared agape and even the archer's
+tongue failed him for once; but Walkyn smiled and gripped his axe.
+
+"Art mad, tall brother!" cried Giles at length, "Sir Pertolepe would
+hang thee out of hand, or throw thee to his dogs!"
+
+"Lord," said Roger, "Sir Pertolepe hath ten score men-at-arms in
+Garthlaxton, beside bowmen and foresters."
+
+"There should be good work for mine axe!" smiled Walkyn.
+
+"None the less must I speak with him," said Beltane, and turned him to
+the door.
+
+"Then will I die with thee, lord," growled Roger.
+
+"So will I come and watch thee die--hangman, and loose a shaft or two
+on mine own account!"
+
+But now, of a sudden, Walkyn raised a warning hand.
+
+"Hark!" said he: and, in a while, as they listened, upon the stillness
+came a rustle of leaves and thereafter a creeping step drawing slowly
+nearer: then swift and soft-treading, Walkyn stole out into the
+shadows.
+
+Very soon he returned, leading a woman, pale and haggard, who clasped
+a babe within her threadbare cloak; her eyes were red and sore with
+much weeping and upon the threshold she paused as one in sudden fear,
+but espying the friar, she uttered a cry:
+
+"O Father Martin--good father--pray, pray for the soul of him who is
+father to my child, but who at dawn must die with many others upon my
+lord Duke's great gallows!"
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, wringing his hands, "what news is this?"
+
+"O good friar," sobbed the woman, "my lord's hand hath been so heavy
+upon us of late--so heavy: and there came messengers from Thrasfordham
+in Bourne bidding us thither with fair promises:--and my father, being
+head of our village, hearkened to them and we made ready to cross into
+Bourne. But my lord came upon us and burned our village of Shallowford
+and lashed my father with whips and thereafter hanged him, and took my
+man and many others and cast them into the great dungeon at Belsaye--
+and with the dawn they must hang upon the Duke's great gallows."
+
+So she ended and stood weeping as one that is hopeless and weary. But
+of a sudden she screamed and pointed at Black Roger with her finger:
+
+"'Tis Roger!" she cried, "'tis Black Roger, that slew my father!"
+
+Then Roger the Black groaned and hid his face within his arm and shrank
+before the woman's outstretched finger and, groaning, cowered to his
+knees; whereupon the archer turned his back and spat upon the floor
+while Walkyn glared and fingered his great axe: but in this moment my
+Beltane came beside him and laid his hand on Roger's stooping shoulder.
+
+"Nay," said he, "this is my friend henceforth, a man among men, who
+liveth to do great things as thus: To-night he will give back to thee
+the father of thy child, and break open the dungeon of Belsaye!"
+
+Thus spake my Beltane while all stared at his saying and held their
+peace because of their amaze: only Black Roger turned of a sudden and
+caught his hand and kissed it savagely.
+
+"Sir," said the woman, peering up in Beltane's face, "Lord--ah, would
+ye mock the weak and helpless--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane gently, "as God seeth me, to-night the prisoners
+shall go free, or this man and I die with them. So now be comforted--go
+you to Bourne, to Sir Benedict within Thrasfordham Keep, and say you
+come from Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon, who swore thee, by the honour of
+the Duke Beltane his father, that never again shall a man hang from the
+great gallows of Black Ivo the usurper--from this night it shall cease
+to be!"
+
+Now would the woman have knelt and kissed his hand, but Beltane smiled
+and brought her to the door. Then, wondering and amazed, she made her
+obeisance to Beltane and with her babe clasped to her bosom went forth
+into the night. Thereafter Beltane turned and looked grave-eyed upon
+the three.
+
+"My masters," quoth he, "ye have heard my words, how this night I go to
+take down Black Ivo's great gallows. Come ye with me? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried the three in one acclaim.
+
+"Do ye then stand with me henceforth 'gainst Black Ivo and all his
+might? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried they again.
+
+Then Beltane smiled and drew his sword and came to them, the great
+blade gleaming in his hand.
+
+"'Tis well!" said he, "but first come now and lay your hands here upon
+my sword and swear me this, each one,--To follow ever where I shall
+lead, to abide henceforth in brotherhood together, to smite evil within
+you and without, to be pitiful to the weak, and to honour God at all
+times."
+
+Then did the three, being upon their knees, lay their hands upon the
+sword and swear the oath as Beltane commanded; now came the white friar
+and stared upon the sword and beholding the motto graven in the steel,
+lifted up his hand to heaven and cried aloud:--
+
+"Now greeting and fair greeting to thee, lord Duke, may thy body be
+strong for war and thy head wise in the council, for Pentavalon hath
+dire need of thee, Beltane, son of Duke Beltane the Strong. Moreover I
+was sent to thee by Sir Benedict of Bourne who bids thee 'Arise and
+follow' for that the time is at hand."
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "art thou indeed from Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Even so, lord. In Thrasfordham be seven hundred chosen men-at-arms,
+and within Bourne, mayhap a thousand more. It is become a haven for
+those that flee from tyranny and bitter wrong. As for me, I journey
+where I will within the Duchy, serving the poor and ministering to the
+broken-hearted, and everywhere is black sin and suffering and death. So
+now in the name of these oppressed do I give thee welcome to this thy
+sorrowful Duchy, and may God make of thee Duke indeed!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Duke am I in blood and Duke will I yet be in very sooth an God so will
+it." Then turning to the three, who stood hearkening open-mouthed and
+wide of eye, he smiled and reached to them his hand.
+
+"Good friends," said he, "knowing nought of me yet were ye willing to
+follow my fortunes. For this do I thank ye one and all, and so shall my
+fortune, high or low, be thine, henceforth. To-day is Ivo Duke, and I
+thy companion-in-arms, no more, no less--this, I pray you all,
+remember."
+
+So saying, Beltane sheathed his sword and beholding Friar Martin on his
+knees beside that muffled figure, he knelt also, and the three with
+him. Thereafter at a sign from the friar, Beltane stooped and raised
+this slender, shrouded figure in his arms and reverently bore it out
+into the shadows.
+
+And there, all in the tender radiance of the moon, they buried her
+whose name they never knew, and stood a while in silence. Then,
+pointing to the new-turned earth, Friar Martin spake soft-voiced:
+
+"Lo, here--in but a little time, wild flowers shall bloom above her--
+yet none purer or sweeter than she! In a little shall the grass be
+green again, and she sleep here forgot by all--save God! And God, my
+brothers, is a gentle God and very pitiful--so now do we leave her in
+God's abiding care."
+
+And presently they turned, soft-footed, and went upon their way leaving
+the place to solitude.
+
+But from the vault of heaven the stars looked down upon that lonely
+grave like the watching eyes of holy angels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+
+Scarce a mile without the walls of the fair city of Belsaye my lord
+Duke had builded him a great gallows, had set it high upon a hill for
+all the world to see; from whose lofty cross-beams five score rogues
+had hanged ere now, had writhed and kicked their lives away and rotted
+there in company, that all the world might know how potent was the
+anger of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Day in, day out, from rosy morn till dewy eve, it frowned upon Belsaye,
+a thing of doom whose grim sight should warn rebellious townsfolk to
+dutiful submission; by night it loomed, a dim-seen, brooding horror,
+whose loathsome reek should mind them how all rogues must end that
+dared lift hand or voice against my lord Duke, or those proud barons,
+lords, and knights who, by his pleasure, held their fiefs with rights
+of justice, the high, the middle and the low.
+
+Day in, day out, the men of Belsaye eyed it askance 'neath scowling
+brows and, by night, many a clenched hand was shaken and many a
+whispered malediction sped, toward that thing of doom that menaced them
+from the dark.
+
+To-night the moon was full, and thus, following Friar Martin's bony
+outstretched finger, Beltane of a sudden espied afar the Duke's great
+gallows, rising grisly and stark against the moon's round splendour. So
+for a space, standing yet within the shade of the woods, Beltane stared
+fierce-eyed, the while Giles, with Roger at his elbow, pointed out
+divers shapes that dangled high in air, at sight of which the friar
+knelt with bowed head and lips that moved in prayer: and Walkyn,
+scowling, muttered in his beard.
+
+"Messire," said the archer, "my lord Duke's gallows is great and very
+strong, and we but five all told!"
+
+"I have mine axe!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Had we fifty axes we scarce should bring it down ere dawn: moreover,
+the night is very still and sounds carry far--"
+
+"Nathless," quoth Roger, "to-night we surely shall destroy it--my lord
+hath said so."
+
+"Aye--but how?" questioned Giles. "In Belsaye is that pale fox Sir Gui
+of Allerdale with many trusty men-at-arms to hold the town for Black
+Ivo and teach Belsaye its duty: how may we destroy my lord Duke's
+gallows 'neath the very beards of my lord Duke's garrison, wilt tell me
+that, my good, Black Rogerkin?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "that will I--when I have asked my lord." So
+saying, he came and touched Beltane and humbly put the question.
+
+Then, with his gaze yet upon the gallows, Beltane sighed and answered:
+
+"There hath been no rain for weeks, look you: the underbrush is dry,
+methinks, and should burn well!"
+
+"Aye, for sure," said Roger, "we shall burn Black Ivo's gallows to
+ashes, bowman, and a good end 'twill be."
+
+"By fire!" cried the archer, aghast, "but lord, so soon as they shall
+see the flames, Sir Gui and his men will sally out upon us!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "for we shall sally in."
+
+"Into Belsaye, mean you, lord?"
+
+"Certes," answered Beltane, "how else may we break open the dungeon?
+The night is young yet, but we have much to do--follow!" So saying,
+Beltane turned and keeping ever within the shadow of the trees, set off
+towards that distant hill where stood the gallows, black against the
+moon.
+
+Swiftly they went and for the most part in silence, for Beltane's mind
+was busied upon many matters.
+
+So betimes they climbed the hill and stood at last beneath the gallows,
+and, glancing up, Beltane beheld noisome shapes, black and shrivelled,
+that once had lived and laughed. Forthwith he drew his sword and fell
+to cutting down the brush, whereat friar Martin, girding up his frock,
+took Walkyn's sword and fell to likewise.
+
+Now, as Beltane laboured thus, he was suddenly aware of a wild and
+ragged figure, the which started up before him as if from the very
+ground. An old man he was, bent with years, yet with eyes that burned
+fierce and undimmed 'neath hoary brows, and shrivelled hands that
+gripped upon a rusty sword.
+
+"Who are ye," he cried, harsh-voiced, "who are ye that disturb this
+woeful place? 'Tis here that men are dragged to die--and, being dead,
+do hang i' the air to rot and rot--and thereby hangs a tale of wolves
+that howl and birds that shriek, aha!--carrion crows and hook-billed
+kites--they be well gorged since Ivo came. 'Caw!' they cry, 'caw!'--
+soft child's flesh and the flesh of tender maids--aha!--I know--I've
+watched--I've seen! Ah! since my lord Duke Beltane died, what sights
+these eyes have seen!"
+
+"Old man," quoth Beltane, bending near, "who art thou?"
+
+"I am the ghost that haunts this place, but, ages since, I was Sir
+Robert Bellesme of Garthlaxton Keep. But my wife they slew, my daughter
+ravished from me--and my son--Ah! Christ--my son! They hanged him here
+--yonder he hung, and I, his father, watched him die. But, by night,
+when all was still, I crept hither and found a hole to shelter me. And
+here I stayed to watch over him--my son who hung so quiet and so still.
+And the rough wind buffeted him, the cruel rain lashed him, and the hot
+sun scorched him, but still he hung there, so high!--so high! Yet I
+waited, for the strongest rope will break in time. And upon a moony
+night, he fell, and I gathered him in my arms, close here against my
+heart, and buried him--where none can know--save God. Many others have
+I buried also, for the strongest cords must break in time! And folk do
+say the devil bears them hence, since none are ever found--but I know
+where they lie--six hundred and seventy and nine--I know--these hands
+have buried them and I have kept a tally. Ah!--but you, gentle youth,
+what would ye here?"
+
+"Burn down the gallows," said Beltane, "'tis an accursed thing, so
+shall it shame earth and heaven no longer."
+
+"How!--how!" cried the ancient man, letting fall his rusty sword,
+"Destroy Black Ivo's gibbet? Dare ye--dare ye such a thing indeed? Are
+there men with souls unconquered yet? Methought all such were old, or
+dead, or fled away--dare ye this, youth?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane. "Watch now!" and hereupon he, together with the
+others, fell to hewing down the dry brush with might and main, and
+piling it about the gibbet's massy beams, while the ancient man,
+perched upon a rock hard by, watched them 'neath his shaggy brows and
+laughed soft and shrill.
+
+"Aha!" he cried, "the fire ye kindle here shall set the Duchy in a
+flame mayhap, to burn Black Ivo with Gui of Allerdale and Red
+Pertolepe--mayhap! For them, fire on earth and flame in hell--aha! To
+burn the gibbet! 'tis well bethought: so shall carrion kite and jay go
+light-bellied hereabouts, mayhap, oho! 'Caw,' they shall cry, 'Caw--
+give us to eat--fair white flesh!' Yet how may they eat when the
+gallows is no more?"
+
+Thus spake he with shrill laughter while Beltane laboured until the
+sweat ran from him, while Walkyn's great axe flashed and fell near by
+and steel glittered among the underbrush that clothed the slopes of the
+hill.
+
+Very soon they had stacked great piles of kindling about the gallows'
+weather-beaten timbers--twigs below, faggots above--cunningly ordered
+and higher than Beltane's head. Now as Beltane leaned upon his sword to
+wipe the sweat from his eyes, came Roger and Walkyn yet panting from
+their labour.
+
+"Master," said Roger, "they should burn well, I trow, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth Walkyn, "these beams be thick: methinks, when the
+others go, one man should stay to tend the fires until the flame gets
+fair hold--"
+
+"And that man I!" said Roger.
+
+"No, no," frowned Walkyn, "an one of us must die, it shall be me--"
+
+But now came the ancient man, leaning upon his ancient weapon.
+
+"No, children," said he, "'tis for age to die--death is sweet to the
+old and weary: so will I tend the fire. Yet, beseech thee, grant me
+this: that these my hands shall fire the gallows whereon they hanged my
+son, long ago: young was he, and tall--scarce yet a man--they hanged
+him yonder, so high--so high--so far beyond my care: and the carrion
+birds--kites, see you, and crows--and the wind and rain and dark--Ah,
+God! my son! I am but an old man and feeble, yet, beseech thee, let
+this be the hand to fire Black Ivo's gibbet!"
+
+Then Beltane took from his pouch flint and steel and tinder and gave
+them to the old man's trembling fingers as Giles o' the Bow came
+running with the stalwart friar behind him.
+
+So, while the five stood hushed and wide of eye, the old man knelt
+before them in his rags and struck flint to steel. Once he struck, and
+twice--and behold a spark that leapt to a small flame that died to a
+glow; but now, flat upon his belly lay Giles and, pursing his lips,
+puffed and blew until the glow brightened, spread, and burst into a
+crackling flame that leapt from twig to twig. And when the fire waxed
+hot, Beltane took thence a glowing brand, and, coming to the other
+great pile, fired it therewith. Up rose the flames high and higher
+until they began to lick, pale-tongued, about the gibbet's two great
+supporting timbers, and ever as they rose, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and
+the friar, laboured amain, stacking logs near by wherewith to feed the
+fires.
+
+"Enough," said Beltane at last, "it shall suffice, methinks."
+
+"Suffice?" cried the old man, his eyes bright in the ruddy glow, "aye,
+it shall suffice, sweet boy. See--see, the timbers catch e'en now. Ha!
+burn, good fire--eat, hungry flame! O, happy sight--would my dear son
+were here--they hanged his fair young body, but his soul--Ha, his
+soul! O souls of hanged men--O spirits of the dead, come about me, ye
+ghosts of murdered youth, come and behold the gibbet burn whereon ye
+died. What--are ye there, amid the smoke, so soon? Come then, let us
+dance together and trip it lightly to and fro--merrily, merrily! Hey
+boy, so ho then--so ho, and away we go!" Hereupon, tossing up gaunt
+arms, the old man fell to dancing and capering amid the sparks and
+rolling smoke, filling the air with wild talk and gabbling high-pitched
+laughter that rose above the roar of the fires. And so in a while
+Beltane, sighing, turned and led the way down the hill towards the
+glooming shadow of the woods; but ever as they went the flames waxed
+fiercer behind them and the madman's laughter shrilled upon the air.
+
+Swift-footed they plunged into the underbrush and thus hidden began to
+close in upon Belsaye town. And of a sudden they heard a cry, and
+thereafter the shattering blare of a trumpet upon the walls. And now
+from within the waking city rose a confused sound, a hum that grew
+louder and ever more loud, pierced by shout and trumpet-blast while
+high above this growing clamour the tocsin pealed alarm.
+
+Thus, in a while the trembling citizens of Belsaye, starting from their
+slumber, stared in pallid amaze beholding afar a great and fiery gibbet
+whose flames, leaping heavenward, seemed to quench the moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+
+Being yet in the shade of the woods, Beltane paused, hearkening to the
+distant uproar of Belsaye town and watching the torches that hovered
+upon its walls and the cressets that glowed on tower and bartizan.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth the friar, setting his rumpled frock in order,
+"are ye minded still to adventure breaking ope the dungeon of Belsaye?"
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded Beltane. "Know you the city, good friar?"
+
+"That do I, my brother: every lane and street, every hole and corner of
+it--'twas there I first drew breath. A fair, rich city, freed by
+charter long ago--but now, alas, its freedom snatched away, its ancient
+charter gone, it bleeds 'neath a pale-cheeked tyrant's sway--a pallid
+man who laughs soft-voiced to see men die, and smiles upon their
+anguish. O Belsaye, grievous are thy wrongs since Ivo came five years
+agone and gave thee up to pillage and to ravishment. O hateful day! O
+day of shame! What sights I saw--what sounds I heard--man-groans and
+screams of women to rend high heaven and shake the throne of God,
+methinks. I see--I hear them yet, and must forever. Jesu, pity!" and
+leaning against a tree near by, the stalwart friar shivered violently
+and hid his eyes.
+
+"Why, good brother Martin," said Beltane, setting an arm about him,
+"doth memory pain thee so, indeed? good Brother Martin, be comforted--"
+
+"Nay, nay--'tis past, but--O my son, I--had a sister!" said the good
+friar, and groaned. Yet in a while he raised his head and spake again:
+"And when Duke Ivo had wrought his will upon the city, he builded the
+great gibbet yonder and hanged it full with men cheek by jowl, and left
+Sir Gui the cruel with ten score chosen men for garrison. But the men
+of Belsaye have stubborn memories; Sir Gui and his butchers slumber in
+a false security, for stern men are they and strong, and wait but God's
+appointed time. Pray God that time be soon!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane. Now, even as he spake came the sound of a distant
+tucket, the great gates of Belsaye swung wide, and forth rode a company
+of men-at-arms, their bascinets agleam 'neath the moon.
+
+"Now!" spake the friar, "and you are for Belsaye, my brother, follow
+me; I know a way--albeit a moist way and something evil--but an you
+will follow,--come!" So saying Friar Martin set off among the trees,
+and Beltane, beckoning to the others, followed close. Fast strode the
+friar, his white robe fluttering on before, through moonlight and
+shadow, until they reached a brook or freshet that ran bubbling betwixt
+flowery banks; beside this strode the tall friar, following its winding
+course, until before them, amid the shadow--yet darker than the shadow
+--loomed high an embattled flanking tower of the walls of Belsaye town;
+but ever before them flitted the friar's white gown, on and on until
+the freshet became a slow-moving river, barring their advance--a broad
+river that whispered among the reeds on the one side and lapped against
+rugged wall on the other.
+
+Here the friar stayed to glance from gloomy wall and turret to fast
+waning moon on their left, then, girding up his gown, he stepped down
+into the reeds, and a moment later they saw him--to their amaze--
+fording the river that flowed scarce knee deep.
+
+So, needfully, Beltane followed, and, stepping into the water found his
+feet upon a narrow causeway cunningly devised. Thus, slowly and
+carefully, because of the flowing of the water, they came betimes to
+where the friar waited in the shadow of the massy wall; yet, even as
+they came near, the friar waved his arm, stooped--and was gone; whereon
+my Beltane stared amazed and the three muttered uneasily behind him.
+But, coming nearer, Beltane espied above the hurrying waters the curve
+of an arch or tunnel, and pointing it to the others, took a great
+breath and, stooping beneath the water, stumbled on and on until it
+shallowed, and he was free to breathe again.
+
+On he went, through water now breast-high, with slimy walls above him
+and around, seeing naught by reason of the pitchy blackness, and
+hearing only the smothered splash of those behind, and gasping breaths
+that boomed hollow in the dark. Yet presently he saw a gleam before him
+that broadened with each step, and, of a sudden, was out beneath the
+sky--a narrow strip wherein stars twinkled, and so beheld again friar
+Martin's white frock flitting on, ghost-like, before. In a while he
+brought them to a slimy stair, and climbing this, with ever growing
+caution, they found themselves at last beneath the frowning shadow of
+the citadel within the walls of Belsaye town. Now, looking north,
+Beltane beheld afar a fiery gallows that flamed to heaven, and from the
+town thitherward came a confused hum of the multitude who watched; but
+hereabouts the town seemed all deserted.
+
+"The dungeons lie beneath our feet," whispered Friar Martin. "Come!"
+
+So, keeping ever in the shadow of the great square keep, they went on,
+soft-treading and alert of eye till, being come to the angle of the
+wall, the friar stayed of a sudden and raised a warning hand. Then came
+Beltane with Walkyn close behind, and peering over the friar's broad
+shoulders, they beheld a sentinel who stood with his back to them,
+leaning on his spear, to watch the burning gallows, his chain-mail
+agleam and his head-piece glittering as he stirred lazily in time to
+the merry lilt he sang softly.
+
+Then, or ever Beltane could stay him, Walkyn o' the Dene laid by his
+axe, and, his soaked shoes soundless upon the stones, began to steal
+upon the unconscious singer, who yet lolled upon his spear some thirty
+paces away. With great body bowed forward and hairy fingers crooked,
+Walkyn stole upon him; six paces he went, ten--twenty--twenty-five--
+the soldier ceased his humming, stood erect and turned about; and
+Walkyn leapt--bore him backward down into the shadow--a shadow wherein
+their bodies writhed and twisted silently awhile. When Walkyn rose out
+of the shadow and beckoned them on.
+
+So, following ever the friar's lead, they came to a narrow doorway
+that gave upon a small guard-room lighted by a smoking torch socketed
+to the wall. The place was empty, save for a medley of arms stacked in
+corners, wherefore, treading cautiously, the friar led them a-down a
+narrow passage and so to a second and larger chamber where burned a
+fire of logs. Upon the walls hung shining head-pieces; cloaks and
+mantles lay where they had been flung on bench and floor, but none was
+there to give them let or hindrance. Then Friar Martin took a torch
+that smoked near by, and, crossing to the hearth, reached down a massy
+key from the wall, and with this in his hand, came to a door half
+hidden in a corner, beyond which were steps that wound downwards into
+the dark, a darkness close and dank, and heavy with corruption.
+
+But on went the friar--his torch lighting the way--down and ever down
+until they trod a narrow way 'twixt reeking walls, where breathed an
+air so close and foul the very torch languished. At length the friar
+stopped before a mighty door, thick-banded with iron bars and with
+massy bolts, and while Beltane held the torch, he fitted key to lock
+and thereafter the great door swung on screaming hinge and showed a
+dungeon beyond--a place foul and noisome, where divers pale-faced
+wretches lay or crouched, blinking in the torch's glare.
+
+"What?" cried one, coming to his feet, a squat broad-shouldered man--
+"be this the dawn so soon? Well, we be ready, better to hang i' the
+clean air than rot in a dungeon, say I. So we be ready, eh, my
+brothers?"
+
+But now, some groaned and wept and others laughed, while yet others got
+them to their knees, bowed of head and silent. Then went in the friar
+to them and laid his hands upon the squat man's shoulder and spake him
+gently.
+
+"And is it Osric," said he. "Day is not yet, my son, nor with the day
+shalt thou die nor any here, an ye be silent all and follow where we
+lead, soft-footed, so will we bring you to God's good world again.
+Rise, then, each one, speak nothing, but follow!"
+
+So then did these men, snatched of a sudden from the horror of death to
+the hope of new life, follow on stumbling feet, out from the noisome
+gloom of the dungeon, out from the clammy air breathing of death, up
+the narrow winding stair; and with each step came strength and manhood.
+Thus as they strode forth of the frowning keep, each man bore sword or
+gisarm. So, with breath in cheek, but hearts high-beating, they came
+one and all, to where the slimy stair led down into the gloom. Yet here
+Friar Martin paused, sighing, to look behind, whence rose the distant
+hum of those thronging townsfolk who yet crowded wall and street and
+market square to watch the gallows burn.
+
+"Now sweet Christ shield ye, good people of Belsaye!" he sighed.
+
+"What mean ye, my brother?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Alas! my son," groaned the friar, "I needs must think upon the coming
+day and of the vengeance of Sir Gui for this our work!"
+
+"His vengeance, friar?"
+
+"There will be torture and death busy hereabouts tomorrow, my son,
+for, the prisoners being gone, so will Sir Gui vent his anger on the
+townsfolk--'tis ever his custom--"
+
+"Ha!" quoth my Beltane, knitting his brows, "I had not thought on
+this!"--and with the word, he turned him back, drawing on his hood of
+mail.
+
+"Come, lord," whispered Black Roger in his ear, "let us be going while
+yet we may."
+
+"Aye, come, my son," spake the friar, low-voiced. "Tarry not, Belsaye
+is in the hand of God! Nay, what would you?"
+
+"I must go back," said Beltane, loosening sword in scabbard, "for needs
+must I this night have word with Gui of Allerdale."
+
+"Nay," whispered the friar, with pleading hand on Beltane's arm, "'tis
+thing impossible--"
+
+"Yet must I try, good brother--"
+
+"Ah, dear my son, 'twill be thy death--"
+
+"Why look you, gentle friar, I am in Belsaye, and Belsaye 'is in the
+hand of God!' So fear not for me, but go you all and wait for me beyond
+the river. And, if I come not within the hour, then press on with speed
+for Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say to Sir Benedict that, while
+_he_ liveth to draw sword, so is there hope for Pentavalon. But now--
+quick!--where lodgeth Sir Gui?"
+
+"Within the keep--there is a stair doth mount within the thickness of
+the wall--nay, I will be thy guide if go indeed thou must--"
+
+"Not so, good friar, be it thy duty to lead these prisoners to freedom
+and to safety within Bourne."
+
+"Then will I come," whispered Roger hoarse and eager, as the friar
+turned slow-footed to follow the others adown the slippery stair,
+"beseech thee, lord, thy man am I, twice sworn to thee till death, so
+suffer me beside thee."
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "Pentavalon's need of thee is greater e'en than
+mine, therefore will I adventure this thing alone. Go you with the
+friar, my Roger, and so farewell to each."
+
+"God keep thee, noble son!" whispered the friar, his hand upraised in
+blessing: but Roger stood, chin on breast and spake no word.
+
+Then Beltane turned him and sped away, soft-treading in the shadow of
+the great keep.
+
+The waning moon cast shadows black and long, and in these shadows
+Beltane crept and so, betimes, came within the outer guard-room and to
+the room beyond; and here beheld a low-arched doorway whence steps led
+upward,--a narrow stair, gloomy and winding, whose velvet blackness
+was stabbed here and there by moonlight, flooding through some deep-set
+arrow-slit. Up he went, and up, pausing once with breath in check,
+fancying he heard the stealthy sound of one who climbed behind him in
+the black void below; thus stayed he a moment, with eyes that strove to
+pierce the gloom, and with naked dagger clenched to smite, yet heard
+nought, save the faint whisper of his own mail, and the soft tap of his
+long scabbard against the wall; wherefore he presently sped on again,
+climbing swiftly up the narrow stair. Thus, in a while, he beheld a
+door above: a small door, yet stout and strong, a door that stood ajar,
+whence came a beam of yellow light.
+
+So, with sure and steady hand, Beltane set wide the door, that creaked
+faintly in the stillness, and beheld a small, square chamber where was
+a narrow window, and, in this window, a mail-clad man lolled, his
+unhelmed head thrust far without, to watch the glow that leapt against
+the northern sky.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger and, in three long strides was close
+behind, and, stooping above the man, sought and found his hairy throat,
+and swung him, mighty-armed, that his head struck the wall; then
+Beltane, sighing, laid him upon the floor and turned toward a certain
+arras-hung arch: but, or ever his hand came upon this curtain, from
+beyond a voice hailed--a voice soft and musical.
+
+"Hugo--O Hugo, spawn of hell, hither to me!"
+
+Then Beltane, lifting the curtain, opened the door and, striding into
+the chamber beyond, closed and barred the door behind him, and so
+stood, tall and menacing, looking on one who sat at a table busied with
+pen and ink-horn. A slender man this, and richly habited: a sleepy-eyed
+man, pale of cheek, with long, down-curving nose, and mouth thin-lipped
+and masterful, who, presently lifting his head, stared up in amaze,
+sleepy-eyed no longer: for now, beholding Beltane the mighty, sheathed
+in mail from head to foot, the pen dropped from his fingers and his
+long pale hands slowly clenched themselves.
+
+So, for a space, they fronted each other, speaking not, while eye met
+eye unswerving--the menacing blue and the challenging black, and,
+through the open casement near by came a ruddy glow that flickered on
+arras-hung wall and rugged roof-beam. Now raising his hand, Beltane
+pointed toward this glowing window.
+
+"Sir Gui," quoth he, "Lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, thou hast good
+eyes--look now, and tell me what ye see."
+
+"I see," said Sir Gui, stirring not, "I see a presumptuous knave--a dog
+who shall be flung headlong from the turret. Ha! Hugo!" he called, his
+black eyes yet unswerving, "O Hugo, son of the fiend, hither to me!"
+
+"Trouble not, my lord," quoth Beltane gently, "behold, the door is
+barred: moreover, Hugo lieth without--pray God I have not killed him.
+But, as for thee--look yonder, use thine eyes and speak me what thou
+dost see."
+
+But Sir Gui sat on, his thin lips upcurling to a smile, his black eyes
+unswerving: wherefore came Beltane and seized him in fierce hands and
+plucked him to his feet and so brought him to the window.
+
+"Ha!" he cried, "look now and tell me what ye see. Speak! speak--for,
+God help me! now am I minded to kill thee here and now, unarmed though
+ye be, and cast thy carrion to the dogs--speak!"
+
+Now, beholding the mail-clad face above him, the blue eyes aflame, the
+pale lips tight-drawn, Sir Gui, Seneschal of Belsaye, spake soft-voiced
+on this wise:
+
+"I see my lord Duke's gallows go up in flame--wherefore men shall die!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "said I not thine eyes were good, Lord
+Seneschal? Now, use thine ears--hearken! 'Twas I and five others, men
+from beyond the marches, fired this night Black Ivo's gibbet, moreover,
+to-night also have we broke the dungeon that lieth beneath this thy
+keep, and set thy prisoners free--I and these five, all men from the
+north, mark me this well! This have we done for a sign and portent--ha!
+look!" and Beltane pointed of a sudden to where the great gallows,
+outlined against the night in seething flame, swayed to and fro,
+crumbled, and crashed to earth 'mid whirling sparks and flame, while,
+from the town below rose a murmur that swelled and swelled to a shout,
+and so was gone.
+
+"Behold, lord Seneschal, Black Ivo's gallows to-night hath ceased to
+be: here is a sign, let those heed it that will. But for thee--this!
+To-night have I burned this gallows, to-night have I freed thy
+prisoners. Upon me therefore, and only me, be the penalty; for--mark me
+this, Seneschal!--spill but one drop of blood of these innocents of
+Belsaye, and, as God seeth me, so will I hunt thee down, and take thee
+and tear out thine eyes, and cut off thine hands, and drive thee forth
+to starve! And this do I swear by the honour of my father, Beltane the
+Strong, Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+But now, even as Sir Gui shrank back before the death in Beltane's
+look, amazed beyond all thought by his words, came a sudden shout, and
+thereafter a clash and ring of steel upon the stair without. And now,
+above the sudden din, hoarse and loud a battle-cry arose, at the sound
+of which Sir Gui's jaws hung agape, and he stood as one that doubts his
+ears; for 'twas a cry he had heard aforetime, long ago.
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+Then Beltane cast up the bar, and, plucking wide the door, beheld the
+broad, mail-clad back of one who held the narrow stair where flashed
+pike and gisarm.
+
+"Roger!" he called, "Black Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, 'tis I," cried Roger, parrying a pike-thrust, "make sure of
+thy work, master, I can hold these in check yet a while."
+
+"My work is done, Roger. To me--to me, I say!"
+
+So Roger, leaping back from the stair-head, turned about and ran to
+Beltane, stumbling and spattering blood as he came, whereupon Beltane
+clapped-to the door and barred it in the face of the pursuit. A while
+leaned Roger, panting, against the wall, then, beholding Sir Gui:
+
+"How!" he cried, "lives the pale fox yet? Methought thy work was done,
+master!" So saying, he swung aloft his bloody sword, but, even as the
+Seneschal waited the blow, smiling of lip, Beltane caught Black Roger's
+wrist.
+
+"Stay!" cried he, above the thunder of blows that shook the door,
+"would'st slay a man unarmed?"
+
+"Aye, master, as he hath slain many a man ere now!" quoth Roger,
+striving to free his arm. "The door is giving, and there be many
+without: and, since to-night we must die, so let us slay the white fox
+first."
+
+"Not so," said Beltane, "get you through the window--the river runs
+below: through the window--out, I say!" and, with the word, he stooped
+and bore Black Roger to the window.
+
+"But, lord--"
+
+"Jump!" cried Beltane, "jump, ere the door fall."
+
+"But you, master--"
+
+"Jump, I say: I will follow thee." So, groaning, Black Roger hurled his
+sword far out from the window, and leaping from the sill, was gone.
+
+Then Beltane turned and looked upon Gui of Allerdale. "Seneschal," said
+he, "I who speak am he, who, an God so wills, shall be Duke of
+Pentavalon ere long: howbeit, I will keep my promise to thee, so aid me
+God!"
+
+Thus saying, he mounted the window in his turn, and, even as the door
+splintered behind him, forced himself through, and, leaping wide,
+whirled over and over, down and down, and the sluggish river closed
+over him with a mighty splash; thereafter the placid waters went upon
+their way, bubbling here and there, and dimpling 'neath the waning
+moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+
+Down went my Beltane, weighted in his heavy mail--down and ever down
+through a world of green that grew dark and ever more dark, until,
+within the pitchy gloom beneath him was a quaking slime that sucked
+viciously at foot and ankle. Desperately he fought and strove to rise,
+but ever the mud clung, and, lusty swimmer though he was, his triple
+mail bore him down.
+
+And now his mighty muscles failed, lights flamed before his eyes, in
+his ears was a drone that grew to a rushing roar, his lungs seemed
+bursting, and the quaking ooze yearning to engulf him. Then my Beltane
+knew the bitter agony of coming death, and strove no more; but in that
+place of darkness and horror, a clammy something crawled upon his face,
+slipped down upon his helpless body, seized hold upon his belt and
+dragged at him fierce and strong; slowly, slowly the darkness thinned,
+grew lighter, and then--Ah, kind mercy of God! his staring eyes beheld
+the orbed moon, his famished lungs drank deep the sweet, cool air of
+night. And so he gasped, and gasping, strove feebly with arm and leg
+while ever the strong hand grasped at his girdle. And now he heard,
+faint and afar, a sound of voices, hands reached down and drew him up--
+up to good, firm earth, and there, face down among the grass, he lay
+awhile, content only to live and breathe. Gradually he became aware of
+another sound hard by, a sharp sound yet musical, and in a little, knew
+it for the "twang" of a swift-drawn bow-string. Now, glancing up,
+Beltane beheld an ancient tree near by, a tree warped and stunted
+wherein divers arrows stood, and behind the tree, Giles o' the Bow,
+who, as he watched, drew and loosed a shaft, which, flashing upward,
+was answered by a cry; whereon Giles laughed aloud.
+
+"Six!" he cried, "six in seven shots: 'tis sweet archery methinks, and
+quicker than a noose, my Rogerkin, and more deadly than thy axe, my
+surly Walkyn. Let the rogues yonder but show themselves, and give me
+arrows enow, so will I slay all Gui's garrison ere the moon fail me
+quite."
+
+But hereupon Beltane got him to his knees and made shift to stand, and,
+coming to the tree, leaned there, being faint and much spent.
+
+"Aha, sweet lord," cried the archer, "a man after my very heart art
+thou. What wonders have we achieved this night--paladins in sooth we
+be, all four! By the blessed bones of St. Giles, all Pentavalon shall
+ring with our doings anon."
+
+Said Beltane, faintly:
+
+"Where is my good Roger?"
+
+"Here, lord," a voice answered from the shade of a bush hard by: "'twas
+my comrade Walkyn dragged me up from death--even as he did thee."
+
+"We thought you gone for good, master."
+
+"Aye!" cried the archer, "so would ye all be dead, methinks, but for me
+and this my bow."
+
+"Friends," said Beltane, "'tis by doings such as this that men do learn
+each other's worth: so shall the bonds betwixt us strengthen day by
+day, and join us in accord and brotherhood that shall outlast this puny
+life. So now let us begone and join the others."
+
+So they turned their backs upon Belsaye town, and keeping to the brush,
+came at length to where upon the borders of the forest the white friar
+waited them, with the nine who yet remained of the prisoners; these,
+beholding Beltane, came hurrying to meet him, and falling upon their
+knees about him, strove with each other to kiss his hands and feet.
+
+"Good fellows," said Beltane, "God hath this night brought ye out of
+death into life--how will ye use your lives hereafter? List now:--even
+as ye have suffered, others are suffering: as ye have endured the gloom
+of dungeon and fear of death, so, at this hour, others do the like by
+reason of misrule and tyranny. Now here stand I, together with Sir
+Benedict of Bourne who holdeth Thrasfordham Keep, pledged to live
+henceforth, sword in hand, until these evils are no more--since 'tis
+only by bitter strife and conflict that evil may be driven from our
+borders. Thus, Pentavalon needeth men, strong-armed and resolute: if
+such ye be, march ye this hour to Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say
+to Sir Benedict that God having given you new life, so now will ye give
+your lives to Pentavalon, that tyranny may cease and the Duchy be
+cleansed of evil. Who now among ye will draw sword for freedom and
+Pentavalon?"
+
+Then sprang the squat man Osric to his feet, with clenched fist
+upraised and eyes ablaze 'neath his matted hair.
+
+"That will I!" he cried. "And I! And I! And I!" cried the rest, grim-faced
+and eager. "Aye--give us but swords, and one to lead, and we will
+follow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Go you then to Sir Benedict within Bourne and say to all men that
+Beltane the Duke hath this night burned down Black Ivo's shameful
+gibbet, for a sign that he is come at last and is at work, nor will he
+stay until he die, or Pentavalon be free!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY LEFT HIM IN
+THE FOREST
+
+
+  "Since all men breathing 'neath the sky
+   Good or evil, soon must die,
+   Ho! bring me wine, and what care I
+   For dying!"
+
+It was Giles Brabblecombe singing to himself as he knelt beside a fire
+of twigs, and Beltane, opening sleepy eyes, looked round upon a world
+all green and gold and dew-bespangled; a fair world and fragrant,
+whose balmy air breathed of hidden flowers and blooming thickets,
+whence came the joyous carolling of new-waked birds; and beholding all
+this and the glory of it, my Beltane must needs praise God he was
+alive.
+
+"Hail and good morrow to thee, brother!" cried the bowman, seeing him
+astir. "The sun shineth, look you, I sit upon my hams and sing for that
+this roasting venison smelleth sweet, while yonder i' the leaves be a
+mavis and a merle a-mocking of me, pretty rogues: for each and ever of
+which, _Laus Deo, Amen!_"
+
+"Why truly, God hath made a fair world, Giles, a good world to live in,
+and to live is to act--yet here have I lain most basely sleeping--"
+
+"Like any paunched friar, brother. But a few days since, I met thee in
+the green, a very gentle, dove-like youth that yet became a very lion
+of fight and demi-god of battle! Heroes were we all, last night--nay,
+very Titans--four 'gainst an army!--whiles now, within this
+balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the Bloody Axe with grim
+Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies
+busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow
+carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of
+wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector,
+an Ajax--a very Mars--do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed
+friar--Heigho! Yet even a demi-god must nod betimes, and Titans eat,
+look ye."
+
+Now looking from sun to earth and beholding the shortening of the
+shadows, Beltane leapt up. Quoth he:
+
+"Sluggard that I am, 'tis late! And Roger was wounded last night, I
+mind--"
+
+"Content you, brother, 'twas nought," said Giles bending above his
+cooking, "the kiss of a pike-head i' the thick o' the arm--no more."
+
+"Yet it must be looked to--"
+
+"I did it, brother, as I shoot--that is to say I did it most excellent
+well: 'twill be healed within the week."
+
+"How then--art leech as well as bowman?"
+
+"Quite as well, brother. When I was a monk I learned two good things,
+_videlicit_: never to argue with those in authority over me, and to
+heal the hurts of those that did. So, by my skill in herbs and
+leechcraft, Roger, having a hole in his arm, recks not of it--behold
+here he cometh, and Walkyn too, and _Laus Deo!_ with a trout! Now shall
+we feast like any pampered prelate."
+
+So when Beltane had stripped and bathed him in the brook, they
+presently sat down, all four together, and ate and talked and laughed
+right merrily, the while lark and thrush and blackbird carolled lustily
+far and near.
+
+"Now eat, brothers," cried the bowman, full-mouthed, "eat and spare
+not, as I do, for to-day I smell the battle from afar: Ho! Ho! the
+noise of captains and the shouting! Yesterday were we heroes, to-day
+must we be gods--yet cautious gods, for, mark me, I have but twelve
+shafts remaining, and with twelve shafts can but promise ye a poor
+twelve lives."
+
+But now came Roger wistful-eyed, and with belt a-swing in his hand.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "last night did we four rescue twelve. Now I'm fain
+to know if for these twelve I may cut twelve notches from my belt, or
+must we share their lives betwixt us and I count but three?"
+
+"Three?" laughed Giles, "Oho--out upon thee, Rogerkin! Our lord here
+claimeth six, since he the rescue planned, next, I claim three, since
+but for my goodly shooting ye all had died, then hath Walkyn two, since
+he saved thee from the fishes, which leaveth thee--one. _Quod erat
+demonstrandum!_"
+
+But now, seeing Roger's downcast look, Giles snatched the belt and gave
+it unto Beltane, who forthwith cut there-from twelve notches. And, in a
+while, having made an end of eating, Beltane rose and looked round upon
+the three.
+
+"Good comrades all," quoth he, "well do I know ye to be staunch and
+trusty; yet to-day am I minded to speak with him men call Pertolepe the
+Red, lest he shed innocent blood for that we slew his foresters--"
+
+"Twenty lusty fellows!" nodded Giles, with a morsel of venison on his
+dagger point.
+
+"Nay, there one escaped!" quoth Roger.
+
+"Yet he sore wounded!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Ha! Sir Pertolepe is a terrible lord!" quoth Giles, eyeing the morsel
+of venison somewhat askance. "'Twill be a desperate adventure,
+methinks--and we but four."
+
+"Yet each and all--gods!" quoth Walkyn, reaching for his axe.
+
+"Aye," nodded Giles, frowning at the piece of venison, "yet are we but
+four gods."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "for in this thing shall we be but one. Go
+you three to Bourne, for I am minded to try this adventure alone."
+
+"Alone, master!" cried Black Roger, starting to his feet.
+
+"Alone!" growled Walkyn, clutching his axe.
+
+"An death must come, better one should die than four," said Beltane,
+"howbeit I am minded to seek out Pertolepe this day."
+
+"Then do I come also, master, since thy man am I."
+
+"I, too," nodded Walkyn, "come death and welcome, so I but stand face
+to face with Pertolepe."
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, "so needs must I come also, since I have twelve
+shafts yet unsped," and he swallowed the morsel of venison with mighty
+relish and gusto.
+
+Then laughed Beltane for very gladness, and he looked on each with
+kindling eye.
+
+"Good friends," quoth he, "as ye say, so let it be, and may God's hand
+be over us this day."
+
+Now, as he spake with eyes uplift to heaven, he espied a faint, blue
+mist far away above the soft-stirring tree tops--a distant haze, that
+rose lazily into the balmy air, thickening ever as he watched.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, fierce-eyed of a sudden and pointing with rigid
+finger, "whence cometh that smoke, think ye?"
+
+"Why," quoth Roger, frowning, "Wendonmere village lieth yonder!"
+
+"Nay, 'tis nearer than Wendonmere," said Walkyn, shouldering his axe.
+
+"See, the smoke thickens!" cried Beltane. "Now, God forgive me! the
+while I tarry here Red Pertolepe is busy, meseemeth!" So saying, he
+caught up his sword, and incontinent set off at speed toward where the
+soft blue haze stole upon the air of morning, growing denser and ever
+denser.
+
+Fast and furious Beltane sped on, crashing through underbrush and
+crackling thicket, o'erleaping bush and brook and fallen tree, heedful
+of eye, and choosing his course with a forester's unerring instinct,
+praying fiercely beneath his breath, and with the three ever close
+behind.
+
+"Would I had eaten less!" panted Giles.
+
+"Would our legs were longer!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"Would my belt bore fewer notches!" quoth Roger.
+
+And so they ran together, sure-footed and swift, and ever as they ran
+the smoke grew denser, and ever Beltane's prayers more fervent. Now in
+a while they heard a sound, faint and confused: a hum, that presently
+grew to a murmur--to a drone--to a low wailing of voices, pierced of a
+sudden by a shrill cry no man's lips could utter, that swelled high
+upon the air and died, lost amid the growing clamour.
+
+"They've fired the ricks first!" panted Roger; "'tis ever Pertolepe's
+way!"
+
+"They be torturing the women!" hissed Walkyn; "'tis ever so Red
+Pertolepe's pleasure!"
+
+"And I have but twelve arrows left me!" groaned Giles.
+
+But Beltane ran in silence, looking neither right nor left, until,
+above the hum of voices he heard one upraised in passionate
+supplication, followed by another--a loud voice and jovial--and
+thereafter, a burst of roaring laughter.
+
+Soon Beltane beheld a stream that flowed athwart their way and, beyond
+the stream, a line of willows thick growing upon the marge; and again,
+beyond these clustering willows the straggling village lay. Then
+Beltane, motioning the others to caution, forded the stream and coming
+in the shade of the osiers, drew on his hood of mail, and so,
+unsheathing his long sword, peered through the leaves. And this is what
+he saw:
+
+A wide road flanked by rows of scattered cottages, rude of wall and
+thatch; a dusty road, that led away east and west into the cool depths
+of the forest, and a cringing huddle of wretched village folk whose
+pallid faces were all set one way, where some score of men-at-arms
+lolled in their saddles watching a tall young maid who struggled
+fiercely in the grasp of two lusty fellows, her garments rent, her
+white flesh agleam in the sunlight. A comely maid, supple and strong,
+who ever as she strove 'gainst the clutching hands that held her, kept
+her blazing eyes turned upon one in knightly mail who sat upon a great
+war-horse hard by, watching her, big chin in big mailed fist, and with
+wide lips up-curling in a smile: a strong man this, heavy and broad of
+chest; his casque hung at his saddle-bow, and his mail-coif, thrown
+back upon his wide shoulders, showed his thick, red hair that fell a-down,
+framing his square-set, rugged face.
+
+"Ha, Cuthbert," quoth he, turning to one who rode at his elbow--a
+slender youth who stared with evil eyes and sucked upon his finger,
+"Aha, by the fiend, 'tis a sweet armful, Sir Squire?"
+
+"Aye, my lord Pertolepe, 'tis rarely shaped and delicately fleshed!"
+answered the esquire, and so fell to sucking his finger again.
+
+"What, silly wench, will ye defy me still?" cried Sir Pertolepe, jovial
+of voice, "must ye to the whip in sooth? Ho, Ralph--Otho, strip me this
+stubborn jade--so!--Ha! verily Cuthbert, hast shrewd eyes, 'tis a
+dainty rogue. Come," said he smiling down into the girl's wide, fierce
+eyes, "save that fair body o' thine from the lash, now, and speak me
+where is thy father and brother that I may do justice on them, along
+with these other dogs, for the foul murder of my foresters yest're'en;
+their end shall be swift, look ye, and as for thyself--shalt find those
+to comfort thee anon--speak, wench!"
+
+But now came a woman pale and worn, who threw herself on trembling
+knees at Sir Pertolepe's stirrup, and, bowed thus before him in the
+dust, raised a passionate outcry, supplicating his mercy with bitter
+tears and clasped hands lifted heavenwards.
+
+"O good my lord Pertolepe," she wailed, "'twas not my husband, nor son,
+nor any man of our village wrought this thing; innocent are we, my
+lord--"
+
+"O witch!" quoth he, "who bade thee speak?" So saying he drew mail-clad
+foot from stirrup and kicked her back into the dust. "Ho, whips!" he
+called, "lay on, and thereafter will we hang these vermin to their own
+roof-trees and fire their hovels for a warning."
+
+But now, even as the struggling maid was dragged forward--even as
+Pertolepe, smiling, settled chin on fist to watch the lithe play of her
+writhing limbs, the willows behind him swayed and parted to a sudden
+panther-like leap, and a mail-clad arm was about Sir Pertolepe--a
+mighty arm that bore him from the saddle and hurled him headlong; and
+thereafter Sir Pertolepe, half stunned and staring up from the dust,
+beheld a great blade whose point pricked his naked throat, and, beyond
+this blade, a mail-clad face, pallid, fierce, grim-lipped, from whose
+blazing eyes death glared down at him.
+
+"Dog!" panted Beltane.
+
+"Ha! Cuthbert!" roared Red Pertolepe, writhing 'neath Beltane's
+grinding heel, "to me, Cuthbert--to me!"
+
+But, as the esquire wheeled upon Beltane with sword uplifted, out from
+the green an arrow whistled, and Cuthbert, shrill-screaming, swayed in
+his saddle and thudded to earth, while his great war-horse, rearing
+affrighted, plunged among the men-at-arms, and all was shouting and
+confusion; while from amid the willows arrows whizzed and flew, 'neath
+whose cruel barbs horses snorted, stumbling and kicking, or crashed
+into the dust; and ever the confusion grew.
+
+But now Sir Pertolepe, wriggling beneath Beltane's iron foot had
+unsheathed his dagger, yet, ere he could stab, down upon his red pate
+crashed the heavy pommel of Beltane's sword and Sir Pertolepe, sinking
+backward, lay out-stretched in the dust very silent and very still.
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and, stooping, caught Sir Pertolepe by
+the belt and dragged him into the shade of the willows, and being come
+to the stream, threw his captive down thereby and fell to splashing his
+bruised face with the cool water. And now, above the shouts and the
+trampling of hoofs upon the road, came the clash of steel on steel and
+the harsh roar of Walkyn and Black Roger as they plied axe and sword--
+"Arise! Ha, arise!" Then, as Beltane glanced up, the leaves near by
+were dashed aside and Giles came bounding through, his gay feather
+shorn away, his escalloped cape wrenched and torn, his broadsword a-swing
+in his hand.
+
+"Ho, tall brother--a sweet affray!" he panted, "the fools give back
+already: they cry that Pertolepe is slain and the woods full of
+outlaws; they be falling back from the village--had I but a few shafts
+in my quiver, now--" but here, beholding the face of Beltane's captive,
+Giles let fall his sword, staring round-eyed.
+
+"Holy St. Giles!" he gasped, "'tis the Red Pertolepe!" and so stood
+agape, what time a trumpet brayed a fitful blast from the road and was
+answered afar. Thereafter came Roger, stooping as he ran, and shouting:
+
+"Archers! Archers!--run, lord!"
+
+But Beltane stirred not, only he dashed the water in Sir Pertolepe's
+twitching face, wherefore came Roger and caught him by the arm,
+pleading:
+
+"Master, O master!" he panted, "the forest is a-throng with lances, and
+there be archers also--let us make the woods ere we are beset!"
+
+But Beltane, seeing the captive stir, shook off Black Roger's grasp;
+but now, one laughed, and Walkyn towered above him, white teeth agleam,
+who, staring down at Sir Pertolepe, whirled up his bloody axe to smite.
+
+"Fool!" cried Beltane, and threw up his hand to stay the blow, and in
+that moment Sir Pertolepe oped his eyes.
+
+"'Tis Pertolepe!" panted Walkyn, "'tis he that slew wife and child: so
+now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, "stand back--obey me--back, I say!" So,
+muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger,
+stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and
+with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir
+Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out
+into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and
+men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while
+above the jostling confusion rose the hoarse babel of their voices. But
+of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred
+throats a shout went up:
+
+"A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!"
+
+Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's
+broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's
+right ear.
+
+"Speak!" quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, "speak
+now as I commanded thee!"
+
+A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting
+his head, spake that all might hear:
+
+"Ho, sirs!" he cried, "I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one
+Beltane, who styleth himself--Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back,
+therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not
+by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!"
+
+Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoarse murmur that
+voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those
+two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir
+Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:
+
+"Go!" he commanded.
+
+So their disarray fell into rank and order, and wheeling about, they
+marched away along the forest road with helm agleam and pennons a-dance,
+the while Sir Pertolepe stared after them, wild of eye and with
+mailed hands clenched; once he made as if to call them back: but
+Beltane's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the dagger pricked his
+throat. And thus stood they, side by side, until the tramp of feet was
+died away, until the last trembling villager had slunk from sight and
+the broad road was deserted, all save for Cuthbert the esquire, and
+divers horses that lay stiffly in the dust, silent and very still.
+
+Then Beltane sighed and sheathed his dagger, and Sir Pertolepe faced
+him scrowling, fierce-eyed and arrogant.
+
+"Ha, outlaw!" quoth he, "give back my sword and I will cope with thee--
+wolf's head though thou art--aye, and any two other rogues beside."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I fight with such as thee but when I needs
+must. What--Roger!" he called, "go fetch hither a rope!"
+
+"Dog--would ye murder me?"
+
+"Not so," sighed Beltane, shaking his head, "have I not promised to
+leave thee alive within the greenwood? Yet I would see thee walk in
+bonds first."
+
+"Ha, dare ye bind me, then? He that toucheth me, toucheth Duke Ivo--
+dare ye so do, rogue?"
+
+"Aye, messire," nodded Beltane, "I dare so. Bring hither the rope,
+Roger." But when Roger was come nigh, Sir Pertolepe turned and stared
+upon him.
+
+"What!" cried he, jovial of voice yet deadly-eyed, "is it my runaway
+hangman in very sooth. Did I not pay thee enough, thou black-avised
+knave? Did I not love thee for thy skill with the noose, thou
+traitorous rogue? Now, mark me, Roger: one day will I feed thee to my
+hounds and watch them tear thee, as they have certain other rogues--
+aha!--you mind them, belike?"
+
+Pale of cheek and with trembling hands, Roger bound the arms of him
+that had been his over-lord, while Walkyn and Giles, silent and
+wide-eyed, watched it done.
+
+"Whither would ye take me?" quoth Red Pertolepe, arrogant.
+
+"That shalt thou know anon, messire."
+
+"How an I defy thee?"
+
+"Then must we carry thee, messire," answered Beltane, "yet thine own
+legs were better methinks--come, let us begone."
+
+Thus, presently, having forded the brook, they struck into the forest;
+first went Walkyn, axe on shoulder, teeth agleam; next strode Sir
+Pertolepe, head high, 'twixt pale-faced Roger and silent Beltane, while
+the bowman followed after, calling upon St. Giles beneath his breath
+and crossing himself: and ever and anon Walkyn would turn to look upon
+their scowling captive with eyes that glared 'neath shaggy brows.
+
+Now after they had gone some while, Sir Pertolepe brake silence and
+spake my Beltane, proud and fierce.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "if 'tis for ransom ye hold me, summon hither thy
+rogues' company, and I will covenant for my release."
+
+"I seek no ransom of thee, messire," answered Beltane, "and for my
+company--'tis here."
+
+"Here? I see but three sorry knaves!"
+
+"Yet with these same three did I o'ercome thy foresters, Sir
+Pertolepe."
+
+"Rogue, thou liest--'tis thing impossible!"
+
+"Moreover, with these three did I, last night, burn down Black Ivo's
+mighty gallows that stood without Belsaye town, and, thereafter set
+wide the dungeon of Belsaye and delivered thence certain woeful
+prisoners, and sent them abroad with word that I--Beltane, son of
+Beltane the Strong, Duke of Pentavalon, am come at last, bearing the
+sword of my father, that was wont to strike deep for liberty and
+justice: nor, having life, will I lay it by until oppression is no
+more."
+
+Now indeed did Sir Pertolepe stare upon my Beltane in amaze and spake
+no word for wonder; then, of a sudden he laughed, scornful and loud.
+
+"Ho! thou burner of gibbets!" quoth he, "take heed lest thy windy
+boasting bring thy lordly neck within a noose! Art lusty of arm, yet
+lustier of tongue--and as to thy father, whoe'er he be--"
+
+"Messire?" Beltane's voice was soft, yet, meeting the calm serenity of
+his gaze, Sir Pertolepe checked the jeer upon his lip and stared upon
+Beltane as one new-waked; beheld in turn his high and noble look, the
+costly excellence of his armour, his great sword and belt of silver--
+and strode on thereafter with never a word, yet viewing Beltane aslance
+'neath brows close-knit in dark perplexity. So, at last, they came into
+a little clearing deep-hid among the denser green.
+
+Beltane paused here, and lifting mailed hand, pointed to a certain
+tree. But hereupon, Sir Pertolepe, staring round about him and down
+upon his galling bonds, spake:
+
+"Sir knight," said he, "who thou art I know not, yet, if indeed thou
+art of gentle blood, then know that I am Sir Pertolepe, Baron of
+Trenda, Seneschal of Garthlaxton, lord warden of the marches: moreover,
+friend and brother-in-arms am I to Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "all this I know, for much of thee have I heard,
+messire: of thy dark doings, of the agony of men, the shame of women,
+and how that there be many desolate hearths and nameless graves of thy
+making, lord Pertolepe. Thou wert indeed of an high estate and strong,
+and these but lowly folk and weak--yet mercy on them had ye none. I
+have this day heard thee doom the innocent to death and bitter shame,
+and, lord, as God seeth us, it is enough!"
+
+Sir Pertolepe's ruddy cheek showed pale, but his blue eyes stared upon
+Beltane wide and fearless.
+
+"Have ye then dragged me hither to die, messire?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, all men must die, aye, e'en great lords such as thou,
+when they have sinned sufficiently: and thy sins, methinks, do reach
+high heaven. So have I brought thee hither into the wilderness that
+God's will may be wrought upon thee."
+
+"How--wilt forswear thyself?" cried Sir Pertolepe, writhing in his
+bonds.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Come Roger--Walkyn--bring me him to the tree, yonder."
+
+"Ha! rogue--rogue," panted Sir Pertolepe, "would'st leave me to die in
+a noose, unshriven and unannealed, my soul dragged hell-wards weighted
+with my sins?"
+
+Now, even as he spake, swift and sudden he leapt aside and would have
+fled; but Walkyn's fierce fingers dragged at his throat, and Roger's
+iron arms were close about him. Desperately he fought and struggled,
+but mighty though he was, his captors were mighty also, moreover his
+bonds galled him; wherefore, fighting yet, they dragged him to the
+tree, and to the tree Beltane fast bound him, whiles the forest rang
+and echoed with his panting cries until his great voice cracked and
+broke, and he hung 'gainst the tree, spent and breathless.
+
+Then spake Beltane, grim-lipped yet soft of voice:
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, fain would I hang thee as thou hast hanged many a man
+ere now--but this, methinks, is a better way: for here, unless some
+wanderer chance to find thee, must thou perish, an so God will it. Thus
+do we leave thee in the hands of God to grant thee life or death: and
+may he have mercy on thy guilty soul!"
+
+Thus said Beltane, sombre of brow and pale of cheek; and so, beckoning
+to the others, turned away, despite Sir Pertolepe's passionate threats
+and prayers, and plunging into the dense underbrush, strode swift-footed
+from the place, with the captive's wild cries ringing in his ears.
+
+Haphazard went Beltane, yet straining his ears to catch those mournful
+sounds that grew faint and fainter with distance till they were lost in
+the rustle of the leaves. But, of a sudden, he stayed his going and
+stood with his head aslant hearkening to a sound that seemed to have
+reached him from the solitudes behind; and presently it came again, a
+cry from afar--a scream of agony, hoarse and long drawn out, a hateful
+sound that checked the breath of him and brought the sweat out cold
+upon his brow; and now, turning about, he saw that his following was
+but two, for Walkyn had vanished quite. Now Giles, meeting Beltane's
+wide stare, must needs cough and fumble with his bow, whiles Roger
+stood with bowed head and fingers tight-clenched upon his quarter-staff:
+whereat, fierce-frowning, Beltane spake.
+
+"Wait!" he commanded, "wait you here!" and forthwith turned and ran,
+and so running, came again at last to that obscure glade whence now
+came a sound of groans, mocked, thereafter, by fierce laughter. Now,
+bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his
+bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's
+busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a
+hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his
+writhen face like a scarlet vizard.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"
+
+Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through
+the hair of his beard.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so
+do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of
+Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it
+be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall
+Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."
+
+Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.
+
+"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"
+
+So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane
+followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow
+and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the
+leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very
+sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned
+in a cry hoarse and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading,
+stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his cock's-comb
+flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into
+the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.
+
+"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is
+it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I
+am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"
+
+"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me
+driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my
+father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord
+Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle,
+and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook
+the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:
+
+"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the
+wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved
+thy father, e'en as I loved thee."
+
+"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and
+fingering his dagger.
+
+"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then,
+strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be
+hard-driven. Come!"
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his bloody head, proffering his throat
+to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester
+calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while
+Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching;
+then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe
+staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his
+severed bonds, he laughed hoarsely.
+
+"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and
+methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"
+
+So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him
+like a blind man, then, groaning, fell, and lay a'swoon, his bloody
+face hidden in the grass.
+
+And turning away, Beltane left him lying there with Beda the Jester
+kneeling above him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+
+Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until
+the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking
+not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles
+had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came
+Roger and touched him on the shoulder.
+
+"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."
+
+"Why, then--eat," said Beltane.
+
+Now while they set about building a fire, Beltane went aside and
+wandering slow and thoughtful, presently came to a broad glade or ride,
+and stretching himself out 'neath a tree, lay there staring up at the
+leafy canopy, pondering upon Sir Pertolepe his sins, and the marvellous
+ways of God. Lying thus, he was aware of the slow, plodding hoof-strokes
+of a horse drawing near, of the twang of a lute, with a voice
+sweet and melodious intoning a chant; and the tune was plaintive and
+the words likewise, being these:--
+
+  "Alack and woe
+   That love is so
+   Akin to pain!
+   That to my heart
+   The bitter smart
+   Returns again,
+   Alack and woe!"
+
+Glancing up therefore, Beltane presently espied a knight who bestrode a
+great and goodly war-horse; a youthful knight and debonair, slender and
+shapely in his bright mail and surcoat of flame-coloured samite. His
+broad shield hung behind his shoulder, balanced by a long lance whose
+gay banderol fluttered wanton to the soft-breathing air; above his
+mail-coif he wore a small bright-polished bascinet, while, at his
+high-peaked saddle-bow his ponderous war-helm swung, together with
+broad-bladed battle-axe. Now as he paced along in this right gallant
+estate, his roving glance, by hap, lighted on Beltane, whereupon,
+checking his powerful horse, he plucked daintily at the strings of his
+lute, delicate-fingered, and brake into song anew:--
+
+  "Ah, woe is me
+   That I should be
+   A lonely wight!
+   That in mankind
+   No joy I find
+   By day or night,
+   Ah, woe is me!"
+
+Thereafter he sighed amain and smote his bosom, and smiling upon
+Beltane sad-eyed, spake:
+
+"Most excellent, tall, and sweet young sir, I, who Love's lorn pilgrim
+am, do give thee woeful greeting and entreat now the courtesy of thy
+pity."
+
+"And wherefore pity, sir?" quoth Beltane, sitting up.
+
+"For reason of a lady's silver laughter. A notable reason this; for,
+mark me, ye lovers, an thy lady flout thee one hour, grieve not--she
+shall be kind the next; an she scorn thee to-day, despair nothing--she
+shall love thee to-morrow; but, an she laugh and laugh--ah, then poor
+lover, Venus pity thee! Then languish hope, and tender heart be rent,
+for love and laughter can ne'er be kin. Wherefore a woeful wight am I,
+foredone and all distraught for love. Behold here, the blazon on my
+shield--lo! a riven heart proper (direfully aflame) upon a field vert.
+The heart, methinks, is aptly wrought and popped, and the flame in
+sooth flame-like! Here beneath, behold my motto, 'Ardeo' which
+signifieth 'I burn.' Other device have I laid by for the nonce, what
+time my pilgrimage shall be accompt."
+
+But Beltane looked not so much upon the shield as on the face of him
+that bore it, and beholding its high and fearless look, the clear,
+bright eyes and humorous mouth (albeit schooled to melancholy) he
+smiled, and got him to his feet.
+
+"Now, well met, Sir Knight of the Burning Heart!" quoth he. "What would
+ye here, alone, within these solitudes?"
+
+"Sigh, messire. I sing and sigh, and sigh and sing."
+
+"'Tis a something empty life, methinks."
+
+"Not so, messire," sighed the rueful knight, "for when I chance to meet
+a gentle youth, young and well beseen--as thou, bedight in goodly mail
+--as thou, with knightly sword on thigh, why then, messire, 'tis ever my
+wont to declare unto him that she I honour is fairer, nobler, and
+altogether more worthy and virtuous than any other she soever, and to
+maintain that same against him, on horse or afoot, with lance, battle-axe
+or sword. Thus, see you messire, even a love-lorn lover hath
+betimes his compensations, and the sward is soft underfoot, and level."
+Saying which, the knight cocked a delicate eyebrow in questioning
+fashion, and laid a slender finger to the pommel of his long sword.
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "would'st fight with me?"
+
+"Right gladly would I, messire--to break the monotony."
+
+"I had rather hear thy song again."
+
+"Ha, liked you it in sooth? 'Tis small thing of mine own."
+
+"And 'tis brief!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Brief!" quoth the knight, "brief! not so, most notable youthful sir,
+for even as love is long enduring so is my song, it being of an hundred
+and seventy and eight cantos in all, dealing somewhat of the woes and
+ills of a heart sore smitten (which heart is mine own also). Within my
+song is much matter of hearts (in truth) and darts, of flames and
+shames, of yearnings and burnings, the which this poor heart must needs
+endure since it doth constant bleed and burn."
+
+"Indeed, messire, I marvel that you be yet alive," said Beltane
+gravely, whereat the young knight did pause to view him, dubious-eyed.
+Quoth he:
+
+"In sooth, most youthful and excellent sir, I have myself marvelled
+thereat betimes, but, since alive am I, now do I declare unto you that
+she for whom I sigh is the fairest, gentlest, noblest, most glorious
+and most womanly of all women in the world alive--"
+
+"Save one!" said Beltane.
+
+"Save none, messire!" said the young knight, eager-eyed.
+
+"One!" said Beltane.
+
+"None!" quoth the knight, as, casting aside ponderous lance he vaulted
+lightly from his saddle and drew his sword; but, seeing that Beltane
+bore no shield, paused to lay his own tenderly aside, and so faced him
+serene of brow and smiling of lip. "Sweet sir," said he gaily, "here
+methinks is fair cause for argument; let us then discuss the matter
+together for the comfort of our souls and to the glory of our ladies.
+As to my name--" "'Tis Jocelyn," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!" exclaimed the knight, staring.
+
+"That won a suit of triple mail at Dunismere joust, and wagered it
+'gainst Black Ivo's roan stallion within Deepwold forest upon a time."
+
+"Now, by Venus!" cried the knight, starting back, "here be manifest
+sorcery! Ha! by the sweet blind boy, 'tis black magic!" and he crossed
+himself devoutly. But Beltane, laughing, put back his hood of mail,
+that his long, fair hair fell a-down rippling to his shoulders.
+
+"Know you me not, messire?" quoth he.
+
+"Why," said Sir Jocelyn, knitting delicate brows, "surely thou art the
+forester that o'ercame Duke Ivo's wrestler; aye, by the silver feet of
+lovely Thetis, thou'rt Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Verily, messire," nodded Beltane, "and 'tis not meet that knight cross
+blade with lowly smith."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Jocelyn, rubbing at his smooth white chin, "yet art a
+goodly man withal--and lover to boot--methinks?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "ever and always."
+
+"Why then, all's well," quoth Sir Jocelyn with eyes a-dance, "for since
+true love knoweth nought of distinctions, therefore being lovers are
+we peers, and, being peers, so may we fight together. So come, Sir
+Smith, here stand I sword in hand to maintain 'gainst thee and all men
+the fame and honour of her I worship, of all women alive, maid or wife
+or widow, the fairest, noblest, truest, and most love-worthy is--"
+
+"Helen of Mortain!" quoth Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Helen?--Helen?--thou too!" exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, and forthwith
+dropped his sword, staring in stark amaze. "How--dost thou love her
+also?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "to my sorrow!"
+
+Then stooped Sir Jocelyn and, taking up his sword, slowly sheathed it.
+Quoth he, sad-eyed:
+
+"Life, methinks, is full of disappointments; farewell to thee, Sir
+Smith," and sighing, he turned away; yet ere he had taken lance and
+shield, Beltane spake:
+
+"Whither away, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"To sigh, and sing, and seek adventure. 'Twas for this I left my goodly
+castle of Alain and journeyed, a lorn pilgrim, hither to Pentavalon,
+since when strange stories have I heard that whisper in the air,
+speeding from lip to lip, of a certain doughty knight-at-arms, valiant
+beyond thought, that beareth a sword whose mighty sweep none may abide,
+who, alone and unaided slew an hundred and twenty and four within the
+greenwood, and thereafter, did, 'neath the walls of Belsaye town burn
+down Duke Ivo's gibbet, who hath sworn to cut Duke Ivo into gobbets,
+look you, and feed him to the dogs; which is well, for I love not Duke
+Ivo. All this have I heard and much beside, idle tales mayhap, yet
+would I seek out this errant Mars and prove him, for mine own behoof,
+with stroke of sword."
+
+"And how an he prove worthy?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Then will I ride with him, to share his deeds and glory mayhap, Sir
+Smith--I and all the ten-score lusty fellows that muster to my pennon,
+since in the air is whispered talk of war, and Sir Benedict lieth ready
+in Thrasfordham Keep."
+
+"Two hundred men," quoth Beltane, his blue eyes agleam, "two hundred,
+say you?" and, speaking, he stepped forward, unsheathing his sword.
+
+"How now," quoth Sir Jocelyn, "what would ye, sweet smith?"
+
+"I would have thee prove me for thy behoof, Sir Jocelyn; for I am he
+that with aid of five good men burned down the gibbet without Belsaye."
+
+"Thou!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "and thou art a smith! And yet needs must I
+credit thee, for thine eyes be truthful eyes. And did'st indeed slay so
+many in the green, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "there were but twenty; moreover I--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Sir Jocelyn, gaily, "be thou smith or be thou demi-god,
+now will I make proof of thy might and valiance." And he drew sword.
+
+So did these two youths face each other, smiling above their gleaming
+steel, and so the long blades rang together, and, thereafter, the air
+was full of a clashing din, in so much that Roger came running sword in
+hand, with Walkyn and Giles at his heels; but, seeing how matters
+stood, they sat them down on the sward, watching round-eyed and eager.
+
+And now Sir Jocelyn (happy-eyed), his doleful heart forgot, did show
+himself a doughty knight, skipping lightly to and fro despite his heavy
+armour, and laying on right lustily while the three a-sprawl upon the
+grass shouted gleefully at each shrewd stroke or skilful parry; but,
+once Sir Jocelyn's blade clashed upon Beltane's mailed thigh, and
+straightway they fell silent; and once his point touched the links on
+Beltane's wide breast, and straightway their brows grew anxious and
+gloomy--yet none so gloomy as Roger. But now, on a sudden, was the
+flash and ring of hard smitten steel, and behold, Sir Jocelyn's sword
+sprang from his grasp and thudded to earth a good three yards away;
+whereupon the three roared amain--yet none so loud as Roger.
+
+"Now by sweet Cupid his tender bow!" panted Sir Jocelyn--"by the
+cestus of lovely Venus--aye, by the ox-eyed Juno, I swear 'twas featly
+done, Sir Smith!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, taking up the fallen sword:
+
+"'Tis a trick I learned of that great and glorious knight, Sir Benedict
+of Bourne."
+
+"Messire," said Sir Jocelyn, his cheek flushing, "an earl am I of
+thirty and two quarterings and divers goodly manors: yet thou art the
+better man, meseemeth, and as such do I salute thee, and swear myself
+thy brother-in-arms henceforth--an ye will."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned, and looking upon the mighty three with
+kindling eye, beckoned them near.
+
+"Lord Jocelyn," said he, "behold here my trusty comrades, valiant men
+all:--this, my faithful Roger, surnamed the Black: This, Giles
+Brabblecombe, who shooteth as ne'er did archer yet: and here, Walkyn--
+who hath known overmuch of sorrow and bitter wrong. Fain would we take
+thee for our comrade, Lord Jocelyn, for God knoweth Pentavalon hath
+need of true men these days, yet first, know this--that I, and these my
+three good comrades do stand pledged to the cause of the weak and
+woefully oppressed within this sorrowful Duchy; to smite evil, nor
+stay till we be dead, or Black Ivo driven hence."
+
+"Ivo?--Ivo?" stammered Sir Jocelyn, in blank amaze, "'tis madness!"
+
+"Thus," said Beltane, "is our cause, perchance, a little desperate, and
+he who companies with us must company with Death betimes." "To defy
+Black Ivo--ha, here is madness so mad as pleaseth me right well! A
+rebellion, forsooth! How many do ye muster?"
+
+Answered Beltane:
+
+"Thou seest--we be four--"
+
+"Four!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "Four!"
+
+"But Sir Benedict lieth within Thrasfordham Keep, and God is in heaven,
+messire."
+
+"Aye, but heaven is far, methinks, and Duke Ivo is near, and hath an
+arm long and merciless. Art so weary of life, Sir Smith?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "but to what end hath man life, save to spend
+it for the good of his fellows?"
+
+"Art mad!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, "art surely mad! Heigho!--some day,
+mayhap, it shall be written how one Jocelyn Alain, a gentle, love-lorn
+knight, singing his woes within the greenwood, did meet four lovely
+madmen and straight fell mad likewise. So here, upon my sword, do I
+swear to take thee for my brother-in-arms, and these thy comrades for
+my comrades, and to spend my life, henceforth, to the good of my
+fellows!"
+
+So saying, Sir Jocelyn smiled his quick bright smile and reached out
+his hand to my Beltane, and there, leaning upon their swords, their
+mailed fingers clasped and wrung each other. Thereafter he turned upon
+the three, but even as he did so, Walkyn uttered a fierce cry, and
+whirling about with axe aloft, sprang into the green, whence of a
+sudden rose a babel of voices, and the sound of fierce blows and,
+thereafter, the noise of pursuit. A flicker of steel amid the green--a
+score of fierce faces all about him, and Beltane was seized from
+behind, borne struggling to his knees, to his face, battered by unseen
+weapons, dragged at by unseen hands, choked, half-stunned, his arms
+twisted and bound by galling thongs. Now, as he lay thus, helpless, a
+mailed foot spurned him fiercely and looking up, half-swooning, he
+beheld Sir Pertolepe smiling down at him.
+
+"Ha--thou fool!" he laughed jovially, "did'st think to escape me, then
+--thou fool, I have followed on thy tracks all day. By the eyes of God,
+I would have followed thee to hell! I want thee in Garthlaxton--there
+be gibbets for thee above the keep--also, there are my hounds--aye, I
+want thee, Messire Beltane who art Duke of Pentavalon! Ho! Arnulf--a
+halter for his ducal throat!" So, when they had cast a noose about his
+neck, they dragged Beltane, choking, to his feet, and led him away
+gasping and staggering through the green; and having eyes, he saw not,
+and having ears, he heard not, being very spent and sick.
+
+Now, as they went, evening began to fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+
+Little by little, as he stumbled along, Beltane's brain began to clear;
+he became aware of the ring and clash of arms about him, and the
+trampling of horses. Gradually, the mist lifting, he saw long files of
+men-at-arms riding along very orderly, with archers and pike-men.
+Little by little, amid all these hostile forms, he seemed to recognise
+a certain pair of legs that went on just before: sturdy legs, that yet
+faltered now and then in their stride, and, looking higher, he saw a
+broad belt whose edges were notched and saw-like, and a wide, mail-clad
+back that yet bent weakly forward with every shambling step. Once this
+figure sank to its knees, but stumbled up again 'neath the vicious
+prick of a pike-head that left blood upon the bronzed skin, whereat
+Beltane uttered a hoarse cry.
+
+"O Black Roger!" he groaned, "I grieve to have brought thee to this!"
+
+"Nay, lord," quoth Roger, lifting high his drooping head, "'tis but my
+wound that bleeds afresh. But, bond or free, thy man am I, and able yet
+to strike a blow on thy behalf an heaven so please."
+
+"Now God shield thee, brave Roger!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"O sweet St. Giles--and what of me, brother?" spake a voice in his
+ear, and turning, Beltane beheld the archer smiling upon him with
+swollen, bloody lips.
+
+"Thou here too, good Giles?"
+
+"Even so, tall brother, in adversity lo! I am with thee--since I
+found no chance to run other-where, for that divers rogues constrained
+me to abide--notably yon knave with the scar, whose mailed fist I had
+perforce to kiss, brother, in whose dog's carcase I will yet feather me
+a shaft, sweet St. Giles aiding me--which is my patron saint, you'll
+mind. _Nil desperandum_, brother: bruised and beaten, bleeding and in
+bonds, yet I breathe, nothing desponding, for mark me, _a priori_,
+brother, Walkyn and the young knight won free, which is well; Walkyn
+hath long legs, which is better; Walkyn hath many friends i' the
+greenwood, which is best of all. So do I keep a merry heart--_dum spiro
+spero_--trusting to the good St. Giles, which, as methinks you know is
+my--"
+
+The archer grew suddenly dumb, his comely face blanched, and glancing
+round, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe beside him, who leaned down from
+his great white horse to smile wry-mouthed, and smiling thus, put back
+the mail-coif from his pallid face and laid a finger to the linen clout
+that swathed his head above the brows.
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "for this I might hang thee to a tree,
+or drag thee at a horse's tail, or hew thee in sunder with this great
+sword o' thine which shall be mine henceforth--but these be deaths
+unworthy of such as thou--my lord Duke! Now within Garthlaxton be
+divers ways and means, quaint fashions and devices strange and rare,
+messire. And when I'm done, Black Roger shall hang what's left of thee,
+ere he go to feed my hounds. That big body o' thine shall rot above my
+gate, and for that golden head--ha! I'll send it to Duke Ivo in
+quittance for his gallows! Yet first--O, first shalt thou sigh that
+death must needs be so long a-coming!"
+
+But now, from where the van-ward marched, came galloping a tall
+esquire, who, reining in beside Sir Pertolepe, pointed down the hill.
+
+"Lord Pertolepe," he cried joyously, "yonder, scarce a mile, flies the
+banner of Gilles of Brandonmere, his company few, his men scattered
+and heavy with plunder."
+
+"Gilles!" quoth Sir Pertolepe. "Ha, is it forsooth Gilles of
+Brandonmere?"
+
+"Himself, lord, and none other. I marked plain his banner with the
+three stooping falcons."
+
+"And he hath booty, say you?"
+
+"In truth, my lord--and there be women also, three horse litters--"
+
+"Ah--women! Verily, good Fulk, hast ever a quick eye for the flutter of
+a kirtle. Now, mark me Fulk, Thornaby Mill lieth in our front, and
+beyond, the road windeth steep 'twixt high banks. Let archers line
+these banks east and west: let the pikemen be ambushed to the south,
+until we from the north have charged them with the horse--see 'tis
+done, Fulk, and silently--so peradventure, Sir Gilles shall trouble me
+no more. Pass the word--away!"
+
+Off rode Sir Fulk, and straightway the pounding hoofs were still, the
+jingle of bridle and stirrup hushed, and in its place a vague stir of
+bustle and excitement; of pikemen wheeling right and left to vanish
+southwards into the green, and of archers stringing bows and unbuckling
+quiver-caps ere they too wheeled and vanished; yet now Sir Pertolepe
+stayed four lusty fellows, and beckoning them near, pointed to the
+prisoners.
+
+"Good fellows," quoth he, nodding jovially upon the archers, "here be
+my three rogues, see you--who must with me to Garthlaxton: one to die
+by slow fire, one to be torn by my hounds, and one--this tall
+golden-haired youth--mark him well!--to die in slow and subtle fashion.
+Now these three do I put in charge of ye trusty four; guard them well,
+good fellows, for, an one escape, so shall ye all four die in his stead
+and in such fashion as he should have died. Ha! d'ye mark me well, my merry
+men?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded the four, scowling of brow yet pale-cheeked.
+
+"Look to it I find them secure, therefore, and entreat them tenderly.
+March you at the rear and see they take no harm; choose ye some secure
+corner where they may lie safe from chance of stray shafts, for I would
+have them come hale and sound to Garthlaxton, since to die well, a man
+must be strong and hearty, look you. D'ye mark me well, good fellows?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" growled the four.
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe, fondling his great chin, smiled upon Beltane and
+lifted Beltane's glittering sword on high, "Advance my banner!" he
+cried, and rode forward among his men-at-arms. On went the company,
+grimly silent now save for the snort of a horse, the champing of
+curbing bits and the thud of slow trampling hoofs upon the tender
+grass, as the west flamed to sunset. Thus in a while they came to a
+place where the road, narrowing, ran 'twixt high banks clothed in gorse
+and underbrush; a shadowy road, the which, winding downwards, was lost
+in a sharp curve. Here the array was halted, and abode very still and
+silent, with helm and lance-point winking in the last red rays of
+sunset.
+
+"O brother," whispered Giles, "ne'er saw I place sweeter or more apt
+for ambushment. Here shall be bloody doings anon, and we--helpless as
+babes! O me, the pity on't!" But now with blows and gibes the four
+archers dragged them unto a tall tree that stood beside the way, a tree
+of mighty girth whose far-flung branches cast a deep gloom. Within this
+gloom lay my Beltane, stirring not and speaking no word, being faint
+and sick with his hurts. But Giles the archer, sitting beside him,
+vented by turns bitter curses upon Sir Pertolepe and humble prayers to
+his patron saint, so fluent and so fast that prayers and curses became
+strangely blent and mingled, on this wise:
+
+"May Red Pertolepe be thrice damned with a candle to the blessed Saint
+Giles that is my comfort and intercessor. May his bones rot within him
+with my gold chain to sweet Saint Giles. May his tongue wither at the
+roots--ah, good Saint Giles, save me from the fire. May he be cursed in
+life and may the flesh shrivel on his bones and his soul be eternally
+damned with another candle and fifty gold pieces to the altar of holy
+Saint Giles--"
+
+But now hearing Roger groan, the archer paused to admonish him thus:
+
+"Croak not, Roger, croak not," quoth he, "think not upon thy vile body
+--pray, man, pray--pray thyself speechless. Call reverently upon the
+blessed saints as I do, promise them candles, Roger, promise hard and
+pray harder lest we perish--I by fire and thou by Pertolepe's hounds.
+Ill deaths, look you, aye, 'tis a cruel death to be burnt alive,
+Roger!"
+
+"To be torn by hounds is worse!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, my Rogerkin, the fire is slower, methinks--I have watched good
+flesh sear and shrivel ere now--ha! by Saint Giles, 'tis an evil
+subject; let us rather think upon two others."
+
+"As what, archer?"
+
+"The long legs of our comrade Walkyn. Hist! hark ye to that bruit! Here
+cometh Gilles of Brandonmere, meseemeth!" And now from the road in
+front rose the sound of an approaching company, the tramp of weary
+horses climbing the ascent with the sound of cheery voices upraised in
+song; and ever the sinking sun glinted redly on helm and lance-point
+where sat Sir Pertolepe's mailed riders, grim and silent, while the
+cheery voices swelled near and more near, till, all at once, the song
+died to a hum of amaze that rose to a warning shout that was drowned in
+the blare of a piercing trumpet blast. Whereat down swept glittering
+lance-point, forward leaned shining bascinet, and the first rank of Sir
+Pertolepe's riders, striking spurs, thundered upon them down the hill;
+came thereafter the shock of meeting ranks, with shouts and cries that
+grew to a muffled roar. Up rose the dust, an eddying cloud wherein
+steel flickered and dim forms strove, horse to horse and man to man,
+while Sir Pertolepe, sitting his great white charger, nursed his big
+chin and, smiling, waited his chance. Presently, from the eddying
+cloud staggered the broken remnant of Sir Gilles' van-ward, whereon,
+laughing fierce and loud, Sir Pertolepe rose in his stirrups with
+Beltane's long sword lifted high, his trumpets brayed the charge, and
+down the hill thundered Sir Pertolepe and all his array; and the road
+near by was deserted, save for the prisoners and the four archers who
+stood together, their faces set down-hill, where the dust rose denser
+and denser, and the roar of the conflict fierce and loud.
+
+But now, above the din and tumult of the fight below, shrill and high
+rose the notes of a horn winded from the woods in the east, that was
+answered--like an echo, out of the woods in the west; and, down the
+banks to right and left, behold Sir Pertolepe's archers came leaping
+and tumbling, pursued by a hissing arrow shower. Whereat up sprang
+Giles, despite his bonds, shouting amain:
+
+"O, Walkyn o' the Long Legs--a rescue! To us! Arise, I will arise!" Now
+while he shouted thus, came one of the four archers, and Giles was
+smitten to his knees; but, as the archer whirled up his quarter-staff
+to strike again, an arrow took him full in the throat, and pitching
+upon his face, he lay awhile, coughing, in the dust.
+
+Now as his comrades yet stared upon this man so suddenly dead, down
+from the bank above leapt one who bore a glittering axe, with divers
+wild and ragged fellows at his heels; came a sound of shouting and
+blows hard smitten, a rush of feet and, thereafter, silence, save for
+the din of battle afar. But, upon the silence, loud and sudden rose a
+high-pitched quavering laugh, and Giles spake, his voice yet shrill and
+unsteady.
+
+"'Twas Walkyn--ha, Saint Giles bless Walkyn's long legs! 'Twas Walkyn I
+saw--Walkyn hath brought down the outlaws--the woods be full of them.
+Oho! Sir Pertolepe's slow fire shall not roast me yet awhile, nor his
+dogs mumble the carcase, my Rogerkin!"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger feebly, "but what of my lord, see how still he
+lieth!"
+
+"Forsooth," exclaimed the archer, writhing in his bonds to stare upon
+Beltane, "forsooth, Roger, he took a dour ding upon his yellow pate,
+look ye; but for his mail-coif he were a dead man this hour--"
+
+"He lieth very still," groaned Roger.
+
+"Yet is he a mighty man and strong, my Rogerkin-never despond, man,
+for I tell thee--ha!--heard ye that outcry? The outlaws be at work at
+last, they have Sir Pertolepe out-flanked d'ye see--now might ye behold
+what well-sped shafts can do upon a close array--pretty work-sweet
+work! Would I knew where Walkyn lay!"
+
+"Here, comrade!" said a voice from the shade of the great tree.
+
+"How--what do ye there?" cried the archer.
+
+"Wait for Red Pertolepe."
+
+"Why then, sweet Walkyn, good Walkyn--come loose us of our bonds that
+we may wait with thee--"
+
+"Nay," growled Walkyn, "ye are the bait. When the outlaws have slain
+enough of them, Pertolepe's men must flee this way: so will Red
+Pertolepe stay to take up his prisoners, and so shall I slay him in
+that moment with this mine axe. Ha!--said I not so? Hark I they break
+already! Peace now--wait and watch." So saying, Walkyn crouched behind
+the tree, axe poised, what time the dust and roar of battle rolled
+toward them up the hill. And presently, from out the rolling cloud,
+riderless horses burst and thundered past, and after them--a staggering
+rout, mounted and afoot, spurring and trampling each other 'neath the
+merciless arrow-shower that smote them from the banks above. Horse and
+foot they thundered by until at last, amid a ring of cowering men-at-arms,
+Sir Pertolepe galloped, his white horse bespattered with blood
+and foam, his battered helm a-swing upon its thongs; grim-lipped and
+pale he rode, while his eyes, aflame 'neath scowling brows, swept the
+road this way and that until, espying Beltane 'neath the tree, he
+swerved aside in his career and strove to check his followers' headlong
+flight.
+
+"Stay," cried he striking right and left. "Halt, dogs, and take up the
+prisoners. Ha! will ye defy me-rogues, caitiffs! Fulk! Raoul! Denis!
+Ho, there!"
+
+But no man might stay that maddened rush, wherefore, swearing a great
+oath, Sir Pertolepe spurred upon Beltane with Beltane's sword lifted
+for the blow. But, from the shade of the tree a mighty form uprose, and
+Sir Pertolepe was aware of a hoarse, glad cry, saw the whirling flash
+of a broad axe and wrenched hard at his bridle; round staggered the
+white horse, down came the heavy axe, and the great horse, death-smitten,
+reared up and up, back and back, and crashing over, was lost 'neath
+the dust of swift-trampling hoofs.
+
+Now presently, Beltane was aware that his bonds cramped him no longer,
+found Roger's arm about him, and at his parched lips Roger's steel
+head-piece brimming with cool, sweet water; and gulping thirstily, soon
+felt the numbness lifted from his brain and the mist from his eyes; in
+so much that he sat up, and gazing about, beheld himself alone with
+Roger.
+
+Quoth he, looking down at his swollen wrists:
+
+"Do we go free then, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master--though ye had a woundy knock upon the head."
+
+"And what of Giles?"
+
+"He is away to get him arrows to fill his quiver, and to fill his purse
+with what he may, for the dead lie thick in the road yonder, and there
+is much plunder."
+
+"And Walkyn?"
+
+"Walkyn, master, having slain Sir Pertolepe's horse yonder, followeth
+Pertolepe, minded straight to slay him also."
+
+"Yet dost thou remain, Roger."
+
+"Aye, lord; and here is that which thou wilt need again, methinks; I
+found it hard by Sir Pertolepe's dead horse." So saying, Roger put
+Beltane's great sword into his hand. Then Beltane took hold upon the
+sword, and rising to his feet stretched wide his arms, and felt his
+strength renewed within him. Therefore he sheathed the sword and set
+his hand on Roger's broad, mail-clad shoulder.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou faithful Roger, God hath delivered us from
+shameful death, wherefore, I hold, He hath yet need of these our
+bodies."
+
+"As how, master?"
+
+"As I went, nigh swooning in my bonds, methought I heard tell that Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere had captive certain women; so now must we deliver
+them, thou and I, an it may be so."
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, "Sir Gilles marcheth with the remnant of his
+company, and we are but two. Let us therefore get with us divers of
+these outlaws."
+
+"I have heard tell that to be a woman and captive to Sir Gilles or
+Pertolepe the Red is to be brought to swift and dire shame. So now let
+us deliver these women from shame, thou and I. Wilt go with me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye lord, that will I: yet first pray thee aid me to bind a clout upon
+my arm, for my wound irketh me somewhat."
+
+And in a while, when Beltane had laved and bound up Roger's wound, they
+went on down the darkening road together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+
+It was a night of wind with a flying cloud-wrack overhead whence peeped
+the pallid moon betimes; a night of gloom and mystery. The woods about
+them were full of sounds and stealthy rustlings as they strode along
+the forest road, and so came to that dark defile where the fight had
+raged. Of what they saw and heard within that place of slaughter it
+bodeth not to tell, nor of those figures, wild and fierce, that
+crouched to strip the jumbled slain, or snarled and quarrelled over the
+work.
+
+"Here is good plunder of weapons and armour," quoth Roger, "'tis seldom
+the outlaws come by such. Hark to that cry! There died some wounded
+wight under his plunderer's knife!"
+
+"God rest his soul, Amen!" sighed Beltane. "Come, let us hence!" And
+forthwith he began to run. So in a little while they passed through
+that place of horror unseen, and so came out again upon the forest
+road. Ever and anon the moon sent down a feeble ray 'neath which the
+road lay a-glimmer 'twixt the gloom of the woods, whence came groans
+and wailings with every wind-gust, whereat Roger quailed, and fumbling
+at his sword-hilt, pressed closer upon Beltane.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "'tis an evil night--methinks the souls of the
+dead be abroad--hark to those sounds! Master, I like it not!--"
+
+"'Tis but the wind, Roger."
+
+"'Tis like the cries of women wailing o'er their dead, I have heard
+such sounds ere now; I would my belt bore fewer notches, master!"
+
+"They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!"
+
+"Master--an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire--
+remembering these same notches?"
+
+"Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger. Hark!" quoth
+Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the
+wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the
+sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road. Now as they drew near
+the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled 'neath a bush beside the
+way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger, stooping, "thou'rt of Brandonmere?"
+
+"Aye--give me water--I was squire to Sir Gilles--God's love--give me--
+water!"
+
+Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger
+bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.
+
+"Messire," said he, "I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women
+captive."
+
+"There is--but one, and she--a nun. But nuns are--holy women--so I
+withstood my lord in his--desire. And my lord--stabbed me--so must I
+die--of a nun, see you!--Ah--give me--water!"
+
+"Where doth he ride this night, messire?"
+
+"His men--few--very weary--Sir Pertolepe's--men-at-arms--caught us i'
+the sunken road--Sir Gilles--to Thornaby Mill--beside the ford--O God
+--water!"
+
+"'Tis here!" quoth Roger, kneeling beside him; then Beltane set the
+water to the squire's eager lips, but, striving to drink he choked,
+and choking, fell back--dead.
+
+So in a while they arose from their knees and went their way, while the
+dead youth lay with wide eyes that seemed to out-stare the pallid moon.
+
+Now as they went on very silently together, of a sudden Black Roger
+caught Beltane by the arm and pointed into the gloom, where, far before
+them, small lights winked redly through the murk.
+
+"Yon should be Sir Gilles' watch-fires!" he whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "so I think."
+
+"Master--what would ye now?"
+
+"Pray, Roger--I pray God Sir Gilles' men be few, and that they be sound
+sleepers. Howbeit we will go right warily none the less." So saying,
+Beltane turned aside from the road and led on through underbrush and
+thicket, through a gloom of leaves where a boisterous wind rioted;
+where great branches, dim seen, swayed groaning in every fierce gust,
+and all was piping stir and tumult. Twigs whipped them viciously,
+thorns dragged at them, while the wind went by them, moaning, in the
+dark. But, ever and anon as they stumbled forward, guiding themselves
+by instinct, the moon sent forth a pale beam from the whirling cloud-wrack
+--a phantom light that stole upon them, sudden and ghost-like,
+and, like a ghost, was gone again; what time Black Roger, following
+hard on Beltane's heel, crossed himself and muttered fragments of
+forgotten prayers. Thus at last they came to the river, that flowed
+before them vague in the half-light, whose sullen waters gurgled evilly
+among the willows that drooped upon the marge.
+
+"Master," said Roger, wiping sweat from his face, "there's evil
+hereabouts--I've had a warning--a dead man touched me as we came
+through the brush yonder."
+
+"Nay Roger, 'twas but some branch--"
+
+"Lord, when knew ye a branch with--fingers--slimy and cold--upon my
+cheek here. 'Twas a warning, master--he dead hand! One of us twain
+goeth to his death this night!"
+
+"Let not thine heart fail therefor, good Roger: man, being dead, liveth
+forever--"
+
+"Nay, but--the dead hand, master--on my cheek, here--Ah!--" Crying
+thus, Black Roger sprang and caught Beltane's arm, gripping it fast,
+for on the air, borne upon the wind, yet louder than the wind, a shrill
+sound rang and echoed, the which, passing, seemed to have stricken the
+night to silence. Then Beltane brake from Roger's clasp, and ran on
+beside the river, until, beyond the sullen waters the watch-fires
+flared before him, in whose red light the mill loomed up rugged and
+grim, its massy walls scarred and cracked, its great wheel fallen to
+ruin.
+
+Now above the wheel was a gap in the masonry, an opening roughly square
+that had been a window, mayhap, whence shone a warm, mellow light.
+
+"Master," panted Roger, "a God's name--what was it?"
+
+"A woman screamed!" quoth Beltane, staring upon the lighted window. As
+he spake a man laughed sleepily beside the nearest watch-fire, scarce a
+bow-shot away.
+
+"Look'ee, master," whispered Roger, "we may not cross by the ford
+because of the watch-fires--'tis a fair light to shoot by, and the
+river is very deep hereabouts."
+
+"Yet must we swim it, Roger."
+
+"Lord, the water is in flood, and our armour heavy!"
+
+"Then must we leave our armour behind," quoth Beltane, and throwing
+back his hood of mail, he began to unbuckle his broad belt, but of a
+sudden, stayed to point with outstretched finger. Then, looking whither
+he pointed, Roger saw a tree whose hole leaned far out across the
+stream, so that one far-flung branch well nigh scraped the broken roof
+of the mill.
+
+"Yon lieth our way, Roger--come!" said he.
+
+Being come to that side of the tree afar from the watch-fires, Beltane
+swung himself lightly and began to climb, but hearing a groan, paused.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what ails thee, Roger?"
+
+"Alas!" groaned Roger, "'tis my wound irketh me; O master, I cannot
+follow thee this way!"
+
+"Nay, let me aid thee," whispered Beltane, reaching down to him. But,
+despite Beltane's strong hand, desperately though he tried, Black Roger
+fell back, groaning.
+
+"Master," he pleaded, "O master, adventure not alone lest ill befall
+thee." "Aye, but I must, Roger."
+
+Then Roger leaned his head upon his sound arm, and wept full bitterly.
+
+"O master,--O sweet lord," quoth he, "bethink thee now of the warning--
+the dead hand--"
+
+"Yet must I go, my Roger."
+
+"Then--an they kill thee, lord, so shall they kill me also; thy man am
+I, to live or die with thee--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, sworn art thou to redeem Pentavalon: so now, in her name
+do I charge thee, haste to Sir Jocelyn, an he yet live--seek Giles and
+Walkyn and whoso else ye may, and bring them hither at speed. If ye
+find me not here, then hie ye all to Thrasfordham, for by to-morrow Sir
+Pertolepe and Gui of Allerdale will have raised the country against us.
+Go now, do even as I command, and may God keep thee, my faithful
+Roger." Then Beltane began to climb, but being come where the great
+branch forked, looked down to see Roger's upturned face, pale amid the
+gloom below.
+
+"The holy angels have thee in their keeping, lord and master!" he
+sighed, and so turned with head a-droop and was gone. And now Beltane
+began to clamber out across the swirl of dark waters, while the tough
+bough swung and swayed beneath him in every gust of wind, wherefore his
+going was difficult and slow, and he took heed only to his hands and
+feet.
+
+But, all at once, he heard a bitter, broken cry, and glancing up, it
+chanced that from his lofty perch he could look within the lighted
+window, and thus beheld a nun, whose slender, black-robed body writhed
+and twisted in the clasp of two leathern-clad arms; vicious arms, that
+bent her back and back across the rough table, until into Beltane's
+vision came the leathern-clad form of him that held her: a black-haired,
+shapely man, whose glowing eyes and eager mouth stooped ever nearer
+above the nun's white loveliness.
+
+And thus it was that my Beltane first looked upon Sir Gilles of
+Brandonmere. He had laid sword and armour by, but as the nun yet
+struggled in his arms, her white hand came upon and drew the dagger at
+his girdle, yet, ere she could strike, Sir Gilles had seen and leapt
+back out of reach.
+
+Then Beltane clambered on at speed, and with every yard their voices
+grew more loud--hers proud and disdainful, his low and soft, pierced,
+now and then, by an evil, lazy laugh.
+
+Now ever as Beltane went, the branch swayed more dizzily, bending more
+and more beneath his weight, and ever as he drew nearer, between the
+wind-gusts came snatches of their talk.
+
+"Be thou nun, or duchess, or strolling light-o'-love, art woman--by
+Venus! fair and passing fair!--captive art thou--aye, mine, I tell
+thee--yield thee--hast struggled long enough to save thy modesty--yield
+thee now, else will I throw thee to my lusty rogues without--make them
+sport--"
+
+"O--beast--I fear thee not! For thy men--how shall they harm me, seeing
+I shall be dead!"
+
+Down swayed the branch, low and lower, until Beltane's mailed foot,
+a-swing in mid air, found something beneath--slipped away--found it
+again, and thereupon, loosing the branch, down he came upon the ruined
+mill-wheel. Then, standing upon the wheel, his groping fingers found
+divers cracks in the worn masonry--moreover the ivy was thick; so,
+clinging with fingers and toes, up he went, higher and higher until his
+steel-mittened hands gripped the sill: thus, slowly and cautiously he
+drew himself up until his golden head rose above the sill and he could
+peer into the room.
+
+Sir Gilles half stood, half sat upon the table, while the nun faced
+him, cold and proud and disdainful, the gleaming dagger clutched to her
+quick-heaving bosom; and Sir Gilles, assured and confident, laughed
+softly as he leaned so lazily, yet ever he watched that gleaming steel,
+waiting his chance to spring. Now as they stood fronting each other
+thus, the nun stirred beneath his close regard, turned her head, and on
+the instant Beltane knew that she had seen him; knew by the sudden
+tremor of her lips, the widening of her dark eyes, wherein he seemed to
+read wonder, joy, and a passionate entreaty; then, even as he thrilled
+to meet that look, down swept languorous lid and curling lash, and,
+sighing, she laid the dagger on the table. For a moment Sir Gilles
+stared in blank amaze, then laughed his lazy laugh.
+
+"Ah, proud beauty! 'Tis surrender then?" said he, and speaking, reached
+for the dagger; but even as he did so, the nun seized the heavy table
+and thrust with sudden strength, so that Sir Gilles, taken unawares,
+staggered back and back--to the window. Then Beltane reached up into
+the room and, from behind, caught Sir Gilles by the throat and gripped
+him with iron fingers, strangling all outcry, and so, drawing himself
+over the sill and into the room, dragged Sir Gilles to the floor and
+choked him there until his eyes rolled upward and he lay like one dead.
+Then swiftly Beltane took off the belt of Sir Gilles and buckled it
+tight about the wrists and arms of Sir Gilles, and, rending strips from
+Sir Gilles' mantle that lay near, therewith fast gagged and bound him.
+Now it chanced that as he knelt thus, he espied the dagger where it
+lay, and taking it up, glanced from it to Sir Gilles lying motionless
+in his bonds. But as he hesitated, there came a sudden knocking on the
+door and a voice spake without:
+
+"My lord! my lord--'tis I--'tis Lupo. My lord, our men be few and
+wearied, as ye know. Must I set a guard beyond the ford, think you, or
+will the four watch-fires suffice?"
+
+Now, glancing up, scarce breathing, Beltane beheld the nun who crouched
+down against the wall, her staring eyes turned towards the door, her
+cheeks ashen, her lips a-quiver with deadly fear. Yet, even so, she
+spake. But that 'twas she indeed who uttered the words he scarce could
+credit, so soft and sweetly slumberous was her voice:
+
+"My lord is a-weary and sleepeth. Hush you, and come again with the
+dawn." Now was a moment's breathless silence and thereafter an evil
+chuckle, and, so chuckling, the man Lupo went down the rickety stair
+without.
+
+And when his step was died away, Beltane drew a deep breath, and
+together they arose, and so, speaking no word, they looked upon each
+other across the prostrate body of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+
+Eyes long, thick-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his
+and anon were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids; a nose tenderly
+aquiline; lips, red and full, that parted but to meet again in sweet
+and luscious curves; a chin white, and round, and dimpled.
+
+This Beltane saw 'twixt hood and wimple, by aid of the torch that
+flickered against the wall; and she, conscious of his look, stood with
+white hands demurely crossed upon her rounded bosom, with eyes abased
+and scarlet lips apart, as one who waits--expectant. Now hereupon my
+Beltane felt himself vaguely at loss, and finding he yet held the
+dagger, set it upon the table and spake, low-voiced.
+
+"Reverend Mother--" he began, and stopped--for at the word her dark
+lashes lifted and she stared upon him curiously, while slowly her red
+lips quivered to a smile. And surely, surely this nun so sweet and
+saintly in veiling hood and wimple was yet a very woman, young and
+passing fair; and the eyes of her--how deep and tender and yet how
+passionate! Now beholding her eyes, memory stirred within him and he
+sighed, whereat she sighed also and meekly bowed her head, speaking him
+with all humility.
+
+"Sweet son, speak on--thy reverend mother heareth."
+
+Now did Beltane, my Innocent, rub his innocent chin and stand mumchance
+awhile, finding nought to say--then:
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "lady--since I have found thee--let us go while
+yet we may."
+
+"Messire," says she, with eyes still a-droop, "came you in sooth--in
+quest of me?"
+
+"Yea, verily. I heard Sir Gilles had made captive of a nun, so came I
+to deliver her--an so it might be."
+
+"E'en though she were old, and wrinkled, and toothless, messire?"
+
+"Lady," says my Innocent, staring and rubbing his chin a little harder,
+"surely all nuns, young and old, be holy women, worthy a man's
+reverence and humble service. So would I now bear thee from this
+unhallowed place--we must be far hence ere dawn--come!"
+
+"Aye, but whither?" she sighed, "death is all about us, messire--how
+may we escape it? And I fear death no whit--now, messire!"
+
+"Aye, but I do so, lady, since I have other and greater works yet to
+achieve."
+
+"How, messire, is it so small a thing to have saved a nun--even though
+she be neither old, nor wrinkled, nor toothless?" And behold, the nun's
+meek head was high and proud, her humility forgotten quite.
+
+Then she frowned, and 'neath her sombre draperies her foot fell
+a-tapping; a small foot, dainty and slender in its gaily broidered shoe,
+so much at variance with her dolorous habit. But Beltane recked nought
+of this, for, espying a narrow window in the opposite wall, he came
+thither and thrusting his head without, looked down upon the sleeping
+camp. And thus he saw that Sir Gilles' men were few indeed, scarce
+three-score all told he counted as they lay huddled about the
+smouldering watch-fires, deep-slumbering as only men greatly wearied
+might. Even the sentinels nodded at their posts, and all was still save
+for the rush of a sudden wind-gust, or the snort and trampling of the
+horses. And leaning thus, Beltane marked well where the sentinels
+lolled upon their pikes, or marched drowsily to and fro betwixt the
+watch-fires, and long he gazed where the horses were tethered, two
+swaying, trampling lines dim-seen amid the further shadows. Now being
+busied measuring with his eye the distances 'twixt sentinel and
+sentinel, and noting where the shadows lay darkest, he was suddenly
+aware of the nun close beside him, of the feel of her, soft and warm
+against him, and starting at the contact, turned to find her hand,
+small and white, upon his mailed arm.
+
+"Sweet son," said she soft-voiced, from the shadow of her sombre hood,
+"thy reverend mother now would chide thee, for that having but short
+while to live, thou dost stand thus mumchance, staring upon vacancy--
+for, with the dawn, we die."
+
+Quoth Beltane, deeply conscious of the slender hand:
+
+"To die, nay--nay--thou'rt too young and fair to die--"
+
+Sighed she, with rueful smile:
+
+"Thou too art neither old nor cold, nor bent with years, fair son. Come
+then, till death let us speak together and comfort each other. Lay by
+thy melancholy as I now lay by this hood and wimple, for the night is
+hot and close, methinks."
+
+"Nay, lady, indeed 'tis cool, for there is much wind abroad," says
+Beltane, my Innocent. "Moreover, while standing here, methinks I have
+seen a way whereby we may win free--"
+
+Now hereupon she turned and looked on him, quick-breathing and with
+eyes brim-full of fear.
+
+"Messire!" she panted, "O messire, bethink thee. For death am I
+prepared--to live each moment fully till the dawn, then when they came
+to drag me down to--to shame, then should thy dagger free me quite--
+such death I'd smile to meet. But ah! should we strive to flee, and
+thou in the attempt be slain--and I alive--the sport of that vile
+rabblement below--O, Christ,--not that!" and cowering, she hid her
+face.
+
+"Noble lady," said Beltane, looking on her gentle-eyed, "indeed I too
+had thought on that!" and, coming to the table, he took thence the
+dagger of Sir Gilles and would have put it in her hand, but lo! she
+shrank away.
+
+"Not that, messire, not that," she sighed, "thy dagger let it be, since
+true knight art thou and honourable, I pray you give me thine. It is
+thy reverend mother asks," and smiling pale and wan, she reached out a
+white, imperious hand. So Beltane drew his dagger and gave it to her
+keeping; then, having set the other in his girdle, he crossed to the
+door and stood awhile to hearken.
+
+"Lady," said he, "there is no way for us but this stair, and meseemeth
+'tis a dangerous way, yet must we tread it together. Reach me now thy
+hand and set it here in my girdle, and, whatsoe'er befall, loose not
+thy hold." So saying, Beltane drew his sword and set wide the door.
+"Look to thy feet," he whispered, "and tread soft!" Then, with her
+trailing habit caught up in her left hand and with her right upon his
+belt, the nun followed Beltane out upon the narrow stair. Step by step
+they stole downwards into the dark, pausing with breath in check each
+time the timbers creaked, and hearkening with straining ears. Down they
+went amid the gloom until they spied an open door below, beyond which a
+dim light shone, and whence rose the snoring of wearied sleepers. Ever
+and anon a wind-gust smote the ancient mill and a broken shutter
+rattled near by, what time they crept a pace down the creaking stair
+until at last they stood upon the threshold of a square chamber upon
+whose broken hearth a waning fire burned, by whose uncertain light they
+espied divers vague forms that stirred now and then and groaned in
+their sleep as they sprawled upon the floor: and Beltane counted three
+who lay 'twixt him and the open doorway, for door was there none.
+Awhile stood Beltane, viewing the sleepers 'neath frowning brows, then,
+sheathing his sword, he turned and reached out his arms to the nun in
+the darkness and, in the dark, she gave herself, warm and yielding,
+into his embrace, her arms clung soft about him, and he felt her breath
+upon his cheek, as clasping his left arm about her, he lifted her high
+against his breast. And now, even as she trembled against him, so
+trembled Beltane also yet knew not why; therefore of a sudden he turned
+and stepped into the chamber. A man started up beside the hearth,
+muttering evilly; and Beltane, standing rigid, gripped his dagger to
+smite, but even then the muttering ceased, and falling back, the man
+rolled over and fell a-snoring again. So, lightly, swiftly, Beltane
+strode over the sprawling sleepers--out through the open doorway--out
+into the sweet, cool night beyond--out into the merry riot of the
+wind. Swift and sure of foot he sped, going ever where the shadows lay
+deepest, skirting beyond reach of the paling watch-fires, until he was
+come nigh where the horses stamped and snorted. Here he set the nun
+upon her feet, and bidding her stir not, crept towards the horses,
+quick-eyed and watchful. And thus he presently espied a man who leaned
+him upon a long pike, his face set toward the nearest watch-fire: and
+the man's eyes were closed, and he snored gently. Then Beltane shifted
+his dagger to his left hand, and being come within reach, drew back his
+mailed fist and smote the sleeper betwixt his closed eyes, and catching
+him as he fell, laid him gently on the grass.
+
+Now swift and silent came Beltane to where the horses champed, and
+having made choice of a certain powerful beast, slipped off his chain
+mittens and rolled back sleeve of mail and, low-stooping in the shadow,
+sought and found the ropes whereto the halters were made fast, and
+straightway cut them in sunder. Then, having looked to girth and
+bridle, he vaulted to the saddle, and drawing sword, shouted his
+battle-cry fierce and loud: "Arise! Arise!" and, so shouting, smote the
+frighted horses to right and left with the flat of the long blade, so
+that they reared up whinnying, and set off a-galloping in all
+directions, filling the air with the thunder of their rushing hoofs.
+
+And now came shouts and cries with a prodigious confusion and running
+to and fro about the dying watch-fires. Trumpets blared shrill, hoarse
+voices roared commands that passed unheeded in the growing din and
+tumult that swelled to a wild clamour of frenzied shouting:
+
+"Fly! fly! Pertolepe is upon us! 'tis the Red Pertolepe!"
+
+But Beltane, riding warily amid the gloom, came to that place where he
+had left the nun, yet found her not, and immediately was seized of a
+great dread. But as he stared wildly about him, he presently heard a
+muffled cry, and spurring thitherwards, beheld two dim figures that
+swayed to and fro in a fierce grapple. Riding close, Beltane saw the
+glint of mail, raised his sword for the blow, felt a shock--a searing
+smart, and knew himself wounded; but now she was at his stirrup, and
+stooping, he swung her up to the withers of his horse, and wheeling
+short about, spurred to a gallop; yet, as he rode, above the rush of
+wind and thud of hoofs, he heard a cry, hoarse and dolorous. On
+galloped Beltane all unheeding, until he came 'neath the leafy arches
+of the friendly woods, within whose gloom needs must he ride at a
+hand's pace. Thus, as they went, they could hear the uproar behind--a
+confused din that waxed and waned upon the wind.
+
+But Beltane, riding slow and cautious within the green, heeded this not
+at all, nor the throb of his wounded arm, nor aught under heaven save
+the pressure of this slender body that lay so still, so warm and soft
+within his arm; and as he went, he began to wish for the moon that he
+might see her face.
+
+Blue eyes, long and heavy-lashed! Surely blue eyes were fairest in a
+woman? And then the voice of her, liquid and soft like the call of
+merle or mavis. And she was a nun! How white and slim her hands, yet
+strong and resolute, as when she grasped the dagger 'gainst Sir Gilles;
+aye--resolute hands, like the spirit within her soft and shapely body.
+And then again--her lips; red and full, up-curving to sweet, slow
+smile, yet withal tinged with subtle mockery. With such eyes and such
+lips she might--aye, but she was a nun--a nun, forsooth!
+
+"Messire!" Beltane started from his reverie. "Art cold, messire?"
+
+"Cold!" stammered Beltane, "cold? Indeed no, lady."
+
+"Yet dost thou tremble!"
+
+"Nathless, I am not cold, lady."
+
+"Then wherefore tremble?"
+
+"Nay, I--I know not. In sooth, do I so, lady?"
+
+"Verily, sir, and therewith sigh, frequent and O, most dolorous to
+hear!"
+
+Now at this, my Beltane finding naught to say, straightway sighed
+again; and thus they rode awhile, speaking nothing.
+
+"Think you we are safe, messire?" she questioned him at last.
+
+"Tis so I pray, lady."
+
+"Thou hast done right valiantly to-night on my behalf," says she. "How
+came you in at the window?"
+
+"By means of a tree, lady."
+
+"Art very strong, messire, and valiant beyond thought. Thou hast this
+night, with thy strong hand, lifted me up from shameful death: so, by
+right, should my life be thine henceforth." Herewith she sighed,
+leaning closer upon his breast, and Beltane's desire to see her face
+grew amain.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks art cold indeed, or is it that I weary
+thee?"
+
+"Nay, thou'rt wondrous easy to bear thus, lady."
+
+"And whither do ye bear me, sir--north or south? And yet it mattereth
+nothing," says she, soft-voiced, "since we are safe--together!" Now
+hereafter, as Beltane rode, he turned his eyes full oft to heaven--
+yearning for the moon.
+
+"What woods be these, messire?" she questioned.
+
+"'Tis the wilderness that lieth betwixt Pentavalon and Mortain, lady."
+
+"Know ye Mortain, sir?"
+
+"Yea, verily," he answered, and sighed full deep. And as he sighed, lo,
+in that moment the moon peeped forth of a cloud-rift and he beheld the
+nun looking up at him with eyes deep and wistful, and, as she gazed,
+her lips curved in slow and tender smile ere her lashes drooped, and
+sighing, she hid her face against him in the folds of her mantle, while
+Beltane must needs bethink him of other eyes so very like, and yet so
+false, and straightway--sighed.
+
+"Messire," she murmured, "pray now, wherefore do ye sigh so oft?"
+
+"For that thine eyes do waken memory, lady."
+
+"Of a woman?"
+
+"Aye--of a woman."
+
+"And thou dost--love her, messire?"
+
+"Unto my dole, lady."
+
+"Ah, can it be she doth not love thee, messire?"
+
+"Indeed, 'tis most certain!"
+
+"Hath she then told thee so--of herself?"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "not in so many words, lady, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth the nun, suddenly erect, "thou must needs run away and
+leave her--poor sweet wretch--to mourn for thee, belike, and grieve--
+aye, and scorn thee too for a faint-heart!"
+
+"Nay, lady, verily I--"
+
+"O, indeed me thinks she must contemn thee in her heart, poor, gentle
+soul--aye, scorn and despise thee woefully for running away; indeed,
+'tis beyond all doubt, messire!"
+
+"Lady," quoth Beltane, flushing in the dark, "you know naught of the
+matter--"
+
+"Why then shalt thou tell me of it, messire--lo, I am listening." So
+saying, she settled herself more aptly within his encircling arm.
+
+"First, then," said Beltane, when they had ridden awhile in silence,
+"she is a duchess, and very proud."
+
+"Yet is she a woman, messire, and thou a man whose arms be very
+strong!"
+
+"Of what avail strong arms, lady, 'gainst such as she?"
+
+"Why, to carry her withal, messire."
+
+"To--to carry her!" quoth Beltane in amaze.
+
+"In very truth, messire. To lift her up and bear her away with thee--"
+
+"Nay--nay, to--bear her away? O, 'twere thing impossible!"
+
+"Is this duchess so heavy, messire?" sighed the nun, "is she a burden
+beyond even thy strength, sir knight?"
+
+"Lady, she is the proud Helen, Duchess of Mortain!" quoth Beltane,
+frowning at the encompassing shadows. Now was the nun hushed awhile,
+and when at last she spake her voice was low and wondrous gentle.
+
+"And is it indeed the wilful Helen that ye love, messire?"
+
+"Even she, unto my sorrow."
+
+"Thy sorrow? Why then, messire--forget her."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "would I might indeed, yet needs must I love her
+ever."
+
+"Alack, and is it so forsooth," quoth the nun, sighing likewise. "Ah
+me, my poor, fond son, now doth thy reverend mother pity thee indeed,
+for thou'rt in direful case to be her lover, methinks."
+
+Now did my Beltane frown the blacker by reason of bitter memory and the
+pain of his wound. "Her lover, aye!" quoth he, bitterly, "and she hath
+a many lovers--"
+
+"Lovers!" sighed the nun, "that hath she, the sad, sweet soul! Lovers!
+--O forsooth, she is sick of a very surfeit of lovers,--so hath she fled
+from them all!"
+
+"Fled from them?" cried Beltane, his wound forgot, "fled from them--
+from Mortain? Nay, how mean you--how--fled?"
+
+"She hath walked, see you, run--ridden--is riding--away from Mortain,
+from her lords, her counsellors, her varlets, her lovers and what not--
+in a word, messire, she is--gone!"
+
+"Gone!" quoth Beltane, breathless and aghast, "gone--aye--but whither?"
+
+"What matter for that so long as her grave counsellors be sufficiently
+vexed, and her lovers left a-sighing? O me, her counsellors! Bald-pates,
+see you, and grey-beards, who for their own ends would have her
+wed Duke Ivo--meek, unfortunate maid!"
+
+"Know you then the Duchess, lady?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and my heart doth grieve for her, poor, sweet wretch,
+for O, 'tis a sad thing to be a duchess with a multitude of suitors
+a-wooing in season and out, vaunting graces she hath not, and blind to
+the virtues she doth possess. Ah, messire, I give thee joy that,
+whatsoever ills may be thine, thou can ne'er be--a duchess!"
+
+"And think you she will not wed with Ivo, lady--think you so in truth?"
+
+"Never, while she is Helen."
+
+"And--loveth--none of her lovers?"
+
+"Why--indeed, messire--I think she doth--"
+
+"Art sure? How know you this?"
+
+"I was her bedfellow betimes, and oft within the night have heard her
+speak a name unto her pillow, as love-sick maids will."
+
+Now once again was Beltane aware of the throb and sting of his wounded
+arm, yet 'twas not because of this he sighed so deep and oft.
+
+"Spake she this name--often?" he questioned.
+
+"Very oft, messire. Aye me, how chill the wind blows!"
+
+"Some lord's name, belike?"
+
+"Nay, 'twas no lord's name, messire. 'Tis very dark amid these trees!"
+
+"Some knight, mayhap--or lowly squire?"
+
+"Neither, messire. Heigho! methinks I now could sleep awhile." So she
+sighed deep yet happily, and nestled closer within his shielding arm.
+
+But Beltane, my Innocent, rode stiff in the saddle, staring sad-eyed
+into the gloom, nor felt, nor heeded the yielding tenderness of the
+shapely young body he held, but plodded on through the dark, frowning
+blacker than the night. Now as he rode thus, little by little the pain
+of his wound grew less, a drowsiness crept upon him, and therewith, a
+growing faintness. Little by little his head drooped low and lower, and
+once the arm about the nun slipped its hold, whereat she sighed and
+stirred sleepily upon his breast. But on he rode, striving grimly
+against the growing faintness, his feet thrust far within the stirrups,
+his mailed hand tight clenched upon the reins. So, as dawn broke, he
+heard the pleasant sound of running water near by, and as the light
+grew, saw they were come to a grassy glade where ran a small brook--a
+goodly place, well-hidden and remote. So turned he thitherward, and
+lifting up heavy eyes, beheld the stars paling to the dawn, for the
+clouds were all passed away and the wind was gone long since. And, in a
+while, being come within the boskage of this green dell, feebly and as
+one a-dream, he checked the great horse that snuffed eagerly toward the
+murmuring brook, and as one a-dream saw that she who had slumbered on
+his breast was awake--fresh and sweet as the dawn.
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "I--I fear--I can ride--no farther!"
+
+And now, as one a-dream, he beheld her start and look at him with eyes
+wide and darkly blue--within whose depths was that which stirred within
+him a memory of other days--in so much he would have spoken, yet found
+the words unready and hard to come by.
+
+"Lady,--thine eyes, methinks--are not--nun's eyes!"
+
+But now behold of a sudden she cried out, soft and pitiful, for blood
+was upon him, upon his brow, upon his golden hair. And still as one
+a-dream he felt her slip from his failing clasp, felt her arms close
+about him, aiding him to earth.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt!" she cried. "O, thou'rt wounded! And I never guessed!"
+
+"'Tis but my arm--in sooth--and--"
+
+But she hushed him with soft mother-cries and tender-spoke commands,
+and aiding him to the brook, laid him thereby to lave his hurt within
+the cool, sweet water; and, waking with the smart, Beltane sighed and
+turned to look up at her. Now did she, meeting his eyes, put up one
+white hand, setting back sombre hood and snowy wimple, and stooping
+tenderly above him, behold, in that moment down came the shining glory
+of her lustrous hair to fall about the glowing beauty of her face,
+touching his brow like a caress.
+
+Then, at last, memory awoke within him, and lifting himself upon a
+feeble elbow, he stared upon her glowing loveliness with wide, glad
+eyes.
+
+"Helen!" he sighed, "O--Helen!" And, so sighing, fell back, and lay
+there pale and wan within the dawn, but with a smile upon his pallid
+lips.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+
+Beltane yawned prodigiously, stretched mightily, and opening sleepy
+eyes looked about him. He lay 'neath shady willows within a leafy
+bower; before him a brook ran leaping to the sunshine and filling the
+warm, stilly air with its merry chatter and soft, laughing noises,
+while beyond the rippling water the bank sloped steeply upward to the
+green silence of the woods.
+
+Now as Beltane lay thus 'twixt sleeping and waking, it seemed to him
+that in the night he had dreamed a wondrous dream, and fain he would
+have slept again. But now from an adjacent thicket a horse whinnied and
+Beltane, starting at the sound, felt his wound throb with sudden pain,
+and looking down, beheld his arm most aptly swathed in bandages of
+fair, soft linen. Now would he have sat up, but marvelled to find it so
+great a matter, and propping himself instead upon a weak elbow glanced
+about him expectantly. And lo, in that moment, one spake near by in
+voice rich and soft like the call of merle or mavis:
+
+"Beltane," said the voice, "Beltane the Smith!"
+
+With heart quick-beating, Beltane turned and beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing beside him, her glorious hair wrought into two long braids
+wherein flowers were cunningly entwined. Straightway he would have
+risen, but she forbade him with a gesture and, coming closer, sank
+beside him on her knees, and being there blushed and sighed, yet
+touched him not.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt," said she, "so must we bide here awhile, thou to win thy
+strength again, and I to--minister unto thee."
+
+Mutely awhile my Beltane gazed upon her shy, sweet loveliness, what
+time her bosom rose and fell tempestuous, and she bowed her head full
+low.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered at last, "O, art thou indeed the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Not so," she murmured, "Helen was duchess whiles she was in Mortain,
+but I that speak with thee am a lonely maid--indeed a very lonely maid
+--who hath sighed for thee, and wept for thee, and for thee hath left
+her duchy of Mortain, Beltane."
+
+"For me?" quoth Beltane, leaning near, "was it for me--ah, was it so in
+very sooth?"
+
+"Beltane," said she, looking not toward him, "last night did'st thou
+bear a nun within thine arms, and, looking on her with love aflame
+within thine eyes, did yet vow to her you loved this duchess. Tell me,
+who am but a lonely maid, is this so?"
+
+"Thou knowest I love her ever and always," he answered.
+
+"And yet," quoth she, shaking her head and looking up with eyes of
+witchery, "thou did'st love this nun also? Though 'tis true thou did'st
+name her 'reverend mother'! O, wert very blind, Beltane! And yet thou
+did'st love her also, methinks?"
+
+"Needs must I--ever and always!" he answered.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, but I would have thee love this lonely maid dearest of
+all henceforth an it may be so, for that she is so very lonely and hath
+sought thee so long--"
+
+"Sought me?" he murmured, gazing on her wide-eyed, "nay, how may this
+be, for with my kisses warm upon thy lips thou did'st bid me farewell
+long time since at Mortain, within the green."
+
+"And thou," she sighed, "and thou did'st leave me, Beltane! O, would
+thou had kissed me once again and held me in thine arms, so might we
+have known less of sorrow. Indeed methinks 'twas cruel to leave me so.
+Beltane."
+
+"Cruel!" says my Beltane, and thereafter fell silent from sheer amaze
+the while she sighed again, and bowed her shapely head and plucked a
+daisy from the grass to turn it about and about in gentle fingers.
+
+"So, Beltane," quoth she at last, "being young and cruel thou did'st
+leave the Duchess a lonely maid. Yet that same night did she, this
+tender maid, seek out thy lowly dwelling 'mid the green to yield
+herself joyfully unto thee thenceforth. But ah, Beltane! she found the
+place a ruin and thou wert gone, and O, methinks her heart came nigh to
+breaking. Then did she vow that no man might ever have her to his love
+--save only--thou. So, an thou love her not, Beltane, needs must she--
+die a maid!"
+
+Now Beltane forgot his weakness and rose to his knees and lifted her
+bowed head until he might look deep within the yearning tenderness of
+her eyes. A while she met his look, then blushing, trembling, all in a
+moment she swayed toward him, hiding her face against him; and,
+trembling also, Beltane caught her close within his arms and held her
+to his heart.
+
+"Dost thou love me so, indeed, my lady? Art thou mine own henceforth,
+Helen the Beautiful?"
+
+"Ah, love," she murmured, "in all my days ne'er have I loved other man
+than thou, my Beltane. So now do I give myself to thee; in life and
+death, in joy and sorrow, thine will I be, beloved!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"As thou art mine, so am I thine, henceforth and forever."
+
+And thus, kneeling together within the wilderness did they plight their
+troth, low-voiced and tremulous, with arms that clasped and clung and
+eager lips that parted but to meet again.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "ah, Beltane, hold me close! I've wearied for
+thee so long--so long; hold me close, beloved. See now, as thou dost
+hate the pomp and stir of cities, so, for thy sake have I fled hither
+to the wilderness, to live with thee amid these solitudes, to be thy
+love, thy stay and comfort. Here will we live for each other, and, hid
+within the green, forget the world and all things else--save only our
+great love!"
+
+But now it chanced that, raising his head, Beltane beheld his long
+sword leaning against a tree hard by, and beholding it thus, he
+bethought him straightway of the Duke his father, of Pentavalon and of
+her grievous wrongs; and his clasping hands grew lax and fell away and,
+groaning, he bowed his head; whereat she started anxious-eyed, and
+questioned him, soft and piteous:
+
+"Is it thy wound? I had forgot--ah, love, forgive me! See here a pillow
+for thy dear head--" But now again he caught her to him close and
+fierce, and kissed her oft; and holding her thus, spake:
+
+"Thou knowest I do love thee, my Helen? Yet because I love thee
+greatly, love, alas, must wait awhile--"
+
+"Wait?" she cried, "ah, no--am I not thine own?"
+
+"'Tis so I would be worthy of thee, beloved," he sighed, "for know that
+I am pledged to rest not nor stay until my task be accomplished or I
+slain--"
+
+"Slain! Thou?"
+
+"O, Helen, 'tis a mighty task and desperate, and many perchance must
+die ere this my vow be accomplished--"
+
+"Thy vow? But thou art a smith, my Beltane,--what hath humble smith to
+do with vows? Thou art my love--my Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Indeed," sighed Beltane, "smith was I aforetime, and therewithal
+content: yet am I also son of my father, and he--"
+
+"Hark!" she whispered, white hand upon his lips, "some one comes--
+through the leaves yonder!" So saying she sprang lightly to her feet
+and stood above him straight and tall: and though she trembled, yet he
+saw her eyes were fearless and his dagger gleamed steady in her hands.
+
+"Beltane, my love!" she said, "thou'rt so weak, yet am I strong to
+defend thee against them all."
+
+But Beltane rose also and, swaying on unsteady feet, kissed her once
+and so took his sword, marvelling to find it so heavy, and drew it from
+the scabbard. And ever upon the stilly air the rustle of leaves grew
+louder.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "they be very near! Hearken! Beltane--thine am
+I, in life, in death. An this be death--what matter, since we die
+together?"
+
+But, leaning on his sword, Beltane watched her with eyes of love yet
+spake no word, hearkening to the growing stir amid the leaves, until,
+of a sudden, upon the bank above, the underbrush was parted and a man
+stood looking down at them; a tall man, whose linked mail glinted
+evilly and whose face was hid 'neath a vizored casque. Now of a sudden
+he put up his vizor and stepped toward them down the sloping bank.
+
+Then the Duchess let fall the dagger and reached out her hands.
+
+"Godric!" she sighed, "O Godric!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+
+Thus came white-haired old Godric the huntsman, lusty despite his
+years, bright-eyed and garrulous with joy, to fall upon his knees
+before his lady and to kiss those outstretched hands.
+
+"Godric!" she cried, "'tis my good Godric!" and laughed, though with
+lips a-tremble.
+
+"O sweet mistress," quoth he, "now glory be to the kind Saint Martin
+that I do see thee again hale and well. These many days have I followed
+hard upon thy track, grieving for thee--"
+
+"Yet here am I in sooth, my Godric, and joyful, see you!"
+
+"Ah, dear my lady, thy wilfulness hath e'en now brought thee into dire
+perils and dangers. O rueful day!"
+
+"Nay, Godric, my wilfulness hath brought me unto my heart's desire. O
+most joyful day!"
+
+"Lady, I do tell thee here is an evil place for thee: they do say the
+devil is abroad and goeth up and down and to and fro begirt in mail,
+lady, doing such deeds as no man ever did. Pentavalon is rife with war
+and rumours of war, everywhere is whispered talk of war--death shall be
+busy within this evil Duchy ere long--aye, and even in Mortain,
+perchance--nay, hearken! Scarce was thy flight discovered when there
+came messengers hot-foot to thy guest, Duke Ivo, having word from Sir
+Gui of Allerdale that one hath arisen calling himself son of Beltane
+the Strong that once was Duke of Pentavalon, as ye know. And this is a
+mighty man, who hath, within the week, broke ope my lord Duke Ivo's
+dungeon of Belsaye, slain divers of my lord Duke's good and loyal
+subjects, and burnt down the great gallows of my lord Duke."
+
+"Ah!" sighed the Duchess, her brows knit thoughtfully, "and what said
+Duke Ivo to this, Godric?"
+
+"Smiled, lady, and begged instant speech with thee; and, when thou wert
+not to be found, then Duke Ivo smiled upon thy trembling counsellors.
+'My lords,' said he, 'I ride south to hang certain rogues and fools.
+But, when I have seen them dead, I shall come hither again to woo and
+wed the Duchess Helen. See to it that ye find her, therefore, else will
+I myself seek her through the length and breadth of Mortain until I
+find her--aye, with lighted torches, if need be!"
+
+"And dare he threaten us?" cried the Duchess, white hands clenched.
+
+"Aye, doth he, lady," nodded Godric, garrulous and grim. "Thereafter
+away he rode, he and all his company, and after them, I grieving and
+alone, to seek thee, dear my lady. And behold, I have found thee, the
+good Saint Martin be praised!"
+
+"Verily thou hast found me, Godric!" sighed the Duchess, looking upon
+Beltane very wistfully.
+
+"So now will I guide thee back to thine own fair duchy, gentle
+mistress, for I do tell thee here in Pentavalon shall be woeful days
+anon. Even as I came, with these two eyes did I behold the black ruin
+of Duke Ivo's goodly gallows--a woeful sight! And divers tales have I
+heard of this gallows-burner, how that he did, unaided and alone, seize
+and bear off upon his shoulders one Sir Pertolepe--called the 'Red'--
+Lord Warden of the Marches. So hath Duke Ivo put a price upon his head
+and decreed that he shall forthright be hunted down, and thereto hath
+sent runners far and near with his exact description, the which have I
+heard and can most faithfully repeat an you so desire?"
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the Duchess, a little wearily.
+
+"As thus, lady. Item: calleth himself Beltane, son of Beltane, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was: Item--"
+
+"Beltane!" said the Duchess, and started.
+
+"Item: he is very tall and marvellous strong. Item: hath yellow hair--"
+
+"Yellow hair!" said the Duchess, and turned to look upon Beltane.
+
+"Item: goeth in chain-mail, and about his middle a broad belt of gold
+and silver. Item: beareth a great sword whereon is graven the legend--
+lady, dost thou attend?--Ha! Saint Martin aid us!" cried Godric, for
+now, following the Duchess's glance, he beheld Beltane leaning upon his
+long sword. Then, while Godric stared open-mouthed, the Duchess looked
+on Beltane, a new light in her eyes and with hands tight clasped, while
+Beltane looking upon her sighed amain.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen, 'tis true that I who am Beltane the Smith,
+am likewise son of Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon. Behold, the sword I
+bear is the sword of the Duke my father, nor must I lay it by until
+wrong is vanquished and oppression driven hence. Thus, see you, I may
+not stay to love, within my life it must not be--yet-a-while," and
+speaking, Beltane groaned and bowed his head. So came she to him and
+looked on him with eyes of yearning, yet touched him not.
+
+"Dear my lord," said she, tender-voiced, "thou should'st make a noble
+duke, methinks: and yet alas! needs must I love my gentle Beltane the
+Smith. And I did love him so! Thou art a mighty man-at-arms, my lord,
+and terrible in war, meseemeth, O--methinks thou wilt make a goodly
+duke indeed!"
+
+"Mayhap," he answered heavily, "mayhap, an God spare me long enough.
+But now must I leave thee--"
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"Thou hast heard--I am a hunted man with a price upon my head, by my
+side goeth death--"
+
+"So will I go also," she murmured, "ever and always beside thee."
+
+"Thou? Ah, not so, beloved. I must tread me this path alone. As for
+thee--haste, haste and get thee to Mortain and safety, and there wait
+for me--pray for me, O my love!"
+
+"Beltane--Beltane," she sighed, "dost love me indeed--and yet would
+send me from thee?"
+
+"Aye," he groaned, "needs must it be so."
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "Beltane, thou shalt be Duke within the week,
+despite Black Ivo."
+
+"Duke--I? Of Pentavalon?"
+
+"Of Mortain!" she whispered, "an thou wilt wed me, my lord."
+
+"Nay," stammered Beltane, "nay, outcast am I, my friends very few--to
+wed thee thus, therefore, were shame--"
+
+"To wed me thus," said she, "should be my joy, and thy joy, and
+Pentavalon's salvation, mayhap. O, see you not, Beltane? Thou should'st
+be henceforth my lord, my knight-at-arms to lead my powers 'gainst Duke
+Ivo, teaching Mortain to cringe no more to a usurper--to free
+Pentavalon from her sorrows--ah, see you not, Beltane?"
+
+"Helen!" he murmured, "O Helen, poor am I--a beggar--"
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "an thou wed this lonely maid within the
+forest, then will I be beggar with thee; but, an thou take to wife the
+Duchess, then shalt thou be my Duke, lord of me and of Mortain, with
+her ten thousand lances in thy train."
+
+"Thou would'st give me so much," he sighed at last, "so much, my
+Helen?"
+
+"Nay," said she, with red lips curved and tender, "for this wide world
+to me is naught without thee, Beltane. And I do need thy mighty arm--to
+shelter me, Beltane, since Ivo hath defied me, threatening Mortain with
+fire and sword. So when he cometh, instead of a woman he shall find a
+man to withstand him, whose sword is swift and strong to smite and who
+doeth such deeds as no man ever did; so shalt thou be my love, my lord,
+my champion. Wilt not refuse me the shelter of thy strength, Beltane?"
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane lifted his head and seized her in his arms and
+held her close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"So be it, my Helen. To wife will I take thee so soon as may be, to
+hold thee ever in love and reverence, to serve thee ever, to live for
+thee and for thee to die an needs be."
+
+But now strode Godric forward, with hands outstretched in eager
+protest.
+
+"Lady," he cried, "O dear lady bethink thee, now, bethink thee, thy
+choice is a perilous choice--"
+
+"Yet is it my choice, Godric."
+
+"But, O, dear my mistress--"
+
+"O my faithful Godric, look now upon lord Beltane, my well-beloved who
+shall be Duke of Mortain ere the moon change. Salute thy lord, Godric!"
+
+So, perforce, came old Godric to fall upon his knee before Beltane, to
+take his hand and swear the oath of fealty.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said he, "son art thou of a mighty Duke; God send
+Mortain find in thee such another!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane.
+
+Thereafter Godric rose and pointed up to the zenith.
+
+"Behold, my lady," said he, "it groweth to noon and there is danger
+hereabouts--more danger e'en than I had dreamed. Let us therefore haste
+over into Mortain--to thy Manor of Blaen."
+
+"But Godric, see you not my lord is faint of his wound, and Blaen is
+far, methinks."
+
+"Not so, lady, 'tis scarce six hours' journey to the north, nay, I do
+know of lonely bridle-paths that shall bring us sooner."
+
+"To Blaen?" mused the Duchess. "Winfrida is there--and yet--and yet--
+aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my
+Beltane, and there shalt thou--wed with me--an it be so thy pleasure
+in sooth, my lord."
+
+So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide
+them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before
+him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future
+with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.
+
+Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and
+beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.
+
+"O loved Mortain!" she sighed, "O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a
+smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and
+flowers. 'Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful,
+who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these
+twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet
+Mortain!"
+
+By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages
+bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting
+shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing
+the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and
+whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset.
+And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which
+rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.
+
+Now as they drew near, being yet sheltered 'mid the green, old Godric
+halted in his stride and pointed to the highway that ran in the vale
+below.
+
+"Lady," quoth he, "mine eyes be old, and yet methinks I should know yon
+horseman that rideth unhelmed so close beside the lady Winfrida--that
+breadth of shoulder! that length of limb! Lady, how think ye?"
+
+"'Tis Duke Ivo!" she whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Godric, "armed, see you, yet with but two esquires--"
+
+"And with Winfrida!" said the Duchess, frowning. "Can it indeed be as I
+have thought, betimes? And Blaen is a very solitary place!"
+
+"See!" whispered Godric, "the Duke leaveth her. Behold him kiss her
+hand! Ha, he summoneth his esquires. Hey now, see how they ride--sharp
+spur and loose bridle, 'tis ever Ivo's way!"
+
+Now when the Duke and his esquires were vanished in the dusk and the
+sound of their galloping died away, the Duchess sprang lightly to the
+sward and bidding them wait until she summoned them, hasted on before.
+
+Thus, in a while, as Winfrida the Fair paced slowly along upon her
+ambling palfrey, her blue eyes a-dream, she was suddenly aware of a
+rustling near by and, glancing swiftly up, beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing before her, tall and proud, her black brows wrinkled faintly,
+her eyes stern and challenging.
+
+"Lady--dear my lady!" stammered Winfrida--"is it thou indeed--"
+
+"Since when," quoth the Duchess, soft-voiced yet menacing, "since when
+doth Winfrida hold sly meeting with one that is enemy to me and to
+Mortain?"
+
+"Enemy?--nay, whom mean you--indeed I--O Helen, in sooth 'twas but by
+chance--"
+
+"Is this treason, my lady Winfrida, or only foolish amourette?"
+
+"Sweet lady--'twas but chance--an you mean Duke Ivo--he came--I saw--"
+
+"My lady Winfrida, I pray you go before, we will speak of this anon.
+Come, Godric!" she called.
+
+Then the lady Winfrida, her beauteous head a-droop, rode on before,
+sighing deep and oft yet nothing speaking, with the Duchess proud and
+stern beside her while Beltane and Godric followed after.
+
+And so it was they came to the Manor of Blaen.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+
+Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to
+happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve,
+the Duchess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to
+deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so
+that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.
+
+Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she,
+busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings,
+and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and
+falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious
+head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane,
+kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she,
+soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.
+
+To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she
+the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady
+Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and
+her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow
+her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.
+
+Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within
+the garden, Beltane found himself alone. So he arose and walked amid
+the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of
+all. As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he
+came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing
+blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing. Now standing
+within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind
+him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and
+yielding form, and behold--it was Winfrida! Then Beltane would have
+loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his
+broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.
+
+"My lord Beltane," she sighed, "happy art thou to have won the love of
+our noble lady--aye, happy art thou! But as for me, alas! messire,
+meseemeth her heart is turned 'gainst me these days; I, who was her
+loved companion and childish play-fellow! So now am I very desolate,
+wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to
+forgiveness. Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly
+on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess--" here
+needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and
+thereafter spake, clear and loud: "so will I love thee also!" Then,
+while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her
+eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.
+
+But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a
+white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.
+And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake
+her voice was cold and distant.
+
+"Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?"
+
+"Why truly," stammered Beltane, "truly I--she was here but now--"
+
+"Here, my lord? Alone?"
+
+"She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her
+love aforetime, to--"
+
+"Would'st plead for her, in sooth?"
+
+"I would but have thee do her justice, Helen--"
+
+"Think you I am so unjust, my lord?"
+
+"Not so indeed. But she is so young--so fair--"
+
+"Aye, she is very fair, my lord--there be--others think the same."
+
+"Helen?" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+"And thou dost plead for her--and to me, my lord! And with her kisses
+yet burning thee!"
+
+"She did but kiss my hand--"
+
+"Thy hand, my lord! O aye, thy hand forsooth!"
+
+"Aye, my hand, lady, and therewith named me 'Duke'!" quoth Beltane,
+beginning to frown. Whereat needs must the Duchess laugh, very soft and
+sweet yet with eyes aglow beneath her lashes.
+
+"'Duke,' messire? She names thee so betimes, meseemeth. Thou art not
+Duke yet, nor can'st thou ever be but of my favour!"
+
+"And the time flieth apace," sighed Beltane, "and I have mighty things
+to do. O, methinks I have tarried here overlong!"
+
+"Ah--and would'st be going, messire?"
+
+"'Tis so methinks my duty."
+
+"Go you alone, messire--or goeth she with thee?"
+
+"Ah, God! How dare ye so think?" cried Beltane, in anger so fierce and
+sudden that though she fronted him yet smiling, she drew back a pace.
+Whereat his anger fell from him and he reached out his hands.
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O my Helen, what madness is this? Thou art she I
+love--doth not thine heart tell thee so?" and fain would he have caught
+her to him.
+
+"Ah--touch me not!" she cried, and steel flickered in her hand.
+
+"This--to me?" quoth he, and laughed short and bitter, and catching her
+wrist, shook the dagger from her grasp and set his foot upon it.
+
+"And hath it come to this--'twixt thee and me?" he sighed.
+
+"O," she panted, "I have loved thee nor shamed to show thee my love.
+Yet because my love is so great, so, methinks, an need be I might hate
+thee more than any man!" Then, quick-breathing, flushed and trembling,
+she turned and sped away, leaving Beltane heavy-hearted, and with the
+dagger gleaming beneath his foot.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Beltane, leaning forth of his lattice, stared upon the moon with
+doleful eyes, heavy with sense of wrong and big with self-pity.
+
+"I have dreamed a wondrous fair dream," said he within himself, "but
+all dreams must end, so is my dream vanished quite and I awake, and
+being awake, now will I arise and go upon my duty!" Then turned he to
+his bed that stood beside the window and forthwith began to arm
+himself; but with every lace he drew, with every strap he buckled, he
+sighed amain and his self-pity waxed the mightier. He bethought him of
+his father's sayings anent the love of women, and in his mind condemned
+them all as fickle and light-minded. And in a while, being armed from
+head to foot, in glistening coif and hauberk and with sword girt about
+his middle, he came back to the lattice and leaned him there to stare
+again upon the moon, to wait until the manor should be wrapped in sleep
+and to grieve for himself with every breath he drew.
+
+Being thus so profoundly occupied and, moreover, his head being thrust
+without the window, he heard nought of the tap upon his chamber door
+nor of the whispered sound of his name. Thus he started to feel a touch
+upon his arm, and turning, beheld the Duchess.
+
+She wore a simple robe that fell about her body's round loveliness in
+sweetly revealing folds; her hair, all unbraided, was caught up 'neath
+a jewelled fillet in careless fashion, but--O surely, surely, never had
+she looked so fair, so sweet and tender, so soft and desirable as now,
+the tear-drops yet agleam upon her drooping lashes and her bosom yet
+heaving with recent grief.
+
+"And--thou art armed, my lord?"
+
+"I ride for Thrasfordham-within-Bourne this night, my lady."
+
+"But I am come to thee--humbly--craving thy forgiveness, Beltane."
+
+"Nought have I to forgive thee, lady--save that thou art woman!"
+
+"Thou would'st not have me--a man, messire?"
+
+"'Twould be less hard to leave thee."
+
+"Thou art--leaving me then, Beltane?"
+
+"Yea, indeed, my lady. The woes of Pentavalon call to me with a
+thousand tongues: I must away--pray God I have not tarried too long!"
+
+"But art yet weak of thy wound, Beltane. I pray thee tarry--a little
+longer. Ah, my lord, let not two lives go empty because of the arts of
+a false friend, for well do I know that Winfrida, seeing me coming to
+thee in the garden, kissed thee of set purpose, that, beholding, I
+might grieve."
+
+"Is this indeed so, my lady?"
+
+"She did confess it but now."
+
+"Said she so indeed?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, after I had--pulled her hair--a little. But O, my
+Beltane, even when I thought thee base, I loved thee! Ah, go not from
+me, stay but until to-morrow, and then shalt thou wed me for thine own!
+Leave me not, Beltane, for indeed--I cannot live--without thee!"
+
+So saying, she sank down upon his couch, hiding her face in the pillow.
+
+Now came Beltane and leaned above her.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered; and falling upon his knees, he set his arms
+about her. Then lifted she her tearful face and looked upon him in the
+moonlight; and lying thus, of a sudden reached out white arms to him:
+and in her eyes was love, and on her quivering lips and in all the
+yearning beauty of her, love called to him.
+
+Close, close he caught her in his embrace, kissing her hard and fierce,
+and her long hair came down to veil them in its glory. Then, trembling,
+he lifted her in his arms and bore her forth of his chamber out into
+the hall beyond, where lights flickered against arras-hung wall. There,
+falling upon his knees before her, he hid his face within the folds of
+her habit.
+
+"O Helen!" he groaned, "thou art--so beautiful--so beautiful that I
+grow afraid of thee! Wed me this night or in mercy let me begone!"
+
+And now did the Duchess look down upon him with eyes of wonder changing
+to a great and tender joy, and stooping, put back his mail coif with
+reverent hand and laid her cheek upon that bowed and golden head.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "O Beltane of mine, now do I know thee indeed
+for a true man and noble knight! Such love as thine honoureth us both,
+so beloved, this night--within the hour, shalt thou wed with me, and I
+joy to hear thee call me--Wife!"
+
+Therewith she turned and left him there upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+
+Late though the hour, full soon the manor was astir; lights glimmered
+in the great hall where were gathered all the household of the Duchess,
+her ladies, her tire-women, the porters and serving men, even to the
+scullions--all were there, staring in wonderment upon the Duchess, who
+stood before them upon the dais in a rich habit of blue and silver and
+with her golden fillet on her brow.
+
+"Good friends," said she, looking round upon them happy-eyed, "hither
+have I summoned ye, for that this night, here before you all, 'tis my
+intent to wed this noble knight Beltane, son of Beltane Duke of
+Pentavalon aforetime, who shall henceforth be lord of me and of
+Mortain."
+
+Now did Winfrida the Fair start and therewith clench pink palms and
+look quick-eyed upon my Beltane, noting in turn his golden hair, his
+belt of silver and the great sword he bore: and, biting her red lip,
+she stooped her beauteous head, frowning as one in sudden perplexity.
+
+"So now," spake on the Duchess, "let us to the chapel where good Father
+Angelo shall give us heaven's blessing upon this our union."
+
+"Lady," said Godric, "Friar Angelo was summoned to the village this
+night, nor is he come again yet."
+
+"Then go fetch him," sighed the Duchess, "and O, Godric, hasten!"
+
+Thereafter turned she to the assemblage, gentle-eyed.
+
+"Friends," said she, "since I am greatly happy this night, so would I
+have ye happy likewise. Therefore I decree that such as are serfs among
+ye shall go free henceforth, and to such as are free will I give
+grants of land that ye may come to bless this night and remember it
+ever."
+
+But now, even as they fell on their knees, 'mid cries of gratitude and
+joyful acclaim, she, smiling and gracious, passed out of the hall: yet,
+as she went, beckoned the lady Winfrida to follow.
+
+Being come into her chamber, all three, the Duchess sank down beside
+the open lattice and looked out upon the garden all bathed in the
+tender radiance of the moon. Anon she sighed and spake:
+
+"My lady Winfrida, on this my wedding night a new life dawns for
+Mortain and for me, wherein old harms shall be forgiven and forgot, so
+come--kiss me, Winfrida."
+
+Then swiftly came the beauteous Winfrida to kneel at her lady's feet,
+to clasp her lady's slender hand, to kiss it oft and bathe it in her
+tears.
+
+"O sweet my lady, am I indeed forgiven?"
+
+"Aye, most truly."
+
+"Am I again thy loved companion and thy friend?"
+
+"So shall it be, Winfrida."
+
+"Then, O dear Helen, as sign all is forgot and we lovers again, let us
+pledge each other, here and now--to thy future happiness and glory."
+
+"Aye, be it so," sighed the Duchess, "bring wine, for I am athirst."
+
+Then turned she to the lattice again and Winfrida went lightly on her
+errand. Now, yet gazing upon the moon, the Duchess reached out and drew
+Beltane beside her.
+
+"Dear my love," she whispered, "in but a little hour I shall be thine:
+art happy in the thought? Nay," she sighed, white hands against his
+mailed breast, "beloved, wait--kiss me not again until the hour be
+passed. Lean here thy golden head and look with me upon the splendour
+of the night. See the pale moon, how placid and serene, how fair and
+stately she doth ride--"
+
+"So may thy life be in coming years!" said Beltane.
+
+"And wilt love me ever, Beltane, no matter what betide?"
+
+"Ever and always, so long as thou art Helen. Nay, why dost tremble?"
+
+"O my lord--see yonder--that cloud, how black--see how it doth furtive
+creep upon the gentle moon--"
+
+"'Tis a long way hence, my Helen!"
+
+"Yet will it come. Ah, think you 'tis a portent? O would the gentle
+Angelo were here--and yet, an he were come--methinks I might wish him
+hence--for that, loving thee so, yet am I a maid, and foolish--ah, who
+is here--not Angelo so soon? What, 'tis thou, Winfrida? Welcome--bring
+hither the goblet."
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand, who, rising, turned to Beltane looking on him soft-eyed
+across the brimming chalice.
+
+"Lord and husband," she breathed--"now do I drink to thy glory in arms,
+to our future, and to our abiding love!" So the Duchess raised the
+goblet to her lips. But lo! even as she drank, the thick, black cloud
+began to engulf the moon, quenching her radiant light in its murky
+gloom. So the Duchess drank, and handed the goblet to Beltane.
+
+"To thee, my Helen, whom only shall I love until death and beyond!"
+
+Then Beltane drank also, and gave the cup to Winfrida: but, even as he
+did so, the Duchess uttered a cry and pointed with hand a-tremble:
+
+"O Beltane, the moon--the moon that was so bright and glorious--'tis
+gone, the cloud hath blotted it out! Ah, Beltane, what doth this
+portend? Why do I tremble thus because the moon is gone?"
+
+"Nay, my beloved," quoth Beltane, kissing those slender fingers that
+trembled upon his lip and were so cold--so deadly cold, "dear Helen,
+it will shine forth again bright and radiant as ever."
+
+"Yet why is my heart so cold, Beltane, and wherefore do I tremble?"
+
+"The night grows chill, mayhap."
+
+"Nay, this cold is from within. O, I would the moon would shine!"
+
+"Nay, let us speak of our future, my Helen--"
+
+"The future?" she sighed, "what doth it hold? Strife and bitter war for
+thee and a weary waiting for me, and should'st thou be slain--Ah,
+Beltane, forgive these fears and vain imaginings. Indeed, 'tis most
+unlike me to fear and tremble thus. I was ever accounted brave until
+now--is't love, think you, doth make me coward? 'Tis not death I fear--
+save for thy dear sake. Death? Nay, what have we to do with such, thou
+and I--this is our wedding night, and yet--I feel as if this night--I
+were leading thee--to thy--death--. O, am I mad, forsooth? Hold me
+close, beloved, comfort me, Beltane, I--I am afraid." Then Beltane
+lifted her in his arms and brought her to the hearth, and, setting her
+in the fireglow, kneeled there, seeking to comfort her.
+
+And now he saw her very pale, sighing deep and oft and with eyes
+dilated and heavy.
+
+"Beltane," said she slowly, "I grow a-weary, 'tis--the fire,
+methinks." And smiling faintly she closed her eyes, yet sighed and
+gazed upon him as one new waked. "Did I sleep?" she questioned
+drowsily, "Beltane," she sighed, speaking low and thick--"I charge
+thee, whatsoe'er the future doth bring--yet love me alway--or I,
+methinks--shall--die!"
+
+Awhile she lay against him breathing deep and slow, then started of a
+sudden, looking upon him vague-eyed.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "art there, beloved? 'Tis dark, and my eyes--
+heavy. Methinks I--must sleep awhile. Take me--to my women. I must
+sleep--yet will I come to thee soon--soon, beloved." So Beltane brought
+her to the door, but as he came thither the broidered curtain was
+lifted and he beheld Winfrida, who ran to her mistress, kissing her oft
+and sighing over her.
+
+"Winfrida," sighed the Duchess, slumberous of voice, "I grow a-weary--I
+must sleep awhile--"
+
+"Aye, thou'rt overwrought, dear lady. Come, rest you until the holy
+Angelo be come, so shalt be thine own sweet self anon."
+
+And when the Duchess was gone, Beltane sat and stared upon the fire and
+felt himself vaguely troubled, yet even so, as he watched the leaping
+flame, his head nodded and he slept, yet sleeping, dreamed he heard the
+Duchess calling him, and opening his eyes, found the fair Winfrida
+beside him:
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she softly, "thy Duchess biddeth thee wait her
+in the chapel--follow me, messire!" Now being yet heavy with sleep,
+Beltane arose and followed her through an opening in the arras near by,
+and down a narrow stair, stumbling often as he went and walking as one
+in a dream. So by devious ways Winfrida brought him into a little
+chapel, where, upon the altar, was a crucifix with candles dim-burning
+in the gloom.
+
+"Wait here, my lord," said Winfrida, "so will I go prepare my lady,
+Friar Angelo doth stay to do his holy office." So speaking, Winfrida
+turned and was gone. Then Beltane came unto the altar and, kneeling
+there, leaned his heavy head upon the fair white altar cloth, and
+kneeling thus, fell asleep--The altar beneath him seemed of a sudden
+riven and split asunder and, while he gazed, behold the fair white
+altar cloth grew fouled and stained with blood--new blood, that
+splashed down red upon the white even as he watched. Then did Beltane
+seek to rise up from his knees, but a heavy weight bore him ever down,
+and hands huge and hairy gripped him fierce and strong. But beholding
+these merciless hands, a sudden mighty rage came upon Beltane, and
+struggling up, he stood upon his feet and drew sword; but the fierce
+hands had crept up to his naked throat, cutting off his breath, the
+sword was dashed from his loosening grasp, the weight about him grew
+too much for his strength, it bore him down and down into a pitchy
+gloom where all was very still. A wind, sweet and cool, breathed upon
+his cheek, grass was below and trees above him, shadowy trees beyond
+which a pallid moon rose high, very placid and serene. Now as Beltane
+stared heavenward the moon was blotted out, a huge and hairy face
+looked down in his, and hairy hands lifted him with mighty strength.
+Then Beltane thought to see the Duchess Helen standing by in her gown
+of blue and silver--
+
+"Helen!" he whispered.
+
+But she paid no heed, busied in fastening about her the nun's long
+cloak that veiled her down from head to foot. So the mighty arms that
+held Beltane bore him to a horse near by and across this horse he was
+flung; thereafter the monster mounted also, and they moved off amid the
+trees. Thus was Beltane borne from Blaen upon his wedding night--dazed,
+bleeding and helpless in his bonds. Yet even so, ever as they went he
+watched her who rode near by, now in moonlight, now in shadow, so
+youthful and shapely, but with hood drawn low as she had worn it when
+he bore her through the forest in his arms.
+
+And ever as they went he watched the pale gleam of her hand upon the
+bridle, or her little foot in its embroidered shoe, or the fold of her
+blue gown with its silver needle-work. And ever the trouble in his
+dazed brain grew the deeper; once, as they crossed a broad glade she
+rode up close beside him, and beneath her hood he saw a strand of her
+glorious hair, bright under the moon.
+
+Then did he writhe and struggle in his bonds.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen!" ...
+
+But a great hand, coarse and hairy, came upon his mouth, stopping the
+cry and choking him to silence.
+
+So they bore my Beltane southwards through the misty woods, on and ever
+on, till with the dawn they were come to a castle great and very
+strong, where battlement and tower frowned upon the paling stars.
+
+But with the dawn, 'mid the gloom of the little chapel of Blaen, came
+one who stood, haggard and pallid as the dawn, to stare wild-eyed upon
+a great sword and upon a torn and blood-stained altar-cloth; and so
+gazing, she shrank away back and back, crouching down amid the gloom.
+When at last the sun arose, it glittered on a long broad blade, across
+which, upon the rough pavement, lay one very silent and very still,
+amid the tumbled glory of her hair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+
+A horn, lustily winded, waked my Beltane from his swoon, waked him to a
+glimmering world vague and unreal, where lights flared and voices
+sounded, hoarse and faint, in question and answer. Thereafter, down
+rattled drawbridge and up creaked portcullis, and so, riding 'neath a
+deep and gloomy arch they came out into a courtyard, where were many
+vague forms that flitted to and fro--and many more lights that glinted
+on steel bascinet and hauberk of mail.
+
+Now as Beltane lay helpless in his bonds he felt a hand among his hair,
+a strong hand that lifted his heavy, drooping head and turned up his
+face to the glare of the torches.
+
+"How now, Fool!" cried a gruff voice, "here's not thy meat--ha, what
+would ye--what would ye, Fool?"
+
+"Look upon another fool, for fool, forsooth, is he methinks that cometh
+so into Garthlaxton Keep." Now hereupon, opening unwilling eyes,
+Beltane looked up into the face of Beda the Jester that bent above him
+with a ring of steel-begirt faces beyond.
+
+"Aha!" quoth the jester, clapping Beltane's pale and bloody cheek,
+"here is a fool indeed--forsooth, a very foolish fool, hither come
+through folly, for being great of body and small of wit, look you, his
+folly hath hither brought him in shape of a hairy, ape-like fool--"
+
+"Ape!" growled a voice, and the jester was seized in a hairy hand and
+shaken till his bells jingled; and now Beltane beheld his captor, a
+dwarf-like, gnarled and crooked creature, yet huge of head and with the
+mighty arms and shoulders of a giant; a fierce, hairy monster, whose
+hideousness was set off by the richness of his vesture. "Ape, quotha!"
+he growled. "Dare ye name Ulf the Strong ape, forsooth? Ha! so will I
+shake the flesh from thy bones!" But now, she who sat her horse near by
+so proud and stately, reached forth a white hand, touching Ulf the
+Strong upon the arm, and lo! in that moment, he loosed the breathless
+jester and spake with bowed head: "Dear my lady, I forgot!" Then
+turning to the grinning soldiery he scowled upon them. "Dogs," quoth
+he, "go to your master and say Helen, Duchess of Mortain bringeth a
+wedding gift to Ivo, called the Black. Behold here he that slew twenty
+within the green, that burned down Black Ivo's goodly gallows, that
+broke the dungeons of Belsaye and bore Red Pertolepe into the green,
+behold him ye seek--Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore
+Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+Now hereupon arose a mighty turmoil and excitement, all men striving to
+behold Beltane, to touch him and look upon his drooping face, but Ulf's
+mighty hand held them back, one and all. And presently came hasting
+divers esquires and knights, who, beholding Beltane, his costly mail,
+his silver belt and golden hair, seized upon him right joyfully and
+bore him into an inner ward, and threw him down upon the floor,
+marvelling and rejoicing over him, while Beltane lay there fast bound
+and helpless, staring up with frowning brow as one that strives to
+think, yet cannot. Now suddenly the noise about him ceased, all voices
+were hushed, and he was aware of one who stood near by, a doleful
+figure swathed in bandages, who leaned upon the arm of a tall esquire.
+And looking upon this figure, he saw it was Sir Pertolepe the Red.
+
+"Ha, by the eyes of God!" quoth Sir Pertolepe, "'tis he himself--O
+sweet sight--see, I grow better already! Who brought him, say you?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Duchess Helen!" said one. "Helen!" cried Sir
+Pertolepe, "Helen of Mortain?" "Aye, lord, as her wedding gift to our
+lord Duke Ivo." Now hereupon Beltane's staring eyes closed, the great
+muscles of his body twitched and writhed and stood out gnarled and
+rigid awhile, then he sighed, a slow, hissing breath, and lay there
+staring up wide-eyed at the vaulted roof again.
+
+"Came she herself, Raoul?"
+
+"Aye, good my lord."
+
+"Why, then--admit her. God's love, messires, would ye keep the glorious
+Helen without?"
+
+"Lord, she is gone--she and her ape-man both."
+
+"Gone? Gone, forsooth? 'Tis strange, and yet 'tis like the wilful
+Helen. Yet hath she left her wedding gift in my keeping. O a rare gift,
+a worthy gift and most acceptable. Strip me off his armour--yet no, as
+he came, so shall he bide until my lord Duke be come. Bring now
+shackles, strong and heavy, bring fetters and rivets, so will I sit
+here and see him trussed."
+
+And presently came two armourers with hammers and rivets, and shackled
+Beltane with heavy chains, the while Sir Pertolepe, sitting near,
+laughed and spake him right jovially.
+
+But Beltane suffered it all, uttering no word and staring ever straight
+before him with wide, vague eyes, knitting his brow ever and anon in
+troubled amaze like a child that suffers unjustly; wherefore Sir
+Pertolepe, fondling his big chin, frowned.
+
+"Ha!" quoth he, "let our Duke that hath no duchy be lodged secure--to
+the dungeons, aye, he shall sleep with rats until my lord Duke Ivo come
+to see him die--yet stay! The dungeons be apt to sap a man's strength
+and spirit, and to a weak man death cometh over soon and easy. Let him
+lie soft, feed full and sleep sound--let him have air and light, so
+shall he wax fat and lusty against my lord Duke's coming. See to it,
+Tristan!"
+
+So they led Beltane away jangling in his fetters, across divers
+courtyards and up a narrow, winding stair and thrust him within a
+chamber where was a bed and above it a loop-hole that looked out across
+a stretch of rolling, wooded country. Now being come to the bed,
+Beltane sank down thereon, and setting elbow to knee, rested his heavy
+head upon his hand as one that fain would think.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, and so whispering, his strong fingers writhed
+and clenched themselves within his yellow hair. And thus sat he all
+that day, bowed forward upon his hand, his fingers tight-clenched
+within his hair, staring ever at the square flagstone beneath his foot,
+heedless alike of the coming and going of his gaoler or of the food set
+out upon the bench hard by. Day grew to evening and evening to night,
+yet still he sat there, mighty shoulders bowed forward, iron fingers
+clenched within his hair, like one that is dead; in so much that his
+gaoler, setting down food beside the other untasted dishes, looked upon
+him in amaze and touched him.
+
+"Oho!" said he, "wake up. Here be food, look ye, and, by Saint Crispin,
+rich and dainty. And drink--good wine, wake and eat!"
+
+Then Beltane's clutching fingers relaxed and he raised his head,
+blinking in the rays of the lanthorn; and looking upon his rumpled
+hair, the gaoler stared and peered more close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Methought thou wert a golden man, yet art silver also, meseemeth."
+
+"Fellow," said Beltane harsh-voiced and slow, "Troy town was burned,
+and here was great pity, methinks, for 'twas a fair city. Yet to weep
+o'er it these days were a fond madness. Come, let us eat!"
+
+But as Beltane uprose in his jangling fetters, the gaoler, beholding
+his face, backed to the door, and slamming it shut, barred and fast
+bolted it, yet cast full many a glance behind as he hasted down the
+winding stair.
+
+Then Beltane ate and drank, and thereafter threw himself upon his
+narrow couch, but his fetters jangled often in the dark. Thus as he
+lay, staring upwards into the gloom, he was aware of the opening of the
+iron-clamped door, and beheld his gaoler bearing a lanthorn and behind
+him Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of his favourite esquire, who,
+coming near, looked upon Beltane nodding right jovially.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth he, "thou did'st dare set up thyself against
+Ivo our lord the Duke--O fool! 'Tis said thou hast sworn to drive him
+forth of Pentavalon--seeking her to wife, O fool of fools! Did'st
+think, presumptuous rogue, that she--the glorious Helen--that Helen
+the Beautiful, whom all men desire, would stoop to thee, an outcast--
+wolf's head and outlaw that thou art? Did'st dare think so, forsooth?
+To-morrow, belike, my lord Duke shall come, and mayhap shall bring the
+Duchess Helen in his train--to look upon the manner of thy dying--"
+
+Now hereupon up started Beltane that his fetters clashed, and laughed
+so sudden, so fierce and harsh, that Raoul the esquire clapped hand to
+dagger and even Red Pertolepe started.
+
+"Sweet lord," quoth Beltane, "noble messire Pertolepe, of thy boundless
+mercy--of thy tender ruth grant unto me this boon. When ye shall have
+done me to death--cut off this head of mine and send it to Helen--to
+Helen the beautiful, the wilful--in memory of what befell at Blaen."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED INTO
+BELTANE
+
+
+Six days came and went, and during all this time Beltane spake word to
+no man. Every evening came Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of Raoul
+the esquire, to view his prisoner with greedy eyes and ply him with
+jovial talk whiles Beltane would lie frowning up at the mighty roof-beams,
+or sit, elbows on knee, his fingers clenched upon that lock of
+hair that gleamed so strangely white amid the yellow.
+
+Now upon the seventh evening as he sat thus, came Sir Pertolepe
+according to his wont, but to-night he leaned upon the shoulder of Beda
+the Jester, whose motley flared 'gainst rugged wall and dingy flagstone
+and whose bells rang loud and merry by contrast with the gloom.
+
+Quoth Sir Pertolepe, seated upon the bench and smiling upon Beltane's
+grim figure:
+
+"He groweth fat to the killing, seest thou, my Beda, a young man and
+hearty, very hale and strong--and therefore meet for death. So strong a
+man should be long time a-dying--an death be coaxed and managed well.
+And Tristan is more cunning and hath more love for his craft than ever
+had Black Roger. With care, Beda--I say with care, messire Beltane
+should die from dawn to sundown."
+
+"Alack!" sighed the jester, "death shall take him over soon, as thou
+dost say--and there's the pity on't!"
+
+"Soon, Fool--soon? Now out upon thee for a fool ingrain--"
+
+"Forsooth, sweet lord, fool am I--mark these bells! Yet thou art a
+greater!"
+
+"How, sirrah?"
+
+"In that thou art a greater man, fair, sweet lord; greater in might,
+greater in body, and greater in folly."
+
+"Ha, would'st mock me, knave?"
+
+"For perceive me, fair and gentle lord, as this base body of ours being
+altogether thing material is also thing corruptible, so is it also a
+thing finite, and as it is a thing finite so are its sensations, be
+they of pleasure or pain, finite also--therefore soon must end. Now
+upon the other hand--"
+
+"How now? What babbling folly is here?"
+
+"As I say, most potent lord, upon the other hand--as the mind, being
+altogether thing transcendental, is also thing incorruptible, so is it
+also a thing infinite, and being a thing infinite so are its sensations
+infinite also--therefore everlasting."
+
+"Ha, there's reason in thy folly, methinks. What more?"
+
+"Bethink thee, lord, there be divers rogues who, having provoked thy
+potent anger, do lie even now awaiting thy lordly pleasure. E'en now
+irons be heating for them, moreover they are, by thy will, to suffer
+the grievous torment of the pulleys and the wheel, and these, as I do
+know, be sharp punishments and apt to cause prodigious outcry. Now, to
+hear one cry out beneath the torture is an evil thing for youthful
+ears--and one not soon forgot."
+
+"Aye, aye, forsooth, I begin to see thy meaning, good Fool--yet say
+on."
+
+"Let this thy prisoner be set within the cell above the torture
+chamber, so, lying within the dark he must needs hear them cry below,
+and in his mind shall he suffer as they suffer, every pang of racking
+wheel and searing iron. And, because the mind is thing infinite--"
+
+"Enough--enough! O most excellent Beda, 'tis well bethought. O, rare
+Fool, so shall it be."
+
+Forthwith Sir Pertolepe summoned certain of his guard, and,
+incontinent, Beltane was dragged a-down the winding stair and
+thereafter fast shut within a place of gloom, a narrow cell breathing
+an air close and heavy, and void of all light. Therefore Beltane sat
+him down on the floor, his back to the wall, staring upon the dark,
+chin on fist. Long he sat thus, stirring not, and in his heart a black
+void, deeper and more awful than the fetid gloom of any dungeon--a void
+wherein a new Beltane came into being.
+
+Now presently, as he sat thus, upon the silence stole a sound, low and
+murmurous, that rose and fell yet never quite died away. And Beltane,
+knowing what sound this was, clenched his hands and bowed his face upon
+his knees. As he listened, this drone grew to a sudden squealing cry
+that rang and echoed from wall to wall, whiles Beltane, crouched in
+that place of horror, felt the sweat start out upon him, yet shivered
+as with deadly cold, and ever the cries thrilled within the dark or
+sank to whimpering moans and stifled supplications. And ever Beltane
+hearkened to these fell sounds, staring blindly into the gloom, and
+ever the new Beltane grew the stronger within him.
+
+Hour after hour he crouched thus, so very silent, so very quiet, so
+very still, but long after the groans and wailings had died to silence,
+Beltane stared grim-eyed into the gloom and gnawed upon his fingers. Of
+a sudden he espied a glowing spark in the angle of the wall to the
+right--very small, yet very bright.
+
+Now as he watched, behold the spark changed to a line of golden light,
+so that his eyes ached and he was fain to shade them in his shackled
+arm; and thus he beheld a flagstone that seemed to lift itself with
+infinite caution, and, thereafter, a voice breathed his name.
+
+"Messire--messire Beltane!" And now through the hole in the floor
+behold a hand bearing a lanthorn--an arm--a shoulder--a shrouded head;
+thus slowly a tall, cloaked figure rose up through the floor, and,
+setting down the lanthorn, leaned toward Beltane, putting back the hood
+of his mantle, and Beltane beheld Beda the Jester.
+
+"Art awake, messire Beltane?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head. "And I have used mine ears! The
+wheel and the pulley are rare begetters of groans, as thou did'st
+foretell, Fool! 'Twas a good thought to drag me hither--it needed but
+this. Now am I steel, without and--within. O, 'tis a foul world!"
+
+"Nay, messire--'tis a fair world wherein be foul things: they call them
+'men.' As to me, I am but a fool--mark this motley--yet hither I
+caused thee to be dragged that I might save those limbs o' thine from
+wheel and pulley, from flame and gibbet, and set thee free within a
+world which I do hold a fair world. Yet first--those fetters--behold
+hammer and chisel! Oswin, thy gaoler, sleepeth as sweet as a babe, and
+wherefore? For that I decocted Lethe in his cup. Likewise the guard
+below. My father, that lived here before me (and died of a jest out of
+season), was skilled in herbs--and I am his son! My father (that bled
+out his life 'neath my lord's supper table) knew divers secret ways
+within the thickness of these walls--so do I know more of Pertolepe's
+castle than doth Pertolepe himself. Come, reach hither thy shackles and
+I will cut them off, a chisel is swifter than a file--"
+
+"And why would'st give me life, Fool?"
+
+"For that 'tis a useful thing, messire, and perchance as sweet to thee
+this night within thy dungeon as to me upon a certain day within the
+green that you may wot of?" So speaking, Beda the Jester cut asunder
+the chain that bound the fetters, and Beltane arose and stretched
+himself and the manacles gleamed on each wide-sundered wrist.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"What now?"
+
+Whereat the jester, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, looked up at
+him and spake on this wise:
+
+"Two days agone as I walked me in the green, dreaming such foolish
+dreams as a fool may, there came, very suddenly, a sorry wight--a wild
+man, very ragged--who set me his ragged arm about my neck and a sharp
+dagger to my throat; and thus, looking him within the eyes, I knew him
+for that same Roger from whose hand thou did'st save me aforetime.
+'Beda,' says he, 'I am he that hanged and tortured men at my lord's
+bidding: I am Roger, and my sins be many.' 'Then prithee,' says I,
+'prithee, Roger, add not another to thy sins by cutting the throat of a
+fool.' 'Needs must I,' says he, dolorous of voice, 'unless thou dost
+answer me two questions.' 'Nay, I will answer thee two hundred an thou
+leave my throat unslit,' says I. 'But two,' says Roger, sighing.
+'First, doth Pertolepe hold him I seek?' 'Him?' says I. 'Him they call
+Beltane?' says Roger, 'doth he lie prisoned within Garthlaxton?' 'He
+doth,' quoth I. Now for thine other question. ''Tis this,' says Roger,
+'Wilt aid us to win him free?' 'Why look ye, Roger,' says I, ''Tis only
+a fool that seeketh aid of a fool--and fool am I.' 'Aye,' says Roger,
+'but thou art a live fool; promise, therefore, or wilt be naught but a
+dead fool.' 'Roger,' says I, 'thou did'st once try to slay me in the
+green ere now.' 'Aye,' says Roger, 'and my lord Beltane saved thy
+carcass and my soul.' 'Aye,' quoth I, 'and e'en a fool can repay. So
+was I but now dreaming here within this boskage how I might perchance
+win this same Beltane to life without thy scurvy aid, Black Roger.
+Moreover, methinks I know a way--and thou spare me life to do it.'
+'Aye, forsooth,' says Roger, putting away his dagger, 'thou wert ever a
+fool of thy word, Beda--so now do I spare thy life, and sparing it, I
+save it, and thus do I cut another accursed notch from my belt.' 'Why,
+then,' says I, 'to-morrow night be at the riven oak by Brankton Thicket
+an hour before dawn.' 'So be it, Beda,' says he, and so I left him
+cutting at his belt. And lo, am I here, and within an hour it should be
+dawn. Follow, messire!" So saying, Beda rose, and taking the lanthorn,
+began to descend through the floor, having first shown how the
+flagstone must be lowered in place. Thereafter, Beltane followed the
+jester down a narrow stair built in the thickness of the wall, and
+along a passage that ended abruptly, nor could Beltane see any sign of
+door in the solid masonry that barred their way. Here Beda paused,
+finger on lip, and extinguished the lanthorn. Then, in the dark a hinge
+creaked faintly, a quivering hand seized Beltane's manacled wrist,
+drawing him on and through a narrow opening that yawned suddenly before
+them. Thereafter the hinge creaked again and they stood side by side
+within a small chamber where was a doorway hung across with heavy
+curtains beyond which a light burned. Now even as Beltane looked
+thitherward, he heard the rattle of dice and a sleepy voice that cursed
+drowsily, and shaking off the clutching, desperate fingers that strove
+to stay him, he came, soft-treading, and peered through the curtains.
+Thus he beheld two men that faced each other across a table whereon was
+wine, with dice and store of money, and as they played, these men
+yawned, leaning heavily upon the table. Back swept the curtains and
+striding into the room Beltane stared upon these men, who, yet leaning
+upon the table, stared back at him open-mouthed. But, beholding the
+look in his blue eyes and the smile that curled his mouth, they
+stumbled to their feet and sought to draw weapon--then Beltane sprang
+and caught them each about the neck, and, swinging them wide-armed,
+smote their heads together; and together these men sank in his grasp
+and lay in a twisted huddle across the table among the spilled wine. A
+coin rang upon the stone floor, rolled into a distant corner and came
+to rest, the jester gasped in the shadow of the curtains; and so came
+silence, broke only by the soft drip, drip of the spilled wine.
+
+"O, mercy of God!" whispered the jester hoarsely at last, "what need
+was there for this--they would have slept--"
+
+"Aye," smiled Beltane, "but not so soundly as now, methinks. Come, let
+us go."
+
+Silently the jester went on before, by narrow passage-ways that
+writhed and twisted in the thickness of the walls, up sudden flights of
+steps until at length they came out upon a parapet whose grim
+battlements scowled high in air. But as they hasted on, flitting
+soft-footed 'neath pallid moon, the jester of a sudden stopped, and
+turning, dragged Beltane into the shadows, for upon the silence came the
+sound of mailed feet pacing near. Now once again Beltane brake from the
+jester's clutching fingers and striding forward, came face to face with
+one that bare a pike on mailed shoulder, and who, beholding Beltane,
+halted to peer at him with head out-thrust; quoth he:
+
+"Ha! stand! Stand, I say and speak me who thou art?"
+
+Then Beltane laughed softly; said he:
+
+"O fool, not to know--I am death!" and with the word, he leapt. Came a
+cry, muffled in a mighty hand, a grappling, fierce yet silent, and
+Beda, cowering back, beheld Beltane swing a writhing body high in air
+and hurl it far out over the battlements. Thereafter, above the soft
+rustle of the night-wind, a sound far below--a faint splash, and Beda
+the Jester, shivering in the soft-stirring night wind, shrank deeper
+into the gloom and made a swift motion as though, for all his folly, he
+had crossed himself.
+
+Then came Beltane, the smile still twisting his mouth; quoth he:
+
+"Forsooth, my strength is come back again; be there any more that I may
+deal withal, good Fool?"
+
+"Lord," whispered the shivering jester, "methinks I smell the dawn--
+Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed him from the battlements, down winding stairs,
+through halls that whispered in the dark; down more stairs, down and
+ever down 'twixt walls slimy to the touch, through a gloom heavy with
+mildew and decay. On sped the jester, staying not to light the
+lanthorn, nor once touching, nor once turning with helping hand to
+guide Beltane stumbling after in the dark. Then at last, deep in the
+clammy earth they reached a door, a small door whose rusted iron was
+handed with mighty clamps of rusted iron. Here the jester paused to fit
+key to lock, to strain and pant awhile ere bolts shrieked and turned,
+and the door yawned open. Then, stooping, he struck flint and steel and
+in a while had lit the lanthorn, and, looking upon Beltane with eyes
+that stared in the pallor of his face, he pointed toward the yawning
+tunnel.
+
+"Messire," said he, "yonder lieth thy way to life and the world. As
+thou did'st give me life so do I give thee thine. Thou wert, as I
+remember thee, a very gentle, tender youth--to-night are three dead
+without reason--"
+
+"Reason, good Fool," said Beltane, "thou did'st see me borne in a
+prisoner to Garthlaxton; now, tell me I pray, who was she that rode
+with us?"
+
+"'Twas the Duchess Helen of Mortain, messire; I saw her hair, moreover--"
+
+But lo, even as the jester spake, Beltane turned, and striding down the
+tunnel, was swallowed in the dark.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+A faint glimmer growing ever brighter, a jagged patch of pale sky, a
+cleft in the rock o'er-grown with bush and creeping vines; this Beltane
+saw ere he stepped out into the cool, sweet air of dawn. A while he
+stood to stare up at the sky where yet a few stars showed paling to the
+day, and to drink in mighty breaths of the fragrant air. And thus,
+plain to his ears, stole the ripple of running water hard by, and going
+thitherward he stripped, and naked came down to the stream where was a
+misty pool and plunged him therein. Now as he bathed him thus, gasping
+somewhat because of the cold, yet glorying in the rush and tingle of
+his blood, behold, the leaves parted near by, and uprising in his naked
+might, Beltane beheld the face of one that watched him intently.
+
+"Master!" cried a voice harsh but very joyful, "O dear, my lord!" And
+Roger sprang down the bank and heedless of the water, plunged in to
+catch Beltane's hands and kiss them. "Master!" he cried. And thus it
+was these two met again. And presently, having donned clothes and
+harness, Beltane sat down him beside the brook, head upon hand, staring
+at the swift-running water, whiles Roger, sitting near, watched him in
+a silent ecstasy.
+
+"Whence come ye, Roger?"
+
+"From Thrasfordham-within-Bourne, lord. Ho, a mighty place, great and
+strong as Sir Benedict himself. And within Thrasfordham be many lusty
+fighting men who wait thy coming,--for, master, Bourne, aye and all the
+Duchy, doth ring with tales of thy deeds."
+
+"Hath Sir Benedict many men?"
+
+"Aye--within Thrasfordham five hundred and more."
+
+"So few, Roger?"
+
+"And mayhap as many again in Bourne. But, for Sir Benedict--a right
+lusty knight in sooth, master! and he doth hunger for sight of thee. He
+hath had me, with Walkyn and the archer, speak full oft of how we fired
+the gibbet and roars mighty laughs to hear how thou didst bear off Sir
+Pertolepe in the green--aye, Sir Benedict doth love to hear tell of
+that."
+
+"Aye; and what of Duke Ivo--where is he now, Roger?"
+
+"He hath reinforced Belsaye garrison and all the coast towns and
+castles of the Marches, and lieth at Pentavalon, gathering his powers
+to attack Thrasfordham, so men say, and hath sworn to burn it within
+the year, and all therein save only Sir Benedict--him will he hang;
+'tis so proclaimed far and wide."
+
+"And do men yet come in to Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Not so, master. Since Duke Ivo came they are afraid."
+
+"Ha! And what of the outlaws--there be many wild men within the
+forests."
+
+"The outlaws--hey, that doth mind me. I, with Giles and Walkyn and the
+young knight Sir Jocelyn brought down the outlaws upon Thornaby Mill.
+But when we found thee not, we burned it, and thereafter the outlaws
+vanished all within the wild-wood; Sir Jocelyn rode away a-singing
+mighty doleful, and we three came to Thrasfordham according to thy
+word. But when ye came not, master, by will of Sir Benedict we set
+out, all three, to find thee, and came to a cave of refuge Walkyn wots
+of: there do we sleep by night and by day search for thee. And behold,
+I have found thee, and so is my tale ended. But now, in an hour will be
+day, master, and with the day will be the hue and cry after thee. Come,
+let us haste over into Bourne, there shall we be safe so long as
+Thrasfordham stands."
+
+"True," nodded Beltane and rose to his feet. "Go you to Thrasfordham,
+Roger, Sir Benedict shall need such lusty men as thou, meseemeth."
+
+"Aye--but what of thee, master?"
+
+"I? O, I'm for the wild-wood, to a wild life and wilder doings, being
+myself a wild man, henceforth, lawful food for flame or gibbet, kin to
+every clapper-claw rogue and rascal 'twixt here and Mortain."
+
+"Nay master, within Thrasfordham ye shall laugh at Black Ivo and all
+his powers--let us then to Thrasfordham, beseech thee!"
+
+"Nay, I'm for the woods in faith, to seek me desperate rogues, wild men
+whose lives being forfeit, are void of all hope and fear. So, get thee
+to Sir Benedict and speak him this from me, to wit: that while he
+holdeth Ivo in check before Thrasfordham, I will arise indeed and bring
+with me flame and steel from out the wild-wood. When he shall see the
+night sky aflame, then shall he know I am at work, and when by day he
+heareth of death sudden and swift, then shall he know I am not idle.
+Bid him rede me this riddle: That bringing from chaos order, so from
+order will I bring chaos, that order peradventure shall remain. Haste
+you into Bourne, Roger, and so--fare thee well!"
+
+Now as he spake, Beltane turned on his heel and strode along beside the
+brook, but even as he went, so went Roger, whereon Beltane turned
+frowning.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Roger--Thrasfordham lieth behind thee!"
+
+"Aye, master, but death lieth before thee!"
+
+"Why then, death will I face alone, Roger."
+
+"Nay, master--not while Roger live. Thy man am I--"
+
+"Ha--wilt withstand me, Black Roger?"
+
+"Thy man am I, to follow thee in life and go down with thee in death--"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane came close, and in the dim light Black Roger
+beheld the new Beltane glaring down at him fierce-eyed and with great
+mailed fist clenched to smite; but even so Black Roger gave not back,
+only he drew dagger and strove to set it in Beltane's iron fingers.
+
+"Take this," quoth he, "for, an ye would be free of Roger, first must
+ye slay him, master." So Beltane took the dagger and fumbled with it
+awhile then gave it back to Roger's hand.
+
+"Roger!" muttered he, his hand upon his brow, "my faithful Roger! So,
+men can be faithful--" saying which he sighed--a long, hissing breath,
+and hid his face within his mittened hand, and turning, strode swiftly
+upon his way. Now in a while, they being come into the forest, Roger
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Master," said he, "whither do ye go?"
+
+"Nay, it mattereth not so long as I can lie hid a while, for I must
+sleep, Roger."
+
+"Then can I bring thee to a place where none shall ever find thee--
+Come, master!" So saying, Roger turned aside into the denser wood,
+bursting a way through a tangle of brush, plunging ever deeper into the
+wild until they came to a place where great rocks and boulders jutted
+up amid the green and the trees grew scant. Day was breaking, and
+before them in the pale light rose a steep cliff, whose jagged outline
+clothed here and there with brush and vines loomed up before them,
+barring their advance.
+
+But at the foot of this cliff grew a tree, gnarled and stunted, the
+which, as Beltane watched, Black Roger began to climb, until, being
+some ten feet from the ground, he, reaching out and seizing a thick
+vine that grew upon the rock, stepped from the tree and vanished into
+the face of the cliff. But in a moment the leaves were parted and Roger
+looked forth, beckoning Beltane to follow. So, having climbed the tree,
+Beltane in turn seized hold upon the vine, and stumbling amid the
+leaves, found himself on his knees within a small cave, where Roger's
+hand met his. Thereafter Roger led him to the end of the cavern where
+was a winding passage very rough and narrow, that brought them to a
+second and larger cave, as Beltane judged, for in the dark his hands
+could feel nought but space. Here Roger halted and whistled three
+times, a melodious call that woke many a slumbering echo. And in a
+while, behold a glow that grew ever brighter, until, of a sudden, a man
+appeared bearing a flaming pine-torch, that showed a wide cave whose
+rugged roof and walls glistened here and there, and whose rocky floor
+ended abruptly in a yawning gulf from whose black depths came soft
+murmurs and ripplings of water far below. Now, halting on the opposite
+side of this chasm, the man lifted his flaming torch and lo! it was
+Walkyn, who, beholding Beltane in his mail, uttered a hoarse shout of
+welcome, and stooping, thrust a plank across the gulf. So Beltane
+crossed the plank and gave his hand to Walkyn's iron grip and
+thereafter followed him along winding, low-roofed passage-ways hollowed
+within the rock, until they came to a cavern where a fire blazed, whose
+red light danced upon battered bascinets and polished blades that hung
+against the wall, while in one corner, upon a bed of fern, Giles o' the
+Bow lay snoring right blissfully.
+
+To him went Roger to shake him into groaning wakefulness and to point
+with eager finger to Beltane. Whereat up sprang Giles and came running
+with hands outstretched in welcome, yet of a sudden, paused and stood
+staring upon Beltane, as did the others also, for the place was very
+bright and moreover Beltane's mail-coif was fallen back. So they looked
+on him all three, yet spake no word. Therefore Beltane sat him down
+beside the fire and rested his head upon his hands as one that is
+weary. Sitting thus, he told them briefly what had chanced, but of the
+Duchess he said nothing. And in a while, lifting his head he saw them
+watching him all three, and all three incontinent glanced otherwhere.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Wherefore do ye stare upon me?"
+
+"Why, as to that, good brother," said the archer, "'tis but that--that
+we do think thee something--changed of aspect."
+
+"Changed!" said Beltane, and laughed short and bitter, "aye, 'tis like
+I am."
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, clenching mighty fists, "have they tormented
+thee--was it the torture, lord?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "'twas the torture. So now good comrades, here
+will I sleep awhile. But first--go forth with the sun and question all
+ye may of Ivo and his doings--where he doth lie, and where his forces
+muster--hear all ye can and bring me word, for methinks we shall be
+busy again anon!" Then, throwing himself upon the bed of fern that
+Roger had re-made, Beltane presently fell asleep. And while he slept
+came the three, very silent and treading very soft, to look down upon
+his sleeping face and the manacles that gleamed upon his wrists; and
+behold, even as he slept, he groaned and writhed, his tender lips grown
+fierce, a relentless, down-curving line--his jaws grim set, and between
+his frowning brows a lock of silky hair that gleamed snow-white among
+the yellow.
+
+"The torture!" growled Roger, and so, soft as they came, the three
+turned and left him to his slumber. But oft he moaned and once he spake
+a word, sudden and fierce 'twixt clenched teeth.
+
+And the word was:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+
+It was toward evening that Beltane awoke, and sitting up, looked about
+him. He was in a chamber roughly square, a hollow within the rock part
+natural and part hewn by hand, a commodious chamber lighted by a jagged
+hole in the rock above, a fissure all o'er-grown with vines and
+creeping plants whose luxuriant foliage tempered the sun's rays to a
+tender green twilight very grateful and pleasant.
+
+Now pendant from the opening was a ladder of cords, and upon this
+ladder, just beneath the cleft, Beltane beheld a pair of lusty,
+well-shaped legs in boots of untanned leather laced up with leathern
+thongs; as for their owner, he was hidden quite by reason of the leafy
+screen as he leaned forth of the fissure. Looking upon these legs,
+Beltane knew them by their very attitude for the legs of one who watched
+intently, but while he looked, they stirred, shifted, and growing lax,
+became the legs of one who lounged; then, slow and lazily, they began
+to descend lower and lower until the brown, comely face of Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills smiled down upon Beltane with a gleam of
+white teeth. Cried he:
+
+"Hail, noble brother, and likewise the good God bless thee! Hast slept
+well, it lacketh scarce an hour to sundown, and therefore should'st
+eat well. How say ye now to a toothsome haunch o' cold venison, in
+faith, cunningly cooked and sufficiently salted and seasoned--ha? And
+mark me! with a mouthful of malmsey, ripely rare? Oho, rich wine that I
+filched from a fatuous friar jig-jogging within the green! Forsooth,
+tall brother, 'tis a wondrous place, the greenwood, wherein a man shall
+come by all he doth need--an he seek far enough! Thus, an my purse be
+empty, your beefy burgher shall, by dint of gentle coaxing, haste to
+fill me it with good, broad pieces. But, an my emptiness be of the
+belly, then sweet Saint Giles send me some ambulating abbot or
+pensive-pacing prior; for your churchmen do ever ride with saddle-bags
+well lined, as I do know, having been bred a monk, and therefore with
+a rare lust to creature comforts."
+
+Now while he spake thus, the archer was busily setting forth the viands
+upon a rough table that stood hard by, what time Beltane looked about
+him.
+
+"'Tis a wondrous hiding-place, this, Giles!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, verily, brother--a sweet place for hunted men such as we. Here be
+caves and caverns enow to hide an army, and rocky passage-ways, narrow
+and winding i' the dark, where we four might hold all Black Ivo's
+powers at bay from now till Gabriel's trump--an we had food enow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"'Tis a fair thought that, and I've heard there be many outlaws in the
+woods hereabouts?"
+
+"Yea, forsooth. And each and every a clapper-claw, a rogue in faith. O
+very lewd, bloody-minded knaves see ye now, that would have slain me
+three days agone but for my comrade Walkyn. Scurvy dogs, fit for the
+halter they be, in faith!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, thoughtful of brow. "They be wild men, meseemeth?"
+
+"Desperate knaves, one and all; and look ye, they would have slain--"
+
+"Aye?" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All the off-scourings of town and village--and look ye, they would--"
+
+"Aye," said Beltane.
+
+"Thieves, rogues and murderers, branded felons, runaway serfs and
+villeins--"
+
+"'Tis well," said Beltane, "so shall they be my comrades henceforth."
+
+"Thy comrades!" stammered the archer, staring in amaze--"thy comrades!
+These base knaves that would have hanged me--me, that am free-born like
+my father before me--"
+
+"So, peradventure, Giles, will we make them free men also. Howbeit this
+day I seek them out--"
+
+"Seek them--'tis death!"
+
+"Death let it be, 'tis none so fearful!"
+
+"They will slay thee out of hand--a wild rabblement, lawless and
+disordered!"
+
+"So would I bring order among them, Giles. And thou shalt aid me."
+
+"I--aid thee? How--would'st have me company with such vile carrion? Not
+I, forsooth. I am a soldier, free-born, and no serf like Walkyn or
+villein like Roger. But sure you do but jest, brother, so will I laugh
+with thee--"
+
+But now, very suddenly, Beltane reached out his long arm and seizing
+Giles in mighty hand, dragged him to his knees; and Giles, staring up
+in amaze, looked into the face of the new Beltane whose blue eyes
+glared 'neath frowning brows and whose lips curled back from gleaming
+teeth.
+
+"Giles," said he softly, rocking the archer in his grasp, "O Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills, did I not save thy roguish life for thee?
+Did not Walkyn and Roger preserve it to thee? So doth thy life belong
+to Walkyn and to Roger and to me. Four men are we together, four
+brothers in arms, vowed to each other in the fulfilment of a purpose--
+is it not so?"
+
+"Yea, verily, lord. Good men and true are we all, but see you not,
+lord, these outlaws be lewd fellows--base-born--"
+
+"See you not, Giles, these outlaws be men, even as we, who, like us,
+can laugh and weep, can bleed and die--who can use their lives to
+purpose good or evil, even as we. Therefore, since they are men, I will
+make of them our comrades also, an it may be."
+
+Thus saying, Beltane loosed Giles and turning to the table, fell to
+eating again while the archer sat upon the floor nursing his bruised
+arm and staring open-mouthed.
+
+Quoth Beltane at last:
+
+"We will seek out and talk with these outlaws to-night, Giles!"
+
+"Talk with a pack of--yea, forsooth!" nodded Giles, rubbing his arm.
+
+"I am minded to strike such a blow as shall hearten Sir Benedict for
+the siege and shake Black Ivo's confidence."
+
+"Aha!" cried Giles, springing up so that his link-mail jingled, "aha! a
+sweet thought, tall brother! Could we fire another gibbet now--"
+
+"Know you where the outlaws lie hid, Giles?"
+
+"Nay, lord, none save themselves and Walkyn know that. Walkyn methinks,
+was great among them once."
+
+"And where is Walkyn?"
+
+"So soon as ye slept, lord, he and Roger went forth according to thy
+word. As for me, I stayed here to watch. From the spy-hole yonder you
+may command the road a-wind in the valley, and unseen, see you, may
+see. But come, an thy hunger be allayed, reach me thy hand that I may
+file off those iron bracelets."
+
+"Nay, let be, Giles. I will wear them henceforth until my vow be
+accomplished."
+
+Hereupon Beltane arose, and, climbing the ladder, looked forth through
+a screen of leaves and underbrush and saw that from the fissure the
+ground sloped steeply down, a boulder-strewn hill thick with gorse and
+bramble, at whose base the road led away north and south until it was
+lost in the green of the forest. Now as Beltane stood thus, gazing down
+at the winding road whose white dust was already mellowing to evening,
+he beheld one who ran wondrous fleetly despite the ragged cloak that
+flapped about his long legs, and whose rough-shod feet spurned the dust
+beneath them so fast 'twas a marvel to behold; moreover as he ran, he
+bounded hither and thither, and with every bound an arrow sped by him
+from where, some distance behind, ran divers foresters bedight in a
+green livery Beltane thought he recognized; but even as Beltane grasped
+the branches that screened him, minded to swing himself up to the
+fellow's aid, the fugitive turned aside from the road and came leaping
+up the slope, but, of a sudden, uttered a loud cry and throwing up his
+hands fell face down upon the ling and so lay, what time came up one of
+the pursuers that had outstripped his fellows, but as he paused, his
+sword shortened for the thrust, up sprang the fugitive, a great axe
+flashed and whirled and fell, nor need was there for further stroke.
+Then, while the rest of the pursuers were yet a great way off, Walkyn
+came leaping up the hill. Back from the ladder Beltane leapt and down
+through the fissure came Walkyn to fall cat-like upon his feet, to
+shake free the ladder after him, and thereafter to sit panting upon a
+stool, his bloody axe betwixt his knees.
+
+"Pertolepe's wolves!" he panted, "two of them have I--slain--within the
+last mile," and grinning, he patted the haft of his axe.
+
+"What news, Walkyn?"
+
+"Death!" panted Walkyn, "there be five dead men a-swing from the
+bartizan tower above Garthlaxton Keep, and one that dieth under the
+torture e'en now, for I heard grievous outcry, and all by reason of thy
+escape, lord."
+
+"Come you then from Garthlaxton?" quoth Beltane, frowning.
+
+"Aye, lord. For, see you, 'twas market day, so went I to one I know
+that is a swineherd, a trusty fellow that bringeth hogs each week unto
+Garthlaxton. So did we change habits and went to Garthlaxton together,
+driving the hogs before us. Thereafter, while he was away chaffering, I
+sat me down in the outer bailey tending my beasts, yet with eyes and
+ears wide and with my hand upon mine axe 'neath my cloak lest haply I
+might chance within striking distance of Red Pertolepe. And, sitting
+thus, I heard tell that he had marched out with all his array to join
+Black Ivo's banner. Whereupon was I mightily cast down. But it chanced
+the wind lifted my cloak, and one of the warders, spying mine axe, must
+think to recognise me and gave the hue and cry; whereat I, incontinent,
+fled ere they could drop the portcullis--and divers rogues after me.
+Aha! then did I lead them a right merry dance by moor and moss, by
+briar and bog, and contrived to slay of them five in all. But as to
+Pertolepe, a malison on him! he is not yet to die, meseemeth. But, some
+day--aye, some day!" So saying he kissed the great axe and setting it
+by came to the table and fell to eating mightily while Giles sat hard
+by busied with certain arrows, yet betwixt whiles watching Beltane who,
+crossing to the bed of fern, laid him down thereon and closed his eyes.
+But of a sudden he raised his head, hearkening to a whistle, soft and
+melodious, near at hand.
+
+"Aha!" exclaimed Giles, setting aside his arrows, "yonder should be
+Roger--a hungry Roger and therefore surly, and a surly Roger is rare
+sport to lighten a dull hour. Heaven send our Roger be surly!" So
+saying, the archer went forth and presently came hasting back with
+Roger at his heels scowling and in woeful plight. Torn and stained and
+besprent with mud, his rawhide knee-boots sodden and oozing water, he
+stood glowering at Giles beneath the bloody clout that swathed his
+head, his brawny fist upon his dagger.
+
+"No food left, say ye, Giles, no food, and I a-famishing? You and
+Walkyn drunk up all the wine betwixt ye, and I a-perish--ha--so now
+will I let it out again--" and out flashed his dagger.
+
+"Nay, 'tis but the archer's folly," quoth Walkyn--"sit, man, eat,
+drink, and speak us thy news."
+
+"News," growled Roger, seating himself at table, "the woods be thick
+with Pertolepe's rogues seeking my master, rogues known to me each one,
+that ran to do my bidding aforetime--in especial one Ralpho--that was
+my assistant in the dungeons once. Thrice did they beset me close, and
+once did I escape by running, once by standing up to my neck in a pool,
+and once lay I hid in a tree whiles they, below, ate and drank like
+ravening swine--and I a-famishing. A murrain on 'em, one and all, say
+I--in especial Ralpho that was my comrade once--may he rot henceforth--"
+
+"Content you, Roger, he doth so!" laughed grim Walkyn and pointed to
+his axe.
+
+"Forsooth, and is it so?" growled Roger, his scowl relaxing--"now will
+I eat full and blithely, for Ralpho was an arrant knave."
+
+Now when his hunger was somewhat assuaged, Roger turned and looked
+where Beltane lay.
+
+"My master sleepeth?" said he, his voice grown gentle.
+
+"Nay, Roger, I lie and wait thy news," spake Beltane, his eyes yet
+closed.
+
+"Why then, 'tis war, master--battle and siege. The country is up as far
+as Winisfarne. Black Ivo lieth at Barham Broom with a great company--I
+have seen their tents and pavilions like a town, and yet they come, for
+Ivo hath summoned all his powers to march against Thrasfordham. 'Twixt
+here and Pentavalon city, folk do say the roads be a-throng with bows
+and lances--lords and barons, knights and esquires, their pennons
+flutter everywhere."
+
+"'Tis well!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Well, master--nay, how mean you?"
+
+"That being at Barham Broom, they cannot be otherwhere, Roger. Saw you
+Pertolepe's banner among all these?"
+
+"Aye, master; they have set up his pavilion beside the Duke's."
+
+"Tell me now," said Beltane, coming to his elbow, "how many men should
+be left within Garthlaxton for garrison, think you?"
+
+"An hundred, belike!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Less," quoth Roger; "Garthlaxton is so strong a score of men have held
+it ere now. 'Tis accounted the strongest castle in all the Duchy, save
+only Thrasfordham."
+
+"Truly 'tis very strong!" said Beltane thoughtfully, and lying down
+again he closed his eyes and spake slow and drowsily--"Aye, 'tis so
+strong, its garrison, being secure, should sleep sound o' nights. So
+'twould be no great matter to surprise and burn it ere the dawn,
+methinks!"
+
+"Burn Garthlaxton!" cried the archer, and sprang up, scattering the
+arrows right and left.
+
+"Master!" stammered Roger, "master--"
+
+As for Walkyn, he, having his mouth full and striving to speak, choked
+instead.
+
+"Lord--lord!" he gasped at last, "to see Garthlaxton go up in flame--O
+blessed sight! Its blood-soaked walls crumble to ruin--ah, sweet, rare
+sight! But alas! 'tis a mighty place and strong, and we but four--"
+
+"There be outlaws in the wild-wood!" quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!--the outlaws!" cried Giles, and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But bethink thee, tall brother--of what avail a thousand such poor,
+ragged, ill-armed rogues 'gainst the walls of Garthlaxton? They shall
+not tear you the stones with their finger-nails nor rend them with
+their teeth, see'st thou!"
+
+"To burn Garthlaxton!" growled Walkyn, biting at his fingers. "Ha, to
+give it to the fire! But the walls be mighty and strong and the outlaws
+scattered. 'Twould take a week to muster enough to attempt a storm, nor
+have they engines for battery--"
+
+"Enough!" said Beltane rising, his brows close drawn, "now hearken, and
+mark me well; the hole whereby one man came out may let a thousand in.
+Give me but an hundred men at my back and Garthlaxton shall be aflame
+ere dawn. So, come now, Walkyn--bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But lord, these be very wild men, obedient to no law save their own,
+and will follow none but their own; lawless men forsooth, governed only
+by the sword and made desperate by wrong and fear of the rope--"
+
+"Then 'tis time one learned them other ways, Walkyn. So now I command
+thee, bring me to them--'tis said thou wert great among them once."
+
+Hereupon Walkyn rose and taking up his mighty axe twirled it lightly in
+his hand. "Behold, lord," said he, "by virtue of this good axe am I
+free of the wild-wood; for, long since, when certain lords of Black Ivo
+burned our manor, and our mother and sister and father therein, my twin
+brother and I had fashioned two axes such as few men might wield--this
+and another--and thus armed, took to the green where other wronged men
+joined us till we counted many a score tall fellows, lusty fighters
+all. And many of Ivo's rogues we slew until of those knights and
+men-at-arms that burned our home there none remained save Red Pertolepe
+and Gui of Allerdale. But in the green--love came--even to me--so I laid
+by mine axe and vengeance likewise and came to know happiness until--upon
+a day--they hanged my brother, and thereafter they slew--her--my wife
+and child--e'en as ye saw. Then would I have joined the outlaws again.
+But in my place they had set up one Tostig, a sturdy rogue and foul,
+who ruleth by might of arm and liveth but for plunder--and worse. Him I
+would have fought, but upon that night I fell in with thee. Thus, see
+you, though I am free of the wild, power with these outlaws have I
+none. So, an I should bring thee into their secret lurking-place,
+Tostig would assuredly give thee to swift death, nor could I save thee--"
+
+"Yet must I go," said Beltane, "since, while I live, vowed am I to free
+Pentavalon. And what, think you, is Pentavalon? 'Tis not her hills and
+valleys, her towns and cities, but the folk that dwell therein; they,
+each one, man and woman and child, the rich and poor, the high and low,
+the evil and the good, aye, all those that live in outlawry--these are
+Pentavalon. So now will I go unto these wild men, and once they follow
+my call, ne'er will I rest until they be free men every one. Each blow
+they strike, the wounds they suffer, shall win them back to honourable
+life, to hearth and home--and thus shall they be free indeed. So,
+Walkyn, bring me to the outlaws!"
+
+Then stood Walkyn and looked upon Beltane 'neath heavy brows, nothing
+speaking, and turned him of a sudden and, striding forth of the cave,
+came back bearing another great axe.
+
+"Lord," said he, "thy long sword is missing, methinks. Take now this
+axe in place of it--'twas my brother's once. See, I have kept it
+bright, for I loved him. He was a man. Yet man art thou also, worthy,
+methinks, and able to wield it. Take it therefore, lord Duke that art
+my brother-in-arms; mayhap it shall aid thee to bring order in the
+wild-wood and win Pentavalon to freedom. Howbeit, wheresoe'er thou dost
+go, e'en though it be to shame and failure, I am with thee!"
+
+"And I!" cried Giles, reaching for his bow.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Roger.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+
+The sun was down what time they left the hill country and came out upon
+a wide heath void of trees and desolate, where was a wind cold and
+clammy to chill the flesh, where rank-growing rush and reed stirred
+fitfully, filling the dark with stealthy rustlings.
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, shivering and glancing about him, "here is
+Hangstone Waste, and yonder the swamps of Hundleby Fen--you can smell
+them from here! And 'tis an evil place, this, for 'tis said the souls
+of murdered folk do meet here betimes, and hold high revel when the
+moon be full. Here, on wild nights witches and warlocks ride shrieking
+upon the wind, with goblins damned--"
+
+"Ha, say ye so, good Roger?" quoth the archer, "now the sweet Saint
+Giles go with us--amen!" and he crossed himself devoutly.
+
+So went they in silence awhile until they were come where the sedge
+grew thick and high above whispering ooze, and where trees, stunted and
+misshapen, lifted knotted arms in the gloom.
+
+"Lord," spake Walkyn, his voice low and awe-struck, "here is the marsh,
+a place of death for them that know it not, where, an a man tread awry,
+is a quaking slime to suck him under. Full many a man lieth 'neath the
+reeds yonder, for there is but one path, very narrow and winding--
+follow close then, and step where I shall step."
+
+"Aye, master," whispered Roger, "and look ye touch no tree as ye go;
+'tis said they do grow from the bones of perished men, so touch them
+not lest some foul goblin blast thee."
+
+So went they, following a narrow track that wound betwixt slow-stirring
+sedge, past trees huddled and distorted that seemed to writhe and
+shiver in the clammy air until, beyond the swamp, they came to a place
+of rocks where ragged crags loomed high and vague before them. Now, all
+at once, Walkyn raised a warning hand, as from the shadow of those
+rocks, a hoarse voice challenged:
+
+"Stand!" cried the voice, "who goes?"
+
+"What, and is it thou, rogue Perkyn?" cried Walkyn, "art blind not to
+know me?"
+
+"Aye," growled the voice, "but blind or no, I see others with thee."
+
+"Good friends all!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Stand forth that I may see these friends o' thine!" Drawing near,
+Beltane beheld a man in filthy rags who held a long bow in his hand
+with an arrow on the string, at sight of whom Roger muttered and Giles
+held his nose and spat.
+
+"Aha," growled the man Perkyn, peering under his matted hair, "I like
+not the looks o' these friends o' thine--"
+
+"Nor we thine, foul fellow," quoth Giles, and spat again whole-heartedly.
+
+"How!" cried Walkyn fiercely, "d'ye dare bid Walkyn stand, thou dog's
+meat? Must I flesh mine axe on thy vile carcase?"
+
+"Not till I feather a shaft in thee," growled Perkyn, "what would ye?"
+
+"Speak with Eric o' the Noose."
+
+"Aha, and what would ye with half-hung Eric, forsooth? Tostig's our
+chief, and Tostig's man am I. As for Eric--"
+
+"Aye--aye, and what of Eric?" spake a third voice--a soft voice and
+liquid, and a man stepped forth of the rocks with two other men at his
+heels.
+
+"Now well met, Eric o' the Noose," quoth Walkyn. "I bring promise of
+more booty, and mark this, Eric--I bring also him that you wot of."
+
+Now hereupon the man Eric drew near, a broad-set man clad in skins and
+rusty mail who looked upon Beltane with head strangely askew, and
+touched a furtive hand to his battered head-piece.
+
+"Ye come at an evil hour," said he, speaking low-voiced. "Tostig
+holdeth high feast and revel, for to-day we took a rich booty at the
+ford beyond Bassingthorp--merchants out of Winisfarne, with pack-horses
+well laden--and there were women also--in especial, one very fair. Her,
+Tostig bore hither. But a while since, when he bade them bring her to
+him, behold she had stabbed herself with her bodkin. So is she dead and
+Tostig raging. Thus I say, ye come in an evil hour."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane. "Methinks we come in good hour. I am fain
+to speak with Tostig--come!" and he stepped forward, but Eric caught
+him by the arm:
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "yonder be over five score lusty
+fellows, fierce and doughty fighters all, that live but to do the will
+of Tostig and do proclaim him chief since he hath proved himself full
+oft mightiest of all--"
+
+"Ah," nodded Beltane, "a strong man!"
+
+"Beyond equal. A fierce man that knoweth not mercy, swift to anger and
+joyful to slay at all times--"
+
+"Why, look you," sighed Beltane, "neither am I a lamb. Come, fain am I
+to speak with this Tostig."
+
+A while stood Eric, head aslant, peering at Beltane, then, at a
+muttered word from Walkyn, he shook his head and beckoning the man
+Perkyn aside, led the way through a cleft in the rocks and up a
+precipitous path beyond; and as he went, Beltane saw him loosen sword
+in scabbard.
+
+Ever as they clomb, the path grew more difficult, until at last they
+were come to a parapet or outwork with mantelets of osiers beyond,
+cunningly wrought, above which a pike-head glimmered and from beyond
+which a voice challenged them; but at a word from Eric the sentinel
+stood aside and behold, a narrow opening in the parapet through which
+they passed and so up another path defended by yet another parapet of
+osiers. Now of a sudden, having climbed the ascent, Beltane paused and
+stood leaning upon his axe, for, from where he now stood, he looked
+down into a great hollow, green and rock-begirt, whose steep sides were
+shaded by trees and dense-growing bushes. In the midst of this hollow a
+fire burned whose blaze showed many wild figures that sprawled round
+about in garments of leather and garments of skins; its ruddy light
+showed faces fierce and hairy; it glinted on rusty mail and flashed
+back from many a dinted head-piece and broad spear-head; and upon the
+air was the sound of noisy talk and boisterous laughter. Through the
+midst of this great green hollow a stream wound that broadened out in
+one place into a still and sleepy pool upon whose placid surface stars
+seemed to float, a deep pool whereby was a tall tree. Now beneath this
+tree, far removed from the fire, sat a great swarthy fellow, chin on
+fist, scowling down at that which lay at his feet, and of a sudden he
+spurned this still and silent shape with savage foot.
+
+"Oswin!" he cried, "Walcher! Throw me this useless carrion into the
+pool!" Hereupon came two sturdy rogues who, lifting the dead betwixt
+them, bore her to the edge of the silent pool. Once they swung and
+twice, and lo, the floating stars shivered to a sullen splash, and
+subsiding, rippled softly to the reedy banks.
+
+Slowly the swarthy giant rose and stood upon his legs, and Beltane knew
+him for the tallest man he had ever seen.
+
+"Oswin," quoth he, and beckoned with his finger, "Oswin, did I not bid
+thee keep watch upon yon dainty light o' love?" Now meeting the
+speaker's baleful eye, the man Oswin sprang back, striving to draw
+sword, but even so an iron hand was about his throat, he was lifted by
+a mighty arm that held him a while choking and kicking above the silent
+pool until he had gasped and kicked his life out 'midst shouts and
+gibes and hoarse laughter; thereafter again the sullen waters quivered,
+were still, and Tostig stood, empty-handed, frowning down at those
+floating stars.
+
+Then Beltane leapt down into the hollow and strode swift-footed, nor
+stayed until he stood face to face with Tostig beside the sullen pool.
+But swift as he had come, Roger had followed, and now stood to his
+back, hand on sword.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Tostig in staring amaze, and stood a while eying Beltane
+with hungry gaze. "By Thor!" said he, "but 'tis a good armour and
+should fit me well. Off with it--off, I am Tostig!" So saying, he drew
+a slow pace nearer, his teeth agleam, his great hands opening and
+shutting, whereat out leapt Roger's blade; but now the outlaws came
+running to throng about them, shouting and jostling one another, and
+brandishing their weapons yet striking no blow, waiting gleefully for
+what might befall; and ever Beltane looked upon Tostig, and Tostig,
+assured and confident, smiled grimly upon Beltane until the ragged
+throng about them, watching eager-eyed, grew hushed and still. Then
+Beltane spake:
+
+"Put up thy sword, Roger," said he, "in very truth this Tostig is a
+foul thing and should not die by thy good steel--so put up thy sword,
+Roger."
+
+And now, no man spake or moved, but all stood rigid and scarce
+breathing, waiting for the end. For Tostig, smiling no more, stood
+agape as one that doubts his senses, then laughed he loud and long, and
+turned as if to reach his sword that leaned against the tree and, in
+that instant, sprang straight for Beltane's throat, his griping hands
+outstretched; but swift as he, Beltane, letting fall his axe, slipped
+aside and smote with mailed fist, and as Tostig reeled from the blow,
+closed with and caught him in a deadly wrestling hold, for all men
+might see Beltane had locked one arm 'neath Tostig's bearded chin and
+that Tostig's shaggy head was bending slowly backwards. Then the
+outlaws surged closer, a dark, menacing ring where steel flickered; but
+lo! to Roger's right hand sprang Walkyn, gripping his axe, and upon his
+left came Giles, his long-bow poised, a shaft upon the string; so stood
+the three alert and watchful, eager for fight, what time the struggle
+waxed ever more fierce and deadly. To and fro the wrestlers swayed,
+locked in vicious grapple, grimly silent save for the dull trampling of
+their feet upon the moss and the gasp and hiss of panting breaths;
+writhing and twisting, stumbling and slipping, or suddenly still with
+feet that gripped the sod, with bulging muscles, swelled and rigid,
+that cracked beneath the strain, while eye glared death to eye. But
+Beltane's iron fingers were fast locked, and little by little, slow but
+sure, Tostig's swart head was tilting up and back, further and further,
+until his forked beard pointed upwards--until, of a sudden, there brake
+from his writhen lips a cry, loud and shrill that sank to groan and
+ended in a sound--a faint sound, soft and sudden. But now, behold,
+Tostig's head swayed loosely backwards behind his shoulders, his knees
+sagged, his great arms loosed their hold: then, or he could fall,
+Beltane stooped beneath and putting forth all his strength, raised him
+high above his head, and panting, groaning with the strain, turned and
+hurled dead Tostig down into the pool whose sullen waters leapt to a
+mighty splash, and presently subsiding, whispered softly in the reeds;
+and for a while no man stirred or spoke, only Beltane stood upon the
+marge and panted.
+
+Then turned he to the outlaws, and catching up his axe therewith
+pointed downwards to that stilly pool whose placid waters seemed to
+hold nought but a glory of floating stars.
+
+"Behold," he panted, "here was an evil man--a menace to well-being,
+wherefore is he dead. But as for ye, come tell me--how long will ye be
+slaves?"
+
+Hereupon rose a hoarse murmur that grew and grew--Then stood the man
+Perkyn forward, and scowling, pointed at Beltane with his spear.
+
+"Comrades!" he cried, "he hath slain Tostig! He hath murdered our
+leader--come now, let us slay him!" and speaking, he leapt at Beltane
+with levelled spear, but quick as he leapt, so leapt Walkyn, his long
+arms rose and fell, and thereafter, setting his foot upon Perkyn's
+body, he shook his bloody axe in the scowling faces of the outlaws.
+
+"Back, fools!" he cried, "have ye no eyes? See ye not 'tis he of whom I
+spake--he that burned Belsaye gallows and brake ope the dungeon of
+Belsaye--that is friend to all distressed folk and broken men; know ye
+not Beltane the Duke? Hear him, ye fools, hear him!"
+
+Hereupon the outlaws stared upon Beltane and upon each other, and
+fumbled with their weapons as men that knew not their own minds, while
+Beltane, wiping sweat from him, leaned upon his axe and panted, with
+the three at his elbow alert and watchful, eager for fight; but Perkyn
+lay where he had fallen, very still and with his face hidden in the
+grass.
+
+Of a sudden, Beltane laid by his axe and reached out his hands.
+
+"Brothers," said he, "how long will ye be slaves?"
+
+"Slaves, forsooth?" cried one, "slaves are we to no man--here within
+the green none dare gainsay us--we be free men, one and all. Is't not
+so, comrades?"
+
+"Aye! Aye!" roared a hundred voices.
+
+"Free?" quoth Beltane, "free? Aye, free to wander hither and thither,
+hiding forever within the wilderness, living ever in awe and dread lest
+ye die in a noose. Free to go in rags, to live like beasts, to die
+unpitied and be thrown into a hole, or left to rot i' the sun--call ye
+this freedom, forsooth? Hath none among ye desire for hearth and home,
+for wife and child--are ye become so akin to beasts indeed?"
+
+Now hereupon, divers muttered in their beards and others looked askance
+on one another. Then spake the man Eric, of the wry neck.
+
+"Messire," quoth he, "all that you say is sooth, but what remedy can ye
+bring to such as we. Say now?"
+
+Then spake Beltane on this wise:
+
+"All ye that have suffered wrong, all ye that be broken men--hearken!
+Life is short and quick to escape a man, yet do all men cherish it, and
+to what end? What seek ye of life--is it arms, is it riches? Go with
+me and I will teach ye how they shall be come by. Are ye heavy-hearted
+by reason of your wrongs--of bitter shame wrought upon the weak and
+innocent? Seek ye vengeance?--would ye see tyrants die?--seek ye their
+blood, forsooth? Then follow me!"
+
+Now at this the outlaws began to murmur among themselves, wagging their
+heads one to another and voicing their grievances thus:
+
+"They cut off mine ears for resisting my lord's taxes, and for this I
+would have justice!"
+
+"They burned me in the hand for striking my lord's hunting dog!"
+
+"I had a wife once, and she was young and fair; so my lord's son took
+her and thereafter gave her for sport among his huntsmen, whereof she
+died--and for this would I have vengeance!"
+
+"They burned my home, and therein wife and child--and for this would I
+have vengeance!"
+
+"They cut off my brother's hands!"
+
+"They put out my father's eyes!"
+
+Quoth Eric:
+
+"And me they sought to hang to mine own roof-tree!--behold this crooked
+neck o' mine--so am I Eric o' the Noose. Each one of us hath suffered
+wrong, great or little, so live we outlaws in the green, lawless men in
+lawless times, seeking ever vengeance for our wrongs. Who then shall
+bring us to our desire, how shall our grievous wrongs be righted? An we
+follow, whither would'st thou lead us?"
+
+"By dangerous ways," answered Beltane, "through fire and battle. But by
+fire men are purged, and by battle wrongs may be done away. An ye
+follow, 'tis like some of us shall die, but by such death our brethren
+shall win to honour, and home, and happiness, for happiness is all
+men's birthright. Ye are but a wild, unordered rabble, yet are ye men!
+'Tis true ye are ill-armed and ragged, yet is your cause a just one. Ye
+bear weapons and have arms to smite--why then lurk ye here within the
+wild-wood? Will not fire burn? Will not steel cut? He that is not
+coward, let him follow me!"
+
+"Aye," cried a score of harsh voices, "but whither--whither?"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Be there many among ye that know Sir Pertolepe the Red?"
+
+Now went there up a roar, deep-lunged and ominous; brawny fists were
+shaken and weapons flashed and glittered.
+
+"Ah--we know him--the Red Wolf--we know him--ah!"
+
+"Then tell me," said Beltane, "will not steel cut? Will not fire burn?
+Arise, I say, rise up and follow me. So will we smite Tyranny this
+night and ere the dawn Garthlaxton shall be ablaze!"
+
+"Garthlaxton!" cried Eric, "Garthlaxton!" and thereafter all men stared
+on Beltane as one that is mad.
+
+"Look now," said Beltane, "Sir Pertolepe hath ridden forth with all his
+company to join Black Ivo's banner. Thus, within Garthlaxton his men be
+few; moreover I know a secret way beneath the wall. Well, is't enough?
+Who among ye will follow, and smite for freedom and Pentavalon?"
+
+"That will I!" cried Eric, falling upon his knee.
+
+"And I! And I!" cried others, and so came they to crowd eagerly about
+Beltane, to touch his hand or the links of his bright mail.
+
+"Lead us!" they cried, "come--lead us!"
+
+"Nay first--hearken! From henceforth outlaws are ye none. Come now, one
+and all, draw, and swear me on your swords:--To make your strength a
+shelter to the weak; to smite henceforth but in honourable cause for
+freedom, for justice and Pentavalon--swear me upon your swords to abide
+by this oath, and to him that breaks it--Death. Swear!"
+
+So there upon their knees with gleaming swords uplifted, these wild men
+swore the oath. Then up sprang Walkyn, pointing to Beltane with his
+axe.
+
+"Brothers!" he cried, "behold a man that doeth such deeds as no man
+ever did--that burned the gallows--burst ope the dungeon of Belsaye
+and slew Tostig the mighty with naked hands! Behold Beltane the Duke!
+Is he not worthy to be our leader--shall we not follow him?" Then came
+a roar of voices:
+
+"Aye--let us follow--let us follow!"
+
+"On, then!" cried Walkyn, his glittering axe aloft. "To Garthlaxton!"
+
+Then from an hundred brawny throats a roar went up to heaven, a cry
+that hissed through clenched teeth and rang from eager lips, wilder,
+fiercer than before. And the cry was:--
+
+"Garthlaxton!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+
+It was in the cold, still hour 'twixt night and dawn that Beltane
+halted his wild company upon the edge of the forest where ran a
+water-brook gurgling softly in the dark; here did he set divers eager
+fellows to fell a tree and thereafter to lop away branch and twig, and
+so, bidding them wait, stole forward alone. Soon before him rose
+Garthlaxton, frowning blacker than the night, a gloom of tower and
+turret, of massy wall and battlement, its mighty keep rising stark and
+grim against a faint light of stars. Now as he stood to scan with
+purposeful eye donjon and bartizan, merlon and arrow-slit for gleam of
+light, for glint of mail or pike-head, he grew aware of a sound hard
+by, yet very faint and sweet, that came and went--a small and silvery
+chime he could by no means account for. So crept he near and nearer,
+quick-eyed and with ears on the stretch till he was stayed by the
+broad, sluggish waters of the moat; and thus, he presently espied
+something that moved in the gloom high above the great gateway,
+something that stirred, pendulous, in the cold-breathing air of coming
+dawn.
+
+Now as he peered upward through the gloom, came the wind, colder,
+stronger than before--a chill and ghostly wind that flapped the heavy
+folds of his mantle, that sighed forlornly in the woods afar, and
+softly smote the misty, jingling thing above--swayed it--swung it out
+from the denser shadows of scowling battlement so that Beltane could
+see at last, and seeing--started back faint and sick, his flesh a-creep,
+his breath in check 'twixt pale and rigid lips. And beholding what
+manner of thing this was, he fell upon his knees with head bowed low
+yet spake no prayer, only his hands gripped fiercely upon his axe;
+while to and fro in the dark above, that awful shape turned and swung--
+its flaunting cock's-comb dreadfully awry, its motley stained and rent
+--a wretched thing, twisted and torn, a thing of blasting horror.
+
+And ever as it swung upon the air, it rang a chime upon its little,
+silver bells; a merry chime and mocking, that seemed to gibe at coming
+day.
+
+Now in a while, looking upon that awful, dim-seen shape, Beltane spake
+low-voiced.
+
+"O Beda!" he whispered, "O manly heart hid 'neath a Fool's disguise! O
+Fool, that now art wiser than the wisest! Thy pains and sorrows have
+lifted thee to heaven, methinks, and freed now of thy foolish clay thou
+dost walk with angels and look within the face of God! But, by thine
+agonies endured, now do I swear this night to raise to thy poor Fool's
+body a pyre fit for the flesh of kings!"
+
+Then Beltane arose and lifting high his axe, shook it against
+Garthlaxton's frowning might, where was neither glint of armour nor
+gleam of pike-head, and turning, hasted back to that dark and silent
+company which, at his word, rose up from brake and fern and thicket,
+and followed whither he led, a long line, soundless and phantom-like
+within a phantom world, where a grey mist swirled and drifted in the
+death-cold air of dawn. Swift and silent they followed him, these wild
+men, with fierce eyes and scowling faces all set toward that mighty
+keep that loomed high against the glimmering stars. Axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, in rusty mail, in rags of leather and skins, they
+crept from bush to bush, from tree to tree, till they were come to that
+little pool wherein Beltane had bathed him aforetime in the dawn. Here
+they halted what time Beltane sought to and fro along the bank of the
+stream, until at last, within a screen of leaves and vines he found the
+narrow opening he sought. Then turned he and beckoned those ghostly,
+silent shapes about him, and speaking quick and low, counselled them
+thus:
+
+"Look now, this secret burrow leadeth under the foundations of the
+keep; thus, so soon as we be in, let Walkyn and Giles with fifty men
+haste to smite all within the gate-house, then up with portcullis and
+down with drawbridge and over into the barbican there to lie in ambush,
+what time Roger and I, with Eric here and the fifty and five, shall
+fire the keep and, hid within the dark, raise a mighty outcry, that
+those within the keep and they that garrison the castle, roused by the
+fire and our shout, shall issue out amazed. So will we fall upon them
+and they, taken by surprise, shall seek to escape us by the gate. Then,
+Walkyn, sally ye out of the barbican and smite them at the drawbridge,
+so shall we have them front and rear. How think you? Is it agreed?"
+
+"Agreed! agreed!" came the gruff and whispered chorus.
+
+"Then last--and mark this well each one--till that I give the word, let
+no man speak! Let death be swift, but let it be silent."
+
+Then, having drawn his mail-hood about his face and laced it close,
+Beltane caught up his axe and stepped into the tunnel. There he kindled
+a torch of pine and stooping 'neath the low roof, went on before. One
+by one the others followed, Roger and Giles, Walkyn and Eric bearing
+the heavy log upon their shoulders, and behind them axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, a wild company in garments of leather and garments
+of skins, soft-treading and silent as ghosts--yet purposeful ghosts
+withal.
+
+Soon came they to the iron door and Beltane stood aside, whereon the
+mighty four, bending brawny shoulders, swung the log crashing against
+the iron; thrice and four times smote they, might and main, ere rusted
+bolt and rivet gave beneath the battery and the door swung wide. Down
+went the log, and ready steel flashed as Beltane strode on, his torch
+aflare, 'twixt oozing walls, up steps of stone that yet were slimy to
+the tread, on and up by winding passage and steep-climbing stairway,
+until they came where was a parting of the ways--the first still
+ascending, the second leading off at a sharp angle. Here Beltane paused
+in doubt, and bidding the others halt, followed the second passage
+until he was come to a narrow flight of steps that rose to the stone
+roof above. But here, in the wall beside the steps, he beheld a rusty
+iron lever, and reaching up, he bore upon the lever and lo! the
+flagstone above the steps reared itself on end and showed a square of
+gloom beyond.
+
+Then went Beltane and signalled to the others; so, one by one, they
+followed him up through the opening into that same gloomy chamber where
+he had lain in bonds and hearkened to wails of torment; but now the
+place was bare and empty and the door stood ajar. So came Beltane
+thither, bearing the torch, and stepped softly into the room beyond, a
+wide room, arras-hung and richly furnished, and looking around upon the
+voluptuous luxury of gilded couch and wide, soft bed, Beltane frowned
+suddenly upon a woman's dainty, broidered shoe.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what place is this?"
+
+"'Tis Red Pertolepe's bed-chamber, master."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "'tis rank of him, methinks--lead on, Roger, go
+you and Walkyn before them in the dark, and wait for me in the bailey."
+
+One by one, the wild company went by Beltane, fierce-eyed and stealthy,
+until there none remained save Giles, who, leaning upon his bow, looked
+with yearning eyes upon the costly splendour.
+
+"Aha," he whispered, "a pretty nest, tall brother. I'll warrant ye full
+many a fair white dove hath beat her tender pinions--"
+
+"Come!" said Beltane, and speaking, reached out his torch to bed-alcove
+and tapestried wall; and immediately silk and arras went up in a puff
+of flame--a leaping fire, yellow-tongued, that licked at gilded roof-beam
+and carven screen and panel.
+
+"Brother!" whispered Giles, "O brother, 'tis a sin, methinks, to lose
+so much good booty. That coffer, now--Ha!" With the cry the archer
+leapt out through the tapestried doorway. Came the ring of steel, a
+heavy fall, and thereafter a shriek that rang and echoed far and near
+ere it sank to a silence wherein a voice whispered:
+
+"Quick, brother--the besotted fools stir at last--away!"
+
+Then, o'erleaping that which sprawled behind the curtain, Beltane sped
+along a passage and down a winding stair, yet pausing, ever and anon,
+with flaring torch: and ever small fires waxed behind him. So came he
+at last to the sally-port and hurling the blazing torch behind him,
+closed the heavy door. And now, standing upon the platform, he looked
+down into the inner bailey. Dawn was at hand, a glimmering mist wherein
+vague forms moved, what time Walkyn, looming ghostly and gigantic in
+the mist, mustered his silent, ghostly company ere, lifting his axe, he
+turned and vanished, his fifty phantoms at his heels.
+
+Now glancing upward at the rugged face of the keep, Beltane beheld thin
+wisps of smoke that curled from every arrow-slit, slow-wreathing
+spirals growing ever denser ere they vanished in the clammy mists of
+dawn, while from within a muffled clamour rose--low and inarticulate
+yet full of terror. Then Beltane strode down the zig-zag stair and came
+forthright upon Roger, pale and anxious, who yet greeted him in joyous
+whisper:
+
+"Master, I began to fear for thee. What now?"
+
+"To the arch of the parapet yonder. Let each man crouch there in the
+gloom, nor stir until I give word."
+
+Now as they crouched thus, with weapons tight-gripped and eyes that
+glared upon the coming day, a sudden trumpet brayed alarm upon the
+battlements--shouts were heard far and near, and a running of mailed
+feet; steel clashed, the great castle, waking at last, was all astir
+about them and full of sudden bustle and tumult. And ever the clamour
+of voices waxed upon the misty air from hurrying groups dim-seen that
+flitted by, arming as they ran, and ever the fifty and five, crouching
+in the dark, impatient for the sign, watched Beltane--his firm-set lip,
+his frowning brow; and ever from belching arrow-slit the curling
+smoke-wreaths waxed blacker and more dense. Of a sudden, out from the
+narrow sally-port burst a huddle of choking men, whose gasping cries
+pierced high above the clamour:
+
+"Fire! Fire! Sir Fulk is slain! Sir Fulk lieth death-smitten! Fire!"
+
+From near and far men came running--men affrighted and dazed with
+sleep, a pushing, jostling, unordered throng, and the air hummed with
+the babel of their voices.
+
+And now at last--up sprang Beltane, his mittened hand aloft.
+
+"Arise!" he cried, "Arise and smite for Pentavalon!" And from the gloom
+behind him a hoarse roar went up: "Arise! Arise--Pentavalon!" Then,
+while yet the war-cry thundered in the air, they swept down on that
+disordered press, and the bailey rang and echoed with the fell sounds
+of a close-locked, reeling battle; a hateful din of hoarse shouting, of
+shrieks and cries and clashing steel.
+
+Axe and spear, sword and pike and gisarm smote and thrust and swayed;
+stumbling feet spurned and trampled yielding forms that writhed,
+groaning, beneath the press; faces glared at faces haggard with the
+dawn, while to and fro, through swirling mist and acrid smoke, the
+battle rocked and swayed. But now the press thinned out, broke and
+yielded before Beltane's whirling axe, and turning, he found Roger
+beside him all a-sweat and direfully besplashed, his mailed breast
+heaving as he leaned gasping upon a broadsword red from point to hilt.
+
+"Ha, master!" he panted,--"'tis done already--see, they break and fly!"
+
+"On!" cried Beltane, "on--pursue! pursue! after them to the gate!"
+
+With axe and spear, with sword and pike and gisarm they smote the
+fugitives across the wide space of the outer bailey, under the narrow
+arch of the gate-house and out upon the drawbridge beyond. But here, of
+a sudden, the fugitives checked their flight as out from the barbican
+Walkyn leapt, brandishing his axe, and with the fifty at his back. So
+there, upon the bridge, the fight raged fiercer than before; men smote
+and died, until of Sir Pertolepe's garrison there none remained save
+they that littered that narrow causeway.
+
+"Now by the good Saint Giles--my patron saint," gasped Giles, wiping
+the sweat from him, "here was a good and sweet affray, tall brother--a
+very proper fight, _pugnus et calcibus_--while it lasted--"
+
+"Aye," growled Walkyn, spurning a smitten wretch down into the moat,
+"'twas ended too soon! Be these all in faith, lord?"
+
+But now upon the air rose shrill cries and piercing screams that seemed
+to split the dawn.
+
+"O--women!" cried Giles, and forthwith cleansed and sheathed his sword
+and fell to twirling his beard.
+
+"Aha, the women!" cried a ragged fellow, turning about, "'tis their
+turn--let us to the women--" But a strong hand caught and set him aside
+and Beltane strode on before them all, treading swift and light until
+he was come to the chapel that stood beside the banqueting hall. And
+here he beheld many women, young and fair for the most part, huddled
+about the high altar or struggling in the ragged arms that grasped
+them. Now did they (these poor souls) looking up, behold one in
+knightly mail stained and foul with battle, yet very young and comely
+of face, who leaned him upon a mighty, blood-stained axe and scowled
+'neath frowning brows. Yet his frown was not for them, nor did his blue
+eyes pause at any one of them, whereat hope grew within them and with
+white hands outstretched they implored his pity.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," said he, "as men this night have ye fought in
+goodly cause. Will ye now forget your manhood and new-found honour, ye
+that did swear to me upon your swords? Come, loose me these women!"
+
+"Not so," cried one, a great, red-headed rogue, "we have fought to
+pleasure thee--now is our turn--"
+
+"Loose me these women!" cried Beltane, his blue eyes fierce.
+
+"Nay, these be our booty, and no man shall gainsay us. How think ye,
+comrades?"
+
+Now Beltane smiled upon this red-haired knave and, smiling, drew a slow
+pace nearer, the great axe a-swing in his mailed hand.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, kind-voiced, "get thee out now, lest I slay thee!"
+Awhile the fellow glared upon Beltane, beheld his smiling look and
+deadly eye, and slowly loosing his trembling captive, turned and strode
+out, muttering as he went. Then spake Beltane to the shrinking women,
+yet even so his blue eyes looked upon none of them. Quoth he:
+
+"Ye are free to go whither ye will. Take what ye will, none shall
+gainsay you, but get you gone within this hour, for in the hour
+Garthlaxton shall be no more."
+
+Then beckoning Walkyn he bade him choose six men, and turning to the
+women--
+
+"These honourable men shall bring you safe upon your way--haste you to
+be gone. And should any ask how Garthlaxton fell, say, 'twas by the
+hand of God, as a sure and certain sign that Pentavalon shall yet arise
+to smite evil from her borders. Say also that he that spake you this
+was one Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore Duke of
+Pentavalon." Thus said Beltane unto these women, his brows knit, and
+with eyes that looked aside from each and every, and so went forth of
+the chapel.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+
+Morning, young and fragrant, bedecked and brave with gems of dewy fire;
+a blithe morning, wherein trees stirred whispering and new-waked birds
+piped joyous welcome to the sun, whose level, far-flung beams filled
+the world with glory save where, far to the south, a pillar of smoke
+rose upon the stilly air, huge, awful, and black as sin--a writhing
+column shot with flame that went up high as heaven.
+
+  "O merry, aye merry, right merry I'll be,
+   To live and to love 'neath the merry green tree,
+   Nor the rain, nor the sleet,
+   Nor the cold, nor the heat,
+   I'll mind, if my love will come thither to me."
+
+Sang Giles, a sprig of wild flowers a-dance in his new-gotten,
+gleaming bascinet, his long-bow upon his mailed shoulder, and, strapped
+to his wide back, a misshapen bundle that clinked melodiously with
+every swinging stride; and, while he sang, the ragged rogues about him
+ceased their noise and ribaldry to hearken in delight, and when he
+paused, cried out amain for more. Whereupon Giles, nothing loth, brake
+forth afresh:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss,
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?
+   'Tis when the day is new begun,
+   'Tis to the setting of the sun,
+   Is time for kissing ever done?
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"
+
+Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the
+many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood
+aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at
+Garthlaxton Keep.
+
+Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger
+paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word
+betwixt them.
+
+"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe
+a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton
+aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart
+of many a sorry wretch, methinks."
+
+"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with
+hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--God
+forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many
+shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless
+children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"
+
+"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So,
+Garthlaxton--smoke!"
+
+"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carcass
+smoked with thee!"
+
+"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "hell-fire shall
+have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So
+away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced
+throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our
+youthful, god-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is
+bright--"
+
+"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but
+a Fool!"
+
+"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall
+brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh,
+methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully
+touched his arm with tentative fingers.
+
+"Why, the torment is apt to change a man," said Walkyn, grim-smiling.
+"I have tried it and I know."
+
+Now hereupon Giles fell to whistling, Walkyn to silence and Roger to
+scowling; oft looking back, jealous-eyed, to where Beltane rode a black
+war-horse, his mail-coif thrown back, his chin upon his breast, his
+eyes gloomy and wistful; and as often as he looked, Roger sighed amain.
+Whereat at last the archer cried:
+
+"Good lack, Roger, and wherefore puff ye so? Why glower ye, man, and
+snort?"
+
+"Snort thyself!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, I had rather talk."
+
+"I had rather be silent."
+
+"Excellent, Roger; so will I talk for thee and me. First will I show
+three excellent reasons for happiness--_videlicit:_ the birds sing, I
+talk, and Garthlaxton burns.--"
+
+"I would thou did'st burn with it," growled Roger. "But here is a deed
+shall live when thou and I are dust, archer!"
+
+"Verily, good Roger, for here and now will I make a song on't for souls
+unborn to sing--a good song with a lilt to trip it lightly on the
+tongue, as thus:
+
+  "How Beltane burned Garthlaxton low
+   With lusty Giles, whose good yew bow
+   Sped many a caitiff rogue, I trow,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How!" exclaimed Roger, "here be two whole lines to thy knavish self
+and but one to our master?"
+
+"Aye," grumbled Walkyn, "and what of Roger?--what of me?--we were
+there also, methinks?"
+
+"Nay, show patience," said Giles, "we will amend that in the next
+triplet, thus:
+
+  "There Roger fought, and Walkyn too,
+   And Giles that bare the bow of yew;
+   O swift and strong his arrows flew,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How think ye of that, now?"
+
+"I think, here is too much Giles," said Roger.
+
+"Forsooth, and say ye so indeed? Let us then to another verse:
+
+  "Walkyn a mighty axe did sway,
+   Black Roger's sword some few did slay,
+   Yet Giles slew many more than they,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair--and the
+lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?"
+
+"I think it a lie!" growled Roger.
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the archer, "thou'rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty
+belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue. Yet for thy behoof my song shall
+be ended, thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"_Par Dex!_" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled
+forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for
+thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap--so come, rejoice,
+my rueful Rogerkin--smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is
+ablaze."
+
+"And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty
+and two good men slain."
+
+"Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our
+youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall
+better love a live one--and thou wert ever a fool, Roger--so born and
+so bred. As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall
+divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of
+solace. Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty
+toys--you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here. As, item:
+a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems--
+a pretty piece! Item: a golden girdle from the East--very sweet and
+rare. Item: four silver candlesticks--heavy, Roger! Item: a gold hilted
+dagger--a notable trinket. Item--"
+
+A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside
+the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues
+appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was
+filled with fierce shouts and cries.
+
+"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with
+the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"
+
+"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for
+your devils or demons!"
+
+Quoth the archer:
+
+"_In nomen Dominum_--Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"
+
+"Foul daughter of an accursed dam!" quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a
+cross in the dust with his bow-stave.
+
+"With the eyes of an angel!" said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a
+maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a
+ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her
+ripe young beauty.
+
+"'Tis Mellent!" cried the fellow. "'Tis the witch's daughter that hath
+escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft--"
+
+"Nay--nay," panted the maid 'twixt pallid lips, "nought am I but a poor
+maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother. Ah, show pity--"
+
+"Witch!" roared a score of voices, "Witch!"
+
+"Not so, in sooth--in very sooth," she gasped 'twixt sobs of terror,
+"nought but a poor maid am I--and the man thrice sought me out and
+would have shamed me but that I escaped, for that I am very swift of
+foot--"
+
+"She lured me into the bog with devil-fires!" cried Gurth.
+
+"And would thou had'st rotted there!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, edging
+nearer. Now hereupon the maid turned and looked at Giles through the
+silken curtain of her black and glossy hair, and beholding the entreaty
+of that look, the virginal purity of those wide blue eyes, the archer
+stood awed and silent, his comely face grew red, grew pale--then, out
+flashed his dagger and he crouched to spring on Gurth; but, of a
+sudden, Beltane rode in between, at whose coming a shout went up and
+thereafter a silence fell. But now at sight of Beltane, the witch-maid
+uttered a strange cry, and shrinking beneath his look, crouched upon
+her knees and spake in strange, hushed accents.
+
+"Messire," she whispered, "mine eyes do tell me thou art the lord
+Beltane!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so."
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "now glory be and thanks to God that I do see thee
+hale and well!" So saying, she shivered and covered her face. Now while
+Beltane yet stared, amazed by her saying, the bushes parted near by and
+a hooded figure stepped forth silent and soft of foot, at sight of whom
+all men gave back a pace, and Roger, trembling, drew a second cross in
+the dust with his bow-stave, what time a shout went up:
+
+"Ha!--the Witch--'tis the witch of Hangstone Waste herself!"
+
+Very still she stood, looking round upon them all with eyes that
+glittered 'neath the shadow of her hood; and when at last she spake,
+her voice was rich and sweet to hear.
+
+"Liar!" she said, and pointed at Gurth a long, white finger, "unhand
+her, liar, lest thou wither, flesh and bone, body and soul!" Now here,
+once again, men gave back cowering 'neath her glance, while Roger
+crossed himself devoutly.
+
+"The evil eye!" he muttered 'twixt chattering teeth, "cross thy
+fingers, Giles, lest she blast thee!" But Gurth shook his head and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "do ye forget? No witch hath power i' the sun! She
+can work no evil i' the sunshine. Seize her!--'tis an accursed hag--
+seize her! Bring her to the water and see an she can swim with a stone
+at her hag's neck. All witches are powerless by day. See, thus I spit
+upon and defy her!"
+
+Now hereupon a roar of anger went up and, for that they had feared her
+before, so now grew they more fierce; a score of eager hands dragged at
+her, hands that rent her cloak, that grasped with cruel fingers at her
+long grey hair, bending her this way and that; but she uttered no groan
+nor complaint, only the maid cried aloud most pitiful to hear, whereat
+Giles, dagger in hand, pushed and strove to come at Gurth. Then Beltane
+alighted from his horse and parting the throng with mailed hands, stood
+within the circle and looking round upon them laughed, and his laugh
+was harsh and bitter.
+
+"Forsooth, and must ye war with helpless women, O men of Pentavalon?"
+quoth he, and laughed again right scornfully; whereat those that held
+the witch relaxed their hold and fain would justify themselves.
+
+"She is a witch--a cursed witch!" they cried.
+
+"She is a woman," says Beltane.
+
+"Aye--a devil-woman--a notable witch--we know her of old!"
+
+"Verily," cried one, "'tis but a sennight since she plagued me with
+aching teeth--"
+
+"And me with an ague!" cried another.
+
+"She bewitched my shafts that they all flew wide o' the mark!" cried a
+third.
+
+"She cast on me a spell whereby I nigh did perish i' the fen--"
+
+"She is a hag--she's demon-rid and shall to the fire!" they shouted
+amain. "Ha!--witch!--witch!"
+
+"That doeth no man harm by day," said Beltane, "so by day shall no man
+harm her--"
+
+"Aye, lord," quoth Roger, "but how by night? 'tis by night she may work
+her spells and blast any that she will, or haunt them with goblins
+damned that they do run mad, or--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane frowning, "on me let her bewitchments fall;
+thus, see you, an I within this next week wither and languish 'neath
+her spells, then let her burn an ye will: but until this flesh doth
+shrivel on these my bones, no man shall do her hurt. So now let there
+be an end--free these women, let your ranks be ordered, and march--"
+
+"Comrades all!" cried red-haired Gurth, "will ye be slaves henceforth
+to this girl-faced youth? We have arms now and rich booty. Let us back
+to the merry greenwood, where all men are equal--come, let us be gone,
+and take these witches with us to our sport--"
+
+But in this moment Beltane turned.
+
+"Girl-faced, quotha?" he cried; and beholding his look, Gurth of a
+sudden loosed the swooning maid and, drawing sword, leapt and smote at
+Beltane's golden head; but Beltane caught the blow in his mailed hand,
+and snapped the blade in sunder, and, seizing Gurth about the loins,
+whirled him high in air; then, while all men blenched and held their
+breath waiting the thud of his broken body in the dust, Beltane stayed
+and set him down upon his feet. And lo! Gurth's cheek was pale, his eye
+wide and vacant, and his soul sat numbed within him. So Beltane took
+him by the throat, and, laughing fierce, shook him to and fro.
+
+"Beast!" said he, "unfit art thou to march with these my comrades. Now
+therefore do I cast thee out. Take thy life and go, and let any follow
+thee that will--Pentavalon needeth not thy kind. Get thee from among
+us, empty-handed as I found thee--thy share of treasure shall go to
+better men!"
+
+Now even as Beltane spake, Gurth's red head sank until his face was
+hidden within his hands; strong hands, that slowly clenched themselves
+into anger-trembling fists. And ever as Beltane spake, the witch,
+tossing back her long grey hair, looked and looked on him with bright
+and eager eyes; a wondering look, quick to note his shape and goodly
+size, his wide blue eyes, his long and golden hair and the proud, high
+carriage of his head: and slowly, to her wonderment came awe and
+growing joy. But Beltane spake on unheeding:
+
+"Thou dost know me for a hunted man with a price upon my head, but thou
+art thing so poor thy death can pleasure no man. So take thy life and
+get thee hence, but come not again, for in that same hour will I hang
+thee in a halter--go!" So, with drooping head, Gurth of the red hair
+turned him about, and plunging into the green, was gone; then Beltane
+looked awhile upon the others that stood shifting on their feet, and
+with never a word betwixt them.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "mighty deeds do lie before us--such works as
+only true men may achieve. And what is a man? A man, methinks, is he,
+that, when he speaketh, speaketh ever from his heart; that, being quick
+to hate all evil actions, is quicker to forgive, and who, fearing
+neither ghost nor devil, spells nor witchcraft, dreadeth only
+dishonour, and thus, living without fear, he without fear may die. So
+now God send we all be men, my brothers. To your files there--pikes to
+the front and rear, bows to the flanks--forward!"
+
+But now, as with a ring and clash and tramp of feet the ragged company
+fell into rank and order, the witch-woman came swiftly beside Beltane
+and, touching him not, spake softly in his ear.
+
+"Beltane--Beltane, lord Duke of Pentavalon!" Now hereupon Beltane
+started, and turning, looked upon her grave-eyed.
+
+"What would ye, woman?" he questioned.
+
+"Born wert thou of a mother chaste as fair, true wife unto the Duke thy
+father--a woman sweet and holy who liveth but to the good of others:
+yet was brother slain by brother, and thou baptised in blood ere now!"
+
+"Woman," quoth he, his strong hands a-tremble, "who art thou--what
+knowest thou of my--mother? Speak!"
+
+"Not here, my lord--but, an thou would'st learn more, come unto
+Hangstone Waste at the full o' the moon, stand you where the death-stone
+stands, that some do call the White Morte-stone. There shalt thou
+learn many things, perchance. Thou hast this day saved a witch from
+cruel death and a lowly beggar-maid from shame. A witch! A beggar-maid!
+The times be out a joint, methinks. Yet, witch and beggar, do we thank
+thee, lord Duke. Fare thee well--until the full o' the moon!" So spake
+she, and clasping the young maid within her arm they passed into the
+brush and so were gone.
+
+Now while Beltane stood yet pondering her words, came Roger to his
+side, to touch him humbly on the arm.
+
+"Lord," said he, "be not beguiled by yon foul witches' arts: go not to
+Hangstone Waste lest she be-devil thee with goblins or transform thee
+to a loathly toad. Thou wilt not go, master?"
+
+"At the full o' the moon, Roger!"
+
+"Why then," muttered Roger gulping, and clenching trembling hands, "we
+must needs be plague-smitten, blasted and everlastingly damned, for
+needs must I go with thee."
+
+Very soon pike and bow and gisarm fell into array; the pack-horses
+stumbled forward, the dust rose upon the warm, still air. Now as they
+strode along with ring and clash and the sound of voice and laughter,
+came Giles to walk at Beltane's stirrup; and oft he glanced back along
+the way and oft he sighed, a thing most rare in him; at last he spake,
+and dolefully:
+
+"Witchcraft is forsooth a deadly sin, tall brother?"
+
+"Verily, Giles, yet there be worse, methinks."
+
+"Worse! Ha, 'tis true, 'tis very true!" nodded the archer. "And then,
+forsooth, shall the mother's sin cleave unto the daughter--and she so
+wondrous fair? The saints forbid." Now hereupon the archer's gloom was
+lifted and he strode along singing softly 'neath his breath; yet, in a
+while he frowned, sudden and fierce: "As for that foul knave Gurth--ha,
+methinks I had been wiser to slit his roguish weasand, for 'tis in my
+mind he may live to discover our hiding place to our foes, and
+perchance bring down Red Pertolepe to Hundleby Fen."
+
+"In truth," said Beltane, slow and thoughtful, "so do I think; 'twas
+for this I spared his life."
+
+Now here Giles the Archer turned and stared upon Beltane with jaws
+agape, and fain he would have questioned further, but Beltane's gloomy
+brow forbade; yet oft he looked askance at that golden head, and oft he
+sighed and shook his own, what time they marched out of the golden
+glare of morning into the dense green depths of the forest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+
+Now at this time the fame of Beltane's doing went throughout the Duchy,
+insomuch that divers and many were they that sought him out within the
+green; masterless men, serfs new-broke from thraldom, desperate fellows
+beyond the law, thieves and rogues in dire jeopardy of life or limb:
+off-scourings, these, of camp and town and village, hither come seeking
+shelter with Beltane in the wild wood, and eager for his service.
+
+In very truth, a turbulent company this, prone to swift quarrel and
+deadly brawl; but, at these times, fiercer than any was Walkyn o' the
+Axe, grimmer than any was Roger the Black, whereas Giles was quick as
+his tongue and Eric calm and resolute: four mighty men were these, but
+mightier than all was Beltane. Wherefore at this time Beltane set
+himself to bring order from chaos and to teach these wild men the
+virtues of obedience; but here indeed was a hard matter, for these were
+lawless men and very fierce withal. But upon a morning, ere the sun had
+chased the rosy mists into marsh and fen, Beltane strode forth from the
+cave wherein he slept, and lifting the hunting horn he bare about his
+neck, sounded it fierce and shrill. Whereon rose a sudden uproar, and
+out from their caves, from sleeping-places hollowed within the rocks,
+stumbled his ragged following--an unordered rabblement, half-naked,
+unarmed, that ran hither and thither, shouting and rubbing sleep from
+their eyes, or stared fearfully upon the dawn. Anon Beltane sounded
+again, whereat they, beholding him, came thronging about him and
+questioned him eagerly on all sides, as thus:
+
+"Master, are we attacked forsooth?"
+
+"Is the Red Pertolepe upon us?"
+
+"Lord, what shall we do--?"
+
+"Lead us, master--lead us!"
+
+Then, looking upon their wild disorder, Beltane laughed for scorn:--
+
+"Rats!" quoth he, "O rats--is it thus ye throng to the slaughter, then?
+Were I in sooth Red Pertolepe with but a score at my back I had slain
+ye all ere sun-up! Where be your out-posts--where be your sentinels?
+Are ye so eager to kick within a hangman's noose?"
+
+Now hereupon divers growled or muttered threateningly, while others,
+yawning, would have turned them back to sleep; but striding among them,
+Beltane stayed them with voice and hand--and voice was scornful and
+hand was heavy: moreover, beside him stood Roger and Giles, with Walkyn
+and Eric of the wry neck.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "for that Pentavalon doth need men, so now must I
+teach ye other ways. Fall to your ranks there--ha! scowl and ye will
+but use well your ears--mark me, now. But two nights ago we burned
+down my lord Duke's great castle of Garthlaxton: think you my lord Duke
+will not seek vengeance dire upon these our bodies therefore? Think ye
+the Red Pertolepe will not be eager for our blood? But yest're'en, when
+I might have slain yon knavish Gurth, I suffered him to go--and
+wherefore? For that Gurth, being at heart a traitor and rogue ingrain,
+might straightway his him to the Duke at Barham Broom with offers to
+guide his powers hither. But when they be come, his chivalry and heavy
+armed foot here within the green, then will we fire the woods about
+them and from every point of vantage beset them with our arrows--"
+
+"Ha! Bows--bows!" cried Giles, tossing up his bow-stave and catching
+it featly--"Oho! tall brother--fair lord Duke, here is a sweet and
+notable counsel. Ha, bows! Hey for bows and bills i' the merry
+greenwood!"
+
+"So, perceive me," quoth Beltane, "thus shall the hunters peradventure
+become the hunted, for, an Duke Ivo come, 'tis like enough he ne'er
+shall win free of our ring of fire." Now from these long and ragged
+ranks a buzz arose that swelled and swelled to a fierce shout.
+
+"The fire!" they cried. "Ha, to burn them i' the fire!"
+
+"But so to do," quoth Beltane, "rats must become wolves. Valiant men ye
+are I know, yet are ye but a poor unordered rabblement, mete for
+slaughter. So now will I teach ye, how here within the wild-wood we may
+withstand Black Ivo and all his powers. Giles, bring now the book of
+clean parchment I took from Garthlaxton, together with pens and ink-horn,
+and it shall be henceforth a record of us every one, our names, our
+number, and the good or ill we each one do achieve."
+
+So there and then, while the sun rose high and higher and the mists of
+dawn thinned and vanished, phantom-like, the record was begun. Two
+hundred and twenty and four they mustered, and the name of each and
+every Giles duly wrote down within the book in right fair and clerkly
+hand. Thereafter Beltane numbered them into four companies; over the
+first company he set Walkyn, over the second Giles, over the third
+Roger, and over the fourth Eric of the wry neck. Moreover he caused to
+be brought all the armour they had won, and ordered that all men should
+henceforth go armed from head to foot, yet many there were that needs
+must go short awhile.
+
+Now he ordained these four companies should keep watch and watch day
+and night with sentinels and outposts in the green; and when they
+murmured at this he stared them into silence.
+
+"Fools!" said he, "an ye would lie secure, so must ye watch constantly
+against surprise. And furthermore shall ye exercise daily now, at the
+spoke command, to address your pikes 'gainst charge of horse or foot,
+and to that company adjudged the best and stoutest will I, each week,
+give store of money from my share of booty. So now, Walkyn, summon ye
+your company and get to your ward."
+
+Thus it was that slowly out of chaos came order, yet it came not
+unopposed, for many and divers were they that growled against this new
+order of things; but Beltane's hand was swift and heavy, moreover,
+remembering how he had dealt with Tostig, they growled amain but hasted
+to obey. So, in place of idleness was work, and instead of quarrel and
+riot was peace among the wild men and a growing content. Insomuch that
+upon a certain balmy eve, Giles the Archer, lolling beside the fire
+looking upon Black Roger, who sat beside him furbishing his mail-shirt,
+spake his mind on this wise:
+
+"Mark ye these lamb-like wolves of ours, sweet Roger? There hath been
+no blood-letting betwixt them these four days, and scarce a quarrel."
+
+ROGER. "Aye, this comes of my lord. My master hath a wondrous tongue,
+Giles."
+
+GILES. "My brother-in-arms hath a wondrous strong fist, Rogerkin--"
+
+ROGER. "Thy brother-in-arms, archer? Thine, forsooth! Ha!"
+
+GILES. "Snort not, my gentle Roger, for I fell in company with him ere
+he knew aught of thee--so thy snort availeth nothing, my Rogerkin.
+Howbeit, our snarling wolves do live like tender lambs these days, the
+which doth but go to prove how blessed a thing is a fist--a fist, mark
+you, strong to strike, big to buffet, and swift to smite: a capable
+fist, Roger, to strike, buffet and smite a man to the good of his
+soul."
+
+ROGER. "In sooth my master is a noble knight, ne'er shall we see his
+equal. And yet, Giles, methinks he doth mope and grieve these days. He
+groweth pale-cheeked and careworn, harsh of speech and swift to anger.
+Behold him now!" and Roger pointed to where Beltane sat apart (as was
+become his wont of late) his axe betwixt his knees, square chin propped
+upon clenched fist, scowling into the fire that burned before his
+sleeping-cave.
+
+"Whence cometh the so great change in him, think you, Giles?"
+
+"For that, while I am I and he is himself, thou art but what thou art,
+my Rogerkin--well enough after thy fashion, mayhap, but after all
+thou art only thyself."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, "and what of thee, archer?"
+
+"I am his brother-in-arms, Rogerkin, and so know him therefore as a
+wondrous lord, a noble knight, a goodly youth and a sweet lad. Some
+day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and
+will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time. A
+notable ballade, something on this wise:--
+
+  "Of gentle Beltane I will tell,
+   A knight who did all knights excel,
+   Who loved of all men here below
+   His faithful Giles that bare the bow;
+   For Giles full strong and straight could shoot,
+   A goodly man was Giles to boot.
+
+   A lusty fighter sure was Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles.
+   And Giles was handsome, Giles was young,
+   And Giles he had a merry--"
+
+"How now, Roger, man--wherefore interrupt me?"
+
+"For that there be too many of Giles hereabouts, and one Giles talketh
+enough for twenty. So will I to Walkyn that seldom talketh enough for
+one."
+
+So saying Roger arose, donned his shirt of mail and, buckling his sword
+about him, strode incontinent away.
+
+And in a while Beltane arose also, and climbing one of the many
+precipitous paths, answered the challenge of sentinel and outpost and
+went on slow-footed as one heavy in thought, yet with eyes quick to
+heed how thick was the underbrush hereabouts with dead wood and bracken
+apt to firing. Before him rose an upland crowned by a belt of mighty
+forest trees and beyond, a road, or rather track, that dipped and wound
+away into the haze of evening. Presently, as he walked beneath this
+leafy twilight, he heard the luring sound of running water, and turning
+thither, laid him down where was a small and placid pool, for he was
+athirst. But as he stooped to drink, he started, and thereafter hung
+above this pellucid mirror staring down at the face that stared up at
+him with eyes agleam 'neath lowering brows, above whose close-knit
+gloom a lock of hair gleamed snow-white amid the yellow. Long stayed he
+thus, to mark the fierce curve of nostril, the square grimness of jaw
+and chin, and the lips that met in a harsh line, down-trending and
+relentless. And gazing thus upon his image, he spake beneath his
+breath:
+
+"O lady! O wilful Helen! thy soft white hand hath set its mark upon me;
+the love-sick youth is grown a man, meseemeth. Well, so be it!" Thus
+saying, he laughed harshly and stooping, drank his fill.
+
+Now as he yet lay beside the brook hearkening to its pretty babel, he
+was aware of another sound drawing nearer--the slow plodding of a
+horse's hoofs upon the road below; and glancing whence it came he
+beheld a solitary knight whose mail gleamed 'neath a rich surcoat and
+whose shield flamed red with sunset. While Beltane yet watched this
+solitary rider, behold two figures that crouched in the underbrush
+growing beside the way; stealthy figures, that flitted from tree to
+tree and bush to bush, keeping pace with the slow-riding horseman; and
+as they came nearer, Beltane saw that these men who crouched and stole
+so swift and purposeful were Walkyn and Black Roger. Near and nearer
+they drew, the trackers and the tracked, till they were come to a place
+where the underbrush fell away and cover there was none: and here,
+very suddenly, forth leapt Roger with Walkyn at his heels; up reared
+the startled horse, and thereafter the knight was dragged from his
+saddle and Walkyn's terrible axe swung aloft for the blow, but Black
+Roger turned and caught Walkyn's arm and so they strove together
+furiously, what time the knight lay out-stretched upon the ling and
+stirred not.
+
+"Ha! Fool!" raged Walkyn, "loose my arm--what would ye?"
+
+"Shalt not slay him," cried Roger, "'tis a notch--'tis a notch from my
+accursed belt--shalt not slay him, I tell thee!"
+
+"Now out upon thee for a mad knave!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Knave thyself!" roared Black Roger, and so they wrestled fiercely
+together; but, little by little, Walkyn's size and bull strength began
+to tell, whereupon back sprang nimble Roger, and as Walkyn's axe
+gleamed, so gleamed Roger's sword. But now as they circled warily about
+each other, seeking an opening for blow or thrust, there came a rush of
+feet, and Beltane leapt betwixt them, and bestriding the fallen knight,
+fronted them in black and bitter anger.
+
+"Ha, rogues!" he cried, "art become thieves and murderers so soon,
+then? Would'st shed each other's blood for lust of booty like any other
+lawless knaves, forsooth? Shame--O shame on ye both!"
+
+So saying, he stooped, and lifting the unconscious knight, flung him
+across his shoulder and strode off, leaving the twain to stare upon
+each other shame-faced.
+
+Scowling and fierce-eyed Beltane descended into the hollow, whereupon
+up sprang Giles with divers others and would have looked upon and aided
+with the captive; but beholding Beltane's frown they stayed their
+questions and stood from his path. So came he to a certain cave
+hollowed within the hill-side--one of many such--but the rough walls of
+this cave Black Roger had adorned with a rich arras, and had prepared
+also a bed of costly furs; here Beltane laid the captive, and sitting
+within the mouth of the cave--beyond which a fire burned--fell to
+scowling at the flame. And presently as he sat thus came Roger and
+Walkyn, who fain would have made their peace, but Beltane fiercely bade
+them to begone.
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard
+by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would
+have slain him--"
+
+"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour,
+since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut
+from my belt another accursed notch--"
+
+"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live,
+this our refuge is secret no longer."
+
+"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but
+murderers and thieving knaves--"
+
+"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would
+but have borrowed--"
+
+"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!"
+Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger
+went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into
+the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the
+gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at
+sound whereof he started and turned him about.
+
+"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."
+
+"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways
+of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."
+
+Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of
+the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing,
+shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.
+Whereat spake Beltane in amaze:
+
+"How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"
+
+"Not so--ah, God! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"
+
+"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee
+so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle
+knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot
+and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves
+upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that
+trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth
+until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much
+I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."
+
+Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice
+his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood
+upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while.
+Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich
+surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin,
+showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little
+smooth-skinned and pale.
+
+"Sir knight," said Beltane, "free art thou to go hence, nor shall any
+stay or spoil thee. Yet first, hear this: thou art perchance some
+roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair
+lady. O folly! choose you something more worthy--a horse is a noble
+beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful. But see you, a woman's love is
+a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty. Give not
+thine heart into a woman's hand lest she tear it in her soft, white
+fingers: set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she tread
+it into the shameful mire. So fare thee well, sir knight. God go with
+thee and keep thee ever from the love of woman!"
+
+So saying Beltane rose, and lifting the bugle-horn he wore, sounded it;
+whereon came all and sundry, running and with weapons brandished--but
+Roger first of all.
+
+To all of whom Beltane spake thus:
+
+"Behold here this gentle knight our guest is for the nonce--entreat him
+courteously therefore; give him all that he doth lack and thereafter
+set him upon his way--"
+
+But hereupon divers cast evil looks upon the knight, murmuring among
+themselves--and loudest of all Walkyn.
+
+"He knoweth the secret of our hiding-place!"
+
+"'Tis said he knoweth the causeway through the fen!"
+
+"He will betray us!"
+
+"Dogs!" said Beltane, clenching his hands, "will ye defy me then? I say
+this knight shall go hence and none withstand him. Make way, then--or
+must I?" But now spake the youthful knight his gaze still bent upon
+the flame, nor seemed he to heed the fierce faces and eager steel that
+girt him round. "Nay, messire, for here methinks my quest is ended!"
+"Thy quest, sir knight--how so?" Then the knight turned and looked
+upon Beltane. Quoth he: "By thy size and knightly gear, by thy--thy
+yellow hair, methinks thou art Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong?"
+"Verily, 'tis so that I am called. What would you of me?" "This,
+messire." Herewith the stranger knight loosed belt and surcoat and drew
+forth a long sword whose broad blade glittered in the firelight, and
+gave its massy hilt to Beltane's grasp. And, looking upon its shining
+blade, Beltane beheld the graven legend "Resurgam." Now looking upon
+this, Beltane drew a deep, slow breath and turned upon the youthful
+knight with eyes grown suddenly fierce. Quoth he softly: "Whence had
+you this, sir knight?" "From one that liveth but for thee." "Ah!"
+said Beltane with scornful lip, "know ye such an one, in faith?" "Aye,
+messire," spake the knight, low-voiced yet eager, "one that doth
+languish for thee, that hath sent me in quest of thee bearing this thy
+sword for a sign, and to bid thee to return since without thee life is
+an emptiness, and there is none so poor, so heart-sick and woeful as
+Helen of Mortain!" "Ah--liar!" cried Beltane, and reaching out fierce
+hands crushed the speaker to his knees; but even so, the young knight
+spake on, soft-voiced and calm of eye: "Greater than thine is her love
+for thee, methinks, since 'tis changeless and abiding--Slay me an thou
+wilt, but while I live I will declare her true to thee. Whatever hath
+chanced, whate'er may chance, despite all doubts and enemies she doth
+love--love--love thee through life till death and beyond. O my lord
+Beltane--" "Liar!" spake Beltane again. But now was he seized of a
+madness, a cold rage and a deadly. "Liar!" said he, "thou art methinks
+one of her many wooers, so art thou greater fool. But Helen the
+Beautiful hath lovers a-plenty, and being what she is shall nothing
+miss thee: howbeit thou art surely liar, and surely will I slay thee!"
+So saying he swung aloft the great blade, but even so the young knight
+fronted the blow with eyes that quailed not: pale-lipped, yet smiling
+and serene; and then, or ever the stroke could fall--an arm, bronzed
+and hairy, came between, and Roger spake hoarse-voiced: "Master," he
+cried, "for that thy man am I and love thee, shalt ne'er do this till
+hast first slain me. 'Tis thus thou did'st teach me--to show mercy to
+the weak and helpless, and this is a youth, unarmed. Bethink thee,
+master--O bethink thee!" Slowly Beltane's arm sank, and looking upon
+the bright blade he let it fall upon the ling and covered his face
+within his two hands as if its glitter had blinded him. Thus did he
+stand awhile, the fetters agleam upon his wrists, and thereafter fell
+upon his knees and with his face yet hidden, spake: "Walkyn," said he,
+"O Walkyn, but a little while since I named thee 'murderer'! Yet what,
+in sooth, am I? So now do I humbly ask thy pardon. As for thee, sir
+knight, grant thy pity to one that is abased. Had I tears, now might I
+shed them, but tears are not for me. Go you therefore to--to her that
+sent thee and say that Beltane died within the dungeons of Garthlaxton.
+Say that I who speak am but a sword for the hand of God henceforth, to
+smite and stay not until wrong shall be driven hence. Say that this was
+told thee by a sorry wight who, yearning for death, must needs cherish
+life until his vow be accomplished." But as Beltane spake thus upon
+his knees, his head bowed humbly before them all, the young knight came
+near with mailed hands outstretched, yet touched him not. "Messire,"
+said he, "thou hast craved of me a boon the which I do most full and
+freely grant. But now would I beg one of thee." "'Tis thine," quoth
+Beltane, "who am I to gainsay thee?" "Messire, 'tis this; that thou
+wilt take me to serve thee, to go beside thee, sharing thy woes and
+perils henceforth." "So be it, sir knight," answered Beltane, "though
+mine shall be a hazardous service, mayhap. So, when ye will thou shalt
+be free of it." Thus saying he arose and went aside and sat him down
+in the mouth of the cave. But in a while came Roger to him, his
+sword-belt a-swing in his hand, and looked upon his gloomy face with eyes
+full troubled. And presently he spake, yet halting in his speech and
+timid: "Master," he said, "suffer me a question." "Verily," quoth
+Beltane, looking up, "as many as thou wilt, my faithful Roger."
+"Master," says Roger, twisting and turning the belt in hairy hands, "I
+would but ask thee if--if I might cut another notch from this my
+accursed belt--a notch, lord--I--the young knight--?" "You mean him
+that I would have murdered, Roger? Reach me hither thy belt." So
+Beltane took the belt and with his dagger cut thence two notches,
+whereat quoth Roger, staring: "Lord, I did but save one life--the
+young knight--" "Thou did'st save two," answered Beltane, "for had I
+slain him, Roger--O, had I slain him, then on this night should'st have
+hanged me for a murderer. Here be two notches for thee--so take back
+thy belt and go, get thee to thy rest--and, Roger--pray for one that
+tasteth death in life." So Roger took the belt, and turning softly,
+left Beltane crouched above the fire as one that is deadly cold.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+
+Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy
+elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the
+bank above. Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be
+captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid
+and rotund. A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things
+ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and
+rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat: a pilgrim-like hat,
+adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints. About his waist
+was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as
+well filled. A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who,
+though hurried along in the archer's lusty grip, smiled placidly, and
+spake him sweetly thus: "Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate--
+abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint
+Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead. Trot me
+not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a
+hell seventy times heated, and 'twould be a sad--O me! a very sad thing
+that thou should'st sniff brimstone on my account."
+
+"Why, Giles," quoth Beltane, blinking in the dawn, "what dost bring
+hither so early in the morning?"
+
+"Lord, 'tis what they call a Pardoner, that dealeth in relics, mouldy
+bones and the like, see you, whereby they do pretend to divers miracles
+and wonders--"
+
+"Verily, verily," nodded the little man placidly, "I have here in my
+wallet a twig from Moses' burning bush, with the great toe of Thomas a'
+Didymus, the thumb of the blessed Saint Alban--"
+
+"Ha, rogue!" quoth Giles, "when I was a monk we had four thumbs of the
+good Saint Alban--"
+
+"Why then, content you, fond youth," smiled the Pardoner, "my thumb is
+number one--"
+
+"Oh, tall brother," quoth Giles, "'tis an irreverent knave, that maketh
+the monk in me arise, my very toes do twitch for to kick his lewd and
+sacrilegious carcase--and, lord, he would kick wondrous soft--"
+
+"And therein, sweet and gentle lord," beamed the little buxom man,
+"therein lieth a recommendation of itself. Divers noble lords have
+kicked me very familiarly ere now, and finding me soft and tender have,
+forthwith, kicked again. I mind my lord Duke Ivo, did with his own
+Ducal foot kick me right heartily upon a time, and once did spit upon
+my cloak--I can show you the very place--and these things do breed and
+argue familiarity. Thus have I been familiar with divers noble lords--
+and there were ladies also, ladies fair and proud--O me!"
+
+"Now, by the Rood!" says Beltane, sitting up and staring, "whence had
+you this, Giles?"
+
+"My lord, 'twas found by the man Jenkyn snoring within the green,
+together with a mule--a sorry beast! a capon partly devoured, a pasty--
+well spiced! and a wine-skin--empty, alas! But for who it is, and
+whence it cometh--"
+
+"Sweet, courteous lord,--resplendent, youthful sir, I come from north
+and south, from east and west, o'er land, o'er sea, from village green
+and market-square, but lately from the holy shrine of the blessed Saint
+Amphibalus. As to who I am and what--the universal want am I, for I do
+stand for health, fleshly and spiritual. I can cure your diseases of
+the soul, mind and body. In very sooth the Pardoner of Pardoners am I,
+with pardons and indulgences but now hot from the holy fist of His
+Holiness of Rome: moreover I have a rare charm and notable cure for the
+worms, together with divers salves, electuaries, medicaments and
+nostrums from the farthest Orient. I have also store of songs and
+ballades, grave and gay. Are ye melancholic? Then I have a ditty merry
+and mirthful. Would ye weep? Here's a lamentable lay of love and
+languishment infinite sad to ease you of your tears. Are ye a sinner
+vile and damnèd? Within my wallet lie pardons galore with powerful
+indulgences whereby a man may enjoy all the cardinal sins yet shall his
+soul be accounted innocent as a babe unborn and his flesh go without
+penance. Here behold my special indulgence! The which, to him that
+buyeth it, shall remit the following sins damned and deadly--to wit:
+Lechery, perjury, adultery, wizardry. Murders, rapes, thievings and
+slanders. Then follow the lesser sins, as--"
+
+"Hold!" cried Beltane, "surely here be sins enough for any man."
+
+"Not so, potent sir: for 'tis a right sinful world and breedeth new
+sins every day, since man hath a rare invention that way. Here is a
+grievous thing, alas! yet something natural: for, since men are human,
+and human 'tis to sin, so must all men be sinners and, being sinners,
+are they therefore inevitably damned!"
+
+"Alas, for poor humanity!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Forsooth, alas indeed, messire, and likewise woe!" nodded the
+Pardoner, "for thou, my lord, thou art but human, after all."
+
+"Indeed at times, 'twould almost seem so!" nodded Beltane gravely.
+
+"And therefore," quoth the Pardoner, "and therefore, most noble, gentle
+lord, art thou most assuredly and inevitably--" The Pardoner sighed.
+
+"Damned?" said Beltane.
+
+"Damned!" sighed the Pardoner.
+
+"Along with the rest of humanity!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All men be more prone to sin when youth doth riot in their veins,"
+quoth the Pardoner, "and alas, thou art very young, messire, so do I
+tremble for thee."
+
+"Yet with each hour do I grow older!"
+
+"And behold in this hour come I, declaring to thee there is no sin so
+vile but that through me, Holy Church shall grant thee remission--at a
+price!"
+
+"A price, good Pardoner?"
+
+"Why, there be sins great and sins little. But, youthful sir, for
+thine own damnable doings, grieve not, mope not nor repine, since I,
+Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, Past Pardoner of the Holy See, will e'en now
+unloose, assoil and remit them unto thee--"
+
+"At a price!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Good my lord," spake Giles, viewing the Pardoner's plump person with a
+yearning eye, "pray thee bid me kick him hence!"
+
+"Not so, Giles, since from all things may we learn--with patience.
+Here now is one that hath travelled and seen much and should be wise--"
+
+"Forsooth, messire, I have been so accounted ere now," nodded the
+Pardoner.
+
+"Dost hear, Giles? Thus, from his wisdom I may perchance grow wiser
+than I am. So get thee back to thy duty, Giles. Begone--thy presence
+doth distract us."
+
+"Aye, base archer, begone!" nodded the Pardoner, seating himself upon
+the sward. "Thy visage dour accordeth not with deep-seated thought--
+take it hence!"
+
+"There spake wisdom, Giles, and he is a fool that disobeys. So, Giles
+--begone!"
+
+Hereupon Giles frowned upon the Pardoner, who lolling at his ease,
+snapped his fingers at Giles, whereat Giles scowled amain and scowling,
+strode away.
+
+"Now, messire," quoth the Pardoner, opening his wallet, "now in the
+matter of sinning, messire, an thou hast some pet and peculiar vice--
+some little, pretty vanity, some secret, sweet transgression--"
+
+"Nay, first," quoth Beltane, "'tis sure thou hast a tongue--"
+
+"O infallibly, messire; a sweet tongue--a tongue attuned to cunning
+phrases. God gave to women beauty, to flowers perfume, and to me--a
+tongue!"
+
+"Good Pardoner, a lonely wight am I, ignorant of the world and of its
+ways and doings. So for thy tongue will I barter base coin--what can'st
+tell me for this fair gold piece?"
+
+"That fain would I have the spending on't, noble, generous sir."
+
+"What more?"
+
+"Anything ye will, messire: for since I am the want universal and gold
+the universal need, needs must want need! And here is a rare-turned
+phrase, methinks?"
+
+"So thus do I wed need with want," nodded Beltane, tossing him the
+coin. "Come now, discourse to me of worldly things--how men do trim
+their beards these days, what sins be most i' the fashion, if Duke Ivo
+sleepeth a-nights, whether Pentavalon city standeth yet?"
+
+"Aha!" cried the Pardoner (coin safely pouched), "I can tell ye tales
+a-plenty: sly, merry tales of lovely ladies fair and gay. I can paint
+ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair--her soft,
+white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the
+languorous passion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like
+hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles,
+love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and--there amid
+the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love
+to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen
+fair, a Duchess proud--"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble
+do ye speak? Helen, forsooth--dare ye name her, O Thing?"
+
+Now before Beltane's swift and blazing anger the Pardoner's assurance
+wilted on the instant, and he cowered behind a lifted elbow.
+
+"Nay, nay, most potent lord," he stammered, "spit on me an ye will--
+spit, I do implore thee, but strike me not. Beseech thee sir, in what
+do I offend? The story runs that the proud and wilful lady is fled
+away, none know wherefore, why, nor where. I do but read the riddle
+thus: wherefore should she flee but for love, and if for love, then
+with a man, and if with a man--"
+
+"Enough of her!" quoth Beltane scowling, "woman and her wiles is of
+none account to me!"
+
+"How--how?" gasped the Pardoner, "of no account--! Woman--! But thou'rt
+youthful--of no account--! Thou'rt a man very strong and lusty--! Of no
+account, forsooth? O, Venus, hear him! Woman, forsooth! She is man's
+aim, his beginning and oft-times his end. She is the everlasting cause.
+She is man's sweetest curse and eke salvation, his slave, his very
+tyrant. Without woman strife would cease, ambition languish, Venus pine
+to skin and bone (sweet soul!) and I never sell another pardon and
+starve for lack of custom; for while women are, so will be pardoners.
+But this very week I did good trade in fair Belsaye with divers women--
+three were but ordinary indulgences for certain small marital
+transgressions; but one, a tender maid and youthful, being put to the
+torment, had denounced her father and lover--"
+
+"The torment?" quoth Beltane, starting. "The torment, say you?"
+
+"Aye, messire! Belsaye setteth a rare new fashion in torments of late.
+Howbeit, the father and lover being denounced before Sir Gui's
+tribunal, they were forthwith hanged upon my lord Gui's new gibbets--"
+
+"O--hanged?" quoth Beltane "hanged?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, by the neck as is the fashion. Now cometh this woeful
+wench to me vowing she heard their voices i' the night, and, to quiet
+these voices besought of me a pardon. But she had but two sorry silver
+pieces and pardons be costly things, and when she could get no pardon,
+she went home and that night killed herself--silly wench! Ha! my lord--
+good messire--my arm--holy saints! 'twill break!"
+
+"Killed herself--and for lack of thy pitiful, accursed pardon! Heard
+you aught else in Belsaye--speak!" and Beltane's cruel grip tightened.
+
+"Indeed--indeed that will I, good news, sweet news--O my lord, loose
+my arm!"
+
+"Thine arm, good Pardoner--thine arm? Aye, take it back, it availeth me
+nothing--take it and cherish it. To part with a pardon for but two
+silver pieces were a grave folly! So pray you forgive now my
+ungentleness and speak my thy good, sweet tidings." But hereupon, the
+Pardoner feeling his arm solicitously, held his peace and glowered
+sullenly at Beltane, who had turned and was staring away into the
+distance. So the Pardoner sulked awhile and spake not, until, seeing
+Beltane's hand creep out towards him, he forthwith fell to volubility.
+
+"'Tis told in Belsaye on right good authority that a certain vile
+knave, a lewd, seditious rogue hight Beltane that was aforetime a
+charcoal-burner and thereafter a burner of gibbets--as witness my lord
+Duke's tall, great and goodly gallows--that was beside a prison breaker
+and known traitor, hath been taken by the doughty Sir Pertolepe, lord
+Warden of the Marches, and by him very properly roasted and burned to
+death within his great Keep of Garthlaxton."
+
+"Roasted, forsooth?" said Beltane, his gaze yet afar off; "and,
+forsooth, burned to ashes; then forsooth is he surely dead?"
+
+"Aye, that is he; and his ashes scattered on a dung-hill."
+
+"A dung-hill--ha?"
+
+"He was but a charcoal-burning knave, 'tis said--a rogue base-born and
+a traitor. Now hereupon my lord, the good lord Sir Gui, my lord Duke's
+lord Seneschal of Belsaye--"
+
+"Forsooth," sighed Beltane, "here be lords a-plenty in Pentavalon!"
+
+"Hereupon the noble Sir Gui set a close watch upon the townsfolk
+whereby he apprehended divers suspected rogues, and putting them to the
+torture, found thereby proofs of their vile sedition, insomuch that
+though the women held their peace for the most part, certain men
+enduring not, did confess knowledge of a subterraneous passage 'neath
+the wall. Then did Sir Gui cause this passage to be stopped, and four
+gibbets to be set up within the market-place, and thereon at sunset
+every day did hang four men, whereto the towns folk were summoned by
+sound of tucket and drum: until upon a certain evening some six days
+since (myself standing by) came a white friar hight Friar Martin--well
+known in Belsaye, and bursting through the throng he did loud-voiced
+proclaim himself the traitor that had oped and shown the secret way
+into the dungeons unto that charcoal-rogue for whose misdeeds so many
+folk had suffered. So they took this rascal friar and scourged him and
+set him in the water-dungeons where rats do frolic, and to-night at
+sunset he dieth by slow fire as a warning to--Ah! sweet, noble, good my
+lord, what--what would ye--" for Beltane had risen and was looking down
+at the crouching Pardoner, suddenly haggard, pallid-lipped, and with
+eyes a-glare with awful menace; but now the Pardoner saw that those
+eyes looked through him and beyond--living eyes in a face of death.
+
+"Messire--messire!" quavered the Pardoner on trembling knees; but
+Beltane, as one that is deaf and blind, strode forward and over him,
+and as he went set his bugle to his lips and sounded a rallying note.
+Forthwith came men that ran towards him at speed, but now was there no
+outcry or confusion and their mail gleamed in the early sun as they
+fell into their appointed rank and company.
+
+Then Beltane set his hands unto his eyes and thereafter stared up to
+the heavens and round about upon the fair earth as one that wakes from
+a dream evil and hateful, and spake, sudden and harsh-voiced:
+
+"Now hither to me Walkyn, Giles and Roger. Ye do remember how upon a
+time we met a white friar in the green that was a son of God--they call
+him Brother Martin? Ye do remember brave Friar Martin?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we mind him!" quoth the three.
+
+"Ye will remember how that we did, within the green, aid him to bury a
+dead maid, young and fair and tender--yet done to shameful death?"
+
+"Verily master--a noble lady!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And very young!" said Roger.
+
+"And very comely, alas!" added Giles.
+
+"So now do I tell thee that, as she died--snatched out of life by
+brutal hands--so, at this hour, even as we stand idle here, other maids
+do suffer and die within Belsaye town. To-day, as we stand here, good
+Friar Martin lieth within the noisome water-dungeons where rats do
+frolic--"
+
+"Ha! the pale fox!" growled Walkyn. "Bloody Gui of Allerdale that I do
+live but to slay one day with Pertolepe the Red--"
+
+"Thou dost remember, Roger, how, within the Keep at Belsaye I sware an
+oath unto Sir Gui? So now--this very hour--must we march on Belsaye
+that this my oath may be kept." But here a murmur arose that hummed
+from rank to rank; heads were shaken and gruff voices spake on this
+wise:
+
+"Belsaye? 'Tis a long day's march to Belsaye--"
+
+"'Tis a very strong city--very strongly guarded--"
+
+"And we muster scarce two hundred--"
+
+"The walls be high and we have no ladders, or engines for battery and
+storm--"
+
+"Forsooth, and we have here much booty already--"
+
+"Ha--booty!" cried Beltane, "there spake tall Orson, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," cried another voice, loud and defiant, "and we be no soldiers,
+master, to march 'gainst walled cities; look'ee. Foresters are we, to
+live secure and free within the merry greenwood. Is't not so, good
+fellows?"
+
+"And there spake Jenkyn o' the Ford!" quoth Beltane. "Stand forth
+Orson, and Jenkyn with thee--so. Now hearken again. Within Belsaye men
+--aye, and women too! have endured the torment, Orson. To-day, at
+sundown, a noble man doth burn, Jenkyn."
+
+"Why, look'ee, master," spake Jenkyn, bold-voiced yet blenching from
+Beltane's unswerving gaze, "look'ee, good master, here is no matter for
+honest woodsmen, look'ee--"
+
+"Aye," nodded tall Orson, "'tis no matter of ours, so wherefore should
+us meddle?"
+
+"And ye have swords, I see," quoth Beltane, "and thereto hands
+wherewith to fight, yet do ye speak, forsooth, of booty, and fain would
+lie hid secure within the green? So be it! Bring forth the record,
+Giles, and strike me out the names of Orson and Jenkyn, the which,
+being shaped like men, are yet no men. Give therefore unto each his
+share of booty and let him go hence." So saying, Beltane turned and
+looked upon the close-drawn ranks that murmured and muttered no more.
+Quoth he:
+
+"Now, and there be any here among us so faint-hearted--so unworthy as
+this Orson and Jenkyn, that do hold treasure and safety above flesh and
+blood--if there be any here, who, regarding his own base body, will
+strike no blow for these distressed--why, let him now go forth of this
+our company. O men! O men of Pentavalon, do ye not hear them, these
+woeful ones--do ye not hear them crying to us from searing flame, from
+dungeon and gibbet--do ye not hear? Is there one, that, remembering the
+torments endured of groaning bodies, the dire wrongs of innocence
+shamed and trampled in the mire--lives there a man that will not
+adventure life and limb and all he doth possess that such things may be
+smitten hence and made an end of for all time? But if such there be,
+let him now stand forth with Orson here, and Jenkyn o' the Ford!"
+
+Thus spake Beltane quick and passionate and thereafter paused, waiting
+their answer; but no man spake or moved, only from their grim ranks a
+growl went up ominous and deep, and eyes grown bright and fierce glared
+upon tall Orson and Jenkyn o' the Ford, who shuffled with their feet
+and fumbled with their hands and knew not where to look.
+
+"'Tis well, 'tis well, good comrades all!" spake Beltane in a while,
+"this night, mayhap, shall we, each one, achieve great things. Go now,
+dig ye a pit and therein hide such treasure as ye will and thereafter
+arm ye at points, for in the hour we march. Eric, see each doth bear
+with him food, and Giles, look that their quivers be full."
+
+So saying, Beltane turned and coming to his sleeping-place, forthwith
+began to don his armour. And presently he was aware of Orson and Jenkyn
+standing without the cave and each with look downcast; and eke they
+fumbled with their hands and shuffled with their feet and fain were to
+speak yet found no word. But at last spake Jenkyn humbly and on this
+wise:
+
+"Master, here come I, look'ee, with Orson that is my comrade, look'ee--"
+
+"Nay, go get thee to thy 'booty'!" says Beltane, busied with his
+armour.
+
+"Nay, but look'ee master, we be--"
+
+"No men!" quoth Beltane, "thus would I be free of ye both--so get you
+hence."
+
+"But good master," spake Orson, "we do ha' changed our minds--it do be
+a direful thing to burn, and if they do ha' tormented maids--"
+
+"'Tis no matter of thine," quoth Beltane. "So go thy ways and meddle
+not."
+
+"But master, look'ee now, we be stout men, and look'ee, we be full of
+lust to fight--O master, let us go! Kneel, Orson, bend--bend thy long
+shanks, look'ee--" and forthwith on their knees fell Jenkyn and tall
+Orson with pleading eyes and eager hands outstretched.
+
+"O master, look'ee, let us go!"
+
+"Aye, we do ha' changed our minds, master!"
+
+"Then be it so!" said Beltane, "and I pray ye be ever faithful to your
+minds!" Then took they Beltane's hand to kiss and thereafter up they
+sprang and went rejoicing to their company.
+
+And, within the hour, mail and bascinet agleam, the two hundred and
+twenty and four marched forth of the hollow with step blithe and free,
+and swung away through the green till the sound of voice and laughter,
+the ring and clash of their going was died away and none remained, save
+where, cross-legged upon the sward, his open wallet on his knee, the
+round and buxom Pardoner sat to cherish a bruised arm and to stare from
+earth to heaven and from heaven to earth with eyes wider and rounder
+even than was their wont and custom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+
+Through broad glades deep-hid within the wild; by shady alleyway and
+leafy track they held their march south and by east, a close,
+well-ordered company striding long and free and waking the solitudes to
+a blithe babblement of laughing echoes. And who among them all so merry
+as Giles o' the Bow at the head of his sturdy archers? Oft trolling
+some merry stave or turning with some quip or jape upon his tongue, but
+with eyes quick to mark the rhythmic swing of broad, mail-clad
+shoulders, eyes critical, yet eyes of pride. Who so grimly eager as
+mighty Walkyn, his heavy axe lightly a-swing, his long legs schooling
+themselves to his comrade's slower time and pace? Who so utterly
+content as Black Roger, oft glancing from Beltane's figure in the van
+to the files of his pike-men, their slung shields agleam, their spears
+well sloped? And who so gloomy and thoughtful as Beltane, unmindful of
+the youthful knight who went beside him, and scarce heeding his
+soft-spoke words until his gaze by chance lighted upon the young
+knight's armour that gleamed in the sun 'neath rich surcoat; armour of
+the newest fashion of link, reinforced by plates of steel, gorget and
+breast, elbow and knee, and with cunningly jointed sollerets. Moreover,
+his shield was small and light according with the new fashion, and bare
+the blazon of two hands, tight clasped, and the legend: "Semper
+Fidelis."
+
+Now viewing all this with a smith's knowledgful eye, quick to note the
+costly excellence of this equipment, Beltane forthwith brake silence:
+
+"How do men name thee, sir knight?"
+
+Hereupon, after some delay, the young knight made answer:
+
+"Messire, the motto I bear upon my shield is a good motto methinks. So
+shalt call me Fidelis an ye will, my lord."
+
+"So be it, Sir Faithful," saying which Beltane fell to deep thought
+again.
+
+"I pray you, my lord," quoth Fidelis, "wherefore so sad, so full of
+gloom and thought?"
+
+"I seek how we may win through the gates of Belsaye, Sir Fidelis, for
+they go strongly guarded night and day; yet this day, ere sunset, ope
+to us they must. But how--how?"
+
+"My lord," spake Sir Fidelis, "I have heard say that few may go where
+many oft-times may not. Let first some two or three adventure it, hid
+'neath some close disguise--"
+
+"A disguise!" cried Beltane, "Ha--a disguise. 'Tis well bethought, good
+Fidelis. Forsooth, a disguise! And 'twill be market day!" Thereafter
+Beltane strode on, head bent in frowning thought, nor spake again for a
+space. And ever the files swung along behind in time to a marching song
+carolled blithe in the rich, sweet voice of Giles. At length Beltane
+raised his head and beholding the sun well-risen, halted his company
+beside a stream that flowed athwart their way, and sitting thereby,
+summoned to him the four--namely, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and Eric of
+the wry neck; and while they ate together, they held counsel on this
+wise:
+
+BELTANE. "How think ye of this our adventure, comrades all?"
+
+GILES. "Forsooth, as a man do I think well of it. Ho! for the twang of
+bowstrings! the whirr and whistle of well-sped shafts loosed from the
+ear! Ha! as an archer and a man 'tis an adventure that jumpeth with my
+desire. But--as a soldier, and one of much and varied experience, as
+one that hath stormed Belsaye ere now--with divers other towns, cities,
+keeps, and castles beyond number--as a soldier, I do think it but a
+gloomy business and foredoomed to failure--"
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore?"
+
+GILES. "Method, tall brother, method precise and soldier-like. War is a
+very ancient profession--an honourable profession and therefore to be
+treated with due reverence. Now, without method, war would become but a
+scurvy, sorry, hole-and-corner business, unworthy your true soldier. So
+I, a soldier, loving my profession, do stand for method in all things.
+Thus, would I attack a city, I do it _modo et forma:_ first, I set up
+my mantelets for my archers, and under cover of their swift shooting I
+set me up my mangonels, my trebuchets and balistae: then, pushing me
+up, assault the walls with cat, battering-ram and sap, and having made
+me a breach, would forthwith take me the place by sudden storm."
+
+ROGER. "Ha, bowman! here is overmuch of thee, methinks! And dost speak
+like a very archer-like fool--and forsooth, a foolish archer to boot.
+Sure, well ye know that engines for the battery have we none--"
+
+GILES. "Verily! So shall we none of Belsaye, methinks. Lacking engines,
+we lack for all--no method, no city! Remember that, dolt Rogerkin!"
+
+ROGER. "Nay, I remember Garthlaxton aflame, the gallows aflare, and the
+empty dungeon. So, an we go up 'gainst Belsaye again, shall we surely
+take it. Remember these, long-winded Giles, and being a soldier, be ye
+also--a man."
+
+BELTANE. "What think you, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. (patting his axe) "Of Gui of Allerdale, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And you, Eric?"
+
+ERIC. "That where thou dost go, messire, we follow."
+
+BELTANE. "'Tis well. Now here beside me sitteth Sir Fidelis, who though
+methinks the most youthful of us all, hath a head in council wiser than
+us all. For he hath spoke me that whereby though few in number and
+lacking engines for battery, Giles--we yet may win through the walls of
+Belsaye ere sun-down. Know you this country, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. "As my hand, lord."
+
+BELTANE. "Is there a village hereabouts?"
+
+WALKYN. "Aye, five miles west by south is Brand-le-Dene. But there is
+a mill scarce a mile down stream, I wot."
+
+BELTANE. "A mill? 'Twill serve--go ye thither. Here is money--buy
+therewith four hats and smocks the like that millers wear, and likewise
+four meal-sacks well stuffed with straw."
+
+WALKYN. (rising) "Smocks, master? Straw and meal-sacks?"
+
+BELTANE. "And haste, Walkyn. We must be far hence within the hour."
+
+Forthwith up rose Walkyn and summoning divers of his company strode
+away down stream, what time Giles, staring after him in wonderment,
+thereafter shook his head at Roger. Quoth he:
+
+"Tall brother and lord, now do I see that our Roger burneth for
+knowledge, panteth for understanding, and fain would question thee but
+that his mouth is full-crammed of meat. Yet do his bulging eyes
+supplicate the wherefore of smocks, and his goodly large ears do twitch
+for the why of sacks. O impatient Rogerkin, bolt thy food, man, gulp--
+swallow, and ask and importune my lord thyself!"
+
+"Not I--not I!" quoth Roger, "an my master lacketh for a smock or a
+sack, for me is no question of wherefore or why, so long as he doth
+get them!"
+
+"But the straw, Roger," said Giles, glancing askew at Beltane, "an thou
+should'st plague my lord with questions, how think ye then he shall
+answer of this straw?"
+
+"Thus, thou crafty Giles," answered Beltane. "Belsaye is strong, but
+strength may be, perchance, beguiled. So may a miller's smock hide a
+shirt of mail, and straw, I have heard, will burn." "Oho, a wile!"
+cried Giles, "Aha! some notable wile! What more?"
+
+"More shalt thou know, mayhap, in Belsaye market-place."
+
+And when Beltane had handled the well-worn smocks, had viewed the
+bulging meal-sacks that Walkyn and his fellows brought him, he arose.
+At his word the company fell to their ranks and forthwith swung off
+again south and by east, what time Giles carolled blithely, and divers
+chorused lustily: while Roger whistled and even grim Walkyn (bethinking
+him of Gui of Allerdale) rumbled hoarsely in his hairy throat.
+
+So the miles passed unheeded until, as the sun declined, they left the
+wild country behind; wherefore Beltane commanded all men to a strict
+silence and thus came they betimes to the edge of the woods, and
+halting within the green, beheld afar across the plain, the walls of
+fair Belsaye town.
+
+"We are well to time," quoth Beltane, glancing from sinking sun to
+lengthening shadow, "we have yet an hour to sunset, but in this hour
+much have we to do! Hark ye now!" and drawing the four about him, he
+spake them thus: "Walkyn and Roger and Eric shall into the town with me
+in miller's guise, each bearing his sack of flour, what time you,
+Giles, with Sir Fidelis and all our power bide here well hid till such
+time as ye shall see a smoke within Belsaye. And when ye see this
+smoke, rise up and make you ready one and all, yet stir not from the
+green till that ye hear my bugle-horn sound our rallying-note. Then
+come ye on amain, and being within the city, charge ye where my horn
+shall sound. How now, is't agreed?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded Giles, "'tis an excellent strategy in faith, and
+yet 'twere wiser methinks to suffer me in Roger's place: for being
+guileful in war, so should I be a very beguiling miller, whereas Roger,
+an we plastered him with flour, would ne'er be other than Rogerkin the
+Black."
+
+"Nay Giles, thy post is here. Let your bows be strung and ready, but
+set your pikes to the fore--and Giles, watch! Walkyn, bring now the
+smocks."
+
+So saying, Beltane tightened his belt, drew on his hood of mail and
+laced it close, and turning, found Sir Fidelis close by to aid him with
+the hooded smock; and Beltane wondered to see him so pale and his
+slender hands a-tremble.
+
+So the smocks were donned, with straw about their legs bound by withies
+as was the custom, and taking the sacks upon their shoulders, they
+turned aside into the green and were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+
+Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, rode hawk on fist
+at the head of divers noble knights and gentle esquires with verderers
+and falconers attendant. The dusty highway, that led across the plain
+to the frowning gates of Belsaye, was a-throng with country folk
+trudging on foot or seated in heavy carts whose clumsy wheels creaked
+and groaned city-wards; for though the sun was far declined, it was
+market-day: moreover a man was to die by the fire, and though such
+sights were a-plenty, yet 'twas seldom that any lord, seneschal,
+warden, castellan or--in fine, any potent lord dowered with right of
+pit and gallows--dared lay hand upon a son of the church, even of the
+lesser and poorer orders; but Sir Gui was a bold man and greatly
+daring. Wherefore it was that though the market-traffic was well nigh
+done, the road was yet a-swarm with folk all eager to behold and watch
+how a white friar could face death by the flame. So, on horse and
+afoot, in creaking cart and wain, they thronged toward the goodly city
+of Belsaye.
+
+Sir Gui rode at a hand-pace, and as he rode the folk drew hastily aside
+to give him way, and bent the knee full humbly or stood with bowed
+heads uncovered to watch him pass; but 'neath bristling brows, full
+many an eye glared fiercely on his richly-habited, slender figure,
+marking his quick, dark glance, the down-curving, high-bridged nose of
+him with the thin lips and the long, pointed chin below.
+
+Thus rode he, assured in his might and confident, heedless alike of
+the glory of day fast drawing into evening, of the green world whose
+every blade and leaf spake of life abundant, and of these trampling
+folk who bent so humbly at his passing, their cheeks aglow with health;
+thus, heeding but himself and his own most dear desires, how should he
+mark the four tall and dusty miller's men whose brawny backs were
+stooped each beneath its burden? And how should he, confident in his
+strength and might, hale and lusty in his body, come to think on death
+sharp and swift? Thus Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye
+town, rode upon his way, with eyes that glowed with the love of life,
+and tongue that curled 'twixt smiling lips as one that savoured its
+sweetness or meditated coming joys. Perceiving the which, two youthful
+esquires that rode near by nudged elbows, and set their heads together.
+
+"I know yon look--aha! 'tis the goldsmith's fair young wife. There have
+been lovers who loved love ere now--Pan, see you, and Jove himself they
+say: but Pan was coy, and Jove--"
+
+"Hist, he beckons us!"
+
+So came these young esquires beside Sir Gui who, tapping the dust from
+his habit with soft white hand, spake soft-voiced and sweet.
+
+"Ride on, sirs, and bid our careful warden stay awhile the execution of
+this traitorous friar. Let the square be lined with pikes as is our
+custom: let the prisoner be chained unto his stake see you, but let all
+things stay until I be come. There will be many folk in Belsaye,
+meseemeth, well--let them wait, and stare, and whisper, and--wait, till
+I be come!"
+
+Forward spurred the young esquires to do as was commanded, joyful to
+see the confusion that marked their swift career and making good play
+of their whips on the heads and shoulders of such as chanced to be
+within reach; in especial upon a mighty fellow in floured smock that
+bare a sack on his shoulder and who, stung with the blow, cried a curse
+on them in voice so harsh and bold that folk shrank from his
+neighbourhood, yet marvelled at his daring. Being come anon within the
+city Sir Gui dismounted beside the gate, and giving horse and falcon to
+an esquire, beckoned to him a grizzled man-at-arms; now as he did so, a
+tall miller passed him by, and stumbling wearily, set down his sack
+against the wall and panted.
+
+"Bare you the letter as I commanded, Rolf?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"What said she?"
+
+"Wept, my lord."
+
+"Spake she nought?"
+
+"Nought, my lord."
+
+"Lieth the goldsmith deep?"
+
+"Above the water-dungeons, my lord."
+
+"And she wept, say you? Methinks the goldsmith shall go free to-morrow!"
+
+So saying, Sir Gui went on into the city, and as he went, his smile was
+back again, and his tongue curved red betwixt his lips. And presently
+the tall miller hoisted his burden and went on into the city also;
+turned aside down a narrow passage betwixt gloomy houses, and so at
+last out into the square that hummed with a clamour hushed and
+expectant. But my lord Seneschal, unheeding ever, came unto a certain
+quiet corner of the square remote and shady, being far removed from the
+stir and bustle of the place; here he paused at an open doorway and
+turned to look back into the square, ruddy with sunset--a careless
+glance that saw the blue of sky, the heavy-timbered houses bathed in
+the warm sunset glow, the which, falling athwart the square, shone red
+upon the smock of a miller, who stooping 'neath his burden, stumbled
+across the uneven cobble-stones hard by. All this saw Sir Gui in that
+one backward glance; then, unheeding as ever, went in at the doorway
+and up the dark and narrow stair. But now it chanced that the miller,
+coming also to this door, stood a while sack on shoulder, peering up
+into the gloom within; thereafter, having set down his burden in
+stealthy fashion, he also turned and glanced back with eyes that
+glittered in the shadow of his hat: then, setting one hand within his
+smock, he went in at the door and, soft-footed began to creep up that
+dark and narrow stair. She sat in a great carven chair, her arms
+outstretched across the table before her, her face bowed low between,
+and the setting sun made a glory of her golden hair. Of a sudden she
+started, and lifting her head looked upon Sir Gui; her tears,
+slow-falling and bitter, staining the beauty of her face.
+
+"My lord--ah, no!" she panted, and started to her feet.
+
+"Dear and fair my lady--fear not. Strong am I, but very gentle--'tis
+ever my way with beauty. I do but come for my answer." And he pointed
+to a crumpled parchment that lay upon the table.
+
+"O, good my lord," she whispered, "I cannot! If thou art gentle indeed
+--then--"
+
+"He lieth above the water-dungeons, lady!" sighed Sir Gui.
+
+"Ah, the sweet Christ aid me!"
+
+"To-morrow he goeth to death, or lieth in those round, white arms.
+Lady, the choice is thine: and I pray you show pity to thy husband who
+loveth thee well, 'tis said." Now hereupon she sobbed amain and fell
+upon her knees with arms outstretched in passionate appeal--but lo! she
+spake no word, her swimming eyes oped suddenly wide, and with arms yet
+outstretched she stared and stared beyond Sir Gui in so much that he
+turned and started back amazed--to behold one clad as a dusty miller, a
+mighty man whose battered hat touched the lintel and whose great bulk
+filled the doorway--a very silent man who looked and looked with neck
+out-thrust, yet moved not and uttered no word. Hereupon Sir Gui spake
+quick and passion-choked:
+
+"Fool--fool! hence, thou blundering fool. For this shalt be flayed
+alive. Ha!--hence, thou dusty rogue!" But now this grim figure stirred,
+and lifting a great hand, spake hoarse and low:
+
+"Peace, knight! Hold thy peace and look!" The wide-eaved hat was tossed
+to the floor and Sir Gui, clenching his hands, would have spoken but
+the harsh voice drowned his words: "How, knight, thou that art Bloody
+Gui of Allerdale! Dost thou not know me, forsooth? I am Waldron, whose
+father and mother and sister ye slew. Aye, Waldron of Brand am I,
+though men do call me Walkyn o' the Dene these days. Brand was a fair
+manor, knight--a fair manor, but long since dust and ashes--ha! a merry
+blaze wherein father and mother and sister burned and screamed and
+died--in faith, a roguish blaze! Ha! d'ye blench? Dost know me,
+forsooth?"
+
+Then Sir Gui stepped back, drawing his sword; but, even so, death leapt
+at him. A woman, wailing, fled from the chamber, a chair crashed to the
+floor; came a strange, quick tapping of feet upon the floor and
+thereafter rose a cry that swelled louder to a scream--louder to a
+bubbling shriek, and dying to a groaning hiss, was gone.
+
+And, in a while, Walkyn, that had been Waldron of Brand, rose up from
+his knees, and running forth of the chamber, hasted down the dark and
+narrow stair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+
+The market-place was full of the stir and hum of jostling crowds; here
+were pale-faced townsfolk, men and women and children who, cowed by
+suffering and bitter wrong, spake little, and that little below their
+breath; here were country folk from village and farmstead near and far,
+a motley company that talked amain, loud-voiced and eager, as they
+pushed and strove to see where, in the midst of the square beyond the
+serried ranks of pike-men, a post had been set up; a massy post, grim
+and solitary, whose heavy chains and iron girdle gleamed ominous and
+red in the last rays of sunset. Near by, upon a dais, they had set up a
+chair fairly gilded, wherein Sir Gui was wont to sit and watch justice
+done upon the writhing bodies of my lord Duke's enemies. Indeed, the
+citizens of Belsaye had beheld sights many and dire of late, wherefore
+now they blenched before this stark and grisly thing and looked
+askance; but to these country folk such things were something newer,
+wherefore they pushed and strove amid the press that they might view it
+nearer--in especial two in miller's hooded smocks, tall and lusty
+fellows these, who by dint of shoulder and elbow, won forward until
+they were stayed by the file of Sir Gui's heavy-armed pikemen.
+Thereupon spake one, close in his fellow's ear:--
+
+"Where tarries Walkyn, think you?" said Beltane below his breath.
+
+"Master, I know not--he vanished in the press but now--"
+
+"And Eric?"
+
+"He watcheth our meal-sacks. Shall I not go bid him strike flint and
+steel? The time were fair, methinks?"
+
+"Not so, wait you until Sir Gui be come and seated in his chair of
+state: then haste you to bold Eric and, the sacks ablaze, shout 'fire;'
+so will I here amid the press take up the cry, and in the rush join
+with ye at the gate. Patience, Roger."
+
+And now of a sudden the throng stirred, swayed and was still; but from
+many a quivering lip a breath went up to heaven, a sigh--a whispered
+groan, as, through the shrinking populace, the prisoner was brought. A
+man of Belsaye he, a man strong and tender, whom many had loved full
+well. Half borne, half dragged betwixt his gaolers, he came on
+stumbling feet--a woeful shivering thing with languid head a-droop; a
+thing of noisome rags that told of nights and days in dungeon black and
+foul; a thing whose shrunken nakedness showed a multitude of small
+wounds, slow-bleeding, that spoke of teeth little yet vicious, bold
+with hunger in the dark; a miserable, tottering thing, haggard and
+pinched, that shivered and shook and stared upon all things with eyes
+vacant and wide.
+
+And thus it was that Beltane beheld again Friar Martin, the white friar
+that had been a man once, a strong man and a gentle. They brought him
+to the great post, they clasped him fast within the iron band and so
+left him, shivering in his chains with head a-droop. Came the sound of
+muffled weeping from the crowd, while high above, in sky deepening to
+evening, a star twinkled. Now in a while the white friar raised his
+heavy head and looked round about, and lo! his eyes were vacant no
+longer, and as folk strove to come more nigh, he spake, hoarse-voiced
+and feeble.
+
+"O children, grieve not for me, for though this body suffer a little,
+my soul doth sit serene. What though I stand in bonds, yet doth my soul
+go free. Though they burn my flesh to ashes yet doth my soul live on
+forever. So grieve not your hearts for me, my children, and, for
+yourselves, though ye be afflicted even as I--fear ye nothing--since I,
+that ye all do know for a truthful man, do tell ye 'tis none so hard to
+die if that our hearts be clean. What though ye suffer the grievous
+horror of a prison? Within the dark ye shall find God. Thus I amid the
+dreadful gloom of my deep dungeon did lie within the arms of God,
+nothing fearing. So, when the fire shall sear me, though this my flesh
+may groan, God shall reach down to me through smoke and flame and lift
+my soul beyond. O be ye therefore comforted, my children: though each
+must die, yet to the pure in heart death is none so hard--"
+
+Thus spake Friar Martin, shivering in his bonds, what time the crowd
+rocked and swayed, sobbing aloud and groaning; whereat Sir Gui's
+pikemen made lusty play with their spear-shafts.
+
+Then spake Beltane, whispering, to Roger, who, sweating with
+impatience, groaned and stared and gnawed upon his fingers:
+
+"Away, Roger!" And on the instant Roger had turned, and with brawny
+shoulders stooped, drove through the swaying press and was gone.
+
+Now with every moment the temper of the crowd grew more threatening;
+voices shouted, fists were clenched, and the scowling pike-men, plying
+vicious spear-butts, cursed, and questioned each other aloud: "Why
+tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+Hereupon a country fellow hard by took up the question:
+
+"Sir Gui!" he shouted, "Why cometh not Sir Gui?"
+
+"Aye!" cried others, "where tarries Sir Gui?" "Why doth he keep us?"
+"Where tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+"Here!" roared a voice deep and harsh, "Way--make way!" And suddenly
+high above the swaying crowd rose the head and shoulders of a man, a
+mighty man in the dusty habit of a miller, upon whose low-drawn hood
+and be-floured smock were great gouts and stains evil and dark; and
+now, beholding what manner of stains these were, all men fell silent
+and blenched from his path. Thus amid a lane of pallid faces that
+stared and shrank away, the tall miller came unto the wondering pike-men
+--burst their ranks and leapt upon the dais where stood the gilded
+chair.
+
+"Ho! soldiers and men-at-arms--good people of Belsaye--call ye for Gui
+in sooth? hunger ye for sight of Bloody Gui of Allerdale in faith? Why
+then--behold!" and from under his be-dabbled smock he drew forth a
+head, pale as to cheek and hair, whose wide eyes stared blindly as it
+dangled in his hairy hand; and now, staring up at this awful, sightless
+thing--that brow at whose frown a city had trembled, those pallid lips
+that had smiled, and smiling, doomed men and women to torment and
+death--a hush fell on Belsaye and no man spoke or stirred.
+
+Then, while all folk stood thus, rigid and at gaze, a wild cry was
+heard, shivering the stillness and smiting all hearts with sudden
+dread:--
+
+"Fire! Fire!"
+
+"Aye, fire!" roared the miller, "see yonder!" and he pointed where a
+column of thick smoke mounted slowly upon the windless air. But with
+the cry came tumult--a hurry of feet, shouts and yells and hoarse
+commands; armour clashed and pike-heads glittered, down-sweeping for
+the charge. Then Walkyn laughed, and hurling the pale head down at the
+nearest soldiery, drew from his smock his mighty axe and swung it, but
+lo! 'twixt him and the pike-men was a surging, ravening mob that
+closed, front and rear, upon knight and squire, upon pike-man and
+man-at-arms, men who leapt to grip mailed throats in naked hands, women
+who screamed and tore. And one by one, knight and squire, and man-at-arms,
+smiting, shrieking, groaning, were dragged down with merciless hands,
+to be wrenched at, torn, and trampled 'neath merciless feet, while high
+and clear above this fierce and dreadful clamour rose the shrill
+summons of a horn.
+
+And lo! a shout--a roar--drowning the shrieks of dying men, the
+screams of vengeful women, "Arise--arise--Pentavalon!" Came a rush of
+feet, a shock, and thereafter a confused din that rose and fell and,
+gradually ceasing, was lost in a sudden clamour of bells, fierce-pealing
+in wild and joyous riot.
+
+"Aha! 'tis done--'tis done!" panted Roger, stooping to cleanse his
+blade, "spite of all our lack of method, Giles--'tis done! Hark ye to
+those joy-bells! So doth fair Belsaye shout to all men she is free at
+last and clean of Gui and all his roguish garrison--"
+
+"Clean?" quoth Giles. "Clean, forsooth? Roger--O Roger man, I have
+seen men die in many and diver ungentle ways ere now, but these men--
+these men of Gui's, look--look yonder! O sweet heaven keep me ever from
+the tearing hands of vengeful mothers and women wronged!" And turning
+his back on the littered market square, Giles shivered and leaned him
+upon his sword as one that is sick.
+
+"Nay," said Black Roger, "Gui's black knaves being rent in pieces,
+Giles, we shall be saved the hanging of them--ha! there sounds my
+lord's horn, and 'tis the rallying-note--come away, Giles!"
+
+Side by side they went, oft stepping across some shapeless horror,
+until in their going they chanced on one that knelt above a child,
+small and dead. And beholding the costly fashion of this man's armour,
+Roger stooped, and wondering, touched his bowed shoulder:
+
+"Sir Fidelis," said he, "good young messire, and art thou hurt,
+forsooth?"
+
+"Hurt?" sighed Sir Fidelis, staring up great-eyed, "hurt? Nay, behold
+this sweet babe--ah, gentle Christ--so innocent--and slain! A tender
+babe! And yonder--yonder, what dire sights lie yonder--" and sighing,
+the youthful knight sank back across Black Roger's arm and so lay
+speechless and a-swoon.
+
+Quoth Roger, grim-smiling:
+
+"What, Giles, here's one that loveth woman's finger-work no more than
+thou!" Thus saying, he stooped and lifting the young knight in his
+arms, bore him across the square, stumbling now and then on things
+dim-seen in the dark, for night was at hand.
+
+So thus it was that the folk of fair Belsaye town, men and women with
+gnashing teeth and rending hands, made them an end of Tyranny, until
+with the night, there nothing remained of proud Sir Gui and all his
+lusty garrison, save shapeless blotches piled amid the gloom--and that
+which lay, forgotten quite, a cold and pallid thing, befouled with red
+and trampled mire; a thing of no account henceforth, that stared up
+with glazed and sightless eyes, where, remote within the sombre
+firmament of heaven, a great star glowed and trembled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+
+Lanthorns gleamed and torches flared in the great square of Belsaye
+where panting, shouting townsfolk thronged upon Beltane and his company
+with tears of joy, with laughter loud and high-pitched, with shouts and
+wild acclaim; many there were who knelt to kiss their sun-browned
+hands, their feet, the very links of their armour. And presently came
+Giles o' the Bow, debonair and smiling, a woman's scarf about his
+brawny throat, a dozen ribands and favours tied about each mailed arm.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "tall brother, I have been fairly kissed by full a
+score of buxom dames--the which is excellent good, for the women of
+Belsaye are of beauty renowned. But to kiss is a rare and notable
+science, and to kiss well a man should eat well, and forsooth, empty am
+I as any drum! Therefore prithee let us eat, that I may uphold my
+reputation, for, as the learned master Ovidius hath it, '_osculos_'--"
+
+But from the townsfolk a shout arose:
+
+"Comes the Reeve! 'Tis good master Cuthbert! Way for the Reeve!"
+
+Hereupon the crowd parting, a tall man appeared, his goodly apparel
+torn, his long white hair disordered, while in his hand he yet grasped
+a naked sword. Stern his face was, and lined beyond his years, moreover
+his broad shoulders were bowed with more than age; but his eye was
+bright and quick, and when he spake, his voice was strong and full.
+
+"Which, I pray, is chiefest among ye?"
+
+"That am I," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Messire," said the Reeve, "who and what men ye are I know not, but in
+the name of these my fellow-citizens do I thank ye for our deliverance.
+But words be poor things, now therefore, an it be treasure ye do seek
+ye shall be satisfied. We have suffered much by extortion, but if gold
+be your desire, then whatsoever gold doth lie in our treasury, the
+half of it is freely thine."
+
+"O most excellent Reeve!" cried Giles, "forsooth, a very proper spirit
+of gratitude."
+
+"Good master," spake Beltane, quelling the archer with a look, "these
+my comrades hither came that a noble man should not perish, and that
+Sir Gui of Allerdale should cease from evil, and behold, 'tis done! So
+I pray you, give us food and shelter for the night, for with the dawn
+we march hence."
+
+"But--O tall brother!" gasped Giles, "O sweet lord, there was mention
+made of treasure! A large-souled Reeve--a Reeve with bowels! 'Treasure'
+quoth he, and likewise 'gold!' And these be matters to excogitate upon.
+Moreover, _pecunioe obediunt omnia_, brother."
+
+"Money, forsooth!" quoth Beltane bitterly; "now out upon thee, Giles--
+how think ye money shall avail the like of us whose lives are forfeit
+each and every, whose foes be many and strong, who must ever be on our
+ward, quick to smite lest we be smitten--money, forsooth! So, good
+master Reeve, keep thy useless treasure, and, in its stead, give to us
+good steel--broadswords, sharp and well-tempered and stout link-mail--
+give of these to such as lack."
+
+"But--O brother," says Giles, "with gold may we gain all these."
+
+"Verily, Giles, but gaining all without gold we lack not for gold, nor
+have the added fear of losing it. He that would gain wealth must first
+win freedom, for without freedom the richest is but a sorry slave. So
+give us steel, good master Reeve."
+
+Now from Giles' archers and divers others beside a growl went up,
+spreading from rank to rank, what time Beltane clenched his hands,
+frowning ever blacker. Then forth stepped Jenkyn o' the Ford with tall
+Orson, which last spake with voice uplift:
+
+"Master," quoth he, "us do love gold--but fighting men us do be, and if
+'steel' says you--'steel' says we!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Jenkyn, "so look'ee master, here stands I wi' Orson my
+comrade look'ee, for witness that to-day we be better men than these
+growlers."
+
+But here, of a sudden, rose the shrill bray of a trumpet without the
+walls, a long flourish, loud and imperious; and at the sound a silence
+fell, wherein divers of the townsfolk eyed each other in fear swift-born,
+and drew nearer to the white-haired Reeve who stood leaning heavily upon
+his sword, his head stooped upon his broad chest. And in
+the silence, Giles spake:
+
+"Now, by the ever-blessed Saint Giles, there spake the summons of
+Robert of Hurstmanswyke--I know his challenge of old--ha, bows and
+bills!" So saying he bent and strung his bow.
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, loosening sword in sheath, "and Sir Robert is a
+dour fighter I've heard."
+
+"So soon!" groaned the Reeve, "so very soon! Now God pity Belsaye!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles, fidgeting uneasily with his bow, "forsooth, Sir
+Robert is a very potent lord--God help us all, say I!"
+
+"And Sir Robert likewise," quoth Roger, "for methinks an he come within
+Belsaye he is like to stay in Belsaye--mind ye Sir Gui, and mark ye my
+master's look!" And he pointed where Beltane stood near by, chin in
+fist, his eye bright and purposeful, his mouth grim-smiling; even as
+they watched he beckoned Walkyn and Eric to him and spake certain
+commands what time the trumpet brayed again in summons fierce and
+arrogant.
+
+"Good master Reeve," quoth Beltane, as Walkyn and Eric, obedient to his
+word, moved into the square to right and left, each with his company,
+"there is one without that groweth impatient. Let us therefore parley
+with him from the battlement above the gate."
+
+"Ah, messire," sighed the Reeve, "to what end? 'Tis Sir Robert's
+summons, and well I know he will demand speech with my lord Gui--alas
+for us and for Belsaye town!"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "be comforted. Answer as I shall direct and
+fear ye nothing. Come your ways."
+
+Now when Roger turned and would have followed, Giles plucked him by the
+arm:
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "Sir Robert will demand speech of Gui of Allerdale,
+mark ye that, my Rogerkin. Nor will he speak to any but Sir Gui--for a
+great lord and proud is Robert of Hurstmanswyke. Ha, what think ye,
+Roger?"
+
+"I think perchance he must go dumb then--come, let us follow."
+
+"Nay, but speak he must--since he may tell us much, aye, and speak he
+shall. So come, my Rogerkin, hither with me!"
+
+"With thee, Giles? And wherefore?"
+
+"A wile, sweet Roger, a notable wile--a wile of wiles. Hush! speak not,
+but come--for mark this:
+
+  "In faith a cunning man is Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles!"
+
+"So come, Rogerkin!" So saying, he gripped stout Roger's arm and
+plunged into the crowd.
+
+Being come out upon the battlement above the gate, Beltane, with the
+Reeve beside him, peering down through the dark, beheld beyond the
+moat, a knight supported by four esquires, and beyond these Beltane
+counted thirty lances what time the Reeve, steadying his voice,
+challenged them.
+
+Hereupon the knight spake:
+
+"Ha! do ye stir at last, dogs! Open in the Duke's name--'tis I, Robert,
+lord of Hurstmanswyke, with message to the lord Seneschal, Sir Gui, and
+captives from Bourne!"
+
+Then, grim-smiling in the dusk, Beltane spake: "Now greeting and
+fair greeting to thee, my lord, and to thy captives. Hath Thrasfordham
+fallen so soon?"
+
+"Thrasfordham, fool! 'tis not yet invested--these be divers of
+Benedict's spies out of Bourne, to grace thy gibbets. Come, unbar--down
+with the drawbridge; open I say--must I wait thy rogue's pleasure?"
+
+"Not so, noble lord. Belsaye this night doth welcome thee with open
+arms--and ye be in sooth Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke."
+
+"Ha, do ye doubt me, knave? Dare ye keep me without? Set wide the
+gates, and instantly, or I will see thee in a noose hereafter. Open!
+Open! God's death! will ye defy me? gate ho!"
+
+So Beltane, smiling yet, descended from the battlement and bade them
+set wide the gates. Down creaked drawbridge; bars fell, bolts groaned,
+the massy gates swung wide--and Sir Robert and his esquires, with his
+weary captives stumbling in their jangling chains, and his thirty
+men-at-arms riding two by two, paced into Belsaye market square; the
+drawbridge rose, creaking, while gates clashed and bar and chain
+rattled ominously behind them. But Sir Robert, nothing heeding, secure
+in his noble might, scowled about him 'neath lifted vizor, and summoned
+the Reeve to his stirrup with imperious hand:
+
+"How now, master Reeve," quoth he, "I am in haste to be gone: where
+tarries Sir Gui? Have ye not warned him of my coming? Go, say I crave
+instant speech with him on matters of state, moreover, say I bring
+fifty and three for him to hang to-morrow--go!"
+
+But now, while the Reeve yet stood, pale in the torchlight, finding
+nought to say, came Beltane beside him.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, "fifty and three is a goodly number; must they all
+die to-morrow?"
+
+"To-morrow? Aye--or whensoever Sir Gui wills."
+
+"Ah, fair lord," says Beltane, "then, as I guess, these fifty and three
+shall assuredly live on awhile, since Sir Gui of Allerdale will hang
+men no more."
+
+"Ha, dare ye mock me, knave?" cried Sir Robert, and clenching iron hand
+he spurred upon Beltane, but checked as suddenly, and pointed where,
+midst the shrinking populace, strode one in knightly armour, whose
+embroidered surcoat bore the arms, and whose vizored helm the crest of
+Sir Gui of Allerdale. Now beholding this silent figure, a groan of fear
+went up, divers men sank crouching on their knees, the Reeve uttered a
+hoarse gasp and covered his face, while even Beltane, staring wide-eyed,
+felt his flesh a-creep. But now Sir Robert rode forward:
+
+"Greeting, lord Seneschal!" said he, "you come betimes, messire, though
+not over hastily, methinks!"
+
+"Forsooth," quoth the figure, his voice booming in his great war-helm,
+"forsooth and verily there be three things no man should leave in
+haste: _videlicit_ and to wit: his prayers, his dinner and his lady.
+None the less came I hither to give thee greeting, good my lord."
+
+"My lord Seneschal, what manner of men be these of thine?"
+
+"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools--save
+one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a
+man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles."
+
+"Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at
+Beltane, "who is he?"
+
+"Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs."
+
+"He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."
+
+"Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I."
+
+"The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more."
+
+"Ha, said he so forsooth? dared he so asperse mine honour? Ha, here is
+matter for red-hot irons, the pincers and the rack, anon. But come, Sir
+Robert--thou dost bear news, belike; come your ways and drink a goblet
+of wine."
+
+"Nay, my lord, I thank thee, but I must hence this night to Barham
+Broom. But for my news, 'tis this: the out-law men call Beltane, hath,
+by devilish arts, sacked and burned Garthlaxton Keep."
+
+"Why, this I knew; there is a lewd song already made thereon, as thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Forsooth, a naughty song, a very gallows' song, in faith. Pray you,
+what more?"
+
+"There hath come unto the Duke one hight Gurth--a hang-dog rogue that
+doth profess to know the lurking-place of this vile outlaw, and
+to-morrow at sunset, Sir Pertolepe and I with goodly force march into
+the green. So now must I hence, leaving with thee these captives from
+Bourne that you shall hang above the walls for a warning to all such
+outlaws and traitors. Lastly, my lord Seneschal, drink not so deep
+a-nights, and so, fare thee well."
+
+Now as he yet spake rose the shrill notes of a horn, and turning about,
+Sir Robert beheld men whose mail glistened in the torchlight and whose
+long pikes hemmed him in close and closer what time a fierce shout went
+up: "Kill!" "Kill!"
+
+"Ho, treason!" he roared, and grasped at his sword hilt; but down came
+Roger's heavy broadsword upon Sir Robert's helm, beating him to earth
+where Walkyn's mighty foot crushed him down and his axe gleamed bright.
+Then, while the air rang with shouts and cries and the clatter of
+trampling hoofs, a white figure leapt and bestrode the fallen knight,
+and Walkyn glared down into the pale face of Friar Martin.
+
+"Forbear, Walkyn, forbear!" he cried, and speaking, staggered for very
+weakness and would have fallen but Walkyn's long arm was about him. And
+ever the uproar grew; the grim ranks of archers and pikemen drew closer
+about Sir Robert's shrinking men-at-arms what time the townsfolk,
+brandishing their weapons, shouted amain, "Kill! Kill!"
+
+Now Roger's blow had been full lusty and Sir Robert yet lay a-swoon,
+seeing which, divers of his company, casting down their arms, cried
+aloud for quarter; whereat the townsfolk shouted but the fiercer: "Slay
+them! Kill! Kill!" But now, high above this clamour, rose the shrill
+note of Beltane's horn bidding all men to silence. Hereupon there came
+to him the white friar, who, looking earnestly upon his mailed face,
+uttered a sudden glad cry and caught his hand and kissed it; then
+turned he to the surging concourse and spake loud and joyously:
+
+"Stay, good people of Belsaye! O ye children of affliction, spill not
+the blood of these thine enemies, but look, rather, upon this man! For
+this is he of whom I told ye in the days of your tribulation, this is
+he who burned the shameful gallows, who brake open the dungeon and hath
+vowed his life to the cause of the oppressed and weak. Behold now the
+son of Beltane the Strong and Just! Behold Beltane, our rightful Duke!"
+Now went there up to heaven a great and wild acclaim; shouts of joy and
+the thunderous battle-cry "Arise! Arise! Pentavalon!" Then, while all
+eyes beheld and all ears hearkened, Beltane spake him, plain and to the
+point, as was his custom:
+
+"Behold now, men of Belsaye, these our enemies do cry us mercy, and
+shall we not bestow it? Moreover one living hostage is better than two
+foemen slain. Entreat them gently, therefore, but let me see them
+lodged secure ere I march hence."
+
+But hereupon came many of the townsfolk with divers counsellors and
+chief men of the city who, kneeling, most earnestly prayed Beltane to
+abide for their defence.
+
+"Good my lord," quoth the Reeve, "bethink thee, when Duke Ivo shall
+hear of our doings he will seek bitter vengeance. Ah, my lord, 'twas
+but five years agone he stormed Belsaye and gave it up to pillage--and
+on that day--my wife--was slain! And when he had set up his great
+gallows and hanged it full with our men, he vowed that, should Belsaye
+anger him again, he would burn the city and all within it and, O my
+lord, my lord--I have yet a daughter--Ah, good my lord, leave us not
+to ravishment and death!"
+
+"Aye, go not from us, my lord!" cried the others. "Be thou our leader
+henceforth!" and thereto they besought him with eager cries and with
+hands outstretched.
+
+But Beltane shook his head; quoth he:
+
+"Look now, as men are born into the world but for the good of man, so
+must I to my duty. And methinks, this is my duty: to do such deeds as
+shall ring throughout this sorrowful Duchy like a trumpet-blast,
+bidding all men arise and take hold upon their manhood. Garthlaxton is
+no more, but there be many castles yet to burn whose flames, perchance,
+shall light such a fire within the souls of men as shall ne'er be
+quenched until Wrong and Tyranny be done away. So must I back to the
+wild-wood to wild and desperate doings. But, as for ye--I have heard
+tell that the men of Belsaye are brave and resolute. Let now the memory
+of wrongs endured make ye trebly valiant to maintain your new-got
+liberty. If Duke Ivo come, then let your walls be manned, for 'tis
+better to die free men than trust again to his mercy."
+
+"Verily, lord," said the Reeve, "but we do lack for leaders. Our
+provost and all our captains Duke Ivo hanged upon his gallows. Beseech
+thee, then, give to us a leader cunning in war."
+
+"That will I," answered Beltane, "on this condition--that every able
+man shall muster under arms each day within the market-square."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+Then summoned he Eric of the wry neck, together with Giles who came
+forthwith, being yet bedight in Sir Gui's harness.
+
+"Eric, I have marked thee well; methinks thou art one long bred to arms
+and learned in war?"
+
+"My lord Beltane, in other days I was the Duke thy father's High
+Constable of all the coast-wise towns."
+
+"Ha--say'st thou so in sooth? Then now do I make thee lord Constable of
+Belsaye. As to thee, Giles, thou guileful rogue, hast full oft vaunted
+thyself a soldier of experience, so now am I minded to prove thee and
+thy methods. How if I give thee charge over the bowmen of Belsaye?"
+
+"Why first, sweet, tall brother, first will I teach them to draw a bow,
+pluck a string, and speed a shaft as never townsman drew, plucked or
+sped--in fine, I will teach them to shoot: and, thereafter, devoutly
+pray the good Saint Giles (that is my patron saint) to send us Black
+Ivo and his dogs to shoot at!"
+
+"So be it. Choose ye now each ten men of your companies that shall
+abide here with ye what time I am away--yet first mark this: In your
+hands do I leave this fair city, to your care I give the lives and
+well-being of all these men and women and children. Come now, lay here
+your hands upon my sword and swear me to maintain Belsaye to the last
+man 'gainst siege or storm, so long as life be in you!"
+
+Now when they had sworn, Beltane turned him to the Reeve:
+
+"Good sir," quoth he, "I pray you loose now the captives from their
+chains. Let your prisoners be secured, and for the rest, let us now eat
+and drink lest we famish."
+
+Thus in a while, Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke, dazed and bewildered, and
+his four esquires, together with his thirty men-at-arms, stripped of
+armour and weapons, were led away and lodged secure beneath the keep.
+
+Now it chanced that as Beltane stood apart with head a-droop as one in
+thought, there came to him Sir Fidelis and touched him with gentle
+hand.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said he softly, "of what think you?"
+
+"Of Pentavalon, and how soonest her sorrows may be done away."
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire?"
+
+"Aye, truly, Fidelis."
+
+"Then wherefore let her suffer longer?"
+
+"Suffer? Aye, there it is--but how may I bring her woes to sudden end?
+I am too weak, her oppressors many, and my men but few--"
+
+"Few?" quoth Sir Fidelis, speaking with head low-stooped. "Few,
+messire? Not so. Ten thousand lances might follow thee to-morrow an
+thou but spake the word--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "mock me not, good Fidelis, thou dost know me a
+lonely man and friendless--to whom should I speak?"
+
+"To one that loveth thee now as ever, to one that yearneth for thee
+with heart nigh to breaking--to Helen--"
+
+"Ah!" quoth Beltane, slow and bitter, "speak word to Helen the
+Beautiful--the Wilful--the Wanton? No, a thousand times! Rather would I
+perish, I and all my hopes, than seek aid of such as she--"
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire? Nay, methinks better far thou
+dost love thy cold and cruel pride--so must Pentavalon endure her
+grievous wrongs, and so do I pity her, but--most of all--I pity thee,
+messire!"
+
+Now would Beltane have answered but found no word, and therefore fell
+to black and bitter anger, and, turning on his heel, incontinent strode
+away into the council-hall where a banquet had been spread. Frowning,
+he ate and drank in haste, scarce heeding the words addressed to him,
+wherefore others grew silent also; and thereafter, his hunger assuaged,
+strode he out into the square and summoned his company.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," spake he loud and quick, "howso poor and humble ye
+be, henceforth ye shall go, each and every, equipped in knightly mail
+from foot to head, your man's flesh as secure as flesh of any potent
+lord or noble of them all. Henceforth each man of us must fight as
+valiantly as ten. Now, if any there be who know the manage of horse and
+lance, let him step forth." Hereupon divers stepped out of the ranks,
+and Beltane counted of these fifty and two.
+
+"Master Reeve," spake Beltane, "give now for guerdon instead of gold,
+horses and equipment for these my comrades, stout lances and mail
+complete with goodly bascinets."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+"Roger, in thy command I set these fifty lances. See now to their
+arming, let them be mounted and ready with speed, for in this hour we
+ride."
+
+"Aye, master," cried Roger, his eyes a-dance, "that will I, moreover--"
+
+"Walkyn, to thee I give the pikes henceforth. As for our archers--
+Giles, which now think you fittest to command?"
+
+"Why truly, brother--my lord, if one there be can twang a lusty bow and
+hath a cool and soldier-like head 'tis Jenkyn o' the Ford, and after
+him Walcher, and after him--"
+
+"Jenkyn, do you henceforth look to our archers. Are these matters heard
+and known among ye?"
+
+"Aye!" came the thunderous answer.
+
+"'Tis well, for mark me, we go out to desperate doings, wherein
+obedience must be instant, wherein all must love like brothers, and,
+like brothers, fight shoulder to shoulder!"
+
+Now came there certain of the citizens to Beltane, leading a great and
+noble war-horse, richly caparisoned, meet for his acceptance. And thus,
+ere the moon rose, equipped with lance and shield and ponderous,
+vizored casque, Beltane, gloomy and silent, with Sir Fidelis mounted
+beside him, rode forth at the head of his grim array, at whose tramp
+and jingle the folk of Belsaye shouted joyful acclaim while the bells
+rang out right joyously.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE WITCH OF
+HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+It was very dark upon the forest road, where trees loomed gigantic
+against the pitchy gloom wherein dim-seen branches creaked and swayed,
+and leaves rustled faint and fitful in the stealthy night-wind; and
+through the gloom at the head of his silent company Beltane rode in
+frowning thought, his humour blacker than the night.
+
+Now in a while, Sir Fidelis, riding ever at his elbow, ventured speech
+with him:
+
+"Art very silent, messire. Have I angered thee, forsooth? Is aught
+amiss betwixt us?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, shortly:
+
+"Art over-young, sir knight, and therefore fond and foolish. Is a man a
+lover of self because he hateth dishonour? Art a presumptuous youth--
+and that's amiss!"
+
+"Art thou so ancient, messire, and therefore so wise as to judge 'twixt
+thy hates and loves and the abiding sorrows of Pentavalon?" questioned
+Fidelis, low-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Old enough am I to know that in all this world is no baser thing than
+the treachery of a faithless woman, and that he who seeketh aid of
+such, e'en though his cause be just, dishonoureth himself and eke his
+cause. So God keep me from all women henceforth--and as for thee, speak
+me no more the name of this light wanton."
+
+"My lord," quoth Sir Fidelis, leaning near, "my lord--whom mean you?"
+
+"Whom should I mean but Mortain Helen--Helen the Beautiful--"
+
+Now cried Sir Fidelis as one that feels a blow, and, in the dark, he
+seized Beltane in sudden griping fingers, and shook him fiercely.
+
+"And dare ye name her 'wanton!'" he cried. "Ye shall not--I say ye
+shall not!" But, laughing, Beltane smote away the young knight's hold
+and laughed again.
+
+"Is this light lady's fame so dear to thee, poor, youthful fool?" said
+he. "Aye me! doubt not her falsity shall break thy heart some day and
+teach thee wisdom--"
+
+A shout among the woods upon their right, a twinkling light that came
+and went amid the underbrush, and Walkyn appeared, bearing a lighted
+brand.
+
+"Lord," he growled, "here has been devil's work of late, for yonder a
+cottage lieth a heap of glowing ashes, and upon a tree hard by a dead
+man doth swing."
+
+"Learned ye aught else, Walkyn?"
+
+"Nothing, save that a large company passed here yesterday as I judge.
+Horse and foot--going south, see you," and he held his torch to the
+trampled road.
+
+"Going south--aye, Walkyn, to Barham Broom, methinks. Here is another
+debt shall yet be paid in full, mayhap," quoth Beltane grimly.
+"Forward!"
+
+The jingling column moved on again, yet had gone but a little way when
+Sir Fidelis, uttering a cry, swerved his horse suddenly and sprang to
+earth.
+
+"What now?" questioned Beltane, staring into the murk.
+
+"My lord--my lord, a woman lieth here, and--ah, messire--she is dead!"
+
+"O, a woman?" quoth Beltane, "and dead, say you? Why then, the world
+shall know less of evil and treachery, methinks. Come--mount, sir
+knight, mount, I say, and let us on!"
+
+But Sir Fidelis, on his knees beside that silent, dim-seen form, heeded
+him not at all, and with reverent, folded hands, and soft and tender
+voice, spake a prayer for the departed soul. Now hereupon Beltane knew
+sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have
+prayed--yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger
+grew more bitter.
+
+"Mount, mount, sir knight!" cried he harshly. "Better to seek
+vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees--mount, I say!"
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle,
+reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone. But in a while, Beltane
+perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and
+fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.
+
+"Wherefore slink ye behind me?" he demanded.
+
+Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled:
+
+"My lord Beltane, 'twas said thou wert a noble knight--very strong and
+very gentle--"
+
+"Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?"
+
+"Alas!" sighed the young knight; and again "alas!" and therewith a
+great sob brake from him.
+
+Of a sudden, from the gloom beside the way rose a woman's scream, and
+thereafter a great and fierce roar; and presently came Walkyn with his
+torch and divers of his men, dragging a woman in their midst, and lo!
+it was the witch of Hangstone Waste.
+
+Now she, beholding Beltane's face beneath his lifted vizor, cried out
+for very joy:
+
+"Now heaven bless thee, Duke Beltane! Ah, my lord--hear me!"
+
+"What would ye? What seek ye of such as I?"
+
+But hereupon Black Roger spurred beside Beltane, his eyes wide and
+fearful in the shadow of his helm, his strong, mailed hand a-tremble on
+Beltane's arm.
+
+"Beware, my lord, beware!" he cried, "'tis nigh the midnight hour and
+she a noted witch--heed her not lest she blight thy fair body, lest
+she--"
+
+"Peace, Roger! Now speak, woman--what would ye?"
+
+"A life, my lord!"
+
+"Ah, the blessed saints forfend--I feared so!" gasped Roger.
+
+But now the witch turned and looked on Roger, and he incontinent
+crossed himself and fell thenceforth to mumbling prayers beneath his
+breath.
+
+"Lord Duke, for that I am but a woman poor and helpless, now would I
+beseech thine aid for--"
+
+"Nay, tell me first, whence come ye?"
+
+"From Barham Broom, messire. Ah! spare aid for one that lieth in peril
+of death--the maid Mellent--they do proclaim her witch--they will burn
+her--"
+
+"O--a woman!" quoth Beltane, wrinkling his brows; and beholding Sir
+Fidelis watching him, straightway frowned the blacker.
+
+"Nay, messire, hear me!" cried the witch, "ah, turn not away! This
+maid, indeed, is not of common blood--a lady is she of birth and wide
+demesnes--"
+
+"Why then," said Beltane, heedful ever of the young knight's burning
+glance, "why then is she more apt for treachery and evil."
+
+"Not so, my lord; weak is she and beset by cruel enemies. I found her,
+a stranger, wandering lonely in the green, and she, being sick of heart
+and brain, spake wild words of a great wrong, vainly done and suffered,
+and of an abiding remorse. And when I had nursed her into health she
+told me a wondrous tale. So, lord Beltane, do I know that in her hands
+thy happiness doth lie."
+
+"Not so!" sighed Beltane. "Happiness and I are strangers henceforth--"
+
+But here once again came a hoarse and angry roar with the sound of
+desperate struggling amid the leaves hard by, whence came Jenkyn and
+Orson with divers others, dragging a strange, hairy, dwarf-like
+creature, great and shaggy of head and with the arms and shoulders of a
+giant; smirched was he in blood from a great wound above the brow and
+his rich habit was mired and torn. Now looking upon this monstrous
+creature that writhed and struggled mightily with his captors, groaning
+and roaring betimes, Beltane felt his flesh a-creep with swift and
+pregnant memory, and straightway beset the witch with fierce question:
+
+"Woman, what thing is this?"
+
+"My lord, 'tis naught but poor Ulf, a natural, messire, very strong and
+faithful, that hath fought mightily and is nigh slain in our defence--
+see how he bleeds! Let them not harm him, my lord!"
+
+"Yet have I seen him ere this, methinks."
+
+"But for the maid Mellent--thou wilt not let her burn--and for thy
+deeds?"
+
+"Mine, forsooth! How mean you?"
+
+"'Twas yester-eve we were beset hereabouts by a lewd company, and
+brought unto their lord, Sir Grilles of Brandonmere--a man beyond all
+other men base and vile--who, beholding her so young and fair would
+have forced her to his will."
+
+"Ha!--methinks Sir Gilles doth live too long!"
+
+"So to save her from his violence, I discovered to him her name and
+high estate, whereupon at first he would fain have her wed with him.
+But, angered by her scorn, he bore her with him to Duke Ivo at Barham
+Broom, and me also. And there I heard her denounced as witch, by whose
+spells thou, lord Beltane, wert freed of thy duress and Garthlaxton
+utterly destroyed. Thus, to-morrow she must burn, unless one can be
+found to champion her cause and prove her innocent by trial of combat.
+So, when they had let me go I came seeking thee, my lord, since 'tis
+said thou art a very strong man and swift to aid the defenceless." Now
+glancing aside upon Sir Fidelis, Beltane beheld him leaning forward
+with his lips apart and slender hands tight-clasped; whereupon he
+frowned and shook his head.
+
+"A woman!" quoth he, "nay, I had rather fight in a dog's cause."
+
+"Forsooth!" cried Roger, "for rogue is he and fool that would champion
+a vile witch."
+
+"Why, then, let us on, lord," growled Walkyn. "Why tarry we here?"
+
+But now, as the witch sank upon the road with pleading hands uplifted,
+Sir Fidelis rode beside her and, stooping, caught her outstretched
+hands; quoth he:
+
+"Of what avail to plead with such as these? So will I adventure me on
+behalf of this poor maid."
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane. "Walkyn, march ye one and all for Hundleby
+Fen--wait me there and let your watch be strict. But, an I come not
+within two days from now, then hie you each and every to reinforce Eric
+and Giles in Belsaye. As for Roger, he rideth with me to Barham Broom."
+
+"Ha, lord!--wilt fight, then, in the witch's cause?" cried Walkyn.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, though--forsooth I had rather fight in a dog's cause,
+for a dog, see you, is a faithful beast."
+
+"To Barham Broom?" quoth Roger, staring. "Thou and I, master, to Black
+Ivo--alone?" And speaking, he loosened sword in scabbard.
+
+"My lord Beltane," cried Sir Fidelis, beholding him with shining eyes,
+"an thou wilt do this noble thing, suffer me beside thee!"
+
+"Not so, messire," answered Beltane, shaking his head, "art over young
+and tender, methinks--go, get thee back to her that sent thee--keep
+thou thy fond and foolish dream, and may thy gentle heart go unbroken.
+Come, Roger!"
+
+So saying, Beltane wheeled about and rode away with Roger at his heels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH.
+
+
+Barham Broom was gay with the stir of flags and streamers, where, above
+broidered pavilion and silken tent, pennons and banderoles, penoncels
+and gonfalons fluttered and flew, beyond which long lines of smaller
+tents stretched away north and south, east and west, and made up the
+camp of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Beyond the confines of this great and goodly camp the lists had been
+formed, and here from earliest dawn a great concourse had been
+gathering; villein and vassal, serf and freedman from town and village:
+noble lords and ladies fair from castle hall and perfumed bower, all
+were here, for to-day a witch was to die--to-day, from her tortured
+flesh the flame was to drive forth and exorcize, once and for all, the
+demon who possessed her, by whose vile aid she wrought her charms and
+spells. So country wenches pushed and strove amid the throng, and
+dainty ladies leaned from canopied galleries to shudder with dread or
+trill soft laughter; but each and every stared at one who stood alone,
+'twixt armed guards, so young and fair and pale within her bonds, oft
+turning piteous face to heaven or looking with quailing eye where stake
+and chain and faggot menaced her with awful doom. And ever the kindly
+sun rose high and higher, and ever the staring concourse grew.
+
+Now, of a sudden the clarions rang out a point of war, and all voices
+were hushed, as, forth into the lists, upon his richly-caparisoned
+charger, my lord Duke Ivo rode, followed by his chiefest lords and
+barons; and as he rode, he smiled to himself full oft as one that
+meditates a hidden jest. Being come where the witch stood, her
+disordered garments rent by vicious handling, striving to veil her
+beauty in her long, dark hair, my lord Duke reined in his pawing steed
+to sit a while and look down at her 'neath sleepy lids; and, ever as he
+looked, his arching nostrils fluttered above curling lip, and ever he
+fingered his long, blue-shaven chin.
+
+"Alack!" cried he at last, "'tis a comely wench, and full young,
+methinks, to die so soon! But witchcraft is a deadly sin, abhorred by
+man and hateful unto God--"
+
+"My lord--my lord," spake the witch swift and passionate yet trembling
+'neath his sleepy gaze, "thou knowest I am no witch indeed--thou
+knowest--"
+
+"Nay, nay," quoth the Duke, shaking his head, and coming more near he
+stooped and spake her, low-voiced, "nay, she thou would'st name was a
+lady proud, soft and white, with hair bright and glorious as the sun--
+in sooth a fair lady--yet something too ambitious. But thou, though of
+her size and shape, art of a dark and swarthy hue and thy hair black,
+meseemeth. Of a verity thou art only the witch Mellent, and so, by
+reason of thy sun-browned skin and raven hair--aye, and for thy
+witchcraft--thou, alack! must die--unless thou find thee a champion.
+Verily I fear me no man will dare take up thy cause, for Sir Gilles is
+a lusty man and famous at the joust. Moreover--my will is known in the
+matter, so do I fear there none shall come to fight on thy behalf.
+Alack! that one should die so young!"
+
+"Ah, my lord--my lord Ivo," she whispered, eager and breathless, "show
+me a little mercy. For that, to be thy Duchess, I denied thee thy
+desire in the past, let me now be prisoned all my days, an it be thy
+will--but give me not to the fire--ah, God--not the fire! Pity--pity
+me for what I did for thee--be merciful--"
+
+"Did, wench--did?" quoth the Duke, gently. "Now when spake I with witch
+ere this? 'Tis true there was a lady--something of thy seeming--who, to
+gain much, promised much, and--achieved me nothing. So now do I know
+thee far one Mellent, a notable witch, that shall this day instead of
+ducal crown, wear crown of flame. Alack!--and so, farewell!"
+
+Thus speaking, my lord Duke rode on up the lists, where stood certain
+noble lords to hold his stirrup and aid him to earth; so mounted he to
+his place 'neath broidered canopy, and many a fair cheek blanched, and
+many a stout knight faltered in his speech, beholding that slow-creeping,
+stealthy smile and the twitch of those thin nostrils.
+
+Now once again the trumpet blew, and a herald stepped forth:
+
+"God save ye, lord Duke," he cried, "ye noble lords and ladies fair--
+good people all, God save ye. Know that before you here assembled, hath
+been brought one Mellent--that hath been denounced a notable witch and
+sorceress, who, by her fiendish arts and by the aid of demons foul and
+damned, doth seek the hurt of our lord the Duke, whom God and the
+saints defend. Forasmuch as this witch, yclept Mellent, did, by her
+unhallowed spells and magic, compass and bring about the escape from
+close duress of one Beltane, a notable outlaw, malefactor and enemy to
+our lord the Duke; and whereas she did also by aid of charms,
+incantations and the like devilish practices, contrive the sack,
+burning and total destruction of my lord Duke's good and fair castle of
+Garthlaxton upon the March. Now therefore it is adjudged that she be
+taken and her body burned to ashes here before you. All of which
+charges have been set forth and sworn to by this right noble lord and
+gallant knight Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--behold him here in person."
+
+Hereupon, while the trumpets brayed a flourish and fanfare, forth rode
+Sir Gilles upon a mighty charger, a grim and warlike figure in his
+shining mail and blazoned surcoat, his ponderous, crested war-helm
+closed, his long shield covering him from shoulder to stirrup, and his
+lance-point twinkling on high.
+
+Then spake again the herald loud and clear: "Good people all, behold
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere, who cometh here before you prepared to
+maintain the truth and justice of the charges he hath made--unto the
+death, 'gainst any man soever, on horse or on foot, with lance,
+battle-axe or sword. Now if there be any here do know this witch Mellent
+for innocent, if there be any here dare adventure his body for her
+innocence and run the peril of mortal combat with Sir Gilles, let him
+now stand forth."
+
+And immediately the trumpets sounded a challenge. Thereafter the herald
+paced slowly round the lists, and behind him rode Sir Gilles, his
+blazon of the three stooping falcons plain for all men to see, on
+gleaming shield and surcoat.
+
+North and south, and east and west the challenge was repeated, and
+after each the trumpet sounded a warlike flourish, yet no horseman
+paced forth and no man leapt the barriers; and the witch Mellent
+drooped pale and trembling betwixt her warders. But, of a sudden she
+opened swooning eyes and lifted her heavy head; for, from the distant
+woods, faint as yet and far, a horn brayed hoarsely--three notes,
+thrice repeated, defiant and warlike. And now, among the swaying
+crowds rose a hum that grew and grew, while ever and anon the horn rang
+out, fiercely winded--and ever it sounded nearer: until, of a sudden,
+out from the trees afar, two horsemen galloped, their harness bright
+in the sunshine, helm and lance-point twinkling, who, spurring knee
+and knee, thundered over the ling; while every tongue grew hushed, and
+every eye turned to mark their swift career.
+
+Tall were these men and lusty, bedight from head to foot in glistening
+mail, alike at all points save that one bare neither shield nor lance,
+and 'neath his open bascinet showed a face brown and comely, whereas
+his companion rode, his long shield flashing in the sun, his head and
+face hid by reason of his ponderous, close-shut casque. Swift they
+rode, the throng parting before them; knee and knee together they leapt
+the palisade, and reining in their horses, paced down the lists and
+halted before the pale and trembling captive. Then spake the knight,
+harsh-voiced behind his vizor:
+
+"Sound, Roger!"
+
+Forthwith the black-haired, ruddy man set a hunting horn to his lips,
+and blew thereon a flourish so loud and shrill as made the very welkin
+ring.
+
+Now came pursuivants and the chief herald, which last made inquisition
+thus:
+
+"Sir Knight, crest hast thou none, nor on thy shield device, so do I
+demand name and rank of thee, who thus in knightly guise doth give this
+bold defiance, and wherefore ye ride armed at points. Pronounce,
+messire!"
+
+Then spake the tall knight loud and fierce, his voice deep-booming
+within the hollow of his closed casque.
+
+"Name and rank have I laid by for the nonce, until I shall have
+achieved a certain vow, but of noble blood am I and kin unto the
+greatest--this do I swear by Holy Rood. To-day am I hither come in arms
+to do battle on behalf of yon innocent maid, and to maintain her
+innocence so long as strength abide. And furthermore, here before ye
+all and every, I do proclaim Sir Gilles of Brandonmere a shame and
+reproach unto his order. To all the world I do proclaim him rogue and
+thief and wilful liar, the which (God willing) I will here prove upon
+his vile body. So now let there be an end of words. Sound, Roger!"
+
+Hereupon he of the ruddy cheek clapped horn to lip and blew amain until
+his cheek grew redder yet, what time the heralds and pursuivants and
+marshals of the field debated together if it were lawful for a nameless
+knight to couch lance 'gainst one of noble blood. But now came Sir
+Gilles himself, choking with rage, and fuming in his harness.
+
+"Ha, thou nameless dog!" cried he, brandishing his heavy lance, "be
+thou serf or noble, art an errant liar--so will I slay thee out of
+hand!" Thus saying, he reined round the great roan stallion he
+bestrode, and galloped to one end of the lists. Now spake Black Roger
+low-voiced, and his hand shook upon his bridle:
+
+"Master, now do I fear for thee. Sir Gilles is a mighty jouster and
+skilled withal, moreover he rideth his famous horse Mars--a noble beast
+and fresh, while thine is something wearied. And then, master, direst
+of all, she thou would'st champion is a witch--"
+
+"That worketh no evil by day, Roger. So do I charge thee, whatsoe'er
+betide, look to the maid, take her across thy saddle and strive to
+bring her to safety. As for me, I will now with might and main seek to
+make an end of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere."
+
+So saying, Beltane rode to the opposite extremity of the lists.
+
+And now, while the trumpets blared, the two knights took their ground,
+Sir Gilles resplendent in lofty crest and emblazoned surcoat, the three
+stooping falcons conspicuous on his shield, his mighty roan charger
+pawing the ling with impatient hoof; his opponent, a gleaming figure
+astride a tall black horse, his round-topped casque unadorned by plume
+or crest. So awhile they remained, very still and silent, what time a
+single trumpet spake, whereat--behold! the two long lances sank feutred
+to the charge, the broad shields flashed, glittered and were still
+again; and from that great concourse a sound went up--a hum, that
+swelled, and so was gone.
+
+The maid Mellent had sunk upon her knees and was praying desperate
+prayers with face upturned to heaven; but none was there to mark her
+now amid that silent gathering--all eyes were strained to watch those
+grim and silent horsemen that fronted each other, the length of the
+lists between; even Duke Ivo, leaning on lazy elbow, looked with
+glowing eye and slow-flushing cheek, ere he let fall his truncheon.
+
+And, on the instant, shrill and fierce the trumpets brayed, and on the
+instant each knight struck spurs, the powerful horses reared, plunged,
+and sprang away at speed. Fast and faster they galloped, their riders
+low-stooped above the high-peaked saddles, shields addressed and lances
+steady, with pounding hooves that sent the turves a-flying, with
+gleaming helms and deadly lance-points a-twinkle; fast and ever faster
+they thundered down upon each other, till, with a sudden direful crash,
+they met in full career with a splintering of well-aimed lances, a
+lashing of wild hooves, a rearing of powerful horses, staggering and
+reeling beneath the shock. And now a thunderous cry went up, for the
+tall black horse, plunging and snorting, went down rolling upon the
+sward. But his rider had leapt clear and, stumbling to his feet, stood
+swaying unsteadily, faint and dazed with the blow of Sir Gilles' lance
+that had borne down the great black horse and torn the heavy casque
+from his head. So stood Beltane, unhelmed, staring dazedly from heaving
+earth to reeling heaven; yet, of a sudden, shook aloft the fragment of
+his splintered lance and laughed fierce and loud, to behold, 'twixt
+reeling earth and sky, a great roan stallion that foamed upon his bit
+'neath sharp-drawn rein, as, swaying sideways from the lofty saddle,
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere crashed to earth, transfixed through shield
+and hauberk, through breast and back, upon the shaft of a broken lance.
+High over him leapt Beltane, to catch the roan's loose bridle, to swing
+himself up, and so, with stirrups flying and amid a sudden clamour of
+roaring voices, to thunder down the lists where Roger's heavy sword
+flashed, as smiting right and left, he stooped and swung the maid
+Mellent before him.
+
+"Ride, Roger--ride! Spur--spur!" shouted Beltane above the gathering
+din, and shouting, drew his sword, for now before them, steel glittered
+and cries rang upon the air:
+
+"'Tis Beltane the outlaw! Seize him--slay him! 'Tis the outlaw!"
+
+But knee and knee, with loose rein and goading spur rode they, and
+nought could avail and none were quick enough to stay that headlong
+gallop; side by side they thundered over the ling, and knee and knee
+they leapt the barrier, bursting through bewildered soldiery,
+scattering frighted country-folk, and so away, over gorse and heather
+and with arrows, drawn at a venture, whistling by them. Betimes they
+reached the shelter of the woods, and turning, Beltane beheld a
+confusion of armed men, a-horse and a-foot, what time borne upon the
+air came a sound hoarse and menacing, a sound dreadful to hear--the
+sound of the hue and cry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+
+Fast they galloped 'neath the trees, stooping ever and anon to avoid
+some low-swung branch; through grassy rides and sunny glades, until all
+sound of pursuit was died away. So, turning aside into the denser
+green, Beltane stayed, and sprang down to tighten the great roan's
+saddle-girths, strained in the encounter. Now as he was busied thus,
+came the maid Mellent, very pale 'neath her long black hair, and spake
+him low-voiced and humble:
+
+"My lord Beltane, thou, at peril of thy body, hath saved to-day a
+sorrowful maid from the fiery torment. So to prove my gratitude and
+sorrow for past ill--now will I tell thee that in saving me, thou hast
+saved one that for ambition's sake, once did thee grievous wrong."
+
+"Thou!" saith Beltane, staring in amaze, "ne'er hast thou seen me until
+this day!"
+
+"Verily, messire--O messire, thou hast indeed seen me ere this and--to
+my bitter sorrow--for I who speak am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Nay--nay--" stammered Beltane, "here is thing impossible--thy
+night-black hair--"
+
+"'Tis but a wile that many women do know, messire, a device of the
+witch Jolette (that is no witch, but a noble woman) a device whereby I
+might lie hid awhile. O indeed, indeed I who speak to thee am the
+wicked Winfrida--Winfrida the Sorrowful!" Now herewith she sank before
+him on her knees and bowed her face within her hands, and Beltane saw
+that she trembled greatly. "My lord," she whispered, "now must I
+confess a thing beyond all words shameful, and though I fear death, I
+fear thy anger more. If, therefore, when I have spoke thee all, thou
+wilt slay me, then--O my lord--I pray thee--let death come swift--"
+
+"Master!" cried Roger of a sudden, "I hear horses--they be after us
+already! Mount--mount and let us ride--Hark! they come this way!"
+
+"Aye!" nodded Beltane, drawing his sword, "yet here is but one
+methinks--list, Roger--leave him to me!" So waited they all three, what
+time the slow-pacing hoofs drew near and nearer, until, peering through
+the leaves, they beheld a knight, who rode low-stooping in his saddle,
+to mark their tracks plain upon the tender grass. Forth stepped
+Beltane, fierce and threatening, his long sword agleam, and so paused
+to scowl, for the knight raised his head of a sudden and lo! 'twas Sir
+Fidelis.
+
+"Now what seek ye here, sir knight?" saith Beltane, nothing gentle.
+
+"Thee, my lord," quoth Fidelis, meek of aspect, "to share thy perils
+according to thy word. Put up thy sword, messire, thou wilt not harm
+thy companion in arms?"
+
+Now Beltane, finding nought to say, scowled sulkily to earth, and thus
+saw nothing of the eyes so deep and tender that watched him 'neath the
+shadow of the young knight's bascinet, nor the smile so sad and wistful
+that curled his ruddy lips, nor all the lithe and slender grace of him
+as he swayed to the impatient movements of the powerful animal he
+bestrode; but it chanced that Winfrida's eyes saw all this, and being a
+woman's eyes, beheld that which gave her breathing sudden pause--turned
+her red--turned her pale, until, with a gasp of fear she started, and
+uttering a cry, low and inarticulate, sped fleet-footed across the
+glade and was gone.
+
+Quoth Beltane, staring:
+
+"Now what aileth the maid, think ye? But 'tis no matter--we are well
+quit of her, meseemeth." So saying, he turned to behold Roger flat upon
+his belly and with his ear to the ground.
+
+"Master," cried he, "master, there be horsemen i' the forest
+hereabouts--a great company!"
+
+"Why then, do you mount, Roger, and hie thee with Sir Fidelis hot-foot
+to Walkyn at Hundleby Fen. Bid him set our bowmen in every place of
+vantage, and let every man stand to arms. So mayhap, Roger, will we
+this day make hunted men of them that hunt!" So saying, Beltane swung
+to saddle.
+
+"Aye--aye--but what o' thee, master?"
+
+"Mark ye this horse, Roger. Thou hast said 'twas of good speed and
+endurance, and methinks 'tis sooth. Howbeit, now shall he prove thy
+word, for here I wait the hunters, and to-day will I, keeping ever out
+of bow-shot, lead them through every quag, every bog and marsh 'twixt
+here and Hundleby Fen, and of those that follow still, thou and Walkyn
+and our merry men shall make an end, I pray God. So let all lie well
+hid, and watch for my coming. And now--farewell to thee, Roger."
+
+"But, master," quoth Roger, waxing rueful, "in this thou must run dire
+perils and dangers, and I not with thee. So pray thee let Sir Fidelis--
+hard!--Ha!--now God aid us--hark to that! Master, they've loosed the
+dogs on us!"
+
+Even as he spake, very faint and far as yet but plain to hear above the
+leafy stirring, the deep baying of a hound came down the wind.
+
+"Hunting-dogs, master! Ride--ride!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him,
+"O sweet Christ forgive me, for I have hunted down poor rogues with
+such ere now--"
+
+"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit,
+ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and
+whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go--obey
+me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger
+perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his
+eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir
+Fidelis:
+
+"How, messire--are ye not gone?"
+
+Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:
+
+"Thou seest, my lord--I go beside thee according to thy word--"
+
+"Presumptuous youth, I want thee not!"
+
+"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord--and I can be patient--"
+
+"Ha--dost defy me?"
+
+"Not so, my lord--nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than
+thyself, so do I pity thee--pity thee--thou that art so mighty and yet
+so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go
+beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a noble
+man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies--God send they
+soon may pass. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."
+
+Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed
+his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever
+averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce
+baying of the hounds.
+
+Said Beltane at last:
+
+"Messire, thou dost hear the hounds?"
+
+"In faith, my lord, I tremble to be gone, but an thou dost tarry, so
+must I."
+
+"Death shall follow hard after us this day, Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Why then, an death o'ertake us--I must die, messire."
+
+"Ha,--the hounds have winded us already, methinks! Hark!--Hark to
+them!" And in truth the air was full of their raving clamour, with,
+ever and anon, the shouts and cries of those that urged them on.
+
+"Hast a noble horse, Sir Fidelis. Now God send he bear thee well this
+day, for 'twill be hard and cruel going. Come--'tis time, methinks!"
+
+Thus speaking, Beltane gave his horse the rein and forth they rode
+together out into the broad and open glade, their armour glinting in
+the sun; and immediately the dogs gave tongue, louder, fiercer than
+before. Now looking back. Beltane beheld afar many mounted men who
+shouted amain, flourishing lance and sword, while divers others let
+slip the great dogs they held in leash; then, looking up the glade
+ahead, and noting its smooth level and goodly length, Beltane smiled
+grimly and drew sword. "Sir Fidelis," said he, "hast a mace at thy
+saddle-bow: betake thee to it, 'tis a goodly weapon, and--smite hard.
+'Twill be the dogs first. Now--spur!"
+
+Forward bounded the two high-mettled steeds, gathering pace with every
+stride, but the great hounds came on amain, while beyond, distant as
+yet, the hunters rode--knight and squire, mounted bowman and man-at-arms
+they spurred and shouted, filling the air with fierce halloo.
+Slowly the hounds drew nearer--ten great beasts Beltane counted--that
+galloped two and two, whining and whimpering as they came.
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane checked in his career, swerved, swung the
+plunging roan, and with long blade agleam, rode in upon the racing pack
+to meet their rush with deadly point and deep-biting edge; a slavering
+hound launched itself at his throat, its fangs clashing on the stout
+links of his camail, but as the great beast hung thus, striving to drag
+him from the saddle, down came the mace of Sir Fidelis and the snarling
+beast fell to be crushed 'neath the trampling hoofs of the war-horse
+Mars. And now did the mighty roan prove himself a very Mars indeed,
+for, beset round about by fierce, lean shapes that crouched and leapt
+with cruel, gleaming fangs, he stamped and reared and fought them off,
+neighing loud defiance. Thus, with lashing hoof, with whirling mace and
+darting sword fought they, until of the hounds there none remained save
+three that limped painfully to cover, licking their hurts as they went.
+
+But other foes were near, for as Beltane reined his snorting steed
+about, he swayed in his stirrups 'neath the shock of a cross-bow bolt
+that glanced, whirring, from his bascinet, and in that moment Sir
+Fidelis cried aloud:
+
+"My lord, my lord! alas, my poor horse is death-smitten!" Glancing
+round. Beltane beheld Sir Fidelis slip to earth as his charger, rearing
+high, crashed over, his throat transfixed by a cloth-yard shaft. Now
+did their many pursuers shout amain, fierce and joyful, goading their
+horses to swifter pace what time Beltane frowned from them to Sir
+Fidelis, who stood, mailed hands tight-clasped, watching Beltane eager
+and great-eyed.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, smiting hand to thigh in bitter anger, "now is my
+hope of ambush and surprise like to be marred by reason of thee, sir
+knight, for one horse may never carry us twain!"
+
+"Why then, I can die here, my lord, an it be so thy will!" spake Sir
+Fidelis, his pale lips a tremble, "yet is thy horse strong and--O in
+sooth I did yearn--for life. But, an thou wilt give me death--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane hoarsely. "Come, wherefore tarry ye?"
+
+Now leapt Sir Fidelis to the saddle of his fallen steed and snatched
+thence a wallet, whereat Beltane fell a-fuming, for bolts and arrows
+began to whirr and hum thick and fast. "Come--mount, sir knight--mount
+ye up behind me. Thy hand--quick! thy foot on my foot--so! Now set thy
+two arms fast about me and see thou loose me not, for now must we ride
+for the wild--brush and thicket, stock and stone, nought must let or
+stay us--so loose me not, sir knight!"
+
+"Ah--not while life remain, messire Beltane!" said the young knight
+quick-breathing, and speaking, took Beltane within two mailed arms that
+clasped and clung full close. Then, wheeling sharp about, Beltane
+stooping low, struck sudden spurs and they plunged, crashing, into the
+denser green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+
+Fast galloped the good horse, bursting through underbrush and thicket
+with the roar of the pursuit following ever distant and more distant;
+and ever Beltane spurred deeper into those trackless wilds where few
+dare adventure them by reason of evil spirits that do haunt these
+solitudes (as they do say) and, moreover, of ravening beasts.
+
+Strongly and well the good horse bore them, what time the sun waxed
+fierce and hot, filling the woods with a stifling heat, a close,
+windless air dank and heavy with the scent of leaves and bracken. The
+hue and cry had sunk long since, lost in distance, and nought broke the
+brooding silence but the stir of their going, as, checking their
+headlong pace, Beltane brought the powerful animal to slow and leisured
+gait. And presently, a gentle wind arose, that came and went, to fan
+brow and cheek and temper the sun's heat.
+
+And now, as they rode through sunlight and shadow, Beltane felt his
+black mood slowly lifted from him and knew a sense of rest, a content
+unfelt this many a day; he looked, glad-eyed, upon the beauty of the
+world about him, from green earth to an azure heaven peeping through a
+fretted screen of branches; he marked the graceful, slender bracken
+stirring to the soft-breathing air, the mighty boles of stately trees
+that reached out sinuous boughs one to another, to touch and twine
+together amid a mystery of murmuring leaves. All this he saw, yet
+heeded not at all the round-mailed arms that clasped him in their soft
+embrace, nor the slender hands that held upon his girdle.
+
+So rode they through bosky dell and dingle, until the sun, having
+climbed the meridian, sank slowly westwards; and Sir Fidelis spake
+soft-voiced:
+
+"Think you we are safe at last, my lord?"
+
+"Fidelis," saith Beltane, "Yest're'en did'st thou name me selfish,
+to-day, a babe, and, moreover, by thy disobedience hast made my schemes
+of no avail--thus am I wroth with thee."
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine, my lord," said Sir Fidelis, small of voice.
+
+"Ha--think you my anger so light a thing, forsooth?"
+
+"Messire, I think of it not at all."
+
+"By thy evil conduct are we fugitives in the wilderness!"
+
+"Yet is it a wondrous fair place, messire, and we unharmed--which is
+well, and we are--together, which is--also well."
+
+"And with but one beast to bear us twain!"
+
+"Yet he beareth us strong and nobly, messire!"
+
+"Fidelis, I would I ne'er had seen thee."
+
+"Thou dost not see me--now, lord--content you, therefore," saith
+Fidelis softly, whereat Beltane must needs twist in the saddle, yet saw
+no more than a mailed arm and shoulder.
+
+"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the
+middle of any other man than I."
+
+"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine
+for solitude?"
+
+"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast
+angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"
+
+"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be
+full long a-growing old--"
+
+"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do
+raven--"
+
+"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou,
+forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore
+here?"
+
+"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou
+wilt!"
+
+"Am I of so ill humour, indeed?"
+
+"Look within thyself, my lord."
+
+Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him
+again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy
+voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that
+mindeth me of bitter days."
+
+"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."
+
+Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis,
+head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved
+to wistful smile.
+
+"Came you in sooth from--the Duchess Helen, Fidelis?"
+
+"In truth, my lord."
+
+"Dost love her--also?"
+
+"Aye, my lord--also!"
+
+"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee
+to thy death, methinks, for she--this wilful Helen--"
+
+"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"
+
+"Fidelis, art a gentle knight--but very young, art fond and foolish,
+so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"
+
+"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this--that I
+do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus--
+give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping--stoop not to her
+wanton lure--ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had
+sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking
+him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.
+
+"Shame, messire--O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with
+lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen,
+I do name thee liar!--liar!"
+
+"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Fidelis, "unworthy art thou to take her name within thy
+lips--enough!" So saying Sir Fidelis stepped back a pace and drew his
+sword.
+
+Now Beltane, yet astride the mighty roan that snuffed the fragrant air
+and stooped to crop the tender herbage, looked upon the youthful
+paladin 'neath wrinkled brow, and pulled his lip as one in doubt. Anon
+he sighed and therewith smiled and shook his head.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"O Fidelis, now do I see that I must needs love thee some day. Fidelis,
+art a fool, but a right sweet fool, so do I humbly sue thy foolish
+pardon, and, as to Helen, may she prove worthy thy sweet faith and I
+thy love and friendship. So, fair knight, put up thy sword--come, mount
+and let us on. Sir Mars, methinks, doth snuff water afar, and I do
+yearn me for the cool of it."
+
+So in a while they rode on again, yet presently Sir Fidelis, meek-voiced,
+preferred a sudden question, thus:
+
+"Lord, fain would I know why thou dost contemn her so--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "here is a tale un-meet thy tender years. Speak
+we of other things--as thus, wherefore didst keep our lives in jeopardy
+to bring away the wallet that cumbereth thy hip?"
+
+"For that within doth lie, first--our supper--"
+
+"O foolish youth, these woods do teem with food!"
+
+"A neat's tongue, delicately seasoned--"
+
+"O!" said Beltane.
+
+"'Twixt manchets of fair white bread--"
+
+"Ah!" said Beltane.
+
+"With a small skin of rare wine--"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Beltane. "These be things forsooth worth a little
+risk. Now do I thirst and famish, yet knew it not."
+
+"An thou wilt eat, my lord?"
+
+"Nay, first will we find some freshet where we may bathe awhile. Ha, to
+plunge naked within some sweet pool--'tis a sweet thought, Fidelis?"
+
+But hereupon the young knight made answer none and fell into a reverie
+and Beltane also, what time they rode by murmuring rills, through
+swampy hollows, past brake and briar, until, as evening began to fall,
+they came unto a broad, slow-moving stream whose waters, aglow with
+sunset glory, split asunder the greeny gloom of trees, most pleasant to
+behold. Then, sighing for very gladness, Beltane checked his horse and
+spake right gleefully:
+
+"Light down, light down, good Fidelis; ne'er saw I fairer haven for
+wearied travellers! We have ridden hard and far, so here will we tarry
+the night!" and down to earth he sprang, to stride up and down and
+stretch his cramped limbs, the while Sir Fidelis, loosing off the
+great, high-peaked saddle, led the foam-flecked war-horse down to the
+water.
+
+Now because of the heat, Beltane laid by his bascinet, and, hearkening
+to the soft, cool ripple of the water, he straightway unbuckled his
+sword-belt and began to doff his heavy hauberk; perceiving the which,
+cometh Sir Fidelis to him something hastily.
+
+"What do you, messire?" he questioned.
+
+"Do, Fidelis? Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water--list
+how it murmureth 'neath the bank yonder. Come then, strip as I do,
+youth, strip and let us swim together--pray you aid me with this
+lacing."
+
+"My lord, I--indeed, I do think it unsafe--"
+
+"Unsafe, boy?"
+
+"An our foes should come upon us--"
+
+"O content you," quoth Beltane, stooping to loose off his spurs, "our
+foes were lost hours since, nor shall any find us here in the wild,
+methinks--pray you, loose me this buckle. Come, list how the waters do
+woo us with their pretty babble."
+
+"But, messire," quoth Fidelis, faint-voiced, and fumbling awkwardly
+with the buckle, "indeed I--I have no art in swimming."
+
+"Then will I teach thee."
+
+"Nay," spake the young knight hastily, his trouble growing, "I do dread
+the water!"
+
+"Well, there be shallows 'neath the alders yonder."
+
+"Aye, but the shallows will be muddy, and I--"
+
+"Muddy?" cried Beltane, pausing with his hauberk half on, half off, to
+stare at Sir Fidelis in amaze, "muddy, forsooth! Art a dainty youth in
+faith, and over-nice, methinks. What matter for a little honest mud,
+prithee?"
+
+"Why 'tis mud! And slimy under foot! And I love not mud! So will I none
+of the shallows!"
+
+"Then verily must I chide thee, Fidelis, for--"
+
+"Then verily will I unto yon boskage, messire, to prepare us a fire
+'gainst the 'beasts that raven,' and our bracken beds. Howbeit, bathe
+me I--will--not, messire!"
+
+"O luxurious youth, then will I, and shame thy nice luxuriousness!"
+quoth Beltane; and off came hauberk and quilted gambeson and away
+skipped Sir Fidelis into the green.
+
+So, presently, Beltane plunged him into the stream, and swimming with
+powerful strokes, felt his youth and strength redoubled thereby, and
+rejoiced to be alive. Thereafter he leapt ashore, his blood aglow with
+ardent life, and, as he clothed him, felt a great and mighty hunger.
+
+But scarce had he donned chausses and gambeson than he heard an outcry
+and sudden clamour within the green; whereupon, staying not for his
+armour, he caught up his sword and, unsheathing it as he ran, plunged
+in among the trees and there espied Sir Fidelis stoutly withstanding
+three foul knaves unwashed and ragged. Then shouted Beltane, and fell
+upon them right joyously and smote them gleefully and laughed to see
+them reel and scatter before his sudden onset; whereon, beholding Sir
+Fidelis pale and scant of breath, he stayed to clap him on the
+shoulder.
+
+"Blithely done, good Fidelis!" quoth he. "Rest thee awhile and catch
+thy wind, for fain am I to try a bout with yon tall rogues!" So saying,
+he advanced upon the scowling three, his eyes a-dance, his nimble feet
+light-poised for swift action--for lusty rogues were these, who,
+seeing him alone, forthwith met him point and edge, besetting him with
+many swashing blows, that, whistling, did but cleave the empty air or
+rang loud upon his swift-opposing blade. So hewed they, and smote amain
+until their brows shone moist and their breaths waxed short; whereat
+Beltane mocked them, saying:
+
+"Ha--sweat ye, forsooth? Do ye puff so soon? This cometh of foul eating
+and fouler life. Off--off! ye beefy do-nothings! An ye would be worthy
+fighters, eat less and bathe ye more!" Then Beltane laid on with the
+flat of his heavy sword and soundly belaboured these hard-breathing
+knaves, insomuch that one, hard-smitten on the crown, stumbled and
+fell, whereupon his comrades, to save their bones, leapt forthwith
+a-down the steepy bank and, plunging into the stream, made across to the
+farther side, splashing prodigiously, and cursing consumedly, for the
+water they liked not at all.
+
+Now as Beltane leaned him on his sword, watching their flounderings
+joyful-eyed, the weapon was dashed from his loosened hold, he staggered
+'neath the bite of vicious steel, and, starting round, beheld the third
+rogue, his deadly sword swung high; but even as the blow fell, Sir
+Fidelis sprang between and took it upon his own slender body, and,
+staggering aside, fell, and lay with arms wide-tossed. Then, whiles the
+robber yet stared upon his sword, shivered by the blow, Beltane leapt,
+and ere he could flee, caught him about the loins, and whirling him
+aloft, dashed him out into the stream. Then, kneeling by Sir Fidelis,
+he took his heavy head upon his arm and beheld his cheeks pale and wan,
+his eyes fast shut, and saw his shining bascinet scored and deep-dinted
+by the blow.
+
+"Fidelis!" he groaned, "O my brave Fidelis, and art thou slain--for my
+sake?" But in a while, what time Beltane kneeled and mourned over him
+full sore, the young knight stirred feebly, sighed, and spake.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered; and again, "Beltane!" Anon his white lids
+quivered, and, opening swooning eyes he spake again with voice grown
+stronger:
+
+"My lord--my lord--what of thy wound?"
+
+And lo! the voice was sweet to hear as note of merle or mavis; these
+eyes were long and deeply blue beneath their heavy lashes; eyes that
+looked up, brimful of tenderness, ere they closed slow and wearily;
+eyes so much at odds with grim bascinet and close-laced camail that
+Beltane must needs start and hold his breath and fall to sudden
+trembling what time Sir Fidelis lay there, pale and motionless, as one
+that is dead. Now great fear came upon Beltane, and he would have
+uttered desperate prayers, but could not; trembling yet, full gently he
+drew his arm from under that drooping head, and, stealing soft-footed
+to the river's marge, stood there staring down at the rippling waters,
+and his heart was rent with conflicting passions--amazement, fear,
+anger, joy, and a black despair. And of a sudden Beltane fell upon his
+knees and bowed him low and lower until his burning brow was hid in the
+cool, sweet grass--for of these passions, fiercest, strongest, wildest,
+was--despair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+Now in a while, he started to feel a hand among his hair, and the hand
+was wondrous light and very gentle; wherefore, wondering, he raised his
+head, but behold, the sun was gone and the shadows deepening to night.
+Yet even so, he stared and thrilled 'twixt wonder and fear to see Sir
+Fidelis bending over him.
+
+"Fidelis!" he murmured, "and is it thee in truth,--or do I dream?"
+
+"Dear my lord, 'tis I indeed. How long hast lain thus? I did but now
+wake from my swoon. Is it thy hurt?--suffer me to look."
+
+"Nay, 'tis of none account, but I did dream thee--dead--Fidelis!"
+
+"Ah, messire, thy hurt bleedeth apace--the steel hath gone deep! Sit
+you thus, thy back against the tree--so. Within my wallet I have a
+salve--wait you here." So, whiles Beltane stared dreamily upon the
+twilit river, Sir Fidelis hasted up the bank and was back again, the
+wallet by his side, whence he took a phial and goblet and mixed therein
+a draught which dreamy Beltane perforce must swallow, and thereafter
+the dreamy languor fell from him, what time Sir Fidelis fell to bathing
+and bandaging the ugly gash that showed beneath his knee. Now as he
+watched these busy, skilful fingers he knew a sudden, uneasy qualm,
+and forthwith spake his thought aloud:
+
+"Thy hands are wondrous--small and slender, Sir Fidelis!"
+
+"Belike, messire, they shall grow bigger some day."
+
+"Yet are they wondrous fair--and soft--and white, Fidelis!"
+
+"Mayhap, messire, they shall grow rough and brown and hairy anon--so
+content you."
+
+"Yet wherefore are they so soft, Fidelis, and so--maid-like? And
+wherefore--"
+
+"See you, my lord, thus must the bandage lie, fast-knotted--so. Nor
+must it slacken, lest the bleeding start afresh." So saying, Sir
+Fidelis arose, and taking the wallet in one hand and setting the other
+'neath Beltane's arm, led him to where, deep-bowered under screening
+willows, a fire burned cheerily, whereby were two beds of scented
+bracken.
+
+Dark and darker the shadows crept down, deepening to a night soft and
+warm and very still, whose quietude was unbroken save for the drowsy
+lap and murmur of the river and the sound the war-horse Mars made as he
+cropped the grass near by. Full of a languorous content lay Beltane,
+despite the smarting of his wound, what time Sir Fidelis came and went
+about the fire; and there, within this great and silent wilderness,
+they supped together, and, while they supped, Beltane looked oft upon
+Sir Fidelis, heedful of every trick of mail-girt feature and gesture of
+graceful hand as he ne'er had been ere now. Wherefore Sir Fidelis grew
+red, grew pale, was by turns talkative and silent, and was fain to
+withdraw into the shadows beyond the fire. And from there, seeing
+Beltane silent and full of thought, grew bold to question him.
+
+"Dost meditate our course to-morrow, my lord Beltane?"
+
+"Nay--I do but think--a strange thought--that I have seen thy face ere
+now, Fidelis. Yet art full young to bear arms a-field."
+
+"Doth my youth plague thee still, messire? Believe me, I am--older than
+I seem."
+
+"Thou, at peril of thy life, Fidelis, didst leap 'twixt me and death,
+so needs must I know thee for my friend, and yet--"
+
+"And yet, messire?"
+
+"Thou hast betimes the look and speech of one--of one beyond all
+traitors vile!"
+
+"Ah," murmured Sir Fidelis, a sudden tremor in his voice, "thou dost
+mean--?"
+
+"Helen of Mortain--poor Fidelis--whom thou dost love."
+
+"Whom thou dost hate, Beltane! And O, I pray thee, wherefore is thy
+hate so bitter?"
+
+"Fidelis, there lived a fool, that, for her beauty, loved her with a
+mighty love: that, for her seeming truth and purity, honoured her
+beyond all things: that, in the end, did find her beyond all things
+vile. Aye, there lived a fool--and I am he."
+
+"Ah, beseech thee," cried Sir Fidelis, white hands outstretched, "how
+know you her thus false to thee, Beltane?"
+
+"Know then, Sir Fidelis, that--upon our wedding-eve I was--by her
+command struck down--within the chapel--upon the very altar, and by
+her borne in bonds unto Garthlaxton Keep--a present to mine enemy, Duke
+Ivo--"
+
+"O, 'tis a lie--O dear my lord--'tis lie most foul--!"
+
+"In witness whereof behold upon my wrists the shameful irons from my
+dungeon--"
+
+"Alas! here was no work of Helen's--no thought, no will--Helen would
+have died to save thee this--"
+
+"So, Fidelis, do I scorn all women that do live upon this earth
+henceforth--but, above all, Helen the Beautiful! the Wilful! who in her
+white bosom doth bear a heart more foul than Trojan Helen, that was a
+woman false and damned. So now, all's said."
+
+Now fell Sir Fidelis upon his knees and spake quick and passionate:
+
+"Nay, Beltane, hear me! For now do I swear that he who told thee 'twas
+Helen wrought thee this vile wrong--who told thee this doth lie--O,
+doth lie! Now do I swear that never by word or thought or deed, hath
+she been false to thee--I do swear she loveth thee--ah, spurn me not--
+O, believe--"
+
+"Enough--enough, good Fidelis, perjure not thy sweet youth for one so
+much unworthy, for with these eyes did I behold her as they bore me in
+my bonds--and shall I not believe mine eyes?"
+
+"Never--ah! never, when they do shew thee Helen false and cruel to
+thee! Here was some vile magic--witchcraft--"
+
+"Enough, Fidelis, 'tis past and done. Here was a woman false--well,
+'tis none so singular--there have been others--there will be others.
+So, God keep thee, sweet youth, from the ways of women. Nay, let us
+speak of this no more, for in sooth I grow a-weary and we must ride
+with the dawn to-morrow. So, betake thee to thy rest, nor grieve thee
+for my sorrows past and done--mayhap they shall be things to smile upon
+one day."
+
+So saying, Beltane sighed, and laid him down among the bracken and
+thereafter Fidelis did the like; the fire sank and waned, and oft Sir
+Fidelis stirred restless in the shadows; the river murmured
+slumberously among the sedge, but Beltane, hearkening with drowsy ears,
+oft thought to hear another sound, very soft and repressed yet very
+dolorous, ere, worn and spent, and something weakened by wound and loss
+of blood, he sank at last to deep and gentle sleep.
+
+But in his sleep he dreamed that one knelt above him in the dark,
+keeping watch upon his slumbers in the attitude of one in prayer--one
+whom he knew, yet knew not; it seemed to Beltane in his dream, that
+this silent, slender shape, stooped of a sudden, low and lower, to kiss
+the iron fetters that bound his wrists; then Beltane strove to wake yet
+could not wake, but in his slumber sighed a name, soft-breathed and
+gentle as the languorous murmur of the stream:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+
+The rising sun, darting an inquisitive beam 'twixt a leafy opening,
+fell upon Beltane's wide, slow-heaving breast; crept upwards to his
+chin, his cheek, and finally strove to peep beneath his slumberous,
+close-shut lids; whereat Beltane stirred, yawned, threw wide and
+stretched his mighty arms, and thereafter, blinking drowsily, sat up,
+his golden hair be-tousled, and stared sleepily about him.
+
+Birds piped joyously near and far; hid among the leaves near by, the
+war-horse Mars stamped eager hoof and snuffed the fragrant air of
+morning; but Sir Fidelis was nowhere to be seen. Thus in a while
+Beltane arose to find his leg very stiff and sore, and his throat be
+parched with feverish thirst; wherefore, limping painfully, he turned
+where a little water-brook went singing o'er pebbly bed to join the
+slow-moving river; but, putting aside the leaves, he paused of a
+sudden, for there, beside the noisy streamlet he beheld Sir Fidelis,
+his bascinet upon the grass beside him, his mail-coif thrown back
+betwixt his shoulders, stooping to bathe his face in the sparkling
+water.
+
+Now would he have called a greeting, but the words died upon his lips,
+his breath stayed, and he stared at something that had caught in the
+links of the young knight's mail-coif, something that stirred light and
+wanton, kissed by the breath of early morn--a lock of bright hair that
+glowed a wondrous red-gold in the new-risen sun. So stood Beltane
+awhile, and, beholding this, a trembling seized him and therewith
+sudden anger, and he strode forth of the leaves. And lo! on the
+instant, on went hood of mail and thereafter shining bascinet, and Sir
+Fidelis arose. But, ere he could turn, Beltane was beside him, had
+caught him within a powerful arm, and, setting a hand 'neath mailed
+chin, lifted the young knight's head and scowled down into his face.
+
+Eyes long, black-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his,
+wide, yet fearless, and anon, were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids;
+a nose tenderly aquiline, lips red and full that met in ripe and
+luscious curves. This Beltane saw, and straightway his anger grew.
+
+"Ah!" cried he, hoarsely, "now, by the living God, who art thou, and--
+what?"
+
+"Thy--comrade-in-arms, lord Beltane."
+
+"Why hast thou the seeming of one beyond all women false? Why dost thou
+speak me betimes in her voice, look at me with her eyes, touch me with
+her soft, white, traitor's hands--answer me!"
+
+"My lord, we are akin, she and I--of the same house and blood--"
+
+"Then is thy blood foul with treachery!"
+
+"Yet did I save thy life, Beltane!"
+
+"Yet thy soft voice, thy red mouth and false eyes--thy very blood--all
+these do prove thee traitor--hence!" and Beltane threw him off.
+
+"Nay my lord!" he cried, "prithee take care, Beltane,--see--thou hast
+displaced the bandage, thy wound bleedeth amain--so will I bind it up
+for thee--"
+
+But Beltane, nothing heeding, turned and strode back into the green and
+there fell to donning his armour as swiftly as he might--albeit
+stealthily. Thereafter came he to the destrier Mars and, having saddled
+and bridled him with the same swift stealth, set foot in stirrup and
+would have mounted, yet found this a painful matter by reason of his
+wound; thus it befell, that, ere he could reach the saddle, the leaves
+parted close by and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane, why dost thou steal away thus? An it be thy will to
+leave me to perish alone here in the wilderness, first break thy fast,
+and suffer me to bind up thy hurt, so shalt thou ride hence in
+comfort." Now stood Beltane motionless and silent, nor turned nor dared
+he look upon Sir Fidelis, but bowed his head in bitter shame, and,
+therewith, knew a great remorse.
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," said he at last, "thy rebuke stingeth deep, for it is
+just, since I indeed did purpose thee a most vile thing! How vile a
+thing, then, am I--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--dear my lord, I would not have thee grieve, indeed 'twas
+but--"
+
+"Once ere this I would have slain thee, Fidelis--murdered thee before
+my wild fellows--I--I, that did preach them mercy and gentleness! To-day
+I would have left thee to perish alone within this ravening
+wilderness--that do bear so honourable a name! O Beltane, my father!
+Yet, believe me, I did love honour once, and was accounted gentle. I
+did set forth to do great things, but now--now do I know myself unfit
+and most unworthy. Therefore, Sir Fidelis, do thou take the horse and
+what thou wilt beside and leave me here, for fain am I to end my days
+within these solitudes with no eye to see me more--save only the eye of
+God!" So saying, Beltane went aside, and sitting 'neath a tree beside
+the river, bowed his head upon his hands and groaned; then came Sir
+Fidelis full swift, and stooping, touched his bowed head with gentle
+hand, whereat he but groaned again.
+
+"God pity me!" quoth he, "I am in sooth so changed, meseemeth some vile
+demon doth possess me betimes!" and, sighing deep, he gazed upon the
+rippling waters wide-eyed and fearful. And, as he sat thus, abashed
+and despairing, Sir Fidelis, speaking no word, bathed and bound up his
+wound, and, thereafter brought and spread forth their remaining viands.
+
+"Eat," said he gently, "come, let us break our fast, mayhap thy sorrows
+shall grow less anon. Come, eat, I pray thee, Beltane, for none will I
+eat alone and, O, I famish!"
+
+So they ate together, whiles the war-horse Mars, pawing impatient
+hoof, oft turned his great head to view them with round and wistful
+eye.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane suddenly, "thou didst name me selfish, and
+verily, a selfish man am I--and to-day! O Fidelis, why dost not
+reproach me for the evil I purposed thee to-day?"
+
+"For that I do most truly love thee, Beltane my lord!"
+
+"Yet wherefore did ye so yesterday, and for lesser fault?"
+
+"For that I did love thee, so would I see thee a strong man--yet
+gentle: a potent lord, yet humble: a noble man as--as thou wert said to
+be!"
+
+"Alas, my Fidelis, harsh have I been, proud and unforgiving--"
+
+"Aye, my lord--thou art unforgiving--a little!"
+
+"So now, Fidelis, would I crave forgiveness of all men." Then came the
+young knight nearer yet, his face radiant with sudden joy, his white
+hands clasped.
+
+"Lord!" he whispered, "O Beltane, could'st indeed forgive all--all harm
+done thee, howsoever great or small thy mind doth hold them--could'st
+forgive all!"
+
+"Aye, I could forgive them all, Fidelis--all save Helen--who hath
+broke this heart of mine and made my soul a thing as black as she hath
+whited this my hair."
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane heard a sound--a small sound 'twixt a sob and a
+moan, but when he raised his heavy head--lo! Sir Fidelis was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+The sun rose high, jet still Beltane sat there beside the stream,
+staring down into the gurgling waters, grieving amain for his
+unworthiness.
+
+Thus presently comes Sir Fidelis, and standing afar, spake in voice
+strange and bitter:
+
+"What do ye there, my lord? Dost dream ever upon thy woes and ills?
+Wilt dream thy life away here amid the wild, forsooth?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, very humbly:
+
+"And wherefore not, Sir Fidelis? Unfit am I for great achievements.
+But, as to thee, take now the horse and ride you ever north and west--"
+
+"Yea, but where is north, and where west--?"
+
+"The trees shall tell you this. Hearken now--"
+
+"Nay, my lord, no forester am I to find my way through trackless wild.
+So, an thou stay, so, perforce, must I: and if thou stay then art thou
+deeply forsworn."
+
+"How mean you, good sir?"
+
+"I mean Belsaye--I mean all those brave souls that do wait and watch,
+pale-cheeked, 'gainst Ivo's threatened vengeance--"
+
+"Ha--Belsaye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head.
+
+"Thou must save Belsaye from flame and ravishment, my lord!"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," cried Beltane, clenching his hands, "though I be
+unworthy to stand in my noble father's place, yet Belsaye must be saved
+or I die in it. O Fidelis, friend art thou indeed and wise beyond thy
+years!" But as Beltane arose, Sir Fidelis incontinent turned away, and
+presently came back leading the great horse. So in a while they set out
+northwards; but now were no arms to clasp and cling, since Sir Fidelis
+found hold otherwhere. Thus, after some going, Beltane questioned him:
+
+"Art easy, Fidelis?"
+
+"Aye, lord!"
+
+"Wilt not take hold upon my belt, as yesterday?"
+
+"Methinks I am better thus."
+
+"Nay then, shalt have stirrups and saddle, for I am fain to walk."
+
+"And re-open thy wound, messire? Nay, let be--I ride easily thus."
+
+"Art angered with me, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord, I do but pity thee!"
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For thy so great loneliness--in all thy world is none but Beltane, and
+he is very woeful and dreameth ever of his wrongs--"
+
+"Would'st call me selfish again, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay, lord--a martyr. O, a very martyr that huggeth his chains and
+kisseth his wounds and joyeth in the recollection of his pain."
+
+"Have I not suffered, Fidelis?"
+
+"Thou hast known the jangling gloom of a dungeon--'twas at Garthlaxton
+Keep, methinks?"
+
+"Fetters!" cried Beltane, "a dungeon! These be things to smile at--my
+grief is of the mind--the deeper woe of high and noble ideals
+shattered--a holy altar blackened and profaned--a woman worshipped as
+divine, and proved baser than the basest!"
+
+"And is this all, my lord?"
+
+"All!" quoth Beltane amazed. "All!" saith he, turning to stare.
+
+"So much of woe and tribulation for so little reason? Nay, hear me, for
+now will I make thee a prophecy, as thus: There shall dawn a day, lord
+Beltane, when thou shalt see at last and know Truth when she stands
+before thee. And, in that day thou shalt behold all things with new
+eyes: and in that day shalt thou sigh, and long, and yearn with all thy
+soul for these woeful hours wherein Self looms for thee so large thou
+art blind to aught else."
+
+"Good Fidelis, thy prophecy is beyond my understanding."
+
+"Aye, my lord, 'tis so I think, indeed!"
+
+"Pray thee therefore rede and expound it unto me!"
+
+"Nay, time mayhap shall teach it thee, and thou, methinks shalt
+passionately desire again the solitude of this wilderness."
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"For that it shall be beyond thy reach--and mine!" and Fidelis sighed
+in deep and troubled fashion and so fell to silence, what time Beltane,
+cunning in wood-lore, glancing hither and thither at knotted branch and
+writhen tree bole, viewing earth and heaven with a forester's quick
+eye, rode on into the trackless wilds of the forest-lands.
+
+Now here, thinketh the historian, it booteth not to tell of all those
+minor haps and chances that befell them; how, despite all Beltane's
+wood-craft, they went astray full oft by reason of fordless rivers and
+quaking swamps: of how they snared game to their sustenance, or how,
+for all the care and skill of Sir Fidelis, Beltane's wound healed not,
+by reason of continual riding, for that each day he grew more restless
+and eager for knowledge of Belsaye, so that, because of his wound he
+knew small rest by day and a fevered sleep by night--yet, despite all,
+his love for Fidelis daily waxed and grew, what time he pressed on
+through the wild country, north-westerly.
+
+Five weary days and nights wandered they, lost to sight and knowledge
+within the wild; days of heat and nights of pain and travail, until
+there came an evening when, racked with anguish and faint with thirst
+and weariness, Beltane drew rein within a place of rocks whereby was a
+shady pool deep-bowered in trees. Down sprang Fidelis to look anxiously
+on Beltane's face, pale and haggard in the light of a great moon.
+
+Says Beltane, looking round about with knitted brow:
+
+"Fidelis--O Fidelis, methinks I know this place--these rocks--the pool
+yonder--there should be a road hereabout, the great road that leadeth
+to Mortain. Climb now the steep and tell me an you can see a road,
+running north and south."
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis climbed the rocky eminence, and, being there,
+cried right joyously:
+
+"Aye, lord--'tis the road--the road!" and so came hastily down,
+glad-eyed. "'Tis the end of this wilderness at last, my lord!"
+
+"Aye!" sighed Beltane, "at last!" and groaning, he swayed in the
+saddle--for his pain was very sore--and would have fallen but for the
+ready arms of Sir Fidelis. Thereafter, with much labour, Beltane got
+him to earth, and Fidelis brought him where, beneath the steep, was a
+shallow cave carpeted with soft moss, very excellent suited to their
+need. Here Beltane laid him down, watching a little cataract that
+rippled o'er the rocky bank near by, where ferns and lichens grew; what
+time Sir Fidelis came and went, and, having set fire a-going whereby to
+cook their supper, brought an armful of fragrant heather to set 'neath
+Beltane's weary head. Then, having given him to drink of the cordial,
+fell to work bathing and bandaging his wound, sighing often to see it
+so swollen and angry.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane, "methinks there is some magic in thy touch,
+for now is my pain abated--hast a wondrous gentle hand--"
+
+"'Tis the cordial giveth thee respite, lord--"
+
+"Nay, 'tis thy hand, methinks. Sure no man e'er was blest with truer
+friend than thou, my Fidelis; brave art thou, yet tender as any woman,
+and rather would I have thy love than the love of any man or woman
+soever, henceforth, dear my friend. Nay, wherefore hang thy head?
+without thee I had died many times ere this; without thy voice to cheer
+me in these solitudes, thy strength and skill to aid me, I had fallen
+into madness and death. Wherefore I do love thee, Fidelis, and fain
+would have thee go beside me ever--so great is become my need of thee."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou dost know I will ne'er desert thee!"
+
+"So henceforth am I content--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"To-morrow, perchance, shall see the end of this our solitude and close
+comradeship--to-morrow we should reach Hundleby Fen. So, Fidelis,
+promise me, if thou, at any time hereafter should see me harsh, or
+proud, or selfish--do thou mind me of these days of our love and
+companionship. Wilt promise me?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" spake Sir Fidelis, low-bending to his task; and thereafter
+sighed, and bowed him lower yet.
+
+"Wherefore dost thou sigh?"
+
+"For that I feel as if--ah, Beltane!--as if this night should be the
+end of our love and comradeship!"
+
+"Nought but death shall do this, methinks."
+
+"Why then," said Fidelis as he rose, "an it must be, fain would I have
+death."
+
+But when Beltane would have questioned him further he smiled sad and
+wistful and went forth to the fire. Up rose the moon, a thing of glory
+filling the warm, stilly night with a soft and radiant splendour--a
+tender light, fraught with a subtle magic, whereby all things, rock and
+tree and leaping brook, found a new and added beauty.
+
+And in some while comes Sir Fidelis to set out their viands, neat and
+orderly, as was ever his custom, and thereafter must needs chide
+Beltane, soft-voiced, for his lack of hunger, and cut dainty morsels,
+wooing him thereby to eat.
+
+"Fidelis," says Beltane, "on so fair a night as this, methinks, the old
+fables and romances might well be true that tell of elves that dance on
+moony nights, and of shapely nymphs and lovely dryads that are the
+spirits of the trees. Aye, in the magic of so fair a night as this
+aught might happen--miracles and wonders."
+
+"Save one thing, dear my lord."
+
+"As what, my Fidelis?"
+
+"That thou should'st dream Helen pure and faithful and worthy to thy
+love--that, doubting thine own senses, thou should'st yearn and sigh to
+hold her once again, heart on heart--"
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," quoth Beltane, sighing deep, "why wilt thou awake a
+sleeping sorrow? My love was dead long since, meseemeth, and buried in
+mine heart. O Fidelis, mine eyes, mine ears, my every sense do tell me
+she is false--so is an end of love for me henceforth."
+
+"Dear my lord," spake Fidelis, and his voice thrilled strangely in
+Beltane's ears--"O, Beltane, my lord, could'st thou but doubt thyself a
+little--could'st thou, doubting thine own senses for love's sake,
+believe her now true--true as thou would'st have her, then Love indeed
+might work for thee a miracle this night and thou be loved as man of
+god-like faith."
+
+"Nay, sweet Fidelis, I am but a man, apt to evil betimes and betimes
+seeking good. Howbeit, now am I a weary man that fain would sleep. Come
+then, lay you down here beside me where I may touch thee an I awake i'
+the night." And, lying down, Beltane beckoned Fidelis beside him.
+
+So in a while the young knight came and did as Beltane bade, and side
+by side they lay within the shelter of the little cave; and in the
+dark, Beltane set his mighty arm about him and thereafter spake,
+wondering:
+
+"Art not cold, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord."
+
+"Then why dost tremble?"
+
+"Indeed I know not--mayhap I grieved that--the age of miracles--is
+passed away."
+
+Now at this Beltane wondered the more and would fain have questioned
+him, but in that moment sighed, and fell to slumber. But in his sleep
+he dreamed that Fidelis was beset by foes and cried to him for aid,
+whereon he would have hasted to his deliverance yet could not for that
+unseen hands held him fast; then strove he amain against these griping
+hands, and so awaked in sudden terror and lay there trembling in the
+dark; and in the dark he reached out cautious hand further and further
+and so found himself alone--for the young knight was gone.
+
+Now being very sick with the fever of his wound, dread came upon him,
+fear seized and shook him, and, trembling in the dark he called aloud
+"Fidelis! Fidelis!" But no sound heard he save the ripple of the brook
+near by. Groaning, he arose and, limping forth of the cave stood in the
+glory of the moon, voiceless now by reason of his ever-growing terror;
+conscious only of his passionate desire to find again the youth whose
+gentle voice had cheered him often in the dark, whose high courage and
+tender care had never failed. So, leaning upon his great sword, Beltane
+limped through light and shadow, heedless of direction, until he was
+stayed by the waters of the pool.
+
+A faint splash, a rippling of the sleepy waters, and, out into the
+moonlight came one that swam the pool with long, easy strokes; one that
+presently leapt lightly ashore and stood there to shake down the
+unwetted glory of her hair. At first he thought this some enchanted
+pool and she the goddess of the place, but even then she turned, and
+thus at last--he knew. And in that moment also, she beheld him amid the
+leaves; tall and fair she stood, proud and maidenly, nor moved she,
+nor spake: only she shook about her loveliness the shining mantle of
+her hair. And beholding the reproachful sadness of those clear, virgin
+eyes, Beltane, abashed by her very beauty, bowed his head, and turning,
+stumbled away and thus presently finding himself within the cave, threw
+himself down and clasped his head within fierce hands. Yet, even so,
+needs must he behold the slim, white beauty of her, the rippling
+splendour of her hair, and the deep, shy sadness of her eyes, and,
+because of her beauty he trembled, and because of her falsity he
+groaned aloud.
+
+Now as he lay thus, after some while he heard a swift, light footfall,
+the whisper of mail, and knew that she stood above him; yet he heeded
+not, wherefore at last she spake, sweet-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Beltane--dear my lord, now dost thou know who is Fidelis, and thou
+didst--love Fidelis!" But Beltane stirred not, and finding him silent,
+she spake on, yet faltering a little:
+
+"When I waked from my swoon within the chapel at--at Blaen, and found
+thee gone, I, distraught with woeful fear and a most strange sickness,
+took thy sword and therewith horse and armour and in that same hour
+fled from Blaen, none knowing. Many days I rode seeking thee, until
+Love brought me to thee in the green. But, O Beltane, for those dire
+chances of our--wedding night, by what spells and witchcraft our
+happiness was changed to sorrow and dire amaze, I know no more than
+thou. Ah, Beltane--dear my lord--speak--speak to me!" And falling on
+her knees she would have lifted his head. But of a sudden he shrank
+away, and rose to his feet.
+
+"Touch me not, I am but a man and thou--art woman, and there is evil in
+thee, so touch me not with thy false, alluring hands. O, thou hast
+deceived me now as ever--As Fidelis did I love thee above all men, but
+for what thou art, I do despise thee--"
+
+But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her
+white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon
+with love and supplication.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "Beltane! Is thy great love dead in very truth?
+nay, indeed I know it liveth yet even as mine, and shall live on
+forever. I know--I have seen it leap within thine eyes, heard it in thy
+voice--and wherefore did'st thou love Fidelis? Look at me, Beltane! I
+can be as brave, as faithful and tender as Fidelis! Look at me!"
+
+But Beltane dared not look, and trembled because of her so great
+beauty, and fain would speak yet could not.
+
+Whereat she, yet upon her knees, drew nearer.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "trust me. Despite thyself, O, trust me--so
+shalt thou find happiness at last and Pentavalon an end to all her
+sorrows. Be thou my lord, my master--my dear love and husband--ride
+with me this night to my fair Mortain--"
+
+"To Mortain?" cried Beltane wildly, "aye, to Blaen, belike--to silken
+wantonings and to--death! Tempt me not, O witch--aye, witch that
+weaveth spells of her beauty--tempt me not I say, lest I slay thee to
+mine own defence, for I know thee beyond all women fair, yet would I
+slay thee first--" But, groaning, Beltane cast aside his sword and
+covered burning eyes with burning palms, yet shook as with an ague fit.
+
+The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head
+sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her
+with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet. Stumbling, he
+turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse
+Mars.
+
+"To Mortain shalt thou ride to-night--I pray thee mount!" cried he,
+"Come--mount, I say!"
+
+Standing tall and proud before him she sighed and spake deep-sorrowing:
+
+"Then will I leave thee--an it must be so. But, in days to come,
+mayhap, thou shalt grieve for this hour, Beltane, nor shall all thy
+sighs nor all thy tears avail to bring it back again. Thou hast shamed
+me oft, yet for all thy bitter scorns I do forgive thee, aye, even the
+anguish of my breaking heart, for that my love doth rise beyond my
+pain; and so, dear my lord--fare thee well!"
+
+So she mounted, whereat the mettled charger must needs rear, and
+Beltane, staggering aside, catch at a tree and lean there.
+
+"Art sick, Beltane?" she cried in sudden fear--"how may I leave thee
+thus--art sick!"
+
+"Aye, Helen, for thy beauty. The devil is here, and I am here, so here
+is no place for thee--so get thee gone, spur--spur! for despising thee
+in my heart yet would I have thee stay: yet, an thou stay needs must I
+slay thee ere the dawn and myself thereafter!"
+
+Thus spake he, his voice loud, his speech quick and fevered.
+
+"Indeed, thou'rt sick, my lord--nor do I fear thee, thou noble son of
+noble father!"
+
+"My father! Forsooth he liveth in Holy Cross Thicket within Mortain; he
+bade me beware of women and the ways of women. So do I know thee witch,
+thou golden Helen. Ha! must Troy burn again--I loved thee once, but
+love is dead long since and turned corrupt--so get thee hence, Helen
+the Wilful!"
+
+"O, God pity thee, my Beltane, for thou dost love me yet, even as I
+love thee--thou lonely man-child! God pity thee, and me also!" and,
+crying thus, forlorn and desolate, the Duchess Helen rode upon her
+solitary way.
+
+Then turned Beltane and stumbled on he knew not whither, and betimes he
+laughed loud and high and betimes he was shaken by great and fierce
+sobs, yet found he never a tear. Thus, limping painfully, and stumbling
+anon as one smitten blind, he wandered awhile, and so at length found
+himself beside the little cave; and throwing himself down within its
+shadows, tore away the bandages her gentle hands had wrought.
+
+And lying there, it seemed that Fidelis yet lay beneath his arm, the
+Fidelis who was no Fidelis; and in the shadows he laughed amain--wild
+laughter that died of a sudden, choked by awful sobs, what time he
+clenched his hands upon his throbbing ears; yet still, above the sounds
+of his own anguish, needs must he hear again that forlorn and desolate
+cry:
+
+"O, God pity thee, Beltane!"
+
+And now followed long hours when demons vile racked him with anguish
+and mocked him with bitter gibes; a haunted darkness where was fear and
+doubt and terror of things unknown: yet, in the blackness, a light that
+grew to a glory wherein no evil thing might be, and in this glory SHE
+did stand, tall and fair and virginal. And from the depths of
+blackness, he cried to her in agony of remorse, and from the light she
+looked down on him with eyes brimful of yearning love and tenderness,
+for that a gulf divided them. But, across this hateful void she called
+to him--"O, God pity thee, my Beltane!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+
+A darkness, full of a great quietude, a grateful stillness, slumberous
+and restful; yet, little by little, upon this all-pervading silence, a
+sound crept, soft, but distressful to one who fain would sleep; a sound
+that grew, a sharp noise and querulous. And now, in the blackness, a
+glimmer, a furtive gleam, a faint glow that grew brighter and yet more
+bright, hurtful to eyes long used to deeps of gloom; but, with the
+noise, ever this light grew--from gleam to glow and from glow to
+dazzling glare; and so, at last, Beltane opened unwilling eyes--eyes
+that blinked and smarted as they beheld a leaping flame where a fire of
+twigs crackled merrily against a purple void beyond; beholding all of
+which, Beltane forthwith shut his eyes again. But those soft deeps
+wherein he had found so sweet oblivion, that great and blessed quietude
+were altogether vanished and beyond him to regain; wherefore Beltane
+felt himself aggrieved and sorrowed within himself, and so, presently
+oped his reluctant eyes and fell to watching the play of wanton spark
+and flame. None the less he knew himself yet aggrieved, also he felt a
+sudden loneliness, wherefore (as was become his custom of late) he
+called on one ever heedful and swift to answer his call.
+
+"Fidelis!" he called, "Fidelis!" Yet came there no one, and Beltane
+wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away. So,
+troubling not to move, he called again:
+
+"Fidelis--art sleeping, my Fidelis?"
+
+Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail
+gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.
+
+"Master!" he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, "O, master, art
+awake at last?--dost know Roger--thy man,--dost know thy Roger, lord?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger," says Beltane, yet aggrieved and
+querulous, "but I called not thee. Send me Fidelis--where tarries
+Fidelis?"
+
+"Master, I know not. He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone
+and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here. Thereafter went he
+afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according
+to his word."
+
+Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black
+Roger's pitiful face with eyes of wonder.
+
+"Why, Roger!" quoth he, "Why, Roger--?"
+
+"Thou hast been very nigh to death, master. A mad-man I found thee, in
+sooth--foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and
+magic. Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth--and strove and
+fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a
+vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend. So here hast thou lain
+on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir
+Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon
+thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and--"
+
+"Nay, here is no matter--tell me, tell me, where is Fidelis?"
+
+"Dear master I know not, forsooth!"
+
+"Went he by the forest road?"
+
+"Aye, master, the forest road."
+
+"Afoot?"
+
+"Afoot, lord."
+
+"Said he aught to thee of--of me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas all of thee and thy wound, and how to ease thy pain I must
+do this, forsooth, and that, forsooth, and to break the fever must mix
+and give thee certain cordials, the which I have done."
+
+"Said he aught beside--aught else, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master, he bid me pray for thee, the which I have also done,
+though I had rather fight for thee; nathless the sweet saints have
+answered even my poor prayers, for behold, thou art alive and shall be
+well anon."
+
+Now after this. Beltane lay with eyes fast shut and spake not; thus he
+lay so long, that Roger, thinking he slept again, would have moved
+away, but Beltane's feeble hand stayed him, and he spake, yet with eyes
+still closed.
+
+"By the forest road, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, master."
+
+"Alone, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, alone."
+
+"And--afoot, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, he bade me take his horse that I might come to thee the
+sooner."
+
+"And--bid thee--pray for me--for me, Roger!"
+
+"Verily, master. And pray I did, right lustily."
+
+"So do I thank thee, Roger," said Beltane, speaking ever with closed
+eyes. "Yet I would that God had let me die, Roger." And behold, from
+these closed eyes, great tears, slow-oozing and painful, that rolled
+a-down the pallid cheek, very bright in the fire-glow, and glistening
+like the fairest gems.
+
+"Master--O master!" cried Roger, "dost grieve thee for Sir Fidelis?"
+
+"Forsooth, I must, Roger--he was a peerless friend, methinks!"
+
+"Aye master, and--noble lady!"
+
+"Roger--O Roger, how learned you this? Speak!"
+
+"Lord, thou hast had visions and talked much within thy sickness. So do
+I know that thou dost love the Duchess Helen that men do call 'the
+Beautiful.' I do know that on thy marriage night thou wert snatched
+away to shameful prison. I do know that she, because her heart was as
+great as her love, did follow thee in knightly guise, and thou did most
+ungently drive her from thee. All this, and much beside, thou didst
+shout and whisper in thy fever."
+
+Quoth Beltane, plucking at Roger with feeble hand:
+
+"Roger--O Roger, since this thou knowest--tell me, tell me, can faith
+and treachery lie thus within one woman's heart--and of all women--
+her's?"
+
+"Master, can white be black? Can day be night? Can heaven be hell--or
+can truth lie? So, an Sir Fidelis be faithful (and faithful forsooth is
+he) so is the Duchess Helen faithful--"
+
+"Nay, an she be true--O Roger, an she be true indeed, how think you of
+the treachery, of--"
+
+"I think here was witchcraft, master, spells, see'st thou, and magic
+black and damned. As thou wert true to her, so was she true to thee, as
+true as--aye, as true as I am, and true am I, Saint Cuthbert knoweth
+that, who hath heard my prayers full oft of late, master."
+
+"Now God bless thee, Roger--O, God bless thee!" So crying, of a sudden
+Beltane caught Black Roger's sun-burned hand and kissed it, and
+thereafter turned him to the shadows. And, lying thus, Beltane wept,
+very bitterly yet very silent, until, like a grieving child he had wept
+himself to forgetfulness and sleep. So slept he, clasped within Roger's
+mailed arm. But full oft Black Roger lifted his bronzed right hand--the
+hand that had felt Beltane's sudden kiss--and needs must he view it
+with eyes of wonder, as if it had been indeed some holy thing, what
+time he kept his midnight vigil beside the fire.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED
+
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, art a very sweet and potent saint, and therefore
+hast good eyes--which is well; so canst thou see him for thyself, how
+weak he is and languid, that was a mighty man and lusty. Cherish him, I
+pray thee! A goodly youth thou dost know him, thou didst see him burn a
+gibbet, moreover I have told thee--and eke a knight of high degree. Yet
+doth he lie here direly sick of body. Cherish him, I pray! Moreover,
+sick is he of mind, for that he loveth one, a lady, methinks good and
+worthy--so bring them together, these twain, not above, as saints in
+heaven, but first as man and woman that shall beget such men as he,
+such noble dames as she, and make the world a better place therefor.
+See you to this matter, good Saint Cuthbert, and also the matter of his
+Dukedom. But when he shall be Duke indeed, and blest with her that is
+so fair a maid and apt to motherhood--I pray thee, Saint Cuthbert, let
+him not forget me whose soul he saved long since within the green in
+the matter of Beda that was a Jester--I pray thee let him have regard
+to Black Roger that am his man henceforth to the end. Amen. Holy Saint
+Cuthbert grant me this."
+
+It was Black Roger, praying in the dawn, his broadsword set upright in
+the ling, his hands devoutly crossed and his black head stooped full
+low; thus he saw not Beltane's eyes upon him until his prayer was
+ended.
+
+Quoth Beltane then:
+
+"May heaven grant thee thy prayer, Roger--'twas a good prayer and I the
+better for it."
+
+"Why, look now, master," says Roger, somewhat abashed, "I am a
+something better prayer than I was, and I pray in good Saxon English;
+thus do I call on Saint Cuthbert, that was a lusty Saxon ere that he
+was a saint."
+
+"But, Roger, what need to supplicate lest I forget thee? Think you I
+should forget my faithful Roger?"
+
+"Why, lord," says Roger, busily preparing wherewith to break their
+fast, "when a man marrieth, see you, and thereafter proceedeth
+forthwith to get him children, as the custom is--"
+
+"Nay, dost talk folly, Roger!" quoth Beltane, his pale cheek flushing.
+
+"Yet folly thou dost dream of, master, and she also--else wherefore
+love--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, doth Belsaye lie secure yet? What of Walkyn and our
+comrades? Marched they to Belsaye as I did command?"
+
+"Why, see you now, master, when our foes came not, and you came not, we
+sent word to Belsaye that, within two days we would march thither,
+according to thy word, and forthwith Giles sends word back that he was
+very well and wanted no long-legged Walkyn or surly Roger to share
+authority with him yet a while, and bid us twirl our thumbs within the
+green until he commanded our presence--with divers other ribald japes
+and wanton toys--whereon Walkyn and I waxed something wroth.
+Therefore, when ye came not, our comrades fell to factions and riot,
+whereat I, perforce, smote me one or two and Walkyn three or four and
+so brought peace among them. But when we would have tarried yet for
+thee, these rogue-fellows clamoured for Walkyn to lead them into the
+wild, back to their ancient outlawry; so loud they clamoured and so
+oft, that, in the end, Walkyn smiled--a strange thing in him, master--
+but he agreed, whereon we came nigh to cutting each other's throats,
+he and I. Howbeit, in the end he went, he and all the other rogues. So
+bided I alone in the Hollow, day and night, waiting thee, master, and
+at the last, cometh Sir Fidelis--and so all's said and behold thy
+breakfast--a coney, see you, lord, that I snared but yest're'en."
+
+"Our company gone--outlaws, spending their lives to no purpose--here is
+evil news, Roger!"
+
+"Here is tender meat, master, and delicate!"
+
+"Back to outlawry! And Walkyn too!"
+
+"Aye--but he smiled, master! Walkyn, methinks, is not a jovial soul,
+lord, and when he smileth it behoveth others to frown and--beware. So
+prithee eat hearty, lord, for, in a while the sun will stand above yon
+whin-bush, and then 'twill be the eleventh hour, and at the eleventh
+hour must I wash thy hurt and be-plaster it with this good ointment."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Then shalt thou sleep, master, and I to the woods with my bow to get
+us meat--sweet juicy venison, an the saints be kind!"
+
+"And wherefore at the eleventh hour?"
+
+"For that--She did so command me, master."
+
+"She?" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, master. She that the good Saint Cuthbert shall give to
+thy close embracements one day."
+
+"Think you so?" spake Beltane beneath his breath, and staring across
+the sunny glade with eyes of yearning, "think you so indeed, Roger?"
+
+"Of a surety, lord," nodded Roger, "seeing that I do plague the good
+saint on the matter continually--for, master, when I pray, I do pray
+right lustily."
+
+So, in a while, the meal done and crock and pannikin washed and set
+aside, Beltane's leg is bathed and dressed right skilfully with hands,
+for all their strength and hardness, wondrous light and gentle.
+Thereafter, stretched upon his bed of heather, Beltane watches Black
+Roger gird on belt and quiver, and, bow in hand, stride blithely into
+the green, and, ere he knows it, is asleep. And in his sleep, beholds
+one who bends to kiss him, white hands outstretched and all heaven in
+her eyes; and with her voice thrilling in his ears, wakes, to find the
+sun already westering and Black Roger near by, who, squatting before a
+rough table he has contrived set close beside the fire whereon a
+cooking pot seethes and bubbles, is busied with certain brewings,
+infusings and mixings in pipkin and pannikin, and all with brow of
+frowning portent.
+
+Whereat says Beltane, wondering:
+
+"What do ye, good Roger?"
+
+"Master, I mix thee thy decoction as She did instruct--She is a
+learned youth, master--Sir Fidelis. In these dried herbs and simples,
+look you, lieth thy health and strength and Pentavalon's freedom--aye,
+a notable youth in faith, thy Duchess."
+
+Hereupon Beltane, remembering his dream, must needs close his eyes that
+he may dream again, and is upon the portal of sleep when Roger's hand
+rouses him.
+
+"What would'st, Roger?"
+
+"Master--thy draught."
+
+"Take it hence!"
+
+"Nay, it must be swallowed, master."
+
+"Then swallow it thyself!"
+
+"Nay, lord, 'tis the hour for thy draught appointed by Sir Fidelis and
+She must be obeyed--come, master!" Forthwith, yet remembering his
+dream, Beltane opens unwilling eyes and more unwilling mouth and the
+draught is swallowed; whereupon comes languor and sleep, and therewith,
+more dreams.
+
+Anon 'tis even-fall, and the stars, one by one, peep forth of the
+darkening heaven, shadows steal and lengthen and lo! 'tis night; a
+night wherein the placid moon, climbing apace, fills the silent world
+with the splendour of her advent. And ever and always Beltane lies
+deep-plunged in slumber; but in his sleep he groans full oft and oft
+doth call upon a name--a cry faint-voiced and weak, yet full of a
+passionate yearning; whereupon cometh sturdy Roger to behold him in the
+light of the fire, to stoop and soothe him with gentle hand; thus needs
+must he mark the glitter of a tear upon that pale and sunken cheek,
+wherefore Black Roger's own eyes must needs fall a-smarting and he to
+grieving amain. In so much that of a sudden he stealeth swiftly from
+the cave, and, drawing sword setteth it up-right in the ling; then
+kneeling with bowed head and reverent hands, forthwith fell to his
+prayers, after this wise:--
+
+"Sweet Cuthbert--gentle saint--behind me in the shadows lieth my
+master--a-weeping in his slumber. So needs must I weep also, since I do
+love him for that he is a man. Good Saint Cuthbert, I have wrought for
+him my best as thou hast seen--tended his hurt thrice daily and
+ministered the potion as I was commanded. I have worked for him--prayed
+for him--yet doth he weep great tears within his sleep. So now do I
+place him in thy care, good saint, for thou dost know me but poor rogue
+Roger, a rough man and all unlearned, yet, even so, I do most truly
+love him and, loving him, do fear--for meseemeth his hurt is deeper
+than hurt of body, he doth pine him and grieve for lack of his heart's
+desire--a young man, sweet saint, that doth yearn for a maid right fair
+and noble, _pars amours,_ good saint, as is the custom. But alack, she
+is far hence and he lieth here sick and like to perish and I am but
+poor Roger--a very sinful man that knoweth not what to do. So do I call
+on thee, sweet saint--achieve me a miracle on his behalf, bring him to
+his heart's desire that he may wax hale and well and weep no more
+within his sleep. And this do I ask for his sake and his lady's sake
+and for the sake of Pentavalon Duchy--not forgetting poor Roger that
+doth plague thee thus for love of him. Amen!"
+
+Now behold! even as the prayer was ended came a faint stir and rustle
+amid the leaves hard by, and, lifting startled head, Black Roger beheld
+a radiant vision standing in the pale glory of the moon, whereat he
+knew fear and a great awe.
+
+"O, good Saint Cuthbert, and is it thou indeed?" he whispered, "Sweet
+saint, I thought not to win thee down from heaven thus, though forsooth
+I did pray right lustily. But, since thou art come--"
+
+"Hush, good Roger!" spake a voice soft and wondrous sweet to hear; and,
+so speaking, the shining figure raised the vizor of its helm. "O hush
+thee, Roger, for he sleepeth. All day, unseen, have I watched over him,
+nor can I leave him until his strength be come again. And sleep is life
+to him, so wake him not. Come your ways, for I would speak thee many
+things--follow!"
+
+As one that dreams, Roger stared into the eyes beneath the vizor, and
+as one that dreams he rose up from his knees, and, sheathing his sword,
+followed whither the gleaming vision led; yet betimes he blinked upon
+the moon, and once he shook his head and spake as to himself:
+
+"Verily--aye, verily, a lusty pray-er, I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+
+Slowly the days sped, dewy dawn and tender eve, days of sun and shadow
+and gentle rain; golden days wherein Beltane lay 'twixt sleep and
+wake, and nights of silver wherein he slept full deep and dreamed
+wondrously of gentle hands that soothed him with their touch, and warm
+soft lips on cheek and brow that filled him with a great and deep
+content.
+
+And in these days, who so cheery as Black Roger, full of a new-found
+gaiety, who laughed for small reason and ofttimes for none at all and
+was forever humming snatches of strange song as he stooped above pipkin
+and pannikin. Much given was he also to frequent comings and goings
+within the green to no apparent end, while Beltane, within the little
+cave, lay 'twixt sleep and waking; moreover, full oft as they ate their
+evening meal together, he would start, and falling to sudden silence,
+sit as one that hearkens to distant sounds. Yet withal was he ever
+heedful of Beltane's many wants, who, as health came, grew more eager
+to be gone, but finding himself too weak, straightway waxed moody and
+rebellious, whereat smiling Roger waxed firm, so needs must frowning
+Beltane be bathed and bandaged and swallow his draught--because of She
+who had so commanded.
+
+Now it befell upon a certain evening as Roger bent to peer into the pot
+that seethed and bubbled upon the fire and to sniff its appetising
+savour, he presently fell a-singing to himself in a voice gruff yet
+musical withal; whereupon Beltane, turning languid head, fell to
+watching this new Roger, and thereafter spake on this wise:
+
+BELTANE. "What do ye so oft within the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Hunt, that we may eat, master."
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen thee go full oft of late and leave thy bow
+behind, Roger."
+
+ROGER. "Whereby I judge that though thine eyes be shut ye do not always
+slumber, master, and methinks our supper is done--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nay--what do ye in the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, thy horse Mars hath a proud spirit and snorteth against
+his bonds. So, lest he break thy slumber, have I made him a shelter of
+wattles in the green."
+
+BELTANE. "Truly, Roger, thou art greatly changed methinks."
+
+ROGER (starting). "As how, master?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have heard thee called Roger the grim, and Roger the surly,
+ere now."
+
+ROGER (shaking woeful head). "Ere now, lord, I hanged men, conceiving
+it my duty."
+
+BELTANE. "And to-day you sing--and wherefore?"
+
+ROGER. "For joy in life, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And thou dost laugh, surly Roger--oft-times for little
+reason, meseemeth."
+
+ROGER. "For that my heart is renewed within me, master. Happiness is my
+bedfellow and companion--here is good reason for laughter, methinks."
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore art thou happy, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Item first: thou dost mend apace, lord. Item second: this mess
+of venison hath a savour most delectable. Item third: happiness is the
+birthright of every man. Moreover I have learned that behind the
+blackest cloud is a glory of sun, and beyond sorrow, joy. So do I
+rejoice that all is like to be well with thee."
+
+BELTANE (bitterly). "Well with me, say you? Is Pentavalon free, Roger?
+Do I not lie here, weak and helpless--my company scattered? O, call you
+this well, forsooth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis true thou art weak as yet, master, but thou shalt rise
+again stronger than aforetime--aye, thou shalt arise indeed, and all
+Pentavalon with thee. So let thine heart rejoice and sing, as mine
+doth."
+
+BELTANE (fiercely). "O evil day, that ere I gave my heart to woman's
+love, so do I lie here a useless thing--O day accursed!"
+
+ROGER. "O day most blessed, since woman's love hath lifted thee from
+death and shall be thy glory and Pentavalon's salvation, master!"
+
+BELTANE (eagerly). "Roger--Roger, speak you of the Duchess Helen? What
+mean you, man?"
+
+ROGER. "There be signs and portents, master, the very air is full o'
+them. Whiles we tarry here, others be up and doing--"
+
+BELTANE. "Others, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Notably Walkyn o' the Axe, master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Ha! and what of Walkyn?"
+
+ROGER. "He smiled, master, as I told thee ere this, and when Walkyn
+smileth it behoveth others to be wary. So now do I tell thee that
+Walkyn hath taken and burned Duke Ivo's great Castle of Brandonmere,
+that Winisfarne city hath risen 'gainst the Duke and all the border
+villages likewise--aha! master, there be scythe-blades and good brown
+bills a-twinkle all along the marches eager to smite for freedom and
+Pentavalon when time is ripe!"
+
+BELTANE (rising upon his knees). "Forsooth, is this so? O Roger, is
+this so in very truth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis very truth, master. Upon my sword I swear it!"
+
+BELTANE. "But whence had ye the wondrous news--how--when?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, 'twas three nights agone, as I wrestled prodigiously in
+prayer on thy behalf, one came to me and spake me many things
+marvellous good to hear. Moreover, I have met divers folk within the
+greenwood and upon the forest-road yonder, and with all do I hold
+converse."
+
+Then to Roger's amaze Beltane rose up, and standing square upon his
+feet lifted hands and eyes to heaven. "Now glory be to the living God,"
+quoth he, "that hath heard the prayers of such as I. So now do I swear,
+come life, come death, to walk my appointed way sword in hand,
+henceforth, nor will I turn aside for man or woman, heeding not the
+lure of friendship or of love. I do swear never to look upon a woman to
+love--"
+
+ROGER (fearfully). "Master--master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor to suffer woman's love to come 'twixt me and my duty--"
+
+ROGER (despairingly). "O master, swear it not--swear it not--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor shall aught let or stay me until Pentavalon win to
+freedom or my poor soul return whence it came. And this do I swear to
+the ears of God!"
+
+Now turned he to Roger, bright-eyed and with hands tight-clenched.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art witness to this my oath, an I do fail or
+falter henceforth, then in that same hour may sharp death be mine. So
+now bring to me sword and armour, for this night must I hence."
+
+Now was Roger sore troubled and fain was to speak, but beholding his
+master's flashing eye, he presently did as he was commanded. So Beltane
+took hold upon the sword and drew it, and looked glad-eyed upon its
+broad and shining blade. But when he would have wielded it, behold! he
+scarce could lift it; with teeth fierce-clenched he strove against his
+weakness until his breath waxed short and the sweat ran from him, but
+ever the great blade grew the heavier. Then he groaned to find himself
+so feeble, and cried aloud an exceeding bitter cry, and cast the sword
+from him, and, staggering, fell into Roger's waiting arms. Forthwith
+Roger bare him to the cave and laid him down upon his bed.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "O master, grieve not thyself, thou shalt be hale
+and strong anon, but the time is not yet. Comfort ye, comfort ye, my
+lord--ere long thou shalt be strong, aye, and mightier e'en than
+aforetime. So grieve not nor repine, my master!"
+
+But Beltane lay heeding not, nor would he eat despite all Roger's
+wheedling arts; but being fevered and athirst, drank deep of the
+sleeping draught, and thereafter, falling to his black humour, turned
+his face to the shadows, and, lying thus, straightway fell to weeping,
+very silently, because of his so great weakness, until, like a child,
+he had wept himself to sleep.
+
+Slowly the moon sank, the fire burned low and Roger snored blissfully
+hard by, but Beltane, blessed within his slumbers, dreamed again of one
+who stole, light of foot, to lie beside him watchful in the dark and
+with warm, soft arms set close about him like the sheltering arms of
+that mother he had never known.
+
+Thus slept Beltane, like a weary child upon a mother's breast, and knew
+great peace and solace and a deep and utter content.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+Day by day Beltane waxed in health and strength, and daily, leaning
+upon Roger's trusty arm he walked further afield. And day by day, with
+growing strength, so grew his doubt, and therewith, by times, a black
+despond; for needs must he think ever of Helen the Beautiful, and fain
+was he to tear her from his heart yet could not; then fain he would
+have hated her, but in his ears her cry rang still--"God pity thee, my
+Beltane!"--wherefore he was wont to fall to sudden gloom and
+melancholy.
+
+But upon a certain blithe evening Black Roger stood leaning on his
+bow-stave to watch where Beltane swam the pool with mighty strokes, who,
+laughing for very joy of it, presently sprang ashore, panting with his
+exertions, and fell to donning his garments.
+
+"How think ye, Roger," he cried, "am I fit to adventure me the world
+again?"
+
+"Forsooth, master, art well of thy wound and fever, and in a week or so
+mayhap thou shalt perchance be well enough--"
+
+"A week, Roger! I tell thee, man, this very day will I hence!"
+
+"But, master," says Roger, shaking cautious head, "thy world is a world
+of battles, and for battle art scarce yet strong enough--"
+
+"Say ye so, Roger? Then here and now shalt make trial of me. Art a tall
+and lusty fellow--come, man, let us try a fall together. And mark this,
+Roger, an thou canst put me on my back shalt have thy will in the
+matter, but, an I down thee, then hey! for horse and armour and the
+forest-road this very night. Come, is't agreed?"
+
+Now hereupon the wily Roger, noting the pallor of Beltane's sunken
+cheek and how his broad breast laboured yet, and moreover feeling
+himself aglow with lusty life and vigour, smiled grimly, nothing
+doubting the issue. Wherefore he nodded his head.
+
+"So be it, master," said he, "only take thy wind first." So saying he
+set aside bow and quiver, loosed off his sword, and tightening his
+belt, stepped towards Beltane, his broad back stooped, his knotted arms
+advanced and fingers crooked to grapple. Once and twice he circled,
+seeking a hold, then leapt he swift and low; arms and fingers clenched
+and locked, and Beltane was bent, swayed, and borne from his feet; but
+even so, with a cunning twist he brake Black Roger's hold and staggered
+free. Quoth he:
+
+"Art a very strong man, Roger, stronger than methought. Come again!"
+
+Once more they circled heedfully, for Beltane had grown more wary:
+thrice he sought a certain hold and thrice Black Roger foiled him, ere,
+sudden and grim, he leapt and closed; and breast to breast they strove
+fiercely, mighty arms straining and tight-clenched, writhing, swaying,
+reeling, in fast-locked, desperate grapple. Now to Roger's strength and
+quickness Beltane opposed craft and cunning, but wily Roger met guile
+with guile nor was to be allured to slack or change his gripe.
+Therefore of a sudden Beltane put forth his strength, and wrestled
+mightily, seeking to break or weaken Roger's deadly hold. But Roger's
+iron arms gripped and held him fast, crushed him, checked him.
+
+"Aha! master," panted Roger, "now I have thee!" and therewith heaved
+right lustily, felt Beltane yield and stagger, slacked his grip for the
+final hold, and, in that moment, his arms were burst asunder, he was
+whirled up, kicking, 'twixt earth and heaven, laid gently upon the
+sward and, sitting up, found Beltane lying breathless beside him.
+
+"'Twas a trick, Roger!" he panted, "I beat thee--but by an artifice--"
+
+"Yet beaten I am, master," quoth Roger, vastly rueful.
+
+"And art mightier than I thought thee, Roger."
+
+"Master, I have wrestled oft with Gefroi that was the Duke's wrestler."
+
+"Then art a better man than he, meseemeth," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Yet thou hast beaten me, master!"
+
+"So within the hour we will begone to our duty, Roger!"
+
+"Whither, lord?"
+
+"First to Winisfarne, and thence south to Belsaye, with every lusty
+fellow we can muster. How think you?"
+
+"I think the time is not yet, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"For that though things go well with thee and thy cause, yet shall they
+go better anon."
+
+"Nevertheless, Roger, within the hour we march. So come, first let us
+eat, for I do famish."
+
+So, when they had caught their breath again, together they arose and,
+coming to the cave beneath the steep, they re-made the fire and set the
+pot thereon; which done, Roger brought forth his lord's armour, bright
+and newly polished, and in a while Beltane stood, a shining figure from
+golden spur to gleaming bascinet. Thereafter, Roger armed him likewise,
+and as two brothers-in-arms they sat together and ate their meal with
+mighty appetite and gusto. Now presently, as they sat thus, Beltane
+espied a thing that lay by Roger's knee, and, taking it up, behold!
+'twas a wallet of fair-sewn leather, very artfully wrought, and, gazing
+upon it he must needs fall to sudden thought, whereto he sighed full
+deep and oft, till, finding Roger watching him, he forthwith checked
+his sighs and frowned instead.
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "whence had ye this thing?"
+
+"My lord, from--Her, the sweet knight Sir Fidelis, thy lady--"
+
+"Why wilt thou call her my lady, Roger?"
+
+"For that 'tis she you love and sigh for, she that doth love thee and
+shall bear thee right fair and lusty children yet, so do I pray, and my
+prayers are potent these days, for the good Saint Cuthbert heedeth me
+regardfully. So do I know that she shall yet lie within thine arms and
+yield thee thine heart's desire, _pars_--"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger--aye, a very fool, and talk arrant folly--"
+
+"Yet, master, here is folly shall be thy joy and her joy and--"
+
+"Enough, Roger! Hast forgot the oath I sware? And the ways of woman be
+crooked ways. And woman's love a light matter. Talk we of women no
+more."
+
+"How!" quoth Roger, staring, "speak we no more of--Her?"
+
+"No more!"
+
+"Forsooth, so be it, master, then will we talk of Sir Fidelis his love--"
+
+"Nor of Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, scratching his head, "must we go mumchance then,
+master?"
+
+"There be other matters for talk."
+
+"Aye--there's witchcraft, master. For mark me, when thou wert sick and
+nigh to God and the holy saints, the evil spell could not come nigh
+thee, and thou didst yearn and cry continually for nought but--Her. But
+now--now that thou'rt hale and strong again--"
+
+"I behold things with mind unclouded, Roger."
+
+"Save by enchantments damned, master. Since that evil day we met yon
+accursed witch of Hangstone, hast never been thyself."
+
+"Now do ye mind me how this woman did speak me of marvels and wonders,
+Roger--"
+
+"Artifice, lord--devilish toys to lure thee to fouler bewitchments."
+
+"Howbeit, I will seek her out."
+
+"Nay, good master, here shall be perils dire and deadly. O bethink
+thee, lest she change thee into a swine, or black dog, aye, or even a
+small shrew-mouse--I've heard of such ere now--or blast thee with fire,
+or loathly disease, or--"
+
+"None the less will I go."
+
+"Never say so, master!"
+
+"At the full o' the moon."
+
+"Lord, now do I beseech thee--"
+
+"And the moon will be full--to-night, Roger. Go you and saddle now the
+horse."
+
+Forthwith went Roger, gloomy and nothing speaking, what time Beltane
+sat there staring down at the wallet on his knee, bethinking him of
+many things, and, for that he was alone, sighing deep and oft; and so,
+very suddenly, hung the wallet to his girdle and thereafter arose.
+
+In a while cometh gloomy Roger leading the destrier Mars, whereon
+gloomy Beltane swung to saddle, and, looking round about him once and
+twice, rode slowly towards where, beyond the shade of trees, the forest
+road ran north and south.
+
+But, as for Roger, needs must he pause upon the edge of the clearing to
+look back at the little cave beneath the steep, whereby the small
+water-brook flowed murmurously; a while he stood thus, to frown and
+shake gloomy head; then lifted he his hand on high, much as he had bid
+one sorrowful farewell, and, turning about, trudged away after his
+lord.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+
+It had been an evening of cloud, but now the sky was clear and the moon
+shone bright and round as they reached that desolate, wind-swept heath
+that went by the name of Hangstone Waste, a solitary place at all
+times but more especially wild and awful 'neath the ghostly moon;
+wherefore Roger went wide-eyed and fearful, and kept fast hold of
+Beltane's stirrup.
+
+"Ha--master, master!" cried he 'twixt chattering teeth, "did'st not
+hear it, master?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, checking his horse, "what was it? where away?"
+
+"'Twas a cry, master--beyond the marsh yonder. 'Tis there again!"
+
+"'Twas an owl, Roger."
+
+"'Twas a soul, master, a poor damned soul and desolate! We shall see
+dire and dreadful sights on Hangstone Waste this night, master--holy
+Saint Cuthbert! What was yon?"
+
+"Nought but a bat, Roger."
+
+"A bat, lord? Never think so. Here was, belike, a noble knight or a
+lusty fellow be-devilled into a bat. Good master, let us go no further
+--if thou hast no thought for thyself, have a little heed for poor
+Roger."
+
+"Why look ye, good Roger, canst go where thou wilt, but, as for me, I
+ride for the White Morte-stone."
+
+"Nay then, an thou'rt blasted this night, master, needs must I be
+blasted with thee--yonder lieth the Morte-stone, across the waste. And
+now, may Saint Cuthbert and Saint Bede have us in their blessed care,
+Amen!"
+
+So they began to cross the rolling desolation of the heath and
+presently espied a great boulder, huge and solitary, gleaming white and
+ghostly 'neath the moon.
+
+Being come very nigh, Beltane checked his horse and was about to
+dismount, when Roger, uttering a sudden gasping cry, cowered to his
+knees, for in the air about them was a sound very sweet to hear--the
+whisper of lute-strings softly plucked by skilled and cunning fingers,
+and thereafter a man's voice, rich and melodious, brake forth into
+tender singing: and the words were these:--
+
+  "O moon! O gentle moon, to-night
+   Unveil thy softest, tend'rest light
+   Where feet I love, so small and white,
+      Do bear my love to me!"
+
+"Stand up, Roger, here is nought to harm us, methinks," quoth Beltane
+softly, "stand up, and hold my bridle."
+
+"But see now, master, there be devil-goblins a many that do pipe like
+very angels."
+
+"Nathless here's one that I must speak with," said Beltane, slipping to
+earth and looking about him with wondering eyes, for the voice had
+seemed to come from the grass at his feet. And while he yet sought to
+and fro in frowning perplexity the melodious voice brake forth anew:
+
+  "O little feet, more white than snow,
+   If through the thorny brake ye go,
+   My loving heart I'll set below
+      To take the hurt for thee."
+
+Now as the voice sank and the lute-strings quivered to silence,
+Beltane, coming behind the great rock, beheld a glow, very faint and
+feeble, that shone through thick-clustering leaves; and, putting aside
+a whin-bush that grew against the rock, perceived a low and narrow
+alley or passage-way leading downwards into the earth, lighted by a
+soft, mellow beam that brightened as he advanced and presently showed
+him a fair-sized chamber cunningly hollowed within the rock and adorned
+with rich furs and skins. And behold one who reclined upon a couch of
+skins, a slender, youthful figure with one foot wondrously be-wrapped
+and swathed, who, beholding Beltane's gleaming mail, sprang up very
+nimbly and fronted him with naked sword advanced.
+
+"Nay, hast forgot thy friend, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+Incontinent the sword was tossed aside, and with a joyous cry Sir
+Jocelyn sprang and caught him in close embrace.
+
+"Now by sweet Venus her downy dove--'tis Beltane!" he cried. "Now
+welcome and thrice welcome, my lordly smith, thou mighty son of noble
+father. Ah, lord Duke, I loved thee that day thou didst outmatch Gefroi
+the wrestler in the green. Since then much have I learned of thee and
+thy valiant doings, more especially of Barham Broom--how thou didst
+slay the vile Sir Gilles 'neath the eyes of Ivo and all his powers and
+thereby didst snatch from shame and cruel death one that is become the
+very heart of me, so needs must I love and honour and cherish thee so
+long as I be Jocelyn and thou thy noble self. Come, sit ye--sit ye
+here, for fain am I to question thee--"
+
+"But," said Beltane, wrinkling puzzled brow, "how came you hither--and
+art wounded, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, to desperation--O direly, Beltane. I do languish night
+and day, sleep doth bring me no surcease and music, alack, abatement
+none. Food--base food repelleth me and wine no savour hath. Verily,
+verily, wounded deep am I."
+
+"Forsooth," said Beltane, "thy foot doth wear bandages a many, but--"
+
+"Bandages?" cried Jocelyn, staring. "Foot? Nay, nay, my torment is not
+here," and he flourished his beswathed foot in an airy, dancing step.
+"Indeed, Beltane, herein do I confess me some small artifice, yet, mark
+me, to a sweet and worthy end. For my hurt lieth here,--sore smit am I
+within this heart o' mine."
+
+"Thy heart again, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Again?" said the young knight, wrinkling slender brows.
+
+"Aye, thou did'st sing thy heart's woe to me not so long since--in an
+hundred and seventy and eight cantos, and I mind thy motto: 'Ardeo'."
+
+"Nay, Beltane, in faith--indeed, these were folly and youthful folly,
+the tide hath ebbed full oft since then and I, being older, am wiser.
+Love hath found me out at last--man's love. List now, I pray thee and
+mark me, friend. Wounded was I at the ford you wot of beside the mill,
+and, thereafter, lost within the forest, a woeful wight! Whereon my
+charger, curst beast, did run off and leave me. So was I in unholy
+plight, when, whereas I lay sighful and distressed, there dawned upon
+my sight one beyond all beauty beautiful. Y-clad in ragged garb was
+she, yet by her loveliness her very rags were glorified. To me, shy as
+startled doe, came she and, with saintly pity sweet, did tend my hurt,
+which done, with much ado she did hither bring me. Each day, at morn
+and eve, came she with cates rare and delicate, and her gentle hands
+did woo my wound to health, the which indeed so swift grew well that I
+did feign divers pains betimes lest she should vanish from me quite--so
+grew my love. At the first loved I her something basely, for the beauty
+of her body fair, whereat she grieved and sorrowed and fled from my
+regard, and for an eternity of days came not again until yestere'en.
+And, Beltane, though base her birth, though friendless, poor and
+lonely, yet did my heart know her far 'bove my base self for
+worthiness. So did I, yestere'en, upon my knightly word, pledge her my
+troth, so shall she be henceforth my lady of Alain and chatelaine of
+divers goodly castles, manors, and demesnes. To-night she cometh to me
+in her rags, and to-night we set forth, she and I, to Mortain, hand in
+hand--nor shall my lips touch hers, Beltane, until Holy Church hath
+made us one. How think ye of my doing, friend?"
+
+"I do think thee true and worthy knight, Sir Jocelyn, and moreover--"
+
+But of a sudden, Roger's voice reached them from without, hoarse with
+terror.
+
+"Master--O master, beware! 'Tis the witch, lord--O beware!"
+
+And with the cry, lo! a hurry of feet running swift and light, a rustle
+of flying garments, and there, flushed and panting, stood the witch--
+the witch Mellent that was the lady Winfrida. Now, beholding Beltane,
+her eyes grew wide with swift and sudden fear--she quailed, and sank to
+her knees before him; and when Sir Jocelyn, smitten to mute wonder,
+would have raised her, she brake forth into bitter weeping and crouched
+away.
+
+"Nay, touch me not my lord, lest thou repent hereafter--for now do I
+see that happiness is not for me--now must I say such words as shall
+slay thy love for me, so touch me not."
+
+"Ha, never say so!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "not touch thee? art not mine
+own beloved Mellent?"
+
+"Nay, I am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Thou--Winfrida the rich and proud--in these rags? Thou, Winfrida the
+Fair?--thy raven hair--"
+
+"O, my hair, my lord? 'twas gold, 'tis black and shall be gold again,
+but I am that same Winfrida."
+
+"But--but I have seen Winfrida betimes in Mortain ere now."
+
+"Nay, then, didst but look at her, my lord, for thine eyes saw only the
+noble Helen's beauty. Alas! that ever I was born, for that I am that
+Winfrida who, for ambition's sake and wicked pride, did a most vile
+thing--O my lord Beltane, as thou art strong, be pitiful--as thou art
+deeply wronged, be greatly merciful."
+
+"How--how--mean you?" said Beltane, slow-speaking and breathing deep.
+
+"Lord--'twas I--O, how may I tell it? My lord Beltane, upon thy wedding
+night did I, with traitorous hand, infuse a potent drug within the
+loving-cup, whereby our lady Duchess fell into a swoon nigh unto death.
+And--while she lay thus, I took from her the marriage-robe--the gown of
+blue and silver. Thereafter came I, with my henchman Ulf the Strong
+and--found thee sleeping in the chapel. So Ulf--at my command--smote
+thee and--bound thee fast, and, ere the dawn, I brought thee--to
+Garthlaxton--O my lord!"
+
+"Thou--? It was--thou?"
+
+"I do confess it, my lord Beltane--traitor to thee, and base traitor to
+her--"
+
+"Why, verily--here was treachery--" quoth Beltane speaking slow and
+soft, "truly here--methinks--was treachery--and wherefore?"
+
+"O my lord, must I--tell this?"
+
+"I do ask thee."
+
+Then did Winfrida shrink within herself, and crouched yet further from
+Sir Jocelyn as though his eyes had hurt her.
+
+"Lord," she whispered, "I was--jealous! Duke Ivo wooed me long ere he
+loved the Duchess Helen, so was I jealous. Yet was I proud also, for I
+would suffer not his love until he had made me wife. And, upon a day,
+he, laughing, bade me bring him captive this mighty man that defied his
+power--that burned gibbets and wrought such deeds as no other man
+dared, swearing that, an I did so, he would wed with me forthright. And
+I was young, and mad with jealousy and--in those days--I knew love not
+at all. But O, upon a day, I found a new world wherein Love came to me
+--a love so deep and high, so pure and noble, that fain would I have
+died amid the flame than thus speak forth my shame, slaying this
+wondrous love by my unworthiness. Yet have I told my shame, and love is
+dead, methinks, since I am known for false friend and traitor vile--a
+thing for scorn henceforth, that no honourable love may cleave to. So
+is love dead, and fain would I die also!"
+
+Now, of a sudden, while yet Beltane frowned down upon her, came Sir
+Jocelyn, and kneeling beside Winfrida, spake with bent head:
+
+"Messire Beltane, thou seest before thee two that are one, henceforth.
+So do I beseech thee, forgive us our trespass against thee, an it may
+be so. But, if thy wrongs are beyond forgiveness, then will we die
+together."
+
+"O Jocelyn!" cried Winfrida breathlessly, "O dear my lord--surely never
+man loved like thee! Lord Beltane, forgive--for this noble knight's
+sake--forgive the sinful Winfrida!"
+
+"Forgive?" said Beltane, hoarsely, "forgive?--nay, rather would I
+humbly thank thee on my knees, for thou hast given back the noblest
+part of me. She that was lost is found again, the dead doth live. Helen
+is her noble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her. The
+happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world,
+methinks. O kneel not to me--and pray you--speak on this matter no
+more. Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy. Lady, hast won a true and
+leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a noble lady, who hath spoken truth
+at hazard of losing her love. And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed
+thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world
+but love. Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all!" So saying,
+Beltane turned very suddenly, and strode out, where, beside the great
+horse Mars, stood Roger, very pale in the moonlight, and starting and
+staring at every rustling leaf and patch of shadow.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art afraid of bats and owls, yet, forsooth, art
+a wiser man than I. Bring hither the horse."
+
+In a while cometh Sir Jocelyn and the lady Winfrida, hand in hand,
+aglow with happiness, yet with eyes moistly bright under the moon.
+
+"Good comrade-in-arms," quoth Beltane, "Mortain lieth far hence; now
+here is a goodly horse--"
+
+"O!" cried Winfrida shrinking, "surely 'tis the horse that bore Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere in the lists at Barham Broom--"
+
+"So now, my lady Winfrida, shall it bear thee and thy love to Mortain
+and happiness--O loved Mortain! So mount, Jocelyn, mount! Haste to thy
+happiness, man, and in thy joy, forget not Pentavalon, for her need is
+great. And thou hast goodly men-at-arms! How think ye, messire?"
+
+"Beltane," cried Sir Jocelyn gleefully, "Beltane, O dear my friend,
+doubt me not--I do tell thee we shall ride together yet, when the
+battle joins!" So saying, be sprang to saddle. Now turned Beltane to
+aid the lady Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's hold; but, even then, she fell
+upon her knees, and catching his hand to her bosom, kissed it.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said she, looking up 'neath glistening lashes--"as thou
+hast dealt with me, so may heaven deal with thee. May thy sore heart
+find solace until love find thee--and--dear my lord, I pray you where
+is--he--the young knight that rode with thee--for where he is, there
+also is--Helen--"
+
+"And thou dost know, too?"
+
+"I knew her that day in the forest when I fled away, for though I would
+have confessed my sin to thee, yet her cold scorn I could not have
+borne. Where is she now, my lord?"
+
+"Safe within Mortain, I pray."
+
+"Then come you to Mortain. Come with us this night--ah! come you to
+Mortain and--Helen!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned to look with yearning eyes towards the
+gloom of the forest beyond which lay the soft and peaceful valleys of
+fair Mortain, and she that called herself Fidelis, who had indeed been
+so faithful in all things, so patient and enduring; and, as his eyes
+yearned, so yearned the great passionate soul of him, insomuch that he
+must needs fall a-trembling, whereat Roger the watchful drew a soft
+pace nearer. So stood Beltane awhile, hands clenched, head bent,
+staring ever northwards, his blood aglow with eager love, his heart
+a-throb with passionate remorse.
+
+"Come, my lord," breathed Winfrida, "O come--in Mortain is rest and
+solace--and love!"
+
+"Rest?" said Beltane softly, "solace and love--O sweet thought! Yet I
+may not go hence, for here is sorrow and shame and suffering--sword
+and fire and battle. So must I bide here in Pentavalon--with my duty."
+So saying, he lifted Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's ready clasp and
+thereafter spake with head downbent: "An thou chance to see--her--
+within Mortain, I pray you say that the blind doth see at last and is
+gone to his duty, that, peradventure, he may be, some day, more worthy
+her great love. And now fare ye well, good friends, God have ye ever in
+His tender care. Come, Roger!"
+
+Then Beltane turned him suddenly away, and with broad back set towards
+Mortain, strode off across the desolate moor.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+
+Silent went Beltane, his lips firm-set, his wistful eyes staring ever
+before him, nor paused he once, nor once glanced back towards that
+happy Mortain which held for him all that was fair and sweet and noble;
+that pure and faithful heart wherein no evil could exist; that radiant
+body in whose soft, white loveliness lay all the joy, all the happiness
+the wide world might ever yield him.
+
+And now, because of her proved innocence, he was uplifted by a great
+and mighty joy, and therewith his step was light and swift; anon,
+because of his base doubt of her, he writhed 'neath the sharp-gnawing
+tooth of bitter remorse, and therewith his step grew heavy and slow.
+Now was he proud of her so great love for him, and again, he knew a
+profound and deep humility because of his so great unworthiness. Thus
+went he, nothing speaking, now with flying feet, now with steps that
+dragged, insomuch that watchful Roger fell to solemn wonderment, to a
+furtive unease, and so, at last, to speech.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in a voice of awe, but Beltane strode on unheeding,
+whereat Roger's eyes grew round and his ruddy cheek pale, and clenching
+his fist, he raised aloft his first and little fingers so that they
+formed two horns, and with the horns he touched Beltane lightly on the
+shoulder. "Master!" said he.
+
+Then Beltane started, and turning, looked at Roger, whereupon Roger
+immediately crossed his fingers.
+
+"Ha, Roger, I was deep in my thoughts, what would ye?"
+
+"Master, hast ever a pricking in the hairs of thy head?"
+
+"Not I."
+
+"Dost ever feel a tingling in the soles of thy feet?"
+
+"Not so, in truth."
+
+"Why then a shivering, quaking o' the back-bone?"
+
+"Roger, man, what troubles thee now?"
+
+"I do fear thou'rt be-devilled and moon-struck, master!"
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"Betimes thou dost smile upon the moon--for no reason; scowl upon the
+earth--for no reason; work with thy lips yet speak no word, and
+therewith do bite thy fingers-ends, clench thy fists--and all for no
+reason. Moreover, thou'rt quick and slow in thy gait, sighing gustily
+off and on--so it is I do sweat for thee."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, glancing furtively about, "in my youth I did see
+a goodly man be-devilled by horrid spells by an ancient hag that was a
+noted witch, and he acted thus--a poor wight that was thereafter
+damnably be-devilled into a small, black rabbit, see you--"
+
+"Saw you all this indeed, Roger?"
+
+"All but the be-devilling, master, for being young and sore frighted I
+ran away and hid myself. But afterwards saw I the old woman with the
+black rabbit in a cage--wherefore the vile hag was stoned to death, and
+the black rabbit, that was her familiar, also--and very properly. And,
+lord, because I do love thee, rather would I see thee dead than a
+rabbit or a toad or lewd cur--wherefore now I pray thee cross thy
+fingers and repeat after me--"
+
+"Nay, my faithful Roger, never fear, here is no witchcraft. 'Tis but
+that within the hour the blind doth see, the fool hath got him some
+little wisdom."
+
+"Master, how mean you?"
+
+"This night, Roger, I have learned this great truth: that white can
+never be black, nor day night, nor truth lie--and here is great matter
+for thought, wherefore as I walk, I think."
+
+Now hereupon Black Roger halted and looked upon Beltane glad-eyed.
+
+"Lord," he cried, "is it that ye do know the very truth at last--of Sir
+Fidelis--that glorious lady, thy Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Aye, the very truth at last, Roger."
+
+"Ha!--'tis so I petitioned the good Saint Cuthbert this very night!"
+
+"And lo! he hath answered thy prayer, Roger."
+
+"Verily he regardeth poor Roger these days, master, e'en though my belt
+doth yet bear many accursed notches."
+
+"They shall be fewer anon, Roger; there be many poor souls for thee to
+save in woeful Pentavalon."
+
+Hereafter went they a while in silence, until of a sudden Roger halted
+and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Master, we go the wrong way, methinks."
+
+"Not so, we be close upon the forest road, Roger."
+
+"But thou dost know her faithful, master, pure and holy in mind and
+body--at sure of this at last!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "at last!"
+
+"Why then, lord, let us incontinent seek her out."
+
+"She is in for Mortain, Roger, moreover--"
+
+"Nay, master, forsooth she is--hum! aye, she's in Mortain, mayhap, but
+'tis none so far to Mortain for such legs as thine and mine. And belike
+we may--chance upon her by the way, or--or she with us, or both!"
+
+"Even so, needs must I to my duty."
+
+"Thy duty!--aye, master--thy duty is to woo her, wed her, take her to
+thy arms and--"
+
+"I tell thee, Roger, ne'er will I speak word of love to her until I
+have proved myself in some sense fit and worthy. First will I free
+Pentavalon as I did swear--"
+
+"Nay, master, wed first thy Duchess, so shall she aid thee in thy vows,
+and thereafter--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane, "think ye 'tis so easy to thus gainsay the
+love that burns me? But shame were it that I, beggared in fortune, my
+friends few, should wed her in my dire need, dragging thereby peaceful
+Mortain to mine aid and the bloody arbitrament of battle. Moreover,
+hast forgot the oath I sware--that nought henceforth should let or stay
+me?"
+
+"Master," sighed Roger, "there be times, methinks, thou dost swear
+over-many oaths. Art man and woman full of youth and love, wherefore
+not marry? Wherefore heed a vow here or there? Needs must I wrestle
+with the good Saint Cuthbert in the matter."
+
+But here Beltane fell again to meditation and Roger likewise. So came
+they presently to the forest-road, and turning north towards Winisfarne
+they strode on, side by side, in silence profound and deep. And of a
+sudden upon this silence, rose a voice high-pitched and quavering:
+
+"O ye that have eyes, have pity--show mercy on one that is maimed and
+helpless, and creepeth ever in the dark."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+
+Forthwith Beltane paused, and presently beheld one that sat by the
+wayside--a man who crouched 'neath a dusty cloak and kept his white
+head down-bent and who now reached out a hand to grope and grope for
+the staff that lay near; wherefore Beltane took hold upon this hand and
+raised the white-haired traveller, and thereafter put the cudgel in his
+grasp.
+
+"Messire," said the blind man, "though I have no eyes I do know thee
+young, for thy clasp is strong and quick with life, yet wondrous
+gentle. God bless thee, youthful sir, for 'tis well to meet with
+gentleness within a world so cruel. Tell me, I pray, doth this road
+lead unto Belsaye town?"
+
+"Verily," answered Beltane, "but 'tis a long day's march thither."
+
+"Yet needs must I reach there, since I do bear a message. But, O young
+messire, when cruel men put out mine eyes, the good God, in His sweet
+clemency, made sharp mine ears. So do I know thy voice, methinks, for
+voice of one who, long months since, did cherish me in my need and
+hunger, and sent me unto the saintly Ambrose."
+
+"Ha!" cried Beltane joyously, "and is it thou indeed? Tell me, how doth
+my father?--is he well?--what said he?--how looked he? O, I do yearn
+for word of him!"
+
+"Thy father? How, young sir, is he indeed thy father? Then is thy name
+Beltane, for I have heard him name thee oft--"
+
+"Forsooth, and did he so? But how came you here, and wherefore?"
+
+"To seek thee, lord Beltane, according to thy saintly father's word.
+And the manner of it, thus: As we sat together of a certain fair noon
+within Holy Cross Thicket, there came to us thither a woman, young,
+methinks, and fair, for her speech was soft and wondrous sweet in mine
+ears. And she did hail thy father 'Duke,' and thereafter spake thy name
+full oft, and so they fell to many words, walking together up and down
+before the hut. Anon, sudden and silent as she came, she was gone, and
+thy father walked full long, praying oft as one that rejoiceth greatly,
+and oft as one in deep perplexity. In a while cometh he to me and gave
+me scrip and therewith food and money, and bade me seek thee in Belsaye
+and speak thee thus: 'Tell Beltane, my well-beloved, that I, his
+father, have heard of his great and knightly deeds and that I do glory
+in them, praising God. Say that through him my youth and strength are
+renewed and my great sin made easier to bear. Tell him that the woes of
+Pentavalon draw to an end, and that ere long she shall arise above her
+sorrows. Bid him be of good courage yet a little longer, for the lion
+is waked at last, and the leopard also.' Behold now, messire, all's
+said." And the blind man stood with down-bent head, one hand grasping
+the staff, his other arm hid within his wide sleeve, what time Roger
+watched him furtive and askance, and moreover, his bow-stave shook and
+quivered in his grasp; as for Beltane, he stood as one lost in happy
+thought, upon his lips a smile ineffably tender. Smiling yet, he turned
+and touched the blind man's stooping shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Greatly welcome is thy news and greatly would I thank thee. Pray you
+now, how may I show my gratitude?"
+
+"Messire, fain would I shelter me in Belsaye, for there is fire and
+sword and battle on the marches. But the way is long, and on my road
+hither two rogues took from me purse and scrip. Give me, therefore,
+enough to bear me on my way."
+
+"Aye, verily! Roger, thou dost bear the purse. Give him store of money
+and some of our food--see that he lacketh for nothing, Roger." So
+saying, Beltane turned him away and fell again to pondering his
+father's words.
+
+Now at sound of Roger's name the blind man started round and fixed
+Roger with the horror of his eyeless sockets, and, therewith, flung up
+an arm as though fearing a blow; and behold! this arm was but a
+mutilated stump, for hand was there none.
+
+"Roger!" he whispered, "not Roger the Black? No, no! There be a many
+Rogers. But who art thou dost bear such a name, and wherefore cower and
+gasp ye?"
+
+Then stood the blind man with head out-thrust and awful arm upraised,
+before which Black Roger shrank and shrank to cower in the deeper
+shadow.
+
+Of a sudden the blind man turned and coming beside Beltane, grasped him
+by the mantle.
+
+"Lord," he questioned, "who is he that trembleth before the maimed and
+blind?--who is he that croucheth yonder?"
+
+"Nay, fear ye nothing," said Beltane, "'tis none but my trusty Roger,
+my good comrade in arms--comfort ye!" Then he beckoned Roger and took
+the purse and gave to the blind man bounteously, saying:
+
+"See now, when you shall come to Belsaye go you to Eric that hath
+command of the town and to Giles that is captain of the archers, and
+say that I, Beltane, will come to Belsaye within the week, and all our
+company with me, God willing. Bid them be vigilant and watch for our
+coming; let bows be strung and wall and turret manned night and day. So
+now fare thee well, and God's hand guide thy sightless going."
+
+Then the blind man blessed Beltane, and turning, forthwith set out upon
+his way, and his staff tapped loud upon the forest-road. Right joyfully
+Beltane strode on again, his mind ever busied with thought of his
+father; but Roger's step was listless and heavy, so that Beltane must
+needs turn to look on him, and straightway marvelled to see how he hung
+his head, and that his ruddy cheek was grown wondrous pale and haggard.
+
+"Roger?" quoth he, "art sick, Roger?"
+
+"Sick, lord? nay--not sick, 'tis but that I--I--" But when he would
+have said more his voice failed him, his lip fell a-quivering, and even
+as Beltane stared in wonder, Black Roger groaned and flung himself upon
+his knees, and hid his face within his hands.
+
+"Why Roger! What ails thee, Roger, man?" said Beltane and laid a hand
+upon his shoulder, whereat Roger groaned again and shrank away.
+
+"Ah, lord, touch me not!" he cried, "unfit am I for hand of thine,
+unfit and all unworthy--"
+
+"Nay, good friend--"
+
+"Master--master!" groaned Roger, and therewith a great cry brake from
+him and he cast himself face downwards in the dust. "Unworthy am I to
+be thy man, so must I leave thee this night--aye, leave thee! For O my
+lord! yon poor blind man--'twas I--at the Red Pertolepe's command--
+'twas I--did burn out his eyes and--cut off his hand--'twas I--I--Black
+Roger! O Saint Cuthbert! O sweet Jesu! So all unworthy am I to be thy
+man!"
+
+And now great sobs shook him, fierce sobs and bitter, and he writhed
+there in the dust, groaning in the agony of his remorse. Little by
+little his passion spent itself, but still he lay there, yearning
+mightily for sound of his master's voice or touch of his hand, yet
+dared he not look up because of his abasement.
+
+At last, whenas his sobs had ceased, he lifted his wretched head and
+stared in wide-eyed wonder to see Beltane upon his knees, his mailed
+hands clasped and his lips moving in silent prayer; when, his prayer
+ended, he raised his head and straightway Roger's wonder grew, for
+behold! the eyes of Beltane were wondrous gentle, his mouth sweet-curved
+and tender, the old harsh lines of grim-curled lip and lowering
+brow had vanished quite; and thus at last Black Roger saw again the
+face of my Beltane that had smiled on him long since amid the green
+across the prostrate form of poor Beda the Jester. So now, my Beltane
+smiled, and smiling, reached forth his hand.
+
+"Roger," said he, "by shame and agony some men do win to new life and
+fuller manhood, and such a man, methinks, thou art. So hath God need of
+thee, and from this the dust of thy abasement, mayhap, shall lift thee,
+one day, high as heaven. Stand up, Roger, good my friend, stand up, O
+man, for he only is unworthy that ne'er hath wept remorseful in the
+dust for evil past and done."
+
+Then Roger grasped that strong, uplifting hand, and stood upon his
+feet, yet spake he no word; and presently they went on along the road
+together.
+
+And Roger's habit was stained with dust, and on his cheek the mark of
+bitter tears--but his head was high and manfully uplifted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+
+Now went they in silence again for that Beltane dreamed of many things
+while Roger marvelled within himself, oft turning to look on my
+Beltane's radiant face, while ever his wonder grew; so oft did he turn
+thus to gape and stare that Beltane, chancing to meet his look, smiled
+and questioned him, thus:
+
+"Why gape ye on me so, Roger man?"
+
+"For wonder, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"To see thee so suddenly thyself again--truly Saint Cuthbert is a
+potent saint!"
+
+"And thou a sturdy pray-er, good Roger."
+
+"And most vile sinner, lord. Howbeit I have dared supplicate on thy
+behalf and behold! thou art indeed thyself again--that same sweet and
+gentle youth that smote me on my knavish mazzard with thy stout
+quarter-staff in Shevening Thicket in the matter of Beda, Red
+Pertolepe's fool--a dour ding, yon, master--forsooth, a woundy rap!"
+
+Now fell they to thoughtful silence again, but oft Black Roger's stride
+waxed uneven, and oft he stumbled in his going, wherefore Beltane
+slackened his pace.
+
+"What is it, Roger?"
+
+"Naught but my legs, master. Heed 'em not."
+
+"Thy legs?"
+
+"They be shorter than thine, lord, and love not to wag so fast. An thou
+could'st abate thy speed a little--a very little, master, they shall
+thank thee dearly."
+
+"Art so weary, Roger?"
+
+"Master, I was afoot ere sunrise."
+
+"Why truly, Roger. Yet do I, to mine own selfish ends, keep thee from
+thy slumber thus. Verily a selfish man, I!"
+
+"Not so, master, indeed--"
+
+"So now will we halt, and thou shalt to thy rest."
+
+"Why then, lord, let us to the Hollow--it lieth scarce a mile through
+the brush yonder, and 'twas there I did appoint for Walkyn to meet with
+thee again--so shall we sleep secure; moreover I have a feeling--as it
+were one calling us thither, a wondrous strange feeling, master! Mayhap
+we shall come by news of Walkyn there--"
+
+"'Tis well bethought, Roger. Come thy ways."
+
+Forthwith turned they from the forest-road, and forcing their way
+through a leafy tangle, presently came out into a ride, or narrow
+glade; but they had gone only a very little distance when they espied
+the red glow of a fire within a thicket hard by, and therewith the
+sound of voices reached them:
+
+"Three great bags, I tell thee!" cried one voice, high and querulous,
+"three great, fair and goodly bags full crammed of sweet gold pieces!
+All my lord Duke's revenue of Winisfarne and the villages adjacent
+thereunto! Taxes, see ye, my lord Duke's taxes--and all stolen, reft,
+and ravished from me, Guido, Steward and Bailiff of the northern
+Marches, by clapper-claws and raveners lewd and damned! Woe's me for my
+lord's good money-bags!"
+
+"O, content thee!" spake another voice, sleepy and full-fed, "for, an
+these monies were the Duke's they were not thine, and if they were not
+thine thou wert not robbed, and, since thou wert not robbed, wherefore
+groan and glower ye on the moon? Moreover, thou hast yet certain monies
+thou didst--collect--from yon blind fellow, the which remindeth me I
+have not yet my share. So pray thee now disburse, good steward."
+
+Hereupon, ere Beltane could stay him, Roger slipped, soft-treading,
+into the undergrowth; upon whose vanishing the air grew very suddenly
+full of shouts and cries, of scuffling sounds and woeful pleadings; and
+striding forward, Beltane beheld two men that crouched on bended knees,
+while Roger, fierce and threatening, stood betwixt, a hairy hand upon
+the throat of each. Now beholding Beltane, they (these gasping rogues)
+incontinent beset him with whimpering entreaties, beseeching of him
+their lives. Ragged knaves they seemed, and in woeful plight--the one a
+lank fellow and saturnine, with long, down-trending, hungry nose; the
+other a little man, plump and buxom, whose round eyes blinked woefully
+in his round and rosy face as he bent 'neath Roger's heavy hand. Yet
+spake he to Beltane in soft and soothing accents, on this wise:
+
+"Resplendent sir, behold this thy most officious wight who doth my
+tender throat with hurtful hand encompass--doubtless to some wise and
+gracious end an he doth squeeze me thus at thy command. Yet, noble sir,
+humbly would I woo of thee the mercy of a little more air, lest this
+right noble youth do choke me quite!"
+
+But hereupon the lank fellow cried out, bold and querulous:
+
+"Take ye heed, for whoso dareth lay hand on me, toucheth the person of
+Duke Ivo's puissant self!"
+
+"Ha--say ye so?" growled Roger, and forthwith squeezed him until he
+gasped again.
+
+"Loose me, knave!" he panted, "Duke Ivo's Steward, I--Bailiff of the
+northern Marches with--towns and villages--adjacent thereunto--"
+
+"Unhand them, Roger," said Beltane, "entreat them gently--in especial
+my lord Duke's Steward and Bailiff of the Marches, if so he be in very
+truth."
+
+"Yea my lord, in very truth!" cried the Bailiff. "But two days since in
+ermined robe and chain of office, a notable man, I, courted by many,
+feared by more, right well be-seen by all, with goodly horse betwixt my
+knees and lusty men-at-arms at my beck and call. To-night, alas and
+woe! thou see'st me a ragged loon, a sorry wight the meanest rogue
+would scorn to bow to, and the very children jeer at--and all by reason
+of a lewd, black-avised clapper-claw that doth flourish him a mighty
+axe--O, a vile, seditious fellow ripe for the gallows."
+
+"Ah! with an axe say'st thou, sir Bailiff?"
+
+"O most infallibly an axe, messire--a ponderous axe with haft the
+length of this my leg. A vilely tall, base, and most unseemly dog that
+hath spoiled me of my lord's sweet money-bags, wherefore I yearn to see
+him wriggle in a noose. To the which end I journey in these my rags,
+unto my lord Duke on Barham Broom, with tale of wrong and outrage most
+abominable."
+
+"And dared they rob thee indeed?" quoth Beltane, "and thou my lord
+Duke's High Steward and Bailiff of the Marches! Come, sit ye down and
+tell me of the matter--and Roger, methinks he shall talk the better an
+thou keep thy fingers farther from his wind-pipe."
+
+So down sat they together round the fire, and, what time the little
+buxom man viewed Beltane 'twixt stealthy lids from golden spur to open
+bascinet, the Bailiff fell to his tale, as followeth:
+
+"Know then, good and noble sir knight, that I sat me, but two days
+since, in right fair and goodly estate, my lackeys to hand, my men-at-arms
+at my back (twenty tall fellows). I sat me thus, I say, within the
+square at Winisfarne, whither, by sound of trumpet, I had summoned me
+the knavish townsfolk to pay into my hand my lord Duke's rightful dues
+and taxes, which folk it is my custom to call upon by name and one by
+one. When lo! of a sudden, and all uncalled, comes me a great, tall
+fellow, this same black-avised knave, and forthwith seized him one of
+my lord's great money-bags, and when I would have denied him, set me
+his axe beneath my very nose. Thereafter took he the bags all three and
+scattered (O hateful--hateful sight!) my lord's good monies among the
+base rabblement. And, when my lusty fellows sought to apprehend me this
+rogue, he smote them dolefully and roared in hideous fashion 'Arise--
+Pentavalon!' And straightway, at this lewd shout, forth of the crowd
+leapt many other rogues bedight as gentle knights in noble mail,
+cap-à-pie, and fell upon us and smote us dire, and stripped me of my
+goodly apparel, and drave me forth of the town with stripes and blows
+and laughter most ungentle. So here sit I, poor Guido, Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches, in most vile estate, very full of woe yet,
+alack, empty of belly."
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "within thy pouch, methinks, a
+blind man's money."
+
+"How--a blind man?" gasped the Bailiff, "a blind man's monies, say'st
+thou? Nay messire, in very truth."
+
+"Search him, Roger."
+
+Hereupon Roger, having straightway choked him to silence with the one
+hand full soon had found the money with the other, and thereafter, he
+loosed the Bailiff that he might get his breath again; the which he no
+sooner had done than he fell to prayers and humble entreaties:
+
+"Sir knight--right noble sir, sure thou wilt not take thus from a
+woeful wight all that he hath."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I take only from my lord Duke's Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches. And now," said he, turning upon the small,
+round man, "thou hast marked me well, how say you, Pardoner?"
+
+"First, most truly potent, wise, yet very youthful, noble sir, that for
+all the world and all the glory thereof I would not anger thee."
+
+"Hast good eyes, Pardoner, and art quick to heed."
+
+"Nay, dull am I, sweet lord, aye, dull forsooth and slow beyond
+belief."
+
+"Would'st know me again? could'st bear my likeness in thy memory?"
+
+"Never, lord. Never, O never! I swear it by the toe of the blessed
+Didymus, by the arm of Saint Amphibalus thrice blessed, by--"
+
+"Why then, Pardoner, behold here my belt of silver, my good,
+long-bladed sword. And here--behold my yellow hair!" and off came bascinet,
+and back fell mail-coif, whereat the Bailiff started and caught his
+breath and stared on Beltane in sudden awe.
+
+"Dost mark me well, Pardoner?"
+
+"Aye, noble sir, verily and in truth do I. So, next time I think on
+thee thou wilt be a squat man, middle-aged and black-haired. For, my
+lord, a poor Pardoner I, but nought beside."
+
+Then Beltane did on coif and bascinet and rose to his feet, whereat the
+Bailiff cried out in sudden fear and knelt with hands upraised:
+
+"Slay me not, my lord! O messire Beltane, spare my life nor think I
+will betray thee, outlaw though thou art!"
+
+"Fear not, sir Bailiff," answered Beltane, "thy life is safe from me.
+But, when thou dost name me to thy lord, Duke Ivo, tell him that I
+spake thee this: That, whiles I do lie within the green he shall not
+sleep o' nights but I will be at work with fire and steel, nor rest nor
+stay until he and the evil of him be purged from this my father's duchy
+of Pentavalon--say I bid him remember this upon his pillow. Tell him
+that whiles I do hold the woods my powers grow daily, and so will I
+storm and burn his castles, one by one, as I did burn Garthlaxton. Say
+I bid him to think upon these things what time he wooeth slumber in the
+night. As to thee, thou wily Pardoner, when thou shalt come to betray
+this our meeting, say that I told thee, that as Belsaye rose, and
+Winisfarne, so shall town and village rise until Ivo and his like are
+driven hence, or Beltane slain and made an end of. And so--fare ye
+well! Come, Roger!" Then Beltane strode away with grim Roger at his
+heels what time the Bailiff and the Pardoner stared in dumb amaze.
+
+"Here," quoth the Pardoner at last, stroking his round chin, "here was
+a man, methinks, wherefore are we yet alive!"
+
+"Here," quoth the Bailiff, scratching his long nose, "here was a fool,
+methinks, for that we are alive. A traitor, see ye, Pardoner, whose
+yellow head is worth its weight in gold! Truly, truly, here was a very
+fool!" So saying, he arose, albeit furtively, and slipping forthwith
+into the shadow, crept furtively away until the fire-glow was lost and
+hidden far behind him. Then, very suddenly, he betook him to his heels,
+and coming to the forest-road, fled southwards towards Duke Ivo's great
+camp that lay on Barham Broom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+
+"Lord," said Roger, shaking his head, as they halted upon the edge of
+the Hollow, "lord, 'twere better thou hadst let me strangle them; those
+dogs will bay of thee to Black Ivo ere this time to-morrow!"
+
+"'Tis so I hope, Roger."
+
+"Hope?"
+
+"Could I but lure Black Ivo into the wild, Roger, where swamp and
+thicket should fight for us! Could I but draw him hither after me, of
+what avail the might of his heavy chivalry upon this narrow forest-road,
+his close-ranked foot-men a sure mark for the arrows of our war-wise
+foresters? Thus, our pikes in front, a charge in flank, his line
+once pierced needs must follow confusion and disorder. Then press we
+where his banner flieth, and, hemmed in by our pikes and gisarms and
+Giles's bowmen, he once our prisoner or slain, his great army would
+crumble and melt away, since they do serve but for base hire, whiles
+we, though few, do smite amain for home and children. O Roger man,
+could I but lure him into the green!"
+
+"Yet methinks there is a surer way, master."
+
+"How--as how, Roger?"
+
+"Wed thou thy Duchess, and so bring down on him all the powers of
+Mortain!"
+
+"Roger, dost well know my mind on this matter; prate ye no more!"
+
+"Then will I pray, master--so I do warn thee! Forsooth, I will this
+night fall to work upon the good saint and plague him right prayerfully
+that thy Duchess may come and save thee and thy Duchy in despite of
+thee, and having made thee Duke of Pentavalon with her lances,
+thereafter make thee Duke of Mortain in her own sweet body, for as I do
+know--"
+
+But Beltane was already descending the steep path leading down into the
+great green hollow that lay all silent and deserted 'neath the ghostly
+moon, where nought stirred in the windless air, where bush and tree
+cast shadows monstrous and distorted, and where no sound brake the
+brooding quiet save the murmurous ripple of the brook that flowed to
+lose itself in the gloomy waters of that deep and sullen pool.
+
+Swift and sure-treading as only foresters might, they descended the
+steep, and lured by some elfin fancy, Beltane must needs come to stand
+beside the pool and to stare down into those silent waters, very dark
+by reason of that great tree 'neath whose writhen branches Tostig the
+outlaw had fought and died; so stood Beltane awhile lost in
+contemplation, what time Roger, drawing ever nearer his master's elbow,
+shivered and crossed himself full oft.
+
+"Come away, master," said he at last, low-voiced, "I love not this pool
+at any time, more especially at the full o' the moon. On such nights
+ghosts do walk! Tostig was an ill man in life, but Tostig's ghost
+should be a thing to fright the boldest--prithee, come away."
+
+"Go get thee to thy rest, Roger. As for me, I would fain think."
+
+"But wherefore here?"
+
+"For that I am so minded."
+
+"So be it, master. God send thy thoughts be fair." So saying, Roger
+turned where, on the further side of the Hollow, lay those caves 'neath
+the rocky bank wherein the outlaws had been wont to sleep. But, of a
+sudden, Beltane heard a hoarse scream, a gasp of terror, and Roger was
+back beside him, his naked broad-sword all a-shake in his trembling
+hand, his eyes wide and rolling.
+
+"Master--O master!" he whimpered, "ghosts! 'neath the tree--Tostig--
+the Dead Hand!"
+
+"Nay, what folly is here, Roger?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Dead Hand--touched me--on the brow--in the shadow
+yonder! Aye--on the brow--'neath the tree! O master, dead men are we,
+'tis Tostig come to drag us back to hell with him!" And crouching on
+his knees, Roger fell to desperate prayers.
+
+Then Beltane turned whither Roger's shaking finger had pointed, and
+strode beneath the great tree. And peering up through the dark, he
+presently espied a shadowy thing that moved amid a gloom of leaves and
+branches; and, beholding what it was, he drew sword and smote high
+above his head.
+
+Something thudded heavily upon the grass and lay there, mute and rigid,
+while Beltane, leaning upon his sword, stared down at that fell shape,
+and breathing the noxious reek of it, was seized of trembling horror;
+nevertheless he stooped, and reaching out a hand of loathing in the
+dimness, found the cord whereby it had swung and dragged the rigid,
+weighty thing out into the radiance of the moon until he could see a
+pallid face twisted and distorted by sharp and cruel death. Now in this
+moment Roger sware a fierce, great oath, and forthwith kicked those
+stiffened limbs.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, "methought 'twas Tostig his ghost come for to drag us
+down into yon accursed pool--and 'tis naught but the traitor-rogue
+Gurth!"
+
+"And dead, Roger!"
+
+"Forsooth, he's dead enough, master--faugh!"
+
+"And it availeth nothing to kick a dead man, Roger."
+
+"Yet was he an arrant knave, master."
+
+"And hath paid for his knavery, methinks!"
+
+"A very rogue! a traitor! a rogue of rogues, master!"
+
+"Then hath he the more need of our prayers, Roger."
+
+"Prayers! How, lord, would'st pray for--this?"
+
+"Nay, Roger, but thou shalt, since thou art potent in prayer these
+days." So saying, Beltane knelt upon the sward and folded reverent
+hands; whereupon Roger, somewhat abashed, having set his sword upright
+in the ling as was his custom, presently knelt likewise, and clearing
+his throat, spake aloud in this fashion:
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, thou see'st here all that is left of one that in
+life was a filthy, lewd, and traitorous knave, insomuch that he hath,
+methinks, died of roguery. Now, most blessed saint, do thy best for the
+knavish soul of him, intercede on his behalf that he may suffer no more
+than he should. And this is the prayer of me, Black Roger, that has
+been a vile sinner as I have told thee, though traitor to no man, I
+praise God. But, most blessed and right potent saint, while I am at the
+ears of thee, fain would I crave thy aid on matter of vasty weight and
+import. To wit, good saint: let now Sir Fidelis, who, as ye well know,
+doth hide womanly beauties in ungentle steel--let now this brave and
+noble lady muster forthwith all the powers within her Duchy of Mortain
+--every lusty fellow, good saint--and hither march them to my master's
+aid. Let her smite and utterly confound Black Ivo, who (as oft I've
+told thee--moreover thine eyes are sharp), is but a rogue high-born,
+fitter for gallows than ducal crown, even as this most unsavoury Gurth
+was a rogue low-born. So when she hath saved my master despite himself,
+sweet saint, then do thou join them heart and body, give them joy
+abounding and happiness enduring, nor forget them in the matter of
+comely children. So bring to woeful Pentavalon and to us all and every,
+peace at last and prosperity--and to sorrowful Roger a belt wherein be
+no accursed notches and a soul made clean. _In nomen Dominum, Amen!_"
+
+"Master," quoth he, yet upon his knees and viewing Beltane somewhat
+askance, "here is the best I can do for such as yon Gurth; will't
+suffice, think ye?"
+
+"Aye, 'twill serve, Roger. But, for the other matter--"
+
+"Why see you, master, a man may freely speak his dear desires within
+his prayers--more especially when his prayers are potent, as mine.
+Moreover I warned thee--I warned thee I would pray for thee--and pray
+for thee I have." Now hereupon Beltane rose somewhat hastily and turned
+his back, what time Roger sheathed his sword.
+
+Then spake Beltane, turning him to the pool again:
+
+"We had store of tools and mattocks, I mind me. Go and look within the
+caves if there be ever a one left, for now must we bury this poor
+clay."
+
+"Ha, must we pray for him--_and_ bury him, master?"
+
+"And bury him, Roger."
+
+Then Roger sighed and shook his head and so left Beltane, who fell
+again to profound meditation; but of a sudden hearing a cry, he turned
+to behold Roger running very fleetly, who, coming near, caught him by
+the arm and sought to drag him away.
+
+"Run!" he panted, "run, master--I ha' just seen a goblin--run, master!"
+
+Now beholding the terror in Roger's eyes, Beltane unsheathed his sword.
+"Show me, Roger," said he.
+
+"Nay, lord--of what avail? Let's away, this place is rank o' deviltries
+and witchcraft--"
+
+"Show me, Roger--come!"
+
+Perforce, Roger led the way, very heedful to avoid each patch of
+shadow, until they were come opposite that cave where aforetime Beltane
+had been customed to sleep. Here Roger paused.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "there is a thing within that groaneth--
+goblin-groans, master. A thing very like unto a goblin, for I ha' seen it
+--a pale thing that creepeth--holy saints, 'tis here again--hark to it!"
+
+And in very truth Beltane heard a sound the which, soft though it was,
+checked his breath and chilled his flesh; and, as he peered into the
+gloomy recesses of the cavern, there moved something vague amid the
+shadows, something that rose up slow and painfully.
+
+Roger was down gasping on his knees, Beltane's hand was tight-clenched
+upon the hilt of his sword, as out into the moonlight crept one, very
+bent and feeble, shrouded in a long grey cloak; a pitiful figure, that,
+leaning a hand upon the rock, slowly raised a drooping head. Then
+Beltane saw that this was the witch Jolette.
+
+A while she stood thus, one hand supporting her against the rocky bank,
+the other hid within the folds of her long mantle.
+
+"O my lord!" said she, low-voiced, "all day long my heart hath been
+calling--calling to thee; so art come at last--thanks be to God--O my
+lord Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake, she reached out a hand to him so that the shrouding
+mantle fell away; then, beholding what it had hid, Beltane let fall his
+sword, and leaping forward, caught her within his arm.
+
+"Ah!--thou'rt hurt!" he cried.
+
+"My lord, I--strove to bind it up--I am cunning in herbs and simples--
+but my hurt is too deep for any leechcraft. To-night--soon--I must die.
+Lay me down, I pray thee. Thine arms are strong, lord Beltane, and--
+very gentle. How, dost grieve for a witch, lord--for poor Jolette? Nay,
+comfort ye--my life has been none so sweet I should dread to lose it."
+
+"How cometh this?" he questioned gently, on his knees beside her.
+
+"'Twas the Red Pertolepe's men--nay, messire, they have but killed me.
+But O, my dear lord--heed me well. A week agone lord Pertolepe marched
+hither seeking thee with a great company led by yon Gurth. And when he
+found thee not he hanged Gurth, yet tarried here awhile. Then I,
+knowing a secret path hither that none else do know, came and hearkened
+to their councils. So do I know that he is marched for Winisfarne--"
+
+"Ha, is this so!" cried Beltane, clenching his fist, "then will he hang
+and burn!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis like enough, messire. But--O heed me! He goeth for a deeper
+purpose--list, Beltane--O list--he goeth to seize upon the noble and
+saintly Abbess Veronica--to bear her captive unto Pentavalon city,
+there to hold her hostage for--for thee, Beltane--for thee!"
+
+"How mean you?"
+
+"When he hath her safe, Duke Ivo, because he hath learned to fear thee
+at last, will send envoys to thee demanding thou shalt yield up to him
+the town of Belsaye and thy body to his mercy, or this fair and noble
+lady Abbess shall be shamed and dishonoured, and know a death most
+dire. And--ah! because thou art the man thou art, thou must needs yield
+thyself to Ivo's cruel hands, and Belsaye to flame and ravishment."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, frowning, "within Belsaye are many women
+and children also, nor should these die that one might live, saintly
+abbess though she be."
+
+Now hereupon the witch Jolette raised herself, and set her two hands
+passionately on Beltane's shoulders, and looked upon him great-eyed and
+fearful.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--Beltane, my lord!" she panted, "but that I am under a
+vow, now could I tell thee a thing would fire thy soul to madness--but,
+O believe, believe, and know ye this--when Duke Ivo's embassy shall
+tell thee all, thou--shalt suffer them to take thee--thou shalt endure
+bonds and shame and death itself. So now thou shalt swear to a dying
+woman that thou wilt not rest nor stay until thou shalt free this lady
+Abbess, for on her safety doth hang thy life and the freedom of
+Pentavalon. Swear, O swear me this, my lord Beltane, so shall I die in
+peace. Swear--O swear!"
+
+Now, looking within her glowing eyes, feeling the tremble of her
+passionate-pleading hands, Beltane bowed his head.
+
+"I swear!" said he.
+
+"So now may God hear--this thy oath, and I--die in peace--"
+
+And saying this, Jolette sank in his arms and lay a while as one that
+swoons; but presently her heavy eyes unclosed and on her lips there
+dawned a smile right wondrous to behold, so marvellous tender was it.
+
+"I pray thee, lord, unhelm--that I may see thee--once again--thy golden
+hair--"
+
+Wondering, but nothing speaking, Beltane laid by his bascinet, threw
+back his mail-coif, and bent above her low and lower, until she might
+reach up and touch those golden curls with failing hand.
+
+"Lord Beltane!--boy!" she whispered, "stoop lower, mine eyes fail.
+Hearken, O my heart! Even as thy strong arms do cradle me, so--have
+these arms--held thee, O little Beltane, I--have borne thee oft upon my
+heart--ere now. Oft have hushed thee to rosy sleep--upon this bosom.
+'Twas from--these arms Sir Benedict caught thee on--that woeful day.
+For I that die here--against thy heart, Beltane--am Jolette, thy
+foster-mother--wilt thou--kiss me--once?"
+
+So Beltane stooped and kissed her, and, when he laid her down, Jolette
+the witch was dead.
+
+Full long Beltane knelt, absorbed in prayer, and as he prayed, he wept.
+So long knelt he thus, that at last cometh Roger, treading soft and
+reverently, and touched him.
+
+"Master!" he whispered.
+
+Then Beltane arose as one that dreams and stood a while looking down
+upon that pale and placid face, on whose silent lips the wondrous smile
+still lingered. But of a sudden, Roger's fingers grasped his arm.
+
+"Master!" he whispered again. Thereon Beltane turned and thus he saw
+that Roger looked neither on him nor on the dead and that he pointed
+with shaking finger. Now, glancing whither he pointed, Beltane beheld,
+high on the bank above them, a mounted knight armed cap-à-pie, who
+stared down at them through closed visor--a fierce and war-like figure
+looming gigantic athwart the splendour of the sinking moon. And even as
+they stared in wonder, a broad shield flashed, and knight and horse
+were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+
+"Lord!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "yonder certes was Hob-gob!
+Forsooth ne'er saw I night the like o' this! How think ye of yon
+devilish things? Here was it one moment, and lo! in the twinkle of an
+eye it is not. How think ye, master?"
+
+"I do think 'twas some roving knight."
+
+"Nay but, lord--how shall honest flesh and blood go a-vanishing away
+into thin air whiles a man but blinketh an eye?"
+
+"The ground hath sudden slope thereabouts, belike."
+
+"Nay, yonder was some arch-wizard, master--the Man o' the Oak, or
+Hob-gob himself. Saint Cuthbert shield us, say I--yon was for sure a
+spirit damned--"
+
+"Hark! Do spirits go in steel, Roger?" said Beltane, stooping for his
+sword; for indeed, plain and loud upon the prevailing quiet was the
+ring and clash of heavy armour, what time from the bushes that clothed
+the steep a tall figure strode, and the moon made a glory in polished
+shield, it gleamed upon close-vizored helm, it flashed upon brassart,
+vanbrace and plastron. Being come near, the grim and warlike figure
+halted, and leaning gauntleted hand upon long shield, stood silent a
+while seeming to stare on Beltane through the narrow slit of his great
+casque. But even as he viewed Beltane, so stared Beltane on him, on the
+fineness of his armour, chain and plate of the new fashion, on his
+breadth of shoulder and length of limb--from shining casque to
+gleaming shield, whereon was neither charge nor blazon; and so at last,
+spake my Beltane, very gentle and courteous:
+
+"Messire, an thou be come in peace, now shalt thou be right welcome--"
+
+"Peace!" quoth the knight loud and fierce, and his laughter rang hoarse
+within his helm. "Peace, forsooth! Thou art a tall and seemly youth, a
+youth fair spoken, and yet--ha! A belt of silver! And golden hair! And
+yet--so very youthful! Art thou in very truth this famous rogue whose
+desperate deeds do live on every tongue, who hath waked Duke Ivo from
+his long-time security, insomuch that he doth yearn him for that yellow
+head o' thine--art thou Beltane the Outlaw and Rebel?"
+
+"'Tis so men do call me, messire."
+
+"Verily, youth, methinks dost lie, for I have heard this outlaw is
+beyond all men wild and fierce and weaveth him demoniac spells and
+enchantments most accurst, whereby he maketh gate and door and mighty
+portcullis to ope and yield before his pointed finger, and bolt and bar
+and massy wall to give him passage when he will, as witness the great
+keep of Garthlaxton that he did burn with hellish fire. I have heard he
+doth commonly burn gibbets to warm him, and beareth off great lords
+beneath his arm as I might a small coney and slayeth him three or four
+with his every stroke. 'Tis said that he doth wax daily mightier and
+more fierce, since he doth drink hot blood and batteneth on flesh o'
+tender babes beneath the orbèd moon--"
+
+"Messire," said Beltane beginning to frown, "within thy wild and
+foolish talk is this much truth, that I, with divers trusty comrades,
+did indeed burn down the shameful gallows of Belsaye, and bore captive
+a certain lordly knave. As for Garthlaxton, the thing was simple--"
+
+"O boastful boy!" quoth the knight, tossing aside his shield, "O
+beardless one, since thou dost proclaim thyself this desperate rogue,
+here is reason just for some small debate betwixt us. Do on thy coif
+forthwith, for now will I strive to make an end of thee," and speaking,
+the knight unsheathed a long and ponderous sword.
+
+"How an I fight thee not, sir knight?"
+
+"Then must I needs belabour thee to the good of thy soul, sir outlaw.
+So on with thy coif, I say!"
+
+Incontinent ran Roger to fetch his bascinet the which Beltane slowly
+fitted on above his hood of mail, and thereafter, albeit unwillingly,
+fronted this doughty knight, foot to foot and point to point. Now
+stepped they a moment about each other, light-treading for all their
+weighty armour, and with long blades advanced; then, of a sudden they
+closed, and immediately the air shivered to the ring and grind of
+flashing, whirling steel. To and fro, and up and down they fought upon
+the level sward what time Black Roger rubbed complacent hands,
+grim-smiling and confident; and ever as they fought the stranger knight
+laughed and gibed, harsh and loud, from behind his grimly casque.
+
+"Ho!--fight, youth, fight!" cried he, "have done with love-taps! Sa-ha,
+have at thee--fight, I say!" A panther-like side-leap, a whirl of
+glimmering steel, and his long blade smote sparks from Beltane's
+bascinet, whereat Roger's smile, incontinent, vanished, and his face
+waxed suddenly anxious and long.
+
+But fierce and fiercer the stranger knight beset my Beltane, the while
+he lashed him with mocking tongue:
+
+"Call ye this fighting, sir youthful outlaw? Doth thine arm fail thee
+so soon? Tap not, I say, lest I grow angered and slay thee forthright!"
+
+Then, blow for blow, did Beltane the mighty fall on right furiously,
+but ever blade met blade whiles Roger danced on anxious feet, praying
+for the end. Of a sudden, shouted he joyously, for, flashing high in
+air, down came Beltane's long blade strong and true upon the knight's
+helm--a fell, deep-dinting stroke that drave the stranger reeling back.
+Fierce and swift leapt Beltane to smite again--came a shock of clashing
+steel, a flurry of stroke and counter-stroke, and thereafter, a hoarse
+shout of dismay from Roger: for Beltane stood as one dazed, staring
+upon his empty right hand what time the knight boomed derisive laughter
+through his vizor. Then sprang grim Roger, dagger aloft, but swifter
+than he, the knight's sword swung; flat fell that long blade on Roger's
+bascinet, wielded by an arm so strong that Roger, staggering aside,
+rolled upon the ling, and thereafter, sat up, round-eyed and fearful:
+
+"O master!" he panted, "here is none of--honest flesh and blood, 'tis--
+Hob-gob himself, as I did warn thee. May Saint Cuthbert, Saint Bede,
+Saint Edmund--"
+
+"Go to--cease thy windy prattling, Roger Thick-pate!" spake the knight,
+and letting fall his sword, he lifted his visor. And behold! a face
+lean and hawk-like, with eyes quick and bright, and a smiling mouth
+wry-twisted by reason of an ancient wound.
+
+"Know ye me not, lord Beltane?" quoth he, with look right loving, "hast
+forgot me indeed, most loved lad?" But swift came my Beltane, glad-eyed
+and with arms out-flung in eager welcome.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" he cried, "hast come at last? Now do I joy to see
+thee!"
+
+"My lord," says Benedict, wagging mailed finger. "Ha, Beltane, canst
+burn gibbets, storm mighty castles and out-face desperate odds, yet is
+old Benedict thy master at stroke of sword still--though, forsooth,
+hast dinted me my helm, methinks! O sweet lad, come to my arms, I've
+yearned for thee these many days." Herewith Sir Benedict caught Beltane
+within his close embrace, and patted him with gauntleted hands, and
+laughed for very gladness.
+
+"O foolish youth--O youthful fool!" quoth he, "surely thou of all fools
+art greatest, a youthful, god-like fool! O mighty son of mighty father,
+how mighty hath thy folly been! O lovely lad that hath attempted deeds
+impossible, pitting thyself 'gainst Ivo and all his might! Verily,
+Beltane, thou'rt the loveliest fool that ever man did love--"
+
+"Nay, but dear messire," says Beltane as Sir Benedict stayed for
+breath, "pray thee, where is thy meaning?"
+
+"Sweet lad, I do but strive to tell thee thou'rt a fool, yet so glad am
+I of thy foolish company the words do stick somewhat, but my meaning
+shall be manifest--now mark me! Didst not carry off the Red Pertolepe
+'neath the lances of his men-at-arms?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Didst not have thy hand on the throat of that cold, smiling rogue Sir
+Gui of Allerdale?"
+
+"Verily, messire."
+
+"And hold within thy grasp the life of that foul-living Gilles of
+Brandonmere, whose father I slew twelve years agone, I thank God!"
+
+"'Tis true, good Benedict."
+
+"And didst not suffer these arch-knaves to live on and work their
+pestilent wills, Beltane?"
+
+"Sir, I did, but--"
+
+"So art thrice a fool. When we see a foul and noxious worm, to tread it
+under foot is a virtuous act. So when a man doth constant sin 'gainst
+man and maid, to kill him--"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Sir Gui and Gilles of Brandonmere have made an end of sinning,
+methinks."
+
+"Why 'tis so I've heard of late, Beltane, and herein is some small
+comfort; but Red Pertolepe is yet to slay--"
+
+"Truly!" cried Beltane, clenching his fists, "and he marcheth on
+Winisfarne, to burn and hang--"
+
+"Content you, my lord Beltane, Waldron of Brand lieth in Winisfarne,
+and I am here--"
+
+"So doth my heart rejoice for thee, Benedict, thou right trusty and
+doughty friend. But how came ye hither, and wherefore? Methought thee
+yet in Thrasfordham!"
+
+"Aha, dear lad, so doth Ivo at this moment, I pray God. A week agone
+and, ere the investment was complete, wondrous news reached me from
+Waldron of Brand, whose sire bore my pennon in thy noble father's wars.
+And because I knew Waldron's word is ever less than his deed, and,
+belike, that I grow weary of sieges (seven have I withstood within
+these latter years) I, at dead of night, by devious and secret ways,
+stole forth of Thrasfordham--dight in this armour new-fashioned (the
+which, mark me! is more cumbrous than fair link-mail) howbeit, I got me
+clear, and my lord Beltane, here stand I to aid and abet thee in all
+thy desperate affrays, henceforth. Aha! methinks shall be great doings
+within the greenwood anon!"
+
+"Aye, but what of Thrasfordham? An Duke Ivo besiege it--"
+
+"He shall find five hundred and more right doughty fellows, with Sir
+Richard of Wark and Sir Brian of Shand (that were armour-bearers to thy
+knightly sire) to keep him in play."
+
+"And what would ye here, Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Fight, Beltane, fight! Methinks he shall lack nothing for hard smiting
+that rideth with thee--hey, boy, I do yearn amain for the shock of a
+charge!"
+
+"My company is but small, alas!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"'Tis so I've heard, my Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, and smiling his
+wry smile, he took a small hunting-horn that hung about his neck, "let
+us therefore make it larger--"
+
+"How so--how so, good Benedict?--Ha! mean you--"
+
+"Watch now!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict set the horn to his lip and winded it three
+times loud and shrill, and thereafter stood with hand upraised. And lo!
+upon the stillness a sound that grew and grew--a whisper, a rustling as
+of strong wind in trees, and presently upon the high banks to north and
+east and west a great company appeared, horse-men and footmen, whose
+armour flashed 'neath the moon, while high o'er bascinet and helm rose
+deadly pike and ponderous lance, rank upon rank, a very forest.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict loud-voiced, and pointing to the grim array:
+
+"Behold, lord Duke, hither have I brought thee five hundred archers and
+pike-men, with three hundred knights and men-at-arms, and each and
+every a man well tried and chosen, all vowed to follow thee and smite
+in Pentavalon's cause even as I, their lord, that do love thee for thy
+noble father's sake and for thine own sweet and knightly worth!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict fell upon his knee before that great assemblage
+and caught Beltane's hand and kissed it; whereon, from those gleaming
+ranks rose a deep and thunderous shout while lance and spear-head
+flashed again.
+
+Now looking from this right goodly array to the proud and war-like
+figure that bent so humbly at his feet, Beltane's heart swelled amain
+and all things grew blurred and misty in his sight.
+
+"Sir Benedict," said he hoarse-voiced, "thou good and noble knight--O
+Benedict, dear my friend, kneel not to me. For thy so great love, thy
+faith and loyalty, fain would I thank thee--yet words be so poor, and
+I--O, Benedict--"
+
+"Lord," said Benedict, "our camp lieth scarce three miles westward,
+come, I pray thee--"
+
+"Nay, first come ye, friend, and look upon a dead witch that was indeed
+a noble woman."
+
+So Beltane brought Sir Benedict where lay the dead Jolette, smiling yet
+as though into the eyes of God. Now beholding her, Sir Benedict
+beckoned Roger and bid him stimmon certain of his company, forthwith;
+and when Roger hasted back with divers awestruck fellows at his heels,
+they stood staring, amazed to behold these two great knights humbly
+kneeling side by side to pray for the soul of her who, all her days,
+had been scorned of men as the witch Jolette.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+
+At peep of day the trumpets blew, and Beltane, starting up from
+slumber, found the great camp all astir about him; the smoke of a
+hundred watch-fires rose up into the stilly air of morning and made a
+fragrant mist amid the trees beneath which armour glinted as guard
+relieved guard and the new-waked companies mustered under arms. And
+ever as the sun rose the bustle waxed and grew, with a coming and going
+about the fires where the morning meal was preparing; here a mighty
+furbishing of arms and armour, yonder a prodigious hissing and so-hoing
+where chargers and pack-horses were picketed, line upon line--goodly
+beasts that stamped and snorted and whinnied joyously--and everywhere
+was noise and cheer of talk and laughter; yet everywhere was method and
+a strict orderliness in all things, wherefore Beltane's very heart sang
+within him.
+
+Now as he stood thus, viewing all things keen-eyed and watchful, he was
+presently aware of Sir Benedict and Black Roger who walked together
+within a distant alley; and as they passed them to and fro Black Roger
+talked amain, what time Sir Benedict seemed to hearken right solemn and
+attentive, oft pausing to question him quick and eager, and oft to clap
+hand to Roger's brawny back; and sometimes laughed he blithe and joyous
+and sometimes hearkened with grizzled head a-droop, until a turn in the
+glade hid them from sight.
+
+Little by little, above the resinous fragrance of the fires rose other
+scents more delectable to the nostrils of a hungry man, thus, waking
+from his meditations Beltane turned him wistfully towards where, above
+the nearest fire, a goodly cooking pot seethed and bubbled invitingly.
+But even now a hand slipped within his arm and holding him thus, Sir
+Benedict viewed him joyful-eyed and smiled on him his wry and twisted
+smile.
+
+"Beltane," said he, wagging his head, "O Beltane, thou wilt mind how
+upon a time as I drank a bowl of milk with thee amid the green in
+Mortain, I did warn thee that she had red hair and was like to prove a
+spit-fire, therefore!"
+
+Now hereupon my Beltane must needs catch his breath and flush to the
+ears of him, and therewith strive to look at his ease, like the very
+youth he was.
+
+"How, messire, hath Roger babbled to thee?"
+
+"Babbled?" quoth Sir Benedict, shaking his head, "nay, Roger is no
+babbler of secret matters, for many do ken of thy love, Beltane--and I
+am thy friend, so is thy happiness my happiness. Thus do I say God and
+the sweet saints bless thee in thy love, dear lad, for a right noble
+lady is Helen the Beautiful and meet to thine embracements. By her so
+great love, by her proved faithfulness shalt thou yet win to
+happiness--"
+
+"Nay, dear my Benedict, first must Pentavalon win to peace."
+
+"Aye, by Helen's noble love, for--"
+
+"O Sir Benedict, I have sworn an oath!"
+
+"Aye, sweet lad, but Roger hath prayed a prayer!"
+
+"Hath he told thee so much, Benedict?"
+
+"So much," quoth Sir Benedict, pressing his arm, "so much, O man, that
+hereafter needs must I love thee and honour thee the more. Since man
+art thou, my Beltane, for all thy so great youthfulness."
+
+"Nay, Benedict, am none so youthful."
+
+"Thy very speech doth prove thee so, yet, being boy, thou art forsooth
+a man to-day."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that to-day I do know more of thee. 'Tis suffering, 'tis sorrow
+nobly borne doth make the man, Beltane."
+
+"Suffering, messire?"
+
+"Yon lock of hair showeth very white amid the gold, Beltane, but thou
+art better man therefore, methinks. The fetters of thy dungeon yet
+gleam upon thy wrists, Beltane. But truly I do think within thy prison
+was forged the sword shall avenge our woes and free Pentavalon at
+last."
+
+"Think you indeed, thou wise Benedict, that we by grief and sorrow do
+rise to find our nobler selves?"
+
+"Aye verily! 'Tis but by sorrow and suffering our strength or weakness
+groweth manifest, Beltane."
+
+"Yet--O Benedict--I did doubt her--plied her with scornful tongue and--
+drave her lonely from me!"
+
+"And dost grieve amain, and sorrow therefore, O youth!"
+
+"Yea, indeed, indeed--sleeping and waking!"
+
+"And do yearn to woo her to forgiveness on thy knees, to crush her in
+thine arms and kiss her breath away, O Lover?"
+
+"Aye, dear Sir Benedict, in such sort and so greatly that my passion
+oft doth fright me, so fiercely do I yearn and long--yet tremble and
+grow faint at thought of it!"
+
+"Yet art thou here, bedight in arms, O man--thy yearning body far
+removed from all temptation till thou hast proved thee worthy her
+embrace! And thus it is I know thee for a man, my Beltane!"
+
+"And thou, Benedict, thou hast yearned and trembled with love ere now,
+thou hast been a lover once, methinks?" But here Sir Benedict fell to
+silence, walking with face averted and gaze bent towards the dewy
+grass, and quickened his steps until they were come nigh unto the camp.
+Then lifted he his head; quoth he:
+
+"My lord Beltane, how think you of this thy new-found company?"
+
+"Men--ha! men, good Benedict--soldiers born and bred!"
+
+"Forsooth, and 'neath mine own eye, Beltane. There is not one but I
+have watched him in the stress of battle. Body o' me, but I have chosen
+needfully, there is none but hath proved his worthiness! See you the
+little man yonder, in half-mail with sword as great as himself--he that
+pipeth shrill-voiced as a boy? 'Tis Prat who alone stood off a score
+what time I lay wounded and pinned beneath my charger. Mark ye yon
+lusty fellow beside him? 'Tis Cnut that, single-handed, hewed him a
+path through Ivo's battle and bare away his own banner, the which doth
+grace my hall at Thrasfordham e'en now. And yonder is Dirk that was a
+slave, yet fighteth like a paladin. And there again is Siward, that
+with his brother maintained the sallyport 'gainst Ivo's van what time
+they drave us from the outer bailey. And yonder Cedric--but so could I
+name them each and every--ha! there sounds the welcome tucket! Come,
+let us break our fast, and there be many knights and esquires and
+gentles of degree do wait to pay thee homage."
+
+So presently came they into the midst of the camp, where, seated on the
+mossy ling, hungry and expectant, were many noble lords and gentle
+knights and esquires of degree, who, beholding Sir Benedict with
+Beltane, rose up with one accord. Young men were these for the most
+part, yet were there many grizzled heads and wrinkled brows among them--
+grim lords of the old Duke's following much versed in war, calm of
+judgment and wise in council; but one and all did they stare upon my
+Beltane in wonder at his youth because of his so famous deeds.
+
+Now spake to them Sir Benedict, short and soldier-like:
+
+"My lords, this is he of whom ye all have heard, Beltane hight, son of
+Beltane our Duke, for whom we together have held Thrasfordham so long
+and painfully. My lord Beltane, of all the knights and nobles of the
+Duke thy father's days, here do stand, sire or son, all that have
+withstood Black Ivo. Behold here Sir Bertrand, that was thy father's
+seneschal of Pentavalon City. Here, Sir John of Griswold whose sire
+bare thy father's banner, wherefore Griswold is ashes long since. Here
+Hubert of Erdington, that was thy father's marshal-of-the-field. Here,
+Hacon of Trant, that was wont to lead thy father's vanward, and here,
+Sir Brian of Hartismere, brother to Eric, called the Wry-neck. So now,
+all's said, my lord, wherefore I pray, let us eat."
+
+Forthwith down they sat together on the grass, all and sundry, and ate
+and drank and laughed and talked, insomuch that in brake and thicket
+near and far the birds carolled and chattered in pretty mockery.
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict when the meal was ended, "ere I met
+thee, 'twas my intent this hour to march on Winisfarne, according to my
+promise to Waldron of Brand, how say you?"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Beltane, "as soon as ye will."
+
+Thus, within the hour, the trumpets brayed 'to horse' and all was
+seeming hurry and confusion; yet a confusion, this, governed by
+soldierly method, so that, ere long, horsemen were mounted and footmen
+in array what time Beltane, bedight in goodly vizored casque, with
+lance and shield borne behind him, came where stood Sir Benedict beside
+a great and noble war-horse.
+
+Forthwith Beltane mounted, and forthwith from these well-ordered ranks
+a great shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+Now, reining in his eager beast, Beltane looked upon that stern array,
+and as he looked his eye kindled and his heart swelled within him.
+
+"O men!" said he, "I that ye do acclaim am but a man even as ye are
+men, to bear with ye the heat and labour of the day. What ye must
+endure that will I endure with you. Here stand I, ready to spill my
+blood that Wrong may cease. Even as ye, I am prepared to adventure me,
+life and limb, that Lust and Murder may cease to be and Innocence and
+Truth may walk again all unashamed. So shall I lead ye into battles and
+affrays desperate and bloody, where foes shall be a-many and we, few.
+But we do fight for hearth and home, and the thought of this, methinks,
+shall nerve us strong as giants. Yet is our way a perilous way, and
+some of us, belike, must die. But, by the blood of such, this our
+country is hallowed unto those that shall come after us, so shall our
+memories teach others how to die--and better--how to live that this our
+country may stand, hereafter, for all things great and noble. He that
+dieth for home and children shall, mayhap, from the floor of heaven,
+look down upon a great and happy people whose freedom he--by weary
+marches, by pain of wounds, by sharp and sudden death--he himself hath
+helped to purchase, and, in their peace and happiness, find an added
+joy.
+
+"O men! who would not be a man to fight in such just cause? Who would
+not cherish life that he might lose it to such noble purpose?
+
+"Now therefore, all ye that do love Pentavalon--follow!"
+
+Thus saying, my Beltane wheeled his horse; and with rhythmic ring and
+clash, together, rank on rank, horsemen and footmen, they followed hard
+behind, a silent, grim array, with eyes that gleamed 'neath helm and
+bascinet, and purposeful hands that griped full strong on lance and
+spear-shaft, as, coming to the forest-road, they swung away northwards
+towards Winisfarne.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI
+
+WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+
+Two and two they rode--for the way was oft-times narrow--their flanks
+well covered by light-armed archers who marched within the green, with
+mounted archers far in their van and others in their rear.
+
+A glory of sun dappled their way with dancing shadows, flowers were
+a-bloom in bank and hedgerow, and birds carolled blithe in the fragrant
+air, what time Sir Benedict rode beside Beltane, his ponderous casque
+a-swing at saddle-bow; and oft he turned his grizzled head to view my
+thoughtful Beltane as one might look upon a son, new-found.
+
+Now in a while Beltane turned and meeting his look reached out to him
+his hand.
+
+"Dear Benedict," said he, "how much--how very much I owe to thee. Thou
+art methinks the greatest knight that e'er couched lance--"
+
+"Save thy noble father!" quoth Sir Benedict with solemn nod.
+
+"My father--you were his esquire and much-loved comrade, Benedict?"
+
+"I was, Beltane."
+
+"Knew you my mother well, also?"
+
+"Thy mother? Why--aye, forsooth, I--knew thy mother--very well,
+Beltane."
+
+"What manner of woman was she, I pray?"
+
+"The fairest and noblest these eyes have e'er beheld!"
+
+"The--noblest?"
+
+"And purest! Hark ye, Beltane, and mark me well--there ne'er lived wife
+of so stainless honour as the noble woman that bare thee!"
+
+"And yet," sighed Beltane, with wrinkled brow, "within the garden of
+Pentavalon--my father--"
+
+"Thy father was a sick man, faint with wounds and spent with hardship.
+All that day, as we rode unto Pentavalon City, he and I, his mind oft
+wandered and he held wild talk in his fever. But hale was I, mind and
+body, and I do know the Duke thy father fell to strange and sudden
+madness upon that dreadful day, whereby came woe to Pentavalon, and
+bitter remorse to him. This do I swear, thy mother was noble wife and
+saintly woman!"
+
+"Loved she my father?"
+
+"Aye, verily--she was his wife! Thy father was a noble knight and
+peerless--and oft warring on the marches, but methinks--she was
+something lonely--at times, Beltane."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, and again "Alas!" So fell they incontinent to
+deep thought and rode full long in silence. But ever and anon as they
+paced along together thus, Sir Benedict must needs lift his head to
+gaze upon my Beltane, and his grim lips curved to smile infinite
+tender, and in his eyes was growing wonder.
+
+Quoth he at last:
+
+"Beltane, d'ye mark this our silent company, not a stave have they
+carolled since we set forth! But how shall a man sing and jest whose
+heart is set on great emprise? Verily thy words have fired e'en this
+shrivelled heart o' mine till I, even as they, methinks, do burn to
+fight Pentavalon's cause, to shield her from woeful shame and--ha!--
+such vile sights as yon!"
+
+Now looking where Sir Benedict pointed, Beltane beheld a thing,
+crookedly contorted, a-dangle from a knotted branch that jutted athwart
+the way, insomuch that the must needs stoop, cowering in his saddle,
+lest he touch the twisted feet of it.
+
+"Dead three days I judge!" mused Sir Benedict. "Much is possible to the
+Red Pertolepe in three days. And he hath a great and powerful
+following, 'tis said!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, pale-cheeked and frowning a little:
+
+"So would I have it, Benedict--they shall be the more for us to smite!"
+
+"I've heard he musters full three thousand, Beltane."
+
+"What then, good Benedict? Yon poor, dead thing we passed but now was
+worth a score of men to us--and there will be others--Sir Pertolepe
+loveth to see men hang! So perchance, ere we come to Winisfarne, the
+strength of thousands shall lie within these arms of ours."
+
+"'Tis a fair thought, lad--aye, 'tis a right fair thought! May all the
+poor souls done thus to sudden, cruel death, march within our slender
+ranks and smite with us, shoulder to shoulder, henceforth!"
+
+And now as they went, came they on many and divers signs of the Red
+Pertolepe's passing; here a smouldering heap of ruin whereby lay pale,
+stiff shapes half hidden in the grass--yonder a little child
+outstretched as though asleep, save for wide eyes that looked so
+blindly on the sun: and there, beyond, upon the white dust of the road,
+great gouts and pools that had trickled from something sprawled among
+the underbrush.
+
+And the soft wind crooned and whispered in the leaves--leaves that
+parting, showed other shapes swung high in air, whose pallid faces
+looked down on them, awful-eyed, from the tender green, faces drawn and
+haggard, with teeth agleam or open mouths whence screams had come, but
+very silent now until the Day of Judgment.
+
+So rode they, with death above them and around, death in many hateful
+shapes; and oft Sir Benedict bowed his head as one that prayed, the
+while his strong hands knit themselves to iron fists; and oft from
+those grim ranks behind a sound went up to heaven, a sound ominous and
+low, that was like unto a moan.
+
+Thus marched they, through heat and dust, through cool, green shadow,
+splashing through noisy brook and shallow ford, until, as the sun
+reached the zenith, they came to the brow of a hill and saw afar the
+walls and roofs of the prosperous town of Winisfarne.
+
+And ever as they drew nearer. Sir Benedict stared on it, his black
+brows close-knit, and fingered his square chin as one puzzled.
+
+"Beltane," quoth he at last, "'tis full ten years since I saw
+Winisfarne, and yet--meseemeth--it looked not so! 'Tis as though I
+missed somewhat, and yet--"
+
+But now came Roger, a dusty figure, spurring from the rear:
+
+"Master," he cried, pointing with eager finger, "O master, the keep--
+where is the great keep that stood yonder?"
+
+"Aye, verily--the keep!" nodded Sir Benedict, clapping mailed hand to
+thigh, "and 'twas a great and mighty hold as I do mind me!"
+
+Now looked they gloomily on each other and halted their array what time
+Sir Benedict passed word for bows to be strung and every eye and every
+ear to be strained right needfully; then moved they on again.
+
+Betimes they reached the outskirts of the town, for defences it had
+none, but no man moved therein and no sound reached them but the noise
+of their own going. Thus, in a while, with hands tight-clenched and
+lips firm-set they rode into the desolation of the market-place
+befouled by signs of battle fierce and fell, while beyond, a mass of
+charred ruin, lay all that was left of Winisfarne's once great and
+famous keep.
+
+Now above this ruin divers gibbets had been set up, and behold! these
+gibbets each bore a heavy burden. Then Beltane lighted from his horse,
+and going apart, laid by his casque and sat him down, his head bowed
+betwixt his hands as one that is direly sick. In a while as he sat
+thus, heedless of all things, cometh Roger.
+
+"Master," said he, "saw ye the gibbets yonder?"
+
+"I saw them, Roger."
+
+"Upon those gibbets be divers of our good fellows, master. There is
+Diccon and Peter of my company of pikes, and Gregory that was a fair
+good bowman, and there be others also--and master, these be not hanged
+men!"
+
+"Not hanged--?"
+
+"No, master! All these our men died in battle, as their wounds do
+testify--they were dead men already when Pertolepe hanged them on his
+gibbets. And Walkyn is not here, wherefore, methinks, he liveth yet.
+And Pertolepe is not here, yet where Pertolepe is, there shall we
+surely find Walkyn, for Walkyn hath sworn full oft--ha! master--
+master, behold what cometh here--see, yonder!"
+
+Then Beltane arose, and looking where Roger pointed, beheld a strange,
+misshapen thing, half beast, half man, that ran wondrous fleetly
+towards them, and, as it ran, flourished aloft a broken sword; now was
+he lost to sight behind some bush or quick-set, now he bounded high
+over stream or stone or fallen tree--nought was there could let or stay
+him--until he came where stood Sir Benedict's outposts, to whose
+conduct he yielded him forthwith and so was presently brought into the
+market-square.
+
+A wild figure this, great and hairy of head and with the arms and
+shoulders of a very giant; bedight was he in good link-mail, yet foul
+with dirt and mire and spattered with blood from heel to head, and in
+one great hand he griped still the fragment of a reddened sword. All
+a-sweat was he, and bleeding from the hair, while his mighty chest
+heaved and laboured with his running.
+
+So stood he betwixt his brawny captors what time he panted hoarse and
+loud, and stared about him fierce-eyed 'neath beetling brows. Thus, of
+a sudden he espied my Beltane standing bare-headed in his youthful
+might, whereon this monstrous man forthwith dashed aside his stalwart
+guards as they had been babes, and ran towards Beltane with hairy hands
+outstretched, whereon sprang Roger to front him, dagger a-gleam; but
+lo! Roger was caught up in those mighty arms and shaken helplessly.
+"Fool!" cried this grim fellow, "think ye I would harm Beltane that is
+my most loved lord henceforth? I am Ulf, called the Strong, and, as
+this my hateful body is strong, so is my love--lie there!" So saying,
+Ulf laid Roger upon his back, and coming to Beltane, fell upon his face
+before him and caught his mailed feet and kissed them.
+
+"Lord Beltane," he cried, harsh-voiced, "thou seest I do love thee--yet
+'twas I did bear thee captive to thy foe by command of one I love
+beyond all others. But thou, lord Beltane, thou at peril of thy life
+did save her from shame and fiery death when Ulf could not--so do I
+love thee, lord Beltane, and will be thy slave henceforth, to love and
+serve thee till I die--an thou wilt take me. Misshapen and unlovely ye
+behold me--a vile thing that men would jeer at but that they fear to
+die, for God who hath denied me all else, hath given me strength beyond
+all men. Yet do I hate myself and do hide me from the eyes of my
+fellows: but, an thou canst bear with me, canst suffer me beside thee
+and be not ashamed of my unloveliness, then will I front all eyes
+right boldly. Now lord, an thou wilt take Ulf for thy man, reach down
+to me thy hand."
+
+Then Beltane reached down and took Ulf's hairy hand in his.
+
+"Ulf," said he, "thou that God hath blessed with such noble strength,
+methinks 'neath thy grim shape thy heart is noble also, and thy soul,
+mayhap, straight and lovely. So will I make thee brother in arms to my
+faithful Roger, that ye two shall ride ever near me when the battle
+joins."
+
+Now Ulf the strong stood up erect upon his feet, and on his swart
+cheeks great tears rolled, glistening.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "O Beltane, my lord and master--" and bowed grim head
+with sudden sob, whereat Beltane questioned him full hastily, as thus:
+
+"Art wounded, Ulf! And whence come ye in such guise?"
+
+"Lord," says Ulf, wiping off his tears and choking upon a sob, "I came
+through Bloody Pertolepe's array."
+
+"Through?--nay, how mean you?" questioned Beltane, the while Sir
+Benedict and many wondering knights and esquires pressed round them in
+a ring.
+
+"I mean through, lord, for Walkyn's need is dire. So burst I through
+them--I had an axe but it brake in my hold, see you, even as this my
+sword--alack, there is no weapon that I do not break! Howbeit here am
+I, lord, hither come with word for one Sir Benedict of Bourne that did
+covenant to meet with Walkyn here at Winisfarne!"
+
+"Behold us here--speak on!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Thus, then, saith Walkyn o' the Dene: That scarce had he stormed and
+set fire to yonder prison-keep, than from the south cometh a great
+company, the which he at the first did take for ye. But, in a while,
+behold Sir Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner, the which giveth Walkyn
+much to think. Now cometh to him one beyond all women noble and
+gracious and holy (as I do know) the fair and stately Abbess Veronica,
+who, years agone, did build and endow yon great and goodly abbey,
+wherein all poor desolate souls should be cherished and comforted by
+her and her saintly nuns, and where the stricken fugitive might find
+sanctuary and peace and moreover be healed of his hurts. (All this know
+I since I was fugitive, hurt and very woeful and found me solace
+there.) So cometh this noble lady to Walkyn (and with her, I) and
+speaketh him calm and sweetly, thus: 'Yonder rideth Sir Pertolepe that
+is knight of noble birth, yet the rather would I trust myself and these
+my good sisters in thy hands, O man! So do I pray thee when thou goest
+hence, yield us the protection of thy strength, so shall heaven bless
+thee!' Hereon Walkyn frowned and plucked his beard awhile, but
+thereafter, came he to kneel and kiss her hand and swear to aid her the
+while life him lasted. Then summoned he his company (lusty fellows all)
+and called for thirty men that would remain to hold Red Pertolepe in
+play what time he seeketh place of greater vantage well beknown to him.
+Forthwith stood out one Tall Orson hight (a doughty fellow) and with
+him nine and twenty other lusty fellows, right willing (and with them,
+I) and thereafter Walkyn formeth his company (the nuns in the midst)
+and marched in haste for Brand that is a lonely tower. Then did these
+thirty (and with them I) shoot arrows amain on Pertolepe's vanguard
+from every place of vantage hereabouts, and met them with right lusty
+hand-strokes and stayed thus their advance until of the thirty there
+none remained alive save seven (and of these, I). And, since we could
+do no more, I (that do know this country from my misshapen youth)
+brought these men by secret ways unto the Tower of Brand that is
+desolate and a ruin, yet strong withal. And there lay Walkyn (that is a
+notable fighter) keeping watch and ward within the tower what time he
+waited thy succour. Now who so skilful and tender with our wounded as
+this sweet and gracious lady Abbess! Next day, sure enough, cometh
+Pertolepe with brave show of horse and foot (above three thousand,
+lords) and straightway sendeth he a haughty fellow to demand
+incontinent surrender--a loud-voiced knight whom Walkyn forthwith shot
+and slew with his own hand. Whereat Sir Pertolepe waxed exceeding wroth
+and came on amain and beset the tower on all sides, whereby they lost
+others of their men, for Walkyn's fellows shot exceeding strong and
+true (and with them, I). Then, O my lords, in all that fierce debate,
+who so brave and calm, heartening wearied and wounded with gentle voice
+and gentler hand, than this same noble lady Abbess! For two days lay we
+besieged whereby our food and drink began to fail (for the well within
+the tower is well-nigh dried up) yet none did eat or drink so sparingly
+as this same holy Abbess. Now on this (the second day, lords) cometh
+Pertolepe himself (under flag of truce, lords) and demands we yield to
+him the body of this same lady Abbess (to our ransom) swearing on his
+knightly word he then will march away forthwith, and seek our hurt no
+more. And, to save our lives, fain would this brave lady have yielded
+her to Pertolepe's hands. But Walkyn (mindful of his oath, lords),
+leaning him from the battlement, spake Red Pertolepe defiantly, calling
+him knave and liar, and therewith spat upon him, very fairly. Whereat
+Pertolepe sware to hang us one and all and the battle joined again
+fiercer than before. Therefore, on this the third day, seeing no hope
+of succour, Walkyn made him ready to sally out (a right desperate
+venture because of the women). Then spake I before them all, saying I
+doubted not I might win through, and bring thee to their aid (an ye had
+kept the tryst) would they but ply their shafts amain to cover me. The
+which was so agreed. Then did this saintly lady Abbess set her white
+hand on this my hateful head and prayed the sweet Christ to shield this
+my monstrous body, and I thereafter being bedight in right good mail
+(as thou seest) issued suddenly out of the tower whiles our foemen sat
+at meat, and ran among them roaring dreadfully and smote amain full
+many until my axe brake and I betook me to my sword and smote them as I
+ran what time Walkyn's archers shot right furiously and well. Thus came
+I through Bloody Pertolepe's array, and thus, lords, ye do behold a
+something weary man and a mighty hungry one withal!"
+
+Now came Sir Benedict to grasp Ulf's great hand.
+
+"Forsooth, hast done a great and noble thing!" quoth he. "Thy twisted
+body doth hide a great and manly soul, meseemeth, so ne'er shalt lack
+for friend whiles Benedict doth live!"
+
+And after Sir Benedict came many other knights and esquires of degree,
+to bring him of their own viands and press upon him rich and goodly
+wine. In so much that Ulf grew hot and awkward, and presently stole
+away to eat with Roger in a quiet corner.
+
+But now within the market-place was sound of song, of jest and
+laughter, where bow-strings were looked to heedfully, sword-belts
+buckled tighter, mail-coifs laced the closer, stirrup-chain and
+saddle-girth carefully regarded, whiles ever and anon all eyes turned
+where Beltane sat among the older knights, Sir Benedict beside him,
+hearkening to their counsel. And presently he rose and lifted his hand,
+whereat the trumpets blared and, thereafter, with ring of hoof and
+tramp of foot, marched they forth of Winisfarne, the sun bright on helm
+and shield, a right gallant array.
+
+And at their head rode Ulf the Strong.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII
+
+TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+
+By wild and lonely ways Ulf led them, through mazy thicket, o'er
+murmurous rill, through fragrant bracken that, sweeping to their
+saddle-girths, whispered as they passed; now rode they by darkling
+wood, now crossed they open heath; all unerring rode Ulf the Strong,
+now wheeling sharp and sudden to skirt treacherous marsh or swamp, now
+plunging into the gloom of desolate woods, on and on past lonely pools
+where doleful curlews piped, nor faltered he nor stayed until, as the
+sun grew low, they climbed a sloping upland crowned by mighty trees and
+thick with underbrush; here Ulf checked his horse and lifted long arm
+in warning, whereon the company halted, hard-breathing, yet very
+orderly and silent.
+
+Forthwith down lighted Beltane with Sir Benedict and Ulf who pointed
+before them with his finger.
+
+"Lords," said he, "beyond yon trees is a valley and in the valley the
+tower of Brand, the which you may see from the brush yonder--aha! and
+hear also, methinks!"
+
+And indeed the air was full of a strange droning sound that rose and
+fell unceasing, a drowsy, ominous hum.
+
+"Ah, Benedict," said Beltane, frowning a little, "I like not that
+sound! Summon we our wisest heads, for here is matter for thought and
+sudden action methinks!"
+
+Hereupon Sir Benedict beckoned to his five chiefest knights and they
+together followed Ulf's broad back up the slope until they were come
+within the little wood; and ever as they advanced the strange hum grew
+louder, hoarser--a distant roar, pierced, ever and anon, by sharper
+sound, a confused din that was the voice of desperate conflict.
+Presently Ulf brought them to the edge of the little wood and, parting
+twig and leaf, they looked forth and down. And what they saw was this:
+
+A little valley, wondrous green but very desolate-seeming, for here and
+there stood ruined walls and charred timbers that once had been fair
+dwellings; and in the midst of this small and ruined hamlet, a mighty
+tower uprose, hoary and weather-beaten, yet stark and grim against the
+sunset. All about this tower a great camp lay, set well out of bow-shot,
+and 'twixt camp and tower were many men whose armour flashed,
+rank on rank, and archers who, kneeling behind mantlets, shot amain at
+battlement and loophole. Against the tower were two great ladders,
+roughly fashioned and a-swarm with men; but ever as they strove to
+reach the battlement a mighty axe whirled and swung and a long sword
+flashed, and ever as they fell, so fell one of the besiegers.
+
+"There stand Walkyn and Tall Orson!" quoth Ulf, biting his nails. "Ha!--
+they be dour fighters--would I stood with them!"
+
+"We come in due season, methinks!" said Sir Benedict, stroking his
+square chin, "what is your counsel, my lords?"
+
+Quoth young Sir John of Griswold:
+
+"Let us to horse and sally out on them, the hill is with us and we
+shall--"
+
+"Slay and be slain!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Verily!" nodded grim Sir Bertrand, "dost speak like a very youth,
+John!"
+
+"Here, methinks," said Sir Benedict, "is work for pike and bow-string.
+First break we their charge, then down on them in flank with shock and
+might of all our lances."
+
+"Ha! 'tis well be-thought, Benedict!" growled old Hubert of Erdington,
+"so let me march with the pikes."
+
+"Art silent, lord Beltane," quoth Sir Hacon, "dost agree?"
+
+"Aye, truly," answered Beltane, rising, "but let our pikes march in V
+formation, our mightiest men at the point of the V, and with archers
+behind. Then, ere the foe do engage, let the V become an L, so shall we
+oppose them two faces. Now, when Sir Pertolepe's chivalry charge, let
+Sir Benedict with two hundred knights and men-at-arms spur in upon
+their flank, driving them confused upon their main battle, what time I,
+yet hid within the green, will sound my rallying note that Walkyn
+knoweth of old, whereat he shall sally out upon their further flank.
+Then will I, with my hundred horse, charge down upon their rear, so
+should we have them, methinks? How say you, my lords?"
+
+"Truly," quoth Sir Bertrand, closing his vizor, "thy father liveth
+again in thee, methinks!"
+
+Forthwith, pikemen and archers fell into array with Cnut at their head,
+while behind the spreading ranks of pikes Prat and his archers were
+ranged, bows strung and quivers slung before; and presently, at
+Beltane's word, they swung forth of the sheltering green, fierce-eyed,
+grim-lipped, bascinet and pike-head a-twinkle. Away they swung down the
+slope, a stalwart company swift-treading and light, and in their midst
+old Hubert of Erdington in his heavy armour, whose long sword flashed
+as he flourished his farewell.
+
+With rhythmic step and swing of broad mailed shoulders they marched
+until they were come down into the valley. And now, as they advanced
+swift and steady, rose shouts from besieged and besiegers; Sir
+Pertolepe's trumpets brayed defiance and alarm, and of a sudden, forth
+of his camp mailed horsemen rode rank upon rank, pennons a-flutter and
+armour flashing in the sunset glare. But, as they mustered to the
+charge, as shields flashed and lances sank, Sir Benedict's pikemen
+wheeled, their ranks swung wide, and lo! the V was become an L. Now
+from this L bows twanged and arrows flew amain above the kneeling
+pikemen, what time Sir Pertolepe's trumpets blared the charge, and down
+upon those slender ranks his heavy-armed chivalry thundered; horses
+reared and fell, screaming, beneath the whistling arrow-shower, but on
+swept the charge; those thin ranks bent and swayed 'neath the shock as
+lance crossed pike, but these pike-butts rested on firm ground and upon
+their deadly points, horses, smitten low, reared transfixed, and above
+these rocking pikes steel flashed and flickered where the stout archers
+plied their heavy broadswords, while, loud above the din, Sir Hubert's
+voice boomed hoarse encouragement what time he thrust and smote above
+the kneeling pikemen.
+
+Now out from the green Sir Benedict paced astride his great black
+charger, and behind him his two hundred steel-girt knights and
+men-at-arms, their vizors closed, their shields slung before, the
+points of their long and ponderous lances agleam high in air. Then
+turned Sir Benedict and looked on their grimly ranks, glad-eyed:
+
+"O sirs," quoth he, "who would not be a man to fight in such just
+cause!"
+
+So saying, he smiled his wry and twisted smile and closed his vizor:
+then, with shield addressed and feet thrust far within the stirrups he
+lightly feutred his deadly lance; and behold! down swept every lance
+behind him as, leaning low behind his shield, he shouted right
+joyously:
+
+"Come ye, messires--lay on this day for Pentavalon!"
+
+Forward bounded the great horses a-down the slope--away, away,
+gathering speed with every stride--away, away, across the level with
+flying rein and busy spur; and now a loud shouting and dire amaze among
+Sir Pertolepe's battle with desperate wheeling of ranks and spurring of
+rearing horses, while Sir Benedict's riders swept down on them, grim
+and voiceless, fast and faster. Came a roaring crash beneath whose dire
+shock Sir Pertolepe's ranks were riven and rent asunder, and over and
+through their red confusion Sir Benedict rode in thunderous, resistless
+might, straight for where, above their mid-most, close-set ranks,
+fluttered and flew Sir Pertolepe's Raven banner. Now, in hot haste, Sir
+Pertolepe launched another charge to check that furious onset, what
+time he reformed and strengthened his main battle; but, with speed
+unchecked, Sir Benedict's mighty ranks met them in full career--broke
+them, flung them reeling back on Sir Pertolepe's staggering van and all
+was wild disorder, above which roaring tumult the Raven banner reeled
+and swayed and the fray waxed ever fiercer.
+
+Now ran Beltane where stood Roger to hold his horse, with Ulf who
+leaned upon a goodly axe and young Sir John of Griswold, who clenched
+and wrung his mailed hands and bit upon his boyish lip and stamped in
+his impatience.
+
+"My lord," he cried, "my lord, suffer us to charge--ah! see--our good
+Sir Benedict will be surrounded--cut off--"
+
+"Nay, methinks he is too wise in war, he fighteth ever with calm head,
+Sir John."
+
+"But, messire, do but see--his charge is checked--see--see, he
+yieldeth ground--he giveth back!"
+
+"Aye, verily!" quoth Beltane, springing to saddle, "but behold how he
+orders his line! O lovely knight! O wise Benedict! See you not his
+wisdom now, Sir John? In his retreat he draweth Sir Pertolepe's main
+battle athwart our line of charge, their flank exposed and open--to
+horse, Sir John, to horse! Yet stir not until I give the word."
+Forthwith sprang Sir John to saddle and Roger and Ulf also, what time
+Beltane sat, his gaze upon the conflict, his bugle-horn in his hand; of
+a sudden he clapped it to lip and sounded the old fierce rallying note.
+High and shrill and loud it rang above the roar of battle, and lo!
+distant and far, like an answer to the call, from the grim and battered
+tower of Brand a mighty shout went up--"Arise! Arise!--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Oho!" cried Roger, sitting close on Beltane's left, "list ye to that,
+now! And see--ha! there cometh our long-legged Walkyn, first of them
+all! See how they order their pikes--O master, they be sweet and
+doughty fellows! See how Jenkyn's archers shoot--each man to the ear!"
+
+Awhile sat Beltane watching, wide-eyed, while Sir Benedict, fighting
+sword in hand, fell back and back before the furious onset of Sir
+Pertolepe's main battle until he had drawn the fight mid-way. Then,
+quick-breathing, my Beltane closed his vizor.
+
+"Now!" cried he, "now, good comrades all, God willing, we have them.
+Let each man choose his foe and smite this day for Liberty and
+Justice!"
+
+So saying, he levelled his lance, and a hundred lances sank behind him.
+Spurs struck deep, horses reared, plunged, and sped away. Before their
+galloping line rode Sir John of Griswold with Roger and Ulf: and before
+these, Beltane.
+
+He felt the wind a-whistle through the eye-vents of his casque, heard
+the muffled thunder of the galloping hoofs behind mingled with the
+growing din of battle; heard a shout--a roar of anger and dismay, saw a
+confusion of rearing horses as Sir Pertolepe swung about to meet this
+new attack, steadied his aim, and with his hundred lances thundering
+close behind, drove in upon those bristling ranks to meet them shield
+to shield with desperate shock of onset--felt his tough lance go home
+with jarring crash--saw horses that reared high and were gone, lost
+beneath the trampling fray, and found his lance shivered to the very
+grip. Out flashed his sword, for all about him was a staggering press
+of horses that neighed and screamed, and men who smote, shouting, and
+were smitten; unseen blows battered him while he thrust and hewed, and
+wondered to see his long blade so dimmed and bloody. And ever as he
+fought, through the narrow vent of his casque he caught small and
+sudden visions of this close-locked, desperate fray; of Ulf standing in
+his stirrups to ply his whirling axe whose mighty, crashing blows no
+armour might withstand; of grim Roger, scowling and fierce, wielding
+ponderous broad-sword; of young Sir John of Griswold, reeling in his
+saddle, his helpless arms wide-flung.
+
+So cut they bloody path through Pertolepe's deep array, on and forward
+with darting point and deep-biting edge, unheeding wounds or shock of
+blows, until Beltane beheld the press yield, thin out, and melt away,
+thereupon shouted he hoarse and loud, rode down a knight who sought to
+bar his way, unhorsed a second, and wheeling his snorting charger,
+wondered at the seeming quiet; then lifting his vizor, looked about
+him. And lo! wheresoever his glance fell were men that crawled
+groaning, or lay very mute and still amid a huddle of fallen horses,
+and, beyond these again, were other men, a-horse and a-foot, that
+galloped and ran amain for the shelter of the green. Sir Pertolepe's
+array was scattered up and down the valley--the battle was lost and
+won.
+
+Now while he yet sat thus, dazed by the shock of blows and breathing
+deep of the sweet, cool air, he beheld one rise up from where the
+battle-wrack lay thickest, an awful figure that limped towards him,
+holding aloft the broken shaft of an axe.
+
+"Aha, lord Beltane!" cried Ulf, wiping sweat and blood from him, "there
+be no more--left to smite, see you. The which--is well, for weapon--
+have I none. This axe was the third this day--broken, see you! Alas!
+there is no weapon I may use. Saw you Roger, lord, that is my comrade?"
+
+"Nay, good Ulf--ha, what of him?"
+
+"His horse was slain, lord. So fought he afoot, since when I saw him
+not."
+
+"And where is Sir Benedict and Walkyn--O see you not Sir Benedict? mine
+eyes are dazzled with the sun."
+
+But now Ulf uttered a joyful cry and pointed with his axe-shaft.
+
+"Yonder cometh Roger, lord, and with him the little archer, but whom
+bring they?"
+
+Very slowly they came, Roger and Prat the archer, up-bearing betwixt
+them good Sir Hubert of Erdington, his harness hacked and broken, his
+battered helm a-swing upon its thongs, his eyes a-swoon in the pallor
+of his face.
+
+Down sprang Beltane and ran to greet him and to catch his nerveless
+hands:
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth he, faintly, "full oft have I shed my blood for--
+Pentavalon--to-day I die, messire. But, as thou didst say--'tis well to
+die--in cause so noble! My lord, farewell to thee!"
+
+And with the word, even as he stood 'twixt Roger and the archer, the
+stout old knight was dead. So they laid Hubert of Erdington very
+reverently upon that trampled field he had maintained so well.
+
+"A right noble knight, my lord," quoth Prat, shaking gloomy head, "but
+for him, methinks our pikemen would have broke to their third onset!"
+
+"There is no man of you hath not fought like ten men this day!" said
+Beltane, leaning on his sword and with head a-droop. "Have we lost
+many, know ye?"
+
+"A fair good number, master, as was to be expected," quoth Roger,
+cleansing his sword on a tuft of grass, "Sir John of Griswold fell
+beside me deep-smitten through the helm."
+
+"And what of Sir Benedict?"
+
+"See yonder--yonder he rides, my lord!" cried Prat, "though methinks
+you scarce shall know him." And he pointed where, on spent and weary
+charger, one rode, a drooping, languid figure, his bright armour
+bespattered and dim, his dinted casque smitten awry; slowly he rode
+before his weary company until of a sudden espying Beltane, he uttered
+a great and glad cry, his drooping shoulders straightened, and he rode
+forward with mailed arms outstretched.
+
+"Beltane!" he cried, "praise be to God! One told me thou wert down--art
+well, sweet lad, and all unharmed? God is merciful!" And he patted
+Beltane's mailed shoulder, what time blood oozed from his steel
+gauntlet and his sobbing charger hung weary head and snorted purple
+foam. "O lad," quoth he, smiling his wry smile, "here was an hour worth
+living for--though Sir Bertrand is sore hurt and many do lie dead of my
+company."
+
+"And here," sighed Beltane, "brave Hubert of Erdington--behold!"
+
+"A gallant knight, Beltane! May I so valiantly die when that my time be
+come. Truly 'twas a sharp debate what time it lasted, there be many
+that will ride with us no more."
+
+"And thou, my lord?" cried Beltane suddenly, "thy cheek so pale--
+thou'rt hurt, Benedict!"
+
+"Nought to matter, lad, save that it is my sword-arm: nay indeed, my
+Beltane, 'twas but an axe bit through my vanbrace, 'twill heal within
+the week. But take now my horn and summon ye our scattered company, for
+I do lack the wind."
+
+Knight and man-at-arms, limping and afoot, on horses weary and blown,
+they came at the summons--archer and pike-man they came, a blood
+be-spattered company; many were they that staggered, faint with wounds,
+and many that sank upon the trampled grass a-swoon with weariness, but
+in the eyes of each and every was the look of men that triumph.
+
+Cnut was there, his bascinet gone, his fiery hair betousled: Tall Orson
+was there, leaning on a bent and battered pike, and there his comrade,
+Jenkyn o' the Ford, with many others that Beltane well remembered and
+others whose faces he knew not. So formed they their battle-scarred
+array what time Beltane viewed them with glowing eye and heart swelling
+within him.
+
+"Master!" cried Tall Orson of a sudden, "O master, us do be clean men
+and goodly fighters as us did promise thee time 'gone i' the Hollow,
+master, ye'll mind us as did promise so to be--I and Jenkyn as be my
+comrade?"
+
+"Aye, master!" cried Jenkyn o' the Ford, "aye, look'ee, we ha' kept our
+word to thee as we did promise, look'ee master! So now, speak word to
+us master, look'ee!"
+
+"Ye men!" quoth Beltane, hoarse-voiced, "O my good comrades all, your
+deeds this day shall speak when we are dust, methinks! Your foes this
+day did muster three thousand strong, and ye do number scarce a
+thousand--yet have ye scattered them, for that your cause is just--'tis
+thus ye shall lift Pentavalon from shame and give to her peace at
+last!"
+
+Then Tall Orson shook aloft his battered pike and shouted amain, and on
+the instant, others took up the cry--a hoarse roar that rolled from
+rank to rank; lance and sword, axe and pike were flourished high in
+air, and from these men who had marched so grimly silent all the day a
+great and mighty shout went up:
+
+"Arise, Pentavalon! Ha! Beltane--Pentavalon!" Now even as they shouted,
+upon this thunderous roar there stole another sound, high and clear and
+very sweet, that rose and swelled upon the air like the voices of
+quiring angels; and of a sudden the shouting was hushed, as, forth of
+the tower's gloomy portal the lady Abbess came, tall and fair and
+saintly in her white habit, her nuns behind her, two and two, their
+hands clasped, their eyes upraised to heaven, chanting to God a hymn of
+praise and thanksgiving. Slow paced they thus, the stately Abbess with
+head low-bended and slim hands clasped upon her silver crucifix until,
+the chant being ended, she raised her head and beheld straightway Sir
+Benedict unhelmed and yet astride his great charger. The silver
+crucifix fell, the slim hands clasped themselves upon her bosom and the
+eyes of the tall, white Abbess grew suddenly wide and dark: and even as
+she gazed on him, so gazed Sir Benedict on her.
+
+"Yolande!" said he, hoarse-voiced and low.
+
+"Benedict!" she murmured.
+
+Slowly Sir Benedict bowed his head, and turning, laid his hand on
+Beltane's mailed shoulder.
+
+"Lady," said he, "behold here Beltane--that is son to Beltane
+heretofore Duke and Lord of Pentavalon!"
+
+"Ah!" she whispered, "Beltane!" and of a sudden stretched out her arms
+in passionate yearning gesture, then, covering her face, sank upon her
+knees, "God pity me!" she sighed, "God pity me!" Thereafter she rose to
+her stately height and looked on Beltane, gentle and calm-eyed.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she, "I have heard tell thou art a noble
+knight, strong yet gentle--so should thy father be greatly blessed in
+thee--and thy--mother also. God have thee ever in His keeping--
+Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake the name her soft voice brake, and turning, she stood
+with head bowed upon her hands, and standing thus, spake again,
+deep-voiced and soft:
+
+"Sir Benedict, we are come to minister to the hurt, all is prepared
+within the tower, let them be brought to us I pray, and--my lord,
+forget not the sacred oath thou didst swear me--long years agone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+
+They found rich booty in Pertolepe's camp, with store of arms and
+armour and many goodly horses, and thither Sir Benedict's wearied
+followers betook them as night fell and knew blessed rest and sleep.
+But in the tower of Brand lights gleamed where the Abbess and her
+gentle nuns went to and fro among the wounded, ministering to their
+wants; and far beyond the camp, armour glinted ever and anon against
+the blackness of the surrounding woods, where outpost and sentinel kept
+vigilant watch and ward. Though late the hour Beltane sat wakeful, chin
+on fist, beside a glimmering watch-fire, oft turning his glance towards
+the massy, weather-beaten tower, bethinking him of the noble lady
+Abbess, of her strange looks and words, and so fell to brooding
+thought. High overhead the moon rode, obscured by flying clouds, a wild
+wrack up-whirling from the south: at fitful intervals was a wind that
+moaned drearily 'mid the gloom of distant woods, a desolate sound that
+sobbed upon the air, and dying to a wail, was gone. Now becoming aware
+of this, Beltane raised his head, and looked up at the ominous heavens
+and round about him. And thus he espied a light that hovered hither and
+thither above the distant battle-field, a small light whose red flame
+flashed back from cloven casque and riven shield, where eyes glared
+unseeing and mouths gaped mute and dumb from a dark confusion whence
+mailed arms stiffly rose with hands tight-clenched that seemed to
+menace heaven, and rigid feet whose spurred heels yet gored the flanks
+of rigid, fallen chargers; to and fro and up and down this small flame
+leaped merrily, dancing from dead face to dead face but staying never,
+a fiendish fire that seemed to mock the horror of wounds and gibe at
+solemn death.
+
+Now as he watched this devilish light, Beltane arose and reaching for
+his sword went soft-footed to meet it, then paused, for the light was
+moving towards him. Near and nearer it came, until, into the glow of
+the fire, his betousled head wild and bare, his link-mail yet befouled
+with battle, Walkyn strode, and hurling his torch upon the grass,
+crushed it out 'neath his heel. Then came he to the fire and stood
+there, arms crossed, frowning down at the flame.
+
+"Greeting to thee, Waldron of Brand!"
+
+Swift turned Walkyn, his gloomy scowl relaxed at Beltane's voice, and
+stooping, he took and kissed my Beltane's hand.
+
+"Whence come ye, Walkyn?"
+
+"From going to and fro among the dead, seeking Pertolepe, master. Ha!
+they do lie thick yonder, five hundred and twenty and three I counted
+of Bloody Pertolepe's following. And in the woods do lie certain
+others, that I, with divers of our company, pursued and cut off."
+
+"And what of their wounded?"
+
+"I saw none, master--nor have I seen Pertolepe. I have viewed all the
+slain, but Pertolepe is not there, yet have I smitten and slain three
+Pertolepes this day--hawks, see you, in eagle's feathers! So is my
+work yet to do, and I grieve still for Pertolepe's head."
+
+"Sit ye down, Walkyn, here with me beside the fire." Forthwith Walkyn
+obeyed and stretching himself on the grass fell to toying with the
+haft of his axe and scowling at the fire again.
+
+"This was, methinks, thy father's tower and demesne of Brand, Walkyn?"
+
+"Aye, lord, here was I born--yon ruined walls did hear my father's
+groans--the screams of my mother and sister amid the flame. And Red
+Pertolepe was there, and Gui of Allerdale and Roger and young Gilles of
+Brandonmere--all were there with six other noble knights; but these six
+we slew long since, my brother and I. All these were here that day--and
+Sir Pertolepe--laughed--full loud, 'twas told me. So 'twere just he
+should have died here to-day, methinks? 'Twas for this I lured him
+hither--and he liveth yet!"
+
+"But God is a just God, Walkyn! Now therefore leave him to God
+henceforth--!"
+
+"To God!" cried Walkyn, his eyes wild, his hands tight-clenched, "to
+God!--ha! master, ye left him to God on a time and because of thee, I--
+I that had my dagger at his rogue's throat--I, yearning to slay him,
+did but mark him i' the brow--aye, forsooth, we left him to God and lo!
+to-day he burneth, he slayeth and hangeth as was ever his wont--"
+
+"God's time is not ours, Walkyn, but for the evil wrought by Sir
+Pertolepe, Sir Pertolepe needs must answer when God so wills. So leave
+him to the vengeance of God--lest the fire of thy vengeance consume
+thee quite. Thou art strong, and few may cope with thee in fight, yet
+hath vengeance fettered and made thee bond-slave. Forego thy vengeance
+then, and be free, good comrade."
+
+"Nay master, an I so do, what is left me?"
+
+"The love of thy fellows, Walkyn. Thou art, forsooth, a man, so do I
+love thee, and perchance within a new Pentavalon thou may'st come to
+new fortune and honour. Thou shalt hold again thy father's lands--"
+
+"To what end, lord? As ye do know, my wife and child do lie in nameless
+grave, done to cruel death by dogs of Pertolepe: my brother rotted in a
+noose--set there by Pertolepe. So am I a lonely man henceforth; one
+thing only seek I of life, master."
+
+"And that, Walkyn?"
+
+"The head of Bloody Pertolepe!" So saying, Walkyn rose, and stood
+scowling down at the fire again, whose glow shone ominous and red upon
+the broad blade of the mighty axe that lay on the grass at his feet.
+
+Now of a sudden forth from the shadows, swift and silent on his long
+legs came crooked Ulf, and stooping, would have lifted the weapon, but
+in that moment Walkyn snarled, and set his foot upon it.
+
+"Off!" he growled, "touch not mine axe, thou vile mannikin--lest I
+tread on thee!"
+
+But scarce were the words spoken, than, with great back low-crouched,
+Ulf sprang, and whirling mighty Walkyn aloft, mailed feet on high, held
+him writhing above the fire: then, swinging about, hurled him, rolling
+over and over, upon the ling; so lay Walkyn awhile propped on an elbow,
+staring on Ulf with wide eyes and mouth agape what time, strung for
+sudden action, Beltane sat cross-legged upon the green, looking from
+one to the other.
+
+"Mannikin?" roared Ulf, great hands opening and shutting, "unworthy to
+touch axe of thine, thou pestilent beast! Dare ye so say to one gently
+born, base fellow? Now will I break thee thine accursed axe--and thee
+thereafter, an ye will!"
+
+So saying, Ulf the Mighty caught up the axe and wheeling it full-armed,
+smote and buried it in a young tree close by--wrenched it free and
+smote again. And lo! with prodigious crack and rending of fibres the
+tall tree swayed, crashing to earth. Now while Ulf yet stood to stare
+amazed upon this wondrous axe, upon its sharp-glittering, flawless
+edge, Walkyn had risen, dagger in hand; but even as he crouched to
+spring, a voice spake--a gentle voice but commanding; and in the
+fire-glow stood the white Abbess, tall and gracious, the silver
+crucifix agleam upon her bosom.
+
+"Children!" she sighed; and looking from scowling Walkyn to frowning
+Ulf she reached a slim hand to each. "O children," said she, "lay by
+your steel and give to me your hands!"
+
+Fumbling and awkward, Walkyn sheathed his dagger while Ulf laid the
+mighty axe upon the grass very tenderly, as it had been a sleeping
+child; so came they both, shame-faced, unto the lady Abbess and gave
+her each a hand. Holding them thus she looked with sad, sweet eyes from
+one grim face to the other, and drew them nearer the fire.
+
+"Walkyn, son of God," said she, "behold here Ulf whose valiant heart
+and mighty strength have been our salvation! Ulf, child of Heaven, whom
+God hath made so mighty, behold here brave Walkyn who did protect the
+weak and helpless and fighteth for the right! Come then, as ye are
+children of God, go ye in brotherly love together henceforth, and may
+heaven bless ye, valiant sons!"
+
+Thus saying, she set their hands one in another, and these hands
+gripped and held.
+
+Quoth Ulf, sighing:
+
+"Forsooth, I did but mean to try the balance of thine axe, Walkyn. And
+truly it is a mighty weapon and a peerless--one that even my strength
+cannot break!"
+
+Quoth Walkyn, grim-smiling:
+
+"There is in this world no axe like unto it save one that was my
+brother's--and shall be thine henceforth, Ulf the Strong. Come now, and
+I will give it unto thee." Then bent they reverently before the Abbess,
+saluted Beltane and, side by side, strode away together.
+
+"Would all feuds might so end, sweet son," sighed the Abbess, her
+wistful eyes down-bent upon the fire.
+
+"Would there were more sweet souls abroad to teach men reason!" quoth
+Beltane.
+
+"Why sit you here, my son, wakeful and alone and the hour so late?"
+
+"For that sleep doth fly my wooing, holy mother."
+
+"Then fain would I share thy vigil awhile."
+
+Forthwith Beltane brought her a stool, rough and rudely fashioned, and
+while she sat, he lay beside her in the firelight; and thus, despite
+her hood and wimple, he saw her face was of a calm and noble beauty,
+smooth and unwrinkled despite the silver hair that peeped forth of her
+loosened hood. A while they sat thus, nothing speaking, he viewing her,
+she gazing ever on the fire; at last:
+
+"Thou'rt young, messire," she said wistfully, "yet in thy life hath
+been much of strife, I've heard. Thou hast known much of hardship, my
+son, and sorrow methinks?"
+
+"So do I live for that fair day when Peace shall come again, noble
+lady."
+
+"Full oft have I heard tell of thee, my son, strange tales and
+marvellous. Some do liken thee to a demon joying in slaughter, and
+some to an archangel bearing the sword of God."
+
+"And how think you, reverend mother?"
+
+"I think of thee as a man, my son. I have heard thee named 'outlaw' and
+'lawless ravener,' and some do call thee 'Beltane the Smith.' Now
+wherefore smith?"
+
+"For that smith was I bred, lady."
+
+"But thou'rt of noble blood, lord Beltane."
+
+"Yet knew I nought of it until I was man grown."
+
+"Thy youth--they tell me--hath been very lonely, my son--and desolate."
+
+"Not desolate, for in my loneliness was the hermit Ambrose who taught
+me many things and most of all, how to love him. So lived I in the
+greenwood, happy and content, until on a day this saintly Ambrose told
+me a woeful tale--so did I know this humble hermit for the noble Duke,
+my father."
+
+"Thy father! The Duke! A hermit! Told he of--all his sorrows, my son?"
+
+"All, reverend mother, and thereafter bade me beware the falsity of
+women."
+
+The pale cheek of the Abbess grew suddenly suffused, the slim hand
+clenched rigid upon the crucifix at her bosom, but she stirred not nor
+lifted her sad gaze from the fire.
+
+"Liveth thy father yet, my son?"
+
+"'Tis so I pray God, lady."
+
+"And--thy mother?"
+
+"'Tis so I've heard."
+
+"Pray you not for--for her also?"
+
+"I never knew my mother, lady."
+
+"Alas! poor lonely mother! So doth she need thy prayers the more. Ah,
+think you she hath not perchance yearned with breaking heart for her
+babe? To have kissed him into rosy slumber! To have cherished his
+boyish hurts and sorrows! To have gloried in his youthful might and
+manhood! O sure there is no sorrow like the loneliness of desolate
+motherhood. Would'st seek this unknown mother, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Truly there be times when I do yearn to find her--and there be times
+when I do fear--"
+
+"Fear, my lord?"
+
+"Holy mother, I learned of her first as one false to her vows,
+light-minded and fickle from her youth--"
+
+"O hath there been none to speak thee good of her--in all these years?"
+
+"There was Jolette, that folk did call a witch, and there is Sir
+Benedict that doth paint her pure and noble as I would have her. Yet
+would I know for myself, fain would I be sure ere we do meet, if she is
+but the woman who bore me, or the proud and noble mother I fain would
+love."
+
+"Could'st not love her first and judge her after, my son? Could not her
+very motherhood plead her cause with thee? Must she be weighed in the
+balance ere thou yield her a son's respect and love? So many weary
+years--'tis something hard, methinks! Nay, heed me not, my lord--seek
+out thy mother, unbeknown--prove for thyself her worthiness or falsity,
+prove for thyself her honour or her shame--'tis but just, aye, 'tis but
+just in very truth. But I, beholding things with woman's eyes, know
+only that a mother's love shrinketh not for any sin, but reacheth down
+through shame and evil with sheltering arms outstretched--a holy thing,
+fearless of sin, more lasting than shame and stronger than death
+itself."
+
+So saying, the lady Abbess rose and turned to look up at the lights
+that burned within the tower.
+
+"'Tis late, my lord," she sighed, "get thee now to thy rest, for I must
+begone to my duty till the dawn. There be many sick, and good Sir
+Bertrand lieth very nigh to death--he ne'er will see another dawn,
+methinks, so needs must I away. Good night, sweet son, and in thy
+prayers forget not thy--thy most unhappy mother!"
+
+Then she lifted her hand and blessed him, and, ere he rose up from his
+knees she set that white hand upon his bowed head and touched his
+yellow hair--a light touch, furtive and shy, but a touch that was like
+to a caress.
+
+Thereafter, Beltane, coming into his hut of woven wattle, rolled
+himself in his weather-worn mantle and presently fell to slumber.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX
+
+TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+
+Next day Sir Bertrand died of his hurts, so they buried him beside
+young Sir John of Griswold and sturdy old Hubert of Erdington and a
+hundred and twenty and five others of their company who had fallen in
+that desperate affray; therefore tarried they a while what time their
+sick and wounded grew towards health and strength by reason of the
+skill and tender care of the lady Abbess and her nuns.
+
+Now on the afternoon of this day. Sir Benedict being sick a-bed of his
+wound, Beltane sat in council among the oldest and wisest of the
+knights, and presently summoned Walkyn and Ulf, Roger and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, speaking them on this wise:
+
+"Good comrades, list ye now! These noble knights and I have hither
+summoned ye for that ye are of good and approved courage and moreover
+foresters born and cunning in wood-lore. As ye do know, 'tis our intent
+to march for Belsaye so soon as our wounded be fit. But first must we
+be 'ware if our road be open or no. Therefore, Walkyn, do ye and Ulf
+take ten men and haste to Winisfarne and the forest-road that runneth
+north and south: be ye wary of surprise and heedful of all things. You,
+Roger and Jenkyn, with other ten, shall seek the road that runneth east
+and west; marching due south you shall come to the northern road where
+ye shall wait two hours (but no longer) for Walkyn. Ye are woodsmen!
+Heed ye the brush and lower branches of the trees if any be broken,
+mark well the track in dusty places and seek ye the print of feet in
+marshy places, learn all ye may from whomsoever ye may and haste ye
+hot-foot back with tidings good or ill. Is it understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" quoth the four.
+
+"And look'ee master," said Jenkyn, "there be my comrade Orson the
+Tall, look'ee. His hurt is nigh healed and to go wi' us shall be his
+cure--now, look'ee lord, shall he go wi' us?"
+
+"Nay, Roger shall answer thee this, Jenkyn. So now begone and God speed
+ye, good comrades all!" Hereupon the mighty four made their obeisance
+and hasted away, rejoicing.
+
+Now Sir Benedict's hurt had proved an evil one and deep, wherefore the
+Abbess, in accent soft and tender, had, incontinent, ordered him to
+bed, and there, within the silken tent that had been Sir Pertolepe's,
+Beltane oft sat by, the while she, with slim and dexterous fingers,
+washed and anointed and bound the ugly wound: many times came she,
+soft-treading, gentle and gracious ever; and at such times Beltane
+noticed that full often he would find her deep, sad gaze bent upon him;
+he noticed also that though her voice was low and gentle, yet she spake
+ever as one 'customed to obedience. Thus it was, that Sir Benedict
+being ordered to his couch, obeyed the soft-spoke command, but being
+kept there all day, grumbled (albeit to Beltane): being kept there the
+second day he fell to muttered oaths and cursing (albeit to Beltane):
+but at sunset he became unruly, in so much that he ventured to
+remonstrate with the lady Abbess (albeit humbly), whereon she smiled,
+and bidding Beltane reach her cup and spoon, forthwith mixed a
+decoction and dosed Sir Benedict that he fell asleep and slumbered
+amain.
+
+Thus, during this time, Beltane saw and talked much with the lady
+Abbess: oft went he to watch her among the sick and to aid her when he
+might; saw how fierce faces softened when she bent to touch fevered
+brow or speak them cheerily with smiling lip despite the deep and
+haunting sadness of her eyes; saw how eagerly rough hands were
+stretched forth to furtive touch her white habit as she passed; heard
+harsh voices grow sudden soft and all unfamiliar--voices that broke in
+murmurous gratitude. All this saw and heard he and failed not, morn and
+eve, to kneel him at her feet to hear her bless him and to feel that
+soft, shy touch among his hair.
+
+So passed two days, but neither Roger, nor Walkyn, nor Ulf, nor indeed
+any of the twenty chosen men had yet returned or sent word or sign,
+wherefore Beltane began to wax moody and anxious. Thus it was that upon
+a sunny afternoon he wandered beside a little rivulet, bowered in
+alder and willow: here, a merry brook that prattled over pebbly bed and
+laughed among stones and mossy boulders, there a drowsy stream that,
+widening to dreamy pool, stayed its haste to woo down-bending branches
+with soft, kissing noises.
+
+Now as Beltane walked beside the stream, head a-droop and very
+thoughtful, he paused of a sudden to behold one richly dight in
+gambeson of fair-wrought leather artificially quilted and pinked, who
+sat ensconced within this greeny bower, his back to a tree, one
+bandaged arm slung about his neck and in the other hand a long
+hazel-branch trimmed with infinite care, whereunto a line was tied.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" cried Beltane, "methought thee asleep: what do ye so
+far from camp and bed?"
+
+"I fish, lad, I fish--I ply a tentative angle. Nay--save thy breath, I
+have caught me nothing yet, save thoughts. Thoughts do flock a many,
+but as to fish--they do but sniff my bait and flirt it with their
+wanton tails, plague take 'em! But what o' fish? 'Tis not for fish
+alone that man fisheth, for fishing begetteth thought and thought,
+dreams--and to dream is oft-times sweet!"
+
+"But--Benedict, what of the Abbess?"
+
+"The Abbess? Ha, the Abbess, Beltane! Sweet soul, she sleepeth. At noon
+each day needs must she sleep since even she is mortal and mortals must
+sleep now and then. The Abbess? Come sit ye, lad, what time I tickle
+the noses of these pestilent fish. Sit ye here beside me and tell me,
+how think ye of this noble and most sweet lady?"
+
+"That, for thy truancy, she will incontinent mix thee another sleeping
+draught, Benedict."
+
+"Ha--then I'll never drink it!" quoth Sir Benedict, settling his
+shoulder against Beltane and frowning at his line. "Am I a babe,
+forsooth, to be dosed to slumber? Ha, by the foul fiend his black dam,
+ne'er will I drink it, lad!"
+
+"Then will she smile on thee, sad-eyed, and set it to thy lip, and woo
+thee soft-voiced, so shalt thou swallow it every drop--"
+
+"Not so--dear blood of all the saints! Must I be mewed up within an
+accursed bed on such a day and all by reason of a small axe-stroke?
+Malediction, no!"
+
+"She is wondrous gentle with the sick, Benedict--"
+
+"She is a very woman, Beltane, and therefore gentle, a noble lady sweet
+of soul and body! To die for such were joyful privilege, methinks, aye,
+verily!" and Sir Benedict, forgetful of his line, drooped his head and
+sighed.
+
+"And thou didst know her well--long years agone, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye, long--years--agone!"
+
+"Very well, Benedict?"
+
+"Very well."
+
+"She was 'Yolande' then, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye," quoth Sir Benedict, lifting his head with a start and looking at
+Beltane askance, "and to-day she is the lady Abbess Veronica!"
+
+"That shall surely dose thee again and--"
+
+"Ha! bones and body o' me, not so! For here sit I, and here angle I,
+fish or no fish, thunder o' God, yes! Aye, verily, here will I sit till
+I have caught me a fish, or weary and go o' my own free will--by
+Beelzebub I vow, by Bel and the Dragon I swear it! And furthermore--"
+
+Sir Benedict paused, tilted his head and glancing up, beheld the lady
+Abbess within a yard of them. Gracious she stood in her long white
+habit and shook her stately head in grave rebuke, but beholding his
+abashed look and how the rod sagged in his loosened hold, her lips
+parted of a sudden and her teeth gleamed in a smile wondrous young and
+pleasant to see.
+
+"O Benedict!" said she, "O child most disobedient! O sir knight! Is
+this thy chivalry, noble lord--to steal away for that a poor soul
+must needs sleep, being, alas! so very mortal?"
+
+"Forsooth and indeed, dear my lady," quoth Sir Benedict, fumbling with
+his angle, "the sun did woo me forth--and the wind, see you--the wind--"
+
+"Nay, I see it not, my lord, but I did hear something of thy fearsome,
+great oaths as I came hither."
+
+"Oaths, lady?" said Sir Benedict, fingering his chin, "Forsooth and did
+I so? Mayhap 'twas by reason that the fish, see you, the pestilent
+fish--Ha! Saint Benedict! I have a bite!" Up sprang Sir Benedict,
+quite forgetting his wounded arm, capering lightly to and fro, now in
+the water, now out, with prodigious stir and splash and swearing oaths
+galore, until, his pallid cheek flushed and bright eyes a-dance, he had
+won the fish into the shallows and thence landed it right skilfully,
+where it thrashed and leapt, flashing in the sun.
+
+"Ha, Yolande!" he cried, "in the golden days thou wert ever fond of a
+goodly trout fresh caught and broiled upon a fire of--"
+
+"Benedict!" cried the Abbess, and, all forgetful of his hurt, caught
+him by his wounded arm, "O Sir Benedict!" Now, man of iron though he
+seemed, Sir Benedict must needs start and flinch beneath her hold and
+grow livid by reason of the sharp pain of it; whereat she loosed him of
+a sudden and fell away, white hands tight clasped together.
+
+"Ah Benedict!--I have hurt thee--again!" she panted.
+
+"Not so, 'twas when I landed the fish--my lady Abbess!" Now at this she
+turned away and standing thus awhile very silent, presently raised her
+hand, whereat came two of her gentle nuns.
+
+"Dear my daughters," said she, "take now Sir Benedict unto the camp and
+look to his hurt, anoint it as ye have seen me do. Go!"
+
+Nothing speaking, Sir Benedict bowed him humbly to the stately Abbess
+and went away between the two white-robed sisters and so was gone.
+
+Slowly the Abbess turned to Beltane who had risen and was regarding her
+with a new and strange intensity, and meeting that look, her own glance
+wavered, sank, and she stood awhile gazing down into the murmurous
+waters; and as she stood thus, aware of his deep-searching eyes, into
+her pale cheek crept a flush that deepened and ever deepened.
+
+"My lord," said she, very low and placid-seeming, "why dost thou look
+on me so?"
+
+And for all her stately calm, her hand, which had clenched itself upon
+the silver crucifix, was woefully a-tremble. "What--is it--my lord
+Beltane?"
+
+"A thought, noble lady."
+
+"What is thy thought?"
+
+"Lady, 'tis this--that, an I might find a mother such as thee, then
+would I pay her homage on my knees, and love her and honour her for
+what I do know her, praying God to make me worthy--!" So saying, he
+came a step towards her, faltered, stopped, and reached out appealing
+hands to her.
+
+From red to white and from white to red again the colour flushed in
+cheek and brow while the Abbess hearkened to his words; then she
+looked on him with proud head uplifted and in her eyes a great and
+wondrous light, quick and passionate her slim hands came out to meet
+his--
+
+A sudden clamour in the air! A clash of arms! A running of swift feet
+and Walkyn sprang betwixt them, his face grimed with dust and sweat,
+his armour gone, his great axe all bloody in his hand: "Master!" he
+cried, "in Winisfarne lieth Pertolepe with over a thousand of his
+company, I judge--and in the woods 'twixt here and Winisfarne is Hollo
+of Revelsthorne marching on us through the woods with full five
+thousand of Ivo's picked levies, new come from Barham Broom!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX
+
+TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+
+Within the camp was prodigious stir, a fanfare of trumpets and hoarse
+commands, where archers and pikemen, knights and men-at-arms were
+mustering; but nowhere was hurry or confusion, wherefore Beltane's
+heart rejoiced and he smiled glad-eyed as he came where, before Sir
+Benedict and the assembled council, stood Roger and Ulf with fifteen of
+their twenty men.
+
+"Walkyn," said Sir Benedict, what time his esquire strapped and buckled
+him into his bright armour, "where-abouts do they hold their march?"
+
+"Scarce twenty miles from here due west, lord."
+
+"Ha, and they come through the forest, ye say?" questioned Sir Brian,
+"so shall they move more slowly, methinks."
+
+"Why see you, messire," said Walkyn, "they march by way of Felindre
+that was once a fair town, and from Felindre is a road that leadeth
+through the wild unto this valley of Brand."
+
+"So have we, I judge, 'twixt six and seven hours," quoth Hacon of
+Trant.
+
+"Less, Hacon, less!" said Sir Benedict, beginning to stride up and down
+in his clanking armour, "Sir Rollo ever rideth with busy spur, and he
+will doubtless push on amain nor spare his men that he may take us
+unprepared. Put it at five hours, Hacon, mayhap less!"
+
+"'Tis so I pray!" said Beltane, glancing towards the glowing west, "and
+in two hours it will be dark, my lords! Walkyn, thy company doth lack
+for five, meseemeth?" "Aye, master--for five; two fell in Winisfarne
+where I lay in bonds; other three were slain in the pursuit."
+
+"Saw Sir Rollo aught of thee?"
+
+"Nay, lord, we lay well hid."
+
+"'Tis very well. Are they many?"
+
+"Of horsemen I counted full three thousand, master."
+
+"And I, lord," quoth Ulf, "did reckon over two thousand foot."
+
+"'Tis a fairish company!" said Sir Brian.
+
+"And I do lack my sword-arm!" sighed Sir Benedict, "but my left hath
+served me well ere now."
+
+"And Sir Pertolepe lieth yet in Winisfarne!" said Beltane thoughtfully.
+
+"Aye," nodded Sir Benedict, "and shall march south to cut off our
+retreat if haply any of us escape Sir Rollo's onfall."
+
+"So should we strike camp and march forthright," said Sir Brian.
+
+"March--aye, but whither?" questioned Sir Hacon. "We are threatened on
+two fronts and for the rest, we have the trackless wilderness! Whither
+would'st march, Brian?"
+
+"South to Belsaye," answered Sir Benedict. "South through the wild
+until we strike the western road by Thornaby. I with certain others
+will form a rear-guard and hold Sir Rollo in play what time our main
+body presses on at speed."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Hacon, "and what of Red Pertolepe? Truly our case is
+desperate methinks, old comrade!"
+
+"Why, 'tis not the first time we have out-faced desperate odds, Hacon!"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict--thy cool head and cunning strategy have saved
+us from dungeon and death a score of times, but then were we a chosen
+company, swift at onfall or retreat, well mounted and equipped--
+to-night we go hampered with our wounded and these lady nuns. So is our
+case desperate, Benedict, and needeth desperate remedy--"
+
+"And that, methinks, I've found, messire!" quoth Beltane, and rising
+up he looked upon them all, his eye bright with sudden purpose. "Hark
+ye, my lords! Great and valiant knights do I know ye, one and all--wise
+in experience of battle and much versed in warlike stratagem beyond my
+understanding; but this is the wild-wood where only wood-craft shall
+advantage us. Within these wilds your tactics shall avail nothing nor
+all your trampling chivalry--here must be foresters that may go silent
+and unseen amid the leaves, 'neath whose trained feet no twig shall
+snap, who smite unseen from brush and thicket and being wise in
+wood-craft thus make the forest their ally. And, lords, I am a forester;
+all my days the greenwood hath been my home, and in my loneliness I made
+the trees my friends. So, I pray you, let me with three hundred chosen
+foresters keep our rear to-night, and this night the forest shall fight
+for us and Sir Rollo rue the hour he dared adventure him within the
+green. Messires, how say you?"
+
+"Why my lord, 'tis very well!" sighed Sir Benedict, glancing down at
+his wounded arm, "I, for one, do agree right heartily."
+
+"And I!" nodded Sir Brian.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Sir Hacon, "though 'tis a far cry to Belsaye and I
+love not to be pent within walls, and with Red Pertolepe threatening
+our flank 'tis a very parlous case, methinks."
+
+"And thou art ever at thy best where danger is, Hacon," said Sir
+Benedict, "so will I give thee charge of our van-ward!" Now hereupon
+Sir Hacon's gloom vanished and rising up, he smiled and forthwith did
+on his great war-helm.
+
+"Then it is agreed!" said Beltane and beckoned to Roger and Walkyn;
+quoth he:
+
+"Good friends, go now and choose three hundred trusty fellows, skilled
+foresters all; look that each doth bear flint and steel for by yon
+clouds I judge 'twill be a dark night. Let every fire within the camp
+be quenched and the ground well cooled with water, that by the feel of
+it none may know how long we have removed--see you to this, Ulf."
+
+Now when the mighty three were gone about the business, their fifteen
+lusty fellows at their heels, Beltane turned and pointed westward, and
+lo! the sun was set.
+
+"Messires," said he, "you were wise, methinks, to mount and away ere
+the night fall. To-night, since the moon is hid, 'twill be very dark
+amid the trees, therefore let Orson guide you--he is forest-bred and
+well knoweth the way to Thornaby. Heaven prosper you, for in your
+valiant keeping is the safety of--of our noble lady Abbess--and her
+ladies. So mount, my lords, press on with what speed ye may, and God
+aid us this night each and every--fare ye well!"
+
+Presently the trumpets sounded and forthwith armour was buckled on,
+horses saddled, while everywhere was stir and bustle of departure, what
+time, within his osier hut, my Beltane was busily doing on his armour,
+and, being in haste, making slow business of it; thrice he essayed to
+buckle a certain strap and thrice it escaped him, when lo! came a slim
+white hand to do it for him, and turning, he beheld the lady Abbess.
+And in her eyes was yet that soft and radiant look, but nought said she
+until Beltane stood armed from head to heel, until she had girt the
+great sword about him; then she set her hands upon his shoulders:
+
+"Beltane," said she soft-voiced, "thou didst yearn for thy mother, so
+is she come to thee at last, dear son!" So saying, she drew him down
+into her embrace. "O Beltane, son of mine, long, long have I waited--
+aye, bitter, weary years, and oft-times in my sorrow I have dreamed of
+this hour--the arms about thee are thy mother's arms!"
+
+Now fell Beltane upon his knees and caught those white and gentle hands
+and kissed them; quoth he:
+
+"Mother--O dear my mother, ne'er did I know how deep had been my need
+of thee until now. And yet, all unknowing, I have yearned for thee; in
+my youth I did love all sweet and gentle things in thy stead--the
+trees, the tender flowers, the murmurous brooks--these did I love in
+place of thee for that mine heart did yearn and hunger for a mother's
+tender love--" Here needs must she stoop, all soft whispers and tender
+mother-cries, to kiss him oft, to lay her cheek upon his golden head
+and murmur over him.
+
+"And thou wilt love thy mother, Beltane--thou wilt love thy unknown
+mother--now and always, for that she is thy mother?"
+
+"I will love her and honour her now and always, for that my mother is a
+sweet and noble woman!"
+
+"And thou didst need me, Beltane, in thy lonely childhood thou didst
+need me, and I--O God pity me--I was far from thee! But, dear my son,
+because I could not cherish thee within these arms I strove to love and
+cherish all motherless children for thy dear sake and to grieve for all
+sorrowing mothers. So builded I the nunnery at Winisfarne and there
+sought to bring solace and comfort to desolate hearts because my heart
+was so desolate for thee, my babe, my Beltane. And I have prayed
+unceasing unto God, and He, in His infinite mercy, hath given thee to
+my arms again--"
+
+A trumpet brayed harsh and loud near by, whereat those tender mother-arms
+drew him closer yet within their sheltering embrace.
+
+"Sweet son," she sighed, "methinks death is very near each one of us
+to-night--but I have held thee to my heart, have felt thy kisses and
+heard thy loving words--now if death come how shall it avail 'gainst
+such love as ours? Sir Benedict telleth me thou hast chosen the post of
+danger--'tis so I would have it, dear my son, and thy proud mother's
+prayers go with thee--God keep thee--O God keep thee, my Beltane--ah,
+there sounds again the clarion bidding me from thee! Kiss now thy
+mother farewell, for alas! I must be gone!"
+
+So presently Beltane brought the Abbess where stood Sir Benedict with
+an easy-paced jennet for her use and his company formed up in column
+beyond the camp. Then Beltane lifted the lady Abbess to the saddle and
+with her hand yet clasped in his, reached the other to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord of Bourne," said he, "dear my friend, to thy care I give this
+lady Abbess, Duchess of Pentavalon--my well-beloved and noble mother.
+O Benedict, no prouder son than I in all the world, methinks--nor one
+so humble! God send we meet again anon, but now--fare ye well!" Saying
+the which, Beltane caught his mother's hand to his lips, and turning
+him suddenly about, hasted to Roger and Walkyn and the chosen three
+hundred. And in a while, the nuns and wounded in their midst, Sir
+Benedict's steel-clad column moved forward up the slope. First rode Sir
+Hacon and his knights in the van and last Sir Benedict with his grim
+men-at-arms to form a rear-ward, while archers and pikemen marched upon
+their flanks. With ring of steel, with jingle of stirrup and
+bridle-chain they swung away up the slope and plunging into the gloom of
+the forest were gone; only Sir Benedict paused to turn in his saddle and
+lift unwounded arm in salutation ere he too vanished into the shadows
+of the wild-wood. Awhile stood Beltane before the three hundred, his
+head bowed as one in meditation until the sound of voices, the ring
+and clash of their companions' going was died away; then looked he at
+the cloudy sky already deepening to evening, and round about upon the
+encircling woods.
+
+"The wind is from the south, methinks!" said he.
+
+"Aye, master," nodded Walkyn.
+
+"South-westerly!" quoth Roger.
+
+Now came Beltane and looked upon his company, tall, lusty fellows they,
+whose bold, sun-tanned faces proclaimed them free men of the
+forest-lands; and beholding their hardy look Beltane's eye brightened.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "we be foresters all, and the wild-wood our home
+and playground. But yonder from the west do march full five thousand of
+Duke Ivo's knights and soldiery-men, they, of courts, of town and city,
+so now will we teach them 'tis an ill thing to adventure them 'gainst
+trained foresters within the green. List now--and mark me well, for, an
+our plan do fail, there shall few of us live to see to-morrow's sun."
+
+Then Beltane spake them plain and to the point, insomuch that when all
+was said, these hardy foresters stood mute awhile, desperate fellows
+though they were; then laughed they fierce and loud, and flourished
+sword and bow-stave and so fell to clamourous talk.
+
+Now did Beltane divide the three hundred into five companies of sixty;
+over the first company he set Walkyn, over the second, Roger, over the
+third, Ulf, over the fourth Jenkyn o' the Ford. Then spake he on this
+wise:
+
+"Walkyn, take now these sixty good fellows and march you north-westerly
+yonder across the valley; let your men lie well hid a bow-shot within
+the forest, but do you stay upon the verge of the forest and watch for
+the coming of our foes. And when they be come, 'tis sure they will
+plant outposts and sentinels within the green, so be ye wary to smite
+outpost and sentinel suddenly and that none may hear within the camp
+nor take alarm; when 'tis done, cry you thrice like unto a curlew that
+we may know. Are all things understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" they cried, one and all.
+
+"Why then, be ye cautious each and every, for, an our foes do take
+alarm, so shall it be our death. March, Walkyn--away!"
+
+Forthwith Walkyn lifted his axe and strode off up the slope until he
+and his sixty men had vanished quite into the glooming woods to the
+north-west.
+
+"Jenkyn, didst hear my commands to Walkyn, so shalt thou do also--your
+post doth lie to the east, yonder."
+
+"Aye, master, and look'ee now--my signal shall be three owl-hoots,
+master, look'ee!"
+
+So saying, Jenkyn turned, his sixty at his heels, and swung away until
+they were lost to sight in the woods to the east.
+
+"Ulf the Strong, thy post doth lie south-westerly, and Roger's
+south-easterly; thus I, lying south, shall have ye on my left and right:
+go get ye to your places, watch ye, and wait in patience for the
+signals, and when time for action cometh, be swift and sure."
+
+Away marched Roger and Ulf with their companies, and presently were
+gone, and there remained within the little valley only Beltane and his
+sixty men. Awhile he stood to look to the north and east and west but
+nought saw he save the dense gloom of forest growing dark and ever
+darker with evening. Then of a sudden turned he, and summoning his
+company, strode away into the forest to the south.
+
+Thus, as night fell, the valley of Brand lay deserted quite, and no
+sound brake the pervading quiet save the wind that moaned feebly
+through those dark and solitary woods wherein Death lay hid, so very
+silent--so very patient, but Death in grim and awful shape.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI
+
+HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+
+A hum upon the night-wind, lost, ever and anon, in wailing gust, yet a
+hum that never ceased; a sound that grew and grew, loud and ever more
+loud until it seemed to fill the very night, a dreadful sound, ominous
+and threatening, a sound to shake the boldest heart--the ring and
+tramp of an armed, oncoming multitude.
+
+Now, lying amid the leaves and fern with Cnut and the small man Prat
+beside him. Beltane presently espied certain figures moving in the
+valley below, stealthy figures that were men of Sir Rollo's van-ward.
+Soft-creeping they approached the deserted camp, soft-creeping they
+entered it; and suddenly their trumpets brayed loud and long, and,
+dying away, gave place to the ring and trampling thunder of the
+advancing host.
+
+On they came, knights and men-at-arms, rank upon rank, company by
+company, until the valley seemed full of the dull gleam of their armour
+and the air rang loud with clash and jingle and the trample of
+countless hooves. Yet still they came, horsemen and foot-men, and ever
+the sound of them waxed upon the air, a harsh, confused din--and ever,
+from the glooming woods above, Death stared down on them.
+
+And now the trumpets blew amain, lights flickered and flared, as one by
+one, fires were lighted whose red glow flashed back from many a helm
+and shield and breast-plate, from broad gisarm and twinkling
+lance-point, what time, above the confused hum, above stamping hooves
+and clashing armour, voices shouted hoarse commands.
+
+So, little by little, from chaos order was wrought, pack-horse and
+charger were led away to be watered and picketed and gleaming figures
+sank wearily about the many camp-fires where food was already
+preparing. In a while, from the stir of the camp, bright with its many
+watch-fires, divers small groups of men were detached, and, pike and
+gisarm on shoulder, began to mount toward the forest at varying
+points.
+
+Hereupon, Beltane reached out in the dark and touched the small man
+Prat the Archer. Quoth he:
+
+"Hither come their outposts, go now and bring up my company,--and bid
+them come silently!"
+
+Forthwith Prat sank down among the fern and was gone, while Beltane
+watched, keen-eyed, where four men of Sir Hollo's outposts climbed the
+slope hard by. And one was singing, and one was cursing, and two were
+quarrelling, and all four, Beltane judged, were men aweary with long
+marching. Thus, singing, cursing, quarrelling, came they to keep their
+ward within these dark and silent woods, crashing through the
+underbrush careless of their going and all unheeding the sombre,
+stealthy forms that rose up so silently behind them and before from
+brush and brake and thicket, creeping figures that moved only when the
+night-wind moaned in the shivering leaves.
+
+Beltane's dagger was out and he rose up from the fern, crouched and
+strung for action--but from the gloom near by rose a sudden, strange
+flurry amid the leaves, a whimpering sound evil to hear and swiftly
+ended, a groan, a cry choked to strangling gasp and thereafter--
+silence, save for the fitful wailing of the wind--a long, breathless
+pause; then, high and clear rose the cry of an owl thrice repeated, and
+presently small Prat was beside him in the fern again.
+
+"Lord," said he softly, albeit panting a little, "these men were fools!
+We do but wait our comrades' signals now." And he fell to cleansing his
+dagger-blade carefully with a handful of bracken.
+
+"Ha--list ye!" whispered Cnut, "there sounds Ulf's warning, methinks!"
+
+And from the gloom on their left a frog croaked hoarsely.
+
+A hundred watch-fires blazed in the valley below and around each fire
+armour glittered; little by little the great camp grew to silence and
+rest until nought was heard but the stamp and snorting of the many
+horses and the cries of the sentinels below. But ever dagger in hand
+Beltane strained eyes and ears northward across the valley, while big
+Cnut bit his nails and wriggled beside him in the bracken, and small
+Prat softly snapped his fingers; so waited they with ears on the
+stretch and eyes that glared ever to the north.
+
+At last, faint and far across the valley, rose the doleful cry of a
+curlew thrice repeated, the which was answered from the east by the
+hooting of an owl, which again was caught up like an echo, and repeated
+thrice upon their right.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger.
+
+"Look," said he, "Cnut--Prat, look north and tell me what ye see!"
+
+"Fire, my lord!" quoth Prat. "Ha! it burneth well--see, see how it
+spreads!"
+
+"And there again--in the east," said Cnut, "Oho! Jenkyn is busy--look,
+master!"
+
+"Aye, and Roger too!" said Beltane, grim-lipped, "our ring of fire is
+well-nigh complete--it lacketh but for us and Ulf--to work, then!"
+
+Came the sound of flint meeting steel--a sound that spread along the
+ranks that lay unseen beyond Prat and Cnut. And behold--a spark! a
+glow! a little flame that died down, leapt up, caught upon dry grass
+and bracken, seized upon crackling twigs, flared up high and ever
+fiercer--a devouring flame, hungry and yellow-tongued that licked along
+the earth--a vengeful flame, pitiless and unrelenting--a host of fiery
+demons that leapt and danced with crackling laughter changing little by
+little to an angry roar that was the voice of awful doom.
+
+Now of a sudden above the hiss of flame, from the valley of Brand a cry
+went up--a shout--a roar of fear and amaze and thereafter rose a wild
+clamour; a babel inarticulate, split, ever and anon, by frantic
+trumpet-blast. But ever the dreadful hubbub waxed and grew, shrieks and
+cries and the screaming of maddened horses with the awful, rolling
+thunder of their fierce-galloping hooves!
+
+Within that valley of doom Death was abroad already, Death in many dire
+shapes. Proud knights, doughty archers and men-at-arms who had fronted
+death unmoved on many a stricken field, wept aloud and crouched upon
+their knees and screamed--but not so loud as those wild and maddened
+horses, that, bursting all bonds asunder, reared and leapt with lashing
+hooves, and, choked with rolling smoke-clouds, blinded by flame,
+plunged headlong through and over the doomed camp, wave upon wave of
+wild-flung heads and tossing manes. On they came, with nought to let or
+stay them, their wild hooves trampling down hut of osier and silken
+tent, spurning the trembling earth and filling the air with flying
+clods; and wheresoever they galloped there was flame to meet them, so
+swerved they, screaming their terror and fled round and round within
+the valley. So raced they blindly to and fro and back and forth,
+trampling down, maiming and mangling 'neath reddened, cruel hooves all
+and every that chanced to lie athwart their wild career: on and ever on
+they galloped until sobbing, panting, they fell, to be crushed 'neath
+the thundering hooves behind.
+
+Within the little valley of Brand Death was rife in many and awful
+shapes that no eye might see, for the many watch-fires were scattered
+and trampled out; but up from that pit of doom rose shrieks and cries
+and many hateful sounds--sounds to pierce the brain and ring there
+everlastingly.
+
+Thus Beltane, marching swift to the south at the head of his three
+hundred foresters, heard nought of their joyful acclaim, heeded not
+their triumph, saw nought of watchful Roger's troubled glances, but
+went with head bowed low, with pallid cheek and eyes wide-staring, for
+he saw yet again the fierce leap of those merciless flames and in his
+ears rang the screams and cries of Sir Rollo's proud chivalry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+
+The sun was high as they came to the western road that led to the ford
+at Thornaby, but upon the edge of the forest Beltane stopped of a
+sudden to stare up at an adjacent tree.
+
+"What is't, master?" questioned Roger, halting beside him.
+
+"An arrow--and new-shot by the look of it!" said Beltane, gloomily.
+
+"Aye master, and it hath travelled far--see, it hath scarce pierced the
+bark!"
+
+"'Twas shot from the brush yonder, methinks," said Beltane, pointing to
+the dense underwood that skirted the opposite side of the dusty
+highway. "Reach me it down, Roger!" so saying Beltane stooped and hove
+Roger aloft until he could grasp and draw the arrow from the tree.
+
+"Here is no woodsman's shaft, master!" quoth Roger, turning the missile
+over in his hand ere he gave it to Beltane, "no forester doth wing his
+shafts so."
+
+"True!" nodded Beltane, frowning at the arrow. "Walkyn, Ulf! here hath
+been an ambushment, methinks--'tis a likely place for such. Let our
+company scatter and search amid the fern hereabouts--"
+
+But even as he spake came a cry, a clamour of voices, and Prat the
+archer came frowning and snapping his restless fingers.
+
+"My lord," said he, "yonder doth lie my good comrade Martin and three
+other fellows of my archer-company that marched with Sir Benedict, and
+all dead, lord, slain by arrows all four."
+
+"Show me!" said Beltane.
+
+And when he had viewed and touched those stark and pallid forms that
+lay scattered here and there amid the bracken, his anxious frown
+deepened. "These have been dead men full six hours!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, lord," says Prat, "and 'tis unmeet such good fellows should lie
+here for beasts to tear; shall we bury them?"
+
+"Not so!" answered Beltane, turning away. "Take their shafts and fall
+to your ranks--we must march forthright!"
+
+Thus soon the three hundred were striding fast behind Beltane, keeping
+ever to the forest yet well within bow-shot of the road, and, though
+they travelled at speed they went very silently, as only foresters
+might.
+
+In a while Beltane brought them to those high wooded banks betwixt
+which the road ran winding down to Thornaby Ford--that self-same hilly
+road where, upon a time, the Red Pertolepe had surprised the lawless
+company of Gilles of Brandonmere; and, now as then, the dark defile was
+littered with the wrack of fight, fallen charges that kicked and
+snorted in their pain or lay mute and still, men in battered harness
+that stared up from the dust, all unseeing, upon the new day. They lay
+thick within the sunken road but thicker beside the ford, and they
+dotted the white road beyond, grim signs of Sir Benedict's stubborn
+retreat. Hereupon Beltane halted his hard-breathing foresters and
+bidding them rest awhile and break their fast, hasted down into the
+roadway with Walkyn and Cnut and Black Roger.
+
+"Aha!" cried Walkyn, pointing to divers of the slain that hampered
+their going, "these be Pertolepe's rogues--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, throwing back his mail-coif, "and yonder lie four,
+five--six of Sir Benedict's good fellows! It hath been a dour fight
+hereabouts--they have fought every yard of the way!"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Cnut, "Sir Benedict is ever most fierce when he
+retreats, look you." A while stood Beltane in that dark defile, the
+which, untouched as jet by the sun's level beams, struck dank and
+chill, a place of gloom and awful silence--so stood he, glancing from
+one still form to another, twice he knelt to look more closely on the
+dead and each time he rose thereafter, his brow was blacker and he
+shivered, despite his mantle.
+
+"'Tis strange," said he, "and passing strange that they should all lie
+dead--not a living man among them! How think you Roger?"
+
+"I think, lord, others have been here afore us. See you this knight
+now, his gorget loosed off--"
+
+"O messire!" said a faint voice hard by, "if ye have any pity save me
+from the crone--for the love of Christ let not the hag slay me as she
+hath so many--save me!"
+
+Starting round, Beltane espied a pale face that glared up at him from a
+thick furze-bush beside the way, a youthful face albeit haggard and
+drawn.
+
+"Fear not!" said Beltane, kneeling beside the wounded youth, "thy life
+is safe from us. But what mean you by talk of hag and crone?"
+
+"Ah, messire, to-day, ere the dawn, we fell upon Sir Benedict of
+Bourne--a seditious lord who hath long withstood Duke Ivo. But though
+his men were few they fought hard and gained the ford ahead of us. And
+in the fight I, with many others as ye see, was smitten down and the
+fight rolled on and left us here in the dust. As I lay, striving to
+tend my hurt and hearkening to the sighs and groans of the stricken, I
+heard a scream, and looking about, beheld an ancient woman--busied with
+her knife--slaying--slaying and robbing the dead--ah, behold her--with
+the black-haired archer--yonder!"
+
+And verily Roger stepped forth of the underwood that clothed the steep,
+dragging a thing of rags and tatters, a wretched creature, bent and
+wrinkled, that mopped and mowed with toothless chaps and clutched a
+misshapen bundle in yellow, talon-like fingers, and these yellow
+fingers were splotched horribly with dark stains even as were the rags
+that covered her. She whined and whimpered querulously, mouthing
+inarticulate plaints and prayers as Roger haled her along, with Cnut
+and Walkyn, fierce and scowling, behind. Having brought her to Beltane,
+Roger loosed her, and wrenching away her bundle, opened it, and lo! a
+yellow-gleaming hoard of golden neck-chains, of rings and armlets, of
+golden spurs and belt-buckles, the which he incontinent scattered at
+Beltane's feet; whereon the gibbering creature screamed in high-pitched,
+cracked and ancient voice, and, screeching, threw herself upon
+the gold and fell to scrabbling among the dust with her gnarled and
+bony fingers; and ever as she raked and raked, she screeched harsh and
+high--a hateful noise that ended, of a sudden, in a wheezing sob, and
+sinking down, she lay outstretched and silent, her wrinkled face in the
+dust and a cloth-yard shaft transfixing her yellow throat.
+
+So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were
+yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an
+archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting
+loud and hoarse.
+
+"Ha!" cried Cnut, "'tis lusty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?"
+
+"I'm sped, Cnut!" groaned Siward, "but yon hag lieth dead, so am I--
+content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind--
+for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him
+she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the
+brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach
+my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!" And Siward, feebly pointing to the
+ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.
+
+Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him
+tender and compassionate.
+
+"Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?"
+
+"O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!"
+
+Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very
+carefully, bore him down toward the ford.
+
+"Messire," quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, "art very
+strong and wondrous gentle withal!" Presently Beltane brought him
+beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound
+above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a
+strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as
+he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while
+this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.
+
+"Ho!" cried he, "'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this
+was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth
+fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir
+Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he
+fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog
+blazoned on the shield of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous
+news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped
+Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir
+Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him,
+'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful
+thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother
+that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may
+remember it in her prayers?"
+
+"I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed
+that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee
+well!" So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time
+the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye
+and mouth.
+
+Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very
+soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into
+the green.
+
+Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain
+southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain;
+what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through
+the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon
+the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and
+the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen
+arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.
+
+"Ha, Benedict!" quoth Sir Brian, "they do know thee, methinks, 'spite
+thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many
+minutes!"
+
+"So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!" Sir Benedict
+groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his
+chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front
+the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times
+Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote
+left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully
+nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back
+their assailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to
+three fresh knights.
+
+"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves
+thee well, Benedict!"
+
+"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, God be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict,
+eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle
+knight's gorget--"
+
+"Yet shore clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the
+esquire.
+
+"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and
+sighed again.
+
+"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when
+steel is ringing, man."
+
+"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha,
+Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I
+say!"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a
+moment and--"
+
+The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted
+hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the
+dust.
+
+"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.
+
+"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen
+archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the
+riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank,
+and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the
+nuns they make for!"
+
+Nothing saying, Sir Benedict spurred forward beside his hard-pressed
+company; in the midst of the column was dire tumult and shouting,
+where, from the dense woods upon their left a body of knights sheathed
+in steel from head to foot were cutting their way toward the lady
+Abbess, who, conspicuous in her white habit, was soothing her
+frightened palfrey. All about her a shouting, reeling press of Sir
+Benedict's light-armed footmen were giving back and back before the
+swing of ponderous axe and mace and sword, were smitten down and
+trampled 'neath those resistless, steel-clad ranks.
+
+"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this
+close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice
+and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of
+sword until he had won beside the Abbess.
+
+"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close--close,
+Yolande--stoop--ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee--the debate
+waxeth a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath
+the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and
+thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back
+before the sweep of that long sword.
+
+"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good
+Hacon spurs in to our relief--ha, mighty lance!"
+
+"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what
+avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so--dear
+Benedict--let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair
+lives be saved--ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See--O see how fast
+they fall and die about us! I must go--I will go! My lord, let me pass--
+loose my bridle--"
+
+A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar
+of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang,
+two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous
+broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced--
+the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a
+mighty shout rent the air:
+
+"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his
+swaying ranks, the bloody gap in his column closed up and Sir
+Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but
+scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red
+confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels,
+and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.
+
+"Mother!" he cried.
+
+"Dear, dear son of mine--and thou art safe? Thanks be to God who hath
+heard the passion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned,
+and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near
+by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.
+
+"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look--Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue--a
+rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into
+the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring
+behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted
+company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down
+beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other.
+So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged
+swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust
+where horsemen and footmen strove together in desperate grapple, where
+knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of
+Beltane's lusty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.
+
+Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward
+with mighty axe whirled aloft.
+
+"Ha--Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, Bloody Pertolepe--turn, thou
+dog! 'Tis I--'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into
+the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until
+he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger,
+wielded a bloody mace, and who, hearing that hoarse cry, turned and met
+the shearing axe with blazoned shield--and behold! the gorgeous shield
+was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was
+beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn,
+bounding up, shouldered him aside--his axe whirled and fell once, and
+Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold--whirled and
+fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head
+and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow
+beneath his fiery hair--whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights
+and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their
+reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming
+with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.
+
+But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes
+behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the
+forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in
+their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that
+devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced
+and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted
+gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and
+vizored war-helm and astride a noble horse, and there, too, was Roger,
+grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper;
+quoth he:
+
+"Ha--'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape
+me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in hell--"
+
+"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.
+
+"Aye--and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought--"
+
+"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is
+ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl
+deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lad," said Sir Benedict as they rode together, "hast
+told me nought of thy doings last night--what of Sir Rollo?"
+
+"Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye assured Sir Rollo shall
+not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir
+Brian?"
+
+"Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy noble
+lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou,
+'twill be healed--Ha, they charge us again--stand firm, pikes!" So
+shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once
+again the road echoed to the din of battle.
+
+Thus all day long they fought their way south along the forest-road,
+as, time and again, Sir Pertolepe's heavy chivalry thundered down upon
+them, to check and break before that hedge of deadly pikes. So marched
+this valiant rear-guard, parched with thirst, choked with dust, grim
+with blood and wounds, until, as the sun sank westwards, the woods
+thinned away and they beheld at last, glad-eyed and joyful, the walls
+and towers of fair Belsaye town. Now just beyond the edge of the
+woods, Sir Benedict halted his shrunken column, his dusty pikemen drawn
+up across the narrow road with archers behind supported by his cavalry
+to hold Sir Pertolepe's powers in check amid the woods what time the
+nuns with the spent and wounded hasted on towards the city.
+
+Hereupon Beltane raised his vizor and setting horn to lip, sounded the
+rally. And lo! from the city a glad and mighty shout went up, the while
+above the square and frowning keep a great standard arose and flapping
+out upon the soft air, discovered a red lion on a white field.
+
+"Aha, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, "yon is a rare-sweet sight--behold
+thy father's Lion banner that hath not felt the breeze this many a
+year--"
+
+"Aye, lords," growled Walkyn, "and yonder cometh yet another lion--a
+black lion on red!" and he pointed where, far to their left, a red
+standard flaunted above the distant glitter of a wide-flung battle
+line.
+
+"Hast good eyes, Walkyn!" said Sir Benedict, peering 'neath his hand
+toward the advancing host, "aye, verily--'tis Ivo himself. Sir
+Pertolepe must have warned him of our coming."
+
+"So are we like to be crushed 'twixt hammer and anvil," quoth Sir
+Hacon, tightening the lacing of his battered casque.
+
+"So will I give thee charge of our knights and men-at-arms--what is
+left of them, alas!--to meet Black Ivo's banner, my doleful Hacon!"
+spake Sir Benedict.
+
+"Nay, Benedict," said Sir Hacon, grim-smiling, "my dole is but
+caution!" So saying, he closed his vizor and rode away to muster his
+chivalry to meet their new assailants the while Sir Benedict fell to
+re-forming his scanty ranks of pikemen and archers. Meantime Beltane,
+sitting his weary charger, glanced from Sir Pertolepe's deep array of
+knights and men-at-arms that thronged and jostled each other in the
+narrow forest-road to the distant flash and glitter of Duke Ivo's
+mighty van-ward, and from these again to the walls of Belsaye. And as
+he looked thither he saw the great drawbridge fall, the portcullis
+raised, and the gates flung wide to admit the fugitives; even at that
+distance he thought to recognise the Abbess, who paused to turn and
+gaze towards him, as, last of all, she rode to safety into the city.
+Then my Beltane sighed, and, closing his vizor, turned to find Ulf
+beside him with Roger and Walkyn, who stood to watch the while Sir
+Benedict rode to and fro, ordering his company for their perilous
+retreat across the plain. Swift and silent his war-worn veterans fell
+to their appointed ranks; his trumpets blew and they began to fall back
+on Belsaye town. Grimly silent they marched, and ever Beltane gazed
+where, near and ever more near, flashed and flickered Duke Ivo's
+hard-riding van-ward.
+
+And now from the forest-road Sir Pertolepe's company marched, and
+forming in the open, spurred down upon them.
+
+"Stand firm, pikes!" roared Cnut.
+
+"Aim low, archers!" squealed small Prat, and forthwith the battle
+joined.
+
+The weary rear-guard rocked and swayed beneath the onset, but Prat and
+his archers shot amain, arrows whistled while pike and gisarm thrust
+and smote, as, encompassed now on three sides, they fell back and back
+towards the yawning gates of Belsaye; and ever as he fought, Beltane
+by times turned to watch where Duke Ivo's threatening van-ward
+galloped--a long line of gleaming shields and levelled lances gay with
+the glitter of pennon and banderol.
+
+Back and back the rear-guard staggered, hewing and smiting; twice
+Beltane reeled 'neath unseen blows and with eyes a-swim beheld Roger
+and Ulf, who fought at either stirrup: heard of a sudden shrieks and
+cries and the thunder of galloping hooves; was aware of the flash of
+bright armour to his left, rank upon rank, where charged Duke Ivo's
+van-ward before whose furious onset Sir Benedict's weary pikemen were
+hurled back--their centre swayed, broke, and immediately all was dire
+uproar and confusion.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--these be fresh men on fresh horses," cried Sir Benedict,
+"but hey--body o' me--all's not lost yet--malediction, no! And 'tis
+scarce half a mile to the gates. Ha--yonder rides lusty Hacon to stay
+their rush--in upon them. Beltane--Ho, Pentavalon!"
+
+Shouting thus, Sir Benedict plunged headlong into the raging fury of
+the battle; but, as Beltane spurred in after him, his weary charger,
+smitten by an arrow, reared up, screaming, yet ere he fell, Beltane,
+kicking free of the stirrups, rolled clear; a mighty hand plucked him
+to his feet and Ulf, roaring in his ear, pointed with his dripping axe.
+And, looking whither he pointed, Beltane beheld Sir Benedict borne down
+beneath a press of knights, but as he lay, pinned beneath his squealing
+charger, Beltane leapt and bestrode him, sword in hand.
+
+"Roger!" he shouted, "Ulf--Walkyn--to me!"
+
+All about him was a swaying trample of horses and men, an iron ring
+that hemmed him in, blows dinted his long shield, they rang upon his
+helmet, they battered his triple mail, they split his shield in sunder;
+and 'neath this hail of blows Beltane staggered, thrice he was smitten
+to his knees and thrice he arose, and ever his long blade whirled and
+darted.
+
+"Yield thee, sir knight--yield thee!" was the cry.
+
+"Ho, Roger!" he shouted hoarsely, "Ulf--Walkyn, to me!"
+
+An axe bit through his great helm, a sword bent against his stout mail,
+a knight spurred in upon him, blade levelled to thrust again, but
+Beltane's deadly point darted upward and the snorting charger plunged
+away--riderless.
+
+But now, as he fought on with failing arm, came a joyous roar on his
+right where Ulf smote direly with bloody axe, upon his left hand a
+broad-sword flickered where Roger fought silent and grim, beyond him
+again, Walkyn's long arms rose and fell as he whirled his axe, and hard
+by Tall Orson plied goring pike. So fought these mighty four until the
+press thinned out and they had cleared them a space amid the battle,
+the while Beltane leaned him, spent and panting, upon his reeking
+sword.
+
+Now, as he stood thus, from a tangle of the fallen near by a bent and
+battered helm was lifted and Sir Benedict spake, faint and short of
+breath:
+
+"'Twas nobly done--sweet lad! 'Tis enough, methinks--there be few of
+us left, I fear me, so--get thee hence--with such as be alive--hence,
+Beltane, for--thy sweet mother's sake. Nay, heed not--old Benedict, I
+did my best and--'tis a fitting couch, this--farewell to thee, my
+Beltane--" So saying, Sir Benedict sank weakly to an elbow and from
+elbow upon his face, and lay there, very still and mute.
+
+"Master--master!" cried Roger, "we shall win to Belsaye yet, see--see,
+Giles hath out-flanked them with his pikes and archers, and--ha! yonder
+good Eric o' the Noose chargeth them home!"
+
+But Beltane leaned him upon his sword very spent and sick, and stared
+ever upon Sir Benedict's motionless form, his harness bent and hacked,
+his proud helm prone in the trampled ling. Slowly, and with fumbling
+hands, Beltane sheathed his sword, and stooping, raised Sir Benedict
+upon his shoulder and strove to bear him out of the fight, but twice he
+staggered in his going and would have fallen but for Roger's ready arm.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "master, let me aid thee with him!" But nothing
+saying, Beltane stumbled on until they came where stood Ulf holding a
+riderless horse, on the which he made shift to mount with Roger's aid;
+thereafter Ulf lifted Sir Benedict to his hold.
+
+"And, pray you," said Beltane, slow and blurred of speech, "pray you
+what of noble Sir Hacon?"
+
+"Alack, lord," growled Ulf, "yonder is he where they lie so thick, and
+slain, methinks,--yet will I bring him off--"
+
+"Aye, lord," cried Tall Orson, great tears furrowing the grime of his
+cheeks, "and little Prat do be killed--and lusty Cnut do be killed wi'
+him--and my good comrade Jenkyn do lie smitten to death--O there do be
+none of us left, methinks, lord!"
+
+So, faint and heart-sick, with Sir Benedict limp across his saddle bow,
+Beltane rode from that place of death; beside him went Roger, stumbling
+and weary, and behind them strode mighty Ulf with Sir Hacon upon his
+shoulder. In a while, as they went thus, Beltane, glancing back at the
+fight, beheld stout Eric with the men of Belsaye, well mounted and
+equipped, at fierce grapple with Duke Ivo's van-ward, what time Giles
+and his archers supported by lusty pikemen, plied Sir Pertolepe's weary
+forces with whizzing shafts, drawing and loosing marvellous fast.
+
+So came they at last unto the gates of Belsaye town that were already
+a-throng with many wounded and divers others of Sir Benedict's company
+that had won out of the affray; now upon the drawbridge Beltane paused
+and gave Sir Benedict and brave Hacon into kindly, eager hands, then,
+wheeling, with Ulf and Roger beside him, rode back toward the battle.
+And ever as they went came scattered groups of Sir Benedict's stout
+rear-guard, staggering with weariness and limping with wounds, the
+while, upon the plain beyond, Eric with his men-at-arms and Walkyn with
+the survivors of the foresters and Giles with his archers and pikemen,
+holding the foe in play, fell back upon the town, compact and orderly.
+Thus, they in turn began to cross the drawbridge, archers and pikemen,
+and last of all, the men-at-arms, until only Eric o' the Noose and a
+handful of his horsemen, with Beltane, Roger and Ulf remained beyond
+the drawbridge, whereon the enemy came on amain and 'neath their
+furious onset brave Eric was unhorsed; then Beltane drew sword and with
+Roger and Ulf running at either stirrup, spurred in to the rescue.
+
+A shock of hard-smitten steel--a whirl and flurry of blows--a shout of
+triumph, and, reeling in his saddle, dazed and sick, Beltane found
+himself alone, fronting a bristling line of feutred lances; he heard
+Roger shout to him wild and fearful, heard Walkyn roar at him--felt a
+sudden shock, and was down, unhelmed, and pinned beneath his stricken
+charger. Half a-swoon he lay thus, seeing dimly the line of on-rushing
+lance-points, while on his failing senses a fierce cry smote:
+
+"'Tis Beltane--the Outlaw! Slay him! Slay him!"
+
+But now of a sudden and as one that dreamed, he beheld a tender face
+above him with sad-sweet eyes and lips that bent to kiss his brow, felt
+soft arms about him--tender arms that drew his weary head upon a
+gentle bosom to hide and pillow it there; felt that enfolding embrace
+tighten and tighten in sudden shuddering spasm, as, sighing, the lady
+Abbess's white-clad arms fell away and her proud head sank beside his
+in the dust.
+
+And now was a rush and roar of fierce voices as over them sprang Roger
+and Giles with Ulf and Eric, and, amid the eddying dust, axe and sword
+swung and smote, while came hands strong yet tender, that bare Beltane
+into the city.
+
+Now beyond the gate of the city was a well and beside the well they
+laid Beltane and bathed him with the sweet cool water, until at length
+the mist vanished from his sight and thus he beheld the White Abbess
+who lay upon a pile of cloaks hard by. And beholding the deadly pallor
+of lip and cheek, the awful stains that spotted her white robe and the
+fading light in those sad-sweet eyes, Beltane cried aloud--a great and
+bitter cry, and fell before her on his knees.
+
+"Mother!" he groaned, "O my mother!"
+
+"Dear my Beltane," she whispered faintly, striving to kiss his hand,
+"death is none so--painful, so grieve not thine heart for me, sweet
+son. And how may a mother--die better than for her own--beloved son?
+Beltane, if God--O if God in His infinite mercy--shall think me worthy
+--to be--one of His holy angels, then will I be ever near thee when thy
+way proveth dark--to comfort thee--to aid thee. O dear my son--I
+sought thee so long--so long--'tis a little hard to leave thee--so
+soon. But--God's will--fare thee well, I die--aye--this is death,
+methinks. Beltane, tell thy father that I--O--dear my--my Beltane--"
+
+So died the gracious lady Abbess that had been the proud Yolande,
+Duchess of Pentavalon, wept and bemoaned by full many who had known
+her tender care; and, in due season, she was laid to rest within the
+fair Minster of Belsaye. And thereafter, Beltane took to his bed and
+abode there many days because of his wounds and by reason of his so
+great sorrow and heart-break.
+
+But, that night, through the dark hours was strange stir and hum beyond
+the walls of Belsaye, and, when the dawn broke, many a stout heart
+quailed and many a cheek blanched to see a great camp whose fortified
+lines encompassed the city on all sides, where lay Ivo the Black Duke
+to besiege them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII
+
+TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+
+Six days and nights my Beltane kept his bed, seeing and speaking to no
+man; and it is like he would have died but for the fostering care of
+the good Friar Martin who came and went softly about him, who watched
+and tended and prayed over him long and silently but who, perceiving
+his heart-sickness, spake him not at all. Day in and day out Beltane
+lay there, heedless of all but his great sorrow, sleeping little and
+eating less, his face hid in his pillow or turned to the wall, and in
+all this time he uttered no word nor shed a single tear.
+
+His wounds healed apace but his soul had taken a deeper hurt, and day
+and night he sorrowed fiercely for his noble mother, wherefore he lay
+thus, heeding nought but his great grief. But upon the seventh night,
+he dreamed she stood beside his couch, tall and fair and gracious, and
+looked down on him, the mother-love alight within her sweet, sad eyes.
+Now within her hand she bare his sword and showed him the legend graven
+upon the bright steel:
+
+RESURGAM
+
+And therewith she smiled wondrous tender and put the great weapon into
+his grasp; then stooped and kissed him, and, pointing upward with her
+finger, was gone.
+
+And now within his sleep his anguished heart found solacement in slow
+and burning tears, and, sleeping yet, he wept full bitterly, insomuch
+that, sobbing, he awoke. And lo! beneath his right hand was the touch
+of cold steel and his fingers clenched tight upon the hilt of his great
+sword.
+
+Then my Beltane arose forthwith, and finding his clothes near by, clad
+himself and did on his mail, and, soft-treading, went forth of his
+narrow chamber. Thus came he where Friar Martin lay, deep-breathing in
+his slumber, and waking him not, he passed out into the dawn. And in
+the dawn was a gentle wind, very cool and grateful, that touched his
+burning brow and eyes like a caress; now looking up to heaven, where
+stars were paling to the dawn, Beltane raised the hilt of his sword
+and pressed it to his lips.
+
+"O blessed mother!" he whispered, "God hath surely found thee worthy to
+be one of His holy angels, so hast thou stooped from heaven to teach to
+me my duty. Thus now will I set by my idle grieving for thee, sweet
+saint, and strive to live thy worthy son--O dear my mother, who, being
+dead, yet liveth!"
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and went softly up the narrow stair
+that led to the battlements.
+
+It was a bleak dawn, full of a thick, low-lying mist beyond the walls,
+but within this mist, to north and south and east and west, was a faint
+stir, while, ever and anon, rose the distant cry of some sentinel
+within Duke Ivo's sleeping camp, a mighty camp whose unseen powers held
+the fair city in deadly grip. In Belsaye nothing stirred and none waked
+at this dead hour save where, high on the bartizan above the square and
+mighty keep, the watchman paced to and fro, while here and there from
+curtain wall and massy tower, spear-head and bascinet gleamed.
+
+Slow and light of foot Beltane climbed the narrow stair that led up to
+one of the two square towers that flanked the main gate, but, being
+come thither, he paused to behold Giles, who chancing to be captain of
+the watch, sat upon a pile of great stones beside a powerful mangonel
+or catapult and stared him dolefully upon the lightening east: full oft
+sighed he, and therewith shook despondent head and even thus fell he to
+soft and doleful singing, groaning to himself 'twixt each verse, on
+this wise:
+
+  "She will not heed her lover's moan,
+   His mopèd tear, his deep-fetched groan,
+   So doth he sit, and here alone
+      Sing willow!
+
+("With three curses on this foul mist!)
+
+  "The little fishes fishes woo,
+   Birds blithe on bough do bill and coo,
+   But lonely I, with sad ado
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may Saint Anthony's fire consume Bernard, the merchant's round,
+plump son!)
+
+  "'Tis sure a maid was made for man,
+   'Twas e'en so since the world began,
+   Yet doleful here, I only can
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may the blessed saints have an eye upon her tender slumbers!")
+
+Here Giles paused to sigh amain, to fold his arms, to cross his legs,
+to frown and shake gloomy head; having done the which, he took breath
+and sang again as followeth:--
+
+  "Alack-a-day, alas and woe!
+   Would that Genevra fair might know
+   'Tis for her love Giles of the Bow
+      Sings willow!"
+
+But now, chancing to turn and espy Beltane, Giles fell suddenly
+abashed, his comely face grew ruddy 'neath its tan and he sprang very
+nimbly to his feet:
+
+"Ha, tall brother--good brother," he stammered, "noble lord, God den to
+ye--hail and good morrow! Verily and in faith, by Saint Giles (my
+patron saint, brother) I do rejoice to see thee abroad again, as will
+our surly Rogerkin that doth gloom and glower for thee and hath hung
+about thy chamber door morn and noon and night, and our noble Sir
+Benedict and Walkyn--but none more unfeignedly than Giles that doth
+grow glad because of thee--"
+
+"That is well," quoth Beltane, seating himself upon the battlement,
+"for verily thy song was vastly doleful, Giles!"
+
+"My song, lord, my song? Ha--hum! O verily, my song is a foolish song
+or the song of a fool, for fool am I, forsooth--a love-lorn fool; a
+doleful fool, a very fool of fools, that in my foolish folly hath set
+his foolish heart on thing beyond reach of such base fool as I. In a
+word, tall brother, I'm a fool, _videlicet_--a lover!"
+
+"Truly, hast the speech and outward seeming of your approved lover,
+Giles," nodded Beltane.
+
+"Aye, verily!" sighed Giles, "aye, verily--behold my beard, I have had
+no heart to trim it this sennight! Alack, I--I that was so point-de-vice
+am like to become a second Diogenes (a filthy fellow that never washed
+and lived in a foul tub!). As for food, I eat no more than the
+chameleon that doth fill its belly with air and nought else, foolish
+beast! I, that was wont to be a fair figure of a man do fall away to
+skin and bone, daily, hourly, minute by minute--behold this leg, tall
+brother!" And Giles thrust out a lusty, mailed limb. "Here was a leg
+once--a proper shapely leg to catch a woman's eye--see how it hath
+shrunk, nay, faith, 'tis hidden in mine armour! But verily, my shanks
+will soon be no thicker than my bowstave! Lastly I--I that loved
+company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I
+creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and
+there make much ado--and such is love, O me!"
+
+"Doth the maid know of thy love?"
+
+"Nay lord, good lack, how should she?--who am I to speak of it? She is
+a fair lady and noble, a peerless virgin, while I--I am only Giles--
+poor Giles o' the Bow, after all!"
+
+"Truly, love is teaching thee wisdom, Giles," said Beltane, smiling.
+
+"Indeed, my lord, my wisdom teacheth me this--that were I the proudest
+and noblest in the land yet should I be unworthy!" and Giles shook
+miserable head and sighed again full deep.
+
+"Who is she, Giles?"
+
+"She is Genevra, daughter to the Reeve! And the Reeve is a great man in
+Belsaye and gently born, alas! And with coffers full of good broad
+pieces. O would she were a beggar-maid, the poorest, the meanest, then
+might I woo her for mine own. As it is, I can but look and sigh--for
+speak me her I dare not--ha, and there is a plump fellow!" Here Giles
+clenched bronzed fist. "A round and buxom fellow he, a rich merchant's
+son doth woo her boldly, may speak with her, may touch her hand! So do
+I ofttimes keep him shooting at the butts by the hour together and
+therein do make me some small amend. Yet daily do I mope and pine, and
+pine and mope--O tall brother, a most accursed thing is this love--and
+dearer than my life, heigho!"
+
+"Nay, pluck up thy heart, thou'rt a man, Giles."
+
+"Aye, verily, but she is a maid, brother, therein lieth vasty
+difference, and therefore do I fear her for her very sweetness and
+purity--fear her? Faith, my knees do knock at sound of her voice, her
+very step doth set me direly a-tremble. For she is so fair--so pure and
+nigh the angels, that I--alack! I have ever been a something light
+fellow in matters of love--forget not I was bred a monk, noble brother!
+Thus, brother, a moping owl, I--a very curst fellow, gloomy and silent
+as the grave, saving my breath for sighs and groans and curses fell,
+wherefore I have builded me a 'mockery' above the wall and there-from
+do curse our foes, as only a churchman may, brother."
+
+"Nay, how mean you, Giles?" questioned Beltane, staring.
+
+"Follow me, lord, and I will show thee!" So saying, Giles led the way
+down to the battlement above the great gates, where was a thing like
+unto a rough pulpit, builded of massy timbers, very stout and strong,
+and in these timbers stood many arrows and cross-bow bolts.
+
+"Here, lord," quoth Giles, "behold my 'mockery' wherefrom it is my wont
+and custom to curse our foes thrice daily. The which is a right good
+strategy, brother, in that my amorous anguish findeth easement and I do
+draw the enemy's shafts, for there is no man that heareth my
+contumacious dictums but he forthwith falleth into rageful fury, and an
+angry fellow shooteth ever wide o' the mark, brother. Thus, thrice
+daily do we gather a full sheaf of their ill-sped shafts, whereby we
+shall not lack for arrows an they besiege us till Gabriel's trump--
+heigho! Thus do I live by curses, for, an I could not curse, then would
+my surcharged heart assuredly in sunder burst--aye me!"
+
+Now whiles they sat thus in talk, up rose the sun, before whose joyous
+beams the stealthy mists slunk away little by little, until Beltane
+beheld Duke Ivo's mighty camp--long lines of tents gay with fluttering
+pennon and gonfalon, of huts and booths set well out of bowshot behind
+the works of contravallation--stout palisades and barriers with
+earthworks very goodly and strong. And presently from among these
+booths and tents was the gleam and glitter of armour, what time from
+the waking host a hum and stir arose, with blare and fanfare of trumpet
+to usher in the day: and in a while from the midst of the camp came the
+faint ring and tap of many hammers.
+
+Now as the mists cleared, looking thitherward, Beltane stared wide-eyed
+to behold wooden towers in course of building, with the grim shapes of
+many powerful war-engines whose mighty flying-beams and massy
+supporting-timbers filled him with great awe and wonderment.
+
+"Ha!" quoth Giles, "they work apace yonder, and by Saint Giles they
+lack not for engines; verily Black Ivo is a master of siege tactics--
+but so is Giles, brother! See where he setteth up his mangonels,
+trebuchets, perriers and balistae, with bossons or rams, towers and
+cats, in the use of the which he is right cunning--but so also is
+Giles, brother! And verily, though your mangonels and trebuchets are
+well enough, yet for defence the balista is weapon more apt, methinks,
+as being more accurate in the shooting and therefore more deadly--how
+think you, lord?"
+
+"Indeed Giles, being a forester I could scarce tell you one from
+another."
+
+"Ha--then you'll know nought of their nature and use, lord?"
+
+"Nought, Giles. Ne'er have I seen their like until now."
+
+"Say ye so, brother?" cried Giles full eager, his brown eyes a-kindle,
+"say ye so in very truth? Then--an it be so thy wish--I might instruct
+thee vastly, for there is no man in the world to-day shall discourse
+you more fluent and learned upon siege-craft, engines and various
+tormenta than I. So--an it be thy wish, lord--?"
+
+"It is my wish: say on, Giles."
+
+"Why then firstly, lord, firstly we have the great Mangon or mangonel,
+_fundis fundibula_, that some do also term _catapultum_, the which
+worketh by torsion and shall heave you great stones of the bigness of a
+man fully two hundred yards an it be dry weather; next is the
+Trebuchet, like to the mangon save that it swingeth by counterpoise;
+next cometh the Balista or Springald that worketh by tension--a pretty
+weapon! and shall shoot you dart or javelin so strong as shall
+transpierce you six lusty fellows at a time, hauberk and shield, like
+so many fowl upon a spit--very sweet to behold, brother! Then have we
+the Bore or Cat that some again do name _musculus_ or mouse for that it
+gnaweth through thick walls--and some do call this hog, sow, _scrofa_
+or _sus_, brother, and some again, _vulpes_.
+
+"And this Cat is a massy pole that beareth a great and sharp steel
+point, the which, being mounted within a pent-house, swingeth merrily
+to and fro, much like to a ram, brother, and shall blithely pick you a
+hole through stone and mortar very pleasing to behold. Then we have
+the Ram, _cancer testudo_, that battereth; next we have the Tower or
+Beffroi that goeth on wheels--yonder you shall see them a-building. And
+these towers, moving forward against your city, shall o'ertop the walls
+and from them archers and cross-bowmen may shoot into your town what
+time their comrades fill up and dam your moat until the tower may come
+close unto your walls. And these towers, being come against the wall,
+do let fall drawbridges over which the besiegers may rush amain and
+carry your walls by assault. Lastly, there be Mantlets--stakes wattled
+together and covered with raw-hide--by the which means the besiegers
+make their first approaches. Then might I descant at goodly length upon
+the Mine and Furnace, with divers and sundry other stratagems, devices,
+engines and tormenta, but methinks this shall mayhap suffice thee for
+the nonce?"
+
+"Aye, verily--'twill suffice!" said Beltane, rising. "Truly war is even
+more terrible than I had thought."
+
+"Why lord, 'tis an art--a notable art and--ha! this doth mind me of my
+heart, heigho! And of all terrible things, of all the woes and ills
+man-hearts may know is--love. O me, alack and woe!"
+
+"When doth thy watch end, Giles?"
+
+"It ended an hour agone, but to what end? Being a lover I sleep little
+and pine much, and this is a fair good place and solitary, so will I
+pine awhile and likewise mope and languish, alack!"
+
+So presently, as Beltane descended the stair, he heard the archer break
+forth again in doleful song.
+
+Across the wide market-square went Beltane, with brow o'ercast and head
+low-bowed until he came to one of the many doors of the great minster;
+there paused he to remove bascinet and mail-coif, and thus bareheaded,
+entered the cathedral's echoing dimness. The new-risen sun made a glory
+of the great east window, and with his eyes uplifted to this
+many-coloured glory, Beltane, soft-treading, crossed dim aisle and
+whispering transept; but, as he mounted the broad steps of the
+sanctuary he paused with breath in check, for he heard a sound--a soft
+sound like the flutter of wings or the rustle of silken draperies. Now
+as he stood thus, his broad, mail-clad shoulders and golden hair bathed
+in the refulgence of the great window, it seemed to him that from
+somewhere near there breathed a sigh, tremulous and very soft, and
+thereafter was the quick, light tread of feet, and silence.
+
+A while stood Beltane scarce breathing, then, slow and reverent, he
+approached the high altar; and ever as he went was a fragrance,
+wonder-sweet, that grew stronger and stronger until he was come behind
+the high altar where was his mother's grave. And lo! upon that long,
+white stone lay flowers a-bloom, roses and lilies whose dewy loveliness
+filled the place with their pure and fragrant sweetness. So looked he
+round about and upon these flowers with grateful wonder, and sinking to
+his knees, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer.
+
+But presently, as he knelt thus, he was roused by the clank of steel
+and a shuffling step, wherefore he arose and crossing to the shadows of
+the choir, sat him down within the deeper gloom to wait until his
+disturber should be gone. Slowly these halting steps advanced, feet
+that stumbled oft; near they came and nearer, until Beltane perceived
+a tall figure whose armour gleamed dully and whose shoulders were bowed
+like one that is feeble or very weary.
+
+"Yolande!" said a voice, a hoarse voice but very tender, "Yolande,
+beloved!" And on the word the voice broke and ended upon a great sob,
+swift followed by another and yet another, the fierce sobbing of a
+man.
+
+Then Beltane clenched his hands and rose up, for behold! this man was
+Sir Benedict. But now, and very suddenly, Sir Benedict was upon his
+knees, and bent and kissed that white, smooth stone whereon as yet was
+no inscription.
+
+"Yolande!" he whispered, "now thou art one among the holy angels, O
+forget not thy most unworthy Benedict. God--O God! Father to whom all
+hearts are open, Thou dost know how as child and maid I loved her, how
+as a wife I loved her still--how, in my madness, I spake my love--and
+she, being saint and woman, bade me to my duty. So, by her purity, kept
+she my honour unstained--"
+
+Beltane's long scabbard struck the carven panelling, a soft blow that
+yet echoed and re-echoed in vaulted arch and dim roof, and, glancing
+swiftly up, Sir Benedict beheld him.
+
+And kneeling thus beside the grave of the woman he had loved, Sir
+Benedict looked up into Beltane's face with eyes wide, eyes unflinching
+but dimmed with great grief and pain.
+
+Quoth he, firm-voiced:
+
+"My lord, thou hast learned my life's secret, but, ere thou dost judge
+me, hear this! Long ere thy princely father met thy mother, we loved,
+she and I, and in our love grew up together. Then came the Duke thy
+father, a mighty lord; and her mother was ambitious and very guileful--
+and she--but a maid. Thus was she wed. Then rode I to the foreign wars
+seeking death--but death took me not. So, the wars ended, came I home
+again, burning ever with my love, and sought her out, and beholding the
+sadness in her eyes I spake my love; and forgetful of honour and all
+save her sweet soul and the glory of her beauty, I tempted her--aye,
+many times!--tempted her in fashion merciless and cruel insomuch that
+she wept many bitter tears, and, upon a day, spake me thus: 'Benedict,
+'tis true I loved thee, for thou wert a noble knight--but now, an thy
+love for me be so small that thou canst bring me to this shame, then--
+take me where thou wilt--but--ne'er shall all thy love nor all my
+tears thereafter cleanse us from the shame of it.' Thus went I from
+her, nor have I looked on woman since. So followed I thy father in all
+his warring and all my days have I fought much--fierce foes within me
+and without, and lived--a very solitary life. And to-day she lieth
+dead--and I am here, old and worn, a lonely man and sinful, to be
+judged of as ye will."
+
+Then came Beltane and looked down into Sir Benedict's pale, sad face.
+And beholding him thus in his abasement, haggard with wounds and bowed
+with grief, needs must Beltane kneel also and thereafter spake thus:
+
+"Sir Benedict, who am I, to judge of such as thou?"
+
+"I tempted her--I wooed her to shame, I that loved her beyond life--did
+cause her many bitter tears--alas!"
+
+"Yet in the end, Sir Benedict, because thy love was a great and noble
+love, thou didst triumph over base self. So do I honour thee and pray
+that I, in like case, may act as nobly."
+
+"And now--she lieth dead! So for me is life ended also, methinks!"
+
+"She is a saint in heaven, Benedict, living forever. As to thee, on
+whose skill and valiance the safety of this fair city doth hang--so
+hath God need of thee here, methinks. So now for thy sake and for her
+sake needs must I love thee ever and always, thou noble knight. She,
+being dead, yet liveth and shall go betwixt us henceforth, drawing us
+together in closer bonds of love and amity--is it not so, dear my
+friend?" And speaking, Beltane reached out his hands across his
+mother's narrow grave, and straightway came Sir Benedict's hands, swift
+and eager, to meet and clasp them.
+
+For a while knelt they thus, hand clasping hand above that long, white
+stone whence stole to them the mingled fragrance of the flowers, like a
+silent benediction. And presently, together they arose and went their
+way; but now, seeing how Sir Benedict limped by reason of his wounds,
+Beltane set an arm about him. So came they together out of the shadows
+into the glory of the morning.
+
+Now as they came forth of the minster, the tocsin rang loud in sudden
+alarm.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIV
+
+HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUT OF HER FEAR
+
+
+Within the market-place all was dire confusion; men hasted hither and
+thither, buckling on armour as they went, women wept and children
+wailed, while ever the bell clashed out its fierce summons.
+
+Presently, through the populace cometh Sir Brian of Hartismere,
+equipped in his armour and leaning on the mailed arm of his brother
+Eric of the wry neck, but perceiving Sir Benedict and Beltane, they
+turned and came up forthwith.
+
+"Eric--Brian, what meaneth the tumult?" questioned Sir Benedict, his
+eye kindling, "are we attacked--so soon?"
+
+"Not so," answered Sir Brian, "at the least--not by Ivo's men."
+
+"'Tis worse than that," sighed Eric, shaking his head, "yonder cometh a
+churchman, borne on the shoulders of his monks, and with choristers and
+acolytes attendant."
+
+"Ha!" said Sir Benedict, frowning and rubbing his chin, "I had dreaded
+this! The citizens do shake and shiver already, I'll warrant me! There
+is nought like a cowl with bell, book and candle to sap the courage of
+your citizen soldier. Let us to the walls!"
+
+In a corner hard by the main gate they beheld Giles, holding forth to
+Roger and Walkyn and Ulf, but perceiving Sir Benedict he ceased
+abruptly, and advancing, saluted the noble company each in turn, but
+addressed himself to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, eyes a-dance, "yonder cometh a pompous prior that
+was, not very long since, nought but massy monk that did upon a time
+(though by dint of some small persuasion) bestow on me a goodly ass. My
+lord, I was bred a monk, so do I know, by divers signs and portents,
+he cometh here to ban the city with book, bell and candle, wherefore
+the townsfolk, fearing greatly, do shiver and shake, especially the
+women and maids--sweet souls! And, lord, by reason of the matter of the
+ass, I do know this priest prolific of damnatory pronouncements and
+curses contumacious (O verily). Yet I, messire (having been bred a
+monk) shall blithely him out-curse, an the joy be permitted me, thus
+turning tears to laughter and gloomy fear to loud-voiced merriment--my
+lord, messires, how say you?"
+
+"'Tis blasphemy unheard!" quoth Sir Brian.
+
+"Save in the greenwood where men do breathe God's sweet air and live
+free!" said wry-necked Eric.
+
+"And," spake Sir Benedict, stroking his square chin, "there is a fear
+can be quelled but by ridicule, so may thy wit, sir archer, avail more
+than our wisdom--an thou canst make these pale-cheeked townsfolk laugh
+indeed. How think you, my Beltane?"
+
+"That being the wise and valiant knight thou art, Sir Benedict, thy
+will during the siege is law in Belsaye, henceforth."
+
+Now hereupon Giles made his obeisance, and together with Roger and
+Walkyn and Ulf, hasted up to the battlement above the gateway.
+
+"Benedict," said Sir Brian as they climbed the turret stair, "blasphemy
+is a dread and awful thing. We shall be excommunicate one and all--
+better methinks to let the populace yield up the city and die the
+death, than perish everlastingly!"
+
+"Brian," quoth Sir Benedict pausing, something breathless by reason of
+his recent sickness, "I tell thee fire and pillage and ravishment of
+women is a thing more dread and awful--better, methinks, to keep
+Innocence pure and unspotted while we may, and leave hereafter in the
+hands of God and His holy angels!"
+
+Upon the tower there met them the Reeve, anxious of brow, who pointed
+where the townsfolk talked together in fearful undertones or clustered,
+mute and trembling, while every eye was turned where, in the open,
+'twixt town and camp, a procession of black-robed priests advanced,
+chanting very solemn and sweet.
+
+"My lords," said the Reeve, looking round with haggard eyes, "an these
+priests do come to pronounce the Church's awful malediction upon the
+city--then woe betide! Already there be many--aye, some of our chiefest
+citizens do fear the curse of Holy Church more than the rapine of Ivo's
+vile soldiery, fair women shamed, O Christ! Lords--ha, messires, there
+is talk afoot of seizing the gates, of opening to this churchman and
+praying his intercession to Ivo's mercy--to Ivo the Black, that knoweth
+nought of mercy. Alas, my lords, once they do ope the gates--"
+
+"That can they in nowise do!" said Sir Benedict gently, but with face
+grim and hawk-like. "Every gate is held by stout fellows of my own
+following, moreover I have good hope yon churchman may leave us yet
+uncursed." And Sir Benedict smiled his wry and twisted smile. "Be you
+our tongue, good Reeve, and speak this churchman as thy bold heart
+dictateth."
+
+Solemn and sweet rose the chanting voices growing ever more loud, where
+paced the black-robed priests. First came acolytes swinging censers,
+and next, others bearing divers symbolic flags and standards, and after
+these again, in goodly chair borne on the shoulders of brawny monks, a
+portly figure rode, bedight in full canonicals, a very solid cleric he,
+and mightily round; moreover his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+Slow and solemn the procession advanced, and ever as they came the
+choristers chanted full melodiously what time the white-robed acolytes
+swung their censers to and fro; and ever as they came, the folk of
+Belsaye, from wall and turret, eyed these slow-pacing, sweet-singing
+monks with fearful looks and hearts cold and full of dire misgiving.
+Beyond the moat over against the main gate, the procession halted, the
+chair with its portly burden was set down, and lifting up a white,
+be-ringed hand, the haughty cleric spake thus, in voice high-pitched,
+mellifluous and sweet:
+
+"Whereas it hath pleased ye, O rebellious people of Belsaye, to deny,
+to cast off and wantonly repudiate your rightful allegiance to your
+most just, most merciful and most august lord--Ivo, Duke of Pentavalon
+(whom God and the saints defend--amen!) and whereas ye have moreover
+made captive and most barbarously entreated certain of your lord Duke
+his ambassadors unto you sent; now therefore--and let all ears be
+opened to my pronouncements, since Holy Church doth speak ye, one and
+all, each and every through humble avenue of these my lips--list, list,
+O list, rebellious people, and mark me well. For inasmuch as I, Prior
+of Holy Cross within Pentavalon City, do voice unto ye, one and all,
+each and every, the most sacred charge of Holy Church, her strict
+command or enactment, mandate or caveat, her holy decree, _senatus
+consultum_, her writ, edict, precept or decretal, namely and to wit:
+That ye shall one and all, each and every, return to your rightful
+allegiance, bowing humbly, each and every, to the will of your lawful
+lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend) and shall forthwith make
+full and instant surrender of this his ancient city of Belsaye unto
+your lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend--amen!) Failing the
+which, I, in the name of Holy Church, by power of papal bull new come
+from Rome--will, here and now, pronounce this most rebellious city
+(and all that therein be) damned and excommunicate!"
+
+Now hereupon, from all the townsfolk crowding wall and turret a groan
+went up and full many a ruddy cheek grew pale at this dire threat.
+Whereupon the Prior, having drawn breath, spake on in voice more stern
+and more peremptory:
+
+"Let now your gates unbar! Yield ye unto your lord Duke his mercy! Let
+the gates unbar, I say, lest I blast this wicked city with the most
+dread and awful ban and curse of Holy Church--woe, woe in this life,
+and, in the life to come, torment and everlasting fire! Let the gates
+unbar!"
+
+Now once again the men of Belsaye sighed and groaned and trembled in
+their armour, while from crowded street and market-square rose buzz of
+fearful voices. Then spake the Reeve in troubled tones, his white head
+low-stooped above the battlement.
+
+"Good Prior, I pray you an we unbar, what surety have we that this our
+city shall not be given over to fire and pillage and ravishment?"
+
+Quoth the Prior:
+
+"Your lives are your lord's, in his hand resteth life and death,
+justice and mercy. So for the last time I charge ye--set wide your
+rebellious gates!"
+
+"Not so!" cried the Reeve, "in the name of Justice and Mercy ne'er will
+we yield this our city until in Belsaye no man is left to strike for
+maid and wife and child!"
+
+At the which bold words some few men shouted in acclaim, but for the
+most part the citizens were mumchance, their hearts cold within them,
+while all eyes stared fearfully upon the Prior, who, lifting white
+hand again, rose up from cushioned chair and spake him loud and clear:
+
+"Then, upon this rebellious city and all that therein is, on babe, on
+child, on youth, on maid, on man, on wife, on the hale, the sick, the
+stricken in years, on beast, on bird, and on all that hath life and
+being I do pronounce the church's dread curse and awful ban:--ex--"
+
+The Prior's mellifluous voice was of a sudden lost and drowned in
+another, a rich voice, strong and full and merry:
+
+"Quit--quit thy foolish babblement, thou fat and naughty friar; too
+plump art thou, too round and buxom to curse a curse as curses should
+be cursed, so shall thy curses avail nothing, for who doth heed the
+fatuous fulminations of a fat man? But as to me, I could have out-cursed
+thee in my cradle, thou big-bellied thing of emptiness--go to for a
+sounding brass and tinkling cymbal!"
+
+Thus, from his "mockery" perched high above the battlement, spake
+Giles, with many and divers knowing gestures of arm, waggings of the
+head, rollings of the eyes and the like, what time Roger and Walkyn and
+Ulf, their heads bent close together, busied themselves above a great
+and bulging wine-skin.
+
+And now on wall and tower and market-square a great silence had fallen,
+yet a silence broken now and then by sound of stifled laughter, while
+the Prior, staring in wonder and amaze, suddenly clenched white fist,
+and, albeit very red and fiery of visage, strove whole-heartedly to
+curse on:
+
+"Ha--now upon the lewd populace of this most accursed and rebellious
+city do I call down the--"
+
+"Upon thy round and barrel-like paunch," cried Giles, "do I pronounce
+this dire and dreadful ban, _videlicet_, Sir Fatness, _nota bene_ and
+to wit: may the fiend rend it with gruesome gripings--aye, rend it with
+claws and beak, _unguibus et rostro_, most mountainous monk!"
+
+Here, once again came sounds of stifled merriment, what time the Prior,
+puffing out his fat cheeks, fell to his curses full-tongued:
+
+"Upon this evil city be the malison of Holy Church, her maledictions
+bitter, her imprecation and anathema. I do pronounce all within this
+city ex--"
+
+"Abate thee, friar, abate!" roared Giles, "cease thy rumbling, thou
+empty wine-butt. An thou must deal in curses, leave them to one more
+apt and better schooled--to Giles, in faith, who shall forthwith curse
+thee sweet and trippingly as thus--now mark me, monk! Aroint, aroint
+thee to Acheron dark and dismal, there may the foul fiend seize and
+plague thee with seven and seventy plaguey sorrows! May Saint Anthony's
+fire frizzle and fry thee--woe, woe betide thee everlastingly--(bate
+thy babble, Prior, I am not ended yet!) In life may thou be accursed
+from heel to head, within thee and without--(save thy wind, Prior, no
+man doth hear or heed thee!) Be thou accursed in father and in mother,
+in sister and in brother, in oxen and in asses--especially in asses! Be
+thou accursed in sleeping and in waking, eating and drinking, standing,
+sitting, lying--O be thou accursed completely and consumedly! Here now,
+methinks, Sir Monkish Tunbelly, is cursing as it should be cursed. But
+now--(hush thy vain babbling, heed and mark me well!)--now will I to
+dictums contumacious, from cursing thee I will to song of thee, of thy
+plump and pertinacious person--a song wherein shall pleasant mention be
+o' thy round and goodly paunch, a song that shall be sung, mayhap, when
+thee and it are dusty dust, O shaveling--to wit:
+
+  "O frater fat and flatulent, full foolish, fatuous Friar
+   A prime plump priest in passion seen, such pleasure doth inspire,
+   That sober souls, 'spite sorrows sad, shall sudden, shout and sing
+   Because thy belly big belittleth baleful ban ye bring.
+   Wherefore with wondrous wit withal, with waggish wanton wiles,
+   I joyful chant to glorify the just and gentle Giles."
+
+And now behold! fear and dread were forgotten quite, and wheresoever
+Beltane looked were men who bent and contorted themselves in their
+merriment, and who held their laughter yet in check to catch the
+archer's final words.
+
+"Thus, thou poor and pitiful Prior, for thy rude speech and curses
+canonical we do requite thee with song sweet-sung and of notable rhyme
+and metre. Curse, and Belsaye shall out-curse thee; laugh, and Belsaye
+laugheth at thee--"
+
+"Sacrilege!" gasped the Prior, "O 'tis base sacrilege! 'Tis a vile,
+unhallowed city and shall go up in flame--"
+
+"And thou," cried Giles, "thou art a fiery churchman and shall be
+cooled. Ho, Rogerkin--loose off!"
+
+Came the thudding crash of a powerful mangonel, whose mighty beam,
+swinging high, hurled aloft the bulging wine-skin, the which, bursting
+in mid-air, deluged with water all below--prior and monk, acolyte and
+chorister; whereat from all Belsaye a shout went up, that swelled to
+peal on peal of mighty laughter, the while, in stumbling haste, the
+dripping Prior was borne by dripping monks back to Duke Ivo's mighty
+camp. And lo! from this great camp another sound arose, a roar of
+anger, fierce and terrible to hear, that smote Belsaye to silence. But,
+out upon the battlement, plain for all folk to see, sprang Giles
+flourishing his six-foot bow.
+
+"Archers!" he cried, "archers, ye hear the dogs bay yonder--fling back
+their challenge!
+
+  "Ho, archers! shout and rend the skies,
+   Bold archers shout amain
+   Belsaye, Belsaye--arise, arise!
+   Pentavalon--Beltane!"
+
+Then from tower and turret, from wall and keep and market-square a
+great and joyous shout was raised--a cry fierce and loud and very
+purposeful, that rolled afar:
+
+"Arise, arise!--ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, smiling his wry smile as he turned to
+descend the tower, "methinks yon roguish archer's wit hath served us
+better than all our wisdom. Belsaye hath frighted away fear with
+laughter, and her men, methinks, will fight marvellous well!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXV
+
+TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+
+A fair and strong city was Belsaye, for (as hath been said) to north
+and east of it the river flowed, a broad stream and deep, while south
+and west it was fortified by a goodly moat; wherefore it was to south
+and west that the besiegers mustered their chief force and set up their
+mightiest engines and towers. Day in, day out, mangonel, trebuchet and
+balista whirred and crashed from keep and tower and curtain-wall, while
+from every loophole and crenelle long-bows twanged and arrows flew; yet
+with each succeeding dawn the besiegers' fence-works crept nearer,
+closing in upon the city until, within close bowshot of the walls, they
+set up earthworks and stockades and from these strong barriers plied
+the defenders with cloth-yard shaft and cross-bow bolt what time their
+mighty engines advanced, perriers and rams wherewith to batter and
+breach the city's massy walls.
+
+So day in, day out, Eric's chosen men plied trebuchet and balista, and
+Beltane, beholding the dire havoc wrought by heavy stone and whizzing
+javelin among the dense ranks of the besiegers despite their mantlets
+and stout palisades, grew sick at times and was fain to look
+otherwhere. But the besiegers were many and Duke Ivo had sworn swift
+destruction on Belsaye; thus, heedless of all else, he pushed on the
+attack until, despite their heavy losses, his men were firmly
+established close beyond the moat; wherefore my Beltane waxed full
+anxious and was for sallying out to destroy their works: at the which,
+gloomy Sir Hacon, limping in his many bandages, grew suddenly jovial
+and fain was to call for horse and lance forthwith.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict placidly:
+
+"Nay, let them come, messires; they are a sea, but Belsaye is a rock.
+Duke Ivo is cunning in war, but is, mark me! a passionate man, and he
+who fighteth in blind anger, fighteth ill. So let them come, I say the
+time for us to beware is when Ivo's hot temper shall have cooled. Ha,
+look yonder!" and Sir Benedict pointed where a great wooden tower,
+urged forward by rope and pulley and winch, was creeping near and
+nearer the walls, now stopping jerkily, now advancing, its massy
+timbers protected from fire by raw hides, its summit bristling with
+archers and cross-bow men, who from their lofty post began to sweep
+wall and turret with their whizzing shafts.
+
+"Now mark yon tower," said Sir Benedict, closing his vizor, "here shall
+be good sport for Eric's perriers--watch now!" and he nodded where on
+the battlement below, crouched Eric with Walkyn and Roger who laboured
+at the winches of a great trebuchet hard by. To left and right on wall
+and turret, Eric glanced, then blew a blast upon the horn he carried;
+and immediately, from wall and turret mangonels, trebuchets and
+balistae unknown of until now crashed and whirred, and the tall tower
+shook and quivered 'neath the shock of great stones and heavy bolts,
+its massy timbers were split and rent, insomuch that it was fain to be
+withdrawn.
+
+Thereafter the besiegers brought up a long pent-house or cat unto the
+edge of the moat, and sheltered within this cat were many men who fell
+to work filling up the moat with bags of earth and stone werewith to
+form a causeway across which they might assault the wall with bore and
+ram; and because this cat was builded very strong, Eric's engines
+battered it in vain, wherefore he presently desisted; thus, hour by
+hour the causeway grew and lengthened. So needs must Beltane seek Sir
+Benedict and point this out with anxious finger.
+
+"Let them come, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, placid as was his wont,
+"once they are close against the wall with ram a-swing, I will make
+their labour of no avail; you shall see me burn them with a devil's
+brew I learned of in the foreign wars. So, let them come. Beltane!"
+
+Thus, day in, day out, was roar of conflict about the walls of Belsaye
+town, and ever Sir Benedict, with Beltane beside him, went to and fro,
+quick of eye and hand, swift to foresee and counteract the tactics of
+the besiegers, meeting cunning artifice with crafty strategem;
+wheresoever was panic or pressing need there was Sir Benedict,
+calm-voiced and serene. And Beltane, watching him thus, came to
+understand why this man had withstood the powers of Duke Ivo all these
+years, and why all men trusted to his judgment.
+
+Thus, all day was rage of battle, but with the night peace came, since
+in the dark men might not see to aim and slay each other. And by night
+the folk of Belsaye made good their battered walls what time the
+besiegers prepared fresh devices of attack. Every morning at sunrise it
+was Beltane's custom to steal to the great minster and, soft-treading
+despite his armour, come to his mother's grave to hold communion with
+her in his prayers. And lo! upon that hallowed stone there always he
+found fragrant flowers, roses and lilies, new-gathered, upon whose
+sweet petals the dew yet sparkled, and ever his wonder grew.
+
+More than once he had thought to hear again that indefinable stir and
+whisper the which had thrilled him on that first morning, and, starting
+up, he would peer into the vague shadows. Twice he had thought to see a
+draped figure bending above that long, white stone, a veiled figure
+slender and graceful, that upon his approach, soft though it was,
+flitted swiftly into the dark recesses of the choir. Once he had
+followed, and stood amazed to see it vanish through the carven
+panelling, though door could he find none. Therefore was he sore
+perplexed and oft would touch the dewy flowers as half expecting they
+should vanish also. Now upon a certain dawn he had hid himself within
+the shadows and waited with bated breath and heart strangely a-throb.
+And with the day-spring she came again, tall and gracious in her
+clinging draperies and long green veil. Then, even as she bent to lay
+the flowers upon the grave came Beltane, soft of foot, and spake ere
+she was 'ware of him.
+
+"Lady--!" now though his voice was very low and gentle she started, the
+flowers fell from her loosened clasp, and, after a moment, she turned
+and fronted him, proud head up-flung beneath her veil. So stood they
+within that place of silence, while high above, the great window grew
+luminous with coming day.
+
+"Lady," said he again, "for thy sweet flowers, for thy sweeter thought
+for one that is--gone, fain would I thank thee, for she who lieth here
+I found, and loved, and have lost again a while. She did love all fair
+things, so loved she the flowers, methinks; yet I, who have grieved for
+my noble mother, ne'er thought to bring her flowers--this did need a
+woman's gentle soul. So, for thy flowers, I do most truly thank thee."
+
+Very still she stood, nor spake nor moved, save for the sweet hurry of
+her breathing; and beholding her thus, of a sudden Beltane's heart
+leapt and he fell a-trembling though wherefore he knew not, only
+yearned he mightily to look beneath her veil. And now it seemed to him
+that, in the stillness, she must needs hear the passionate throbbing of
+his heart; twice would he have spoken yet could not; at last:
+
+"Beseech thee," he whispered, "O beseech thee unveil, that I may behold
+the face of one so tender to her that was my dear-loved mother--O
+beseech thee!"
+
+As he spake, he drew a swift pace nearer, hand outstretched in
+supplication, but, because this hand shook and quivered so, he clenched
+it, whereat the unknown shrank back and back and, turning swift and
+sudden, was gone.
+
+A while stood my Beltane, his head a-droop, and fell to wonderment
+because of the so painful throbbing of his heart. Then knelt he above
+his mother's grave with hands tight-clasped.
+
+"Dear mother in heaven," he sighed, "being an angel, thou dost know all
+my heart, its hopes and fears--thou hast seen me tremble--thou dost
+know wherefore this my heart doth yearn so bitterly. O sweet mother
+with God, plead thou on my behalf that I may be worthy her love--meet
+to her embracements--fit for so great happiness. Angel of God, thou
+dost know how great is my desire--how empty life without her--O
+mother--aid me!"
+
+In a while he arose and immediately beheld that which lay beyond his
+mother's grave full in the radiance of the great east window--a thing
+small and slender and daintily wrought; and stooping, he picked up a
+little shoe. Of soft leather it was fashioned, cunningly pinked, and
+sewn, here and there, with coloured silks; and as he stared down at it,
+so small-seeming in his mailed hand, his heart leapt again, and again
+his strong hand fell a-trembling. Of a sudden he raised his eyes to
+heaven, then, coming to his mother's grave, very reverently took thence
+a single great bloom and thrusting the shoe in the wallet at his girdle
+(that same wallet Sir Fidelis had borne) went out into the golden dawn.
+
+Like one in a dream went Beltane, heedless of his going; by silent
+street and lane where none stirred at this early hour, thus he wandered
+on until he was stayed by a high wall wherein was set a small, green
+door.
+
+As he stood, staring down at the rose he held and lost in pleasant
+dream, he was aroused by a scrambling sound near by, and, glancing up,
+beheld a mailed head and shoulders rise suddenly above the wall and so
+looked into the face of Giles o' the Bow. Now in his teeth Giles bare a
+great red rose--even as that which Beltane held.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, sharp and stern, "whence had ye that flower?"
+
+For answer, Giles, straddling the wall, laid finger to lip, then
+dropping cat-like to his feet, drew Beltane down an adjacent lane.
+
+"Lord," said he, "yonder is the Reeve's garden and in the Reeve's
+garden cometh the Reeve to taste the sweet dawn, wherefore Giles doth
+incontinent vanish him over the Reeve's wall because of the Reeve;
+nevertheless needs must I bless the Reeve because of the Reeve's
+daughter--though verily, both in my speech and in the Reeve's garden is
+too much Reeve, methinks. As to this rose, now--ha!"
+
+"How came you by the rose, Giles?"
+
+"Why, in the first place, tall brother, I stole it--"
+
+"Stole it!" repeated Beltane, and behold! his frown was gone
+completely.
+
+"But, in the second place, brother, 'twas given to me--"
+
+"Given to thee--by whom?" and immediately Beltane's frown was back
+again.
+
+"And therefore, in the third place, brother, Giles this day would not
+change skins with any lord, duke, archduke, pope or potentate that e'er
+went in skin--"
+
+"Who gave it thee?--speak, man!"
+
+"Faith, lord, I had it from one as pure, as fair, as--"
+
+"Aye, but what like is she?"
+
+"Like unto this flower for sweetness, lord, and--ha, saints and
+martyrs! whence had ye that bloom, tall brother--speak!" and Giles
+pointed to the rose in Beltane's fingers.
+
+"What like is she--answer me!"
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, shaking gloomy head, "she is very like a woman,
+after all, methinks--"
+
+"Mean ye the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Even so, lord!"
+
+"Doth she wear ever a--a green veil, Giles?"
+
+"Verily, lord, and with a most sweet grace--"
+
+"And her shoes--"
+
+"Her shoes, tall brother, O methinks her sweet shoe doth kiss the earth
+so sweet and light poor earth must needs love and languish as doth poor
+Giles! Her shoe--"
+
+"Is it aught like to this, Giles?" and forthwith Beltane took out the
+little shoe.
+
+"Aye, 'tis her very own, master!" groaned Giles. "Ah, woe is me, for if
+she hath given to thee rose and therewith her pretty shoe--thou hast,
+belike, her heart also, and with her heart--"
+
+"Nay, take it, Giles,--take it!" quoth Beltane, sighing. "I did but
+find it in my going, and this rose--I found also, but this will I keep.
+Methinks thy love is what thy heart telleth thee--a maid very gentle
+and sweet--so God prosper thy wooing, Giles!"
+
+So saying, Beltane thrust the shoe upon bewildered Giles and, turning
+swiftly about, hasted away. But even then, while the archer yet stared
+after him, Beltane turned and came striding back.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, "how tall is the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Lord, she is better than tall--"
+
+"Ha--is she short of stature, good Giles?"
+
+"Messire, God hath shaped her lovely body no higher and no lower than
+my heart. Small is she and slender, yet in her sweet and slender
+shapeliness is all the beauty of all the women that all men have ever
+loved--"
+
+"Small, say you, Giles--small? Then give me back yon lovely thing!"
+
+Saying the which, Beltane caught the shoe from Giles's hold and strode
+away blithe and debonair, leaving the garrulous archer dumb for once
+and beyond all words amazed.
+
+Now as Beltane went very deep in thought there met him Friar Martin,
+who bore upon his arm a great basket full of green vegetables and
+sweet herbs. Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Good friar, what do ye abroad so early?"
+
+"Sweet son, I praise the good God for His mercies and pant by reason of
+this my weighty basket."
+
+"Indeed 'tis a something well-laden basket," said Beltane, relieving
+the friar of his burden with gentle force.
+
+"Why, verily, my children are hungry children and clamour to be filled.
+And see you, my son, I have a secret of a certain broth whereof these
+lentils and these sweet herbs do so tickle their palates that to
+satisfy them is a hard matter--more especially Orson and Jenkyn--who
+being nigh cured of their hurts do eat like four men and vaunt my
+cooking full-mouthed, insomuch that I must needs grow heedful of vain
+pride."
+
+"Fain would I see these children of thine an I may, good friar, so will
+I bear thy burden for thee."
+
+"Verily they shall rejoice to see thee," quoth the friar, "but for my
+basket, methinks 'tis better suited to my habit than thy knightly mail--"
+
+For answer Beltane slipped the basket on his arm and they went on
+together talking whole-heartedly of many things. Thus the gentle friar
+brought him at last to a low-arched portal within a narrow lane, and
+pushing open the door, ushered him into the great refectory of the
+abbey, where Beltane set down the basket, and Friar Martin, rolling up
+his sleeves, brought pot and pannikin but paused to smile and shake his
+head, as from a stone-flagged passage hard by came the sound of voices
+raised in altercation.
+
+"My children do grow a little fractious at times," quoth he, "as is but
+natural, methinks. Yonder you shall hear Orson and Jenkyn, who having
+saved each other's life in battle and loving like brothers, do oft
+contend together with tongues most ungentle; go you, my son, and quiet
+me the naughty rogues."
+
+So saying, Friar Martin fell to washing and preparing his herbs and
+vegetables whiles Beltane, hasting down the passage, opened a certain
+door and entered a cool and airy dormitory, where upon pallets neat and
+orderly lay divers fellows whose hurts were swathed in fair white
+linen, and who, despite their bandages, started up on hand or elbow to
+greet Beltane right gladly. And behold! beside each man's couch was a
+bowl wherein roses bloomed.
+
+"Master," quoth Tall Orson, "us do be glad to see thee--in especial me--
+and Jenkyn that I did save the carcase of and as do be a liar as do
+say my roses do be a-fading, master, and as his roses do bloom fairer
+than my roses and--"
+
+"And look'ee master, so they be, for I ha' watered mine wi' Orson's
+drinking-water, while he snored, look'ee--" "So Jenkyn do be thief as
+well, master--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane smiling, and seating himself on Orson's bed, "stint
+now your angers and tell me who gave ye flowers so fair?"
+
+"Master, she do be an angel!"
+
+"Heed him not, lord, for look'ee, she is a fair and lovely woman, and
+look'ee, a good woman is better than an angel, look'ee!"
+
+"And what like is she?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"She do be like to a stag for grace o' body, and wi' the eyes of a
+stag--"
+
+"Nay, master, her eyes do be maid's eyes, look'ee, very soft and sweet,
+and her hair, look'ee--"
+
+"Her hair do be like a forest-pool brim-full o' sunset--"
+
+"Not so, master, her hair is red, look'ee--"
+
+"And each day she do bring us flowers, master--"
+
+"And suckets, look'ee, very sweet and delicate, master."
+
+In a while Beltane arose and going from bed to bed spake with each and
+every, and went his way, leaving Orson and Jenkyn to their
+recriminations.
+
+Being come back into the refectory, he found Friar Martin yet busied
+with the preparations of his cooking, and seating himself upon the
+great table hard by, fell to a profound meditation, watched ever and
+anon by the friar's kindly eyes: so very silent and thoughtful was he
+that the friar presently looked up from slicing and cutting his
+vegetables and spake with smile wondrous tender:
+
+"Wherefore so pensive, my son?"
+
+"Good father, I think and dream of--red roses!"
+
+Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here
+was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white
+cowl.
+
+"A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!" quoth he.
+
+"As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!"
+
+"'She,' my son?"
+
+"As Helen, good friar, as Helen the Beautiful, Duchess of Mortain!"
+
+"Ah!" sighed the friar, and forthwith popped the leek into the pot. "I
+prithee, noble son, reach me the salt-box yonder!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVI
+
+CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+
+Next morning, ere the sun was up, came Beltane into the minster and
+hiding within the deeper gloom of the choir, sat there hushing his
+breath to listen, trembling in eager anticipation. Slowly amid the
+dimness above came a glimmer from the great window, a pale beam that
+grew with dawn until up rose the sun and the window glowed in many-hued
+splendour.
+
+And in a while to Beltane's straining senses came the faint creak of a
+door, a soft rustle, the swift light tread of feet, and starting forth
+of his lurking place he stepped forward with yearning arms
+outstretched--then paused of a sudden beholding her who stood at gaze,
+one slender foot advanced and white hands full of roses and lilies, one
+as fair, as sweet and pure as the fragrant blooms she bore. Small was
+she and slender, and of a radiant loveliness, red of lip and grey-eyed:
+now beholding Beltane thus suddenly, she shrank and uttered a soft cry.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "fear me not, sweet maid, methought thee other than
+thou art--I grieve that I did fright thee--forgive me, I pray," so
+saying, he sighed and bowing full humbly, turned, but even so paused
+again: "Thou art methinks the Reeve's fair daughter--thou art the lady
+Genevra?" he questioned.
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then, an thou dost love, gentle maid, heaven send thee happier in thy
+love than I." At the which Genevra's gentle eyes grew softer yet and
+her sweet mouth full pitiful and tender.
+
+"Art thou so unhappy, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, truly!" he sighed, and drooped mournful head.
+
+"Ah, messire, then fain would I aid thee an I might!" said she,
+soft-voiced.
+
+"Then where, I pray you, is she that came here yesterday?"
+
+"Nay, lord, how may I tell thee this? There be many women in Belsaye
+town."
+
+"For me," quoth Beltane, "in all the world there is but one and to this
+one, alas! thou canst not aid me, yet for thy kind intent I thank thee,
+and so farewell, sweet maid." Thus saying, he took three steps away
+from her, then turning, came back in two. "Stay," quoth he, slipping
+hand in wallet, "know you this shoe?"
+
+Now beholding this, Genevra's red lips quivered roguishly, and she
+bowed her little, shapely head:
+
+"Indeed, my lord, 'tis mine!" said she.
+
+"Then pray you, who was she did wear it yesterday--?"
+
+"Aye, messire, 'twas yesterday I--missed it, wilt not give it me
+therefore? One shoe can avail thee nothing and--and 'tis too small for
+thee to wear methinks--"
+
+"Did she--she that lost this yesterday, send thee to-day in her
+stead?"
+
+"Wilt not give a poor maid her shoe again, messire?"
+
+"O Genevra, beseech thee, who was she did wear it yesterday--speak!"
+
+"Nay, this--this I may not tell thee, lord Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that I did so promise--and yet--what seek you of her, my lord?"
+
+"Forgiveness," said Beltane, hot and eager, "I would woo her sweet
+clemency on one that hath wrought her grievous wrong. O sweet Genevra,
+wilt not say where I may find her?"
+
+A while stood the maid Genevra with bowed head as one in doubt, then
+looked on him with sweet maiden eyes and of a sudden smiled
+compassionate and tender.
+
+"Ah, messire," said she, "surely thine are the eyes of one who loveth
+greatly and well! And I do so love her that fain would I have her
+greatly loved--so will I tell thee despite my word--hearken!" And
+drawing him near she laid white finger to rosy lip and thereafter spake
+in whispers. "Go you to the green door where yesterday thou didst meet
+with Gi--with the captain of the archers--O verily we--she and I, my
+lord, did see and hear all that passed betwixt you--and upon this door
+knock you softly three times. Go--yet, O prithee say not 'twas Genevra
+told thee this!" and again she laid white finger to roguish, pouting
+lip.
+
+Then Beltane stooped, and catching that little hand kissed it, and
+thereafter hasted blithely on his way.
+
+Swift of foot went he and with eyes a-dance, nor paused in his long
+stride until he was come to a certain high wall wherein was set the
+small, green door, whereon he knocked three times. And presently he
+heard the bar softly raised, the door was opened slow and cautiously,
+and stooping, Beltane stepped beneath the lintel and stood suddenly
+still, staring into the face of Black Roger. And even as Beltane stared
+thus amazed, so stared Roger.
+
+"Why, master--" quoth he, pushing back his mail-coif to rumple his
+black hair, "why, master, you--you be early abroad--though forsooth
+'tis a fair morning and--"
+
+"Roger," quoth Beltane, looking round upon a fair garden a-bloom with
+flowers, "Roger, where is the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Ha, so ye do know, master--who hath discovered it--?"
+
+"Where is she, Roger?"
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, giving a sudden sideways jerk of his head, "how
+should Roger tell thee this?" Now even as he spake, Roger must needs
+gesture again with his head and therewith close one bright, black eye,
+and with stealthy finger point to a certain tall hedge hard by; all of
+which was seen by one who stood beyond the hedge, watching Beltane with
+eyes that missed nought of him, from golden spur to golden head; quick
+to note his flushing cheek, his parted lips and the eager light of his
+blue eyes; one who perceiving him turn whither Roger's sly finger
+pointed, gathered up her flowing robe in both white hands that she
+might flee the faster, and who, speeding swift and light, came to a
+certain leafy bower where stood a tambour frame, and sitting there,
+with draperies well ordered, caught up silk and needle, yet paused to
+close her eyes and set one hand upon rounded bosom what time a quick,
+firm step drew near and ever nearer with clash and ring of heavy mail
+until Beltane stood before her. And how was he to know of the eyes that
+had watched him through the hedge, or that the hand that held the
+needle had paused lest he should see how direfully it trembled: how
+should my Beltane know all this, who was but a very man?
+
+A while stood he, viewing her with eyes aglow with yearning tenderness,
+and she, knowing this, kept her face down-bent, therefore. Now
+beholding all the beauty of her, because of her gracious loveliness,
+his breath caught, then hurried thick and fast, insomuch that when he
+would have spoken he could not; thus he worshipped her in a look and
+she, content to be so worshipped, sat with head down-bent, as sweetly
+demure, as proud and stately as if--as if she ne'er in all her days had
+fled with hampering draperies caught up so high!
+
+So Beltane stood worshipping her as she had been some young goddess in
+whose immortal beauty all beauty was embodied.
+
+At last he spake, hoarse and low and passionate:
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly the Duchess lifted stately head and looked on him: but
+now, behold! her glance was high and proud, her scarlet mouth firm-set
+like the white and dimpled chin below and her eyes swept him with look
+calm and most dispassionate.
+
+"Ah, my lord Beltane," she said, sweet-voiced, "what do you here within
+the privacy of Genevra's garden?"
+
+Now because of the sweet serenity of her speech, because of the calm,
+unswerving directness of her gaze, my Beltane felt at sudden loss, his
+outstretched arms sank helplessly and he fell a-stammering.
+
+"Helen, I--I--O Helen, I have dreamed of, yearned for this hour! To see
+thee again--to hear thy voice, and yet--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+Now stood Beltane very still, staring on her in dumb amaze, and the
+pain in his eyes smote her, insomuch that she bent to her embroidery
+and sewed three stitches woefully askew.
+
+"O surely, surely I am mad," quoth he wondering, "or I do dream. For
+she I seek is a woman, gentle and prone to forgiveness, one beyond all
+women fair and brave and noble, in whose pure heart can nothing evil
+be, in whose gentle eyes her gentle soul lieth mirrored, whose tender
+lips be apt and swift to speak mercy and forgiveness. Even as her soft,
+kind hands did bind up my wounds, so methought she with gentle sayings
+might heal my grieving heart--and now--now--"
+
+"O my lord," she sighed, bending over idle fingers, "methinks you came
+seeking an angel of heaven and find here--only a woman."
+
+"Yet 'tis this woman I do love and ever must--'tis this woman I did
+know as Fidelis--"
+
+"Alas!" she sighed again, "alas, poor Fidelis, thou didst drive him
+from thee into the solitary wild-wood. So is poor Fidelis lost to thee,
+methinks--"
+
+"Nay, Helen--O Helen, be just to me--thou dost know I loved Fidelis--"
+
+"Yet thou didst spurn and name him traitor and drave him from thee!"
+
+Now of a sudden he strode towards her, and as he came her bosom
+swelled, her lashes drooped, for it seemed he meant to clasp her to his
+heart. But lo! being only man, my Beltane paused and trembled, and
+dared not touch her, and sinking before her on his knees, spake very
+humbly and with head low-bowed.
+
+"Helen--show me a little mercy!" he pleaded. "Would'st that I abase
+myself? Then here--here behold me at thy feet, fearing thee because of
+my unworthiness. But O believe--believe, for every base doubt of thee
+this heart hath known, now doth it grieve remorseful. For every harsh
+and bitter word this tongue hath spoke thee, now doth it humbly crave
+thy pitiful forgiveness! But know you this, that from the evil hour I
+drave thee from me, I have known abiding sorrow and remorse, for
+without thee life is indeed but an empty thing and I a creature lost
+and desolate--O Helen, pity me!"
+
+Thus spake he, humble and broken, and she, beholding him thus, sighed
+(though wondrous softly) and 'neath her long lashes tears glittered
+(though swift dashed away) but--slowly, very slowly, one white hand
+came out to him, faltered, stopped, and glancing up she rose in haste
+and shrank away. Now Beltane, perceiving only this last gesture, sprang
+up, fierce-eyed:
+
+"How?" quoth he, "am I then become a thing so base my presence doth
+offend thee--then, as God liveth, ne'er shalt see me more until thou
+thyself do summon me!"
+
+Even as he spake thus, swift and passionate, Giles clambered the
+adjacent wall and dropping softly within the garden, stared to behold
+Beltane striding towards him fierce-eyed, who, catching him by the arm
+yet viewing him not, spun him from his path, and coming to the green
+door, sped out and away.
+
+Now as Giles stood to rub his arm and gape in wonderment, he started to
+find the Duchess beside him; and her eyes were very bright and her
+cheeks very red, and, meeting her look, poor Giles fell suddenly
+abashed.
+
+"Noble lady--" he faltered.
+
+"Foolish Giles!" said she, "go, summon me my faithful Roger." But as
+she spake, behold Roger himself hasting to her through the roses.
+
+"Roger," said she, frowning a little, "saw you my lord go but now?"
+
+"Aye, verily, dear my lady," quoth he, ruffling up his hair, "but
+wherefore--"
+
+"And I," said Giles, cherishing his arm, "both saw and felt him--"
+
+"Ha," quoth Roger, "would'st have him back, sweet mistress?"
+
+"Why truly I would, Roger--"
+
+"Then forsooth will I go fetch him."
+
+"Nay--rather would I die, Roger."
+
+"But--dear lady--an thou dost want him--"
+
+"I will bring him by other means!" said the Duchess, "aye, he shall
+come despite himself," and her red lips curved to sudden roguish smile,
+as smiling thus, she brought them to a certain arbour very shady and
+remote, and, seating herself, looked from one tanned face to the other
+and spake them certain matters, whereat the archer's merry eyes grew
+merrier yet, but Roger sighed and shook his head; said he:
+
+"Lady, here is tale shall wring his noble heart, methinks, wherefore
+the telling shall wring mine also--"
+
+"Then speak not of it, Roger. Be this Giles's mission."
+
+"Aye, Rogerkin, leave it to me. In faith, noble lady, I will with
+suggestion soft and subtle, with knowing look and wily wag of head, so
+work upon my lord that he shall hither hot-foot haste--"
+
+"At moonrise," said the Duchess softly, "this evening at moonrise!"
+
+"Verily, lady, at moonrise! And a blue camlet cloak, say you?"
+
+"Come, Giles, and I will give it thee."
+
+Meanwhile, Beltane, hurt and angry, betook him to the walls where bow
+and perrier had already begun their deadly morning's work; and coming
+to a quiet corner of the battlement, he leaned him there to watch
+where the besiegers, under cover of the cat that hourly crept more
+nigh, worked amain to dam the moat.
+
+Now as he leaned thus, a hand slipped within his arm, and turning, he
+beheld Sir Benedict.
+
+"A right fair morning, my Beltane," quoth he.
+
+"Aye, truly, Benedict," sighed Beltane, "though there be clouds to the
+west. And the causeway across the moat groweth apace; I have watched
+yon cat creep a full yard--"
+
+"Aye, verily, by mid-day, Beltane, 'twill reach our wall, then will
+they advance their ram to the battery, methinks."
+
+"And what then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then shall we destroy their ram forthwith with devil-fire, dear lad!"
+
+"Aye, and how then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then, belike will they plant ladders on the causeway and attempt the
+wall by storm, so shall we come to handstrokes at last and beset them
+with pitch and boiling oil and hew their ladders in sunder."
+
+"And after, Benedict?"
+
+"Hey-day, Beltane, here be a many questions--"
+
+"Aye, Benedict, 'tis that I do look into the future. And what future
+can there be? Though we maintain our walls a year, or two, or three,
+yet in the end Belsaye must fall."
+
+"And I tell thee, Beltane, were Ivo twice as strong Belsaye should yet
+withstand him. So gloom not, lad, Belsaye is safe, the sun shineth and
+behold my arm--'tis well-nigh healed, thanks to--to skilful nursing--"
+
+"Of the Duchess Helen, Benedict?"
+
+"Ha--so hast found it out--at last, lad--"
+
+"Knew you she was here?"
+
+"Aye, verily."
+
+"And told me not?"
+
+"For that she did so command, Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore came she hither?"
+
+"For thy dear sake in the first place, and--"
+
+"Nay, mock me not, friend, for I do know myself of none account."
+
+"And in the second place, Beltane, to save this fair city of Belsaye."
+
+"Nay, how mean you?"
+
+"I mean that Belsaye cannot fall whiles it holdeth Helen the Proud. And
+the reason this--now mark me, Beltane! Since her father's death Duke
+Ivo hath had his glutton eye on fair Mortain, whereof her counsellors
+did ken, yet, being old men and averse to war, would fain have had her
+wed with him. Now upon a day word reached me in Thrasfordham bidding me
+come to her and Waldron of Brand at Winisfarne. So, as thou dost know,
+stole I from my goodly castle and marched north. But on the way she
+came to me bedight in mail, and she and I took counsel together.
+Wherefore came she hither to Belsaye and sent speedy messengers to Sir
+Jocelyn of Alain and others of her greatest lords and knights, bidding
+them come down with all their powers--nay, why shake ye gloomy head,
+fond boy? Body o' me, Beltane, I tell thee this--to-day she--"
+
+"To-day," sighed Beltane, frowning, "to-day she spurneth me! Kneeling
+at her feet e'en as I was she shrank away as I had leprous been!"
+
+"Aye, lad, and then--didst woo as well as kneel to her, didst clasp her
+to thee, lift her proud head that needs must she give to thine her
+eyes--she is in sooth very woman--did you this, my Beltane?"
+
+"Ah, dear Benedict, she that I love was not wont to shrink from me
+thus! 'Tis true I am unworthy--and yet, she spurned me--so is her love
+dead, methinks!"
+
+"So art thou but youth, and foolish youth, and belike, foolish, hungry
+youth--so come, let us break our fast together."
+
+"Not I, Benedict, for if love be dead, no mind have I to food."
+
+"O lad--lad!" sighed Sir Benedict, "would I had one as fair and noble
+to love me in such sort!" And turning, he gazed sad-eyed towards
+Belsaye's great minster, and sighing, went his way.
+
+And presently, as Beltane leaned thus, grieving and alone, cometh Giles
+that way, who, pausing beside him, peered down where the besiegers, but
+ill-sheltered by battered mantlet and palisades, strove amain to bring
+up one of their rams, since the causeway across the moat was well-nigh
+complete.
+
+"Holy saints!" quoth Giles, "the rogues grow bold and venturesome,
+methinks!" So saying, he strung his powerful bow, and laying arrows to
+his hand fell to drawing and loosing amain. So swift shot he and with
+aim so true, that in a while the enemy gave over their attempt and
+betook them to cover what time their archers and cross-bowmen plied the
+wall with a storm of shafts and bolts.
+
+Upon this Giles, laying by his bow, seated himself in corner well
+screened from harm, beckoning Beltane to do the like, since the enemy's
+missiles whizzed and whistled perilously near. But sighing, Beltane
+closed his vizor and heedless of flying bolt and arrow strode to the
+narrow stair that led up to the gate-tower and being come there sat him
+down beside the great mangonel. But lo! very soon Giles was there also
+and even as Beltane sighed, so sighed Giles.
+
+"Heigho--a sorry world, brother!" quoth he, "a sorry world!" and
+forthwith fell to his archery, yet now, though his aim was true as
+ever, he sighed and murmured plaintively 'twixt every shot: "Alack, a
+sorry world!" So deep and oft were his sighs, so plaintive his groans,
+that Beltane, though plunged in bitter thought, must needs at length
+take heed of him.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, looking up, "a heaven's name, what aileth thee,
+man?"
+
+"'Tis my eyes, lord."
+
+"Thine eyes are well enough, Giles, and see wondrous well to judge by
+thy shooting."
+
+"Wondrous well--aye, there it is, tall brother, mine eyes do see
+wondrous well, mine eyes do see so much, see you, that they do see
+over-much, over-much, aye--too, too much. Alack, 'tis a sorry and
+woeful world, brother! beshrew my eyes, I say!"
+
+"And wherefore, Giles?"
+
+"For that these eyes do see what other eyes see not--thine, methinks,
+saw nought of a fine, lusty and up-standing fellow in a camlet cloak
+within the Reeve's garden this morning, I'll warrant me now? A tall,
+shapely rogue, well be-seen, see you, soft-voiced and very debonair?"
+
+"Nay, not I," said Beltane, and sighing he arose and descended to the
+battlement above the gates. And presently, behold Giles was there also!
+
+"Brother," quoth he, selecting an arrow with portentous care, "'tis an
+ill thing to be cursed with eyes such as mine, I tell thee!"
+
+"Aye, and wherefore, Giles?" said Beltane, yet intent on his own
+thoughts.
+
+"For that they do see more than is good for this heart o' mine--as this
+fellow in the blue camlet cloak--"
+
+"What fellow, Giles?"
+
+"The buxom fellow that was in the Reeve's garden this morning."
+
+"Why then," quoth Beltane, turning away, "go you not to the Reeve's
+garden, Giles."
+
+All day long Beltane kept the wall, eating not at all, wherefore his
+gloom waxed the more profound; so spake he to few men and oft exposed
+himself to shaft and missile. And so, all day long, wheresoever he
+came, on tower or keep, in corners most remote, there sure was Giles to
+come also, sighing amain and with brow of heavy portent, who, so oft as
+he met Beltane's gloomy eye, would shake his head in sad yet knowing
+fashion. Thus, as evening fell, Beltane finding him at his elbow yet
+despondent, betook him to speech at last; quoth he:
+
+"Giles, art thou sick?"
+
+"Aye, lord, by reason of this fellow in the blue camlet--"
+
+"What fellow?"
+
+"The tall and buxom fellow in the Reeve's garden."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, frowning. "In the garden, say you--what manner of
+man is this?"
+
+"O brother--a shapely man, a comely man--a man of words and cunning
+phrases--a man shall sing you sweet and melodious as any bird--why, I
+myself can sing no sweeter!"
+
+"Cometh he there often, Giles?"
+
+"Why lord, he cometh and he goeth--I saw him there this morning!"
+
+"What doeth he there?"
+
+"Nay, who shall say--Genevra is wondrous fair, yet so is she that is
+Genevra's friend, so do I hope belike 'tis she--"
+
+"Hold thy peace, Giles!"
+
+Now beholding Beltane's fierce eye and how his strong hands clenched
+themselves, Giles incontinent moved further off and spake in accents
+soft and soothing:
+
+"And yet, tall brother, and yet 'tis belike but some gentle troubadour
+that singeth songs to their delectation, and 'tis meet to hark to songs
+sweet-sung--at moonrise, lord!"
+
+"And wherefore at moonrise?"
+
+"'Tis at this sweet hour your minstrel singeth best. Aye me, and to-night
+there is a moon!" Hereupon Beltane must needs turn to scowl upon
+the moon just topping the distant woods. Now as they sat thus, cometh
+Roger with bread and meat for his lord's acceptance; but Beltane,
+setting it aside, stared on Roger with baleful eye.
+
+"Roger," said he, "wherefore hast avoided me this day?"
+
+"Avoided thee, master--I?"
+
+"And what did you this morning in the Reeve's garden?"
+
+"Master, in this big world are two beings that I do truly love, and
+thou art one and the other Sir Fidelis thy right sweet and noble lady--
+so is it my joy to serve her when I may, thus daily do I go aid her
+with the sick."
+
+"And what of him that singeth; saw you this troubadour within the
+garden?"
+
+"Troubadour?" quoth Roger, staring.
+
+"Why verily," nodded Giles, "my lord meaneth the tall and goodly fellow
+in the cloak of blue camlet, Roger."
+
+"Ne'er have I seen one in blue cloak!" said Roger, "and this do I
+swear!"
+
+"None the less," said Beltane, rising, "I will seek him there myself."
+
+"At moonrise, lord?" questioned Giles.
+
+"Aye," said Beltane grimly; "at moonrise!" and scowling he turned away.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Giles, nudging Roger with roguish elbow, "it worketh,
+Roger, it worketh!"
+
+"Aye, Giles, it worketh so well that an my master get his hands on this
+singing fellow--then woe betide this singing fellow, say I."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVII
+
+TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+
+The moon was already filling the night with her soft splendour when
+Beltane, coming to a certain wall, swung himself up, and, being there,
+paused to breathe the sweet perfume of the flowers whose languorous
+fragrance wrought in him a yearning deep and passionate, and ever as
+love-longing grew, bitterness and anger were forgot. Very still was it
+within this sheltered garden, where, fraught by the moon's soft magic,
+all things did seem to find them added beauties.
+
+But, even as he paused thus, he heard a step approaching, a man's
+tread, quick and light yet assured, and he beheld one shrouded in a
+long cloak of blue, a tall figure that hasted through the garden and
+vanished behind the tall yew hedge.
+
+Down sprang Beltane fierce-eyed, trampling the tender flowers under
+cruel feet, and as he in turn passed behind the hedge the moon
+glittered evilly on his dagger blade. Quick and soft of foot went he
+until, beholding a faint light amid the leaves, he paused, then hasted
+on and thus came to an arbour bowered in eglantine.
+
+She sat at a table where burned a rushlight that glowed among the
+splendour of her hair, for her head was bowed above the letter she was
+writing.
+
+Now as he stood regarding her 'neath frowning brows, she spake, yet
+lifted not her shapely head.
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"Helen, where is he that came here but now?"
+
+Slowly she lifted her head, and setting white hands 'neath dimpled
+chin, met his frown with eyes of gentleness.
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, my lord."
+
+"Helen," said he again, grim-lipped, "whom dost wait for?"
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, messire."
+
+Frowning he obeyed, and came a pace nearer.
+
+"What do you here with pen and ink-horn?"
+
+"My lord, I write."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"To such as it pleaseth me."
+
+"I pray you--show me."
+
+"Nay, for that doth not please me, messire."
+
+"I pray you, who was he that came hither but now--a tall man in a long
+blue cloak?"
+
+"I saw him not, my lord."
+
+"So needs must I see thy letter."
+
+"Nay, that thou shalt not, my lord," said she, and rose to her stately
+height.
+
+"Aye, but I shall!" quoth Beltane softly, and came a pace yet nearer.
+
+Now because of the grim and masterful look of him, her heart fell
+a-fluttering, yet she fronted him scornful-eyed, and curled her red lip
+at him.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks you do forget I am the--"
+
+"I remember thou art woman and thy name--Helen!"
+
+Now at this laughed she softly and thereafter falleth to singing very
+sweet and blithe and merry withal.
+
+"The letter!" said he, "give me thy letter!"
+
+Hereupon she took up the letter, and, yet singing, crumpled it up
+within white fingers.
+
+Then Beltane set by the table and reaching out sudden arms, caught her
+up 'neath waist and knee, and lifting her high, crushed her upon his
+breast.
+
+"Helen!" said he, low-voiced and fierce, "mine art thou as I am thine,
+forever, 'twas so we plighted our troth within the green. Now for thy
+beauty I do greatly love thee, but for thy sweet soul and purity of
+heart I do reverence and worship thee--but an thou slay my reverent
+worship then this night shalt thou die and I with thee--for mine art
+thou and shalt be mine forever. Give me thy letter!"
+
+But now her eyes quailed 'neath his, her white lids drooped, and
+sighing, she spake small-voiced:
+
+"O my lord, thine arms are so--so tyrannous that I do fear thee--
+almost! And how may a poor maid, so crushed and helpless thus, gainsay
+thee? So prithee, O prithee take my poor letter an thou wilt ravish it
+from one so defenceless--O beseech thee, take it!"
+
+So she gave the crumpled parchment into his hand, yet while he read it,
+nestled closer in his arms and hid her face against him; for what he
+read was this:
+
+"Beloved, art thou angered, or sorrowful, or humble in thy foolish
+jealousy? If angered, then must I woo thee. If sorrowful, cherish thee.
+But being Beltane, needs must I love thee ever--so write I this,
+bidding thee come, my Beltane the Smith, for I--"
+
+The crumpled letter fell to the ground.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "Beloved, I am all of this, so do I need thy
+comfort, thy cherishing, and all thy dear love--turn thy head--O Helen,
+how red is thy sweet mouth!" Then stooped he, and so they kissed each
+other, such kisses as they ne'er had known, until she sighed and
+trembled and lay all breathless in his arms.
+
+"O my lord," she whispered, "have mercy, I pray! Dear Beltane, loose me
+for I--I have much to tell thee."
+
+And because of her pleading eyes he loosed her, and she, sinking upon
+the bench, leaned there all flushed and tremulous, and looking on him,
+sighed, and sighing, put up her hands and hid her face from his regard.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "how wondrous a thing is this our love, so
+great and fierce it frighteth me--see how I tremble!" and she held out
+to him her hands.
+
+Then came he and knelt before her, and kissed those slender fingers
+amain.
+
+"Dear hands of Fidelis," said he, "but for their tender skill and
+gentle care I had not lived to know this night--O brave, small hands
+of Fidelis!"
+
+"Poor Fidelis!" she sighed, "but indeed it wrung my heart to see thy
+woeful face when I did tell thee Fidelis was lost to thee--Nay,
+Beltane, stay--O prithee let me speak--"
+
+Quoth Beltane 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Wherefore wert so cold and strange to me but yesterday?"
+
+"Dear my heart," she murmured, "I needs must make thee suffer a little--
+just a very little, for that I had known so much of pain and heartache
+because of thee. But I was glad to see thee bear the wallet of poor
+Fidelis--and O, 'twas foolish in thee to grieve for him, for he being
+gone, thy Helen doth remain--unless, forsooth, thou had rather I came
+to thee bedight again in steel--that did so chafe me, Beltane--indeed,
+my tender skin did suffer much on thy account--"
+
+"Then soon with my kisses will I seek--" But a cool, soft hand schooled
+his hot lips to silence and the while he kissed those sweet arresting
+fingers, she spake 'twixt smiling lips: "Prithee where is my shoe that
+was Genevra's? Indeed, 'twas hard matter to slip it off for thee,
+Beltane, for Genevra's foot is something smaller than mine--a very
+little! Nay, crush me not, messire, but tell me, what of him ye came
+hither seeking--the man in the long cloak--what of him?"
+
+"Nought!" answered Beltane, "the world to-night doth hold but thee and
+me--"
+
+"Aye, my Beltane, as when sick of thy wound within the little cave I
+nursed thee, all unknown. O love, in all thy sickness I was with thee,
+to care for thee. Teaching good Roger to tend thee and--to drug thee to
+gentle sleep that I might hold thee to me in the dark and--kiss thy
+sleeping lips--"
+
+"Ah!" he sighed, "and methought 'twas but a dream! O Helen, sure none
+ever loved as we?"
+
+"Nay, 'twere thing impossible, Beltane."
+
+"And thou art truly mine?"
+
+"Beltane--thou dost know this! Ah, love--what would you?" For of a
+sudden his mighty arms were close about her, and rising, he lifted her
+upon his breast. "What would'st do with me, Beltane?"
+
+"Do?" quoth he, "do? This night, this very hour thou shalt wed me--"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord--bethink thee--"
+
+"It hath been my thought--my dearest dream since first I saw thee
+within the woods at Mortain--so now shalt wed me--"
+
+"But, Beltane--"
+
+"Shalt wed me!"
+
+"Nay, love, I--I--thou art so sudden!"
+
+"Aye, within this hour shalt call me 'husband'!"
+
+"Wilt force me, my lord?"
+
+"Aye, verily," said Beltane, "as God sees me, I will!"
+
+"Why then," she sighed, "how may I gainsay thee!" and she hid her face
+against him once more. But, as he turned to leave the arbour, she
+stayed him:
+
+"I prithee, now, whither dost take me, Beltane?"
+
+"To the minster--anywhere, so that I find good Friar Martin."
+
+"Nay, prithee, Beltane, prithee set me down!"
+
+"What would'st, my Helen?"
+
+"Loose me and shalt see."
+
+So Beltane, sighing, let her go, whereupon she took a small silver
+whistle that hung at her girdle and sounded it.
+
+"Ah--what do you?" he questioned.
+
+"Wait!" said she, roguish-eyed.
+
+And in a while came the sound of steps from the outer garden, and
+looking thither, Beltane beheld a tall man in cloak of blue camlet, and
+when this man drew near, behold! it was Giles.
+
+"Giles!" quoth he, "thou wily rogue--"
+
+"Giles," spake the Duchess softly, "I pray you let them come!"
+
+Then Giles bowed him low, and smiling, hasted joyously away.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lord," said the Duchess a little breathlessly,
+"because thou art true man and thy love is a noble love, I did lure
+thee hither to-night that I might give myself to thee in God's holy
+sight--an so it be thy will, my lord. O Beltane, yonder Giles and Roger
+do bring--Friar Martin to make me--thy wife--wherefore I do grow
+something fearful. 'Tis foolish in me to fear thee and yet--I do--a
+little, Beltane!" So saying, she looked on him with eyes full sweet
+and troubled, wherefore he would have kissed her, but steps drew nigh
+and lo! without the arbour stood the white friar with Giles and Roger
+in the shadows behind.
+
+Now came Beltane and took the friar's hand.
+
+"Holy father," said he, "O good Friar Martin, though I am but what I
+am, yet hath this sweet and noble lady raised me up to be what I have
+dreamed to be. To-night, into my care she giveth her sweet body and
+fair fame, of which God make me worthy."
+
+"Sweet children," spake the friar, "this world is oft-times a hard and
+cruel world, but God is a gentle God and merciful, wherefore as he hath
+given to man the blessed sun and the sweet and tender flowers, so hath
+he given him love. And when two there be who love with soul as well as
+body, with mind as well as heart, then methinks for them this world may
+be a paradise. And, my children, because I do love thee for thy sweet
+lives and noble works, so do I joy now to bind ye one to another."
+
+Then hand in hand, the Duchess and my Beltane knelt together, and
+because he had no ring, needs must she give to him one of hers; so were
+they wed.
+
+As one that dreamed, Beltane knelt there murmuring the responses, and
+thus knelt he so long that he started to feel a soft touch upon his
+cheek, and looking up, behold! they were alone.
+
+"Dost dream, my lord?" she questioned, tender-voiced.
+
+"Aye, verily," he answered, "of the wonder of our love and thee,
+beloved, as I did see thee first within the thicket at Mortain,
+beautiful as now, though then was thy glorious hair unbound. I dream of
+thine eyes beneath thy nun's veil when I did bear thee in my arms from
+Thornaby--but most do I dream of thee as Fidelis, and the clasp of thy
+dear arms within the dark."
+
+"But thou didst leave me in Mortain thicket despite my hair, Beltane!
+And thou didst tell me mine eyes were not--a nun's eyes, Beltane--"
+
+"Wherefore this night do I thank God!" said he, drawing her close
+beside him on the bench.
+
+"And for my arms, Beltane, thou didst think them man's arms--because
+they went bedight in mail, forsooth!"
+
+"So this night shall they go bedight in kisses of my mouth! loose me
+this sleeve, I pray--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane,--I do beseech thee--"
+
+"Art not my wife?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then loose me thy sleeve, Helen."
+
+So blushing, trembling, needs must she obey and yield her soft arms to
+his caresses and hide her face because of their round, white nakedness.
+
+But in a while she spake, low and very humble.
+
+"Dear my lord, the moon doth set already, methinks!"
+
+"Aye, but there is no cloud to dim her glory to-night, Helen!"
+
+"But the hour waxeth--very late, my lord and I--must away."
+
+"Aye, beloved, let us go."
+
+"Nay my lord, I--O dear Beltane--"
+
+"Wife!" said he, "dear my love and wife, have I not waited long
+enough?"
+
+Hand in hand they walked amid the flowers with eyes only for each other
+until came they to a stair and up the stair to a chamber, rich with
+silk and arras and sweet with spicy odours, a chamber dim-lighted by a
+silver lamp pendent from carven roof-beam, whose soft glow filled the
+place with shadow. Yet even in this tender dimness, or because of it,
+her colour ebbed and flowed, her breath came apace and she stood before
+him voiceless and very still save for the sweet tumult of her bosom.
+
+Then Beltane loosed off his sword and laid it upon the silken couch,
+but perceiving how she trembled, he set his arm about her and drew her
+to the open lattice where the moon made a pool of glory at their feet.
+
+"Dost fear me, Helen?"
+
+"Nay, my lord, I--think not."
+
+"Then wherefore dost tremble?"
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou methinks dost--tremble also?"
+
+Then Beltane knelt him at her feet and looked upon her loveliness with
+yearning eyes, yet touched her not:
+
+"O beloved maid!" said he, "this is, methinks, because of thy sweet
+virgin eyes! For I do so love thee, Helen, that, an it be thy will,
+e'en now will I leave thee until thy heart doth call me!"
+
+Now stooped she and set her white arms about him and her soft cheek to
+his hot brow.
+
+"Dear my lord and--husband," she whispered, "'tis for this so sweet
+tenderness in thee that I do love thee best, methinks!"
+
+"And fear me no more?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, I do fear thee when--when thou dost look on me so, but--
+when thou dost look on me so--'tis then I do love thee most, my
+Beltane!"
+
+Up to his feet sprang Beltane and caught her to him, breast to breast
+and lip to lip.
+
+The great sword clattered to the floor; but now, even as she sank in
+his embrace, she held him off to stare with eyes of sudden terror as,
+upon the stilly night broke a thunderous rumble, a shock, and
+thereafter sudden roar and outcry from afar, that swelled to a wild
+hubbub of distant voices and cries, lost, all at once, in the raving
+clamour of the tocsin.
+
+Locked thus within each other's arms, eye questioned eye, while ever
+the bell beat out its fierce alarm. And presently, within the garden
+below, was the sound of running feet and, coming to the casement,
+Beltane beheld a light that hovered to and fro, growing ever nearer and
+brighter, until he saw that he who bore it was Black Roger; and Roger's
+face shone with sweat and his breath laboured with his running.
+
+"Master!" he panted, "O master--a mine! a mine! They have breached the
+wall beside the gate--hark, where they storm the city! Come, master, O
+come ere it be too late!"
+
+Now Beltane clenched his fists and scowled on pale-faced Roger and from
+him to the radiant sky, yet when he spake his voice was low and even:
+
+"I thank thee, faithful Roger! Go you and summon such of our foresters
+as ye may, muster them in the market-square, there will I come to
+thee."
+
+Now when Roger's flickering light had vanished he turned, and found
+Helen close beside him; her cheeks were pale, but in her hand she held
+his sword.
+
+"'Tis well thou wert not all unarmed, my lord!" she sighed, and
+forthwith belted the weapon about him. "Kneel down, I prithee, that I
+may lace for thee thy hood of mail." And when it was done she knelt
+also, and taking his hand pressed it to her throbbing heart, and
+holding him thus fell to prayer:
+
+"O God of mercy, have in care those that fight in our defence this
+night, in especial guard and shield this man of mine that I do love
+beyond all men--O God of mercy, hear us!"
+
+So they arose, and as he looked on her so looked she on him, and of a
+sudden clasped him in close and passionate embrace:
+
+"Beltane--Beltane!" she sobbed, "God knoweth I do so love thee that thy
+dear flesh is mine, methinks, and the steel that woundeth thee shall
+hurt me also. And--O love--an thou should'st die to-night, then surely
+will this heart of mine die with thee--no man shall have my love other
+than thou--so to my grave will I go thy virgin wife for thy dear sake.
+Fare thee well Beltane, O dear my husband, fare thee well. Tarry no
+longer, lest I pray thee on my knees to go not to the battle."
+
+So Beltane kissed her once and went forth of the chamber, looking not
+back. She heard the ring of his armour a-down the stair, the quick
+tread of his feet, and leaning from the casement watched him go; and
+he, knowing her there, looked not up, but with teeth hard shut and iron
+hands clenched, strode fast upon his way.
+
+And now, since he looked not up, it seemed to her she was out of his
+thoughts already, for his face was stern and set, and in his eyes was
+the fierce light of battle.
+
+And she, kneeling alone in the failing glory of the moon, hid her face
+within yearning, desolate arms and wept long and bitterly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVIII
+
+FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+
+Now as Beltane hasted along he heard the tread of mailed feet, and
+looking round beheld the white friar, and 'neath his white frock mail
+gleamed, while in his hand he grasped a heavy sword. Close on his heels
+came many men, old men these for the most part, grey of beard and white
+of head, and their armour, even as they, was ancient and rusty; but the
+faces that stared from casque and mail-hood were grim and sorrow-lined,
+stern faces and purposeful, and the eyes that gleamed 'neath shaggy
+brows ere now had looked on sons and brothers done to death by fire and
+gallows, and wives and daughters shamed and ravished. And ever as they
+came Friar Martin smote, sword in hand, on door and shuttered window,
+and cried hoarse and loud:
+
+"Ye men of Belsaye--fathers and husbands, arm ye, arm ye! Ye greybeards
+that have seen Duke Ivo's mercy, arm ye! Your foes be in, to burn, to
+loot again and ravish! O ye husbands and fathers, arise, arise--arm,
+arm and follow me to smite for wife and children!"
+
+So cried the tall white friar, pallid of cheek but dauntless of eye,
+and ever as he cried, smote he upon door and shutter with his sword,
+and ever his company grew.
+
+Within the square was Roger, hoarse-voiced, with Beltane's battered
+war-helm on a pike whereto the foresters mustered--hardy and brown-faced
+men, fitting on bascinet and buckling belt, yet very quiet and
+orderly. And beside Roger, Ulf the Mighty leaned him upon his axe, and
+in the ranks despite their bandages stood Orson the Tall and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, even yet in wordy disputation.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"How many muster ye, Roger?"
+
+"One hundred and nine, master."
+
+"And where is Walkyn--where Giles?"
+
+"With Sir Benedict, hard by the gate, master. My lord, come take thy
+helm--come take it, master, 'twill be a close and bitter fight--and
+thou art no longer thine own man--bethink thee of thy sweet wife, Sir
+Fidelis, master!"
+
+So Beltane did on the great casque and even now came Sir Brian beside
+whom Sir Hacon limped, yet with sword bloody.
+
+"Ha, my lord," he cried, "mine eyes do joy to see thee and these goodly
+fellows--'tis hard and fierce business where Benedict and his pikes do
+hold the gate--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," quoth Sir Brian, "they press their attack amain, for
+one that falleth, two do fill his place."
+
+"Verily, and what fighting man could ask more of any foe? And we be
+fighting men, praise be to Saint Cuthbert--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, crossing himself, "Saint Cuthbert be our aid this
+night."
+
+Forthwith Beltane formed his column and with Ulf and Roger beside him
+marched from the square. By narrow streets went they, 'neath dim-lighted
+casements where pale faces looked down to pray heaven's aid on
+them.
+
+So came they where torch and lanthorn smoked and gleamed, by whose
+fitful light they beheld a barricade, rough and hastily contrived,
+whence Sir Benedict fought and Walkyn smote, with divers of their stout
+company and lusty fellows from the town. Above, upon the great flanking
+tower of the gate, was Giles with many archers who plied their whizzing
+shafts amain where, 'twixt outer and inner wall, the assailants sought
+to storm the barricade; but the place was narrow, and moreover, beyond
+the breach stout Eric, backed by his fierce townsmen, fought in
+desperate battle: thus, though the besiegers' ranks were constantly
+swelled by way of the breach, yet in that confined space their very
+numbers hampered them, while from sheltered wall and gate-tower Giles
+and his archers showered them with whistling shafts very fast and
+furious; so in that narrow place death was rife and in the fitful
+torch-glare was a sea of tossing steel and faces fierce and wild, and
+ever the clamour grew, shouts and screams and cries dreadful to be
+heard.
+
+Now as Beltane stood to watch this, grim-lipped, for it needed but few
+to man the barricade, so narrow was it, Roger caught his arm and
+pointed to the housetops above them; and what he saw, others saw also,
+and a cry went up of wonder and amaze. For, high upon the roof, his
+mail agleam, his white robe whiter in the torch-glare, stood Friar
+Martin, while crouched behind him to left and right were many men in
+ancient and rusty armour, men grey-bearded and white of head, at sight
+of whom the roar of battle died down from sheer amaze until all men
+might hear the friar's words:
+
+"Come, ye men of Belsaye!" he cried, "all ye that do love wife or
+daughter or little child--all ye that would maintain them innocent and
+pure--follow me!"
+
+As he ended, his sword flashed, and, even as he sprang, so sprang all
+those behind him--down, down they leapt upon the close-ranked foemen
+below, so swift, so sudden and unexpected, that ere they could be met
+with pike or sword the thing was done. And now from that narrow way,
+dim-lit by lanthorn and torch-glare, there rose a sound more awful to
+hear than roar of battle, a hoarse and vicious sound like to the
+worrying snarl of many great and fierce hounds.
+
+With ancient swords, with axe and dagger and fierce-rending teeth they
+fought, those fathers of Belsaye; thick and fast they fell, yet never
+alone, while ever they raved on, a company of madmen, behind the
+friar's white robe. Back and back the besiegers reeled before that
+raging fury--twice the white friar was smitten down yet twice he arose,
+smiting the fiercer, wherefore, because of his religious habit, the
+deathly pallor of his sunken cheek and the glare of his eyes, panic
+came, and all men shrank from the red sweep of his sword.
+
+Then Sir Benedict sounded his horn, and sword in hand leapt over the
+barricade, and behind him Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn and
+their serried pikemen, while Sir Brian and Sir Hacon limped in their
+rear.
+
+"The breach!" cried Sir Benedict, "seize we now the breach!"
+
+"The breach! The breach!" roared a hundred voices. And now within the
+gloom steel rasped steel, groping hands seized and griped with
+merciless fingers; figures, dim-seen, sank smitten, groaning beneath
+the press. But on they fought, slipping and stumbling, hewing and
+thrusting, up and up over ruined masonry, over forms that groaned
+beneath cruel feet--on and ever on until within the narrow breach
+Beltane's long sword darted and thrust and Ulf's axe whirled and fell,
+while hard by Walkyn's hoarse shout went up in roaring triumph.
+
+So within this narrow gap, where shapeless things stirred and whimpered
+in the dark, Beltane leaned breathless upon his sword and looked down
+upon the watch-fires of Duke Ivo's great camp. But, even as he gazed,
+these fires were blotted out where dark figures mounted fresh to the
+assault, and once again sword and axes fell to their dire work.
+
+And ever as he fought Beltane bethought him of her whose pure lips
+voiced prayers for him, and his mighty arm grew mightier yet, and he
+smote and thrust untiring, while Walkyn raged upon his left, roaring
+amain for Red Pertolepe, and Ulf the strong saved his breath to ply his
+axe the faster.
+
+Now presently as they fought thus, because the breach was grown very
+slippery, Beltane tripped and fell, but in that instant two lusty
+mailed legs bestrode him, and from the dimness above Roger's voice
+hailed:
+
+"Get thee back, master--I pray thee get back and take thy rest awhile,
+my arm is fresh and my steel scarce blooded, so get thee to thy rest--
+moreover thou art a notch, lord--another accursed notch from my belt!"
+
+Wherefore Beltane presently crept down from the breach and thus beheld
+many men who laboured amain beneath Sir Benedict's watchful eye to
+build a defence work very high and strong where they might command the
+breach. And as Beltane sat thus, finding himself very spent and weary,
+cometh Giles beside him.
+
+"Lord," said he, leaning him on his bow, "the attack doth languish,
+methinks, wherefore I do praise the good God, for had they won the
+town--ah, when I do think on--her--she that is so pure and sweet--and
+Ivo's base soldiery--O sweet Jesu!" and Giles shivered.
+
+"Forsooth, thou didst see fair Belsaye sacked--five years agone,
+Giles?"
+
+"Aye, God forgive me master, for I--I--O, God forgive me!"
+
+"Thou once did show me a goodly chain, I mind me, Giles."
+
+"Aye, but I lost it--I lost it, master!" he cried eagerly, "O verily I
+did lose it, so did it avail me nothing."
+
+"Moreover, Giles, thou didst with knowing laugh, vaunt that the women
+of Belsaye town were marvellous fair--and methinks didst speak truly,
+Giles!"
+
+Now at this Giles bowed his head and turning him about, went heavily
+upon his way. Then, sighing, Beltane arose and came where stood Sir
+Benedict who forthwith hailed him blithely:
+
+"Can we but hold them until the dawn, Beltane--and mark me, we can,
+here is a work shall make us strong 'gainst all attacks," and he
+pointed to the growing barricade. "But what of our noble Friar Martin?
+But for him, Beltane, but for him and his ancient company we had been
+hard put to it, lad. Ha, 'neath that white gown is saint and friar,
+and, what is better--a man! Now God be praised, yonder cometh the dawn
+at last! Though forsooth this hath been a sorry wedding-night for thee,
+dear lad--and for her, sweet maid--"
+
+"Thou dost know then, Benedict?"
+
+"Think ye not good Roger hasted to tell me, knowing thy joy is my joy--
+ha! list ye to those blessed joy-bells! glory be to God, there doth
+trusty Eric tell us he hath made an end of such as stormed the breach.
+But who cometh here? And by this hand, in tears!"
+
+Already in the east was a roseate glory by whose soft light Beltane
+beheld Tall Orson, who grasped a bloody sword in one hand and wiped
+away his tears with the other. He, perceiving Beltane and Sir Benedict,
+limped to them forthwith and spake, albeit hoarse and brokenly.
+
+"Lords, I do be bid hither to bring ye where he lieth a-dying--the
+noblest as do be in this world alive--his white robe all bloodied,
+lords, yet his face do be an angel's face!"
+
+"Ah," sighed Beltane rising, "is it the noble Friar Martin, Orson?"
+
+"Aye, lord, it do be he--as blessed me wi' his poor hand as do be so
+faint and feeble."
+
+So saying, Orson brought them to a house beside the wall, wherein, upon
+a pallet, the white friar lay with Jenkyn beside him, and the
+white-haired Reeve and many other of the sturdy townsfolk about him.
+
+Now came Beltane to kneel beside the friar, who, opening swooning eyes,
+smiled and spake faint-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane--noble son, my work on earth is ended, methinks--so
+doth God call me hence--and I do go right gladly. These dying eyes grow
+dim--but with the deathless eyes of the soul I do see many things most
+plainly--so, dear and valiant children, hear ye this! The woes of
+Belsaye are past and done--behold, thy deliverance is at hand! I see
+one that rideth from the north--and this I give thee for a sign--he is
+tall, this man, bedight in sable armour and mounted upon a great white
+horse. And behind him marcheth a mighty following--the woods be bright
+with the gleam of armour! O ye valiant men--O children of Belsaye that
+I have loved so well, let now your hearts be glad! O Belsaye town, thy
+shames and sorrows be passed away forever. I see thee through the years
+a rich city and a happy, thy gates ever open to the woeful and
+distressed! Rejoice, rejoice--thy sorrows are past and done--even as
+mine. Ah, list--list ye to those bells! Hear ye not their joyful
+clamour--hearken!"
+
+But indeed, silence had fallen upon Belsaye, and no sound brake the
+quiet save the distant hum and stir of conflict upon the broken wall.
+Nevertheless the friar's dying face waxed bright with a wondrous
+happiness.
+
+"O blessed--blessed sound!" he whispered. Of a sudden he rose up from
+his pillow with radiant eyes uplifted, and stretched up arms in eager
+welcome.
+
+"Sweet Jesu!" he whispered. Slowly his arms sank, the thin hands strove
+to fold themselves--fell apart, and, sighing rapturously, Friar Martin
+sank back upon his pillows like one that is weary, and, with the sigh,
+was dead. And lo! in that same moment, from tower and belfry near and
+far, rose a sudden wild and gladsome clamour of bells ringing out peal
+on peal of rapturous joy, insomuch that those who knelt beside that
+couch of death lifted bowed heads--eye questioning eye in a wonder
+beyond words.
+
+And now, all at once was the ring and tramp of mailed feet coming
+swiftly, and in the doorway stood Roger, his riven mail befouled with
+battle.
+
+"Lords!" he panted, "rejoice--rejoice! our woes and sorrows be past and
+done--hark ye to the bells! Our deliverance cometh from the north--you
+shall see the woods alight with--the gleam of their armour!"
+
+Nothing saying, Beltane arose and went soft-treading from the chamber,
+past the blood and horror of the breach, and climbing the flanking
+tower beside the gate, looked to the north. And there he beheld a
+mighty company that marched forth of the woods, rank upon rank, whose
+armour, flashing in the early sun, made a dazzling splendour against
+the green. Company by company they mustered on the plain, knights and
+men-at-arms with footmen and archers beyond count.
+
+And presently, before this deep array, two standards were advanced--a
+white banner whereon was a red lion and a banner on whose blue ground
+black leopards were enwrought.
+
+Now as Beltane gazed upon this glorious host he felt a gentle hand
+touch him and turning, beheld the Duchess Helen, and her cheek showed
+pale with her long night vigil.
+
+"My Beltane," said she, flushing 'neath his regard, "lord Duke of
+Mortain, behold yonder thy goodly powers of Mortain that shall do thy
+bidding henceforth--look yonder, my lord Duke!"
+
+"Duke!" quoth Beltane, "Duke of Mortain--forsooth, and am I so indeed?
+I had forgot this quite, in thy beauty, my Helen, and did but know that
+I had to wife one that I do love beyond all created things. And now,
+beloved, thy sweet eyes do tell me thy night was sleepless."
+
+"Mine eyes--ah, look not on them, Beltane, for well I know these poor
+eyes be all red and swollen with weeping for thee--though indeed I
+bathed them ere I sought thee--"
+
+"Sweet eyes of love!" said he, setting his arm about her, "come let me
+kiss them!"
+
+"Ah, no, Beltane, look yonder--behold where salvation cometh--"
+
+"I had rather look where my salvation lieth, within these dear eyes--
+nay, abase them not. And didst weep for me, and wake for me, my Helen?"
+
+"I was so--so fearful for thee, my lord."
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And very sorrowful--"
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And--heartsick--"
+
+"Aye, sweet my wife--but what more?"
+
+"And--very lonely, Beltane--"
+
+Then my Beltane caught her close and kissed her full long, until she
+struggled in his embrace and slipping from him, stood all flushed and
+breathless and shy-eyed. But of a sudden she caught his hand and
+pointed where, before the glittering ranks of Mortain's chivalry, a
+herald advanced.
+
+"Look, Beltane," she said, "oh, look and tell me who rideth yonder!"
+
+Now behind this herald two knights advanced, the one in glittering
+armour whose shield was resplendent with many quarterings, but
+beholding his companion, Beltane stared in wondering awe; for lo! he
+saw a tall man bedight in sable armour who bore a naked sword that
+flashed in the sun and who bestrode a great, white charger. And because
+of Friar Martin's dying words, Beltane stood awed and full of amaze.
+
+Nearer and nearer they came until all men might read the cognizance
+upon the first knight's resplendent shield and know him for one Sir
+Jocelyn, lord of Alain, but his companion they knew not, since neither
+charge nor blazon bore he of any sort. Of a sudden the herald set
+clarion to lip and blew a challenge that was taken up and answered from
+within the camp, and forth came Duke Ivo, bare-headed in his armour
+and with knights attendant, who, silencing the heralds with a gesture,
+spake loud and fierce.
+
+"Sir Jocelyn, lord of Alain, why come ye against me in arms and so
+ungently arrayed, wherefore come ye in such force, and for what?"
+
+Then answered Sir Jocelyn:
+
+"My lord Ivo, thou wert upon a time our honoured guest within Mortain,
+thou didst with honeyed word and tender phrase woo our fair young
+Duchess to wife. But--and heed this, my lord!--when Helen the
+Beautiful, the Proud, did thy will gainsay, thou didst in hearing of
+divers of her lords and counsellors vow and swear to come one day and
+seek her with flaming brands. So here to-day stand I and divers other
+gentles of Mortain--in especial this right noble lord--to tell thee
+that so long as we be men ne'er shalt set foot across our marches.
+Lastly, we are hither come to demand the safe conduct from Belsaye of
+our lady Duchess Helen, and such of the citizens as may choose to
+follow her."
+
+"So!" quoth Duke Ivo, smiling and fingering his long, blue chin, "'tis
+war ye do force on me, my lord of Alain?"
+
+"Nay, messire," answered Sir Jocelyn, "that must be asked of this sable
+knight--for he is greater than I, and leadeth where I do but follow."
+
+Now hereupon the black knight paced slowly forward upon his great,
+white horse nor stayed until he came close beside Duke Ivo. Then
+reining in his charger, he lifted his vizor and spake in voice deep and
+strong.
+
+"O thou that men call Ivo the Duke, look upon this face--behold these
+white hairs, this lined brow! Bethink thee of the innocent done to
+cruel death by thy will, the fair cities given to ravishment and flame--
+and judge if this be just and sufficient cause for war, and bitter
+war, betwixt us!"
+
+Now beholding the face of the speaker, his proud and noble bearing, his
+bold eyes fierce and bright and the grim line of nose and chin, Duke
+Ivo blenched and drew back, the smile fled from his lip, and he stared
+wide of eye and breathless.
+
+"Beltane!" quoth he at last, "Beltane--ha! methought thee dusty bones
+these many years--so it is war, I judge?"
+
+For answer Duke Beltane lifted on high the long sword he bore.
+
+"Ivo," said he, "the cries and groans of my sorrowful and distressed
+people have waked me from my selfish griefs at last--so am I come for
+vengeance on their innocent blood, their griefs and wrongs so long
+endured of thee. This do I swear thee, that this steel shall go
+unsheathed until I meet thee in mortal combat--and ere this sun be set
+one of us twain shall be no more."
+
+"Be it so," answered Black Ivo, "this night belike I shall hang thee
+above the ruins of Belsaye yonder, and thy son with thee!" So saying,
+he turned about and chin on fist rode into his camp, where was mounting
+and mustering in hot haste.
+
+"Beltane," spake the Duchess, clasping Beltane's hand, "dost know at
+last?"
+
+"Aye," answered he with eyes aglow, "But how cometh my noble father
+yonder?"
+
+"I sought him out in Holy Cross Thicket, Beltane. I told him of thy
+valiant doings and of thy need of instant aid, and besought him to take
+up arms for thee and for me and for dear Mortain, and to lead my army
+'gainst--"
+
+But Beltane, falling before her on his knee spake quick and passionate:
+
+"O Helen--Helen the Beautiful! without thee I had been nought, and less
+than nought! Without thee, Pentavalon had groaned yet 'neath cruel
+wrong! Without thee--O without thee, my Helen, I were a thing lost and
+helpless in very truth!"
+
+Now hereupon, being first and foremost a woman, young and loving and
+passionate, needs must she weep over him a little and stoop to cherish
+his golden head on her bosom, and holding it thus sweetly pillowed, to
+kiss him full oft and thereafter loose him and blush and sigh and turn
+from his regard, all sweet and shy demureness like the very maid she
+was.
+
+Whereat Beltane, forgetful of all but her loveliness, heedful of nought
+in the world but her warm young beauty, rose up from his knees and,
+trembling-mute with love, would have caught her to his eager arms; but
+of a sudden cometh Giles, breathless--hasting up the narrow stair and,
+all heedless of his lord, runneth to fling himself upon his knees
+before the Duchess, to catch her robe and kiss it oft.
+
+"O dear and gracious lady!" he cried, "Genevra hath told me! And is it
+true thou hast promised me a place within thy court at fair Mortain--is
+it true thou wilt lift me up that I may wed with one so much o'er me in
+station--is it true thou wilt give me my Genevra, my heart's desire--
+all unworthy though I be--I--O--" And behold! Giles's ready tongue
+faltered for very gratitude and on each tanned cheek were bright,
+quick-falling tears.
+
+"Giles," said she, "thou wert true and faithful to my lord when his
+friends were few, so methinks thou should'st be faithful and true to
+thy sweet Genevra--so will I make thee Steward and Bailiff of Mortain
+an my lord is in accord--"
+
+"Lord," quoth Giles brokenly, "ere thou dost speak, beseech thee hear
+this. I have thought on thy saying regarding my past days--and grieved
+sorely therefore. Now an ye do think my shameful past beyond
+redemption, if these arms be too vile to clasp her as my wife, if my
+love shall bring her sorrow or shame hereafter, then--because I do
+truly love her--I will see her no more; I will--leave her to love one
+more worthy than I. And this I do swear thee, master--on the cross!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Giles, he that knoweth himself unworthy, if that his love be a true
+love, shall by that love make himself, mayhap, worthier than most. He
+that loveth so greatly that in his love base self is forgot--such a
+man, methinks, doth love in God-like fashion. So shall it be as my lady
+hath said."
+
+Then Giles arose, and wiping off his tears strove to speak his thanks
+but choked upon a sob instead, and turning, hasted down the turret
+stair.
+
+Now presently within the city Sir Benedict's trumpets Hew, and looking
+from the battlement Beltane beheld Sir Hacon mustering their stout
+company, knights and men-at-arms, what time Roger and Walkyn and Ulf
+ordered what remained of their pikemen and archers.
+
+"Beloved!" sighed Beltane, drawing his Duchess within his arm, "see
+yonder, 'tis horse and saddle--soon must I leave thee again."
+
+Now did she sigh amain, and cling to him and droop her lovely head, yet
+when she spake her words were brave:
+
+"My Beltane, this love of mine is such that I would not have thee fail
+in duty e'en though this my heart should break--but ah! husband, stay
+yet a little longer, I--I have been a something lonely wife hitherto,
+and I--do hate loneliness, Beltane--" A mailed foot sounded upon the
+stone stair and, turning about, they beheld a knight in resplendent
+armour, blazoned shield slung before.
+
+"Greeting to thee, my lord Duke of Mortain, and to thy lovely lady
+wife," spake a cheery voice, and the speaker, lifting his vizor,
+behold! it was Sir Benedict. "I go in mine own armour to-day, Beltane,
+that haply thy noble father shall know me in the press. Ha, see where
+he ordereth his line, 'twas ever so his custom, I mind me--in four
+columns with archers betwixt. Mark me now lad, I have brought thee here
+a helm graced with these foolish feathers as is the new fashion--white
+feathers, see you--that my lady's sweet eyes may follow thee in the
+affray."
+
+"For that, dear Benedict," cried she, "for that shalt kiss me, so off
+with thy great helm!" Forthwith Sir Benedict did off his casque, and
+stooping, kissed her full-lipped, and meeting Beltane's eye, flushed
+and laughed and was solemn all in a moment.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, dear lad," quoth he, "I envy thee and grieve for thee! To
+possess such a maid to wife--and to leave her--so soon! May God bring
+thee safe again to her white arms. Ah, youth is very sweet, lad, and
+love--true love is youth's fair paradise and--body o' me, there sound
+our tuckets! See where Ivo formeth his main battle--and yonder he
+posteth a goodly company to shut us up within the city. So must we wait
+a while until the battle joins--thy noble father is wondrous wise in
+war--O verily he hath seen, behold how he altereth his array! O wise
+Beltane!"
+
+Now Duke Ivo threw out a screen of archers and horsemen to harass the
+powers of Mortain what time he formed his battle in three great
+companies, a deep and formidable array of knights and men-at-arms whose
+tall lances rose, a very forest, with pennons and banderols a-flutter
+in the gentle wind of morning. Far on the left showed the banner of
+his marshal Sir Bors; above his right battle flew the Raven banner of
+Sir Pertolepe the Red, and above his main battle rose his own standard--
+a black lion on a red field. So mustered he his powers of Pentavalon,
+gay with stir of pennons and rich trappings; the sun flashed back from
+ponderous casques and bascinets innumerable and flamed on blazoned
+shields. And beholding their might and confident bearing, Beltane
+clenched nervous hands and his mouth grew hard and grim, so turned he
+from this formidable host to where, just beyond the woods, his father's
+banner flew beside the leopards of Mortain. Conspicuous upon his white
+charger he beheld Duke Beltane, a proud and warlike figure, who sat his
+stamping war-horse deep in converse with Sir Jocelyn, while behind were
+the dense ranks of Mortain. Suddenly, Sir Jocelyn wheeled his charger
+and galloped along Mortain's front, his rich armour glittering, until
+he halted at the head of that knightly company posted upon the left.
+
+Meantime, Black Ivo's archers advancing, fell into arrow formation and
+began to ply the Mortain ranks with clouds of shafts and bolts 'neath
+which divers men and horses fell--what time Black Ivo's massed columns
+moved slowly forward to the attack--yet Duke Beltane, sitting among his
+knights, stirred not, and the army of Mortain abode very silent and
+still. But of a sudden Duke Beltane wheeled his horse, his sword
+flashed on high, whereat trumpets brayed and on the instant Sir Jocelyn
+wheeled off to the left, he and all his company, and gathering speed
+began to skirt Duke Ivo's advanced pikemen and archers, and so rode
+down upon those men of Pentavalon who were drawn up against Belsaye.
+Hereupon Black Ivo would have launched a counter-charge to check Sir
+Jocelyn's attack, but his advanced lines of cross-bowmen and archers
+hampered him. Once again Duke Beltane's sword flashed up, the first
+line of Mortain's great array leapt forward and with levelled lances
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's ranks, scattering and trampling down
+his archers; but as they checked before the serried pikes behind, forth
+galloped Duke Beltane's second line and after this a third--
+o'erwhelming Ivo's pikemen by their numbers, and bursting over and
+through their torn ranks, reformed, and, spurring hard, met Ivo's rank
+with crashing shock in full career. And, behind this raging battle,
+Duke Beltane rode at the head of his reserves, keen-eyed and watchful,
+what time Sir Jocelyn was hotly engaged upon the left, nigh unto the
+town itself.
+
+"Ah, Beltane!" sighed the Duchess, shivering and covering her face--
+"'tis horrible, horrible--see how they fall!"
+
+"Nay, my brave Fidelis, heed rather how valiant Sir Jocelyn and his
+knights drive in their advanced lines--ha! Benedict, see how he breaks
+their array--an he can but turn their flank--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--yonder cometh the Raven banner where Pertolepe spurreth
+in support--"
+
+"Aye, but yonder doth my father launch yet another charge--ha!
+Benedict, let us out and aid them--the way lieth open beyond the
+drawbridge an we can but turn Ivo's flank!" quoth Beltane looking ever
+upon the battle, "O, methinks the time is now, Benedict!"
+
+With Helen's soft hand a-tremble in his, Beltane hasted down from the
+tower and Sir Benedict followed, until they were come to the square
+where, amid the joyful acclaim of the populace, their small and hardy
+following were drawn up; and, as they came, from townsfolk and soldiery
+a shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+"My lord Duke of Mortain," quoth Sir Benedict, "I and thy company do
+wait thee to lead us."
+
+But Beltane smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Not so, my lord of Bourne, thou art so cunning in war and hast led us
+so valiantly and well--shalt lead us to this battle, the which I pray
+God shall be our last! As for me, this day will I march with the
+foresters--so mount, my lord."
+
+Hereupon, from foresters, from knights and men-at-arms another shout
+arose what time Sir Benedict, having knelt to kiss the Duchess Helen's
+white hand, found it woefully a-tremble.
+
+"Alas, my lady Helen," said he, "methinks thine is the harder part this
+day. God strengthen thy wifely heart, for God, methinks, shall yet
+bring him to thine embrace!" So saying, Sir Benedict mounted and rode
+to the head of his lances, where flew his banner. "Unbar the gates!" he
+cried. And presently the great gates of Belsaye town swung wide, the
+portcullis clanked up, the drawbridge fell, and thus afar off they
+beheld where, 'mid swirling dust-cloud the battle raged fierce and
+fell.
+
+And behold a sorry wight who hobbled toward them on a crutch, so begirt
+and bandaged that little was to see of him but bright eyes.
+
+"O Sir Hacon!" cried the Duchess, "did I not bid thee to thy bed?"
+
+"Why truly, dear my lady, but since I may not go forth myself, fain
+would I see my good comrades ride into the battle--faith, methinks I
+might yet couch a lance but for fear of this thy noble lady, my lord
+Beltane--aye me, this shall be a dismal day for me, methinks!"
+
+"Nay, then I will keep thee company, good Sir Hacon!" smiled the
+Duchess a little tremulously, "shalt watch with me from the bartizan
+and tell me how the day goeth with us."
+
+And now Sir Benedict lifted aloft his lance, the trumpet sounded, and
+with ring and tramp he with his six hundred knights and men-at-arms
+rode forth of the market-square, clattering through the narrow street,
+thundering over the drawbridge, and, forming in the open, spurred away
+into the battle.
+
+Then Beltane sighed, and kneeling, kissed his lady's white hands:
+
+"Beloved," spake he low-voiced, "e'en now must I go from thee, but
+howsoever fortune tend--thine am I through life--aye, and beyond."
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'twixt quivering lips, "O loved Beltane, take
+heed to thy dear body, cover thee well with thy shield since thy hurts
+are my hurts henceforth and with thee thou dost bear my heart--O risk
+not my heart to death without good cause!" So she bent and kissed him
+on the brow: but when he would have risen, stayed him. "Wait, my lord!"
+she whispered and turning, beckoned to one behind her, and lo! Genevra
+came forward bearing a blue banner.
+
+"My lord," said the Duchess, "behold here thy banner that we have
+wrought for thee, Genevra and I."
+
+So saying, she took the banner and gave it into Beltane's mailed hand.
+But as he arose, and while pale-cheeked Genevra, hands clasped upon
+the green scarf at her bosom, looked wet-eyed where the archers stood
+ranked, forth stepped Giles and spake quick and eager.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "to-day methinks will be more hard smiting than chance
+for good archery, wherefore I do pray let me bear thy standard in the
+fight--ne'er shall foeman touch it whiles that I do live--lord, I pray
+thee!"
+
+"Be it so, Giles!" So Giles took the banner whiles Beltane fitted on
+his great, plumed helm; thereafter comes Roger with his shield and Ulf
+leading his charger whereon he mounted forthwith, and wheeling, put
+himself at the head of his pikemen and archers, with Roger and Ulf
+mounted on either flank and Giles bestriding another horse behind.
+
+Yet now needs must he turn to look his last upon the Duchess standing
+forlorn, and beholding the tender passion of her tearless eyes he
+yearned mightily to kiss them, and sighed full deep, then, giving the
+word, rode out and away, the blue standard a-dance upon the breeze; but
+his heart sank to hear the clash and clang of gate and portcullis,
+shutting away from him her that was more to him than life itself.
+
+Now when they had gone some way needs must he look back at Belsaye, its
+battered walls, its mighty towers; and high upon the bartizan he beheld
+two figures, the one be-swathed in many bandages, and one he knew who
+prayed for him, even then; and all at once wall and towers and distant
+figures swam in a mist of tears wherefore he closed his bascinet, yet
+not before Giles had seen--Giles, whose merry face was grim now and
+hard-set, and from whose bright bascinet a green veil floated.
+
+"Lord," said he, blinking bright eyes, "we have fought well ere now,
+but to-day methinks we shall fight as ne'er we fought in all our days."
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "verily, Giles, methinks we shall!"
+
+Thus saying, he turned and looked upon the rolling battle-dust and
+settling his feet within the stirrups, clenched iron fingers upon his
+long sword.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIX
+
+HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+
+All day long the din and thunder of battle had roared upon the plain;
+all day the Duchess Helen with Sir Hacon at her side had watched the
+eddying dust-clouds rolling now this way, now that, straining anxious
+eyes to catch the gleam of a white plume or the flutter of the blue
+banner amid that dark confusion. And oft she heard Sir Hacon mutter
+oaths half-stifled, and oft Sir Hacon had heard snatches of her
+breathless prayers as the tide of battle swung to and fro, a desperate
+fray whence distant shouts and cries mingled in awful din. But now, as
+the sun grew low, the close-locked fray began to roll southwards fast
+and ever faster, a mighty storm of eddying dust wherein armour gleamed
+and steel glimmered back and forth, as Duke Ivo and his proud array
+fell back and back on their last stronghold of Pentavalon City.
+Whereupon Sir Hacon, upon the bartizan, cursed no more, but forgetful
+of his many wounds, waxed jubilant instead.
+
+"Now, by Holy Rood!" he cried, "see, lady--they break--they break!
+'Twas that last flanking onset! None but Beltane the Strong could have
+marshalled that last charge--drawing on Black Ivo to attempt his
+centre, see you, and crushing in his flanks--so needs must their main
+battle fall back or meet attack on two sides! Oho, a wondrous crafty
+leader is Duke Beltane the Strong! See--ha, see now how fast he driveth
+them--and southward--southward on Pentavalon town!"
+
+"So do I thank God, but see how many--O how many do lie fallen by the
+way!"
+
+"Why, in battle, most gentle lady, in battle men must needs fall or
+wherefore should battles be? Much have I seen of wars, lady, but ne'er
+saw eyes sterner fray than this--"
+
+"And I pray God," spake the Duchess, shivering, "these eyes may ne'er
+look upon another! O 'tis hateful sight--see--look yonder!" and she
+pointed where from the awful battle-wrack reeled men faint with wounds
+while others dragged themselves painfully across the trampled ground.
+
+"Why, 'twas a bloody business!" quoth the knight, shaking his bandaged
+head.
+
+"Sir Hacon," said the Duchess, frowning and pale, "I pray you summon me
+the Reeve, yonder." And when the Reeve was come, she spake him very
+soft and sweet:
+
+"Messire, I pray you let us out and aid the poor, stricken souls
+yonder."
+
+"But lady, the battle is not yet won--to open our gates were unwise,
+methinks."
+
+"Good Reeve, one died but lately whom all men loved, but dying, Friar
+Martin spake these words--'I see Belsaye rich and happy, her gates ever
+open to the woeful and distressed.' Come, ope the gates and let us out
+to cherish these afflicted."
+
+Thus presently forth from Belsaye rode the Duchess Helen, with Sir
+Hacon beside her and many of the townsfolk, hasting pale-cheeked and
+trembling to minister unto the hurt and dying, and many there were that
+day who sighed out their lives in blessings on her head.
+
+But meantime the battle roared, fierce and furious as ever, where Black
+Ivo's stubborn ranks, beset now on three sides, gave back sullenly,
+fighting step by step.
+
+And amid the blood and dust, in the forefront of that raging tumult, a
+torn and tattered blue banner rocked and swayed, where Beltane with
+Giles at his right hand led on his grim foresters, their ranks woefully
+thinned and with never a horse among them. But Roger was there, his
+face besmeared with blood that oozed 'neath his dinted bascinet, and
+Ulf was there, foul with slaughter, and there was Walkyn fierce and
+grim, while side by side amid the trampling pikemen behind, Jenkyn and
+Tall Orson fought. And presently to Beltane came Walkyn, pointing
+eagerly to their left.
+
+"Master," he cried, "yonder flaunteth Pertolepe's banner, beseech thee
+let us make thitherward--"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, stooping 'neath the swing of a gisarm, "O
+forget thy selfish vengeance, man, and smite but for Pentavalon this
+day--her foes be many enow, God wot! Ho!" he roared, "they yield! they
+yield! Close up pikes--in, in--follow me!" Forward leapt he with Roger
+beside him and the blue banner close behind, and forward leapt those
+hardy foresters where the enemy's reeling line strove desperately to
+stand and re-form. So waxed the fight closer, fiercer; griping hands
+fumbled at mailed throats and men, locked in desperate grapple, fell
+and were lost 'neath the press; but forward went the tattered banner,
+on and on until, checking, it reeled dizzily, dipped, swayed and
+vanished; but Roger had seen and sprang in with darting point.
+
+"Up, man," he panted, covering the prostrate archer with his shield,
+"up, Giles, an ye can--we're close beset--"
+
+"But we be here, look'ee Roger--'tis we, look'ee!" cried a voice
+behind.
+
+"Aye, it do be us!" roared another voice, and Roger's assailants were
+borne back by a line of vicious-thrusting pikes.
+
+"Art hurt, Giles?"
+
+"Nay," quoth the archer, getting to unsteady legs, "but they've spoiled
+me Genevra's veil, methinks--and our flag is something smirched, but,
+as for me, I'll sing ye many a song yet!"
+
+"Then here's twice I've saved thee, Giles, so art two accursed notches
+from my--"
+
+A mace beat Roger to his knees, but, ere his assailant could strike
+again, Giles's broadsword rose and fell.
+
+"So are we quits, good Roger!" he cried, "Ha, see--they break! On,
+pikes, on! Bows and bills, sa-ha!"
+
+Up rose the dust, forward swept the battle as Black Ivo's hosts gave
+back before the might of Mortain; forward the blue banner reeled and
+staggered where fought Beltane fierce and untiring, his long shield
+hacked and dinted, his white plumes shorn away, while ever his hardy
+foresters smote and thrust on flank and rear. Twice Black Roger fell
+and twice Giles leapt 'twixt him and death, and perceiving his haggard
+eyes and the pallor of his grimed and bloody cheek, roared at him in
+fierce anxiety:
+
+"Fall out, Roger, fall out and rest ye, man!"
+
+"Not whiles I can stand, archer!"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger."
+
+"Belike I am, Giles--"
+
+"And therefore do I love thee, Rogerkin! Ha, bear up man, yonder is
+water--a muddy brook--"
+
+"O blessed Saint Cuthbert!" panted Roger.
+
+Now before them was a water-brook and beyond this brook Black Ivo's
+harassed columns made a fierce and desperate rally what time they
+strove to re-form their hard-pressed ranks; but from Duke Beltane's
+midmost battle the trumpets brayed fierce and loud, whereat from a
+thousand parched throats a hoarse cry rose, and chivalry and foot, the
+men of Mortain charged with levelled lance, with goring pike, with
+whirling axe and sword, and over and through and beyond the brook the
+battle raged, sweeping ever southwards.
+
+Presently before them the ground sloped sharply down, and while Beltane
+shouted warning to those behind, his voice was drowned in sudden
+trumpet-blast, and glancing to his left, he beheld at last all those
+knights and men-at-arms who had ridden with his father in their reserve
+all day--a glittering column, rank on rank, at whose head, his sable
+armour agleam, his great, white charger leaping 'neath the spur, Duke
+Beltane rode. Swift and sure the column wheeled and with lances couched
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's reeling flank.
+
+A crash, a sudden roaring clamour, and where had marched Black Ivo's
+reserve of archers and pikemen was nought but a scattered rout. But on
+rode Duke Beltane, his lion banner a-flutter, in and through the
+enemy's staggering columns, and ever as he charged thus upon their
+left, so charged Sir Jocelyn upon their right. Then Beltane leaned him
+on his sword, and looking down upon the battle, bowed his head.
+
+"Now praise be to God and his holy saints!" quoth he, "yonder is
+victory at last!"
+
+"Aye, master," said Roger hoarsely, "and yonder as the dust clears you
+shall see the walls and towers of Pentavalon City!"
+
+"And lord--lord," cried Walkyn, "yonder--in their rear--you shall see
+Red Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner! Why tarry we here, lord? See,
+their ranks break everywhere--'twill be hot-foot now for the city
+gates--ha, let us on, master!"
+
+"Aye, verily," quoth Beltane, looking westward, "it groweth to sunset
+and the city is yet to storm. To your ranks, there--forward!"
+
+Now as they advanced, Beltane beheld at last where, high above
+embattled walls and towers, rose Pentavalon's mighty keep wherein he
+had been born; and, remembering his proud and gentle mother, he drooped
+his head and grieved; and bethinking him of his proud and gentle Helen,
+he took fresh grip upon his sword, and lengthening his stride, looked
+where Black Ivo's broken columns, weary with battle, grim with blood
+and wounds, already began to ride 'neath the city's frowning gateway,
+while hard upon their straggling rearguard Duke Beltane's lion banner
+fluttered. A desperate hewing and thrusting in the narrow gateway, and
+Black Ivo's shattered following were driven in and the narrow streets
+and alleys of the town full of battle and slaughter. Street by street
+the town was won until before them loomed the mighty keep of
+Pentavalon's ducal stronghold. Outer and inner bailey were stormed and
+so at last came they, a desperate, close-fighting company, into the
+great tilt-yard before the castle.
+
+Now of a sudden a shout went up and thereafter was a great quiet--a
+silence wherein friend and foe, panting and weary, stood alike at gaze.
+And amid this expectant hush the two Dukes of Pentavalon fronted each
+other. No word said they, but, while all eyes watched them, each took
+lance and riding to the extremity of the courtyard, wheeled, and
+couching their lances, spurred fiercely against each other. And now men
+held their breath to behold these two great knights, who, crouched low
+in their saddles, met midway in full career with crash and splintering
+shock of desperate onset. Duke Beltane reeled in his stirrups,
+recovered, and leaning forward stared down upon his enemy, who,
+prostrate on his back, slowly lifted gauntleted hand that, falling
+weakly, clashed upon the stones--a small sound, yet plain to be heard
+by reason of that breathless hush.
+
+Slow and stiffly Duke Beltane dismounted, and reeling in his gait, came
+and knelt beside Black Ivo and loosed off his riven helm. Thereafter,
+slow and painfully, he arose, and looking round upon all men, spake
+faint-voiced.
+
+"God--hath judged--betwixt us this day!" said he, "and to-day--
+methinks--He doth summon me--to judgment--" Even as he spake he lifted
+his hands, struggling with the lacing of his helmet, staggered, and
+would have fallen, wherefore Beltane sprang forward. Yet one there was
+quicker than he, one whose goodly armour, smirched and battered, yet
+showed the blazon of Bourne.
+
+"Benedict!" quoth Duke Beltane feebly, "faithful wert thou to the last!
+O Benedict, where is my noble son!"
+
+"Father!" cried Beltane, "thou hast this day won Pentavalon from her
+shame and misery!" But the Duke lay very still in their arms and spake
+no word.
+
+So, when they had uncovered his white head, they bore him tenderly into
+the great banqueting hall and laid him on goodly couch and cherished
+him with water and wine, wherefore, in a while, he opened swooning
+eyes.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered, "dear and noble son--thy manhood--hath belike
+won thy father's soul to God's mercy. So do I leave thee to cherish all
+those that--have known wrong and woe--by reason of my selfish life!
+Dear son, bury me with thy--noble mother, but let me lie--at her feet,
+Beltane. O had I been less selfish--in my sorrow! But God is merciful!
+Benedict--kiss me--and thou, my Beltane--God calleth me--to rest. _In
+manus tuas--Domine!_" Then Duke Beltane, that had been the Hermit
+Ambrose, clasped his mailed hands and smiling wondrous glad and tender,
+yielded his soul to God.
+
+In a while Beltane came forth into the courtyard and beheld Sir Jocelyn
+mustering their knightly prisoners in the ward below, for, with Black
+Ivo's death, all resistance was ended. And now the trumpets blared,
+rallying their various companies, but Beltane abode very full of
+sorrowful thoughts. To him presently cometh Giles yet grasping the blue
+standard befouled with dust and blood, the which he laid reverently at
+Beltane's feet.
+
+"Lord," said he, "my trust is ended. See, yonder standeth our company
+of foresters!" and he pointed where a single rank of grimed and weary
+men lay upon the hard flag-stones or leaned on their battered weapons.
+
+"Giles--O Giles, is this all?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we muster but seventy and one all told, and of these Tall
+Orson lieth dead yonder in Jenkyn's arms, and Roger--poor Roger is
+a-dying, methinks--and Ulf and Walkyn are not."
+
+But even as he spake he turned and started, for, from the ward below a
+hunting horn brayed feebly.
+
+"'Tis our forester's rally, master!" quoth he, "and see--Jesu, what men
+are these?" For into the courtyard, followed by many who gaped and
+stared in wonderment, six men staggered, men hideously stained and
+besplashed from head to foot, and foremost came two. And Walkyn was one
+and Ulf the Strong the other.
+
+Now as he came Walkyn stared in strange, wild fashion, and choked often
+in his breathing, and his mailed feet dragged feebly, insomuch that he
+would have fallen but for Ulf's mighty arm. Being come where Beltane
+stood with Sir Benedict and many other wondering knights and nobles,
+Walkyn halted and strove to speak but choked again instead. In one hand
+bare he his great axe, and in the other a torn and stained war-cloak.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in sobbing breaths, "a good day for thee--this--lord
+Duke--a good day for Pentavalon--a joyous day--blessed day for me--
+You'll mind they slew mother and father and sister, lord--brother and
+wife and child? Empty-hearted was I and desolate therefore, but--to-day,
+ha, to-day I die also, methinks. So, an ye will, lord Duke--keep
+thou mine axe in memory--of Walkyn--'tis a goodly axe--hath served me
+well today--behold!"
+
+Now as he spake he loosed a corner of the war-cloak, and from its
+grimed and ghastly folds there rolled forth into the red light of the
+cleanly sun a thing that trundled softly across the pavement and
+stopping, shewed a pallid face crowned with red hair, 'neath which upon
+the brow, betwixt the staring eyes, was a jagged scar like to a cross.
+
+Now while all men stared upon this direful thing, holding their
+breaths, Walkyn laughed loud and high, and breaking from Ulf's clasp,
+staggered to where it lay and pointed thereto with shaking finger.
+
+"Behold!" he cried, "behold the head of Bloody Pertolepe!" Therewith he
+laughed, and strove to kick it with feeble foot--but staggered instead,
+and, loosing his axe, stretched wide his long arms and fell, face
+downward.
+
+"Bloody Pertolepe--is dead!" he cried, and choked; and choking--died.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXX
+
+WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+It was not the piping of throstle or sweet-throated merle that had
+waked my Beltane, who with slumberous eyes stared up at carven canopy,
+round him upon rich arras, and down upon embroidered bed-covering and
+silken pillow, while through the narrow lattice the young sun played
+upon gilded roof-beam and polished floor. So lay Beltane, blinking
+sleepy eyes and hearkening to a soft and melodious whistling from the
+little garden below his casement.
+
+Being thus heavy with sleep, he wondered drowsily what great content
+was this that filled him, and wherefore? Wondering yet, he sighed, and
+because of the sun's radiance, closed slumberous eyes again and would
+have slept; but, of a sudden the whistling ceased, and a rich, sweet
+voice fell to gentle singing.
+
+  "Hark! in the whisper of the wind
+   Love calleth thee away,
+   Each leaf a small, soft voice doth find,
+   Each pretty bird doth cry in kind,
+   O heart, haste north to-day."
+
+Beltane sat up broad awake, for Blaen lay to the north, and in Blaen--
+But Giles was singing on:
+
+  "Youth is quick to speed away,
+   But love abideth ever.
+   Fortune, though she smile to-day,
+   Fickle is and will not stay,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+
+  "The world doth change, as change it must,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+   Proud ambition is but dust,
+   The bow doth break, the sword doth rust,
+   But love abideth ever."
+
+Beltane was leaning half out of the casement, of the which fact who so
+unconscious as Giles, busily furbishing armour and bascinet.
+
+"Giles!" he cried, "O Giles--rouse ye, man!"
+
+"How, lord--art awake so early?" questioned Giles, looking up innocent
+of eye.
+
+"Was it not for this thou didst sing, rogue Giles? Go now, bid Roger
+have three horses saddled, for within the hour we ride hence."
+
+"To Mortain, lord?" questioned Giles eagerly.
+
+"Aye, Giles, to Mortain--north to Blaen; where else should we ride
+to-day?"
+
+So saying, Beltane turned back into his sumptuous chamber and fell to
+donning, not his habiliments of state, but those well-worn garments,
+all frayed by his heavy mail. Swift dressed he and almost stealthily,
+oft pausing to glance into the empty garden below, and oft staying to
+listen to some sound within the massy building. And thus it was he
+started to hear a soft knocking at the door, and turning, beheld Sir
+Benedict.
+
+"Forsooth, art up betimes, my lord Duke," quoth he, bright eyes
+a-twinkle, "and verily I do commend this so great zeal in thee since
+there be many and divers matters do need thy ducal attention--matters
+of state and moment--"
+
+"Matters of state?" saith Beltane, something troubled.
+
+"There be many noble and illustrious lords come in to pay thee homage
+and swear to thee divers fealty oaths--"
+
+"Then must they wait, Benedict."
+
+"Wait, my lord--men so illustrious! Then this day a deputation waiteth
+on thee, merchants and what not--"
+
+"These must wait also, Benedict--" saith Beltane, his trouble growing.
+
+"Moreover there is high festival at the minster with much chanting and
+glorification in thy behalf--and 'tis intended to make for thee a
+triumphal pageant--fair maidens to strow flowers beneath thy horse's
+feet, musicians to pleasure thee with pipe and tabor--and--"
+
+"Enough, enough, Benedict. Prithee why must I needs endure this?"
+
+"Such things do wait upon success, Beltane, and moreover thou'rt Duke!
+Aye, verily thou'rt Duke! The which mindeth me that, being Duke, it
+behoveth thee--"
+
+"And yet, Benedict, I do tell thee that all things must wait awhile,
+methinks, or better--do you attend them for me--"
+
+"Nay--I am no Duke!" quoth Sir Benedict hastily.
+
+"Yet thou art my chiefest counsellor and lord Seneschal of Pentavalon.
+So to thy wise judgment I do entrust all matters soever--"
+
+"But I have no warranty, thou cunning boy, and--"
+
+"Shalt have my bond, my ducal ring, nay, the very crown itself, howbeit
+this day--"
+
+"Wilt ride for Mortain, O lover?" said Sir Benedict, smiling his wry
+smile.
+
+"Aye, verily, dear Benedict, nor shall aught under heaven let or stay
+me--yet how knew ye this, Benedict?"
+
+"For that 'tis so my heart would have prompted had I been so blessed as
+thou art, dear my Beltane. And knowing thou needs must to thy beauteous
+Helen, I have a meal prepared within my chamber, come your ways and let
+us eat together."
+
+So came they to a handsome chamber hard by where was spread a goodly
+repast whereto they did full justice, though talking much the while,
+until one tapped lightly upon the door, and Roger entered bearing
+Beltane's new-burnished mail.
+
+"Nay, good Roger," said Beltane, smiling, "need for that is done
+methinks; we ride light to-day!" But Sir Benedict shook wise head.
+
+"My lord 'tis true our wars be ended I thank God, and we may sheathe
+our swords at last, but the woods be full of Black Ivo's scattered
+soldiery, with outlaws and other masterless men."
+
+"Ha, verily, lords," quoth Roger, "there shall many turn outlaw,
+methinks--"
+
+"Then must we end outlawry!" said Beltane, frowning.
+
+"And how would'st do it, Beltane?"
+
+"Make an end of the game laws, Benedict--throw wide the forests to all
+who will--"
+
+"But master, thus shall every clapper-claw rogue be free to kill for
+his base sport thy goodly deer, or belike a hart of ten, fit for sport
+of kings--"
+
+"Well, let them in this thing be kings. But I do hold a man's life
+dearer than a stag's. So henceforth in Pentavalon the woods are free--I
+pray you let this be proclaimed forthwith, my lord."
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict, as with Roger's aid Beltane did on his armour:
+
+"There is a postern beyond the pleasaunce yonder shall bring you forth
+of the city and no man the wiser."
+
+"Why, then, bring ye the horses thither, Roger, and haste ye!"
+
+Now when Roger was gone, Sir Benedict arose and setting his hands on
+Beltane's shoulders questioned him full serious:
+
+"Mean ye forsooth to make the forests free, Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict."
+
+"This shall cause much discontent among the lords--"
+
+"Well, we wear swords, Benedict! But this I swear, whiles I am Duke,
+never again shall a man hang for killing of my deer. Moreover, 'tis my
+intent forthwith to lower all taxes, more especially in the market
+towns, to extend their charters and grant them new privileges."
+
+"Beltane, I fear thy years shall be full of discord."
+
+"What matter, an my people prosper? But thou art older and much wiser
+than I, Benedict, bethink thee of these things then, I pray, and judge
+how best such changes may be 'stablished, for a week hence, God
+willing, I summon my first council. But now, dear Benedict, I go to
+find my happiness."
+
+"Farewell, my lord--God speed thee, my Beltane! O lad, lad, the heart
+of Benedict goeth with thee, methinks!" and Sir Benedict turned
+suddenly away. Then Beltane took and clasped those strong and able
+hands.
+
+"Benedict," said he, "truer friend man never had than thou, and for
+this I do love thee--and thou art wise and valiant and great-hearted,
+and thou didst love my noble mother with a noble love, and for this do
+I love thee best of all, dear friend."
+
+Then Benedict lifted his head, and like father and son they kissed each
+other, and together went forth into the sweet, cool-breathing morn.
+
+Beyond the postern were Giles and Black Roger with the horses, and
+Giles sang blithe beneath his breath, but Roger sighed oft and deep.
+
+Now being mounted, Beltane reined close beside Sir Benedict and smiled
+full joyous and spake him thus, low-voiced:
+
+"Dear Benedict, to-day one that loveth thee doth ride away, but in a
+week two that love thee shall return. And needs must these two love
+thee ever and always, very greatly, Benedict, since but for thee they
+had not come to their joy." So saying, he touched spur to flank and
+bounded away, with Giles and Roger spurring behind.
+
+Soon were they free of the city and reaching that rolling down where
+the battle had raged so lately, Beltane set his horse to a stretching
+gallop, and away they raced, over upland and lowland until they beheld
+afar to their right the walls and towers of Belsaye. But on they rode
+toward the green of the woods, and ever as they rode Giles sang full
+blithely to himself whiles Roger gloomed and sighed; wherefore at last
+the archer turned to clap him on the shoulder.
+
+"What aileth thee, my Rogerkin?" quoth he.
+
+"Ha," growled Roger, "the world waggeth well with thee, Giles, these
+days, but as for me--poor Roger lacketh. Saint Cuthbert knoweth I have
+striven and likewise plagued him sore upon the matter, and yet my
+belt--my accursed belt yet beareth a notch--behold!"
+
+"Why, 'tis but a single notch, Roger."
+
+"Yet a notch it is, forsooth, and how shall my heart go light and my
+soul clean until I have a belt with notches not one?"
+
+"Belike thou hast forgot some of the lives thou didst save, Roger--mine
+thou didst save four times within the battle, I mind me--"
+
+"Nay, 'twas but twice, Giles."
+
+"Why, then 'twas thrice, Roger--the banner hampered me and--"
+
+"'Twas but twice, alack!" sighed Roger, "Saint Cuthbert knoweth 'twas
+but twice and being a very watchful saint may not be cheated, Giles."
+
+"Why then, Roger, do ye beset him in prayer, so, while thou dost hold
+him in play thus, I will snick away thy solitary notch so sweetly he
+shall never know--"
+
+"Alack, 'twill not avail, Giles. I must needs bear this notch with me
+unto the grave, belike."
+
+"Nay, Roger, I will to artifice and subtle stratagem on thy behalf as--
+mark me! I do know a pool beside the way! Now if I slip within the pool
+and thou should'st pull me from the pool--how then? Ha--'tis well
+bethought, let's do't!"
+
+"Were it any but Saint Cuthbert!" sighed Roger, "but I do thank thee
+for thy kindly thought, Giles."
+
+Now after this went they some way in silence, Beltane riding ahead very
+full of thought, and his companions behind, the one smiling and
+debonair, the other frowning and sad.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Giles at last, "as thou sayest, Roger, the world
+waggeth well with me. Hast heard, belike, our lady Duchess hath been
+pleased to--"
+
+"Aye, I've heard, my lord Bailiff--who hath not?"
+
+"Nay, I did but mention it to two or three," quoth Giles. "Moreover our
+lord doth smile on me these days, though forsooth he hath been familiar
+with me since first I found him within the green--long ere he found
+thee, Rogerkin! I rode a white ass, I mind me, and my lord walked
+beside me very fair and soft-spoken, whereupon I called him--Sir Dove!
+O me--a dove, mark you! Since when, as ye know, we have been comrades,
+he and I, nay, brothers-in-arms, rather! Very close in his counsels!--
+very near to all his thoughts and actions. All of the which cometh of
+possessing a tongue as ready as my wit, Rogerkin!"
+
+Now as he hearkened, Roger's frown grew blacker and his powerful hand
+clenched upon the bridle.
+
+"And yet," quoth Giles, "as I am in my lord's dear friendship, so art
+thou in mine, Roger, man, nor in my vaulting fortunes will I e'er
+forget thee. Belike within Mortain shalt aid me in my new duties, or
+shall I speak my lord on thy behalf?"
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger suddenly, "first tell me this, my lord Steward and
+high Bailiff of Mortain, did the Duke my master chance ever to take thy
+hand, to wet it with his tears and--kiss it?"
+
+"Art mad, Roger! Wherefore should my lord do this?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "wherefore?"
+
+And when Giles had whistled awhile and Roger had scowled awhile, the
+archer spake again:
+
+"Hast never been in love, Roger?"
+
+"Never, Saint Cuthbert be praised!"
+
+"Then canst know nought of the joy and wonder of it. So will I make for
+thee a song of love, as thus: open thine ears and hearken:
+
+  "So fair, so sweet, so pure is she
+   I do thank God;
+   Her love an armour is to me
+   'Gainst sorrow and adversity,
+   So in my song right joyfully
+   I do thank God for love.
+
+  "Her love a cloak is, round me cast,
+   I do thank God;
+   To cherish me 'gainst fortunes blast.
+   Her love, forgetting evils past,
+   Shall lift me up to heaven at last,
+   So I thank God for love."
+
+"Here is a fair song, methinks; dost not wonder at love now, Roger, and
+the glory of it?"
+
+"I wonder," quoth Roger, "how long thou shalt believe all this when
+thou art wed. I wonder how long thou wilt live true to her when she is
+thy wife!"
+
+Now hereupon the archer's comely face grew red, grew pale, his bronzed
+hands flew to his belt and leapt on high, gripping his dagger; but
+Roger had seen, his fingers closed on the descending wrist and they
+grappled, swaying in their saddles.
+
+Grim and silent they slipped to earth and strove together on the ling.
+But Roger had Giles in a cruel wrestling-hold, wrenched him, bent him,
+and bearing him to earth, wrested away the dagger and raised it above
+the archer's naked throat. And Giles, lying powerless beneath, looked
+up into Roger's fierce scowling face and seeing no pity there, his pale
+cheek grew paler and in his eyes came an agony of broken hopes; but his
+gaze quailed not and when he spake, his voice was firm.
+
+"Strike true, comrade!" said he.
+
+The hand above him wavered; the dagger was dashed aside and covering
+his face, Black Roger crouched there, his broad shoulders and powerful
+figure quaking and shivering. Then Giles arose and stepping to his
+dagger, came back with it grasped in his hand.
+
+"Roger!" said he.
+
+Quoth Roger, his face still hidden:
+
+"My throat is bare also, archer!"
+
+"Roger--comrade, give to me thy belt!"
+
+Now at this Roger looked up, wondering.
+
+"My belt?" quoth he, "what would ye, Giles?"
+
+"Cut away thy last notch, Roger--thy belt shall go smooth-edged
+henceforth and thy soul clean, methinks."
+
+"But I meant to slay thee, Giles."
+
+"But spared me, Roger, spared me to life and--love, my Rogerkin. O
+friend, give me thy belt!"
+
+So Roger gave him the belt, wherefrom Giles forthwith cut the last
+notch, which done, they together, like mischievous lads, turned to look
+where their lord rode far ahead; and beholding him all unconscious and
+lost in thought, they sighed their relief and mounting, went on
+together.
+
+Now did Roger oft glance at Giles who kept his face averted and held
+his peace, whereat Roger grew uneasy, fidgeted in his saddle, fumbled
+with the reins, and at last spake:
+
+"Giles!"
+
+"Aye, Roger!"
+
+"Forgive me!"
+
+But Giles neither turned nor spake, wherefore contrite Roger must needs
+set an arm about him and turn him about, and behold, the archer's eyes
+were brimming with great tears!
+
+"O Giles!" gasped Roger, "O Giles!"
+
+"Roger, I--I do love her, man--I do love her, heart and soul! Is this
+so hard to believe, Roger, or dost think me rogue so base that true
+love is beyond me? 'Tis true I am unworthy, and yet--I do verily love
+her, Roger!"
+
+"Wilt forgive me--can'st forgive me, Giles?"
+
+"Aye, Roger, for truly we have saved each other's lives so oft we must
+needs be friends, thou and I. Only thy words did--did hurt me, friend--
+for indeed this love of mine hath in it much of heaven, Roger. And--
+there be times when I do dream of mayhap--teaching--a little Giles--to
+loose a straight shaft--some day. O sweet Jesu, make me worthy, amen!"
+
+And now Beltane glancing up and finding the sun high, summoned Giles
+and Roger beside him.
+
+"Friends," said he, "we have journeyed farther than methought. Now let
+us turn into the boskage yonder and eat."
+
+So in a while, the horses tethered, behold them within a leafy bower
+eating and drinking and laughing like the blithe foresters they were,
+until, their hunger assuaged, they made ready to mount. But of a sudden
+the bushes parted near by and a man stepped forth; a small man he,
+plump and buxom, whose quick, bright eyes twinkled 'neath his wide-eaved
+hat as he saluted Beltane with obeisance very humble and lowly. Quoth he:
+
+"Right noble and most resplendent lord Duke Beltane, I do most humbly
+greet thee, I--Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, past Pardoner of the Holy See--who
+but a poor plain soul am, do offer thee my very insignificant, yet most
+sincere, felicitous good wishes."
+
+"My thanks are thine. Pardoner. What more would you?"
+
+"Breath, lord methinks," said Giles, "wind, my lord, after periods so
+profound and sonorous!"
+
+"Lord Duke, right puissant and most potential, I would but tell thee
+this, to wit, that I did keep faith with thee, that I, by means of this
+unworthy hand, did set thee beyond care, lift thee above sorrow, and
+gave to thee the heaven of thy most warm and earnest desires."
+
+"How mean you, Pardoner?"
+
+"Lord Duke, when thou didst bestow life on two poor rogues upon a time,
+when one rogue stole away minded to betray thee to thine enemy, the
+second rogue did steal upon the first rogue, and this second rogue bare
+a small knife whereof the first rogue suddenly died. And thus Duke Ivo,
+thine enemy, came not before Belsaye until thou and thy company were
+safe within its walls. So by reason of this poor second rogue,
+Pentavalon doth rejoice in freedom. To-day is singing on every village
+green--happiness is in the very air, for 'tis Pentavalon's Beltane, and
+Beltane is a sweet season; so doth this poor second rogue find him
+recompense. Verily art well named, lord Beltane, since in thee
+Pentavalon's winter is passed away and spring is come--O happy season
+of Beltane, O season of new beginnings and new hopes! So, my lord
+Beltane, may it ever be Beltane with thee, may it be sweet spring ever
+within thy noble heart. God keep thee and farewell."
+
+So saying the Pardoner turned about, and plunging into the dense green,
+was gone.
+
+"A pestilent wordy fellow, lord," quoth Giles, "one of your windy
+talkers that talketh that no other talker may talk--now give me a good
+listener, say I."
+
+"And yet," said Beltane, swinging to saddle, "spake he truly I wonder?
+Had Ivo been a little sooner we had not been here, methinks!"
+
+On they rode, through sun and shadow, knee and knee, beneath leafy
+arches and along green glades, talking and laughing together or plunged
+in happy thought.
+
+Quoth Beltane of a sudden:
+
+"Roger, hast heard how Giles waxeth in fortune these days?"
+
+"And methinks no man is more worthy, master. Giles is for sure a man of
+parts."
+
+"Aye--more especially of tongue, Roger."
+
+"As when he did curse the folk of Belsaye out o' their fears, master.
+Moreover he is a notable archer and--"
+
+"Art not envious, then, Roger?"
+
+"Not I, master!"
+
+"What would'st that I give unto thee?"
+
+"Thy love, master."
+
+"'Tis thine already, my faithful Roger."
+
+"And therewithal am I content, master."
+
+"Seek ye nought beside?"
+
+"Lord, what is there? Moreover I am not learned like Giles, nor ready
+of tongue, nor--"
+
+"Art wondrous skilled in wood-lore, my Rogerkin!" quoth Giles.
+"Forsooth, lord, there is no man knoweth more of forestry than my good
+comrade Roger!"
+
+"So will I make of him my chiefest huntsman, Giles--"
+
+"Master--O master!" gasped Roger.
+
+"And set thee over all my foresters of Pentavalon, Roger."
+
+"Why master, I--forsooth I do love the greenwood--but lord, I am only
+Roger, and--and how may I thank thee--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane, and spurred to a gallop.
+
+Thus rode they through the leafy by-ways, avoiding town and village;
+yet oft from afar they heard the joyous throb of bells upon the air, or
+the sound of merry voices and happy laughter from village commons where
+folk rejoiced together that Ivo's iron yoke was lifted from them at
+last. But Beltane kept ever to the woods and by-ways, lest, being
+recognised, he should be stayed longer from her of whom he dreamed,
+bethinking him ever of the deep, shy passion of her eyes, the soft
+tones of her voice, the clinging warmth of her caress, and all the
+sweet, warm beauty of her. Betimes they crossed the marches into
+Mortain, but it was late evening ere they saw at last the sleepy manor
+of Blaen, its white walls and steepy roofs dominated by its one square
+watch-tower, above which a standard, stirring lazily in the gentle
+air, discovered the red lion of Pentavalon.
+
+And now Beltane's breath grew short and thick, his strong hand trembled
+on the bridle, and he grew alternate hot and cold. So rode they into
+the echoing courtyard whither hasted old Godric to welcome them, and
+divers servants to take their horses. Being ushered forthwith into the
+garden, now who so silent and awkward as my Beltane, what time his lady
+Duchess made known to him her gentle ladies, among whom sweet Genevra,
+flushed of cheek, gazed breathless upon Giles even as Giles gazed upon
+her--who so mumchance as Beltane, I say, who saw and heard and was
+conscious only of one among them all. And who so stately, so
+calm-voiced and dignified as this one until--aye, until they stood alone
+together, and then--
+
+To see her sway to his fierce arms, all clinging, yearning womanhood,
+her state and dignity forgotten quite! To hear her voice soft and low
+and all a-thrill with love, broken with sighs and sinking to
+passionate-whispered questioning:
+
+"And thou art come back to me at last. Beltane! Hast brought to me my
+heart unharmed from the battle, beloved! And thou didst take no hurt--
+no hurt, my Beltane? And art glad to see--thy--wife, Beltane? And dost
+love me--as much as ever, Beltane? O wilt never, never leave me
+desolate again, my lord--art thou mine--mine henceforth as I am thine,
+Beltane? And wilt desire me ever near thee, my lord?"
+
+"Helen," said he, "O my 'Helen the Beautiful'--our wars be ended, our
+time of waiting is done, I thank God! So am I here to claim thee,
+beloved. Art glad to be in mine arms--glad I am come to--make thee mine
+own at last, Helen?"
+
+"I had died without thee, Beltane--I would not live without thee now,
+my Beltane. See, my lord, I--O how may I speak if thus you seal my
+lips, Beltane? And prithee how may I show thee this gown I wear for
+thee if thou wilt hold me so--so very close, Beltane?"
+
+And in a while as the moon rose she brought him into that bower he well
+remembered and bade him admire the beauty of her many flowers, and he,
+viewing her loveliness alway, praised the flowers exceeding much yet
+beheld them not at all, wherefore she chid him, and yet chiding,
+yielded him her scarlet mouth. Thus walked they in the fragrant garden
+until Genevra found them and sweet-voiced bid them in to sup. But the
+Duchess took Genevra's slender hands and looked within her shy, sweet
+eyes.
+
+"Art happy, sweet maid?" she questioned.
+
+"O dear my lady, methinks in all this big world is none more happy than
+thy grateful Genevra."
+
+"Then haste thee back to thy happiness, dear Genevra, to-morrow we will
+see thee wed."
+
+And presently came they within a small chamber and here Beltane did off
+his armour, and here they supped together, though now the lady Helen
+spake little and ate less, and oft her swift-flushing cheek rebuked the
+worshipping passion of his eyes; insomuch that presently she arose and
+going into the great chamber beyond, came back, and kneeling at his
+feet, showed him a file.
+
+"Beltane," said she, "thou didst, upon a time, tell poor Fidelis
+wherefore thy shameful fetters yet bound thy wrists--so now will thy
+wife loose them from thee."
+
+Then, while Beltane, speaking not, watched her downbent head and busy
+hands, she filed off his fetters one by one, and kissing them, set them
+aside.
+
+But when she would have risen he prevented her, and with reverent
+fingers touched the coiled and braided glory of her hair.
+
+"O Helen," he whispered, "loose me down thy hair."
+
+"Nay, dear Beltane--"
+
+"My hands are so big and clumsy--"
+
+"Thy hands are my hands!" and she caught and kissed them.
+
+"Let down for me thy hair, beloved, I pray thee!"
+
+"Forsooth my lord and so I will--but--not yet."
+
+"But the--the hour groweth late, Helen!"
+
+"Nay--indeed--'tis early yet, my lord--nay, as thou wilt, my Beltane,
+only suffer that I--I leave thee a while, I pray."
+
+"Must I bide here alone, sweet wife?"
+
+"But indeed I will--call thee anon, my lord."
+
+"Nay, first--look at me, my Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly she lifted her head and looked on him all sweet and
+languorous-eyed.
+
+"Aye, truly--truly thine eyes are not--a nun's eyes, Helen. So will I
+wait thy bidding." So he loosed her and she, looking on him no more,
+turned and hasted into the further chamber.
+
+And after some while she called to him very soft and sweet, and he,
+trembling, arose and entered the chamber, dim-lighted and fragrant.
+
+But now, beholding wherefore she had left him, his breath caught and he
+stood as one entranced, nor moved, nor spake he a while.
+
+"O Helen!" he murmured at last, "thou art glorious so--and with thy
+long hair--"
+
+But now, even as he came to her, the Duchess Helen put out the little
+silver lamp. But in the moonlit dusk she gave her lips to his, and her
+tender arms were close about him.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'neath his kiss, "dear my lord and husband,
+here is an end at last of sorrow and heart-break, I pray."
+
+"Here--my Helen, beginneth--the fulness of life, methinks!"
+
+Now presently upon the stillness, from the court below, stole the notes
+of a lute and therewith a rich voice upraised in singing:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss?
+   Tell me this, now tell me this.
+   'Tis when the day is scarce begun,
+   'Tis from the setting of the sun.
+   Is time for kissing ever done,
+   Tell me this, now tell me this."
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beltane The Smith, by Jeffery Farnol
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beltane The Smith, by Jeffery Farnol
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Beltane The Smith
+
+Author: Jeffery Farnol
+
+Release Date: November 12, 2003 [EBook #10064]
+[Date last updated: March 18, 2004]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELTANE THE SMITH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+BY
+
+
+JEFFERY FARNOL
+
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," ETC.
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+FREDERICK HUGHSON HAWLEY
+
+TO WHOM BELTANE IS NO STRANGER I DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE
+
+Jeffery Farnol
+
+London, August, 1915.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     II HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+    III HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+     IV OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+      V WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+     VI HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+    VII HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS
+      A NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+   VIII HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+     IX WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE
+      WISDOM OF A FOOL
+
+      X HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+     XI WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND
+      HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+    XII WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+   XIII HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+    XIV HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+     XV HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY
+      LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST
+
+    XVI OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+   XVII OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+  XVIII HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+    XIX CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+     XX HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+    XXI OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+   XXII CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+  XXIII OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+   XXIV OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+    XXV HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+   XXVI OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED
+      INTO BELTANE
+
+  XXVII HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+ XXVIII OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+   XXIX HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+    XXX HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+   XXXI HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+  XXXII HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+ XXXIII HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+  XXXIV HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+   XXXV HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+  XXXVI HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+ XXXVII HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+ XXXVIII OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE
+     WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+   XXXIX HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+      XL FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+     XLI HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+    XLII HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+   XLIII HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+    XLIV HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+     XLV HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+    XLVI HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE
+      ANSWERED
+
+   XLVII HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+  XLVIII HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+    XLIX HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+       L TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+      LI HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+     LII HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+    LIII OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+     LIV HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+      LV HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+     LVI WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+    LVII TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+   LVIII HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+     LIX TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+      LX TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+     LXI HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+    LXII HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+   LXIII TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+    LXIV HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUR OF HER FEAR
+
+     LXV TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+    LXVI CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+   LXVII TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+  LXVIII FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+    LXIX HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+     LXX WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous
+
+Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand
+
+She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
+miller
+
+Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate
+
+
+
+BELTANE THE SMITH
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
+chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
+Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.
+
+Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
+of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
+murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
+the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.
+
+A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
+stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
+of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
+its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
+could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
+likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
+having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
+Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
+ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
+not.
+
+Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
+live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
+thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
+implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
+had need of.
+
+Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
+they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
+and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
+Beltane had said:
+
+"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
+ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
+sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
+called 'Desire of the World.'"
+
+But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:
+
+"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
+awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and
+passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is
+an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin
+into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and
+honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very
+manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought
+but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many
+died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night,
+lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and
+murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and
+broken dreams and ideals.
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the
+whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the
+brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life;
+the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women
+and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all
+these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and
+sighing, fell asleep.
+
+Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye
+quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand
+voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous
+tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and
+man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented
+casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their
+strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks;
+or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist,
+poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours,
+illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced
+that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he
+suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree,
+near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with
+a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal,
+he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his
+grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush
+again:
+
+"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"
+
+"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you
+a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"
+
+Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I
+now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."
+
+"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his
+grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight
+with thee."
+
+"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long
+cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil,
+in the sunset.
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee,
+good fellow."
+
+"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for
+that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?
+Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst?
+Out upon thee, messire smith!"
+
+"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight
+with thee, where would be the reason?"
+
+"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for
+such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."
+
+"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly
+touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."
+
+"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right
+fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my
+duty--"
+
+"How thy duty?"
+
+"I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me
+this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black
+usurper's heel, all the sins of hell are loose, murder and riot, lust
+and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and
+you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's
+amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush
+stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried
+thy mettle."
+
+Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:
+
+"You speak me riddles, sir."
+
+"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now
+mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous ass, a slave, a
+nincompoop, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit
+at thee!"
+
+Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his
+brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned
+him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning
+wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this
+strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and
+twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.
+
+"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good
+beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A
+mighty arm, a noble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the
+breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted
+and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang
+nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the
+blade and gave its massy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:
+
+"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you
+shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore
+it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck
+deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might
+oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and
+mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and
+undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er
+behold its equal!"
+
+So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance
+of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple
+cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this
+word:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now
+what it doth signify."
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"'I shall arise!'"
+
+"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look
+you, and the motto of a great and noble house, and, by the Rood, I
+think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and
+taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and
+wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny
+me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."
+
+Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and
+the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and
+thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and
+so they engaged.
+
+And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought
+together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the
+stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile,
+mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
+his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
+stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
+loud, taunting him on this wise:
+
+"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
+belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
+brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
+boy!"
+
+Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
+grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
+stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
+with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
+strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
+very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
+as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
+the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
+once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
+redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
+he but laughed again, saying:
+
+"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
+leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
+upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
+head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
+sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
+so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.
+
+But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
+all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
+bent earthwards and spake no word.
+
+Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
+with kindly, approving eyes.
+
+"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
+that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
+cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
+o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
+in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
+With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
+thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
+and spake:
+
+"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
+little better this time, an so God wills."
+
+"Aye, so thou shalt, sweet youth," cried the stranger, clapping him
+upon the shoulder, "yet not now, for I must begone, yet shall I
+return."
+
+"Then I pray you leave with me the sword till you be come again."
+
+"The sword--ha! doth thy soul cleave unto it so soon, my good, sweet
+boy? Leave the sword, quotha? Aye, truly--some day. But for the nonce--
+no, no, thy hand is not fitted to bear it yet, nor worthy such a blade,
+but some day, belike--who knows? Fare thee well, sweet youth, I come
+again to-morrow."
+
+And so the tall, grim stranger turned him about, smiling his wry smile,
+and strode away through the green. Then Beltane went back, minded to
+finish his painting, but the colours had lost their charm for him,
+moreover, the light was failing. Wherefore he put brushes and colours
+aside, and, stripping, plunged into the cool, sweet waters of a certain
+quiet pool, and so, much heartened and refreshed thereby, went betimes
+to bed. But now he thought no more of women and the ways of women, but
+rather of this stranger man, of his wry smile and of his wondrous
+sword-play; and bethinking him of the great sword, he yearned after
+it, as only youth may yearn, and so, sighing, fell asleep. And in his
+dreams all night was the rushing thunder of many fierce feet and the
+roaring din of bitter fight and conflict.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Up to an elbow sprang Beltane to find the sun new risen, filling his
+humble chamber with its golden glory, and, in this radiance, upon the
+open threshold, the tall, grim figure of the stranger.
+
+"Messire," quoth Beltane, rubbing sleepy eyes, "you wake betimes,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Aye, sluggard boy; there is work to do betwixt us." "How so, sir?"
+
+"My time in the greenwood groweth short; within the week I must away,
+for there are wars and rumours of wars upon the borders."
+
+Quoth Beltane, wondering:
+
+"War and conflict have been within my dreams all night!"
+
+"Dreams, boy! I tell thee the time groweth ripe for action--and, mark
+me this! wherein, perchance, thou too shalt share, yet much have I to
+teach thee first, so rise, slug-a-bed, rise!"
+
+Now when Beltane was risen and clad he folded his arms across his broad
+chest and stared upon the stranger with grave, deep-searching eyes.
+
+"Who art thou?" he questioned, "and what would you here again?"
+
+"As to thy first question, sir smith, 'tis no matter for that, but as
+for thy second, to-day am I come to teach thee the use and manage of
+horse and lance, it being so my duty."
+
+"And wherefore thy duty?"
+
+"For that I am so commanded."
+
+"By whom?"
+
+"By one who yet liveth, being dead."
+
+Now Beltane frowned at this, and shook his head, saying:
+
+"More riddles, messire? Yet now will I speak thee plain, as thus: I am
+a smith, and have no lust to strife or knightly deeds, nor will I e'er
+attempt them, for strife begetteth bitter strife and war is an evil
+thing. 'They that trust to the sword shall perish by the sword,' 'tis
+so written, and is, meseemeth, a faithful saying. This sorry world hath
+known over much of war and hate, of strife and bloodshed, so shall
+these my hands go innocent of more."
+
+Then indeed did the stranger stare with jaws agape for wonder at my
+Beltane's saying, and, so staring, turned him to the door and back
+again, and fain would speak, yet could not for a while. Then:
+
+"Besotted boy!" he cried. "O craven youth! O babe! O suckling! Was it
+for this thou wert begot? Hast thou no bowels, no blood, no manhood?
+Forsooth, and must I spit on thee indeed?"
+
+"And so it be thy will, messire," said Beltane, steady-eyed.
+
+But as they stood thus, Beltane with arms yet crossed, his lips
+up-curving at the other's fierce amaze, the stranger grim-faced and
+frowning, came a shadow athwart the level glory of the sun, and,
+turning, Beltane beheld the hermit Ambrose, tall and spare beneath his
+tattered gown, bareheaded and bare of foot, whose eyes were bright and
+quick, despite the snow of hair and beard, and in whose gentle face and
+humble mien was yet a high and noble look at odds with his lowly guise
+and tattered vesture; at sight of whom the grim-faced stranger, of a
+sudden, bowed his grizzled head and sank upon his knee.
+
+"Lord!" he said, and kissed the hermit's long, coarse robe. Whereon the
+hermit bent and touched him with a gentle hand.
+
+"_Benedicite_, my son!" said he. "Go you, and leave us together a
+while."
+
+Forthwith the stranger rose from his knee and went out into the glory
+of the morning. Then the hermit came to Beltane and set his two hands
+upon his mighty shoulders and spake to him very gently, on this wise:
+
+"Thou knowest, my Beltane, how all thy days I have taught thee to love
+all fair, and sweet, and noble things, for they are of God. 'Twere a
+fair thought, now, to live out thy life here, within these calm, leafy
+solitudes--but better death by the sword for some high, unselfish
+purpose, than to live out a life of ease, safe and cloistered all thy
+days. To live for thine own ends--'tis human; to die for some great
+cause, for liberty, or for another's good--that, my son, were God-like.
+And there was a Man of Sorrows Whose word was this, that He came
+'not to bring peace on this earth, but a sword.' For good cannot
+outface evil but strife must needs follow. Behold now here another
+sword, my Beltane; keep it henceforth so long as thou keep honour." So
+saying, Ambrose the Hermit took from beneath his habit that for which
+Beltane had yearned, that same great blade whereon whose steel was
+graven the legend:
+
+RESURGAM.
+
+So Ambrose put the sword in Beltane's hand, saying:
+
+"Be terrible, my son, that evil may flee before thee, learn to be
+strong that thou may'st be merciful." Then the hermit stretched forth
+his hands and blessed my Beltane, and turned about, and so was gone.
+
+But Beltane stood awhile to swing the great blade lightly to and fro
+and to stare upon it with shining eyes. Then, having hid it within his
+bed, he went forth into the glade. And here he presently beheld a great
+grey horse tethered to a tree hard by, a mettled steed that tossed its
+noble head and snuffed the fragrant air of morning, pawing at the earth
+with impatient hoof. Now, as he stood gazing, came the stranger and
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Messire," said he, "try an thou canst back the steed yonder."
+
+Beltane smiled, for he had loved horses all his days, and loosing the
+horse, led it out into the open and would have mounted, but the
+spirited beast, knowing him not, reared and plunged and strove to break
+the grip upon the bridle, but the grip was strong and compelling; then
+Beltane soothed him with gentle voice and hand, and, of a sudden,
+vaulted lightly into the saddle, and being there, felt the great beast
+rear under him, and, laughing joyously, struck him with open palm and
+set off at a thunderous gallop. Away, away they sped up the sunny
+glade, past oak and beech and elm, through light and shadow, until
+before them showed a tree of vast girth and mighty spread of branches.
+Now would Beltane have reined aside, but the great horse, ears flat and
+eyes rolling, held blindly on. Then Beltane frowned and leaning
+forward, seized the bridle close beside the bit, and gripping it so,
+put forth his strength. Slowly, slowly the great, fierce head was drawn
+low and lower, the foam-flecked jaws gaped wide, but Beltane's grip
+grew ever the fiercer until, snorting, panting, wild-eyed, the great
+grey horse faltered in his stride, checked his pace, slipped, stumbled,
+and so stood quivering in the shade of the tree. Thereafter Beltane
+turned him and, galloping back, drew rein where the stranger sat,
+cross-legged, watching him with his wry smile.
+
+"Aye," he nodded, "we shall make of thee a horseman yet. But as to
+lance now, and armour--"
+
+Quoth Beltane, smiling:
+
+"Good sir, I am a smith, and in my time have mended many a suit of
+mail, aye, and made them too, though 'twas but to try my hand. As for a
+lance, I have oft tilted at the ring astride a forest pony, and
+betimes, have run a course with wandering men-at-arms."
+
+"Say you so, boy?" said the stranger, and rising, took from behind a
+tree a long and heavy lance and thrust it into Beltane's grip; then,
+drawing his sword, he set it upright in the sward, and upon the hilt he
+put his cap, saying:
+
+"Ride back up the glade, and try an thou canst pick up my cap on thy
+point, at a gallop." So Beltane rode up the glade and wheeling at a
+distance, came galloping down with levelled lance, and thundered by
+with the cap fluttering from his lance point.
+
+"Art less of a dullard than I thought thee," said the stranger, taking
+back his cap, "though, mark me boy, 'tis another matter to ride against
+a man fully armed and equipped, lance to lance and shield to shield,
+than to charge a harmless, ancient leathern cap. Still, art less of a
+dullard than I thought thee. But there is the sword, now--with the
+sword thou art indeed but a sorry fool! Go fetch the sword and I will
+e'en belabor thee again."
+
+So Beltane, lighting down from the horse that reared and plunged no
+more, went and fetched the great sword; and when they had laid their
+jerkins by (for the sun was hot) they faced each other, foot to foot
+and eye to eye. Then once again the long blades whirled and flew and
+rang together, and once again the stranger laughed and gibed and struck
+my Beltane how and where he would, nor gave him stay or respite till
+Beltane's mighty arm grew aweary and his shoulder ached and burned;
+then, when he recked not of it, the stranger, with the same cunning
+stroke, beat the sword from Beltane's hand, and laughed aloud and
+wagged his head, saying:
+
+"Art faint, boy, and scant o' breath already? Methinks we ne'er shall
+make of thee a lusty sworder!" But beholding Beltane's flushing cheek
+and drooping eye, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Go to!" cried he, "art young and all unlearned as yet--heed not my
+gibes and quirks, 'tis ever so my custom when steel is ringing, and
+mark me, I do think it a good custom, as apt to put a man off his ward
+and flurry him in his stroke. Never despair, youth, for I tell thee,
+north and south, and east and west my name is known, nor shall you find
+in any duchy, kingdom or county, a sworder such as I. For, mark me now!
+your knight and man-at-arms, trusting to his armour, doth use his sword
+but to thrust and smite. But--and mark me again, boy! a man cannot go
+ever in his armour, nor yet be sure when foes are nigh, and, at all
+times, 'tis well to make thy weapon both sword and shield; 'tis a
+goodly art, indeed I think a pretty one. Come now, take up thy sword
+and I will teach thee all my strokes and show thee how 'tis done."
+
+Thus then, this stranger dwelt the week with Beltane in the greenwood,
+teaching him, day by day, tricks of sword and much martial lore beside.
+And, day by day, a friendship waxed and grew betwixt them so that upon
+the seventh morning, as they broke their fast together, Beltane's heart
+was heavy and his look downcast; whereat the stranger spake him thus:
+
+"Whence thy dole, good youth?"
+
+"For that to-day needs must I part with thee."
+
+"And thy friends are few, belike?"
+
+"None, messire," answered Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Aye me! And yet 'tis well enough, for--mark me, youth!--friends be
+ofttimes a mixed blessing. As for me, 'tis true I am thy friend and so
+shall ever be, so long as you shall bear yon goodly blade."
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Moreover thou art my scholar, and like, perchance, to prove thyself,
+some day, a notable sworder and a sweet and doughty fighter, belike."
+
+"Yet hast never spoken me thy name, messire."
+
+"Why, hast questioned me but once, and then thou wert something of a
+blockhead dreamer, methought. But now, messire Beltane, since thou
+would'st know--Benedict of Bourne am I called."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane rose and stood upon his feet, staring wide-eyed at
+this grim-faced stranger who, with milk-bowl at lip, paused to smile
+his wry smile. "Aha!" said he, "hast heard such a name ere now, even
+here in the greenwood?"
+
+"Sir," answered Beltane, "betimes I have talked with soldiers and
+men-at-arms, so do I know thee for that same great knight who, of all the
+nobles of Pentavalon, doth yet withstand the great Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Call you that black usurper 'great,' youth? Body o' me! I knew a
+greater, once, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "there was him men called 'Beltane the Strong.'"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Benedict, setting down his milk-bowl, "what know you
+of Duke Beltane?"
+
+"Nought but that he was a great and lusty fighter who yet loved peace
+and mercy, but truth and justice most of all."
+
+"And to-day," sighed Sir Benedict, "to-day we have Black Ivo! Aye me!
+these be sorry days for Pentavalon. 'Tis said he woos the young Duchess
+yonder. Hast ever seen Helen of Mortain, sir smith?"
+
+"Nay, but I've heard tell that she is wondrous fair."
+
+"Hum!" quoth Sir Benedict, "I love not your red-haired spit-fires.
+Methinks, an Ivo win her, she'll lead him how she will, or be broke in
+the adventure--a malison upon him, be it how it may!"
+
+So, having presently made an end of eating, Sir Benedict arose and
+forthwith donned quilted gambeson, and thereafter his hauberk of bright
+mail and plain surcoat, and buckling his sword about him, strode into
+the glade where stood the great grey horse. Now, being mounted, Sir
+Benedict stayed awhile to look down at Beltane, whiles Beltane looked
+up at him.
+
+"Messire Beltane," said he, pointing to his scarred cheek, "you look
+upon my scar, I think?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, flushing hot:
+
+"Nay, sir; in truth, not I."
+
+"Why look now, sweet youth, 'tis a scar that likes me well, though
+'twas in no battle I took it, yet none the less, I would not be without
+it. By this I may be known among a thousand. 'Benedict o' the Mark,'
+some call me, and 'tis, methinks, as fair a name as any. But look now,
+and mark me this well, Beltane,--should any come to thee within the
+green, by day or night, and say to thee, 'Benedict o' the Mark bids
+thee arise and follow,'--then follow, messire, and so, peradventure,
+thou shalt arise indeed. Dost mark me well, youth?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Benedict."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed Sir Benedict, "thou'rt a fair sized babe to bear
+within a cloak, and thou hast been baptized in blood ere now--and there
+be more riddles for thee, boy, and so, until we meet, fare thee well,
+messire Beltane!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict of Bourne smiled his twisted smile and,
+wheeling his horse, rode away down the glade, his mail glistening in
+the early light and his lance point winking and twinkling amid the
+green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
+
+
+Now it fell out upon a day, that as Beltane strode the forest ways,
+there met him a fine cavalcade, gay with the stir of broidered
+petticoat and ermined mantle; and, pausing beneath a tree, he stood to
+hearken to the soft, sweet voices of the ladies and to gaze enraptured
+upon their varied beauty. Foremost of all rode a man richly habited, a
+man of great strength and breadth of shoulder, and of a bearing high
+and arrogant. His face, framed in long black hair that curled to meet
+his shoulder, was of a dark and swarthy hue, fierce looking and
+masterful by reason of prominent chin and high-arched nose, and of his
+thin-lipped, relentless mouth. Black were his eyes and bold; now
+staring bright and wide, now glittering 'twixt heavy, narrowed lids;
+yet when he smiled they glittered brightest, and his lips showed
+moistly red. Beside him rode a lady of a wondrous dark beauty, sleepy
+eyed and languid; yet her glance was quick to meet the Duke's bold
+look, and, 'neath her mantle, her fingers met, once in a while, and
+clung with his, what time his red lips would smile; but, for the most
+part, his brow was gloomy and he fingered his chin as one in thought.
+
+As he paced along upon his richly caparisoned steed, pinching at his
+long, blue-shaven chin with supple fingers, his heavy brows drawn low,
+of a sudden his narrowed lids widened and his eyes gleamed bright and
+black as they beheld my Beltane standing in the shade of the tree.
+
+"Aha!" said he, drawing rein, "what insolent, long-legged rogue art
+thou, to stand gaping at thy betters?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"No rogue, messire, but an honest man, I pray God, whom folk call
+Beltane the Smith."
+
+The staring eyes grew suddenly narrow, the scarlet mouth curled in a
+slow smile, and the tall man spake, yet with his gaze bent ever upon
+Beltane:
+
+"Fair lords," he said, "and you, most sweet and gentle ladies, our
+sport hath been but poor, hitherto--methinks I can show you a better,
+'tis a game we play full oft in my country. Would that our gracious
+lady of Mortain were here, nor had balked us of her wilful company. Ho!
+Gefroi!" he called, "come you and break me the back of this 'honest'
+rogue." And straightway came one from the rear, where rode the servants
+and men-at-arms, a great, bronzed fellow, bearded to the eyes of him,
+loosing his sword-belt as he came; who, having tossed aside cap and
+pourpoint, strode toward Beltane, his eyes quick and bright, his teeth
+agleam through the hair of his beard.
+
+"Come, thou forest rogue," said he, "my lord Duke loveth not to wait
+for man or maid, so--have at thee!"
+
+Great he looked and tall as Beltane's self, a hairy man of mighty girth
+with muscles that swelled on arm and breast and rippled upon his back.
+Thus, as he stood and laughed, grimly confident and determined, not a
+few were they who sighed for Beltane for his youth's sake, and because
+of his golden curls and gentle eyes, for this Gefroi was accounted a
+very strong man, and a matchless wrestler withal.
+
+"'Tis a fair match, how think you, Sir Jocelyn?" said the Duke, and
+turned him to one who rode at his elbow; a youthful, slender figure
+with long curled hair and sleepy eyes, "a fair match, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"In very sooth, sweet my lord, gramercy and by your gracious leave--not
+so," sighed Sir Jocelyn. "This Gefroi o' thine is a rare breaker of
+necks and hath o'er-thrown all the wrestlers in the three duchies; a
+man is he, set in his strength and experienced, but this forester, tall
+though he be, is but a beardless youth."
+
+The Duke smiled his slow smile, his curving nostrils quivered and were
+still, and he glanced toward Sir Jocelyn through veiling lids. Quoth
+he:
+
+"Art, rather, for a game of ball, messire, or a song upon a lute?" So
+saying he turned and signed to Gefroi with his finger; as for Sir
+Jocelyn, he only curled a lock of his long hair, and hummed beneath his
+breath.
+
+Now Beltane, misliking the matter, would fain have gone upon his way,
+but wheresoever he turned, there Gefroi was also, barring his path,
+wherefore Beltane's eye kindled and he raised his staff threateningly.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "stand from my way, lest I mischief thee."
+
+But Gefroi only laughed and looked to his lord, who, beckoning an
+archer, bid him lay an arrow to his string.
+
+"Shoot me the cowardly rogue so soon as he turn his back," said he,
+whereat Gefroi laughed again, wagging his head.
+
+"Come, forest knave," quoth he, "I know a trick to snap thy neck so
+sweetly shalt never know, I warrant thee. Come, 'twill take but a
+moment, and my lord begins to lack of patience."
+
+So Beltane laid by his staff, and tightening his girdle, faced the
+hairy Gefroi; and there befell that, the which, though you shall find
+no mention of it in any chronicle, came much to be talked of
+thereafter; so that a ballade was writ of it the which beginneth thus:
+
+  'Beltane wrestled in the green
+   With a mighty man,
+   A goodlier bout was never seen
+   Since the world began,'
+
+While Beltane was tightening his girdle, swift and sudden Gefroi
+closed, pinning his arms in a cunning hold, and thrice he swung my
+Beltane from his feet so that many clapped their hands the while the
+squires and men-at-arms shouted lustily. Only Sir Jocelyn curled the
+lock of hair upon his finger and was silent.
+
+To him quoth my lord Duke, smiling:
+
+"Messire, an you be in a mind to wager now, I will lay you this my roan
+stallion 'gainst that suit of triple mail you won at Dunismere joust,
+that Gefroi breaks thy forester's back within two falls--how say you?"
+
+"Sweet my lord, it liketh me beyond telling, thy roan is a peerless
+beast!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, and so fell once more to humming his song
+beneath his breath.
+
+Now Beltane had wrestled oft with strangers in the greenwood and had
+learned many cunning and desperate holds; moreover, he had learned to
+bide his time; thus, though Gefroi's iron muscles yet pinned his arms,
+he waited, calm-eyed but with every nerve a-quiver, for that moment
+when Gefroi's vicious grip should slacken.
+
+To and fro the wrestlers swayed, knee to knee and breast to breast,
+fierce and silent and grim. As hath been said, this Gefroi was a very
+cunning fellow, and once and twice, he put forth all his strength
+seeking to use a certain cruel trick whereby many a goodly man had died
+ere now; but once, and twice, the hold was foiled, yet feebly and as
+though by chance, and Gefroi wondered; a third time he essayed it
+therefore, but, in that moment, sudden and fierce and strong, Beltane
+twisted in his loosened grasp, found at last the deadly hold he sought,
+and Gefroi wondered no more, for about him was a painful grip that grew
+ever tighter and more relentless. Now Gefroi's breath grew short and
+laboured, the muscles stood out on his writhing body in knotted cords,
+but ever that cruel grip grew more deadly, crushing his spirit and
+robbing him of his wonted strength. And those about them watched that
+mighty struggle, hushed for wonder of it; even Sir Jocelyn had forgot
+his lock of hair, and hummed no more.
+
+For, desperately though he fought and struggled, they saw Gefroi's
+great body was bending slowly backward; his eyes stared up, wild and
+bloodshot, into the fierce, set face above him; swaying now, he saw the
+wide ring of faces, the quiver of leaves and the blue beyond, all a-swim
+through the mist of Beltane's yellow hair, and then, writhing in
+his anguish, he turned and buried his teeth in Beltane's naked arm, and
+with a cunning twist, broke from that deadly grip and staggered free.
+
+Straightway the air was full of shouts and cries, some praising, some
+condemning, while Gefroi stood with hanging arms and panted. But
+Beltane looking upon his hurt, laughed, short and fierce, and as Gefroi
+came upon him, stooped and caught him below the loins. Then Beltane the
+strong, the mighty, put forth his strength and, whirling Gefroi aloft,
+hurled him backwards over his shoulder. So Gefroi the wrestler fell,
+and lay with hairy arms wide-tossed as one that is dead, and for a
+space no man spake for the wonder of it.
+
+"By all the Saints, but 'twas a mighty throw!" sighed Sir Jocelyn,
+"though alack! sweet my lord, 'twould almost seem my forester hath
+something spoiled thy wrestler!"
+
+"And is the roan stallion thine" frowned the Duke, "and to none would I
+lose him with a fairer grace, for 'twas a good bout as I foretold: yet,
+by the head of St. Martin! meseemeth yon carrion might have done me
+better!" So saying, my lord Duke gave his horse the spur and, as he
+passed the prostrate form of Gefroi, leaned him down and smote the
+wrestler thrice with the whip he held and so rode on, bidding his
+followers let him lie.
+
+But Sir Jocelyn paused to look down at Beltane, who was setting his
+dress in order.
+
+"Sir forester, thou hast a mighty arm," quoth he, "and thy face liketh
+me well. Here's for thee," and tossing a purse to Beltane's feet, he
+rode upon his way.
+
+So the gay cavalcade passed 'neath the leafy arches, with the jingle of
+bridle and stirrup and the sound of jest and laughter, and was
+presently lost amid the green; only Gefroi the wrestler lay there upon
+his back and groaned. Then came Beltane and knelt and took his heavy
+head upon his knee, whereat Gefroi opened his eyes and groaned again.
+
+"Good fellow," said Beltane, "I had not meant to throw thee so heavily--"
+
+"Nay, forester, would it had been a little harder, for a ruined man am
+I this day."
+
+"How so--have you not life?"
+
+"I would 'twere death. And I bit you--in the arm, I mind me?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas in the arm."
+
+"For that am I heartily sorry, forester. But when a man seeth fame and
+fortune slipping from him--aye, and his honour, I had nigh forgot that--
+fame and fortune and honour, so small a thing as a bite may be
+forgiven?"
+
+"I forgive thee--full and freely."
+
+"Spoke like an honest forester," said Gefroi, and groaned again. "The
+favour of a lord is a slippery thing--much like an eel--quick to
+wriggle away. An hour agone my lord Duke held me in much esteem, while
+now? And he struck me! On the face, here!" Slowly Gefroi got him upon
+his feet, and having donned cap and pourpoint, shook his head and
+sighed; quoth he:
+
+"Alack! 'tis a ruined man am I this day! Would I had broken thy neck,
+or thou, mine--and so, God den to ye, forester!" Then Gefroi the
+wrestler turned and plodded on his way, walking slow and with drooping
+head as one who knoweth not whither he goes, or careth. Now, as he
+watched, Beltane bethought him of the purse and taking it up, ran after
+Gefroi and thrust it into his hand.
+
+"'Twill help thee to find a new service, mayhap." So saying my Beltane
+turned upon his heel and strode away, while Gefroi stood staring wide-eyed
+long after Beltane was vanished amid the trees.
+
+So thus it was that Beltane looked his first upon Duke Ivo of
+Pentavalon, and thus did he overthrow Gefroi the famous wrestler. And
+because of this, many were they, knights and nobles and esquires, who
+sought out Beltane's lonely hut beside the brook, with offers of
+service, or to try a fall with him. But at their offers Beltane laughed
+and shook his head, and all who came to wrestle he threw upon their
+backs. And thus my Beltane dwelt within the greenwood, waxing mightier
+day by day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
+
+
+Upon a day Beltane stood at his forge fashioning an axe-head. And,
+having tempered it thereafter in the brook, he laid it by, and
+straightening his back, strode forth into the glade all ignorant of the
+eyes that watched him curiously through the leaves. And presently as he
+stood, his broad back set to the bole of a tree, his blue eyes lifted
+heavenwards brimful of dreams, he brake forth into a song he had made,
+lying sleepless upon his bed to do it.
+
+Tall and stately were the trees, towering aloft, nodding slumberously
+in the gentle wind; fair were the flowers lifting glad faces to their
+sun-father and filling the air with their languorous perfume; yet
+naught was there so comely to look upon as Beltane the Smith, standing
+bare-armed in his might, his golden hair crisp-curled and his lifted
+eyes a-dream. Merrily the brook laughed and sang among the willows,
+leaping in rainbow-hues over its pebbly bed; sweet piped the birds in
+brake and thicket, yet of all their music none was there so good to
+hear as the rich tones of Beltane the Smith.
+
+So thought the Duchess Helen of Mortain where she sat upon her white
+palfrey screened by the thick-budded foliage, seeing nought but this
+golden-locked singer whose voice thrilled strangely in her ears. And
+who so good a judge as Helen the Beautiful, whose lovers were beyond
+count, knights and nobles and princelings, ever kneeling at her haughty
+feet, ever sighing forth vows of service and adoration, in whose honour
+many a stout lance had shivered, and many a knightly act been wrought?
+Wherefore I say, who so good a judge as the Duchess Helen of Mortain?
+Thus Beltane the maker of verses, all ignorant that any heard save the
+birds in the brake, sang of the glories of the forest-lands. Sang how
+the flowers, feeling the first sweet promise of spring stirring within
+them, awoke; and lo! the frost was gone, the warm sun they had dreamed
+of through the long winter was come back, the time of their waiting
+passed away. So, timidly, slowly, they stole forth from the dark,
+unveiling their beauties to their lord the sun and filling the world
+with the fragrance of their worship.
+
+Somewhat of all this sang Beltane, whiles the Duchess Helen gazed upon
+him wide-eyed and wondering.
+
+Could this be Beltane the Smith, this tall, gentle-eyed youth, this
+soft-voiced singer of dreams? Could this indeed be the mighty wrestler
+of whom she had heard so many tales of late, how that he lived an
+anchorite, deep hidden in the green, hating the pomp and turmoil of
+cities, and contemning women and all their ways?
+
+Now, bethinking her of all this, the Duchess frowned for that he was
+such a goodly man and so comely to look on, and frowning, mused, white
+chin on white fist. Then she smiled, as one that hath a bright thought,
+and straightway loosed the golden fillet that bound her glowing
+tresses so that they fell about her in all their glory, rippling far
+down her broidered habit. Then, the song being ended, forth from her
+cover rode the lady of Mortain, and coming close where Beltane leaned
+him in the shade of the tree, paused of a sudden, and started as one
+that is surprised, and Beltane turning, found her beside him, yet spake
+not nor moved.
+
+Breathless and as one entranced he gazed upon her; saw how her long
+hair glowed a wondrous red 'neath the kisses of the dying sun; saw how
+her purpled gown, belted at the slender waist, clung about the beauties
+of her shapely body; saw how the little shoe peeped forth from the
+perfumed mystery of its folds, and so stood speechless, bound by the
+spell of her beauty. Wherefore, at length, she spake to him, low and
+sweet and humble, on this wise:
+
+"Art thou he whom men call Beltane the Smith?"
+
+He answered, gazing at her lowered lashes:
+
+"I am Beltane the Smith."
+
+For a space she sat grave and silent, then looked at him with eyes that
+laughed 'neath level brows to see the wonder in his gaze. But anon she
+falls a-sighing, and braided a tress of hair 'twixt white fingers ere
+she spoke:
+
+"'Tis said of thee that thou art a hermit and live alone within these
+solitudes. And yet--meseemeth--thine eyes are not a hermit's eyes,
+messire!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, with flushing cheek and eyes abased:
+
+"Yet do I live alone, lady."
+
+"Nor are thy ways and speech the ways of common smith, messire."
+
+"Yet smith am I in sooth, lady, and therewithal content."
+
+Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and
+languorous, and shook her head, and sighed.
+
+"Alas, messire, methinks then perchance it may be true that thou, for
+all thy youth, and despite thine eyes, art a mocker of love, a despiser
+of women? And yet--nay--sure 'tis not so?"
+
+Then did Beltane the strong come nigh to fear, by reason of her fair
+womanhood, and looked from her to earth, from earth to sky, and, when
+he would have answered, fell a-stammering, abashed by her wondrous
+beauty.
+
+"Nay lady, indeed--indeed I know of women nought--nought of myself, but
+I have heard tell that they be--light-minded, using their beauty but to
+lure the souls of men from high and noble things--making of love a
+jest--a sport and pastime--" But now the Duchess laughed, very soft
+and sweeter, far, to Beltane's thinking than the rippling music of any
+brook, soever.
+
+"Aye me, messire anchorite," said she smiling yet, "whence had you this
+poor folly?"
+
+Quoth Beltane gravely:
+
+"Lady, 'twas from one beyond all thought wise and learned. A most holy
+hermit--"
+
+"A hermit!" says she, merry-eyed, "then, an he told thee this, needs
+must he be old, and cold, and withered, and beyond the age of love,
+knowing nought of women save what memory doth haunt his evil past. But
+young art thou and strong, and should love come to thee--as come,
+methinks, it may, hearken to no voice but the pleading of thine own
+true heart. Messire," she sighed, "art very blind, methinks, for you
+sing the wonders of these forest-lands, yet in thy song is never a word
+of love! O blind! O blind! for I tell thee nought exists in this great
+world but by love. Behold now, these sighing trees love their lord the
+sun, and, through the drear winter, wait his coming with wide-stretched,
+yearning arms, crying aloud to him in every shuddering blast the tale
+of their great longing. And, after some while, he comes, and at his advent
+they clothe themselves anew in all their beauty, and with his warm breath
+thrilling through each fibre, put forth their buds, singing through
+all their myriad leaves the song of their rejoicing. Something the like
+of this, messire, is the love a woman beareth to a man, the which, until
+he hath felt it trembling in his heart, he hath not known the joy of
+living."
+
+But Beltane answered, smiling a little as one that gloried in his
+freedom:
+
+"No woman hath ever touched my heart, yet have I lived nor found it
+lonely, hitherto."
+
+But hereupon, resting her white fingers on his arm, she leaned nearer
+to him so that he felt her breath warm upon his cheek, and there stole
+to him the faint, sweet perfume of her hair.
+
+"Beware, O scorner of women! for I tell thee that ere much time hath
+passed thou shalt know love--aye, in such fashion as few men know--
+wherefore I say--beware, Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane the strong, the mighty, shook his head and smiled.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "a man's heart may be set on other things, flowers may
+seem to him fairer than the fairest women, and the wind in trees
+sweeter to him than their voices."
+
+Now as she hearkened, the Duchess Helen grew angry, yet straightway,
+she dissembled, looking upon him 'neath drooping lashes. Soft and
+tender-eyed and sighing, she answered:
+
+"Ah, Beltane! how unworthy are such things of a man's love! For if he
+pluck them, that he may lay these flowers upon his heart, lo! they fade
+and wither, and their beauty and fragrance is but a memory. Ah,
+Beltane, when next ye sing, choose you a worthier theme."
+
+"Of what shall I sing?" said Beltane.
+
+Very soft she answered, and with eyes abased:
+
+"Think on what I have told thee, and sing--of love."
+
+And so she sighed, and looked on him once, then wheeled her palfrey,
+and was gone up the glade; but Beltane, as he watched her go, was
+seized of a sudden impulse and over-took her, running.
+
+"Beseech thee," cried he, barring her path, "tell me thy name!"
+
+Then Helen the Beautiful, the wilful, laughed and swerved her palfrey,
+minded to leave him so; but Beltane sprang and caught the bridle.
+
+"Tell me thy name," said he again.
+
+"Let me go!"
+
+"Thy name, tell me thy name."
+
+But the Duchess laughed again, and thinking to escape him, smote her
+horse so that it started and reared; once it plunged, and twice, and so
+stood trembling with Beltane's hand upon the bridle; wherefore a sudden
+anger came upon her, and, bending her black brows, she raised her
+jewelled riding-rod threateningly. But Beltane only smiled and shook
+his head, saying:
+
+"Unless I know thy name thou shalt not fare forth of the greenwood."
+
+So the proud lady of Mortain looked down upon Beltane in amaze, for
+there was none in all the Duchy, knight, noble or princeling, who dared
+gainsay her lightest word; wherefore, I say, she stared upon this bold
+forest knave with his golden hair and gentle eyes, his curved lips and
+square chin; and in eyes and mouth and chin was a look of
+masterfulness, challenging, commanding. And, meeting that look, her
+heart leapt most strangely with sudden, sweet thrill, so that she
+lowered her gaze lest he should see, and when she spake her voice was
+low and very sweet:
+
+"Tell me I pray, why seek you my name, and wherefore?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, soft and slow as one that dreams:
+
+"I have seen thine eyes look at me from the flowers, ere now, have
+heard thy laughter in the brook, and found thy beauty in all fair
+things: methinks thy name should be a most sweet name."
+
+Now was it upon her lips to tell him what he asked, but, being a woman,
+she held her peace for very contrariness, and blushing beneath his
+gaze, looked down and cried aloud, and pointed to a grub that crawled
+upon her habit. So Beltane loosed the bridle, and in that moment, she
+laughed for very triumph and was off, galloping 'neath the trees. Yet,
+as she went, she turned and called to him, and the word she called
+was:--
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Long stood Beltane where she had left him, the soft shadows of night
+deepening about him, dreaming ever of her beauty, of her wondrous hair,
+and of the little foot that had peeped forth at him 'neath her habit,
+and, full of these thoughts, for once he was deaf to the soft voices of
+the trees nor heard the merry chatter of the brook. But later, upon his
+bed he lay awake full long and must needs remember yet another Helen,
+with the same wondrous hair and eyes of mystery, for whose sake men had
+died and a noble city burned; and, hereupon, his heart grew strangely
+heavy and cold with an unknown dread.
+
+Days came and went, and labouring at the forge or lying out in the
+sunshine gazing wistfully beyond the swaying tree-tops, Beltane would
+oft start and turn his head, fancying the rustle of her garments in
+his ears, or her voice calling to him from some flowery thicket; and
+the wind in the trees whispered "Helen!" and the brook sang of Helen,
+and Helen was in his thoughts continually.
+
+Thus my Beltane forgot his loves the flowers, and sang no more the
+wonders of the forest-lands.
+
+And oft-times the Duchess, seated in state within her great hall of
+Mortain looking down upon her knights and nobles, would sigh, for none
+was there so noble of form nor so comely as Beltane the Smith. Hereupon
+her white brow would grow troubled and, turning from them all, she
+would gaze with deep, unfathomable eyes, away across the valley to
+where, amid the mystery of the trees, Beltane had his lonely dwelling.
+
+Wherefore it was, that, looking up one evening from where he sat busied
+with brush and colours upon a border of wondrous design, Beltane beheld
+her of whom he was dreaming; and she, standing tall and fair before
+him, saw that in his look the which set her heart a-fluttering at her
+white breast most strangely; yet, fearing she should betray aught of
+it, she laughed gaily and mocked him, as is the way of women, saying:
+
+"Well, thou despiser of Love, I hearkened vainly for thy new song as I
+rode hither through the green."
+
+Red grew my Beltane's cheek and he looked not to her as he answered:
+
+"Lady, I have no new song."
+
+"Why then, is thy lesson yet unlearned?" said she. "Have ye no love but
+for birds and flowers?" and her red lip curled scornfully.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Is there aught more worthy?"
+
+"O Beltane!" she sighed, "art then so simple that such will aye content
+thee; doth not thy heart hunger and cry within thee for aught beside?"
+
+Then Beltane bowed his head, and fumbled with his brush and dropped it,
+and ere he could reach it she had set her foot upon it; thus it chanced
+that his hand came upon her foot, and feeling it beneath his fingers,
+he started and drew away, whereat she laughed low and sweet, saying:
+
+"Alack, and doth my foot affright thee? And yet 'tis none so fierce and
+none so large that thou shouldst fear it thus, messire--thou who art so
+tall and strong, and a mighty wrestler withal!"
+
+Now, looking up, he saw her lips curved and scarlet, and her eyes
+brimful of laughter, and fain would he have taken up the brush yet
+dared not. Therefore, very humbly, she stooped and lifting the brush
+put it in his hand. Then, trembling 'neath the touch of her soft
+fingers, Beltane rose up, and that which he had hidden deep within his
+heart brake from him.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "O Helen, thou art so wondrous fair and belike
+of high estate, but as for me, I am but what I am. Behold me" he cried,
+stretching wide his arms, "I am but Beltane the Smith; who is there to
+love such as I? See, my hands be hard and rough, and would but bruise
+where they should caress, these arms be unfitted for soft
+embracements. O lady, who is there to love Beltane the Smith?"
+
+Now the Duchess Helen laughed within herself for very triumph, yet her
+bosom thrilled and hurried with her breathing, her cheek grew red and
+her eyes bright and tender, wherefore she stooped low to cull a flower
+ere she answered.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "Beltane, women are not as thy flowers, that
+embraces, even such as thine, would crush them."
+
+But Beltane stooped his head that he might not behold the lure and
+beauty of her, and clenched his hands hard and fierce and thereafter
+spake:
+
+"Thou art so wondrous fair," said he again, "and belike of noble
+birth, but--as for me, I am a smith!"
+
+Awhile she stood, turning the flower in gentle fingers yet looking upon
+him in his might and goodly youth, beholding his averted face with its
+strong, sweet mouth and masterful chin, its curved nostrils and the
+dreaming passion of his eyes, and when she spake her voice was soft
+and very sweet.
+
+"Above all, thou art--a man, messire!"
+
+Then did my Beltane lift his head and saw how the colour was deepened
+in her cheek and how her tender eyes drooped before his.
+
+"Tell me," he said, "is there ever a woman to love such a man? Is there
+ever a woman who would leave the hum and glitter of cities to walk with
+such as I in the shadow of these forest-lands? Speak, Oh speak I do
+beseech thee!" Thus said he and stopped, waiting her answer.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she whispered, "let thine own heart speak me this."
+
+All blithe and glorious grew the world about him as he stooped and
+caught her in his arms, lifting her high against his heart. And, in
+this moment, he forgot the teaching of Ambrose the Hermit, forgot all
+things under heaven, save the glory of her beauty, the drooping languor
+of her eyes and the sweet, moist tremor of her mouth. And so he kissed
+her, murmuring 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Fairer art thou than all the flowers, O my love, and sweeter thy
+breath than the breath of flowers!"
+
+Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his, and in
+all the world for her was nought save the deep, soft voice of Beltane,
+and his eyes, and the new, sweet ecstasy that thrilled within her.
+Surely nowhere in all the world was there such another man as this, so
+strong and gentle, so meet for love and yet so virginal. Surely life
+might be very fair here in the green solitudes, aye, surely, surely--
+
+Soft with distance came the peal of bells, stealing across the valley
+from the great minster in Mortain, and, with the sound, memory waked,
+and she bethought her of all those knights and nobles who lived but to
+do her will and pleasure, of Mortain and the glory of it; and so she
+sighed and stirred, and, looking at Beltane, sighed again. Quoth she:
+
+"Is this great love I foretold come upon thee, Beltane?"
+
+And Beltane answered:
+
+"Truly a man hath not lived until he hath felt a woman's kisses upon
+his lips!"
+
+"And thou wilt flout poor Love no more?"
+
+"Nay," he answered, smiling, "'tis part of me, and must be so
+henceforth--forever!"
+
+But now she sighed again, and trembled in his arms and clasped him
+close, as one beset by sudden fear, while ever soft with distance came
+the silvery voices of the bells, low yet insistent, sweet yet
+commanding; wherefore she, sighing, put him from her.
+
+"Why then," said she, with drooping head, "fare thee well, messire.
+Nay, see you not? Methinks my task is done. And it hath been a--
+pleasing task, this--of teaching thee to love--O, would you had not
+learned so soon! Fare thee well. Beltane!"
+
+But Beltane looked upon her as one in deep amaze, his arms fell from
+her and he stepped back and so stood very still and, as he gazed, a
+growing horror dawned within his eyes.
+
+"What art thou?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay, Beltane," she murmured, "ah--look not so!"
+
+"Who art thou--and what?" he said.
+
+"Nay, did I not tell thee at the first? I am Helen--hast thou not
+known? I am Helen--Helen of Mortain."
+
+"Thou--thou art the Duchess Helen?" said Beltane with stiffening lips,
+"thou the Duchess and I--a smith!" and he laughed, short and fierce,
+and would have turned from her but she stayed him with quivering hands.
+
+"And--did'st not know?" she questioned hurriedly, "methought it was no
+secret--I would have told thee ere this had I known. Nay--look not so,
+Beltane--thou dost love me yet--nay, I do know it!" and she strove to
+smile, but with lips that quivered strangely.
+
+"Aye, I love thee, Helen of Mortain--though there be many fair lords to
+do that! But, as for me--I am only a smith, and as a smith greatly
+would I despise thee. Yet may this not be, for as my body is great, so
+is my love. Go, therefore, thy work here is done, go--get thee to thy
+knightly lovers, wed this Duke who seeks thee--do aught you will but
+go, leave me to my hammers and these green solitudes."
+
+So spake he, and turning, strode away, looking not back to where she
+stood leaning one white hand against a tree. Once she called to him but
+he heeded not, walking ever with bowed head and hearing only the tumult
+within him and the throbbing of his wounded heart. And now, in his pain
+needs must he think of yet another Helen and of the blood and agony of
+blazing Troy town, and lifting up his hands to heaven he cried aloud:
+
+"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
+
+All in haste Beltane came to his lonely hut and taking thence his cloak
+and great sword, he seized upon his mightiest hammer and beat down the
+roof of the hut and drave in the walls of it; thereafter he hove the
+hammer into the pool, together with his anvil and rack of tools and so,
+setting the sword in his girdle and the cloak about him, turned away
+and plunged into the deeper shadows of the forest.
+
+But, ever soft and faint with distance, the silvery voices of the bells
+stole upon the warm, stilly air, speaking of pomp and state, of pride
+and circumstance, but now these seemed but empty things, and the
+Duchess Helen stood long with bent head and hands that strove to shut
+the sounds away. But in the end she turned, slow-footed amid the
+gathering shadows and followed whither they called.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But that night, sitting in state within her great hall of Mortain, the
+Duchess Helen sighed deep and oft, scarce heeding the courtesies
+addressed to her and little the whispered homage of her guest Duke Ivo,
+he, the proudest and most potent of all her many wooers; yet to-night
+her cheek burned beneath his close regard and her woman's flesh
+rebelled at his contact as had never been aforetime. Thus, of a sudden,
+though the meal was scarce begun, she arose and stepped down from the
+dais, and when her wondering ladies would have followed forbade them
+with a gesture. And so, walking proud and tall, she passed out before
+them, whereat Duke Ivo's black brow grew the blacker, and he stared
+before him with narrowed eyes, beholding which, the faces of my lady's
+counsellors waxed anxious and long; only Winfrida, chiefest of the
+ladies, watched the Duke 'neath drooping lids and with a smile upon her
+full, red lips.
+
+Now the Duchess, being come to her chamber, lifted her hands and tore
+the ducal circlet from her brow and cast it from her, and, thereafter,
+laid by her rings and jewels, and coming to the open casement fell
+there upon her knees and reached forth her pale hands to where, across
+the valley, the dark forest stretched away, ghostly and unreal, 'neath
+the moon.
+
+"My beloved!" she whispered, "O my beloved!" And the gentle night-wind
+bore her secret in its embrace away across the valley to the dim
+solitudes of the woods. "Beltane!" she sighed, "love hath come into
+mine heart even as it came to thee, when I recked not of it. My
+beloved--O my beloved!" Anon she rose and stood awhile with head bowed
+as one that dreams, and of a sudden her cheek glowed warmly red, her
+breath caught and she gazed upon the moon with eyes of yearning
+tenderness; thereafter she laughed, soft and happily and, snatching up
+a cloak, set it about her and fled from the chamber. So, swift and
+light of foot, she sped by hidden ways until she came where old Godric,
+her chief huntsman, busied himself trimming the shaft of a boar-spear,
+who, beholding his lady, rose up in amaze.
+
+"Godric," said she, white hands upon his arm, "thou didst love me or
+ever I could walk?"
+
+"Aye, verily thou hast said, dear my lady."
+
+"Love you me yet?"
+
+"Truly thou knowest that I love thee."
+
+"Thou hast heard, Godric, how that my counsellors have long desired me
+to wed with Duke Ivo, and do yet await my answer to his suit--nay
+hearken! So to-night shall my mind be known in the matter once and for
+all! Come, my Godric, arm you and saddle two horses--come!"
+
+"Nay, sweet my lady, what would ye?"
+
+"Fly hence with thee, my Godric! Come--the horses!"
+
+"Fly from Mortain, and thou the Duchess? Nay, dear lady, 'tis madness,
+bethink thee! O dear my Mistress--O little Helen that I have cherished
+all thy days, bethink thee--do not this thing--"
+
+"Godric, did not the Duke, my father, strictly charge thee to follow
+ever my call?"
+
+"Aye, my lady."
+
+"Then follow now!" And so she turned and beckoned, and Godric perforce
+followed after.
+
+Hand in hand they went a-down the winding stair, down, to the great,
+dim courtyard that whispered to their tread. And, thereafter, mounting
+in haste, the Duchess galloped from Mortain, unheeding stern old Godric
+by her side and with never a look behind, dreaming ever of Beltane with
+cheeks that crimsoned 'neath her hood.
+
+Fast and faster she rode 'neath the pale moon, her eyes ever gazing
+towards the gloom of the forest, her heart throbbing quick as the
+hoof-beats of her horse. So at last, being come to that glade whereby
+Beltane had his dwelling, she lighted down, and bidding Godric wait,
+stole forward alone.
+
+Autumn was at hand, and here and there the fallen leaves rustled sadly
+under foot while the trees sighed and mourned together for that the
+flowers so soon must wither and die. But in the heart of the Duchess
+Helen, Spring was come, and all things spake to her of coming joys
+undreamed till now as she hasted on, flitting through the pallid
+moonbeams that, falling athwart rugged hole and far-flung branch,
+splashed the gloom with radiant light. Once she paused to listen, but
+heard nought save the murmur of the brook and the faint stirring of
+leaves. And now, clear and strong the tender radiance fell athwart the
+lonely habitation and her heart leapt at the sight, her eyes grew moist
+and tender and she hurried forward with flying steps, then--beholding
+the ruin of thatch and wall, she stopped and stood aghast, gazing
+wide-eyed and with her heart numb in her bosom. Then she shivered, her
+proud head drooped and a great sob brake from her, for that she knew she
+was come too late, her dreams of wandering with Beltane through sunny
+glades were nought but dreams after all. Beltane the Smith was gone!
+
+Then a great loneliness and desolation came upon her and, sinking down
+at the foot of that tree whereby he had been wont to lean so often, her
+yearning arms crept about its rugged hole and she lay there in the
+passion of her grief weeping long and bitterly.
+
+But the gentle trees ceased mourning over their own coming sorrow in
+wonder at the sight, and bending their heads together, seemed to
+whisper one to the other saying:
+
+"He is gone, Beltane the Smith is gone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
+
+
+Deep, deep within the green twilight of the woods Ambrose the Hermit
+had builded him a hut; had built and framed it of rude stones and
+thatched it with grass and mosses. And from the door of the hut he had
+formed likewise a path strewn thick with jagged stones and sharp
+flints, a cruel track, the which, winding away through the green, led
+to where upon a gentle eminence stood a wooden cross most artfully
+wrought and carven by the hermit's skilled and loving fingers.
+
+Morning and evening, winter and summer it was his custom ever to tread
+this painful way, wetting the stones with the blood of his atonement.
+
+Now upon a certain rosy dawn, ere yet the sun was up, Beltane standing
+amid the leaves, saw the hermit issue forth of the hut and, with bowed
+head and folded hands, set out upon his appointed way. The cruel stones
+grew red beneath his feet yet he faltered not nor stayed until, being
+come to the cross, he kneeled there and, with gaunt arms upraised,
+prayed long and fervently so that the tears of his passion streamed
+down his furrowed cheeks and wetted the snow of his beard.
+
+In a while, having made an end, he arose and being come to his hut once
+more, he of a sudden espied Beltane standing amid the leaves; and
+because he was so fair and goodly to look upon in his youth and might,
+the pale cheek of the hermit flushed and a glow leapt within his sunken
+eyes, and lifting up his hand, he blessed him.
+
+"Welcome to this my solitude, my son," quoth he, "and wherefore hast
+thou tarried in thy coming? I have watched for thee these many days.
+Come, sit you here beside me in this blessed sun and tell me of thy
+latter doings."
+
+But the eyes of Beltane were sad and his tongue unready, so that he
+stammered in his speech, looking ever upon the ground; then, suddenly
+up-starting to his feet, he strode before the hut, while Ambrose the
+wise looked, and saw, yet spake not. So, presently, Beltane paused, and
+looking him within the eyes spake hurriedly on this wise:
+
+"Most holy father, thou knowest how I have lived within the greenwood
+all my days nor found it lonely, for I did love it so, that I had
+thought to die here likewise when my time should come. Yet now do I
+know that this shall never be--to-day I go hence."
+
+"Wherefore, my son?"
+
+"There is come a strange restlessness upon me, a riot and fever of the
+blood whereby I am filled with dreams and strange desires. I would go
+forth into the great world of men and cities, to take my rightful place
+therein, for until a man hath loved and joyed and sorrowed with his
+fellows, he knoweth nought of life."
+
+"Perchance, my son, this is but the tide of youthful blood that tingles
+in thy veins? Or is it that thou hast looked of late within a woman's
+eyes?"
+
+Then Beltane kneeled him at the feet of Ambrose and hid his face
+betwixt his knees, as he had been wont to do whiles yet a little child.
+
+"Father," he murmured, "thou hast said." Now looking down upon this
+golden head, Ambrose sighed and drew the long curls through his fingers
+with a wondrous gentleness.
+
+"Tell me of thy love, Beltane," said he.
+
+Forthwith, starting to his feet, Beltane answered:
+
+"'Tis many long and weary months, my father, and yet doth seem but
+yesterday. She came to me riding upon a milk-white steed. At first
+methought her of the fairy kind thither drawn by my poor singing, yet,
+when I looked on her again, I knew her to be woman. And she was fair--
+O very fair, my father. I may not tell her beauty for 'twas compounded
+of all beauteous things, of the snow of lilies, the breath of flowers,
+the gleam of stars on moving waters, the music of streams, the
+murmur of wind in trees--I cannot tell thee more but that there is a
+flame doth hide within her hair, and for her eyes--O methinks 'tis for
+her eyes I do love her most--love her? Aye, my body doth burn and
+thrill with love--alas, poor fool, alas it should be so! But, for that
+she is proud and of an high estate, for that I am I, a poor worker of
+iron whom men call Beltane the Smith, fit but to sigh and sigh and
+forever sigh, to dream of her and nothing more--so must I go hence,
+leaving the sweet silence of the woods for the strife and noise of
+cities, learning to share the burdens of my fellows. See you not, my
+father, see you not the way of it?" So spake Beltane, hot and
+passionate, striding to and fro upon the sward, while Ambrose sat with
+bitterness in his heart but with eyes ineffably gentle.
+
+"And is this love of thine so hopeless, my Beltane?"
+
+"Beyond all thought; she is the Duchess Helen of Mortain!"
+
+Now for a while the hermit spake not, sitting chin in hand as one who
+halts betwixt two courses.
+
+"'Tis strange," he said at length, "and passing strange! Yet, since
+'tis she, and she so much above thee, wherefore would ye leave the
+tender twilight of these forests?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"My father, I tell thee these woods be full of love and her. She
+looketh at me from the flowers and stealeth to me in their fragrance;
+the very brooks do babble of her beauty; each leaf doth find a little
+voice to whisper of her, and everywhere is love and love and love--so
+needs must I away."
+
+"And think you so to escape this love, my Beltane, and the pain of it?"
+
+"Nay my father, that were thing impossible for it doth fill the
+universe, so must I needs remember it with every breath I draw, but in
+the griefs and sorrows of others I may, perchance, learn to bear mine
+own, silent and patiently, as a man should."
+
+Then Ambrose sighed, and beckoning Beltane to his knee, laid his hands
+upon his shoulders and looked deep within his eyes.
+
+"Beltane my son," said he, "I have known thee from thy youth up and
+well do I know thou canst not lie, for thy heart is pure as yet and
+uncorrupt. But now is the thing I feared come upon thee--ah, Beltane,
+hast thou forgot all I have told thee of women and the ways of women,
+how that their white bodies are filled with all manner of wantonness,
+their hands strong in lures and enticements? A woman in her beauty is
+a fair thing to the eyes of a man, yet I tell thee Beltane, they be
+snares of the devil, setting father 'gainst son and--brother 'gainst
+brother, whereby come unnatural murders and bloody wars."
+
+"And yet, needs must I love her still, my father!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so," sighed Ambrose, "'tis ever so, and as for thee, well do
+I know the blood within thee for a hot, wild blood--and thou art young,
+and so it is I fear for thee."
+
+But, looking up, Beltane shook his head and answered:
+
+"Holy father, thou art wise and wondrous learned in the reading of
+books and in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, yet methinks this
+love is a thing no book can teach thee, a truth a man must needs find
+out for himself." "And think you I know nought of love, Beltane, the
+pain and joy of it--and the shame? Thou seest me a poor old man and
+feeble, bent with years and suffering, one who but waiteth for the time
+when my grievous sin shall be atoned for and God, in His sweet
+clemency, shall ease me of this burden of life. Yet do I tell thee
+there was a time when this frail body was strong and tall, well-nigh,
+as thine own, when this white hair was thick and black, and these dim
+eyes bold and fearless even as thine."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, well do I know women and the ways of women! Come, sit you
+beside me and, because thou art fain to go into the world and play thy
+man's part, so now will I tell thee that the which I had thought to
+bear with me to the grave."
+
+Then Ambrose the Hermit, leaning his head upon his hand, began to speak
+on this wise:
+
+"Upon a time were two brothers, nobles of a great house and following,
+each alike lovers of peace yet each terrible in war; the name of the
+one was Johan and of the other Beltane. Now Beltane, being elder, was
+Duke of that country, and the country maintained peace within its
+borders and the people thereof waxed rich and happy. And because these
+twain loved each other passing well the way of the one was ever the way
+of the other so that they dwelt together in a wondrous amity, and as
+their hearts were pure and strong so waxed they in body so that there
+was none could cope with them at hand-strokes nor bear up against the
+might of their lances, and O, methinks in all this fair world nought
+was there fairer than the love of these two brethren!
+
+"Now it befell, upon a day, that they set out with a goodly company to
+attend a tourney in a certain town whither, likewise, were come many
+knights of renown, nobles and princes beyond count eager to prove their
+prowess, thither drawn by the fame of that fair lady who was to be
+Queen of Beauty. All lips spake of her and the wonder of her charms,
+how that a man could not look within her eyes but must needs fall into
+a passion of love for her. But the brethren smiled and paid small heed
+and so, together, journeyed to the city. The day of the joust being
+come, forth they rode into the lists, side by side, each in his triple
+mail and ponderous helm, alike at all points save for the golden
+circlet upon Duke Beltane's shining casque. And there befell, that day,
+a mighty shivering of lances and many a knightly deed was wrought. But,
+for these brethren there was none of all these knights and nobles who
+might abide their onset; all day long they together maintained the
+lists till there none remained to cope with them, wherefore the marshal
+would have had them run a course together for proof which was the
+mightier. But Beltane smiled and shook his head saying, 'Nay, it is not
+meet that brother strive with brother!' And Johan said: 'Since the day
+doth rest with us, we will share the glory together.' So, amid the
+acclaim of voice and trumpet, side by side they came to make obeisance
+to the Queen of Beauty, and gazing upon her, they saw that she was
+indeed of a wondrous beauty. Now in her hand she held the crown that
+should reward the victor, yet because they were two, she knew not whom
+to choose, wherefore she laughed, and brake the crown asunder and gave
+to each a half with many fair words and gentle sayings. But, alas, my
+son! from that hour her beauty came betwixt these brethren, veiling
+their hearts one from the other. So they tarried awhile in that fair
+city, yet companied together no more, for each was fain to walk apart,
+dreaming of this woman and the beauty of her, and each by stealth wooed
+her to wife. At last, upon an evening, came Johan to his brother and
+taking from his bosom the half of the crown he had won, kissed it and
+gave it to Beltane, saying: 'The half of a crown availeth no man, take
+therefore my half and join it with thine, for well do I know thy heart,
+my brother--and thou art the elder, and Duke; go therefore and woo
+this lady to wife, and God speed thee, my lord.' But Beltane said:
+'Shame were it in me to take advantage of my years thus; doth age or
+rank make a man's love more worthy? So, get thee to thy wooing, my
+brother, and heaven's blessing on thee.' Then grew Johan full of joy,
+saying: 'So be it, dear my brother, but am I come not to thee within
+three days at sunset, then shalt know that my wooing hath not
+prospered.' Upon the third day, therefore, Beltane the Duke girded on
+his armour and made ready to ride unto his own demesne, yet tarried
+until sunset, according to his word. But his brother Johan came not.
+Therefore he, in turn, rode upon his wooing and came unto the lady's
+presence in hauberk of mail, and thus ungently clad wooed her as one in
+haste to be gone, telling her that this world was no place for a man to
+sigh out his days at a woman's feet, and bidding her answer him' Yea'
+or 'Nay' and let him be gone to his duty. And she, whom so many had
+wooed on bended knee, spake him' Yea'--for that a woman's ways be
+beyond all knowledge--and therewith gave her beauty to his keeping. So,
+forthwith were they wed, with much pomp and circumstance, and so he
+brought her to his Duchy with great joy and acclaim. Then would Johan
+have departed over seas, but Beltane ever dissuaded him, and fain these
+brethren would have loved each other as they had done aforetime, yet
+was the beauty of this woman ever betwixt them. Now, within that year,
+came news of fire and sword upon the border, of cruel rape and murder,
+so Beltane sent forth his brother Johan with an army to drive back the
+invaders, and himself abode in his great castle, happy in the love of
+his fair, young wife. But the war went ill, tidings came that Johan his
+brother was beaten back with much loss and he himself sore wounded.
+Therefore the Duke made ready to set forth at the head of a veteran
+company, but ere he rode a son was born to him, so needs must he come
+to his wife in his armour, and beholding the child, kissed him.
+Thereafter Duke Beltane rode to the war with a glad heart, and fell
+upon his enemies and scattered them, and pursued them far and smote
+them even to their own gates. But in the hour of his triumph he fell,
+by treachery, into the hands of his cruelest enemy, how it mattereth
+not, and for a space was lost to sight and memory. But as for Johan,
+the Duke's brother, he lay long sick of his wounds, so came the Duchess
+and ministered to him; and she was fair, and passing fair, and he was
+young. And when his strength was come again, each day was Johan minded
+to ride forth and seek the Duke his brother--but he was young, and she
+passing fair, wherefore he tarried still, bound by the lure of her
+beauty. And, upon a soft and stilly eve as they walked together in the
+garden, she wooed Johan with tender look and word, and wreathed her
+white arms about him and gave to his her mouth. And, in that moment
+came one, fierce and wild of aspect, in dinted casque and rusty mail
+who stood and watched--ah God!"
+
+Here, for a while, the hermit Ambrose stayed his tale, and Beltane saw
+his brow was moist and that his thin hands clenched and wrung each
+other.
+
+"So thus, my son, came Duke Beltane home again, he and his esquire Sir
+Benedict of Bourne alone of all his company, each alike worn with
+hardship and spent with wounds. But now was the Duke stricken of a
+greater pain and leaned him upon the shoulder of his esquire, faint and
+sick of soul, and knew an anguish deeper than any flesh may know. Then,
+of a sudden, madness came upon him and, breaking from the mailed arms
+that held him, he came hot-foot to the courtyard and to the hall
+beyond, hurling aside all such as sought to stay him and so reached at
+last my lady's bower, his mailed feet ringing upon the Atones. And,
+looking up, the Duchess saw and cried aloud and stood, thereafter, pale
+and speechless and wide of eye, while Johan's cheek grew red and in his
+look was shame. Then the Duke put up his vizor and, when he spake, his
+voice was harsh and strange: 'Greeting, good brother!' said he, 'go
+now, I pray you, get you horse and armour and wait me in the courtyard,
+yet first must I greet this my lady wife.' So Johan turned, with
+hanging head, and went slow-footed from the chamber. Then said the
+Duke, laughing in his madness, 'Behold, lady, the power of a woman's
+beauty, for I loved a noble brother once, a spotless knight whose
+honour reached high as heaven, but thou hast made of him a something
+foul and base, traitor to me and to his own sweet name, and 'tis for
+this I will requite thee!' But the Duchess spake not, nor blenched even
+when the dagger gleamed to strike--O sweet God of mercy, to strike!
+But, in that moment, came Benedict of Bourne and leapt betwixt and took
+the blow upon his cheek, and, stanching the blood within his tattered
+war-cloak, cried: 'Lord Duke, because I love thee, ne'er shalt thou do
+this thing until thou first slay me!' A while the Duke stood in amaze,
+then turned and strode away down the great stair, and coming to the
+courtyard, beheld his brother Johan armed at all points and mounted,
+and with another horse equipped near by. So the Duke laughed and closed
+his vizor and his laughter boomed hollow within his rusty casque, and,
+leaping to the saddle, rode to the end of the great tilt-yard, and,
+wheeling, couched his lance. So these brethren, who had loved each
+other so well, spurred upon each other with levelled lances but, or
+ever the shock came--O my son, my son!--Johan rose high in his stirrups
+and cried aloud the battle-cry of his house 'Arise! Arise! I shall
+arise!' and with the cry, tossed aside his lance lest he might harm the
+Duke his brother--O sweet clemency of Christ!--and crashed to earth--
+and lay there--very still and silent. Then the Duke dismounted and,
+watched by pale-faced esquires and men-at-arms, came and knelt beside
+his brother, and laid aside his brother's riven helm and, beholding his
+comely features torn and marred and his golden hair all hatefully
+bedabbled, felt his heart burst in sunder, and he groaned, and rising
+to stumbling feet came to his horse and mounted and rode away 'neath
+grim portcullis and over echoing drawbridge, yet, whithersoever he
+looked, he saw only his brother's dead face, pale and bloody. And fain
+he would have prayed but could not, and so he came into the forest. All
+day long he rode beneath the trees careless of his going, conscious
+only that Benedict of Bourne rode behind with his bloody war-cloak
+wrapped about him. But on rode the Duke with hanging head and listless
+hands for before his haggard eyes was ever the pale, dead face of Johan
+his brother. Now, as the moon rose, they came to a brook that whispered
+soft-voiced amid the shadows and here his war-horse stayed to drink.
+Then came Sir Benedict of Bourne beside him, 'Lord Duke,' said he,
+'what hast thou in thy mind to do?' 'I know not,' said the Duke,
+'though methinks 'twere sweet to die.' 'Then what of the babe, lord
+Duke?' and, speaking, Sir Benedict drew aside his cloak and showed the
+babe asleep beneath. But, looking upon its innocence, the Duke cried
+out and hid his face, for the babe's golden curls were dabbled with the
+blood from Sir Benedict's wound and looked even as had the face of the
+dead Johan. Yet, in a while, the Duke reached out and took the child
+and setting it against his breast, turned his horse. Said Sir Benedict:
+'Whither do we ride, lord Duke?' Then spake the Duke on this wise: 'Sir
+Benedict, Duke Beltane is no more, the stroke that slew my brother
+Johan killed Duke Beltane also. But as for you, get you to Pentavalon
+and say the Duke is dead, in proof whereof take you this my ring and
+so, farewell.' Then, my Beltane, God guiding me, I brought thee to
+these solitudes, for I am he that was the Duke Beltane, and thou art my
+son indeed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
+
+
+Thus spake the hermit Ambrose and, having made an end, sat thereafter
+with his head bowed upon his hands, while Beltane stood wide-eyed yet
+seeing not, and with lips apart yet dumb by reason of the wonder of it;
+therefore, in a while, the hermit spake again:
+
+"Thus did we live together, thou and I, dear son, and I loved thee
+well, my Beltane: with each succeeding day I loved thee better, for as
+thine understanding grew, so grew my love for thee. Therefore, so soon
+as thou wert of an age, set in thy strength and able to thine own
+support, I tore myself from thy sweet fellowship and lived alone lest,
+having thee, I might come nigh to happiness."
+
+Then Beltane sank upon his knees and caught the hermit's wasted hands
+and kissed them oft, saying:
+
+"Much hast thou suffered, O my father, but now am I come to thee again
+and, knowing all things, here will I bide and leave thee nevermore."
+Now in the hermit's pale cheek came a faint and sudden glow, and in his
+eyes a light not of the sun.
+
+"Bethink thee, boy," said he, "the blood within thy veins is noble.
+For, since thou art my son, so, an thou dost leave me and seek thy
+destiny thou shalt, perchance, be Duke of Pentavalon--an God will it
+so."
+
+But Beltane shook his head. Quoth he:
+
+"My father, I am a smith, and smith am I content to be since thou, lord
+Duke, art my father. So now will I abide with thee and love and honour
+thee, and be thy son indeed."
+
+Then rose the hermit Ambrose to his feet and spake with eyes uplifted:
+
+"Now glory be to God, Who, in His mercy, hath made of thee a man, my
+Beltane, clean of soul and innocent, yet strong of arm to lift and
+succour the distressed, and therefore it is that you to-day must leave
+me, my well-beloved, for there be those whose need of thee is greater
+even than mine."
+
+"Nay, dear my father, how may this be?"
+
+Now hereupon Ambrose the Hermit stood awhile with bent head, and spake
+not, only he sighed full oft and wrung his hands.
+
+"I thought but of myself!" he groaned, "great sorrow is oft-times
+greatly selfish. Alas, my son--twenty weary years have I lived here
+suing God's forgiveness, and for twenty bitter years Pentavalon hath
+groaned 'neath shameful wrong--and death in many hateful shapes. O God
+have mercy on a sinner who thought but on himself! List, my son, O
+list! On a day, as I kneeled before yon cross, came one in knightly
+armour and upon his face, 'neath the links of his camail, I saw a great
+scar--the scar this hand had wrought. And, even as I knew Sir Benedict,
+in that same moment he knew me, and gave a joyous cry and came and fell
+upon his knee and kissed my hand, as of old. Thereafter we talked, and
+he told me many a woeful tale of Pentavalon and of its misery. How,
+when I was gone, rose bitter fight and faction, barons and knights
+striving together which should be Duke. In the midst of the which
+disorders came one, from beyond seas, whom men called Ivo, who by might
+of sword and cunning tongue made himself Duke in my place. Sir Benedict
+told of a fierce and iron rule, of the pillage and ravishment of town
+and city, of outrage and injustice, of rack and flame and gibbet--of a
+people groaning 'neath a thousand cruel wrongs. Then, indeed, did I see
+that my one great sin a thousand other sins had bred, and was I full of
+bitter sorrow and anguish. And, in my anguish, I thought on thee, and
+sent to thee Sir Benedict, and watched thee wrestle, and at stroke of
+sword, and praised God for thy goodly might and strength. For O, dear
+my son, meseemeth that God hath raised thee up to succour these
+afflicted, to shield the weak and helpless--hath made thee great and
+mightier than most to smite Evil that it may flee before thee. So in
+thee shall my youth be renewed, and my sins, peradventure, purged
+away."
+
+"Father!" said Beltane rising, his blue eyes wide, his strong hands
+a-tremble, "O my father!" Then Ambrose clasped those quivering hands and
+kissed those wide and troubled eyes and spake thereafter, slow and
+soft:
+
+"Now shall I live henceforth in thee, my son, glorying in thy deeds
+hereafter. And if thou must needs--bleed, then shall my heart bleed
+with thee, or if thou meet with death, my Beltane, then shall this
+heart of mine die with thee."
+
+Thus speaking, the hermit drew the sword from Beltane's girdle and
+held the great blade towards heaven.
+
+"Behold, my son," said he, "the motto of our house, 'I will arise!' So
+now shalt thou arise indeed that thy destiny may be fulfilled. Take
+hold upon thy manhood, my well-beloved, get thee to woeful Pentavalon
+and, beholding its sorrows, seek how they may be assuaged. Now my
+Beltane, all is said--when wilt thou leave thy father?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, gathering his cloak about him:
+
+"An so it be thy wish, my father, then will I go this hour."
+
+Then Ambrose brought Beltane into his humble dwelling where was a
+coffer wrought by his own skilful fingers; and from this coffer he drew
+forth a suit of triple mail, wondrously fashioned, beholding the
+which, Beltane's eyes glistened because of the excellence of its
+craftsmanship.
+
+"Behold!" quoth the hermit, "'tis an armour worthy of a king, light is
+it, yet marvellous strong, and hath been well tried in many a desperate
+affray. 'Tis twenty years since these limbs bore it, yet see--I have
+kept it bright from rust lest, peradventure, Pentavalon should need
+thee to raise again the battle cry of thy house and lead her men to
+war. And, alas dear son, that day is now! Pentavalon calls to thee from
+out the gloom of dungeon, from the anguish of flame, and rack, and
+gibbet--from blood-soaked hearth and shameful grave she calls thee--
+so, my Beltane, come and let me arm thee."
+
+And there, within his little hut, the hermit Ambrose, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was, girt the armour upon Beltane the mighty, Duke of
+Pentavalon to be, if so God willed; first the gambeson of stuffed and
+quilted leather, and, thereafter, coifed hauberk and chausses, with
+wide sword-belt clamped with broad plates of silver and studs of gold,
+until my Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot. Then
+brought Ambrose a wallet, wherein were six gold pieces, and put it in
+his hand, saying:
+
+"These have I kept against this day, my Beltane. Take them to aid thee
+on thy journey, for the county of Bourne lieth far to the south."
+
+"Do I then journey to Bourne, my father?"
+
+"Aye, to Sir Benedict, who yet doth hold the great keep of
+Thrasfordham. Many sieges hath he withstood, and daily men flee to him
+--stricken men, runaway serfs, and outlaws from the green, all such
+masterless men as lie in fear of their lives."
+
+Said Beltane, slow and thoughtful:
+
+"There be many outlaws within the green, wild men and sturdy fighters
+as I've heard. Hath Sir Benedict many men, my father?"
+
+"Alas! a pitiful few, and Black Ivo can muster bows and lances by the
+ten thousand--"
+
+"Yet doth Sir Benedict withstand them all, my father!"
+
+"Yet must he keep ever within Bourne, Beltane. All Pentavalon, save
+Bourne, lieth 'neath Ivo's iron foot, ruled by his fierce nobles, and
+they be strong and many, 'gainst whom Sir Benedict is helpless in the
+field. 'Tis but five years agone since Ivo gave up fair Belsaye town to
+ravishment and pillage, and thereafter, builded him a mighty gallows
+over against it and hanged many men thereon."
+
+Now hereupon, of a sudden, Beltane clenched his hands and fell upon his
+knees.
+
+"Father," said he, "Pentavalon indeed doth cry, so must I now arise and
+go unto her. Give me thy blessing that I may go."
+
+Then the hermit laid his hands upon Beltane's golden head and blessed
+him, and whispered awhile in passionate prayer. Thereafter Beltane
+arose and, together, they came out into the sunshine.
+
+"South and by west must you march, dear son, and God, methinks, shall
+go beside thee, for thy feet shall tread a path where Death shall lie
+in wait for thee. Let thine eyes be watchful therefore, and thine ears
+quick to hear. Hearken you to all men, yet speak you few words and
+soft. But, when you act, let your deeds shout unto heaven, that all
+Pentavalon may know a man is come to lead them who fears only God. And
+so, my Beltane, fare-thee-well! Come, kiss me, boy; our next kiss,
+perchance--shall be in heaven."
+
+And thus they kissed, and looked within each other's eyes; then Beltane
+turned him, swift and sudden, and strode upon his way. But, in a
+little, looking back, he saw his father, kneeling before the cross,
+with long, gaunt arms upraised to heaven.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS A
+NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
+
+
+The morning was yet young when my Beltane fared forth into the world, a
+joyous, golden morning trilling with the glad song of birds and rich
+with a thousand dewy scents; a fair, sweet, joyous world it was indeed,
+whose glories, stealing in at eye and ear, filled him with their
+gladness. On strode my Beltane by rippling brook and sleepy pool, with
+step swift and light and eyes wide and shining, threading an unerring
+course as only a forester might; now crossing some broad and sunny
+glade where dawn yet lingered in rosy mist, anon plunging into the
+green twilight of dell and dingle, through tangled brush and scented
+bracken gemmed yet with dewy fire, by marsh and swamp and lichened
+rock, until he came out upon the forest road, that great road laid by
+the iron men of Rome, but now little better than a grassy track, yet
+here and there, with mossy stone set up to the glory of proud emperor
+and hardy centurion long since dust and ashes; a rutted track, indeed,
+but leading ever on, 'neath mighty trees, over hill and dale towards
+the blue mystery beyond.
+
+Now, in a while, being come to the brow of a hill, needs must my
+Beltane pause to look back upon the woodlands he had loved so well and,
+sighing, he stretched his arms thitherward; and lo! out of the soft
+twilight of the green, stole a gentle wind full of the scent of root
+and herb and the fresh, sweet smell of earth, a cool, soft wind that
+stirred the golden hair at his temples, like a caress, and so--was
+gone. For a while he stood thus, gazing towards where he knew his
+father yet knelt in prayer for him, then turned he slowly, and went his
+appointed way.
+
+Thus did Beltane bid farewell to the greenwood and to woodland things,
+and thus did the green spirit of the woods send forth a gentle wind to
+kiss him on the brow ere he went out into the world of men and cities.
+
+Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery
+tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song,
+and the song was right merry and the words likewise:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a maid to a man, I trow."
+
+Looking about, Beltane saw the singer, a comely fellow whose long legs
+bestrode a plump ass; a lusty man he was, clad in shirt of mail and
+with a feather of green brooched to his escalloped hood; a long-bow
+hung at his back together with a quiver of arrows, while at his thigh
+swung a heavy, broad-bladed sword. Now he, espying Beltane amid the
+leaves, brought the ass to a sudden halt and clapped hand to the pommel
+of his sword.
+
+"How now, Goliath!" cried he. "_Pax vobiscum,_ and likewise
+_benedicite_! Come ye in peace, forsooth, or is it to be _bellum
+internecinum?_ Though, by St. Giles, which is my patron saint, I care
+not how it be, for mark ye, _vacuus cantat coram latrone viator,_ Sir
+Goliath, the which in the vulgar tongue signifieth that he who travels
+with an empty purse laughs before the footpad--moreover, I have a
+sword!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, saying:
+
+"I have no lust to thy purse, most learned bowman, or indeed to aught
+of thine unless it be thy company."
+
+"My company?" quoth the bowman, looking Beltane up and down with merry
+blue eyes, "why now do I know thee for a fellow of rare good judgment,
+for my company is of the best, in that I have a tongue which loveth to
+wag in jape or song. Heard ye how the birds and I were a-carolling? A
+right blithesome morn, methinks, what with my song, and the birds'
+song, and this poor ass's bells--aye, and the flowers a-peep from the
+bank yonder. God give ye joy of it, tall brother, as he doth me and
+this goodly ass betwixt my knees, patient beast."
+
+Now leaning on his quarter-staff Beltane smiled and said:
+
+"How came ye by that same ass, master bowman?"
+
+"Well--I met a monk!" quoth the fellow with a gleam of white teeth. "O!
+a ponderous monk, brother, of most mighty girth of belly! Now, as ye
+see, though this ass be sleek and fat as an abbot, she is something
+small. 'And shall so small a thing needs bear so great a mountain o'
+flesh?' says I (much moved at the sight, brother). 'No, by the blessed
+bones of St. Giles (which is my patron saint, brother), so thereafter
+(by dint of a little persuasion, brother) my mountainous monk, to ease
+the poor beast's back, presently got him down and I, forthwith, got up--
+as being more in proportion to her weight, sweet beast! O! surely
+ne'er saw I fairer morn than this, and never, in so fair a morn, saw I
+fairer man than thou, Sir Forester, nor taller, and I have seen many
+men in my day. Wherefore an so ye will, let us company together what
+time we may; 'tis a solitary road, and the tongue is a rare shortener
+of distance."
+
+So Beltane strode on beside this garrulous bowman, hearkening to his
+merry talk, yet himself speaking short and to the point as was ever his
+custom; as thus:
+
+BOWMAN. "How do men call thee, tall brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "Beltane."
+
+BOWMAN. "Ha! 'Tis a good name, forsooth I've heard worse--and yet,
+forsooth, I've heard better. Yet 'tis a fairish name--'twill serve. As
+for me, Giles Brabblecombe o' the Hills men call me, for 'twas in the
+hill country I was born thirty odd years agone. Since then twelve
+sieges have I seen with skirmishes and onfalls thrice as many. Death
+have I beheld in many and divers shapes and in experience of wounds and
+dangers am rich, though, by St. Giles (my patron saint), in little
+else. Yet do I love life the better, therefore, and I have read that
+'to despise gold is to be rich.'"
+
+BELTANE. "Do all bowmen read, then?"
+
+BOWMAN. "Why look ye, brother, I am not what I was aforetime--_non sum
+quails eram _--I was bred a shaveling, a mumbler, a be-gowned
+do-nothing--brother, I was a monk, but the flesh and the devil made of me
+a bowman, heigho--so wags the world! Though methinks I am a better
+bowman than ever I was a monk, having got me some repute with this my
+bow."
+
+BELTANE (shaking his head). "Methinks thy choice was but a sorry one
+for--"
+
+BOWMAN (laughing). "Choice quotha! 'Twas no choice, 'twas forced upon
+me, _vi et armis._ I should be chanting prime or matins at this very
+hour but for this tongue o' mine, God bless it! For, when it should
+have been droning psalms, it was forever lilting forth some blithesome
+melody, some merry song of eyes and lips and stolen kisses. In such
+sort that the good brethren were wont to gather round and, listening,--
+sigh! Whereof it chanced I was, one night, by order of the holy Prior,
+drubbed forth of the sacred precincts. So brother Anselm became Giles
+o' the Bow--the kind Saints be praised, in especial holy Saint Giles
+(which is my patron saint!). For, heed me--better the blue sky and the
+sweet, strong wind than the gloom and silence of a cloister. I had
+rather hide this sconce of mine in a hood of mail than in the mitre of
+a lord bishop--_nolo episcopare,_ good brother! Thus am I a fighter,
+and a good fighter, and a wise fighter, having learned 'tis better to
+live to fight than to fight to live."
+
+BELTANE. "And for whom do ye fight?"
+
+BOWMAN. "For him that pays most, _pecuniae obediunt omnia,_ brother."
+
+BELTANE (frowning). "Money? And nought beside?"
+
+BOWMAN (staring). "As what, brother?"
+
+BELTANE. "The justice of the cause wherefore ye fight."
+
+BOWMAN. "Justice quotha--cause! O innocent brother, what have such
+matters to do with such as I? See you now, such lieth the case. You,
+let us say, being a baron (and therefore noble!) have a mind to a
+certain other baron's castle, or wife, or both--(the which is more
+usual) wherefore ye come to me, who am but a plain bowman knowing
+nought of the case, and you chaffer with me for the use of this my body
+for so much money, and thereafter I shoot my best on thy behalf as in
+mine honour bound. Thus have I fought both for and against Black Ivo
+throughout the length and breadth of his Duchy of Pentavalon. If ye be
+minded to sell that long sword o' thine, to none better market could ye
+come, for there be ever work for such about Black Ivo."
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, 'tis so I hear."
+
+BOWMAN. "Nor shall ye anywhere find a doughtier fighter than Duke Ivo,
+nor a leader quicker to spy out the vantage of position and attack."
+
+BELTANE. "Is he so lusty a man-at-arms?"
+
+BOWMAN. "With lance, axe, or sword he hath no match. I have seen him
+lead a charge. I have watched him fight afoot. I have stormed behind
+him through a breach, and I know of none dare cope with him--unless it
+be Sir Pertolepe the Red."
+
+BELTANE. "Hast ne'er heard tell, then, of Benedict of Bourne?"
+
+BOWMAN (clapping hand to thigh). "Now by the blood and bones of St.
+Giles 'tis so! Out o' the mouth of a babe and suckling am I corrected!
+Verily if there be one to front Black Ivo 'tis Benedict o' the Mark. To
+behold these two at handstrokes--with axes--ha, there would be a sweet
+affray indeed--a sight for the eyes of holy archangels! Dost know aught
+of Sir Benedict, O Innocence?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen him."
+
+BOWMAN. "Then, my soft and gentle dove-like youth, get thee to thy
+marrow-bones and pray that kind heaven shall make thee more his like,
+for in his shoes doth stand a man--a knight--a very paladin!"
+
+BELTANE. "Who fighteth not for--hire. Sir Bowman!"
+
+BOWMAN. "Yet who hireth to fight, Sir Dove-eyed Giant, for I have
+fought for him, ere now, within his great keep of Thrasfordham within
+Bourne. But, an ye seek employ, his is but a poor service, where a man
+shall come by harder knocks than good broad pieces."
+
+BELTANE. "And yet, 'spite thy cunning and all thy warring, thy purse
+goeth empty!"
+
+BOWMAN. "My purse, Sir Dove? Aye, I told thee so for that I am by
+nature cautious--_sicut mos est nobis_! But thy dove's eyes are honest
+eyes, so now shall you know that hid within the lining of this my left
+boot be eighty and nine gold pieces, and in my right a ring with stones
+of price, and, moreover, here behold a goodly chain."
+
+So saying, the bowman drew from his bosom a gold chain, thick and long
+and heavy, and held it up in the sunlight.
+
+"I got this, Sir Dove, together with the ring and divers other toys, at
+the storming of Belsaye, five years agone. Aha! a right good town is
+Belsaye, and growing rich and fat against another plucking."
+
+"And how came Belsaye to be stormed?" Quoth Giles the Bowman, eying
+his golden chain:
+
+"My lord Duke Ivo had a mind to a certain lady, who was yet but a
+merchant's daughter, look ye. But she was young and wondrous fair, for
+Duke Ivo hath a quick eye and rare judgment in such pretty matters. But
+she (and she but a merchant's daughter!) took it ill, and when Duke
+Ivo's messengers came to bear her to his presence, she whined and
+struggled, as is ever woman's way, and thereafter in the open street
+snatched a dagger and thereupon, before her father's very eye did slay
+herself (and she but a merchant's daughter!), whereat some hot-head
+plucked out sword and other citizens likewise, and of my lord Duke's
+messengers there none escaped save one and he sore wounded. So Belsaye
+city shut its gates 'gainst my lord Duke and set out fighting-hoards
+upon its walls. Yet my lord Duke battered and breached it, for few can
+match him in a siege, and stormed it within three days. And, by Saint
+Giles, though he lost the merchant's daughter methinks he lacked not
+at all, for the women of Belsaye are wondrous fair."
+
+The rising sun made a glory all about them, pouring his beams 'twixt
+mighty trees whose knotted, far-flung branches dappled the way here and
+there with shadow; but now Beltane saw nought of it by reason that he
+walked with head a-droop and eyes that stared earthward; moreover his
+hands were clenched and his lips close and grim-set. As for Giles o'
+the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full
+melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a
+while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin
+with strong, brown fingers.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir
+Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er
+saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to
+twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well--hast the makings of a
+right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!"
+
+"Yet a lover of peace am I!" said Beltane, his head yet drooping.
+
+"Peace, quotha--peace? Ha? by all the holy saints--peace! A soft word!
+A woman's word! A word smacking of babes and milk! Out upon thee, what
+hath a man with such an arm--aye, and legs--to do with peace? An you
+would now, I could bring ye to good service 'neath Duke Ivo's banner.
+'Tis said he hath sworn, this year, to burn Thrasfordham keep, to hang
+Benedict o' the Mark and lay waste to Bourne. Aha! you shall see good
+fighting 'neath Ivo's banner, Sir Dove!"
+
+Then Beltane raised his head and spake, swift and sudden, on this wise:
+
+"An I must fight, the which God forbid, yet once this my sword is drawn
+ne'er shall it rest till I lie dead or Black Ivo is no more."
+
+Then did the archer stare upon my Beltane in amaze with eyes full wide
+and mouth agape, nor spake he for awhile, then:
+
+"Black Ivo--thou!" he cried, and laughed amain. "Go to, my tender
+youth," said he, "methinks a lute were better fitted to thy hand than
+that great sword o' thine." Now beholding Beltane's gloomy face, he
+smiled within his hand, yet eyed him thoughtfully thereafter, and so
+they went with never a word betwixt them. But, in a while, the archer
+fell to snuffing the air, and clapped Beltane upon the shoulder.
+
+"Aha!" quoth he, "methinks we reach the fair Duchy of Pentavalon; smell
+ye aught, brother?" And now, indeed, Beltane became aware of a cold
+wind, foul and noisome, a deadly, clammy air breathing of things
+corrupt, chilling the flesh with swift unthinking dread; and, halting
+in disgust, he looked about him left and right.
+
+"Above--above!" cried Giles o' the Bow, "this is Sir Pertolepe's
+country--look you heavenward, Sir Innocence!"
+
+Then, lifting his eyes to the shivering leaves overhead, Beltane of a
+sudden espied a naked foot--a down-curving, claw-like thing,
+shrivelled and hideous, and, glancing higher yet, beheld a sight to
+blast the sun from heaven: now staring up at the contorted horror of
+this shrivelled thing that once had lived and laughed, Beltane let fall
+his staff and, being suddenly sick and faint, sank upon his knees and,
+covering his eyes, crouched there in the grass the while that grisly,
+silent thing swayed to and fro above him in the gentle wind of morning
+and the cord whereby it hung creaked faintly.
+
+"How now--how now!" cried Giles; "do ye blench before this churlish
+carrion? Aha! ye shall see the trees bear many such hereabouts. Get up,
+my qualmish, maid-like youth; he ne'er shall injure thee nor any man
+again--save by the nose--faugh! Rise, rise and let us be gone."
+
+So, presently Beltane, shivering, got him to his feet and looking up,
+pale-faced, beheld upon the ragged breast a parchment with this legend
+in fair, good writing:
+
+HE KILLED A DEER
+
+Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be
+a plenty, but a stag is a noble creature and something scarcer--
+moreover they be the Duke's."
+
+"By whose order was this done?"
+
+"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red.
+But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of
+gentle blood."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"'Tis so the law!"
+
+"And who made the law?"
+
+"Why--as to that," quoth Giles, rubbing his chin, "as to that--what
+matters it to you or me? Pah! come away lest I stifle!"
+
+But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse
+at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about
+and set the very leaves a-quiver. Once it came, and twice, and so--was
+gone. Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff,
+and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and
+dragging him from the ass all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush
+whence the cry had come. And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon
+whose threshold a child lay--not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the
+cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in
+hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed
+hauberks glittered in the sun. Close and ever closer they beset the
+hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but
+ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close. Beside the man a
+woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and
+garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry,
+leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in
+that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled
+'neath a pike-thrust. Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in
+his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body
+and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and
+wild. So for a space, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane,
+laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they
+writhing upon the sward. Then Beltane turned to see Giles o' the Bow,
+who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.
+
+"Look!" he cried, pointing with quivering finger, "one dead and one
+sore hurt--Saint Giles save us, what have ye done? These be Sir
+Pertolepe's foresters--behold his badge!"
+
+But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.
+
+"How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then? I was too meek and
+gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou'rt afraid--get you gone!"
+
+"Art surely mad!" quoth Giles. "The saints be my witness here was no
+act of mine!" So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through
+the green. Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the
+hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman. Said he:
+
+"Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?"
+
+"Wife and child--and dead!" the man muttered, "child and wife--and
+dead! A week ago, my brother--and now, the child, and then the wife!
+Child and wife and brother--and dead!" Then Beltane came, minded to aid
+him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his
+great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at
+heart, turned him away. And, in a while, being come to the road once
+more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its
+bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his
+brow grew dark and troubled.
+
+"'Tis thus have I made beginning," he sighed, "so now, God aiding me,
+ne'er will I rest 'till peace be come again and tyranny made an end
+of!"
+
+Then, very solemnly, did my Beltane kneel him beside the way and
+lifting the cross hilt of his sword to heaven kissed it, and thereafter
+rose. And so, having cleansed the steel within the earth, he sheathed
+the long blade and went, slowfooted, upon his way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
+
+The sun was high, and by his shadow Beltane judged it the noon hour;
+very hot and very still it was, for the wind had died and leaf and twig
+hung motionless as though asleep. And presently as he went, a sound
+stole upon the stillness, a sound soft and beyond all things pleasant
+to hear, the murmurous ripple of running water near by. Going aside
+into the green therefore, Beltane came unto a brook, and here, screened
+from the sun 'neath shady willows, he laid him down to drink, and to
+bathe face and hands in the cool water.
+
+Now as he lay thus, staring sad-eyed into the hurrying waters of the
+brook, there came to him the clicking of sandalled feet, and glancing
+up, he beheld one clad as a black friar. A fat man he was, jolly of
+figure and mightily round; his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+"Peace be unto thee, my son!" quoth he, breathing short and loud, "an
+evil day for a fat man who hath been most basely bereft of a goodly ass
+--holy Saint Dunstan, how I gasp!" and putting back the cowl from his
+tonsured crown, he puffed out his cheeks and mopped his face. "Hearkee
+now, good youth, hath there passed thee by ever a ribald in an
+escalloped hood--an unhallowed, long-legged, scurvy archer knave
+astride a fair white ass, my son?"
+
+"Truly," nodded Beltane, "we parted company scarce an hour since."
+
+The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped
+his face again; quoth he:
+
+"Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert
+and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a
+thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most
+vicious rogue, _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_!"
+
+"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four
+saints with as many curses, and all for one small ass!"
+
+The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed:
+
+"'Twas a goodly ass, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy
+gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover
+'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to
+steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--_per de_
+'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times damned and
+beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to
+the lowest pit of Acheron--_damnatus est_, amen! Yet, my son, here--by
+the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty
+most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis
+something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"
+
+Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept
+towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long
+and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness
+of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a
+heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he
+paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked
+voice:
+
+"O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one
+that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the
+tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the
+eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's
+right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and,
+bowing his head upon his hands, closed his eyes.
+
+"Oho!" cried the friar, "and is it thou, Simon? Trouble ye the world
+yet, child of Satan?"
+
+Hereupon the blind man fell upon his knees. "Holy father," he groaned,
+clasping his withered arms upon his gaunt breast, "good Friar Gui I die
+of hunger; aid me lest I perish. 'Tis true I am outlaw and no man may
+minister unto me, yet be merciful, give me to eat--O gentle Christ, aid
+me--"
+
+"How!" cried the friar, "dare ye speak that name, ye that are breaker
+of laws human and divine, ye that are murderer, dare ye lift those
+bloody hands to heaven?"
+
+"Holy sir," quoth Beltane, "he hath but one; I pray you now give him to
+eat."
+
+"Feed an outlaw! Art mad, young sir? Feed a murderer, a rogue banned by
+Holy Church, a serf that hath raised hand 'gainst his lord? He should
+have hanged when the witch his daughter burned, but that Sir Pertolepe,
+with most rare mercy, gave to the rogue his life."
+
+"But," sighed Beltane, "left him to starve--'tis a death full as sure
+yet slower, methinks. Come, let us feed him."
+
+"I tell thee, fond youth, he is excommunicate. Wouldst have me
+contravene the order of Holy Church? Go to!"
+
+Then my Beltane put his hand within his pouch and taking thence a gold
+piece held it out upon his palm; said he:
+
+"Friar, I will buy the half of thy pasty of thee!" Hereupon Friar Gui
+stared from the gold to the pasty, and back again.
+
+"So much!" quoth he, round-eyed. "Forsooth 'tis a noble pasty and yet--
+nay, nay, tempt me not--_retro Sathanas!_" and closing his eyes he
+crossed himself. Then Beltane took out other two gold pieces and set
+them in the blind man's bony hand, saying:
+
+"Take these three gold pieces and buy you food, and thereafter--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the blind man, "gold! Now the Saints keep and bless thee,
+young sir, sweet Jesu love thee ever!" and fain would he have knelt to
+kiss my Beltane's feet. But Beltane raised him up with gentle hand,
+speaking him kindly, as thus:
+
+"Tell now, I pray you, how came ye to slay?"
+
+"Stay! stay!" cried Friar Gui, "bethink thee, good youth--so much gold,
+'tis a very fortune! With so much, masses might be sung for his
+wretched soul; give it therefore to Holy Church, so shall he,
+peradventure, attain Paradise."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "I had rather he, of a surety, attain a
+full belly, Sir Friar." Then, turning his back upon the friar, Beltane
+questioned the blind man again, as thus:
+
+"Tell me, an ye will, how ye came to shed blood?" and the outlaw,
+kneeling at Beltane's feet answered with bowed head:
+
+"Noble sir, I had a daughter and she was young and fair, therefore came
+my lord Pertolepe's chief verderer to bear her to my lord. But she
+cried to me and I, forgetting my duty to my lord, took my quarter-staff
+and, serf though I was, smote the chief verderer that he died
+thereafter, but, ere he died, he named my daughter witch. And, when
+they had burned her, they put out mine eyes, and cut off my hand, and
+made of me an outlaw. So is my sin very heavy upon me."
+
+Now when the man had made an end, Beltane stood silent awhile, then,
+reaching down, he aided the blind man to his feet.
+
+"Go you to Mortain," said he, "seek out the hermit Ambrose that liveth
+in Holy Cross Thicket; with him shall you find refuge, and he,
+methinks, will surely win thy soul to heaven."
+
+So the blind man blessed my Beltane and turning, crept upon his
+solitary way.
+
+"Youth," said the friar, frowning up into Beltane's gentle eyes, "thou
+hast this day put thy soul in jeopardy--the Church doth frown upon this
+thy deed!"
+
+"And yet, most reverend sir, God's sun doth shine upon this my body!"
+
+FRIAR. "He who aideth an evil-doer is enemy to the good!"
+
+BELTANE. "Yet he who seeketh to do good to evil that good may follow,
+doeth no evil to good."
+
+FRIAR. "Ha! thou art a menace to the state--"
+
+BELTANE. "So shall I be, I pray God, the whiles this state continue!"
+
+FRIAR. "Thou art either rogue or fool!"
+
+BELTANE. "Well, thou hast thy choice."
+
+FRIAR. "Alack! this sorry world is full of rogues and fools and--"
+
+BELTANE. "And friars!"
+
+FRIAR. "Who seek the salvation of this wretched world."
+
+BELTANE. "As how?"
+
+FRIAR. "Forsooth we meditate and pray--"
+
+BELTANE. "And eat!"
+
+FRIAR. "Aye verily, we do a little in that way as the custom is, for
+your reverent eater begetteth a devout pray-er. The which mindeth me I
+grow an hungered, yet will I forego appetite and yield thee this fair
+pasty for but two of thy gold pieces. And, look ye, 'tis a noble pasty
+I had this day from my lord Pertolepe's own table."
+
+BELTANE. "That same lord that showed mercy on yonder poor maimed
+wretch? Know you him?"
+
+FRIAR. "In very sooth, and 'tis a potent lord that holdeth me in some
+esteem, a most Christian knight--"
+
+BELTANE. "That ravisheth the defenceless! Whose hands be foul with the
+blood of innocence--"
+
+FRIAR. "How--how? 'Tis a godly lord who giveth bounteously to Holy
+Church--"
+
+BELTANE. "Who stealeth from the poor--"
+
+FRIAR. "Stealeth! Holy Saint Dunstan, dare ye speak thus of so great a
+lord--a son of the Church, a companion of our noble Duke? Steal,
+forsooth! The poor have nought to steal!"
+
+BELTANE. "They have their lives."
+
+FRIAR. "Not so, they and their lives are their lord's, 'tis so the law
+and--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence came this law?"
+
+FRIAR. "It came, youth--it came--aye, of God!"
+
+BELTANE. "Say rather of the devil!"
+
+FRIAR. "Holy Saint Michael--'tis a blasphemous youth! Never heard ears
+the like o' this--"
+
+BELTANE. "Whence cometh poverty and famine?"
+
+FRIAR. "'Tis a necessary evil! Doth it not say in Holy Writ, 'the poor
+ye have always with you'?"
+
+BELTANE. "Aye, so shall ye ever--until the laws be amended. So needs
+must men starve and starve--"
+
+FRIAR. "There be worse things! And these serfs be born to starve, bred
+up to it, and 'tis better to starve here than to perish hereafter,
+better to purge the soul by lack of meat than to make of it a fetter of
+the soul!"
+
+"Excellently said, holy sir!" quoth Beltane, stooping of a sudden. "But
+for this pasty now, 'tis a somewhat solid fetter, meseemeth, so now do
+I free thee of it--thus!" So saying, my Beltane dropped the pasty into
+the deeper waters of the brook and, thereafter, took up his staff. "Sir
+Friar," said he, "behold to-day is thy soul purged of a pasty against
+the day of judgment!"
+
+Then Beltane went on beside the rippling waters of the brook, but above
+its plash and murmur rose the deeptoned maledictions of Friar Gui.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE WISDOM OF A
+FOOL
+
+
+As the day advanced the sun grew ever hotter; birds chirped drowsily
+from hedge and thicket, and the warm, still air was full of the
+slumberous drone of a myriad unseen wings. Therefore Beltane sought the
+deeper shade of the woods and, risking the chance of roving thief or
+lurking foot-pad, followed a devious course by reason of the
+underbrush.
+
+Now as he walked him thus, within the cool, green twilight, watchful of
+eye and with heavy quarter-staff poised upon his shoulder, he presently
+heard the music of a pipe now very mournful and sweet, anon breaking
+into a merry lilt full of rippling trills and soft, bubbling notes most
+pleasant to be heard. Wherefore he went aside and thus, led by the
+music, beheld a jester in his motley lying a-sprawl beneath a tree. A
+long-legged knave was he, pinched and something doleful of visage yet
+with quick bright eyes that laughed 'neath sombre brows, and a wide,
+up-curving mouth; upon his escalloped cape and flaunting cock's-comb
+were many little bells that rang a silvery chime as, up-starting to his
+elbow, he greeted my Beltane thus:
+
+"Hail, noble, youthful Sir, and of thy sweet and gracious courtesy I
+pray you mark me this--the sun is hot, my belly lacketh, and thou art a
+fool!"
+
+"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane, leaning him upon his quarter-staff.
+
+"For three rarely reasonable reasons, sweet sir, as thus:--item, for
+that the sun burneth, item, my belly is empty, and item, thou, lured by
+this my foolish pipe art hither come to folly. So I, a fool, do greet
+thee, fool, and welcome thee to this my palace of ease and pleasaunce
+where, an ye be minded to list to the folly of a rarely foolish fool, I
+will, with foolish jape and quip, befool thy mind to mirth and jollity,
+for thou art a sad fool, methinks, and something melancholic!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, sighing:
+
+"'Tis a sad world and very sorrowful!"
+
+"Nay--'tis a sweet world and very joyful--for such as have eyes to see
+withal!"
+
+"To see?" quoth Beltane, frowning, "this day have I seen a dead man
+a-swing on a tree, a babe dead beside its cradle, and a woman die upon
+a spear! All day have I breathed an air befouled by nameless evil;
+whithersoever I go needs must I walk 'twixt Murder and Shame!"
+
+"Then look ever before thee, so shalt see neither."
+
+"Yet will they be there!"
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine in high heaven, so must these things be till
+God and the saints shall mend them. But if thou must needs be doleful,
+go make thee troubles of thine own but leave the woes of this wide
+world to God!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, shaking his head, "how if God leave these things
+to thee and me?"
+
+"Why then methinks the world must wag as it will. Yet must we repine
+therefore? Out upon thee for a sober, long-legged, doleful wight. Now
+harkee! Here sit I--less fool! A fool who hath, this day, been driven
+forth of my lord's presence with blows and cruel stripes! And
+wherefore? 'Twas for setting a bird free of its cage, a small matter
+methinks--though there be birds--and birds, but mum for that! Yet do I
+grieve and sigh therefore, O doleful long-shanks? Not so--fie on't! I
+blow away my sorrows through the music of this my little pipe and,
+lying here, set my wits a-dancing and lo! I am a duke, a king, a very
+god! I create me a world wherein is neither hunger nor stripes, a world
+of joy and laughter, for, blessed within his dreams, even a fool may
+walk with gods and juggle with the stars!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "but how when he awake?"
+
+"Why then, messire," laughed the fellow, leaping nimbly to his feet,
+"why then doth he ask alms of thee, as thus: Prithee most noble
+messire, of thy bounty show kindness to a fool that lacks everything
+but wit. So give, messire, give and spare not, so may thy lady prove
+kind, thy wooing prosper and love strengthen thee."
+
+Now when the jester spake of love, my Beltane must needs sigh amain and
+shake a doleful head.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "within my life shall be no place for love, methinks."
+
+"Heigho!" sighed the jester, "thy very look doth proclaim thee lover,
+and 'tis well, for love maketh the fool wise and the wise fool, it
+changeth saints into rogues and rogues into saints, it teacheth the
+strong man gentleness and maketh the gentle strong. 'Tis sweeter than
+honey yet bitter as gall--Love! ah, love can drag a man to hell or lift
+him high as heaven!"
+
+"Aye verily," sighed Beltane, "I once did dream of such a love, but now
+am I awake, nor will I dream of love again, nor rest whiles Lust and
+Cruelty rule this sorrowful Duchy--"
+
+"Ha, what would ye then, fond youth?"
+
+"I am come to smite them hence," said Beltane, clenching mighty fists.
+
+"How?" cried the jester, wide of eye. "Alone?"
+
+"Nay, methinks God goeth with me. Moreover, I have this sword!" and
+speaking, Beltane touched the hilt of the great blade at his side.
+
+"What--a sword!" scoffed the jester, "think ye to mend the woes of thy
+fellows with a sword? Go to, thou grave-visaged, youthful fool! I tell
+thee, 'tis only humour and good fellowship can mend this wretched
+world, and there is nought so lacking in humour as a sword--unless it
+be your prating priest or mumbling monk. A pope in cap and bells, now--
+aha, there would be a world indeed, a world of joy and laughter! No
+more gloom, no more bans and damnings of Holy Church, no more groaning
+and snivelling in damp cloister and mildewed chapel, no more burnings
+and hangings and rackings--"
+
+"Yet," said Beltane, shaking his head, "yet would kings and dukes
+remain, Christian knights and godly lords to burn and hang and rack the
+defenceless."
+
+"Aye, Sir Gravity," nodded the jester, "but the Church is paramount
+ever; set the pope a-blowing of tunes upon a reed and kings would lay
+by their sceptres and pipe too and, finding no time or lust for
+warring, so strife would end, swords rust and wit grow keen. And wit,
+look you, biteth sharper than sword, laughter is more enduring than
+blows, and he who smiteth, smiteth only for lack of wit. So, an you
+would have a happy world, lay by that great sword and betake thee to a
+little pipe, teach men to laugh and so forget their woes. Learn wisdom
+of a fool, as thus: 'Tis better to live and laugh and beget thy kind
+than to perish by the sword or to dangle from a tree. Here now is
+advice, and in this advice thy life, thus in giving thee advice so do I
+give thee thy life. And I am hungry. And in thy purse is money
+wherewith even a fool might come by food. And youth is generous! And
+thou art very young! Come, sweet youthful messire, how much for thy
+life--and a fool's advice?"
+
+Then Beltane smiled, and taking out one of his three remaining gold
+pieces, put it in the jester's hand.
+
+"Fare thee well, good fool," said he, "I leave thee to thy dreams; God
+send they be ever fair--"
+
+"Gold!" cried the jester, spinning the coin upon his thumb, "ha, now do
+I dream indeed; may thy waking be ever as joyous. Farewell to thee,
+thou kind, sweet, youthful fool, and if thou must hang some day on a
+tree, may every leaf voice small prayers for thy gentle soul!"
+
+So saying, the jester nodded, waved aloft his bauble, and skipped away
+among the trees. But as Beltane went, pondering the jester's saying,
+the drowsy stillness was shivered by a sudden, loud cry, followed
+thereafter by a clamour of fierce shouting; therefore Beltane paused
+and turning, beheld the jester himself who ran very fleetly, yet with
+three lusty fellows in close pursuit.
+
+"Messire," panted the jester, wild of eye and with a trickle of blood
+upon his pallid face, "O sweet sir--let them not slay me!"
+
+Now while he spake, and being yet some way off, he tripped and fell,
+and, as he lay thus the foremost of his pursuers, a powerful, red-faced
+man, leapt towards him, whirling up his quarter-staff to smite; but, in
+that moment, Beltane leapt also and took the blow upon his staff and
+swung it aloft, yet stayed the blow, and, bestriding the prostrate
+jester, spake soft and gentle, on this wise:
+
+"Greeting to thee, forest fellow! Thy red face liketh me well, let us
+talk together."
+
+But, hereupon, as the red-faced man fell back, staring in amaze, there
+came his two companions, albeit panting and short of breath.
+
+"What, Roger," cried one, "doth this fellow withstand thee?"
+
+But Roger only growled, whiles Beltane smiled upon the three, gentle-eyed,
+but with heavy quarter-staff poised lightly in practised hand; quoth he:
+
+"How now, would ye harm the fool? 'Tis a goodly fool forsooth, yet with
+legs scarce so nimble as his wit, and a tongue--ha, a golden tongue to
+win all men to humour and good fellowship--"
+
+"Enough!" growled red-faced Roger, "Sir Pertolepe's foresters we be,
+give us yon scurvy fool then, that we may hang him out of hand."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "first let us reason together, let us hark to
+the wisdom of Folly and grow wise--"
+
+"Ha, Roger!" cried one of the men, "tap me this tall rogue on his
+golden mazzard!"
+
+"Or," said Beltane, "the fool shall charm thy souls to kindliness with
+his pipe--"
+
+"Ho, Roger!" cried the second forester, "split me this tall talker's
+yellow sconce, now!"
+
+"Come," growled Roger, threatening of mien, "yield us the fool, 'tis an
+arrant knave hath angered his lord!"
+
+"What matter for that," said Beltane, "so he hath not angered his God?
+Come now, ye be hearty fellows and have faces that might be honest,
+tell me, how long will ye serve the devil?"
+
+"Devil? Ha, what talk be this? We serve no devil!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "though they call him Pertolepe the Red,
+hereabouts."
+
+"Devil!" cried Black Roger aghast. And, falling back a step he gaped in
+amaze from Beltane to his gaping fellows. "Devil, forsooth!" he gasped,
+"aha, I've seen many a man hang for less than this--"
+
+"True," sighed Beltane, "men hang for small matters here in Pentavalon,
+and to hang is an evil death, methinks!"
+
+"So, so!" nodded Black Roger, grim-smiling, "I've watched them kick a
+fair good while, betimes!"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, his eyes widening, "those hands of thine, belike,
+have hanged a man ere this?"
+
+"Aye, many a score. Oho! folk know Black Roger's name hereabouts. I
+carry ever a noose at my girdle here--behold it!" and he showed a coil
+of rope that swung at his belt.
+
+Now looking from the man's grim features to this murderous cord,
+Beltane blenched and shivered, whereat Black Roger laughed aloud, and
+pointed a scornful finger.
+
+"Look'ee, 'tis fair, good rope this, and well-tried, and shall bear
+even thy great carcase sweetly--aye, sweetly--"
+
+"How--would'st hang me also?" said Beltane faintly, and the heavy
+quarter-staff sagged in his loosened grip.
+
+"Hang thee--aye. Thou didst withstand us with this fool, thou hast
+dared miscall our lord--we be all witnesses to it. So now will we--"
+
+But swift as lightning-flash, Beltane's long quarter-staff whirled and
+fell, and, for all his hood of mail, Black Roger threw wide his arms
+and, staggering, fell upon his face and so lay; then, fierce and grim,
+he had leapt upon the other two, and the air was full of the rattle and
+thud of vicious blows. But these foresters were right lusty fellows and
+they, together, beset my Beltane so furiously, right and left, that he
+perforce gave back 'neath their swift and grievous blows and, being
+overmatched, turned and betook him to his heels, whereat they,
+incontinent, pursued with loud gibes and fierce laughter. But on ran
+Beltane up the glade very fleetly yet watchful of eye, until, seeing
+one had outstripped his fellow, he checked his going somewhat,
+stumbling as one that is spent, whereat the forester shouted the louder
+and came on amain. Then did my cunning Beltane leap aside and, leaping,
+turned and smote the fellow clean and true upon the crown, and,
+laughing to see him fall, ran in upon the other forester with whirling
+quarter-staff. Now this fellow seeing himself stand alone, stayed not
+to abide the onset, but turning about, made off into the green. Then
+Beltane leaned him, panting, upon his staff, what time the fallen man
+got him unsteadily to his legs and limped after his comrade; as for the
+jester, he was gone long since; only Black Roger lay upon his face and
+groaned faintly, ever and anon. Wherefore came Beltane and stood above
+him as one in thought and, seeing him begin to stir, took from him his
+sword and coil of rope and loosing off his swordbelt, therewith bound
+his hands fast together and so, dragged him 'neath a tree that stood
+hard by. Thus when at last Black Roger opened his eyes, he beheld
+Beltane standing above him and in his hand the deadly rope. Now,
+looking from this to the desolation about him, Black Roger shivered,
+and gazing up into' the stern face above, his florid cheek grew pale.
+
+"Master," said he hoarsely, "what would ye?"
+
+"I would do to thee as thou hast done to others."
+
+"Hang me?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, and setting the noose about his neck, cast the
+rope across a branch.
+
+"Master, how shall my death profit thee?"
+
+"The world shall be the better, and thy soul know less of sin, mayhap."
+
+"Master," said Black Roger, stooping to wipe sweat from his face with
+fettered hands, "I have store of money set by--"
+
+But Beltane laughed with pallid lips, and, pulling upon the rope,
+dragged Black Roger, choking, to his feet.
+
+"Master," he gasped, "show a little mercy--"
+
+"Hast ever shown mercy to any man--speak me true!"
+
+"Alack!--no, master! And yet--"
+
+"How then shall ye expect mercy? Thou hast burnt and hanged and
+ravished the defenceless, so now shall be an end of it for thee, yet--O
+mark me this, thy name shall live on accursed in memory long after
+thou'rt but poor dust."
+
+"Aye, there be many alive to curse Black Roger living, and many dead to
+curse me when I'm dead; poor Roger's soul shall find small mercy
+hereafter, methinks--ha, I never thought on this!"
+
+"Thou had'st a mother--"
+
+"Aye, but they burned her for a witch when I was but a lad. As for me,
+'tis true I've hanged men, yet I was my lord's chief verderer and did
+but as my lord commanded."
+
+"A man hath choice of good or evil."
+
+"Aye. So now, an I must die--I must, but O master, say a prayer for me--
+my sins lie very heavy--"
+
+But Beltane, trembling, pulled upon the rope and swung Black Roger
+writhing in mid-air; then, of a sudden, loosing the rope, the forester
+fell and, while he lay gasping, Beltane stooped and loosed the rope
+from his neck.
+
+"What now?" groaned the forester, wild-eyed, "Sweet Jesu--ah, torture
+me not!"
+
+"Take back thy life," said Beltane, "and I pray God that henceforth
+thou shalt make of it better use, and live to aid thy fellows, so shall
+they, mayhap, some day come to bless thy memory."
+
+Then Black Roger, coming feebly to his knees, looked about him as one
+that wakes upon a new world, and lifted wide eyes from green earth to
+cloudless sky.
+
+"To live!" quoth he, "to live!" And so, with sudden gesture, stooped
+his head to hide his face 'neath twitching fingers.
+
+Hereupon Beltane smiled, gentle-eyed, yet spake not, and, turning,
+caught up his staff and went softly upon his way, leaving Black Roger
+the forester yet upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
+
+
+The sun was low what time Beltane came to a shrine that stood beside
+the way, where was a grot built by some pious soul for the rest and
+refreshment of wearied travellers; and here also was a crystal spring
+the which, bubbling up, fell with a musical plash into the basin
+hollowed within the rock by those same kindly hands. Here Beltane
+stayed and, when he had drunk his fill, laid him down in the grateful
+shade and setting his cloak beneath his head, despite his hunger,
+presently fell asleep. When he awoke the sun was down and the world was
+become a place of mystery and glooming shadow; a bird called
+plaintively afar off in the dusk, the spring bubbled softly near by,
+but save for this a deep silence brooded over all things; above the
+gloom of the trees the sky was clear, where bats wheeled and hovered,
+and beyond the purple upland an orbed moon was rising.
+
+Now as Beltane breathed the cool, sweet air of evening and looked about
+him drowsily, he suddenly espied a shadow within the shadows, a dim
+figure--yet formidable and full of menace, and he started up, weapon in
+fist, whereupon the threatening figure stirred and spake:
+
+"Master--'tis I!" said a voice. Then Beltane came forth of the grot and
+stared upon Black Roger, grave-eyed.
+
+"O Hangman," said he, "where is thy noose?"
+
+But Roger quailed and hung his head, and spake with eyes abased:
+
+"Master, I burned it, together with my badge of service."
+
+"And what would ye here?"
+
+"Sir, I am a masterless man henceforth, for an I hang not men for Sir
+Pertolepe, so will Sir Pertolepe assuredly hang me."
+
+"And fear ye death?"
+
+"Messire, I--have hanged many men and--there were women also! I have
+cut me a tally here on my belt, see--there be many notches--and every
+notch a life. So now for every life these hands have taken do I vow to
+save a life an it may be so, and for every life saved would I cut away
+a notch until my belt be smooth again and my soul the lighter."
+
+"Why come ye to me, Black Roger?"
+
+"For that this day, at dire peril, I saw thee save a fool, Master. So
+now am I come to thee to be thy man henceforth, to follow and serve
+thee while life remain."
+
+"Why look now," quoth Beltane, "mine shall be a hard service and a
+dangerous, for I have mighty wrongs to set aright."
+
+"Ha! belike thou art under some vow also, master?"
+
+"Aye, verily, nor will I rest until it be accomplished or I am slain.
+For mark this, lonely am I, with enemies a many and strong, yet because
+of my vow needs must I smite them hence or perish in the adventure.
+Thus, he that companies me must go ever by desperate ways, and 'tis
+like enough Death shall meet him in the road."
+
+"Master," quoth Black Roger, "this day have ye shown me death yet given
+me new life, so beseech thee let me serve thee henceforth and aid thee
+in this thy vow."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane smiled and reached forth his hand; then Black
+Roger falling upon his knee, touched the hand to lip, and forehead and
+heart, taking him for his lord henceforth, and spake the oath of
+fealty: but when he would have risen, Beltane stayed him:
+
+"What, Black Roger, thou hast sworn fealty and obedience to me--now
+swear me this to God:--to hold ever, and abide by, thy word: to shew
+mercy to the distressed and to shield the helpless at all times!"
+
+And when he had sworn, Black Roger rose bright-eyed and eager.
+
+"Lord," said he, "whither do we go?"
+
+"Now," quoth Beltane, "shew me where I may eat, for I have a mighty
+hunger."
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Roger, scratching his chin, "Shallowford village
+lieth but a bowshot through the brush yonder--yet, forsooth, a man
+shall eat little there, methinks, these days."
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"For that 'twas burned down, scarce a week agone--"
+
+"Burned!--and wherefore?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe fell out with his neighbour Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--
+upon the matter of some wench, methinks it was--wherefore came Sir
+Gilles' men by night and burned down Shallowford with twenty hunting
+dogs of Sir Pertolepe's that chanced to be there: whereupon my lord
+waxed mighty wroth and, gathering his company, came into the demesne of
+Sir Gilles and burned down divers manors and hung certain rogues and
+destroyed two villages--in quittance."
+
+"Ah--and what of the village folk?"
+
+"My lord, they were but serfs for the most part, but--for Sir
+Pertolepe's dogs--twenty and two--and roasted alive, poor beasts!"
+
+But here Black Roger checked both speech and stride, all at once, and
+stood with quarter-staff poised as from the depth of the wood came the
+sound of voices and fierce laughter.
+
+"Come away, master," he whispered, "these should be Sir Pertolepe's
+men, methinks."
+
+But Beltane shook his head:
+
+"I'm fain to see why they laugh," said he, and speaking, stole forward
+soft-footed amid the shadows; and so presently parting the leaves,
+looked down into an open dell or dingle full of the light of the rising
+moon; light that glinted upon the steel caps and hauberks of some score
+men, who leaned upon pike or gisarm about one who sat upon a fallen
+tree--and Beltane saw that this was Giles the Bowman. But the arms of
+Giles were bound behind his back, about his neck hung a noose, and his
+face showed white and pallid 'neath the moon, as, lifting up his head,
+he began to sing:
+
+  "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
+   Nor my love for my good long bow;
+   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
+   Is a--"
+
+The rich voice was strangled to a gasping sob as the rope was tightened
+suddenly about the singer's brawny throat and he was swung, kicking,
+into the air amid the hoarse gibes and laughter of the men-at-arms.
+But, grim and silent, Beltane leaped down among them, his long blade
+glittering in the moonlight, and before the mighty sweep of it they
+fell back, crowding upon each other and confused; then Beltane,
+turning, cut asunder the cord and Giles Brabblecombe fell and lay
+'neath the shade of the tree, wheezing and whimpering in the grass.
+
+And now with a clamour of cries and fierce rallying shouts, the
+men-at-arms, seeing Beltane stand alone, set themselves in array and
+began to close in upon him. But Beltane, facing them in the tender
+moonlight, set the point of his sword to earth and reached out his
+mailed hand in salutation.
+
+"Greeting, brothers!" said he, "why seek ye the death of this our
+brother? Come now, suffer him to go his ways in peace, and God's
+blessing on ye, one and all."
+
+Now at this some laughed and some growled, and one stood forth before
+his fellows staring upon Beltane 'neath close-drawn, grizzled brows:
+
+"'Tis a rogue, and shall dance for us upon a string!" laughed he.
+
+"And this tall fellow with him!" said another.
+
+"Aye, aye, let us hang 'em together," cried others.
+
+"Stay!" said Beltane, "behold here money; so now will I ransom this
+man's life of ye. Here be two pieces of gold, 'tis my all--yet take
+them and yield me his life!"
+
+Hereupon the men fell to muttering together doubtfully, but in this
+moment the grizzled man of a sudden raised a knotted fist and shook it
+in the air.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, pointing to Beltane, "look ye, Cuthbert, Rollo--see ye
+not 'tis him we seek? Mark ye the size of him, his long sword and belt
+of silver--'tis he that came upon us in the green this day and slew our
+comrade Michael. Come now, let us hang him forthwith and share his
+money betwixt us after."
+
+Then my Beltane sighed amain, and sighing, unsheathed his dagger.
+
+"Alas!" said he, "and must we shed each other's blood forsooth? Come
+then, let us slay each other, and may Christ have pity on our souls!"
+
+Thus saying, he glanced up at the pale splendour of the moon, and round
+him on the encircling shadows of the woods dense and black beneath the
+myriad leaves, and so, quick-eyed and poised for action, waited for the
+rush.
+
+And, even as they came upon him, he sprang aside where the gloom lay
+blackest, and they being many and the clearing small, they hampered
+each other and fell into confusion; and, in that moment, Beltane leapt
+among them and smote, and smote again, now in the moonlight, now in
+shadow; leaping quick-footed from the thrust of sword and pike,
+crouching 'neath the heavy swing of axe and gisarm; and ever his
+terrible blade darted with deadly point or fell with deep-biting edge.
+Hands gripped at him from the gloom, arms strove to clasp him, but his
+dagger-hand was swift and strong. Pike heads leapt at him and were
+smitten away, axe and gisarm struck, yet found him not, and ever, as he
+leapt, he smote. And now in his ears were cries and groans and other
+hateful sounds, and to his nostrils came a reek of sweating flesh and
+the scent of trampled grass; while the moon's tender light showed faces
+wild and fierce, that came and went, now here--now there; it glinted on
+head-piece and ringed mail, and flashed back from whirling steel--a
+round, placid moon that seemed, all at once, to burst asunder and
+vanish, smitten into nothingness. He was down--beaten to his knee,
+deafened and half blind, but struggling to his feet he staggered out
+from the friendly shadow of the trees, out into the open. A sword,
+hard-driven, bent and snapped short upon his triple mail, the blow of a
+gisarm half stunned him, a goring pike-thrust drove him reeling back,
+yet, ringed in by death, he thrust and smote with failing arm. Axe and
+pike, sword and gisarm hedged him in nearer and nearer, his sword grew
+suddenly heavy and beyond his strength to wield, but stumbling,
+slipping, dazed and with eyes a-swim, he raised the great blade aloft,
+and lifting drooping head, cried aloud the battle-cry of his house--
+high and clear it rang above the din:
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+And even in that moment came one in answer to the cry, one that leapt
+to his right hand, a wild man and hairy who plied a gleaming axe and,
+'twixt each stroke, seemed, from hairy throat, to echo back the cry:
+
+"Arise! Arise!"
+
+And now upon his left was Black Roger, fierce-eyed behind his buckler.
+Thereafter a voice hailed them as from far away, a sweet, deep voice,
+cheery and familiar as one heard aforetime in a dream, and betwixt
+every sentence came the twang of swift-drawn bow-string.
+
+"O tall brother, fall back! O gentle paladin, O fair flower of lusty
+fighters, fall back and leave the rest to our comrades, to me and my
+good bow, here!"
+
+So, dazed and breathless, came Beltane on stumbling feet and leaned him
+gasping in the shadow of a great tree whereby stood Giles o' the Bow
+with arrows planted upright in the sod before him, the which he
+snatched and loosed so fast 'twas a wonder to behold. Of a sudden he
+uttered a shout and, setting by his bow, drew sword, and leaping from
+the shadow, was gone.
+
+But, as for Beltane, he leaned a while against the tree as one who is
+very faint; yet soon, lifting heavy head, wondered at the hush of all
+things, and looking toward the clearing saw it empty and himself alone;
+therefore turned he thitherwards. Now as he went he stumbled and his
+foot struck a something soft and yielding that rolled before him in the
+shadow out--out into the full brilliance of the moon, and looking down,
+he beheld a mangled head that stared up at him wide-eyed and with mouth
+agape. Then Beltane let fall his reeking sword and staggering out into
+the light, saw his bright mail befouled with clotted blood, and of a
+sudden the world went black about him and he fell and lay with his face
+among the trampled grass.
+
+In a while he groaned and opened his eyes to find Black Roger bathing
+his face what time Giles o' the Bow held wine to his lips, while at his
+feet, a wild figure grim and ragged, stood a tall, hairy man leaning
+upon a blood-stained axe.
+
+"Aha!" cried the bowman. "Come now, my lovely fighter, my gentle giant,
+sup this--'tis life, and here behold a venison steak fit for Duke Ivo's
+self, come--"
+
+"Nay, first," says Beltane, sitting up, "are there many hurt?"
+
+"Aye, never fear for that, my blood-thirsty dove, they be all most
+completely dead save one, and he sore wounded, _laus Deo, amen!_"
+
+"Dead!" cried Beltane, shivering, "dead, say you?"
+
+"Aye, Sir Paladin, all sweetly asleep in Abraham's bosom. We three here
+accounted for some few betwixt us, the rest fell 'neath that great
+blade o' thine. O sweet Saint Giles! ne'er saw I such sword-work--point
+and edge, sa-ha! And I called thee--dove!--aye 'dove' it was, I mind
+me. O blind and worse than blind! But _experientia docet_, tall
+brother!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane bowed his head and clasping his hands, wrung them.
+
+"Sweet Jesu forgive me!" he cried, "I had not meant to slay so many!"
+
+Then he arose and went apart and, kneeling among the shadows, prayed
+long and fervently.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND HOW GOOD
+FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
+
+
+Now when Beltane's mighty hunger was assuaged he sat--his aching head
+yet ringing with the blow--and stared up at the moon, sad and wistful-eyed
+as one full of heaviness the while Black Roger standing beside him
+gazed askance at the archer who sat near by whistling softly and busied
+with certain arrows, cleaning and trimming them ere he set them back in
+his quiver. And presently Black Roger spake softly, low-stooping to
+Beltane's ear:
+
+"Lord, we have saved the life of yon prating archer-fellow, and behold
+my belt lacketh for one notch, which is well. So come, let us go our
+ways, thou and I, for I love not your talkers, and this fellow hath
+overmuch to say."
+
+But now, ere Beltane could make reply, came the hairy man--but behold
+his rags had given place to fair garments of tanned leather (albeit
+something small) together with steel cap and shirt of ringed mail, and,
+about his middle, a broad belt where swung a heavy sword; being come to
+Beltane he paused leaning upon his axe, and gazed upon him fierce-eyed:
+
+"Messire," said he, "who ye are I know not, what ye are I care not, for
+art quick of foot and mighty of arm, and when ye fight, cry a point of
+war, a battle-shout I knew aforetime ere they enslaved and made of me a
+serf--and thus it is I would follow thee."
+
+Quoth Beltane, his aching head upon his hand:
+
+"Whither?"
+
+"To death if needs be, for a man must die soon or late, yet die but
+once whether it be by the steel, or flame, or rope. So what matter the
+way of it, if I may stand with this my axe face to face with Gilles of
+Brandonmere, or Red Pertolepe of Garthlaxton Keep: 'twas for this I
+followed his foresters."
+
+"Who and whence are you?"
+
+"Walkyn o' the Dene they call me hereabouts--though I had another name
+once--but 'twas long ago, when I marched, a lad, 'neath the banner of
+Beltane the Strong!"
+
+"What talk be this?" grunted Black Roger, threatening of mien, "my lord
+and I be under a vow and must begone, and want no runaway serf crawling
+at our heels!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Walkyn, "spake I to thee, hangman? Forsooth, well do I know
+thee, Roger the Black: come ye into the glade yonder, so will I split
+thy black poll for thee--thou surly dog!"
+
+Forth leapt Black Roger's sword, back swung Walkyn's glittering axe,
+but Beltane was between, and, as they stood thus came Giles o' the Bow:
+
+"Oho!" he laughed, "must ye be at it yet? Have we not together slain of
+Sir Pertolepe's foresters a round score?--"
+
+"'Twas but nineteen!" growled Roger, frowning at Walkyn.
+
+"So will I make of this hangman the twentieth!" said Walkyn, frowning
+at Roger.
+
+"'Tis a sweet thought," laughed the archer, "to it, lads, and slay each
+other as soon as ye may, and my blessings on ye. As for us, Sir
+Paladin, let us away--'tis true we together might give check to an
+army, yet, minding Sir Pertolepe's nineteen foresters, 'twere wiser to
+his us from Sir Pertolepe's country for the nonce: so march, tall
+brother--march!"
+
+"Ha!" snarled Walkyn, "fear ye Red Pertolepe yet, bowman? Well, we want
+ye not, my lord and I, he hath a sword and I an axe--they shall suffice
+us, mayhap, an Pertolepe come. So his thee hence with the hangman and
+save thy rogue's skin."
+
+"And may ye dangle in a noose yet for a prating do-nothing!" growled
+Roger.
+
+"Oho!" laughed Giles, with a flash of white teeth, "a hangman and a
+serf--must I slay both?" But, ere he could draw sword, came a voice
+from the shadows near by--a deep voice, clear and very sweet:
+
+"Oh, children," said the voice, "oh, children of God, put up your
+steel and pray for one whose white soul doth mount e'en now to heaven!"
+and forth into the light came one clad as a white friar--a tall man and
+slender, and upon his shoulder he bare a mattock that gleamed beneath
+the moon. His coarse, white robe, frayed and worn, was stained with
+earth and the green of grass, and was splashed, here and there, with a
+darker stain; pale was he, and hollow-cheeked, but with eyes that
+gleamed 'neath black brows and with chin long and purposeful. Now at
+sight of him, fierce-eyed Walkyn cried aloud and flung aside his axe
+and, falling on his knees, caught the friar's threadbare robe and
+kissed it.
+
+"Good brother!" he groaned, "O, gentle brother Martin, pity me!"
+
+"What, Walkyn?" quoth the friar. "What do ye thus equipped and so far
+from home?"
+
+"Home have I none, henceforth, O my father."
+
+"Ah! What then of thy wife, Truda--of thy little son?"
+
+"Dead, my father. Red Pertolepe's men slew them this day within the
+green. So, when I had buried them, I took my axe and left them with
+God: yet shall my soul go lonely, methinks, until my time be come."
+
+Then Friar Martin reached out his hand and laid it upon Walkyn's bowed
+head: and, though the hand was hard and toil-worn, the touch of it was
+ineffably gentle, and he spake with eyes upraised to heaven:
+
+"O Christ of Pity, look down upon this stricken soul, be Thou his stay
+and comfort. Teach him, in his grief and sorrow, to pity the woes of
+others, that, in comforting his fellows, he may himself find comfort."
+
+Now when the prayer was ended he turned and looked upon the others,
+and, beholding Beltane in his might and glittering mail, he spake,
+saluting him as one of rank.
+
+"Sir Knight," said he, "do these men follow thee?"
+
+"Aye, verily," cried the archer, "that do I in sooth--_Verbum sat
+sapienti_--good friar."
+
+"Not so," growled Roger, "'tis but a pestilent archer that seeketh but
+base hire. I only am my lord's man, sworn to aid him in his vow." "I
+also," quoth Walkyn, "an so my lord wills?"
+
+"So shall it be," sighed Beltane, his hand upon his throbbing brow.
+
+"And what have ye in mind to do?"
+
+"Forsooth," cried Giles, "to fight, good friar, _manibus pedibusque_."
+
+"To obey my lord," said Roger, "and speak good Saxon English."
+
+"To adventure my body in battle with joyful heart," quoth Walkyn.
+
+"To make an end of tyranny!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Alas!" said the friar, "within this doleful Duchy be tyrants a many,
+and ye are but four, meseemeth; yet if within your hearts be room for
+pity--follow me, and I will show you a sight, mayhap shall nerve you
+strong as giants. Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed the white friar with the three upon his heels who
+wrangled now no more; and in a while the friar paused beside a new-digged
+grave.
+
+"Behold," said he, "the bed where we, each one, must sleep some day,
+and yet 'tis cold and hard, methinks, for one so young and tender!" So
+saying he sighed, and turning, brought them to a hut near by, an humble
+dwelling of mud and wattles, dim-lighted by a glimmering rush. But,
+being come within the hut Beltane stayed of a sudden and held his
+breath, staring wide-eyed at that which lay so still: then, baring his
+head, sank upon his knees.
+
+She lay outstretched upon a bed of fern, and looked as one that sleeps
+save for the deathly pallor of her cheek and still and pulseless bosom:
+and she was young, and of a wondrous, gentle beauty.
+
+"Behold," said the friar, "but one short hour agone this was alive--a
+child of God, pure of heart and undefiled. These gentle hands lie
+stilled forever: this sweet, white body (O shame of men!) blasted by
+brutality, maimed and torn--is nought but piteous clay to moulder in
+the year. Yet doth her radiant soul lie on the breast of God forever,
+since she, for honour, died the death--Behold!" So saying, the friar
+with sudden hand laid bare the still and marble bosom; and, beholding
+the red horror wrought there by cruel steel, Beltane rose up, and
+taking off his cloak, therewith reverently covered the pale, dead
+beauty of her, and so stood awhile with eyes close shut and spake,
+soft-voiced and slow, 'twixt pallid lips:
+
+"How--came this--thing?"
+
+"She was captive to Sir Pertolepe, by him taken in a raid, and he would
+have had her to his will: yet, by aid of my lord's jester, she escaped
+and fled hither. But Sir Pertolepe's foresters pursued and took her
+and--so is she dead: may God requite them!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, hoarse-voiced, "so do they all lie dead
+within the green!"
+
+"Save one!" said Roger.
+
+"But he sore wounded!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"How!" cried the friar aghast, "have ye indeed slain Sir Pertolepe's
+foresters?"
+
+"Nineteen!" nodded Roger, grimly.
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, "may God save the poor folk hereabouts, for
+now will Sir Pertolepe wreak vengeance dire upon them."
+
+"Then," said Beltane, "then must I have word with Sir Pertolepe."
+
+Now when he said this, Black Roger stared agape and even the archer's
+tongue failed him for once; but Walkyn smiled and gripped his axe.
+
+"Art mad, tall brother!" cried Giles at length, "Sir Pertolepe would
+hang thee out of hand, or throw thee to his dogs!"
+
+"Lord," said Roger, "Sir Pertolepe hath ten score men-at-arms in
+Garthlaxton, beside bowmen and foresters."
+
+"There should be good work for mine axe!" smiled Walkyn.
+
+"None the less must I speak with him," said Beltane, and turned him to
+the door.
+
+"Then will I die with thee, lord," growled Roger.
+
+"So will I come and watch thee die--hangman, and loose a shaft or two
+on mine own account!"
+
+But now, of a sudden, Walkyn raised a warning hand.
+
+"Hark!" said he: and, in a while, as they listened, upon the stillness
+came a rustle of leaves and thereafter a creeping step drawing slowly
+nearer: then swift and soft-treading, Walkyn stole out into the
+shadows.
+
+Very soon he returned, leading a woman, pale and haggard, who clasped
+a babe within her threadbare cloak; her eyes were red and sore with
+much weeping and upon the threshold she paused as one in sudden fear,
+but espying the friar, she uttered a cry:
+
+"O Father Martin--good father--pray, pray for the soul of him who is
+father to my child, but who at dawn must die with many others upon my
+lord Duke's great gallows!"
+
+"Alas!" cried the friar, wringing his hands, "what news is this?"
+
+"O good friar," sobbed the woman, "my lord's hand hath been so heavy
+upon us of late--so heavy: and there came messengers from Thrasfordham
+in Bourne bidding us thither with fair promises:--and my father, being
+head of our village, hearkened to them and we made ready to cross into
+Bourne. But my lord came upon us and burned our village of Shallowford
+and lashed my father with whips and thereafter hanged him, and took my
+man and many others and cast them into the great dungeon at Belsaye--
+and with the dawn they must hang upon the Duke's great gallows."
+
+So she ended and stood weeping as one that is hopeless and weary. But
+of a sudden she screamed and pointed at Black Roger with her finger:
+
+"'Tis Roger!" she cried, "'tis Black Roger, that slew my father!"
+
+Then Roger the Black groaned and hid his face within his arm and shrank
+before the woman's outstretched finger and, groaning, cowered to his
+knees; whereupon the archer turned his back and spat upon the floor
+while Walkyn glared and fingered his great axe: but in this moment my
+Beltane came beside him and laid his hand on Roger's stooping shoulder.
+
+"Nay," said he, "this is my friend henceforth, a man among men, who
+liveth to do great things as thus: To-night he will give back to thee
+the father of thy child, and break open the dungeon of Belsaye!"
+
+Thus spake my Beltane while all stared at his saying and held their
+peace because of their amaze: only Black Roger turned of a sudden and
+caught his hand and kissed it savagely.
+
+"Sir," said the woman, peering up in Beltane's face, "Lord--ah, would
+ye mock the weak and helpless--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane gently, "as God seeth me, to-night the prisoners
+shall go free, or this man and I die with them. So now be comforted--go
+you to Bourne, to Sir Benedict within Thrasfordham Keep, and say you
+come from Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon, who swore thee, by the honour of
+the Duke Beltane his father, that never again shall a man hang from the
+great gallows of Black Ivo the usurper--from this night it shall cease
+to be!"
+
+Now would the woman have knelt and kissed his hand, but Beltane smiled
+and brought her to the door. Then, wondering and amazed, she made her
+obeisance to Beltane and with her babe clasped to her bosom went forth
+into the night. Thereafter Beltane turned and looked grave-eyed upon
+the three.
+
+"My masters," quoth he, "ye have heard my words, how this night I go to
+take down Black Ivo's great gallows. Come ye with me? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried the three in one acclaim.
+
+"Do ye then stand with me henceforth 'gainst Black Ivo and all his
+might? Aye or no?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" cried they again.
+
+Then Beltane smiled and drew his sword and came to them, the great
+blade gleaming in his hand.
+
+"'Tis well!" said he, "but first come now and lay your hands here upon
+my sword and swear me this, each one,--To follow ever where I shall
+lead, to abide henceforth in brotherhood together, to smite evil within
+you and without, to be pitiful to the weak, and to honour God at all
+times."
+
+Then did the three, being upon their knees, lay their hands upon the
+sword and swear the oath as Beltane commanded; now came the white friar
+and stared upon the sword and beholding the motto graven in the steel,
+lifted up his hand to heaven and cried aloud:--
+
+"Now greeting and fair greeting to thee, lord Duke, may thy body be
+strong for war and thy head wise in the council, for Pentavalon hath
+dire need of thee, Beltane, son of Duke Beltane the Strong. Moreover I
+was sent to thee by Sir Benedict of Bourne who bids thee 'Arise and
+follow' for that the time is at hand."
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "art thou indeed from Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Even so, lord. In Thrasfordham be seven hundred chosen men-at-arms,
+and within Bourne, mayhap a thousand more. It is become a haven for
+those that flee from tyranny and bitter wrong. As for me, I journey
+where I will within the Duchy, serving the poor and ministering to the
+broken-hearted, and everywhere is black sin and suffering and death. So
+now in the name of these oppressed do I give thee welcome to this thy
+sorrowful Duchy, and may God make of thee Duke indeed!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Duke am I in blood and Duke will I yet be in very sooth an God so will
+it." Then turning to the three, who stood hearkening open-mouthed and
+wide of eye, he smiled and reached to them his hand.
+
+"Good friends," said he, "knowing nought of me yet were ye willing to
+follow my fortunes. For this do I thank ye one and all, and so shall my
+fortune, high or low, be thine, henceforth. To-day is Ivo Duke, and I
+thy companion-in-arms, no more, no less--this, I pray you all,
+remember."
+
+So saying, Beltane sheathed his sword and beholding Friar Martin on his
+knees beside that muffled figure, he knelt also, and the three with
+him. Thereafter at a sign from the friar, Beltane stooped and raised
+this slender, shrouded figure in his arms and reverently bore it out
+into the shadows.
+
+And there, all in the tender radiance of the moon, they buried her
+whose name they never knew, and stood a while in silence. Then,
+pointing to the new-turned earth, Friar Martin spake soft-voiced:
+
+"Lo, here--in but a little time, wild flowers shall bloom above her--
+yet none purer or sweeter than she! In a little shall the grass be
+green again, and she sleep here forgot by all--save God! And God, my
+brothers, is a gentle God and very pitiful--so now do we leave her in
+God's abiding care."
+
+And presently they turned, soft-footed, and went upon their way leaving
+the place to solitude.
+
+But from the vault of heaven the stars looked down upon that lonely
+grave like the watching eyes of holy angels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
+
+
+Scarce a mile without the walls of the fair city of Belsaye my lord
+Duke had builded him a great gallows, had set it high upon a hill for
+all the world to see; from whose lofty cross-beams five score rogues
+had hanged ere now, had writhed and kicked their lives away and rotted
+there in company, that all the world might know how potent was the
+anger of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Day in, day out, from rosy morn till dewy eve, it frowned upon Belsaye,
+a thing of doom whose grim sight should warn rebellious townsfolk to
+dutiful submission; by night it loomed, a dim-seen, brooding horror,
+whose loathsome reek should mind them how all rogues must end that
+dared lift hand or voice against my lord Duke, or those proud barons,
+lords, and knights who, by his pleasure, held their fiefs with rights
+of justice, the high, the middle and the low.
+
+Day in, day out, the men of Belsaye eyed it askance 'neath scowling
+brows and, by night, many a clenched hand was shaken and many a
+whispered malediction sped, toward that thing of doom that menaced them
+from the dark.
+
+To-night the moon was full, and thus, following Friar Martin's bony
+outstretched finger, Beltane of a sudden espied afar the Duke's great
+gallows, rising grisly and stark against the moon's round splendour. So
+for a space, standing yet within the shade of the woods, Beltane stared
+fierce-eyed, the while Giles, with Roger at his elbow, pointed out
+divers shapes that dangled high in air, at sight of which the friar
+knelt with bowed head and lips that moved in prayer: and Walkyn,
+scowling, muttered in his beard.
+
+"Messire," said the archer, "my lord Duke's gallows is great and very
+strong, and we but five all told!"
+
+"I have mine axe!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Had we fifty axes we scarce should bring it down ere dawn: moreover,
+the night is very still and sounds carry far--"
+
+"Nathless," quoth Roger, "to-night we surely shall destroy it--my lord
+hath said so."
+
+"Aye--but how?" questioned Giles. "In Belsaye is that pale fox Sir Gui
+of Allerdale with many trusty men-at-arms to hold the town for Black
+Ivo and teach Belsaye its duty: how may we destroy my lord Duke's
+gallows 'neath the very beards of my lord Duke's garrison, wilt tell me
+that, my good, Black Rogerkin?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "that will I--when I have asked my lord." So
+saying, he came and touched Beltane and humbly put the question.
+
+Then, with his gaze yet upon the gallows, Beltane sighed and answered:
+
+"There hath been no rain for weeks, look you: the underbrush is dry,
+methinks, and should burn well!"
+
+"Aye, for sure," said Roger, "we shall burn Black Ivo's gallows to
+ashes, bowman, and a good end 'twill be."
+
+"By fire!" cried the archer, aghast, "but lord, so soon as they shall
+see the flames, Sir Gui and his men will sally out upon us!"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "for we shall sally in."
+
+"Into Belsaye, mean you, lord?"
+
+"Certes," answered Beltane, "how else may we break open the dungeon?
+The night is young yet, but we have much to do--follow!" So saying,
+Beltane turned and keeping ever within the shadow of the trees, set off
+towards that distant hill where stood the gallows, black against the
+moon.
+
+Swiftly they went and for the most part in silence, for Beltane's mind
+was busied upon many matters.
+
+So betimes they climbed the hill and stood at last beneath the gallows,
+and, glancing up, Beltane beheld noisome shapes, black and shrivelled,
+that once had lived and laughed. Forthwith he drew his sword and fell
+to cutting down the brush, whereat friar Martin, girding up his frock,
+took Walkyn's sword and fell to likewise.
+
+Now, as Beltane laboured thus, he was suddenly aware of a wild and
+ragged figure, the which started up before him as if from the very
+ground. An old man he was, bent with years, yet with eyes that burned
+fierce and undimmed 'neath hoary brows, and shrivelled hands that
+gripped upon a rusty sword.
+
+"Who are ye," he cried, harsh-voiced, "who are ye that disturb this
+woeful place? 'Tis here that men are dragged to die--and, being dead,
+do hang i' the air to rot and rot--and thereby hangs a tale of wolves
+that howl and birds that shriek, aha!--carrion crows and hook-billed
+kites--they be well gorged since Ivo came. 'Caw!' they cry, 'caw!'--
+soft child's flesh and the flesh of tender maids--aha!--I know--I've
+watched--I've seen! Ah! since my lord Duke Beltane died, what sights
+these eyes have seen!"
+
+"Old man," quoth Beltane, bending near, "who art thou?"
+
+"I am the ghost that haunts this place, but, ages since, I was Sir
+Robert Bellesme of Garthlaxton Keep. But my wife they slew, my daughter
+ravished from me--and my son--Ah! Christ--my son! They hanged him here
+--yonder he hung, and I, his father, watched him die. But, by night,
+when all was still, I crept hither and found a hole to shelter me. And
+here I stayed to watch over him--my son who hung so quiet and so still.
+And the rough wind buffeted him, the cruel rain lashed him, and the hot
+sun scorched him, but still he hung there, so high!--so high! Yet I
+waited, for the strongest rope will break in time. And upon a moony
+night, he fell, and I gathered him in my arms, close here against my
+heart, and buried him--where none can know--save God. Many others have
+I buried also, for the strongest cords must break in time! And folk do
+say the devil bears them hence, since none are ever found--but I know
+where they lie--six hundred and seventy and nine--I know--these hands
+have buried them and I have kept a tally. Ah!--but you, gentle youth,
+what would ye here?"
+
+"Burn down the gallows," said Beltane, "'tis an accursed thing, so
+shall it shame earth and heaven no longer."
+
+"How!--how!" cried the ancient man, letting fall his rusty sword,
+"Destroy Black Ivo's gibbet? Dare ye--dare ye such a thing indeed? Are
+there men with souls unconquered yet? Methought all such were old, or
+dead, or fled away--dare ye this, youth?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane. "Watch now!" and hereupon he, together with the
+others, fell to hewing down the dry brush with might and main, and
+piling it about the gibbet's massy beams, while the ancient man,
+perched upon a rock hard by, watched them 'neath his shaggy brows and
+laughed soft and shrill.
+
+"Aha!" he cried, "the fire ye kindle here shall set the Duchy in a
+flame mayhap, to burn Black Ivo with Gui of Allerdale and Red
+Pertolepe--mayhap! For them, fire on earth and flame in hell--aha! To
+burn the gibbet! 'tis well bethought: so shall carrion kite and jay go
+light-bellied hereabouts, mayhap, oho! 'Caw,' they shall cry, 'Caw--
+give us to eat--fair white flesh!' Yet how may they eat when the
+gallows is no more?"
+
+Thus spake he with shrill laughter while Beltane laboured until the
+sweat ran from him, while Walkyn's great axe flashed and fell near by
+and steel glittered among the underbrush that clothed the slopes of the
+hill.
+
+Very soon they had stacked great piles of kindling about the gallows'
+weather-beaten timbers--twigs below, faggots above--cunningly ordered
+and higher than Beltane's head. Now as Beltane leaned upon his sword to
+wipe the sweat from his eyes, came Roger and Walkyn yet panting from
+their labour.
+
+"Master," said Roger, "they should burn well, I trow, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth Walkyn, "these beams be thick: methinks, when the
+others go, one man should stay to tend the fires until the flame gets
+fair hold--"
+
+"And that man I!" said Roger.
+
+"No, no," frowned Walkyn, "an one of us must die, it shall be me--"
+
+But now came the ancient man, leaning upon his ancient weapon.
+
+"No, children," said he, "'tis for age to die--death is sweet to the
+old and weary: so will I tend the fire. Yet, beseech thee, grant me
+this: that these my hands shall fire the gallows whereon they hanged my
+son, long ago: young was he, and tall--scarce yet a man--they hanged
+him yonder, so high--so high--so far beyond my care: and the carrion
+birds--kites, see you, and crows--and the wind and rain and dark--Ah,
+God! my son! I am but an old man and feeble, yet, beseech thee, let
+this be the hand to fire Black Ivo's gibbet!"
+
+Then Beltane took from his pouch flint and steel and tinder and gave
+them to the old man's trembling fingers as Giles o' the Bow came
+running with the stalwart friar behind him.
+
+So, while the five stood hushed and wide of eye, the old man knelt
+before them in his rags and struck flint to steel. Once he struck, and
+twice--and behold a spark that leapt to a small flame that died to a
+glow; but now, flat upon his belly lay Giles and, pursing his lips,
+puffed and blew until the glow brightened, spread, and burst into a
+crackling flame that leapt from twig to twig. And when the fire waxed
+hot, Beltane took thence a glowing brand, and, coming to the other
+great pile, fired it therewith. Up rose the flames high and higher
+until they began to lick, pale-tongued, about the gibbet's two great
+supporting timbers, and ever as they rose, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and
+the friar, laboured amain, stacking logs near by wherewith to feed the
+fires.
+
+"Enough," said Beltane at last, "it shall suffice, methinks."
+
+"Suffice?" cried the old man, his eyes bright in the ruddy glow, "aye,
+it shall suffice, sweet boy. See--see, the timbers catch e'en now. Ha!
+burn, good fire--eat, hungry flame! O, happy sight--would my dear son
+were here--they hanged his fair young body, but his soul--Ha, his
+soul! O souls of hanged men--O spirits of the dead, come about me, ye
+ghosts of murdered youth, come and behold the gibbet burn whereon ye
+died. What--are ye there, amid the smoke, so soon? Come then, let us
+dance together and trip it lightly to and fro--merrily, merrily! Hey
+boy, so ho then--so ho, and away we go!" Hereupon, tossing up gaunt
+arms, the old man fell to dancing and capering amid the sparks and
+rolling smoke, filling the air with wild talk and gabbling high-pitched
+laughter that rose above the roar of the fires. And so in a while
+Beltane, sighing, turned and led the way down the hill towards the
+glooming shadow of the woods; but ever as they went the flames waxed
+fiercer behind them and the madman's laughter shrilled upon the air.
+
+Swift-footed they plunged into the underbrush and thus hidden began to
+close in upon Belsaye town. And of a sudden they heard a cry, and
+thereafter the shattering blare of a trumpet upon the walls. And now
+from within the waking city rose a confused sound, a hum that grew
+louder and ever more loud, pierced by shout and trumpet-blast while
+high above this growing clamour the tocsin pealed alarm.
+
+Thus, in a while the trembling citizens of Belsaye, starting from their
+slumber, stared in pallid amaze beholding afar a great and fiery gibbet
+whose flames, leaping heavenward, seemed to quench the moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
+
+
+Being yet in the shade of the woods, Beltane paused, hearkening to the
+distant uproar of Belsaye town and watching the torches that hovered
+upon its walls and the cressets that glowed on tower and bartizan.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth the friar, setting his rumpled frock in order,
+"are ye minded still to adventure breaking ope the dungeon of Belsaye?"
+
+"Aye, verily!" nodded Beltane. "Know you the city, good friar?"
+
+"That do I, my brother: every lane and street, every hole and corner of
+it--'twas there I first drew breath. A fair, rich city, freed by
+charter long ago--but now, alas, its freedom snatched away, its ancient
+charter gone, it bleeds 'neath a pale-cheeked tyrant's sway--a pallid
+man who laughs soft-voiced to see men die, and smiles upon their
+anguish. O Belsaye, grievous are thy wrongs since Ivo came five years
+agone and gave thee up to pillage and to ravishment. O hateful day! O
+day of shame! What sights I saw--what sounds I heard--man-groans and
+screams of women to rend high heaven and shake the throne of God,
+methinks. I see--I hear them yet, and must forever. Jesu, pity!" and
+leaning against a tree near by, the stalwart friar shivered violently
+and hid his eyes.
+
+"Why, good brother Martin," said Beltane, setting an arm about him,
+"doth memory pain thee so, indeed? good Brother Martin, be comforted--"
+
+"Nay, nay--'tis past, but--O my son, I--had a sister!" said the good
+friar, and groaned. Yet in a while he raised his head and spake again:
+"And when Duke Ivo had wrought his will upon the city, he builded the
+great gibbet yonder and hanged it full with men cheek by jowl, and left
+Sir Gui the cruel with ten score chosen men for garrison. But the men
+of Belsaye have stubborn memories; Sir Gui and his butchers slumber in
+a false security, for stern men are they and strong, and wait but God's
+appointed time. Pray God that time be soon!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane. Now, even as he spake came the sound of a distant
+tucket, the great gates of Belsaye swung wide, and forth rode a company
+of men-at-arms, their bascinets agleam 'neath the moon.
+
+"Now!" spake the friar, "and you are for Belsaye, my brother, follow
+me; I know a way--albeit a moist way and something evil--but an you
+will follow,--come!" So saying Friar Martin set off among the trees,
+and Beltane, beckoning to the others, followed close. Fast strode the
+friar, his white robe fluttering on before, through moonlight and
+shadow, until they reached a brook or freshet that ran bubbling betwixt
+flowery banks; beside this strode the tall friar, following its winding
+course, until before them, amid the shadow--yet darker than the shadow
+--loomed high an embattled flanking tower of the walls of Belsaye town;
+but ever before them flitted the friar's white gown, on and on until
+the freshet became a slow-moving river, barring their advance--a broad
+river that whispered among the reeds on the one side and lapped against
+rugged wall on the other.
+
+Here the friar stayed to glance from gloomy wall and turret to fast
+waning moon on their left, then, girding up his gown, he stepped down
+into the reeds, and a moment later they saw him--to their amaze--
+fording the river that flowed scarce knee deep.
+
+So, needfully, Beltane followed, and, stepping into the water found his
+feet upon a narrow causeway cunningly devised. Thus, slowly and
+carefully, because of the flowing of the water, they came betimes to
+where the friar waited in the shadow of the massy wall; yet, even as
+they came near, the friar waved his arm, stooped--and was gone; whereon
+my Beltane stared amazed and the three muttered uneasily behind him.
+But, coming nearer, Beltane espied above the hurrying waters the curve
+of an arch or tunnel, and pointing it to the others, took a great
+breath and, stooping beneath the water, stumbled on and on until it
+shallowed, and he was free to breathe again.
+
+On he went, through water now breast-high, with slimy walls above him
+and around, seeing naught by reason of the pitchy blackness, and
+hearing only the smothered splash of those behind, and gasping breaths
+that boomed hollow in the dark. Yet presently he saw a gleam before him
+that broadened with each step, and, of a sudden, was out beneath the
+sky--a narrow strip wherein stars twinkled, and so beheld again friar
+Martin's white frock flitting on, ghost-like, before. In a while he
+brought them to a slimy stair, and climbing this, with ever growing
+caution, they found themselves at last beneath the frowning shadow of
+the citadel within the walls of Belsaye town. Now, looking north,
+Beltane beheld afar a fiery gallows that flamed to heaven, and from the
+town thitherward came a confused hum of the multitude who watched; but
+hereabouts the town seemed all deserted.
+
+"The dungeons lie beneath our feet," whispered Friar Martin. "Come!"
+
+So, keeping ever in the shadow of the great square keep, they went on,
+soft-treading and alert of eye till, being come to the angle of the
+wall, the friar stayed of a sudden and raised a warning hand. Then came
+Beltane with Walkyn close behind, and peering over the friar's broad
+shoulders, they beheld a sentinel who stood with his back to them,
+leaning on his spear, to watch the burning gallows, his chain-mail
+agleam and his head-piece glittering as he stirred lazily in time to
+the merry lilt he sang softly.
+
+Then, or ever Beltane could stay him, Walkyn o' the Dene laid by his
+axe, and, his soaked shoes soundless upon the stones, began to steal
+upon the unconscious singer, who yet lolled upon his spear some thirty
+paces away. With great body bowed forward and hairy fingers crooked,
+Walkyn stole upon him; six paces he went, ten--twenty--twenty-five--
+the soldier ceased his humming, stood erect and turned about; and
+Walkyn leapt--bore him backward down into the shadow--a shadow wherein
+their bodies writhed and twisted silently awhile. When Walkyn rose out
+of the shadow and beckoned them on.
+
+So, following ever the friar's lead, they came to a narrow doorway
+that gave upon a small guard-room lighted by a smoking torch socketed
+to the wall. The place was empty, save for a medley of arms stacked in
+corners, wherefore, treading cautiously, the friar led them a-down a
+narrow passage and so to a second and larger chamber where burned a
+fire of logs. Upon the walls hung shining head-pieces; cloaks and
+mantles lay where they had been flung on bench and floor, but none was
+there to give them let or hindrance. Then Friar Martin took a torch
+that smoked near by, and, crossing to the hearth, reached down a massy
+key from the wall, and with this in his hand, came to a door half
+hidden in a corner, beyond which were steps that wound downwards into
+the dark, a darkness close and dank, and heavy with corruption.
+
+But on went the friar--his torch lighting the way--down and ever down
+until they trod a narrow way 'twixt reeking walls, where breathed an
+air so close and foul the very torch languished. At length the friar
+stopped before a mighty door, thick-banded with iron bars and with
+massy bolts, and while Beltane held the torch, he fitted key to lock
+and thereafter the great door swung on screaming hinge and showed a
+dungeon beyond--a place foul and noisome, where divers pale-faced
+wretches lay or crouched, blinking in the torch's glare.
+
+"What?" cried one, coming to his feet, a squat broad-shouldered man--
+"be this the dawn so soon? Well, we be ready, better to hang i' the
+clean air than rot in a dungeon, say I. So we be ready, eh, my
+brothers?"
+
+But now, some groaned and wept and others laughed, while yet others got
+them to their knees, bowed of head and silent. Then went in the friar
+to them and laid his hands upon the squat man's shoulder and spake him
+gently.
+
+"And is it Osric," said he. "Day is not yet, my son, nor with the day
+shalt thou die nor any here, an ye be silent all and follow where we
+lead, soft-footed, so will we bring you to God's good world again.
+Rise, then, each one, speak nothing, but follow!"
+
+So then did these men, snatched of a sudden from the horror of death to
+the hope of new life, follow on stumbling feet, out from the noisome
+gloom of the dungeon, out from the clammy air breathing of death, up
+the narrow winding stair; and with each step came strength and manhood.
+Thus as they strode forth of the frowning keep, each man bore sword or
+gisarm. So, with breath in cheek, but hearts high-beating, they came
+one and all, to where the slimy stair led down into the gloom. Yet here
+Friar Martin paused, sighing, to look behind, whence rose the distant
+hum of those thronging townsfolk who yet crowded wall and street and
+market square to watch the gallows burn.
+
+"Now sweet Christ shield ye, good people of Belsaye!" he sighed.
+
+"What mean ye, my brother?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Alas! my son," groaned the friar, "I needs must think upon the coming
+day and of the vengeance of Sir Gui for this our work!"
+
+"His vengeance, friar?"
+
+"There will be torture and death busy hereabouts tomorrow, my son,
+for, the prisoners being gone, so will Sir Gui vent his anger on the
+townsfolk--'tis ever his custom--"
+
+"Ha!" quoth my Beltane, knitting his brows, "I had not thought on
+this!"--and with the word, he turned him back, drawing on his hood of
+mail.
+
+"Come, lord," whispered Black Roger in his ear, "let us be going while
+yet we may."
+
+"Aye, come, my son," spake the friar, low-voiced. "Tarry not, Belsaye
+is in the hand of God! Nay, what would you?"
+
+"I must go back," said Beltane, loosening sword in scabbard, "for needs
+must I this night have word with Gui of Allerdale."
+
+"Nay," whispered the friar, with pleading hand on Beltane's arm, "'tis
+thing impossible--"
+
+"Yet must I try, good brother--"
+
+"Ah, dear my son, 'twill be thy death--"
+
+"Why look you, gentle friar, I am in Belsaye, and Belsaye 'is in the
+hand of God!' So fear not for me, but go you all and wait for me beyond
+the river. And, if I come not within the hour, then press on with speed
+for Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say to Sir Benedict that, while
+_he_ liveth to draw sword, so is there hope for Pentavalon. But now--
+quick!--where lodgeth Sir Gui?"
+
+"Within the keep--there is a stair doth mount within the thickness of
+the wall--nay, I will be thy guide if go indeed thou must--"
+
+"Not so, good friar, be it thy duty to lead these prisoners to freedom
+and to safety within Bourne."
+
+"Then will I come," whispered Roger hoarse and eager, as the friar
+turned slow-footed to follow the others adown the slippery stair,
+"beseech thee, lord, thy man am I, twice sworn to thee till death, so
+suffer me beside thee."
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "Pentavalon's need of thee is greater e'en than
+mine, therefore will I adventure this thing alone. Go you with the
+friar, my Roger, and so farewell to each."
+
+"God keep thee, noble son!" whispered the friar, his hand upraised in
+blessing: but Roger stood, chin on breast and spake no word.
+
+Then Beltane turned him and sped away, soft-treading in the shadow of
+the great keep.
+
+The waning moon cast shadows black and long, and in these shadows
+Beltane crept and so, betimes, came within the outer guard-room and to
+the room beyond; and here beheld a low-arched doorway whence steps led
+upward,--a narrow stair, gloomy and winding, whose velvet blackness
+was stabbed here and there by moonlight, flooding through some deep-set
+arrow-slit. Up he went, and up, pausing once with breath in check,
+fancying he heard the stealthy sound of one who climbed behind him in
+the black void below; thus stayed he a moment, with eyes that strove to
+pierce the gloom, and with naked dagger clenched to smite, yet heard
+nought, save the faint whisper of his own mail, and the soft tap of his
+long scabbard against the wall; wherefore he presently sped on again,
+climbing swiftly up the narrow stair. Thus, in a while, he beheld a
+door above: a small door, yet stout and strong, a door that stood ajar,
+whence came a beam of yellow light.
+
+So, with sure and steady hand, Beltane set wide the door, that creaked
+faintly in the stillness, and beheld a small, square chamber where was
+a narrow window, and, in this window, a mail-clad man lolled, his
+unhelmed head thrust far without, to watch the glow that leapt against
+the northern sky.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger and, in three long strides was close
+behind, and, stooping above the man, sought and found his hairy throat,
+and swung him, mighty-armed, that his head struck the wall; then
+Beltane, sighing, laid him upon the floor and turned toward a certain
+arras-hung arch: but, or ever his hand came upon this curtain, from
+beyond a voice hailed--a voice soft and musical.
+
+"Hugo--O Hugo, spawn of hell, hither to me!"
+
+Then Beltane, lifting the curtain, opened the door and, striding into
+the chamber beyond, closed and barred the door behind him, and so
+stood, tall and menacing, looking on one who sat at a table busied with
+pen and ink-horn. A slender man this, and richly habited: a sleepy-eyed
+man, pale of cheek, with long, down-curving nose, and mouth thin-lipped
+and masterful, who, presently lifting his head, stared up in amaze,
+sleepy-eyed no longer: for now, beholding Beltane the mighty, sheathed
+in mail from head to foot, the pen dropped from his fingers and his
+long pale hands slowly clenched themselves.
+
+So, for a space, they fronted each other, speaking not, while eye met
+eye unswerving--the menacing blue and the challenging black, and,
+through the open casement near by came a ruddy glow that flickered on
+arras-hung wall and rugged roof-beam. Now raising his hand, Beltane
+pointed toward this glowing window.
+
+"Sir Gui," quoth he, "Lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, thou hast good
+eyes--look now, and tell me what ye see."
+
+"I see," said Sir Gui, stirring not, "I see a presumptuous knave--a dog
+who shall be flung headlong from the turret. Ha! Hugo!" he called, his
+black eyes yet unswerving, "O Hugo, son of the fiend, hither to me!"
+
+"Trouble not, my lord," quoth Beltane gently, "behold, the door is
+barred: moreover, Hugo lieth without--pray God I have not killed him.
+But, as for thee--look yonder, use thine eyes and speak me what thou
+dost see."
+
+But Sir Gui sat on, his thin lips upcurling to a smile, his black eyes
+unswerving: wherefore came Beltane and seized him in fierce hands and
+plucked him to his feet and so brought him to the window.
+
+"Ha!" he cried, "look now and tell me what ye see. Speak! speak--for,
+God help me! now am I minded to kill thee here and now, unarmed though
+ye be, and cast thy carrion to the dogs--speak!"
+
+Now, beholding the mail-clad face above him, the blue eyes aflame, the
+pale lips tight-drawn, Sir Gui, Seneschal of Belsaye, spake soft-voiced
+on this wise:
+
+"I see my lord Duke's gallows go up in flame--wherefore men shall die!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "said I not thine eyes were good, Lord
+Seneschal? Now, use thine ears--hearken! 'Twas I and five others, men
+from beyond the marches, fired this night Black Ivo's gibbet, moreover,
+to-night also have we broke the dungeon that lieth beneath this thy
+keep, and set thy prisoners free--I and these five, all men from the
+north, mark me this well! This have we done for a sign and portent--ha!
+look!" and Beltane pointed of a sudden to where the great gallows,
+outlined against the night in seething flame, swayed to and fro,
+crumbled, and crashed to earth 'mid whirling sparks and flame, while,
+from the town below rose a murmur that swelled and swelled to a shout,
+and so was gone.
+
+"Behold, lord Seneschal, Black Ivo's gallows to-night hath ceased to
+be: here is a sign, let those heed it that will. But for thee--this!
+To-night have I burned this gallows, to-night have I freed thy
+prisoners. Upon me therefore, and only me, be the penalty; for--mark me
+this, Seneschal!--spill but one drop of blood of these innocents of
+Belsaye, and, as God seeth me, so will I hunt thee down, and take thee
+and tear out thine eyes, and cut off thine hands, and drive thee forth
+to starve! And this do I swear by the honour of my father, Beltane the
+Strong, Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+But now, even as Sir Gui shrank back before the death in Beltane's
+look, amazed beyond all thought by his words, came a sudden shout, and
+thereafter a clash and ring of steel upon the stair without. And now,
+above the sudden din, hoarse and loud a battle-cry arose, at the sound
+of which Sir Gui's jaws hung agape, and he stood as one that doubts his
+ears; for 'twas a cry he had heard aforetime, long ago.
+
+"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"
+
+Then Beltane cast up the bar, and, plucking wide the door, beheld the
+broad, mail-clad back of one who held the narrow stair where flashed
+pike and gisarm.
+
+"Roger!" he called, "Black Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, 'tis I," cried Roger, parrying a pike-thrust, "make sure of
+thy work, master, I can hold these in check yet a while."
+
+"My work is done, Roger. To me--to me, I say!"
+
+So Roger, leaping back from the stair-head, turned about and ran to
+Beltane, stumbling and spattering blood as he came, whereupon Beltane
+clapped-to the door and barred it in the face of the pursuit. A while
+leaned Roger, panting, against the wall, then, beholding Sir Gui:
+
+"How!" he cried, "lives the pale fox yet? Methought thy work was done,
+master!" So saying, he swung aloft his bloody sword, but, even as the
+Seneschal waited the blow, smiling of lip, Beltane caught Black Roger's
+wrist.
+
+"Stay!" cried he, above the thunder of blows that shook the door,
+"would'st slay a man unarmed?"
+
+"Aye, master, as he hath slain many a man ere now!" quoth Roger,
+striving to free his arm. "The door is giving, and there be many
+without: and, since to-night we must die, so let us slay the white fox
+first."
+
+"Not so," said Beltane, "get you through the window--the river runs
+below: through the window--out, I say!" and, with the word, he stooped
+and bore Black Roger to the window.
+
+"But, lord--"
+
+"Jump!" cried Beltane, "jump, ere the door fall."
+
+"But you, master--"
+
+"Jump, I say: I will follow thee." So, groaning, Black Roger hurled his
+sword far out from the window, and leaping from the sill, was gone.
+
+Then Beltane turned and looked upon Gui of Allerdale. "Seneschal," said
+he, "I who speak am he, who, an God so wills, shall be Duke of
+Pentavalon ere long: howbeit, I will keep my promise to thee, so aid me
+God!"
+
+Thus saying, he mounted the window in his turn, and, even as the door
+splintered behind him, forced himself through, and, leaping wide,
+whirled over and over, down and down, and the sluggish river closed
+over him with a mighty splash; thereafter the placid waters went upon
+their way, bubbling here and there, and dimpling 'neath the waning
+moon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
+
+
+Down went my Beltane, weighted in his heavy mail--down and ever down
+through a world of green that grew dark and ever more dark, until,
+within the pitchy gloom beneath him was a quaking slime that sucked
+viciously at foot and ankle. Desperately he fought and strove to rise,
+but ever the mud clung, and, lusty swimmer though he was, his triple
+mail bore him down.
+
+And now his mighty muscles failed, lights flamed before his eyes, in
+his ears was a drone that grew to a rushing roar, his lungs seemed
+bursting, and the quaking ooze yearning to engulf him. Then my Beltane
+knew the bitter agony of coming death, and strove no more; but in that
+place of darkness and horror, a clammy something crawled upon his face,
+slipped down upon his helpless body, seized hold upon his belt and
+dragged at him fierce and strong; slowly, slowly the darkness thinned,
+grew lighter, and then--Ah, kind mercy of God! his staring eyes beheld
+the orbed moon, his famished lungs drank deep the sweet, cool air of
+night. And so he gasped, and gasping, strove feebly with arm and leg
+while ever the strong hand grasped at his girdle. And now he heard,
+faint and afar, a sound of voices, hands reached down and drew him up--
+up to good, firm earth, and there, face down among the grass, he lay
+awhile, content only to live and breathe. Gradually he became aware of
+another sound hard by, a sharp sound yet musical, and in a little, knew
+it for the "twang" of a swift-drawn bow-string. Now, glancing up,
+Beltane beheld an ancient tree near by, a tree warped and stunted
+wherein divers arrows stood, and behind the tree, Giles o' the Bow,
+who, as he watched, drew and loosed a shaft, which, flashing upward,
+was answered by a cry; whereon Giles laughed aloud.
+
+"Six!" he cried, "six in seven shots: 'tis sweet archery methinks, and
+quicker than a noose, my Rogerkin, and more deadly than thy axe, my
+surly Walkyn. Let the rogues yonder but show themselves, and give me
+arrows enow, so will I slay all Gui's garrison ere the moon fail me
+quite."
+
+But hereupon Beltane got him to his knees and made shift to stand, and,
+coming to the tree, leaned there, being faint and much spent.
+
+"Aha, sweet lord," cried the archer, "a man after my very heart art
+thou. What wonders have we achieved this night--paladins in sooth we
+be, all four! By the blessed bones of St. Giles, all Pentavalon shall
+ring with our doings anon."
+
+Said Beltane, faintly:
+
+"Where is my good Roger?"
+
+"Here, lord," a voice answered from the shade of a bush hard by: "'twas
+my comrade Walkyn dragged me up from death--even as he did thee."
+
+"We thought you gone for good, master."
+
+"Aye!" cried the archer, "so would ye all be dead, methinks, but for me
+and this my bow."
+
+"Friends," said Beltane, "'tis by doings such as this that men do learn
+each other's worth: so shall the bonds betwixt us strengthen day by
+day, and join us in accord and brotherhood that shall outlast this puny
+life. So now let us begone and join the others."
+
+So they turned their backs upon Belsaye town, and keeping to the brush,
+came at length to where upon the borders of the forest the white friar
+waited them, with the nine who yet remained of the prisoners; these,
+beholding Beltane, came hurrying to meet him, and falling upon their
+knees about him, strove with each other to kiss his hands and feet.
+
+"Good fellows," said Beltane, "God hath this night brought ye out of
+death into life--how will ye use your lives hereafter? List now:--even
+as ye have suffered, others are suffering: as ye have endured the gloom
+of dungeon and fear of death, so, at this hour, others do the like by
+reason of misrule and tyranny. Now here stand I, together with Sir
+Benedict of Bourne who holdeth Thrasfordham Keep, pledged to live
+henceforth, sword in hand, until these evils are no more--since 'tis
+only by bitter strife and conflict that evil may be driven from our
+borders. Thus, Pentavalon needeth men, strong-armed and resolute: if
+such ye be, march ye this hour to Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say
+to Sir Benedict that God having given you new life, so now will ye give
+your lives to Pentavalon, that tyranny may cease and the Duchy be
+cleansed of evil. Who now among ye will draw sword for freedom and
+Pentavalon?"
+
+Then sprang the squat man Osric to his feet, with clenched fist
+upraised and eyes ablaze 'neath his matted hair.
+
+"That will I!" he cried. "And I! And I! And I!" cried the rest, grim-faced
+and eager. "Aye--give us but swords, and one to lead, and we will
+follow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Go you then to Sir Benedict within Bourne and say to all men that
+Beltane the Duke hath this night burned down Black Ivo's shameful
+gibbet, for a sign that he is come at last and is at work, nor will he
+stay until he die, or Pentavalon be free!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY LEFT HIM IN
+THE FOREST
+
+
+  "Since all men breathing 'neath the sky
+   Good or evil, soon must die,
+   Ho! bring me wine, and what care I
+   For dying!"
+
+It was Giles Brabblecombe singing to himself as he knelt beside a fire
+of twigs, and Beltane, opening sleepy eyes, looked round upon a world
+all green and gold and dew-bespangled; a fair world and fragrant,
+whose balmy air breathed of hidden flowers and blooming thickets,
+whence came the joyous carolling of new-waked birds; and beholding all
+this and the glory of it, my Beltane must needs praise God he was
+alive.
+
+"Hail and good morrow to thee, brother!" cried the bowman, seeing him
+astir. "The sun shineth, look you, I sit upon my hams and sing for that
+this roasting venison smelleth sweet, while yonder i' the leaves be a
+mavis and a merle a-mocking of me, pretty rogues: for each and ever of
+which, _Laus Deo, Amen!_"
+
+"Why truly, God hath made a fair world, Giles, a good world to live in,
+and to live is to act--yet here have I lain most basely sleeping--"
+
+"Like any paunched friar, brother. But a few days since, I met thee in
+the green, a very gentle, dove-like youth that yet became a very lion
+of fight and demi-god of battle! Heroes were we all, last night--nay,
+very Titans--four 'gainst an army!--whiles now, within this
+balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the Bloody Axe with grim
+Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies
+busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow
+carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of
+wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector,
+an Ajax--a very Mars--do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed
+friar--Heigho! Yet even a demi-god must nod betimes, and Titans eat,
+look ye."
+
+Now looking from sun to earth and beholding the shortening of the
+shadows, Beltane leapt up. Quoth he:
+
+"Sluggard that I am, 'tis late! And Roger was wounded last night, I
+mind--"
+
+"Content you, brother, 'twas nought," said Giles bending above his
+cooking, "the kiss of a pike-head i' the thick o' the arm--no more."
+
+"Yet it must be looked to--"
+
+"I did it, brother, as I shoot--that is to say I did it most excellent
+well: 'twill be healed within the week."
+
+"How then--art leech as well as bowman?"
+
+"Quite as well, brother. When I was a monk I learned two good things,
+_videlicit_: never to argue with those in authority over me, and to
+heal the hurts of those that did. So, by my skill in herbs and
+leechcraft, Roger, having a hole in his arm, recks not of it--behold
+here he cometh, and Walkyn too, and _Laus Deo!_ with a trout! Now shall
+we feast like any pampered prelate."
+
+So when Beltane had stripped and bathed him in the brook, they
+presently sat down, all four together, and ate and talked and laughed
+right merrily, the while lark and thrush and blackbird carolled lustily
+far and near.
+
+"Now eat, brothers," cried the bowman, full-mouthed, "eat and spare
+not, as I do, for to-day I smell the battle from afar: Ho! Ho! the
+noise of captains and the shouting! Yesterday were we heroes, to-day
+must we be gods--yet cautious gods, for, mark me, I have but twelve
+shafts remaining, and with twelve shafts can but promise ye a poor
+twelve lives."
+
+But now came Roger wistful-eyed, and with belt a-swing in his hand.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "last night did we four rescue twelve. Now I'm fain
+to know if for these twelve I may cut twelve notches from my belt, or
+must we share their lives betwixt us and I count but three?"
+
+"Three?" laughed Giles, "Oho--out upon thee, Rogerkin! Our lord here
+claimeth six, since he the rescue planned, next, I claim three, since
+but for my goodly shooting ye all had died, then hath Walkyn two, since
+he saved thee from the fishes, which leaveth thee--one. _Quod erat
+demonstrandum!_"
+
+But now, seeing Roger's downcast look, Giles snatched the belt and gave
+it unto Beltane, who forthwith cut there-from twelve notches. And, in a
+while, having made an end of eating, Beltane rose and looked round upon
+the three.
+
+"Good comrades all," quoth he, "well do I know ye to be staunch and
+trusty; yet to-day am I minded to speak with him men call Pertolepe the
+Red, lest he shed innocent blood for that we slew his foresters--"
+
+"Twenty lusty fellows!" nodded Giles, with a morsel of venison on his
+dagger point.
+
+"Nay, there one escaped!" quoth Roger.
+
+"Yet he sore wounded!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Ha! Sir Pertolepe is a terrible lord!" quoth Giles, eyeing the morsel
+of venison somewhat askance. "'Twill be a desperate adventure,
+methinks--and we but four."
+
+"Yet each and all--gods!" quoth Walkyn, reaching for his axe.
+
+"Aye," nodded Giles, frowning at the piece of venison, "yet are we but
+four gods."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, "for in this thing shall we be but one. Go
+you three to Bourne, for I am minded to try this adventure alone."
+
+"Alone, master!" cried Black Roger, starting to his feet.
+
+"Alone!" growled Walkyn, clutching his axe.
+
+"An death must come, better one should die than four," said Beltane,
+"howbeit I am minded to seek out Pertolepe this day."
+
+"Then do I come also, master, since thy man am I."
+
+"I, too," nodded Walkyn, "come death and welcome, so I but stand face
+to face with Pertolepe."
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, "so needs must I come also, since I have twelve
+shafts yet unsped," and he swallowed the morsel of venison with mighty
+relish and gusto.
+
+Then laughed Beltane for very gladness, and he looked on each with
+kindling eye.
+
+"Good friends," quoth he, "as ye say, so let it be, and may God's hand
+be over us this day."
+
+Now, as he spake with eyes uplift to heaven, he espied a faint, blue
+mist far away above the soft-stirring tree tops--a distant haze, that
+rose lazily into the balmy air, thickening ever as he watched.
+
+"Ah!" he exclaimed, fierce-eyed of a sudden and pointing with rigid
+finger, "whence cometh that smoke, think ye?"
+
+"Why," quoth Roger, frowning, "Wendonmere village lieth yonder!"
+
+"Nay, 'tis nearer than Wendonmere," said Walkyn, shouldering his axe.
+
+"See, the smoke thickens!" cried Beltane. "Now, God forgive me! the
+while I tarry here Red Pertolepe is busy, meseemeth!" So saying, he
+caught up his sword, and incontinent set off at speed toward where the
+soft blue haze stole upon the air of morning, growing denser and ever
+denser.
+
+Fast and furious Beltane sped on, crashing through underbrush and
+crackling thicket, o'erleaping bush and brook and fallen tree, heedful
+of eye, and choosing his course with a forester's unerring instinct,
+praying fiercely beneath his breath, and with the three ever close
+behind.
+
+"Would I had eaten less!" panted Giles.
+
+"Would our legs were longer!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"Would my belt bore fewer notches!" quoth Roger.
+
+And so they ran together, sure-footed and swift, and ever as they ran
+the smoke grew denser, and ever Beltane's prayers more fervent. Now in
+a while they heard a sound, faint and confused: a hum, that presently
+grew to a murmur--to a drone--to a low wailing of voices, pierced of a
+sudden by a shrill cry no man's lips could utter, that swelled high
+upon the air and died, lost amid the growing clamour.
+
+"They've fired the ricks first!" panted Roger; "'tis ever Pertolepe's
+way!"
+
+"They be torturing the women!" hissed Walkyn; "'tis ever so Red
+Pertolepe's pleasure!"
+
+"And I have but twelve arrows left me!" groaned Giles.
+
+But Beltane ran in silence, looking neither right nor left, until,
+above the hum of voices he heard one upraised in passionate
+supplication, followed by another--a loud voice and jovial--and
+thereafter, a burst of roaring laughter.
+
+Soon Beltane beheld a stream that flowed athwart their way and, beyond
+the stream, a line of willows thick growing upon the marge; and again,
+beyond these clustering willows the straggling village lay. Then
+Beltane, motioning the others to caution, forded the stream and coming
+in the shade of the osiers, drew on his hood of mail, and so,
+unsheathing his long sword, peered through the leaves. And this is what
+he saw:
+
+A wide road flanked by rows of scattered cottages, rude of wall and
+thatch; a dusty road, that led away east and west into the cool depths
+of the forest, and a cringing huddle of wretched village folk whose
+pallid faces were all set one way, where some score of men-at-arms
+lolled in their saddles watching a tall young maid who struggled
+fiercely in the grasp of two lusty fellows, her garments rent, her
+white flesh agleam in the sunlight. A comely maid, supple and strong,
+who ever as she strove 'gainst the clutching hands that held her, kept
+her blazing eyes turned upon one in knightly mail who sat upon a great
+war-horse hard by, watching her, big chin in big mailed fist, and with
+wide lips up-curling in a smile: a strong man this, heavy and broad of
+chest; his casque hung at his saddle-bow, and his mail-coif, thrown
+back upon his wide shoulders, showed his thick, red hair that fell a-down,
+framing his square-set, rugged face.
+
+"Ha, Cuthbert," quoth he, turning to one who rode at his elbow--a
+slender youth who stared with evil eyes and sucked upon his finger,
+"Aha, by the fiend, 'tis a sweet armful, Sir Squire?"
+
+"Aye, my lord Pertolepe, 'tis rarely shaped and delicately fleshed!"
+answered the esquire, and so fell to sucking his finger again.
+
+"What, silly wench, will ye defy me still?" cried Sir Pertolepe, jovial
+of voice, "must ye to the whip in sooth? Ho, Ralph--Otho, strip me this
+stubborn jade--so!--Ha! verily Cuthbert, hast shrewd eyes, 'tis a
+dainty rogue. Come," said he smiling down into the girl's wide, fierce
+eyes, "save that fair body o' thine from the lash, now, and speak me
+where is thy father and brother that I may do justice on them, along
+with these other dogs, for the foul murder of my foresters yest're'en;
+their end shall be swift, look ye, and as for thyself--shalt find those
+to comfort thee anon--speak, wench!"
+
+But now came a woman pale and worn, who threw herself on trembling
+knees at Sir Pertolepe's stirrup, and, bowed thus before him in the
+dust, raised a passionate outcry, supplicating his mercy with bitter
+tears and clasped hands lifted heavenwards.
+
+"O good my lord Pertolepe," she wailed, "'twas not my husband, nor son,
+nor any man of our village wrought this thing; innocent are we, my
+lord--"
+
+"O witch!" quoth he, "who bade thee speak?" So saying he drew mail-clad
+foot from stirrup and kicked her back into the dust. "Ho, whips!" he
+called, "lay on, and thereafter will we hang these vermin to their own
+roof-trees and fire their hovels for a warning."
+
+But now, even as the struggling maid was dragged forward--even as
+Pertolepe, smiling, settled chin on fist to watch the lithe play of her
+writhing limbs, the willows behind him swayed and parted to a sudden
+panther-like leap, and a mail-clad arm was about Sir Pertolepe--a
+mighty arm that bore him from the saddle and hurled him headlong; and
+thereafter Sir Pertolepe, half stunned and staring up from the dust,
+beheld a great blade whose point pricked his naked throat, and, beyond
+this blade, a mail-clad face, pallid, fierce, grim-lipped, from whose
+blazing eyes death glared down at him.
+
+"Dog!" panted Beltane.
+
+"Ha! Cuthbert!" roared Red Pertolepe, writhing 'neath Beltane's
+grinding heel, "to me, Cuthbert--to me!"
+
+But, as the esquire wheeled upon Beltane with sword uplifted, out from
+the green an arrow whistled, and Cuthbert, shrill-screaming, swayed in
+his saddle and thudded to earth, while his great war-horse, rearing
+affrighted, plunged among the men-at-arms, and all was shouting and
+confusion; while from amid the willows arrows whizzed and flew, 'neath
+whose cruel barbs horses snorted, stumbling and kicking, or crashed
+into the dust; and ever the confusion grew.
+
+But now Sir Pertolepe, wriggling beneath Beltane's iron foot had
+unsheathed his dagger, yet, ere he could stab, down upon his red pate
+crashed the heavy pommel of Beltane's sword and Sir Pertolepe, sinking
+backward, lay out-stretched in the dust very silent and very still.
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and, stooping, caught Sir Pertolepe by
+the belt and dragged him into the shade of the willows, and being come
+to the stream, threw his captive down thereby and fell to splashing his
+bruised face with the cool water. And now, above the shouts and the
+trampling of hoofs upon the road, came the clash of steel on steel and
+the harsh roar of Walkyn and Black Roger as they plied axe and sword--
+"Arise! Ha, arise!" Then, as Beltane glanced up, the leaves near by
+were dashed aside and Giles came bounding through, his gay feather
+shorn away, his escalloped cape wrenched and torn, his broadsword a-swing
+in his hand.
+
+"Ho, tall brother--a sweet affray!" he panted, "the fools give back
+already: they cry that Pertolepe is slain and the woods full of
+outlaws; they be falling back from the village--had I but a few shafts
+in my quiver, now--" but here, beholding the face of Beltane's captive,
+Giles let fall his sword, staring round-eyed.
+
+"Holy St. Giles!" he gasped, "'tis the Red Pertolepe!" and so stood
+agape, what time a trumpet brayed a fitful blast from the road and was
+answered afar. Thereafter came Roger, stooping as he ran, and shouting:
+
+"Archers! Archers!--run, lord!"
+
+But Beltane stirred not, only he dashed the water in Sir Pertolepe's
+twitching face, wherefore came Roger and caught him by the arm,
+pleading:
+
+"Master, O master!" he panted, "the forest is a-throng with lances, and
+there be archers also--let us make the woods ere we are beset!"
+
+But Beltane, seeing the captive stir, shook off Black Roger's grasp;
+but now, one laughed, and Walkyn towered above him, white teeth agleam,
+who, staring down at Sir Pertolepe, whirled up his bloody axe to smite.
+
+"Fool!" cried Beltane, and threw up his hand to stay the blow, and in
+that moment Sir Pertolepe oped his eyes.
+
+"'Tis Pertolepe!" panted Walkyn, "'tis he that slew wife and child: so
+now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, "stand back--obey me--back, I say!" So,
+muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger,
+stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and
+with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir
+Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out
+into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and
+men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while
+above the jostling confusion rose the hoarse babel of their voices. But
+of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred
+throats a shout went up:
+
+"A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!"
+
+Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's
+broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's
+right ear.
+
+"Speak!" quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, "speak
+now as I commanded thee!"
+
+A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting
+his head, spake that all might hear:
+
+"Ho, sirs!" he cried, "I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one
+Beltane, who styleth himself--Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back,
+therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not
+by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!"
+
+Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoarse murmur that
+voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those
+two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir
+Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:
+
+"Go!" he commanded.
+
+So their disarray fell into rank and order, and wheeling about, they
+marched away along the forest road with helm agleam and pennons a-dance,
+the while Sir Pertolepe stared after them, wild of eye and with
+mailed hands clenched; once he made as if to call them back: but
+Beltane's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the dagger pricked his
+throat. And thus stood they, side by side, until the tramp of feet was
+died away, until the last trembling villager had slunk from sight and
+the broad road was deserted, all save for Cuthbert the esquire, and
+divers horses that lay stiffly in the dust, silent and very still.
+
+Then Beltane sighed and sheathed his dagger, and Sir Pertolepe faced
+him scrowling, fierce-eyed and arrogant.
+
+"Ha, outlaw!" quoth he, "give back my sword and I will cope with thee--
+wolf's head though thou art--aye, and any two other rogues beside."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I fight with such as thee but when I needs
+must. What--Roger!" he called, "go fetch hither a rope!"
+
+"Dog--would ye murder me?"
+
+"Not so," sighed Beltane, shaking his head, "have I not promised to
+leave thee alive within the greenwood? Yet I would see thee walk in
+bonds first."
+
+"Ha, dare ye bind me, then? He that toucheth me, toucheth Duke Ivo--
+dare ye so do, rogue?"
+
+"Aye, messire," nodded Beltane, "I dare so. Bring hither the rope,
+Roger." But when Roger was come nigh, Sir Pertolepe turned and stared
+upon him.
+
+"What!" cried he, jovial of voice yet deadly-eyed, "is it my runaway
+hangman in very sooth. Did I not pay thee enough, thou black-avised
+knave? Did I not love thee for thy skill with the noose, thou
+traitorous rogue? Now, mark me, Roger: one day will I feed thee to my
+hounds and watch them tear thee, as they have certain other rogues--
+aha!--you mind them, belike?"
+
+Pale of cheek and with trembling hands, Roger bound the arms of him
+that had been his over-lord, while Walkyn and Giles, silent and
+wide-eyed, watched it done.
+
+"Whither would ye take me?" quoth Red Pertolepe, arrogant.
+
+"That shalt thou know anon, messire."
+
+"How an I defy thee?"
+
+"Then must we carry thee, messire," answered Beltane, "yet thine own
+legs were better methinks--come, let us begone."
+
+Thus, presently, having forded the brook, they struck into the forest;
+first went Walkyn, axe on shoulder, teeth agleam; next strode Sir
+Pertolepe, head high, 'twixt pale-faced Roger and silent Beltane, while
+the bowman followed after, calling upon St. Giles beneath his breath
+and crossing himself: and ever and anon Walkyn would turn to look upon
+their scowling captive with eyes that glared 'neath shaggy brows.
+
+Now after they had gone some while, Sir Pertolepe brake silence and
+spake my Beltane, proud and fierce.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, "if 'tis for ransom ye hold me, summon hither thy
+rogues' company, and I will covenant for my release."
+
+"I seek no ransom of thee, messire," answered Beltane, "and for my
+company--'tis here."
+
+"Here? I see but three sorry knaves!"
+
+"Yet with these same three did I o'ercome thy foresters, Sir
+Pertolepe."
+
+"Rogue, thou liest--'tis thing impossible!"
+
+"Moreover, with these three did I, last night, burn down Black Ivo's
+mighty gallows that stood without Belsaye town, and, thereafter set
+wide the dungeon of Belsaye and delivered thence certain woeful
+prisoners, and sent them abroad with word that I--Beltane, son of
+Beltane the Strong, Duke of Pentavalon, am come at last, bearing the
+sword of my father, that was wont to strike deep for liberty and
+justice: nor, having life, will I lay it by until oppression is no
+more."
+
+Now indeed did Sir Pertolepe stare upon my Beltane in amaze and spake
+no word for wonder; then, of a sudden he laughed, scornful and loud.
+
+"Ho! thou burner of gibbets!" quoth he, "take heed lest thy windy
+boasting bring thy lordly neck within a noose! Art lusty of arm, yet
+lustier of tongue--and as to thy father, whoe'er he be--"
+
+"Messire?" Beltane's voice was soft, yet, meeting the calm serenity of
+his gaze, Sir Pertolepe checked the jeer upon his lip and stared upon
+Beltane as one new-waked; beheld in turn his high and noble look, the
+costly excellence of his armour, his great sword and belt of silver--
+and strode on thereafter with never a word, yet viewing Beltane aslance
+'neath brows close-knit in dark perplexity. So, at last, they came into
+a little clearing deep-hid among the denser green.
+
+Beltane paused here, and lifting mailed hand, pointed to a certain
+tree. But hereupon, Sir Pertolepe, staring round about him and down
+upon his galling bonds, spake:
+
+"Sir knight," said he, "who thou art I know not, yet, if indeed thou
+art of gentle blood, then know that I am Sir Pertolepe, Baron of
+Trenda, Seneschal of Garthlaxton, lord warden of the marches: moreover,
+friend and brother-in-arms am I to Duke Ivo--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane, "all this I know, for much of thee have I heard,
+messire: of thy dark doings, of the agony of men, the shame of women,
+and how that there be many desolate hearths and nameless graves of thy
+making, lord Pertolepe. Thou wert indeed of an high estate and strong,
+and these but lowly folk and weak--yet mercy on them had ye none. I
+have this day heard thee doom the innocent to death and bitter shame,
+and, lord, as God seeth us, it is enough!"
+
+Sir Pertolepe's ruddy cheek showed pale, but his blue eyes stared upon
+Beltane wide and fearless.
+
+"Have ye then dragged me hither to die, messire?"
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, all men must die, aye, e'en great lords such as thou,
+when they have sinned sufficiently: and thy sins, methinks, do reach
+high heaven. So have I brought thee hither into the wilderness that
+God's will may be wrought upon thee."
+
+"How--wilt forswear thyself?" cried Sir Pertolepe, writhing in his
+bonds.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Come Roger--Walkyn--bring me him to the tree, yonder."
+
+"Ha! rogue--rogue," panted Sir Pertolepe, "would'st leave me to die in
+a noose, unshriven and unannealed, my soul dragged hell-wards weighted
+with my sins?"
+
+Now, even as he spake, swift and sudden he leapt aside and would have
+fled; but Walkyn's fierce fingers dragged at his throat, and Roger's
+iron arms were close about him. Desperately he fought and struggled,
+but mighty though he was, his captors were mighty also, moreover his
+bonds galled him; wherefore, fighting yet, they dragged him to the
+tree, and to the tree Beltane fast bound him, whiles the forest rang
+and echoed with his panting cries until his great voice cracked and
+broke, and he hung 'gainst the tree, spent and breathless.
+
+Then spake Beltane, grim-lipped yet soft of voice:
+
+"Lord Pertolepe, fain would I hang thee as thou hast hanged many a man
+ere now--but this, methinks, is a better way: for here, unless some
+wanderer chance to find thee, must thou perish, an so God will it. Thus
+do we leave thee in the hands of God to grant thee life or death: and
+may he have mercy on thy guilty soul!"
+
+Thus said Beltane, sombre of brow and pale of cheek; and so, beckoning
+to the others, turned away, despite Sir Pertolepe's passionate threats
+and prayers, and plunging into the dense underbrush, strode swift-footed
+from the place, with the captive's wild cries ringing in his ears.
+
+Haphazard went Beltane, yet straining his ears to catch those mournful
+sounds that grew faint and fainter with distance till they were lost in
+the rustle of the leaves. But, of a sudden, he stayed his going and
+stood with his head aslant hearkening to a sound that seemed to have
+reached him from the solitudes behind; and presently it came again, a
+cry from afar--a scream of agony, hoarse and long drawn out, a hateful
+sound that checked the breath of him and brought the sweat out cold
+upon his brow; and now, turning about, he saw that his following was
+but two, for Walkyn had vanished quite. Now Giles, meeting Beltane's
+wide stare, must needs cough and fumble with his bow, whiles Roger
+stood with bowed head and fingers tight-clenched upon his quarter-staff:
+whereat, fierce-frowning, Beltane spake.
+
+"Wait!" he commanded, "wait you here!" and forthwith turned and ran,
+and so running, came again at last to that obscure glade whence now
+came a sound of groans, mocked, thereafter, by fierce laughter. Now,
+bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his
+bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's
+busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a
+hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his
+writhen face like a scarlet vizard.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"
+
+Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through
+the hair of his beard.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so
+do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of
+Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it
+be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall
+Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."
+
+Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.
+
+"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"
+
+So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane
+followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow
+and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the
+leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very
+sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned
+in a cry hoarse and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading,
+stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his cock's-comb
+flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into
+the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.
+
+"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is
+it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I
+am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"
+
+"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me
+driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my
+father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord
+Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle,
+and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook
+the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:
+
+"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the
+wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved
+thy father, e'en as I loved thee."
+
+"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and
+fingering his dagger.
+
+"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then,
+strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be
+hard-driven. Come!"
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his bloody head, proffering his throat
+to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester
+calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while
+Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching;
+then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe
+staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his
+severed bonds, he laughed hoarsely.
+
+"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and
+methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"
+
+So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him
+like a blind man, then, groaning, fell, and lay a'swoon, his bloody
+face hidden in the grass.
+
+And turning away, Beltane left him lying there with Beda the Jester
+kneeling above him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
+
+
+Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until
+the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking
+not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles
+had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came
+Roger and touched him on the shoulder.
+
+"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."
+
+"Why, then--eat," said Beltane.
+
+Now while they set about building a fire, Beltane went aside and
+wandering slow and thoughtful, presently came to a broad glade or ride,
+and stretching himself out 'neath a tree, lay there staring up at the
+leafy canopy, pondering upon Sir Pertolepe his sins, and the marvellous
+ways of God. Lying thus, he was aware of the slow, plodding hoof-strokes
+of a horse drawing near, of the twang of a lute, with a voice
+sweet and melodious intoning a chant; and the tune was plaintive and
+the words likewise, being these:--
+
+  "Alack and woe
+   That love is so
+   Akin to pain!
+   That to my heart
+   The bitter smart
+   Returns again,
+   Alack and woe!"
+
+Glancing up therefore, Beltane presently espied a knight who bestrode a
+great and goodly war-horse; a youthful knight and debonair, slender and
+shapely in his bright mail and surcoat of flame-coloured samite. His
+broad shield hung behind his shoulder, balanced by a long lance whose
+gay banderol fluttered wanton to the soft-breathing air; above his
+mail-coif he wore a small bright-polished bascinet, while, at his
+high-peaked saddle-bow his ponderous war-helm swung, together with
+broad-bladed battle-axe. Now as he paced along in this right gallant
+estate, his roving glance, by hap, lighted on Beltane, whereupon,
+checking his powerful horse, he plucked daintily at the strings of his
+lute, delicate-fingered, and brake into song anew:--
+
+  "Ah, woe is me
+   That I should be
+   A lonely wight!
+   That in mankind
+   No joy I find
+   By day or night,
+   Ah, woe is me!"
+
+Thereafter he sighed amain and smote his bosom, and smiling upon
+Beltane sad-eyed, spake:
+
+"Most excellent, tall, and sweet young sir, I, who Love's lorn pilgrim
+am, do give thee woeful greeting and entreat now the courtesy of thy
+pity."
+
+"And wherefore pity, sir?" quoth Beltane, sitting up.
+
+"For reason of a lady's silver laughter. A notable reason this; for,
+mark me, ye lovers, an thy lady flout thee one hour, grieve not--she
+shall be kind the next; an she scorn thee to-day, despair nothing--she
+shall love thee to-morrow; but, an she laugh and laugh--ah, then poor
+lover, Venus pity thee! Then languish hope, and tender heart be rent,
+for love and laughter can ne'er be kin. Wherefore a woeful wight am I,
+foredone and all distraught for love. Behold here, the blazon on my
+shield--lo! a riven heart proper (direfully aflame) upon a field vert.
+The heart, methinks, is aptly wrought and popped, and the flame in
+sooth flame-like! Here beneath, behold my motto, 'Ardeo' which
+signifieth 'I burn.' Other device have I laid by for the nonce, what
+time my pilgrimage shall be accompt."
+
+But Beltane looked not so much upon the shield as on the face of him
+that bore it, and beholding its high and fearless look, the clear,
+bright eyes and humorous mouth (albeit schooled to melancholy) he
+smiled, and got him to his feet.
+
+"Now, well met, Sir Knight of the Burning Heart!" quoth he. "What would
+ye here, alone, within these solitudes?"
+
+"Sigh, messire. I sing and sigh, and sigh and sing."
+
+"'Tis a something empty life, methinks."
+
+"Not so, messire," sighed the rueful knight, "for when I chance to meet
+a gentle youth, young and well beseen--as thou, bedight in goodly mail
+--as thou, with knightly sword on thigh, why then, messire, 'tis ever my
+wont to declare unto him that she I honour is fairer, nobler, and
+altogether more worthy and virtuous than any other she soever, and to
+maintain that same against him, on horse or afoot, with lance, battle-axe
+or sword. Thus, see you messire, even a love-lorn lover hath
+betimes his compensations, and the sward is soft underfoot, and level."
+Saying which, the knight cocked a delicate eyebrow in questioning
+fashion, and laid a slender finger to the pommel of his long sword.
+
+"How," cried Beltane, "would'st fight with me?"
+
+"Right gladly would I, messire--to break the monotony."
+
+"I had rather hear thy song again."
+
+"Ha, liked you it in sooth? 'Tis small thing of mine own."
+
+"And 'tis brief!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Brief!" quoth the knight, "brief! not so, most notable youthful sir,
+for even as love is long enduring so is my song, it being of an hundred
+and seventy and eight cantos in all, dealing somewhat of the woes and
+ills of a heart sore smitten (which heart is mine own also). Within my
+song is much matter of hearts (in truth) and darts, of flames and
+shames, of yearnings and burnings, the which this poor heart must needs
+endure since it doth constant bleed and burn."
+
+"Indeed, messire, I marvel that you be yet alive," said Beltane
+gravely, whereat the young knight did pause to view him, dubious-eyed.
+Quoth he:
+
+"In sooth, most youthful and excellent sir, I have myself marvelled
+thereat betimes, but, since alive am I, now do I declare unto you that
+she for whom I sigh is the fairest, gentlest, noblest, most glorious
+and most womanly of all women in the world alive--"
+
+"Save one!" said Beltane.
+
+"Save none, messire!" said the young knight, eager-eyed.
+
+"One!" said Beltane.
+
+"None!" quoth the knight, as, casting aside ponderous lance he vaulted
+lightly from his saddle and drew his sword; but, seeing that Beltane
+bore no shield, paused to lay his own tenderly aside, and so faced him
+serene of brow and smiling of lip. "Sweet sir," said he gaily, "here
+methinks is fair cause for argument; let us then discuss the matter
+together for the comfort of our souls and to the glory of our ladies.
+As to my name--" "'Tis Jocelyn," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!" exclaimed the knight, staring.
+
+"That won a suit of triple mail at Dunismere joust, and wagered it
+'gainst Black Ivo's roan stallion within Deepwold forest upon a time."
+
+"Now, by Venus!" cried the knight, starting back, "here be manifest
+sorcery! Ha! by the sweet blind boy, 'tis black magic!" and he crossed
+himself devoutly. But Beltane, laughing, put back his hood of mail,
+that his long, fair hair fell a-down rippling to his shoulders.
+
+"Know you me not, messire?" quoth he.
+
+"Why," said Sir Jocelyn, knitting delicate brows, "surely thou art the
+forester that o'ercame Duke Ivo's wrestler; aye, by the silver feet of
+lovely Thetis, thou'rt Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Verily, messire," nodded Beltane, "and 'tis not meet that knight cross
+blade with lowly smith."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Jocelyn, rubbing at his smooth white chin, "yet art a
+goodly man withal--and lover to boot--methinks?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "ever and always."
+
+"Why then, all's well," quoth Sir Jocelyn with eyes a-dance, "for since
+true love knoweth nought of distinctions, therefore being lovers are
+we peers, and, being peers, so may we fight together. So come, Sir
+Smith, here stand I sword in hand to maintain 'gainst thee and all men
+the fame and honour of her I worship, of all women alive, maid or wife
+or widow, the fairest, noblest, truest, and most love-worthy is--"
+
+"Helen of Mortain!" quoth Beltane, sighing.
+
+"Helen?--Helen?--thou too!" exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, and forthwith
+dropped his sword, staring in stark amaze. "How--dost thou love her
+also?"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "to my sorrow!"
+
+Then stooped Sir Jocelyn and, taking up his sword, slowly sheathed it.
+Quoth he, sad-eyed:
+
+"Life, methinks, is full of disappointments; farewell to thee, Sir
+Smith," and sighing, he turned away; yet ere he had taken lance and
+shield, Beltane spake:
+
+"Whither away, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+"To sigh, and sing, and seek adventure. 'Twas for this I left my goodly
+castle of Alain and journeyed, a lorn pilgrim, hither to Pentavalon,
+since when strange stories have I heard that whisper in the air,
+speeding from lip to lip, of a certain doughty knight-at-arms, valiant
+beyond thought, that beareth a sword whose mighty sweep none may abide,
+who, alone and unaided slew an hundred and twenty and four within the
+greenwood, and thereafter, did, 'neath the walls of Belsaye town burn
+down Duke Ivo's gibbet, who hath sworn to cut Duke Ivo into gobbets,
+look you, and feed him to the dogs; which is well, for I love not Duke
+Ivo. All this have I heard and much beside, idle tales mayhap, yet
+would I seek out this errant Mars and prove him, for mine own behoof,
+with stroke of sword."
+
+"And how an he prove worthy?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"Then will I ride with him, to share his deeds and glory mayhap, Sir
+Smith--I and all the ten-score lusty fellows that muster to my pennon,
+since in the air is whispered talk of war, and Sir Benedict lieth ready
+in Thrasfordham Keep."
+
+"Two hundred men," quoth Beltane, his blue eyes agleam, "two hundred,
+say you?" and, speaking, he stepped forward, unsheathing his sword.
+
+"How now," quoth Sir Jocelyn, "what would ye, sweet smith?"
+
+"I would have thee prove me for thy behoof, Sir Jocelyn; for I am he
+that with aid of five good men burned down the gibbet without Belsaye."
+
+"Thou!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "and thou art a smith! And yet needs must I
+credit thee, for thine eyes be truthful eyes. And did'st indeed slay so
+many in the green, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "there were but twenty; moreover I--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Sir Jocelyn, gaily, "be thou smith or be thou demi-god,
+now will I make proof of thy might and valiance." And he drew sword.
+
+So did these two youths face each other, smiling above their gleaming
+steel, and so the long blades rang together, and, thereafter, the air
+was full of a clashing din, in so much that Roger came running sword in
+hand, with Walkyn and Giles at his heels; but, seeing how matters
+stood, they sat them down on the sward, watching round-eyed and eager.
+
+And now Sir Jocelyn (happy-eyed), his doleful heart forgot, did show
+himself a doughty knight, skipping lightly to and fro despite his heavy
+armour, and laying on right lustily while the three a-sprawl upon the
+grass shouted gleefully at each shrewd stroke or skilful parry; but,
+once Sir Jocelyn's blade clashed upon Beltane's mailed thigh, and
+straightway they fell silent; and once his point touched the links on
+Beltane's wide breast, and straightway their brows grew anxious and
+gloomy--yet none so gloomy as Roger. But now, on a sudden, was the
+flash and ring of hard smitten steel, and behold, Sir Jocelyn's sword
+sprang from his grasp and thudded to earth a good three yards away;
+whereupon the three roared amain--yet none so loud as Roger.
+
+"Now by sweet Cupid his tender bow!" panted Sir Jocelyn--"by the
+cestus of lovely Venus--aye, by the ox-eyed Juno, I swear 'twas featly
+done, Sir Smith!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, taking up the fallen sword:
+
+"'Tis a trick I learned of that great and glorious knight, Sir Benedict
+of Bourne."
+
+"Messire," said Sir Jocelyn, his cheek flushing, "an earl am I of
+thirty and two quarterings and divers goodly manors: yet thou art the
+better man, meseemeth, and as such do I salute thee, and swear myself
+thy brother-in-arms henceforth--an ye will."
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned, and looking upon the mighty three with
+kindling eye, beckoned them near.
+
+"Lord Jocelyn," said he, "behold here my trusty comrades, valiant men
+all:--this, my faithful Roger, surnamed the Black: This, Giles
+Brabblecombe, who shooteth as ne'er did archer yet: and here, Walkyn--
+who hath known overmuch of sorrow and bitter wrong. Fain would we take
+thee for our comrade, Lord Jocelyn, for God knoweth Pentavalon hath
+need of true men these days, yet first, know this--that I, and these my
+three good comrades do stand pledged to the cause of the weak and
+woefully oppressed within this sorrowful Duchy; to smite evil, nor
+stay till we be dead, or Black Ivo driven hence."
+
+"Ivo?--Ivo?" stammered Sir Jocelyn, in blank amaze, "'tis madness!"
+
+"Thus," said Beltane, "is our cause, perchance, a little desperate, and
+he who companies with us must company with Death betimes." "To defy
+Black Ivo--ha, here is madness so mad as pleaseth me right well! A
+rebellion, forsooth! How many do ye muster?"
+
+Answered Beltane:
+
+"Thou seest--we be four--"
+
+"Four!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "Four!"
+
+"But Sir Benedict lieth within Thrasfordham Keep, and God is in heaven,
+messire."
+
+"Aye, but heaven is far, methinks, and Duke Ivo is near, and hath an
+arm long and merciless. Art so weary of life, Sir Smith?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "but to what end hath man life, save to spend
+it for the good of his fellows?"
+
+"Art mad!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, "art surely mad! Heigho!--some day,
+mayhap, it shall be written how one Jocelyn Alain, a gentle, love-lorn
+knight, singing his woes within the greenwood, did meet four lovely
+madmen and straight fell mad likewise. So here, upon my sword, do I
+swear to take thee for my brother-in-arms, and these thy comrades for
+my comrades, and to spend my life, henceforth, to the good of my
+fellows!"
+
+So saying, Sir Jocelyn smiled his quick bright smile and reached out
+his hand to my Beltane, and there, leaning upon their swords, their
+mailed fingers clasped and wrung each other. Thereafter he turned upon
+the three, but even as he did so, Walkyn uttered a fierce cry, and
+whirling about with axe aloft, sprang into the green, whence of a
+sudden rose a babel of voices, and the sound of fierce blows and,
+thereafter, the noise of pursuit. A flicker of steel amid the green--a
+score of fierce faces all about him, and Beltane was seized from
+behind, borne struggling to his knees, to his face, battered by unseen
+weapons, dragged at by unseen hands, choked, half-stunned, his arms
+twisted and bound by galling thongs. Now, as he lay thus, helpless, a
+mailed foot spurned him fiercely and looking up, half-swooning, he
+beheld Sir Pertolepe smiling down at him.
+
+"Ha--thou fool!" he laughed jovially, "did'st think to escape me, then
+--thou fool, I have followed on thy tracks all day. By the eyes of God,
+I would have followed thee to hell! I want thee in Garthlaxton--there
+be gibbets for thee above the keep--also, there are my hounds--aye, I
+want thee, Messire Beltane who art Duke of Pentavalon! Ho! Arnulf--a
+halter for his ducal throat!" So, when they had cast a noose about his
+neck, they dragged Beltane, choking, to his feet, and led him away
+gasping and staggering through the green; and having eyes, he saw not,
+and having ears, he heard not, being very spent and sick.
+
+Now, as they went, evening began to fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
+
+
+Little by little, as he stumbled along, Beltane's brain began to clear;
+he became aware of the ring and clash of arms about him, and the
+trampling of horses. Gradually, the mist lifting, he saw long files of
+men-at-arms riding along very orderly, with archers and pike-men.
+Little by little, amid all these hostile forms, he seemed to recognise
+a certain pair of legs that went on just before: sturdy legs, that yet
+faltered now and then in their stride, and, looking higher, he saw a
+broad belt whose edges were notched and saw-like, and a wide, mail-clad
+back that yet bent weakly forward with every shambling step. Once this
+figure sank to its knees, but stumbled up again 'neath the vicious
+prick of a pike-head that left blood upon the bronzed skin, whereat
+Beltane uttered a hoarse cry.
+
+"O Black Roger!" he groaned, "I grieve to have brought thee to this!"
+
+"Nay, lord," quoth Roger, lifting high his drooping head, "'tis but my
+wound that bleeds afresh. But, bond or free, thy man am I, and able yet
+to strike a blow on thy behalf an heaven so please."
+
+"Now God shield thee, brave Roger!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"O sweet St. Giles--and what of me, brother?" spake a voice in his
+ear, and turning, Beltane beheld the archer smiling upon him with
+swollen, bloody lips.
+
+"Thou here too, good Giles?"
+
+"Even so, tall brother, in adversity lo! I am with thee--since I
+found no chance to run other-where, for that divers rogues constrained
+me to abide--notably yon knave with the scar, whose mailed fist I had
+perforce to kiss, brother, in whose dog's carcase I will yet feather me
+a shaft, sweet St. Giles aiding me--which is my patron saint, you'll
+mind. _Nil desperandum_, brother: bruised and beaten, bleeding and in
+bonds, yet I breathe, nothing desponding, for mark me, _a priori_,
+brother, Walkyn and the young knight won free, which is well; Walkyn
+hath long legs, which is better; Walkyn hath many friends i' the
+greenwood, which is best of all. So do I keep a merry heart--_dum spiro
+spero_--trusting to the good St. Giles, which, as methinks you know is
+my--"
+
+The archer grew suddenly dumb, his comely face blanched, and glancing
+round, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe beside him, who leaned down from
+his great white horse to smile wry-mouthed, and smiling thus, put back
+the mail-coif from his pallid face and laid a finger to the linen clout
+that swathed his head above the brows.
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "for this I might hang thee to a tree,
+or drag thee at a horse's tail, or hew thee in sunder with this great
+sword o' thine which shall be mine henceforth--but these be deaths
+unworthy of such as thou--my lord Duke! Now within Garthlaxton be
+divers ways and means, quaint fashions and devices strange and rare,
+messire. And when I'm done, Black Roger shall hang what's left of thee,
+ere he go to feed my hounds. That big body o' thine shall rot above my
+gate, and for that golden head--ha! I'll send it to Duke Ivo in
+quittance for his gallows! Yet first--O, first shalt thou sigh that
+death must needs be so long a-coming!"
+
+But now, from where the van-ward marched, came galloping a tall
+esquire, who, reining in beside Sir Pertolepe, pointed down the hill.
+
+"Lord Pertolepe," he cried joyously, "yonder, scarce a mile, flies the
+banner of Gilles of Brandonmere, his company few, his men scattered
+and heavy with plunder."
+
+"Gilles!" quoth Sir Pertolepe. "Ha, is it forsooth Gilles of
+Brandonmere?"
+
+"Himself, lord, and none other. I marked plain his banner with the
+three stooping falcons."
+
+"And he hath booty, say you?"
+
+"In truth, my lord--and there be women also, three horse litters--"
+
+"Ah--women! Verily, good Fulk, hast ever a quick eye for the flutter of
+a kirtle. Now, mark me Fulk, Thornaby Mill lieth in our front, and
+beyond, the road windeth steep 'twixt high banks. Let archers line
+these banks east and west: let the pikemen be ambushed to the south,
+until we from the north have charged them with the horse--see 'tis
+done, Fulk, and silently--so peradventure, Sir Gilles shall trouble me
+no more. Pass the word--away!"
+
+Off rode Sir Fulk, and straightway the pounding hoofs were still, the
+jingle of bridle and stirrup hushed, and in its place a vague stir of
+bustle and excitement; of pikemen wheeling right and left to vanish
+southwards into the green, and of archers stringing bows and unbuckling
+quiver-caps ere they too wheeled and vanished; yet now Sir Pertolepe
+stayed four lusty fellows, and beckoning them near, pointed to the
+prisoners.
+
+"Good fellows," quoth he, nodding jovially upon the archers, "here be
+my three rogues, see you--who must with me to Garthlaxton: one to die
+by slow fire, one to be torn by my hounds, and one--this tall
+golden-haired youth--mark him well!--to die in slow and subtle fashion.
+Now these three do I put in charge of ye trusty four; guard them well,
+good fellows, for, an one escape, so shall ye all four die in his stead
+and in such fashion as he should have died. Ha! d'ye mark me well, my merry
+men?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded the four, scowling of brow yet pale-cheeked.
+
+"Look to it I find them secure, therefore, and entreat them tenderly.
+March you at the rear and see they take no harm; choose ye some secure
+corner where they may lie safe from chance of stray shafts, for I would
+have them come hale and sound to Garthlaxton, since to die well, a man
+must be strong and hearty, look you. D'ye mark me well, good fellows?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" growled the four.
+
+Then Sir Pertolepe, fondling his great chin, smiled upon Beltane and
+lifted Beltane's glittering sword on high, "Advance my banner!" he
+cried, and rode forward among his men-at-arms. On went the company,
+grimly silent now save for the snort of a horse, the champing of
+curbing bits and the thud of slow trampling hoofs upon the tender
+grass, as the west flamed to sunset. Thus in a while they came to a
+place where the road, narrowing, ran 'twixt high banks clothed in gorse
+and underbrush; a shadowy road, the which, winding downwards, was lost
+in a sharp curve. Here the array was halted, and abode very still and
+silent, with helm and lance-point winking in the last red rays of
+sunset.
+
+"O brother," whispered Giles, "ne'er saw I place sweeter or more apt
+for ambushment. Here shall be bloody doings anon, and we--helpless as
+babes! O me, the pity on't!" But now with blows and gibes the four
+archers dragged them unto a tall tree that stood beside the way, a tree
+of mighty girth whose far-flung branches cast a deep gloom. Within this
+gloom lay my Beltane, stirring not and speaking no word, being faint
+and sick with his hurts. But Giles the archer, sitting beside him,
+vented by turns bitter curses upon Sir Pertolepe and humble prayers to
+his patron saint, so fluent and so fast that prayers and curses became
+strangely blent and mingled, on this wise:
+
+"May Red Pertolepe be thrice damned with a candle to the blessed Saint
+Giles that is my comfort and intercessor. May his bones rot within him
+with my gold chain to sweet Saint Giles. May his tongue wither at the
+roots--ah, good Saint Giles, save me from the fire. May he be cursed in
+life and may the flesh shrivel on his bones and his soul be eternally
+damned with another candle and fifty gold pieces to the altar of holy
+Saint Giles--"
+
+But now hearing Roger groan, the archer paused to admonish him thus:
+
+"Croak not, Roger, croak not," quoth he, "think not upon thy vile body
+--pray, man, pray--pray thyself speechless. Call reverently upon the
+blessed saints as I do, promise them candles, Roger, promise hard and
+pray harder lest we perish--I by fire and thou by Pertolepe's hounds.
+Ill deaths, look you, aye, 'tis a cruel death to be burnt alive,
+Roger!"
+
+"To be torn by hounds is worse!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, my Rogerkin, the fire is slower, methinks--I have watched good
+flesh sear and shrivel ere now--ha! by Saint Giles, 'tis an evil
+subject; let us rather think upon two others."
+
+"As what, archer?"
+
+"The long legs of our comrade Walkyn. Hist! hark ye to that bruit! Here
+cometh Gilles of Brandonmere, meseemeth!" And now from the road in
+front rose the sound of an approaching company, the tramp of weary
+horses climbing the ascent with the sound of cheery voices upraised in
+song; and ever the sinking sun glinted redly on helm and lance-point
+where sat Sir Pertolepe's mailed riders, grim and silent, while the
+cheery voices swelled near and more near, till, all at once, the song
+died to a hum of amaze that rose to a warning shout that was drowned in
+the blare of a piercing trumpet blast. Whereat down swept glittering
+lance-point, forward leaned shining bascinet, and the first rank of Sir
+Pertolepe's riders, striking spurs, thundered upon them down the hill;
+came thereafter the shock of meeting ranks, with shouts and cries that
+grew to a muffled roar. Up rose the dust, an eddying cloud wherein
+steel flickered and dim forms strove, horse to horse and man to man,
+while Sir Pertolepe, sitting his great white charger, nursed his big
+chin and, smiling, waited his chance. Presently, from the eddying
+cloud staggered the broken remnant of Sir Gilles' van-ward, whereon,
+laughing fierce and loud, Sir Pertolepe rose in his stirrups with
+Beltane's long sword lifted high, his trumpets brayed the charge, and
+down the hill thundered Sir Pertolepe and all his array; and the road
+near by was deserted, save for the prisoners and the four archers who
+stood together, their faces set down-hill, where the dust rose denser
+and denser, and the roar of the conflict fierce and loud.
+
+But now, above the din and tumult of the fight below, shrill and high
+rose the notes of a horn winded from the woods in the east, that was
+answered--like an echo, out of the woods in the west; and, down the
+banks to right and left, behold Sir Pertolepe's archers came leaping
+and tumbling, pursued by a hissing arrow shower. Whereat up sprang
+Giles, despite his bonds, shouting amain:
+
+"O, Walkyn o' the Long Legs--a rescue! To us! Arise, I will arise!" Now
+while he shouted thus, came one of the four archers, and Giles was
+smitten to his knees; but, as the archer whirled up his quarter-staff
+to strike again, an arrow took him full in the throat, and pitching
+upon his face, he lay awhile, coughing, in the dust.
+
+Now as his comrades yet stared upon this man so suddenly dead, down
+from the bank above leapt one who bore a glittering axe, with divers
+wild and ragged fellows at his heels; came a sound of shouting and
+blows hard smitten, a rush of feet and, thereafter, silence, save for
+the din of battle afar. But, upon the silence, loud and sudden rose a
+high-pitched quavering laugh, and Giles spake, his voice yet shrill and
+unsteady.
+
+"'Twas Walkyn--ha, Saint Giles bless Walkyn's long legs! 'Twas Walkyn I
+saw--Walkyn hath brought down the outlaws--the woods be full of them.
+Oho! Sir Pertolepe's slow fire shall not roast me yet awhile, nor his
+dogs mumble the carcase, my Rogerkin!"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger feebly, "but what of my lord, see how still he
+lieth!"
+
+"Forsooth," exclaimed the archer, writhing in his bonds to stare upon
+Beltane, "forsooth, Roger, he took a dour ding upon his yellow pate,
+look ye; but for his mail-coif he were a dead man this hour--"
+
+"He lieth very still," groaned Roger.
+
+"Yet is he a mighty man and strong, my Rogerkin-never despond, man,
+for I tell thee--ha!--heard ye that outcry? The outlaws be at work at
+last, they have Sir Pertolepe out-flanked d'ye see--now might ye behold
+what well-sped shafts can do upon a close array--pretty work-sweet
+work! Would I knew where Walkyn lay!"
+
+"Here, comrade!" said a voice from the shade of the great tree.
+
+"How--what do ye there?" cried the archer.
+
+"Wait for Red Pertolepe."
+
+"Why then, sweet Walkyn, good Walkyn--come loose us of our bonds that
+we may wait with thee--"
+
+"Nay," growled Walkyn, "ye are the bait. When the outlaws have slain
+enough of them, Pertolepe's men must flee this way: so will Red
+Pertolepe stay to take up his prisoners, and so shall I slay him in
+that moment with this mine axe. Ha!--said I not so? Hark I they break
+already! Peace now--wait and watch." So saying, Walkyn crouched behind
+the tree, axe poised, what time the dust and roar of battle rolled
+toward them up the hill. And presently, from out the rolling cloud,
+riderless horses burst and thundered past, and after them--a staggering
+rout, mounted and afoot, spurring and trampling each other 'neath the
+merciless arrow-shower that smote them from the banks above. Horse and
+foot they thundered by until at last, amid a ring of cowering men-at-arms,
+Sir Pertolepe galloped, his white horse bespattered with blood
+and foam, his battered helm a-swing upon its thongs; grim-lipped and
+pale he rode, while his eyes, aflame 'neath scowling brows, swept the
+road this way and that until, espying Beltane 'neath the tree, he
+swerved aside in his career and strove to check his followers' headlong
+flight.
+
+"Stay," cried he striking right and left. "Halt, dogs, and take up the
+prisoners. Ha! will ye defy me-rogues, caitiffs! Fulk! Raoul! Denis!
+Ho, there!"
+
+But no man might stay that maddened rush, wherefore, swearing a great
+oath, Sir Pertolepe spurred upon Beltane with Beltane's sword lifted
+for the blow. But, from the shade of the tree a mighty form uprose, and
+Sir Pertolepe was aware of a hoarse, glad cry, saw the whirling flash
+of a broad axe and wrenched hard at his bridle; round staggered the
+white horse, down came the heavy axe, and the great horse, death-smitten,
+reared up and up, back and back, and crashing over, was lost 'neath
+the dust of swift-trampling hoofs.
+
+Now presently, Beltane was aware that his bonds cramped him no longer,
+found Roger's arm about him, and at his parched lips Roger's steel
+head-piece brimming with cool, sweet water; and gulping thirstily, soon
+felt the numbness lifted from his brain and the mist from his eyes; in
+so much that he sat up, and gazing about, beheld himself alone with
+Roger.
+
+Quoth he, looking down at his swollen wrists:
+
+"Do we go free then, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master--though ye had a woundy knock upon the head."
+
+"And what of Giles?"
+
+"He is away to get him arrows to fill his quiver, and to fill his purse
+with what he may, for the dead lie thick in the road yonder, and there
+is much plunder."
+
+"And Walkyn?"
+
+"Walkyn, master, having slain Sir Pertolepe's horse yonder, followeth
+Pertolepe, minded straight to slay him also."
+
+"Yet dost thou remain, Roger."
+
+"Aye, lord; and here is that which thou wilt need again, methinks; I
+found it hard by Sir Pertolepe's dead horse." So saying, Roger put
+Beltane's great sword into his hand. Then Beltane took hold upon the
+sword, and rising to his feet stretched wide his arms, and felt his
+strength renewed within him. Therefore he sheathed the sword and set
+his hand on Roger's broad, mail-clad shoulder.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou faithful Roger, God hath delivered us from
+shameful death, wherefore, I hold, He hath yet need of these our
+bodies."
+
+"As how, master?"
+
+"As I went, nigh swooning in my bonds, methought I heard tell that Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere had captive certain women; so now must we deliver
+them, thou and I, an it may be so."
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, "Sir Gilles marcheth with the remnant of his
+company, and we are but two. Let us therefore get with us divers of
+these outlaws."
+
+"I have heard tell that to be a woman and captive to Sir Gilles or
+Pertolepe the Red is to be brought to swift and dire shame. So now let
+us deliver these women from shame, thou and I. Wilt go with me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye lord, that will I: yet first pray thee aid me to bind a clout upon
+my arm, for my wound irketh me somewhat."
+
+And in a while, when Beltane had laved and bound up Roger's wound, they
+went on down the darkening road together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
+
+
+It was a night of wind with a flying cloud-wrack overhead whence peeped
+the pallid moon betimes; a night of gloom and mystery. The woods about
+them were full of sounds and stealthy rustlings as they strode along
+the forest road, and so came to that dark defile where the fight had
+raged. Of what they saw and heard within that place of slaughter it
+bodeth not to tell, nor of those figures, wild and fierce, that
+crouched to strip the jumbled slain, or snarled and quarrelled over the
+work.
+
+"Here is good plunder of weapons and armour," quoth Roger, "'tis seldom
+the outlaws come by such. Hark to that cry! There died some wounded
+wight under his plunderer's knife!"
+
+"God rest his soul, Amen!" sighed Beltane. "Come, let us hence!" And
+forthwith he began to run. So in a little while they passed through
+that place of horror unseen, and so came out again upon the forest
+road. Ever and anon the moon sent down a feeble ray 'neath which the
+road lay a-glimmer 'twixt the gloom of the woods, whence came groans
+and wailings with every wind-gust, whereat Roger quailed, and fumbling
+at his sword-hilt, pressed closer upon Beltane.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "'tis an evil night--methinks the souls of the
+dead be abroad--hark to those sounds! Master, I like it not!--"
+
+"'Tis but the wind, Roger."
+
+"'Tis like the cries of women wailing o'er their dead, I have heard
+such sounds ere now; I would my belt bore fewer notches, master!"
+
+"They shall be fewer ere dawn, Roger, I pray God!"
+
+"Master--an I am slain this night, think ye I must burn in hell-fire--
+remembering these same notches?"
+
+"Nay, for surely God is a very merciful God, Roger. Hark!" quoth
+Beltane, and stopped of a sudden, and thus above the wailing of the
+wind they presently heard a feeble groaning hard by, and following the
+sound, beheld a blotch upon the glimmering road. Now as they drew near
+the moon peeped out, and showed a man huddled 'neath a bush beside the
+way, whose face gleamed pale amid the shadows.
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger, stooping, "thou'rt of Brandonmere?"
+
+"Aye--give me water--I was squire to Sir Gilles--God's love--give me--
+water!"
+
+Then Beltane knelt, and saw this was but a youth, and bidding Roger
+bring water from a brook near by, took the heavy head upon his knee.
+
+"Messire," said he, "I have heard that Sir Gilles beareth women
+captive."
+
+"There is--but one, and she--a nun. But nuns are--holy women--so I
+withstood my lord in his--desire. And my lord--stabbed me--so must I
+die--of a nun, see you!--Ah--give me--water!"
+
+"Where doth he ride this night, messire?"
+
+"His men--few--very weary--Sir Pertolepe's--men-at-arms--caught us i'
+the sunken road--Sir Gilles--to Thornaby Mill--beside the ford--O God
+--water!"
+
+"'Tis here!" quoth Roger, kneeling beside him; then Beltane set the
+water to the squire's eager lips, but, striving to drink he choked,
+and choking, fell back--dead.
+
+So in a while they arose from their knees and went their way, while the
+dead youth lay with wide eyes that seemed to out-stare the pallid moon.
+
+Now as they went on very silently together, of a sudden Black Roger
+caught Beltane by the arm and pointed into the gloom, where, far before
+them, small lights winked redly through the murk.
+
+"Yon should be Sir Gilles' watch-fires!" he whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "so I think."
+
+"Master--what would ye now?"
+
+"Pray, Roger--I pray God Sir Gilles' men be few, and that they be sound
+sleepers. Howbeit we will go right warily none the less." So saying,
+Beltane turned aside from the road and led on through underbrush and
+thicket, through a gloom of leaves where a boisterous wind rioted;
+where great branches, dim seen, swayed groaning in every fierce gust,
+and all was piping stir and tumult. Twigs whipped them viciously,
+thorns dragged at them, while the wind went by them, moaning, in the
+dark. But, ever and anon as they stumbled forward, guiding themselves
+by instinct, the moon sent forth a pale beam from the whirling cloud-wrack
+--a phantom light that stole upon them, sudden and ghost-like,
+and, like a ghost, was gone again; what time Black Roger, following
+hard on Beltane's heel, crossed himself and muttered fragments of
+forgotten prayers. Thus at last they came to the river, that flowed
+before them vague in the half-light, whose sullen waters gurgled evilly
+among the willows that drooped upon the marge.
+
+"Master," said Roger, wiping sweat from his face, "there's evil
+hereabouts--I've had a warning--a dead man touched me as we came
+through the brush yonder."
+
+"Nay Roger, 'twas but some branch--"
+
+"Lord, when knew ye a branch with--fingers--slimy and cold--upon my
+cheek here. 'Twas a warning, master--he dead hand! One of us twain
+goeth to his death this night!"
+
+"Let not thine heart fail therefor, good Roger: man, being dead, liveth
+forever--"
+
+"Nay, but--the dead hand, master--on my cheek, here--Ah!--" Crying
+thus, Black Roger sprang and caught Beltane's arm, gripping it fast,
+for on the air, borne upon the wind, yet louder than the wind, a shrill
+sound rang and echoed, the which, passing, seemed to have stricken the
+night to silence. Then Beltane brake from Roger's clasp, and ran on
+beside the river, until, beyond the sullen waters the watch-fires
+flared before him, in whose red light the mill loomed up rugged and
+grim, its massy walls scarred and cracked, its great wheel fallen to
+ruin.
+
+Now above the wheel was a gap in the masonry, an opening roughly square
+that had been a window, mayhap, whence shone a warm, mellow light.
+
+"Master," panted Roger, "a God's name--what was it?"
+
+"A woman screamed!" quoth Beltane, staring upon the lighted window. As
+he spake a man laughed sleepily beside the nearest watch-fire, scarce a
+bow-shot away.
+
+"Look'ee, master," whispered Roger, "we may not cross by the ford
+because of the watch-fires--'tis a fair light to shoot by, and the
+river is very deep hereabouts."
+
+"Yet must we swim it, Roger."
+
+"Lord, the water is in flood, and our armour heavy!"
+
+"Then must we leave our armour behind," quoth Beltane, and throwing
+back his hood of mail, he began to unbuckle his broad belt, but of a
+sudden, stayed to point with outstretched finger. Then, looking whither
+he pointed, Roger saw a tree whose hole leaned far out across the
+stream, so that one far-flung branch well nigh scraped the broken roof
+of the mill.
+
+"Yon lieth our way, Roger--come!" said he.
+
+Being come to that side of the tree afar from the watch-fires, Beltane
+swung himself lightly and began to climb, but hearing a groan, paused.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what ails thee, Roger?"
+
+"Alas!" groaned Roger, "'tis my wound irketh me; O master, I cannot
+follow thee this way!"
+
+"Nay, let me aid thee," whispered Beltane, reaching down to him. But,
+despite Beltane's strong hand, desperately though he tried, Black Roger
+fell back, groaning.
+
+"Master," he pleaded, "O master, adventure not alone lest ill befall
+thee." "Aye, but I must, Roger."
+
+Then Roger leaned his head upon his sound arm, and wept full bitterly.
+
+"O master,--O sweet lord," quoth he, "bethink thee now of the warning--
+the dead hand--"
+
+"Yet must I go, my Roger."
+
+"Then--an they kill thee, lord, so shall they kill me also; thy man am
+I, to live or die with thee--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, sworn art thou to redeem Pentavalon: so now, in her name
+do I charge thee, haste to Sir Jocelyn, an he yet live--seek Giles and
+Walkyn and whoso else ye may, and bring them hither at speed. If ye
+find me not here, then hie ye all to Thrasfordham, for by to-morrow Sir
+Pertolepe and Gui of Allerdale will have raised the country against us.
+Go now, do even as I command, and may God keep thee, my faithful
+Roger." Then Beltane began to climb, but being come where the great
+branch forked, looked down to see Roger's upturned face, pale amid the
+gloom below.
+
+"The holy angels have thee in their keeping, lord and master!" he
+sighed, and so turned with head a-droop and was gone. And now Beltane
+began to clamber out across the swirl of dark waters, while the tough
+bough swung and swayed beneath him in every gust of wind, wherefore his
+going was difficult and slow, and he took heed only to his hands and
+feet.
+
+But, all at once, he heard a bitter, broken cry, and glancing up, it
+chanced that from his lofty perch he could look within the lighted
+window, and thus beheld a nun, whose slender, black-robed body writhed
+and twisted in the clasp of two leathern-clad arms; vicious arms, that
+bent her back and back across the rough table, until into Beltane's
+vision came the leathern-clad form of him that held her: a black-haired,
+shapely man, whose glowing eyes and eager mouth stooped ever nearer
+above the nun's white loveliness.
+
+And thus it was that my Beltane first looked upon Sir Gilles of
+Brandonmere. He had laid sword and armour by, but as the nun yet
+struggled in his arms, her white hand came upon and drew the dagger at
+his girdle, yet, ere she could strike, Sir Gilles had seen and leapt
+back out of reach.
+
+Then Beltane clambered on at speed, and with every yard their voices
+grew more loud--hers proud and disdainful, his low and soft, pierced,
+now and then, by an evil, lazy laugh.
+
+Now ever as Beltane went, the branch swayed more dizzily, bending more
+and more beneath his weight, and ever as he drew nearer, between the
+wind-gusts came snatches of their talk.
+
+"Be thou nun, or duchess, or strolling light-o'-love, art woman--by
+Venus! fair and passing fair!--captive art thou--aye, mine, I tell
+thee--yield thee--hast struggled long enough to save thy modesty--yield
+thee now, else will I throw thee to my lusty rogues without--make them
+sport--"
+
+"O--beast--I fear thee not! For thy men--how shall they harm me, seeing
+I shall be dead!"
+
+Down swayed the branch, low and lower, until Beltane's mailed foot,
+a-swing in mid air, found something beneath--slipped away--found it
+again, and thereupon, loosing the branch, down he came upon the ruined
+mill-wheel. Then, standing upon the wheel, his groping fingers found
+divers cracks in the worn masonry--moreover the ivy was thick; so,
+clinging with fingers and toes, up he went, higher and higher until his
+steel-mittened hands gripped the sill: thus, slowly and cautiously he
+drew himself up until his golden head rose above the sill and he could
+peer into the room.
+
+Sir Gilles half stood, half sat upon the table, while the nun faced
+him, cold and proud and disdainful, the gleaming dagger clutched to her
+quick-heaving bosom; and Sir Gilles, assured and confident, laughed
+softly as he leaned so lazily, yet ever he watched that gleaming steel,
+waiting his chance to spring. Now as they stood fronting each other
+thus, the nun stirred beneath his close regard, turned her head, and on
+the instant Beltane knew that she had seen him; knew by the sudden
+tremor of her lips, the widening of her dark eyes, wherein he seemed to
+read wonder, joy, and a passionate entreaty; then, even as he thrilled
+to meet that look, down swept languorous lid and curling lash, and,
+sighing, she laid the dagger on the table. For a moment Sir Gilles
+stared in blank amaze, then laughed his lazy laugh.
+
+"Ah, proud beauty! 'Tis surrender then?" said he, and speaking, reached
+for the dagger; but even as he did so, the nun seized the heavy table
+and thrust with sudden strength, so that Sir Gilles, taken unawares,
+staggered back and back--to the window. Then Beltane reached up into
+the room and, from behind, caught Sir Gilles by the throat and gripped
+him with iron fingers, strangling all outcry, and so, drawing himself
+over the sill and into the room, dragged Sir Gilles to the floor and
+choked him there until his eyes rolled upward and he lay like one dead.
+Then swiftly Beltane took off the belt of Sir Gilles and buckled it
+tight about the wrists and arms of Sir Gilles, and, rending strips from
+Sir Gilles' mantle that lay near, therewith fast gagged and bound him.
+Now it chanced that as he knelt thus, he espied the dagger where it
+lay, and taking it up, glanced from it to Sir Gilles lying motionless
+in his bonds. But as he hesitated, there came a sudden knocking on the
+door and a voice spake without:
+
+"My lord! my lord--'tis I--'tis Lupo. My lord, our men be few and
+wearied, as ye know. Must I set a guard beyond the ford, think you, or
+will the four watch-fires suffice?"
+
+Now, glancing up, scarce breathing, Beltane beheld the nun who crouched
+down against the wall, her staring eyes turned towards the door, her
+cheeks ashen, her lips a-quiver with deadly fear. Yet, even so, she
+spake. But that 'twas she indeed who uttered the words he scarce could
+credit, so soft and sweetly slumberous was her voice:
+
+"My lord is a-weary and sleepeth. Hush you, and come again with the
+dawn." Now was a moment's breathless silence and thereafter an evil
+chuckle, and, so chuckling, the man Lupo went down the rickety stair
+without.
+
+And when his step was died away, Beltane drew a deep breath, and
+together they arose, and so, speaking no word, they looked upon each
+other across the prostrate body of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
+
+
+Eyes long, thick-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his
+and anon were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids; a nose tenderly
+aquiline; lips, red and full, that parted but to meet again in sweet
+and luscious curves; a chin white, and round, and dimpled.
+
+This Beltane saw 'twixt hood and wimple, by aid of the torch that
+flickered against the wall; and she, conscious of his look, stood with
+white hands demurely crossed upon her rounded bosom, with eyes abased
+and scarlet lips apart, as one who waits--expectant. Now hereupon my
+Beltane felt himself vaguely at loss, and finding he yet held the
+dagger, set it upon the table and spake, low-voiced.
+
+"Reverend Mother--" he began, and stopped--for at the word her dark
+lashes lifted and she stared upon him curiously, while slowly her red
+lips quivered to a smile. And surely, surely this nun so sweet and
+saintly in veiling hood and wimple was yet a very woman, young and
+passing fair; and the eyes of her--how deep and tender and yet how
+passionate! Now beholding her eyes, memory stirred within him and he
+sighed, whereat she sighed also and meekly bowed her head, speaking him
+with all humility.
+
+"Sweet son, speak on--thy reverend mother heareth."
+
+Now did Beltane, my Innocent, rub his innocent chin and stand mumchance
+awhile, finding nought to say--then:
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "lady--since I have found thee--let us go while
+yet we may."
+
+"Messire," says she, with eyes still a-droop, "came you in sooth--in
+quest of me?"
+
+"Yea, verily. I heard Sir Gilles had made captive of a nun, so came I
+to deliver her--an so it might be."
+
+"E'en though she were old, and wrinkled, and toothless, messire?"
+
+"Lady," says my Innocent, staring and rubbing his chin a little harder,
+"surely all nuns, young and old, be holy women, worthy a man's
+reverence and humble service. So would I now bear thee from this
+unhallowed place--we must be far hence ere dawn--come!"
+
+"Aye, but whither?" she sighed, "death is all about us, messire--how
+may we escape it? And I fear death no whit--now, messire!"
+
+"Aye, but I do so, lady, since I have other and greater works yet to
+achieve."
+
+"How, messire, is it so small a thing to have saved a nun--even though
+she be neither old, nor wrinkled, nor toothless?" And behold, the nun's
+meek head was high and proud, her humility forgotten quite.
+
+Then she frowned, and 'neath her sombre draperies her foot fell
+a-tapping; a small foot, dainty and slender in its gaily broidered shoe,
+so much at variance with her dolorous habit. But Beltane recked nought
+of this, for, espying a narrow window in the opposite wall, he came
+thither and thrusting his head without, looked down upon the sleeping
+camp. And thus he saw that Sir Gilles' men were few indeed, scarce
+three-score all told he counted as they lay huddled about the
+smouldering watch-fires, deep-slumbering as only men greatly wearied
+might. Even the sentinels nodded at their posts, and all was still save
+for the rush of a sudden wind-gust, or the snort and trampling of the
+horses. And leaning thus, Beltane marked well where the sentinels
+lolled upon their pikes, or marched drowsily to and fro betwixt the
+watch-fires, and long he gazed where the horses were tethered, two
+swaying, trampling lines dim-seen amid the further shadows. Now being
+busied measuring with his eye the distances 'twixt sentinel and
+sentinel, and noting where the shadows lay darkest, he was suddenly
+aware of the nun close beside him, of the feel of her, soft and warm
+against him, and starting at the contact, turned to find her hand,
+small and white, upon his mailed arm.
+
+"Sweet son," said she soft-voiced, from the shadow of her sombre hood,
+"thy reverend mother now would chide thee, for that having but short
+while to live, thou dost stand thus mumchance, staring upon vacancy--
+for, with the dawn, we die."
+
+Quoth Beltane, deeply conscious of the slender hand:
+
+"To die, nay--nay--thou'rt too young and fair to die--"
+
+Sighed she, with rueful smile:
+
+"Thou too art neither old nor cold, nor bent with years, fair son. Come
+then, till death let us speak together and comfort each other. Lay by
+thy melancholy as I now lay by this hood and wimple, for the night is
+hot and close, methinks."
+
+"Nay, lady, indeed 'tis cool, for there is much wind abroad," says
+Beltane, my Innocent. "Moreover, while standing here, methinks I have
+seen a way whereby we may win free--"
+
+Now hereupon she turned and looked on him, quick-breathing and with
+eyes brim-full of fear.
+
+"Messire!" she panted, "O messire, bethink thee. For death am I
+prepared--to live each moment fully till the dawn, then when they came
+to drag me down to--to shame, then should thy dagger free me quite--
+such death I'd smile to meet. But ah! should we strive to flee, and
+thou in the attempt be slain--and I alive--the sport of that vile
+rabblement below--O, Christ,--not that!" and cowering, she hid her
+face.
+
+"Noble lady," said Beltane, looking on her gentle-eyed, "indeed I too
+had thought on that!" and, coming to the table, he took thence the
+dagger of Sir Gilles and would have put it in her hand, but lo! she
+shrank away.
+
+"Not that, messire, not that," she sighed, "thy dagger let it be, since
+true knight art thou and honourable, I pray you give me thine. It is
+thy reverend mother asks," and smiling pale and wan, she reached out a
+white, imperious hand. So Beltane drew his dagger and gave it to her
+keeping; then, having set the other in his girdle, he crossed to the
+door and stood awhile to hearken.
+
+"Lady," said he, "there is no way for us but this stair, and meseemeth
+'tis a dangerous way, yet must we tread it together. Reach me now thy
+hand and set it here in my girdle, and, whatsoe'er befall, loose not
+thy hold." So saying, Beltane drew his sword and set wide the door.
+"Look to thy feet," he whispered, "and tread soft!" Then, with her
+trailing habit caught up in her left hand and with her right upon his
+belt, the nun followed Beltane out upon the narrow stair. Step by step
+they stole downwards into the dark, pausing with breath in check each
+time the timbers creaked, and hearkening with straining ears. Down they
+went amid the gloom until they spied an open door below, beyond which a
+dim light shone, and whence rose the snoring of wearied sleepers. Ever
+and anon a wind-gust smote the ancient mill and a broken shutter
+rattled near by, what time they crept a pace down the creaking stair
+until at last they stood upon the threshold of a square chamber upon
+whose broken hearth a waning fire burned, by whose uncertain light they
+espied divers vague forms that stirred now and then and groaned in
+their sleep as they sprawled upon the floor: and Beltane counted three
+who lay 'twixt him and the open doorway, for door was there none.
+Awhile stood Beltane, viewing the sleepers 'neath frowning brows, then,
+sheathing his sword, he turned and reached out his arms to the nun in
+the darkness and, in the dark, she gave herself, warm and yielding,
+into his embrace, her arms clung soft about him, and he felt her breath
+upon his cheek, as clasping his left arm about her, he lifted her high
+against his breast. And now, even as she trembled against him, so
+trembled Beltane also yet knew not why; therefore of a sudden he turned
+and stepped into the chamber. A man started up beside the hearth,
+muttering evilly; and Beltane, standing rigid, gripped his dagger to
+smite, but even then the muttering ceased, and falling back, the man
+rolled over and fell a-snoring again. So, lightly, swiftly, Beltane
+strode over the sprawling sleepers--out through the open doorway--out
+into the sweet, cool night beyond--out into the merry riot of the
+wind. Swift and sure of foot he sped, going ever where the shadows lay
+deepest, skirting beyond reach of the paling watch-fires, until he was
+come nigh where the horses stamped and snorted. Here he set the nun
+upon her feet, and bidding her stir not, crept towards the horses,
+quick-eyed and watchful. And thus he presently espied a man who leaned
+him upon a long pike, his face set toward the nearest watch-fire: and
+the man's eyes were closed, and he snored gently. Then Beltane shifted
+his dagger to his left hand, and being come within reach, drew back his
+mailed fist and smote the sleeper betwixt his closed eyes, and catching
+him as he fell, laid him gently on the grass.
+
+Now swift and silent came Beltane to where the horses champed, and
+having made choice of a certain powerful beast, slipped off his chain
+mittens and rolled back sleeve of mail and, low-stooping in the shadow,
+sought and found the ropes whereto the halters were made fast, and
+straightway cut them in sunder. Then, having looked to girth and
+bridle, he vaulted to the saddle, and drawing sword, shouted his
+battle-cry fierce and loud: "Arise! Arise!" and, so shouting, smote the
+frighted horses to right and left with the flat of the long blade, so
+that they reared up whinnying, and set off a-galloping in all
+directions, filling the air with the thunder of their rushing hoofs.
+
+And now came shouts and cries with a prodigious confusion and running
+to and fro about the dying watch-fires. Trumpets blared shrill, hoarse
+voices roared commands that passed unheeded in the growing din and
+tumult that swelled to a wild clamour of frenzied shouting:
+
+"Fly! fly! Pertolepe is upon us! 'tis the Red Pertolepe!"
+
+But Beltane, riding warily amid the gloom, came to that place where he
+had left the nun, yet found her not, and immediately was seized of a
+great dread. But as he stared wildly about him, he presently heard a
+muffled cry, and spurring thitherwards, beheld two dim figures that
+swayed to and fro in a fierce grapple. Riding close, Beltane saw the
+glint of mail, raised his sword for the blow, felt a shock--a searing
+smart, and knew himself wounded; but now she was at his stirrup, and
+stooping, he swung her up to the withers of his horse, and wheeling
+short about, spurred to a gallop; yet, as he rode, above the rush of
+wind and thud of hoofs, he heard a cry, hoarse and dolorous. On
+galloped Beltane all unheeding, until he came 'neath the leafy arches
+of the friendly woods, within whose gloom needs must he ride at a
+hand's pace. Thus, as they went, they could hear the uproar behind--a
+confused din that waxed and waned upon the wind.
+
+But Beltane, riding slow and cautious within the green, heeded this not
+at all, nor the throb of his wounded arm, nor aught under heaven save
+the pressure of this slender body that lay so still, so warm and soft
+within his arm; and as he went, he began to wish for the moon that he
+might see her face.
+
+Blue eyes, long and heavy-lashed! Surely blue eyes were fairest in a
+woman? And then the voice of her, liquid and soft like the call of
+merle or mavis. And she was a nun! How white and slim her hands, yet
+strong and resolute, as when she grasped the dagger 'gainst Sir Gilles;
+aye--resolute hands, like the spirit within her soft and shapely body.
+And then again--her lips; red and full, up-curving to sweet, slow
+smile, yet withal tinged with subtle mockery. With such eyes and such
+lips she might--aye, but she was a nun--a nun, forsooth!
+
+"Messire!" Beltane started from his reverie. "Art cold, messire?"
+
+"Cold!" stammered Beltane, "cold? Indeed no, lady."
+
+"Yet dost thou tremble!"
+
+"Nathless, I am not cold, lady."
+
+"Then wherefore tremble?"
+
+"Nay, I--I know not. In sooth, do I so, lady?"
+
+"Verily, sir, and therewith sigh, frequent and O, most dolorous to
+hear!"
+
+Now at this, my Beltane finding naught to say, straightway sighed
+again; and thus they rode awhile, speaking nothing.
+
+"Think you we are safe, messire?" she questioned him at last.
+
+"Tis so I pray, lady."
+
+"Thou hast done right valiantly to-night on my behalf," says she. "How
+came you in at the window?"
+
+"By means of a tree, lady."
+
+"Art very strong, messire, and valiant beyond thought. Thou hast this
+night, with thy strong hand, lifted me up from shameful death: so, by
+right, should my life be thine henceforth." Herewith she sighed,
+leaning closer upon his breast, and Beltane's desire to see her face
+grew amain.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks art cold indeed, or is it that I weary
+thee?"
+
+"Nay, thou'rt wondrous easy to bear thus, lady."
+
+"And whither do ye bear me, sir--north or south? And yet it mattereth
+nothing," says she, soft-voiced, "since we are safe--together!" Now
+hereafter, as Beltane rode, he turned his eyes full oft to heaven--
+yearning for the moon.
+
+"What woods be these, messire?" she questioned.
+
+"'Tis the wilderness that lieth betwixt Pentavalon and Mortain, lady."
+
+"Know ye Mortain, sir?"
+
+"Yea, verily," he answered, and sighed full deep. And as he sighed, lo,
+in that moment the moon peeped forth of a cloud-rift and he beheld the
+nun looking up at him with eyes deep and wistful, and, as she gazed,
+her lips curved in slow and tender smile ere her lashes drooped, and
+sighing, she hid her face against him in the folds of her mantle, while
+Beltane must needs bethink him of other eyes so very like, and yet so
+false, and straightway--sighed.
+
+"Messire," she murmured, "pray now, wherefore do ye sigh so oft?"
+
+"For that thine eyes do waken memory, lady."
+
+"Of a woman?"
+
+"Aye--of a woman."
+
+"And thou dost--love her, messire?"
+
+"Unto my dole, lady."
+
+"Ah, can it be she doth not love thee, messire?"
+
+"Indeed, 'tis most certain!"
+
+"Hath she then told thee so--of herself?"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "not in so many words, lady, and yet--"
+
+"And yet," quoth the nun, suddenly erect, "thou must needs run away and
+leave her--poor sweet wretch--to mourn for thee, belike, and grieve--
+aye, and scorn thee too for a faint-heart!"
+
+"Nay, lady, verily I--"
+
+"O, indeed me thinks she must contemn thee in her heart, poor, gentle
+soul--aye, scorn and despise thee woefully for running away; indeed,
+'tis beyond all doubt, messire!"
+
+"Lady," quoth Beltane, flushing in the dark, "you know naught of the
+matter--"
+
+"Why then shalt thou tell me of it, messire--lo, I am listening." So
+saying, she settled herself more aptly within his encircling arm.
+
+"First, then," said Beltane, when they had ridden awhile in silence,
+"she is a duchess, and very proud."
+
+"Yet is she a woman, messire, and thou a man whose arms be very
+strong!"
+
+"Of what avail strong arms, lady, 'gainst such as she?"
+
+"Why, to carry her withal, messire."
+
+"To--to carry her!" quoth Beltane in amaze.
+
+"In very truth, messire. To lift her up and bear her away with thee--"
+
+"Nay--nay, to--bear her away? O, 'twere thing impossible!"
+
+"Is this duchess so heavy, messire?" sighed the nun, "is she a burden
+beyond even thy strength, sir knight?"
+
+"Lady, she is the proud Helen, Duchess of Mortain!" quoth Beltane,
+frowning at the encompassing shadows. Now was the nun hushed awhile,
+and when at last she spake her voice was low and wondrous gentle.
+
+"And is it indeed the wilful Helen that ye love, messire?"
+
+"Even she, unto my sorrow."
+
+"Thy sorrow? Why then, messire--forget her."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "would I might indeed, yet needs must I love her
+ever."
+
+"Alack, and is it so forsooth," quoth the nun, sighing likewise. "Ah
+me, my poor, fond son, now doth thy reverend mother pity thee indeed,
+for thou'rt in direful case to be her lover, methinks."
+
+Now did my Beltane frown the blacker by reason of bitter memory and the
+pain of his wound. "Her lover, aye!" quoth he, bitterly, "and she hath
+a many lovers--"
+
+"Lovers!" sighed the nun, "that hath she, the sad, sweet soul! Lovers!
+--O forsooth, she is sick of a very surfeit of lovers,--so hath she fled
+from them all!"
+
+"Fled from them?" cried Beltane, his wound forgot, "fled from them--
+from Mortain? Nay, how mean you--how--fled?"
+
+"She hath walked, see you, run--ridden--is riding--away from Mortain,
+from her lords, her counsellors, her varlets, her lovers and what not--
+in a word, messire, she is--gone!"
+
+"Gone!" quoth Beltane, breathless and aghast, "gone--aye--but whither?"
+
+"What matter for that so long as her grave counsellors be sufficiently
+vexed, and her lovers left a-sighing? O me, her counsellors! Bald-pates,
+see you, and grey-beards, who for their own ends would have her
+wed Duke Ivo--meek, unfortunate maid!"
+
+"Know you then the Duchess, lady?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and my heart doth grieve for her, poor, sweet wretch,
+for O, 'tis a sad thing to be a duchess with a multitude of suitors
+a-wooing in season and out, vaunting graces she hath not, and blind to
+the virtues she doth possess. Ah, messire, I give thee joy that,
+whatsoever ills may be thine, thou can ne'er be--a duchess!"
+
+"And think you she will not wed with Ivo, lady--think you so in truth?"
+
+"Never, while she is Helen."
+
+"And--loveth--none of her lovers?"
+
+"Why--indeed, messire--I think she doth--"
+
+"Art sure? How know you this?"
+
+"I was her bedfellow betimes, and oft within the night have heard her
+speak a name unto her pillow, as love-sick maids will."
+
+Now once again was Beltane aware of the throb and sting of his wounded
+arm, yet 'twas not because of this he sighed so deep and oft.
+
+"Spake she this name--often?" he questioned.
+
+"Very oft, messire. Aye me, how chill the wind blows!"
+
+"Some lord's name, belike?"
+
+"Nay, 'twas no lord's name, messire. 'Tis very dark amid these trees!"
+
+"Some knight, mayhap--or lowly squire?"
+
+"Neither, messire. Heigho! methinks I now could sleep awhile." So she
+sighed deep yet happily, and nestled closer within his shielding arm.
+
+But Beltane, my Innocent, rode stiff in the saddle, staring sad-eyed
+into the gloom, nor felt, nor heeded the yielding tenderness of the
+shapely young body he held, but plodded on through the dark, frowning
+blacker than the night. Now as he rode thus, little by little the pain
+of his wound grew less, a drowsiness crept upon him, and therewith, a
+growing faintness. Little by little his head drooped low and lower, and
+once the arm about the nun slipped its hold, whereat she sighed and
+stirred sleepily upon his breast. But on he rode, striving grimly
+against the growing faintness, his feet thrust far within the stirrups,
+his mailed hand tight clenched upon the reins. So, as dawn broke, he
+heard the pleasant sound of running water near by, and as the light
+grew, saw they were come to a grassy glade where ran a small brook--a
+goodly place, well-hidden and remote. So turned he thitherward, and
+lifting up heavy eyes, beheld the stars paling to the dawn, for the
+clouds were all passed away and the wind was gone long since. And, in a
+while, being come within the boskage of this green dell, feebly and as
+one a-dream, he checked the great horse that snuffed eagerly toward the
+murmuring brook, and as one a-dream saw that she who had slumbered on
+his breast was awake--fresh and sweet as the dawn.
+
+"Lady," he stammered, "I--I fear--I can ride--no farther!"
+
+And now, as one a-dream, he beheld her start and look at him with eyes
+wide and darkly blue--within whose depths was that which stirred within
+him a memory of other days--in so much he would have spoken, yet found
+the words unready and hard to come by.
+
+"Lady,--thine eyes, methinks--are not--nun's eyes!"
+
+But now behold of a sudden she cried out, soft and pitiful, for blood
+was upon him, upon his brow, upon his golden hair. And still as one
+a-dream he felt her slip from his failing clasp, felt her arms close
+about him, aiding him to earth.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt!" she cried. "O, thou'rt wounded! And I never guessed!"
+
+"'Tis but my arm--in sooth--and--"
+
+But she hushed him with soft mother-cries and tender-spoke commands,
+and aiding him to the brook, laid him thereby to lave his hurt within
+the cool, sweet water; and, waking with the smart, Beltane sighed and
+turned to look up at her. Now did she, meeting his eyes, put up one
+white hand, setting back sombre hood and snowy wimple, and stooping
+tenderly above him, behold, in that moment down came the shining glory
+of her lustrous hair to fall about the glowing beauty of her face,
+touching his brow like a caress.
+
+Then, at last, memory awoke within him, and lifting himself upon a
+feeble elbow, he stared upon her glowing loveliness with wide, glad
+eyes.
+
+"Helen!" he sighed, "O--Helen!" And, so sighing, fell back, and lay
+there pale and wan within the dawn, but with a smile upon his pallid
+lips.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
+
+
+Beltane yawned prodigiously, stretched mightily, and opening sleepy
+eyes looked about him. He lay 'neath shady willows within a leafy
+bower; before him a brook ran leaping to the sunshine and filling the
+warm, stilly air with its merry chatter and soft, laughing noises,
+while beyond the rippling water the bank sloped steeply upward to the
+green silence of the woods.
+
+Now as Beltane lay thus 'twixt sleeping and waking, it seemed to him
+that in the night he had dreamed a wondrous dream, and fain he would
+have slept again. But now from an adjacent thicket a horse whinnied and
+Beltane, starting at the sound, felt his wound throb with sudden pain,
+and looking down, beheld his arm most aptly swathed in bandages of
+fair, soft linen. Now would he have sat up, but marvelled to find it so
+great a matter, and propping himself instead upon a weak elbow glanced
+about him expectantly. And lo, in that moment, one spake near by in
+voice rich and soft like the call of merle or mavis:
+
+"Beltane," said the voice, "Beltane the Smith!"
+
+With heart quick-beating, Beltane turned and beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing beside him, her glorious hair wrought into two long braids
+wherein flowers were cunningly entwined. Straightway he would have
+risen, but she forbade him with a gesture and, coming closer, sank
+beside him on her knees, and being there blushed and sighed, yet
+touched him not.
+
+"Thou'rt hurt," said she, "so must we bide here awhile, thou to win thy
+strength again, and I to--minister unto thee."
+
+Mutely awhile my Beltane gazed upon her shy, sweet loveliness, what
+time her bosom rose and fell tempestuous, and she bowed her head full
+low.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered at last, "O, art thou indeed the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Not so," she murmured, "Helen was duchess whiles she was in Mortain,
+but I that speak with thee am a lonely maid--indeed a very lonely maid
+--who hath sighed for thee, and wept for thee, and for thee hath left
+her duchy of Mortain, Beltane."
+
+"For me?" quoth Beltane, leaning near, "was it for me--ah, was it so in
+very sooth?"
+
+"Beltane," said she, looking not toward him, "last night did'st thou
+bear a nun within thine arms, and, looking on her with love aflame
+within thine eyes, did yet vow to her you loved this duchess. Tell me,
+who am but a lonely maid, is this so?"
+
+"Thou knowest I love her ever and always," he answered.
+
+"And yet," quoth she, shaking her head and looking up with eyes of
+witchery, "thou did'st love this nun also? Though 'tis true thou did'st
+name her 'reverend mother'! O, wert very blind, Beltane! And yet thou
+did'st love her also, methinks?"
+
+"Needs must I--ever and always!" he answered.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, but I would have thee love this lonely maid dearest of
+all henceforth an it may be so, for that she is so very lonely and hath
+sought thee so long--"
+
+"Sought me?" he murmured, gazing on her wide-eyed, "nay, how may this
+be, for with my kisses warm upon thy lips thou did'st bid me farewell
+long time since at Mortain, within the green."
+
+"And thou," she sighed, "and thou did'st leave me, Beltane! O, would
+thou had kissed me once again and held me in thine arms, so might we
+have known less of sorrow. Indeed methinks 'twas cruel to leave me so.
+Beltane."
+
+"Cruel!" says my Beltane, and thereafter fell silent from sheer amaze
+the while she sighed again, and bowed her shapely head and plucked a
+daisy from the grass to turn it about and about in gentle fingers.
+
+"So, Beltane," quoth she at last, "being young and cruel thou did'st
+leave the Duchess a lonely maid. Yet that same night did she, this
+tender maid, seek out thy lowly dwelling 'mid the green to yield
+herself joyfully unto thee thenceforth. But ah, Beltane! she found the
+place a ruin and thou wert gone, and O, methinks her heart came nigh to
+breaking. Then did she vow that no man might ever have her to his love
+--save only--thou. So, an thou love her not, Beltane, needs must she--
+die a maid!"
+
+Now Beltane forgot his weakness and rose to his knees and lifted her
+bowed head until he might look deep within the yearning tenderness of
+her eyes. A while she met his look, then blushing, trembling, all in a
+moment she swayed toward him, hiding her face against him; and,
+trembling also, Beltane caught her close within his arms and held her
+to his heart.
+
+"Dost thou love me so, indeed, my lady? Art thou mine own henceforth,
+Helen the Beautiful?"
+
+"Ah, love," she murmured, "in all my days ne'er have I loved other man
+than thou, my Beltane. So now do I give myself to thee; in life and
+death, in joy and sorrow, thine will I be, beloved!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"As thou art mine, so am I thine, henceforth and forever."
+
+And thus, kneeling together within the wilderness did they plight their
+troth, low-voiced and tremulous, with arms that clasped and clung and
+eager lips that parted but to meet again.
+
+"Beltane," she sighed, "ah, Beltane, hold me close! I've wearied for
+thee so long--so long; hold me close, beloved. See now, as thou dost
+hate the pomp and stir of cities, so, for thy sake have I fled hither
+to the wilderness, to live with thee amid these solitudes, to be thy
+love, thy stay and comfort. Here will we live for each other, and, hid
+within the green, forget the world and all things else--save only our
+great love!"
+
+But now it chanced that, raising his head, Beltane beheld his long
+sword leaning against a tree hard by, and beholding it thus, he
+bethought him straightway of the Duke his father, of Pentavalon and of
+her grievous wrongs; and his clasping hands grew lax and fell away and,
+groaning, he bowed his head; whereat she started anxious-eyed, and
+questioned him, soft and piteous:
+
+"Is it thy wound? I had forgot--ah, love, forgive me! See here a pillow
+for thy dear head--" But now again he caught her to him close and
+fierce, and kissed her oft; and holding her thus, spake:
+
+"Thou knowest I do love thee, my Helen? Yet because I love thee
+greatly, love, alas, must wait awhile--"
+
+"Wait?" she cried, "ah, no--am I not thine own?"
+
+"'Tis so I would be worthy of thee, beloved," he sighed, "for know that
+I am pledged to rest not nor stay until my task be accomplished or I
+slain--"
+
+"Slain! Thou?"
+
+"O, Helen, 'tis a mighty task and desperate, and many perchance must
+die ere this my vow be accomplished--"
+
+"Thy vow? But thou art a smith, my Beltane,--what hath humble smith to
+do with vows? Thou art my love--my Beltane the Smith!"
+
+"Indeed," sighed Beltane, "smith was I aforetime, and therewithal
+content: yet am I also son of my father, and he--"
+
+"Hark!" she whispered, white hand upon his lips, "some one comes--
+through the leaves yonder!" So saying she sprang lightly to her feet
+and stood above him straight and tall: and though she trembled, yet he
+saw her eyes were fearless and his dagger gleamed steady in her hands.
+
+"Beltane, my love!" she said, "thou'rt so weak, yet am I strong to
+defend thee against them all."
+
+But Beltane rose also and, swaying on unsteady feet, kissed her once
+and so took his sword, marvelling to find it so heavy, and drew it from
+the scabbard. And ever upon the stilly air the rustle of leaves grew
+louder.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "they be very near! Hearken! Beltane--thine am
+I, in life, in death. An this be death--what matter, since we die
+together?"
+
+But, leaning on his sword, Beltane watched her with eyes of love yet
+spake no word, hearkening to the growing stir amid the leaves, until,
+of a sudden, upon the bank above, the underbrush was parted and a man
+stood looking down at them; a tall man, whose linked mail glinted
+evilly and whose face was hid 'neath a vizored casque. Now of a sudden
+he put up his vizor and stepped toward them down the sloping bank.
+
+Then the Duchess let fall the dagger and reached out her hands.
+
+"Godric!" she sighed, "O Godric!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
+
+
+Thus came white-haired old Godric the huntsman, lusty despite his
+years, bright-eyed and garrulous with joy, to fall upon his knees
+before his lady and to kiss those outstretched hands.
+
+"Godric!" she cried, "'tis my good Godric!" and laughed, though with
+lips a-tremble.
+
+"O sweet mistress," quoth he, "now glory be to the kind Saint Martin
+that I do see thee again hale and well. These many days have I followed
+hard upon thy track, grieving for thee--"
+
+"Yet here am I in sooth, my Godric, and joyful, see you!"
+
+"Ah, dear my lady, thy wilfulness hath e'en now brought thee into dire
+perils and dangers. O rueful day!"
+
+"Nay, Godric, my wilfulness hath brought me unto my heart's desire. O
+most joyful day!"
+
+"Lady, I do tell thee here is an evil place for thee: they do say the
+devil is abroad and goeth up and down and to and fro begirt in mail,
+lady, doing such deeds as no man ever did. Pentavalon is rife with war
+and rumours of war, everywhere is whispered talk of war--death shall be
+busy within this evil Duchy ere long--aye, and even in Mortain,
+perchance--nay, hearken! Scarce was thy flight discovered when there
+came messengers hot-foot to thy guest, Duke Ivo, having word from Sir
+Gui of Allerdale that one hath arisen calling himself son of Beltane
+the Strong that once was Duke of Pentavalon, as ye know. And this is a
+mighty man, who hath, within the week, broke ope my lord Duke Ivo's
+dungeon of Belsaye, slain divers of my lord Duke's good and loyal
+subjects, and burnt down the great gallows of my lord Duke."
+
+"Ah!" sighed the Duchess, her brows knit thoughtfully, "and what said
+Duke Ivo to this, Godric?"
+
+"Smiled, lady, and begged instant speech with thee; and, when thou wert
+not to be found, then Duke Ivo smiled upon thy trembling counsellors.
+'My lords,' said he, 'I ride south to hang certain rogues and fools.
+But, when I have seen them dead, I shall come hither again to woo and
+wed the Duchess Helen. See to it that ye find her, therefore, else will
+I myself seek her through the length and breadth of Mortain until I
+find her--aye, with lighted torches, if need be!"
+
+"And dare he threaten us?" cried the Duchess, white hands clenched.
+
+"Aye, doth he, lady," nodded Godric, garrulous and grim. "Thereafter
+away he rode, he and all his company, and after them, I grieving and
+alone, to seek thee, dear my lady. And behold, I have found thee, the
+good Saint Martin be praised!"
+
+"Verily thou hast found me, Godric!" sighed the Duchess, looking upon
+Beltane very wistfully.
+
+"So now will I guide thee back to thine own fair duchy, gentle
+mistress, for I do tell thee here in Pentavalon shall be woeful days
+anon. Even as I came, with these two eyes did I behold the black ruin
+of Duke Ivo's goodly gallows--a woeful sight! And divers tales have I
+heard of this gallows-burner, how that he did, unaided and alone, seize
+and bear off upon his shoulders one Sir Pertolepe--called the 'Red'--
+Lord Warden of the Marches. So hath Duke Ivo put a price upon his head
+and decreed that he shall forthright be hunted down, and thereto hath
+sent runners far and near with his exact description, the which have I
+heard and can most faithfully repeat an you so desire?"
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the Duchess, a little wearily.
+
+"As thus, lady. Item: calleth himself Beltane, son of Beltane, Duke of
+Pentavalon that was: Item--"
+
+"Beltane!" said the Duchess, and started.
+
+"Item: he is very tall and marvellous strong. Item: hath yellow hair--"
+
+"Yellow hair!" said the Duchess, and turned to look upon Beltane.
+
+"Item: goeth in chain-mail, and about his middle a broad belt of gold
+and silver. Item: beareth a great sword whereon is graven the legend--
+lady, dost thou attend?--Ha! Saint Martin aid us!" cried Godric, for
+now, following the Duchess's glance, he beheld Beltane leaning upon his
+long sword. Then, while Godric stared open-mouthed, the Duchess looked
+on Beltane, a new light in her eyes and with hands tight clasped, while
+Beltane looking upon her sighed amain.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen, 'tis true that I who am Beltane the Smith,
+am likewise son of Beltane, Duke of Pentavalon. Behold, the sword I
+bear is the sword of the Duke my father, nor must I lay it by until
+wrong is vanquished and oppression driven hence. Thus, see you, I may
+not stay to love, within my life it must not be--yet-a-while," and
+speaking, Beltane groaned and bowed his head. So came she to him and
+looked on him with eyes of yearning, yet touched him not.
+
+"Dear my lord," said she, tender-voiced, "thou should'st make a noble
+duke, methinks: and yet alas! needs must I love my gentle Beltane the
+Smith. And I did love him so! Thou art a mighty man-at-arms, my lord,
+and terrible in war, meseemeth, O--methinks thou wilt make a goodly
+duke indeed!"
+
+"Mayhap," he answered heavily, "mayhap, an God spare me long enough.
+But now must I leave thee--"
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"Thou hast heard--I am a hunted man with a price upon my head, by my
+side goeth death--"
+
+"So will I go also," she murmured, "ever and always beside thee."
+
+"Thou? Ah, not so, beloved. I must tread me this path alone. As for
+thee--haste, haste and get thee to Mortain and safety, and there wait
+for me--pray for me, O my love!"
+
+"Beltane--Beltane," she sighed, "dost love me indeed--and yet would
+send me from thee?"
+
+"Aye," he groaned, "needs must it be so."
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "Beltane, thou shalt be Duke within the week,
+despite Black Ivo."
+
+"Duke--I? Of Pentavalon?"
+
+"Of Mortain!" she whispered, "an thou wilt wed me, my lord."
+
+"Nay," stammered Beltane, "nay, outcast am I, my friends very few--to
+wed thee thus, therefore, were shame--"
+
+"To wed me thus," said she, "should be my joy, and thy joy, and
+Pentavalon's salvation, mayhap. O, see you not, Beltane? Thou should'st
+be henceforth my lord, my knight-at-arms to lead my powers 'gainst Duke
+Ivo, teaching Mortain to cringe no more to a usurper--to free
+Pentavalon from her sorrows--ah, see you not, Beltane?"
+
+"Helen!" he murmured, "O Helen, poor am I--a beggar--"
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "an thou wed this lonely maid within the
+forest, then will I be beggar with thee; but, an thou take to wife the
+Duchess, then shalt thou be my Duke, lord of me and of Mortain, with
+her ten thousand lances in thy train."
+
+"Thou would'st give me so much," he sighed at last, "so much, my
+Helen?"
+
+"Nay," said she, with red lips curved and tender, "for this wide world
+to me is naught without thee, Beltane. And I do need thy mighty arm--to
+shelter me, Beltane, since Ivo hath defied me, threatening Mortain with
+fire and sword. So when he cometh, instead of a woman he shall find a
+man to withstand him, whose sword is swift and strong to smite and who
+doeth such deeds as no man ever did; so shalt thou be my love, my lord,
+my champion. Wilt not refuse me the shelter of thy strength, Beltane?"
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane lifted his head and seized her in his arms and
+held her close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"So be it, my Helen. To wife will I take thee so soon as may be, to
+hold thee ever in love and reverence, to serve thee ever, to live for
+thee and for thee to die an needs be."
+
+But now strode Godric forward, with hands outstretched in eager
+protest.
+
+"Lady," he cried, "O dear lady bethink thee, now, bethink thee, thy
+choice is a perilous choice--"
+
+"Yet is it my choice, Godric."
+
+"But, O, dear my mistress--"
+
+"O my faithful Godric, look now upon lord Beltane, my well-beloved who
+shall be Duke of Mortain ere the moon change. Salute thy lord, Godric!"
+
+So, perforce, came old Godric to fall upon his knee before Beltane, to
+take his hand and swear the oath of fealty.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said he, "son art thou of a mighty Duke; God send
+Mortain find in thee such another!"
+
+"Amen!" said Beltane.
+
+Thereafter Godric rose and pointed up to the zenith.
+
+"Behold, my lady," said he, "it groweth to noon and there is danger
+hereabouts--more danger e'en than I had dreamed. Let us therefore haste
+over into Mortain--to thy Manor of Blaen."
+
+"But Godric, see you not my lord is faint of his wound, and Blaen is
+far, methinks."
+
+"Not so, lady, 'tis scarce six hours' journey to the north, nay, I do
+know of lonely bridle-paths that shall bring us sooner."
+
+"To Blaen?" mused the Duchess. "Winfrida is there--and yet--and yet--
+aye, let us to Blaen, there will I nurse thee to thy strength again, my
+Beltane, and there shalt thou--wed with me--an it be so thy pleasure
+in sooth, my lord."
+
+So, in a while, they set off through the forest, first Godric to guide
+them, then Beltane astride the great war-horse with the Duchess before
+him, she very anxious for his wound, yet speaking oft of the future
+with flushing cheek and eyes a-dream.
+
+Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and
+beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.
+
+"O loved Mortain!" she sighed, "O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a
+smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and
+flowers. 'Tis here there lived a Duchess, proud and most disdainful,
+who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these
+twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet
+Mortain!"
+
+By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages
+bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting
+shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing
+the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and
+whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset.
+And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which
+rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.
+
+Now as they drew near, being yet sheltered 'mid the green, old Godric
+halted in his stride and pointed to the highway that ran in the vale
+below.
+
+"Lady," quoth he, "mine eyes be old, and yet methinks I should know yon
+horseman that rideth unhelmed so close beside the lady Winfrida--that
+breadth of shoulder! that length of limb! Lady, how think ye?"
+
+"'Tis Duke Ivo!" she whispered.
+
+"Aye," nodded Godric, "armed, see you, yet with but two esquires--"
+
+"And with Winfrida!" said the Duchess, frowning. "Can it indeed be as I
+have thought, betimes? And Blaen is a very solitary place!"
+
+"See!" whispered Godric, "the Duke leaveth her. Behold him kiss her
+hand! Ha, he summoneth his esquires. Hey now, see how they ride--sharp
+spur and loose bridle, 'tis ever Ivo's way!"
+
+Now when the Duke and his esquires were vanished in the dusk and the
+sound of their galloping died away, the Duchess sprang lightly to the
+sward and bidding them wait until she summoned them, hasted on before.
+
+Thus, in a while, as Winfrida the Fair paced slowly along upon her
+ambling palfrey, her blue eyes a-dream, she was suddenly aware of a
+rustling near by and, glancing swiftly up, beheld the Duchess Helen
+standing before her, tall and proud, her black brows wrinkled faintly,
+her eyes stern and challenging.
+
+"Lady--dear my lady!" stammered Winfrida--"is it thou indeed--"
+
+"Since when," quoth the Duchess, soft-voiced yet menacing, "since when
+doth Winfrida hold sly meeting with one that is enemy to me and to
+Mortain?"
+
+"Enemy?--nay, whom mean you--indeed I--O Helen, in sooth 'twas but by
+chance--"
+
+"Is this treason, my lady Winfrida, or only foolish amourette?"
+
+"Sweet lady--'twas but chance--an you mean Duke Ivo--he came--I saw--"
+
+"My lady Winfrida, I pray you go before, we will speak of this anon.
+Come, Godric!" she called.
+
+Then the lady Winfrida, her beauteous head a-droop, rode on before,
+sighing deep and oft yet nothing speaking, with the Duchess proud and
+stern beside her while Beltane and Godric followed after.
+
+And so it was they came to the Manor of Blaen.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
+
+
+Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to
+happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve,
+the Duchess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to
+deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so
+that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.
+
+Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she,
+busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings,
+and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and
+falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious
+head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane,
+kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she,
+soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.
+
+To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she
+the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady
+Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and
+her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow
+her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.
+
+Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within
+the garden, Beltane found himself alone. So he arose and walked amid
+the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of
+all. As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he
+came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing
+blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing. Now standing
+within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind
+him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and
+yielding form, and behold--it was Winfrida! Then Beltane would have
+loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his
+broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.
+
+"My lord Beltane," she sighed, "happy art thou to have won the love of
+our noble lady--aye, happy art thou! But as for me, alas! messire,
+meseemeth her heart is turned 'gainst me these days; I, who was her
+loved companion and childish play-fellow! So now am I very desolate,
+wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to
+forgiveness. Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly
+on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess--" here
+needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and
+thereafter spake, clear and loud: "so will I love thee also!" Then,
+while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her
+eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.
+
+But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a
+white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.
+And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake
+her voice was cold and distant.
+
+"Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?"
+
+"Why truly," stammered Beltane, "truly I--she was here but now--"
+
+"Here, my lord? Alone?"
+
+"She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her
+love aforetime, to--"
+
+"Would'st plead for her, in sooth?"
+
+"I would but have thee do her justice, Helen--"
+
+"Think you I am so unjust, my lord?"
+
+"Not so indeed. But she is so young--so fair--"
+
+"Aye, she is very fair, my lord--there be--others think the same."
+
+"Helen?" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+"And thou dost plead for her--and to me, my lord! And with her kisses
+yet burning thee!"
+
+"She did but kiss my hand--"
+
+"Thy hand, my lord! O aye, thy hand forsooth!"
+
+"Aye, my hand, lady, and therewith named me 'Duke'!" quoth Beltane,
+beginning to frown. Whereat needs must the Duchess laugh, very soft and
+sweet yet with eyes aglow beneath her lashes.
+
+"'Duke,' messire? She names thee so betimes, meseemeth. Thou art not
+Duke yet, nor can'st thou ever be but of my favour!"
+
+"And the time flieth apace," sighed Beltane, "and I have mighty things
+to do. O, methinks I have tarried here overlong!"
+
+"Ah--and would'st be going, messire?"
+
+"'Tis so methinks my duty."
+
+"Go you alone, messire--or goeth she with thee?"
+
+"Ah, God! How dare ye so think?" cried Beltane, in anger so fierce and
+sudden that though she fronted him yet smiling, she drew back a pace.
+Whereat his anger fell from him and he reached out his hands.
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O my Helen, what madness is this? Thou art she I
+love--doth not thine heart tell thee so?" and fain would he have caught
+her to him.
+
+"Ah--touch me not!" she cried, and steel flickered in her hand.
+
+"This--to me?" quoth he, and laughed short and bitter, and catching her
+wrist, shook the dagger from her grasp and set his foot upon it.
+
+"And hath it come to this--'twixt thee and me?" he sighed.
+
+"O," she panted, "I have loved thee nor shamed to show thee my love.
+Yet because my love is so great, so, methinks, an need be I might hate
+thee more than any man!" Then, quick-breathing, flushed and trembling,
+she turned and sped away, leaving Beltane heavy-hearted, and with the
+dagger gleaming beneath his foot.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
+
+
+Beltane, leaning forth of his lattice, stared upon the moon with
+doleful eyes, heavy with sense of wrong and big with self-pity.
+
+"I have dreamed a wondrous fair dream," said he within himself, "but
+all dreams must end, so is my dream vanished quite and I awake, and
+being awake, now will I arise and go upon my duty!" Then turned he to
+his bed that stood beside the window and forthwith began to arm
+himself; but with every lace he drew, with every strap he buckled, he
+sighed amain and his self-pity waxed the mightier. He bethought him of
+his father's sayings anent the love of women, and in his mind condemned
+them all as fickle and light-minded. And in a while, being armed from
+head to foot, in glistening coif and hauberk and with sword girt about
+his middle, he came back to the lattice and leaned him there to stare
+again upon the moon, to wait until the manor should be wrapped in sleep
+and to grieve for himself with every breath he drew.
+
+Being thus so profoundly occupied and, moreover, his head being thrust
+without the window, he heard nought of the tap upon his chamber door
+nor of the whispered sound of his name. Thus he started to feel a touch
+upon his arm, and turning, beheld the Duchess.
+
+She wore a simple robe that fell about her body's round loveliness in
+sweetly revealing folds; her hair, all unbraided, was caught up 'neath
+a jewelled fillet in careless fashion, but--O surely, surely, never had
+she looked so fair, so sweet and tender, so soft and desirable as now,
+the tear-drops yet agleam upon her drooping lashes and her bosom yet
+heaving with recent grief.
+
+"And--thou art armed, my lord?"
+
+"I ride for Thrasfordham-within-Bourne this night, my lady."
+
+"But I am come to thee--humbly--craving thy forgiveness, Beltane."
+
+"Nought have I to forgive thee, lady--save that thou art woman!"
+
+"Thou would'st not have me--a man, messire?"
+
+"'Twould be less hard to leave thee."
+
+"Thou art--leaving me then, Beltane?"
+
+"Yea, indeed, my lady. The woes of Pentavalon call to me with a
+thousand tongues: I must away--pray God I have not tarried too long!"
+
+"But art yet weak of thy wound, Beltane. I pray thee tarry--a little
+longer. Ah, my lord, let not two lives go empty because of the arts of
+a false friend, for well do I know that Winfrida, seeing me coming to
+thee in the garden, kissed thee of set purpose, that, beholding, I
+might grieve."
+
+"Is this indeed so, my lady?"
+
+"She did confess it but now."
+
+"Said she so indeed?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, after I had--pulled her hair--a little. But O, my
+Beltane, even when I thought thee base, I loved thee! Ah, go not from
+me, stay but until to-morrow, and then shalt thou wed me for thine own!
+Leave me not, Beltane, for indeed--I cannot live--without thee!"
+
+So saying, she sank down upon his couch, hiding her face in the pillow.
+
+Now came Beltane and leaned above her.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered; and falling upon his knees, he set his arms
+about her. Then lifted she her tearful face and looked upon him in the
+moonlight; and lying thus, of a sudden reached out white arms to him:
+and in her eyes was love, and on her quivering lips and in all the
+yearning beauty of her, love called to him.
+
+Close, close he caught her in his embrace, kissing her hard and fierce,
+and her long hair came down to veil them in its glory. Then, trembling,
+he lifted her in his arms and bore her forth of his chamber out into
+the hall beyond, where lights flickered against arras-hung wall. There,
+falling upon his knees before her, he hid his face within the folds of
+her habit.
+
+"O Helen!" he groaned, "thou art--so beautiful--so beautiful that I
+grow afraid of thee! Wed me this night or in mercy let me begone!"
+
+And now did the Duchess look down upon him with eyes of wonder changing
+to a great and tender joy, and stooping, put back his mail coif with
+reverent hand and laid her cheek upon that bowed and golden head.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "O Beltane of mine, now do I know thee indeed
+for a true man and noble knight! Such love as thine honoureth us both,
+so beloved, this night--within the hour, shalt thou wed with me, and I
+joy to hear thee call me--Wife!"
+
+Therewith she turned and left him there upon his knees.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
+
+
+Late though the hour, full soon the manor was astir; lights glimmered
+in the great hall where were gathered all the household of the Duchess,
+her ladies, her tire-women, the porters and serving men, even to the
+scullions--all were there, staring in wonderment upon the Duchess, who
+stood before them upon the dais in a rich habit of blue and silver and
+with her golden fillet on her brow.
+
+"Good friends," said she, looking round upon them happy-eyed, "hither
+have I summoned ye, for that this night, here before you all, 'tis my
+intent to wed this noble knight Beltane, son of Beltane Duke of
+Pentavalon aforetime, who shall henceforth be lord of me and of
+Mortain."
+
+Now did Winfrida the Fair start and therewith clench pink palms and
+look quick-eyed upon my Beltane, noting in turn his golden hair, his
+belt of silver and the great sword he bore: and, biting her red lip,
+she stooped her beauteous head, frowning as one in sudden perplexity.
+
+"So now," spake on the Duchess, "let us to the chapel where good Father
+Angelo shall give us heaven's blessing upon this our union."
+
+"Lady," said Godric, "Friar Angelo was summoned to the village this
+night, nor is he come again yet."
+
+"Then go fetch him," sighed the Duchess, "and O, Godric, hasten!"
+
+Thereafter turned she to the assemblage, gentle-eyed.
+
+"Friends," said she, "since I am greatly happy this night, so would I
+have ye happy likewise. Therefore I decree that such as are serfs among
+ye shall go free henceforth, and to such as are free will I give
+grants of land that ye may come to bless this night and remember it
+ever."
+
+But now, even as they fell on their knees, 'mid cries of gratitude and
+joyful acclaim, she, smiling and gracious, passed out of the hall: yet,
+as she went, beckoned the lady Winfrida to follow.
+
+Being come into her chamber, all three, the Duchess sank down beside
+the open lattice and looked out upon the garden all bathed in the
+tender radiance of the moon. Anon she sighed and spake:
+
+"My lady Winfrida, on this my wedding night a new life dawns for
+Mortain and for me, wherein old harms shall be forgiven and forgot, so
+come--kiss me, Winfrida."
+
+Then swiftly came the beauteous Winfrida to kneel at her lady's feet,
+to clasp her lady's slender hand, to kiss it oft and bathe it in her
+tears.
+
+"O sweet my lady, am I indeed forgiven?"
+
+"Aye, most truly."
+
+"Am I again thy loved companion and thy friend?"
+
+"So shall it be, Winfrida."
+
+"Then, O dear Helen, as sign all is forgot and we lovers again, let us
+pledge each other, here and now--to thy future happiness and glory."
+
+"Aye, be it so," sighed the Duchess, "bring wine, for I am athirst."
+
+Then turned she to the lattice again and Winfrida went lightly on her
+errand. Now, yet gazing upon the moon, the Duchess reached out and drew
+Beltane beside her.
+
+"Dear my love," she whispered, "in but a little hour I shall be thine:
+art happy in the thought? Nay," she sighed, white hands against his
+mailed breast, "beloved, wait--kiss me not again until the hour be
+passed. Lean here thy golden head and look with me upon the splendour
+of the night. See the pale moon, how placid and serene, how fair and
+stately she doth ride--"
+
+"So may thy life be in coming years!" said Beltane.
+
+"And wilt love me ever, Beltane, no matter what betide?"
+
+"Ever and always, so long as thou art Helen. Nay, why dost tremble?"
+
+"O my lord--see yonder--that cloud, how black--see how it doth furtive
+creep upon the gentle moon--"
+
+"'Tis a long way hence, my Helen!"
+
+"Yet will it come. Ah, think you 'tis a portent? O would the gentle
+Angelo were here--and yet, an he were come--methinks I might wish him
+hence--for that, loving thee so, yet am I a maid, and foolish--ah, who
+is here--not Angelo so soon? What, 'tis thou, Winfrida? Welcome--bring
+hither the goblet."
+
+So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
+lady's hand, who, rising, turned to Beltane looking on him soft-eyed
+across the brimming chalice.
+
+"Lord and husband," she breathed--"now do I drink to thy glory in arms,
+to our future, and to our abiding love!" So the Duchess raised the
+goblet to her lips. But lo! even as she drank, the thick, black cloud
+began to engulf the moon, quenching her radiant light in its murky
+gloom. So the Duchess drank, and handed the goblet to Beltane.
+
+"To thee, my Helen, whom only shall I love until death and beyond!"
+
+Then Beltane drank also, and gave the cup to Winfrida: but, even as he
+did so, the Duchess uttered a cry and pointed with hand a-tremble:
+
+"O Beltane, the moon--the moon that was so bright and glorious--'tis
+gone, the cloud hath blotted it out! Ah, Beltane, what doth this
+portend? Why do I tremble thus because the moon is gone?"
+
+"Nay, my beloved," quoth Beltane, kissing those slender fingers that
+trembled upon his lip and were so cold--so deadly cold, "dear Helen,
+it will shine forth again bright and radiant as ever."
+
+"Yet why is my heart so cold, Beltane, and wherefore do I tremble?"
+
+"The night grows chill, mayhap."
+
+"Nay, this cold is from within. O, I would the moon would shine!"
+
+"Nay, let us speak of our future, my Helen--"
+
+"The future?" she sighed, "what doth it hold? Strife and bitter war for
+thee and a weary waiting for me, and should'st thou be slain--Ah,
+Beltane, forgive these fears and vain imaginings. Indeed, 'tis most
+unlike me to fear and tremble thus. I was ever accounted brave until
+now--is't love, think you, doth make me coward? 'Tis not death I fear--
+save for thy dear sake. Death? Nay, what have we to do with such, thou
+and I--this is our wedding night, and yet--I feel as if this night--I
+were leading thee--to thy--death--. O, am I mad, forsooth? Hold me
+close, beloved, comfort me, Beltane, I--I am afraid." Then Beltane
+lifted her in his arms and brought her to the hearth, and, setting her
+in the fireglow, kneeled there, seeking to comfort her.
+
+And now he saw her very pale, sighing deep and oft and with eyes
+dilated and heavy.
+
+"Beltane," said she slowly, "I grow a-weary, 'tis--the fire,
+methinks." And smiling faintly she closed her eyes, yet sighed and
+gazed upon him as one new waked. "Did I sleep?" she questioned
+drowsily, "Beltane," she sighed, speaking low and thick--"I charge
+thee, whatsoe'er the future doth bring--yet love me alway--or I,
+methinks--shall--die!"
+
+Awhile she lay against him breathing deep and slow, then started of a
+sudden, looking upon him vague-eyed.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "art there, beloved? 'Tis dark, and my eyes--
+heavy. Methinks I--must sleep awhile. Take me--to my women. I must
+sleep--yet will I come to thee soon--soon, beloved." So Beltane brought
+her to the door, but as he came thither the broidered curtain was
+lifted and he beheld Winfrida, who ran to her mistress, kissing her oft
+and sighing over her.
+
+"Winfrida," sighed the Duchess, slumberous of voice, "I grow a-weary--I
+must sleep awhile--"
+
+"Aye, thou'rt overwrought, dear lady. Come, rest you until the holy
+Angelo be come, so shalt be thine own sweet self anon."
+
+And when the Duchess was gone, Beltane sat and stared upon the fire and
+felt himself vaguely troubled, yet even so, as he watched the leaping
+flame, his head nodded and he slept, yet sleeping, dreamed he heard the
+Duchess calling him, and opening his eyes, found the fair Winfrida
+beside him:
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she softly, "thy Duchess biddeth thee wait her
+in the chapel--follow me, messire!" Now being yet heavy with sleep,
+Beltane arose and followed her through an opening in the arras near by,
+and down a narrow stair, stumbling often as he went and walking as one
+in a dream. So by devious ways Winfrida brought him into a little
+chapel, where, upon the altar, was a crucifix with candles dim-burning
+in the gloom.
+
+"Wait here, my lord," said Winfrida, "so will I go prepare my lady,
+Friar Angelo doth stay to do his holy office." So speaking, Winfrida
+turned and was gone. Then Beltane came unto the altar and, kneeling
+there, leaned his heavy head upon the fair white altar cloth, and
+kneeling thus, fell asleep--The altar beneath him seemed of a sudden
+riven and split asunder and, while he gazed, behold the fair white
+altar cloth grew fouled and stained with blood--new blood, that
+splashed down red upon the white even as he watched. Then did Beltane
+seek to rise up from his knees, but a heavy weight bore him ever down,
+and hands huge and hairy gripped him fierce and strong. But beholding
+these merciless hands, a sudden mighty rage came upon Beltane, and
+struggling up, he stood upon his feet and drew sword; but the fierce
+hands had crept up to his naked throat, cutting off his breath, the
+sword was dashed from his loosening grasp, the weight about him grew
+too much for his strength, it bore him down and down into a pitchy
+gloom where all was very still. A wind, sweet and cool, breathed upon
+his cheek, grass was below and trees above him, shadowy trees beyond
+which a pallid moon rose high, very placid and serene. Now as Beltane
+stared heavenward the moon was blotted out, a huge and hairy face
+looked down in his, and hairy hands lifted him with mighty strength.
+Then Beltane thought to see the Duchess Helen standing by in her gown
+of blue and silver--
+
+"Helen!" he whispered.
+
+But she paid no heed, busied in fastening about her the nun's long
+cloak that veiled her down from head to foot. So the mighty arms that
+held Beltane bore him to a horse near by and across this horse he was
+flung; thereafter the monster mounted also, and they moved off amid the
+trees. Thus was Beltane borne from Blaen upon his wedding night--dazed,
+bleeding and helpless in his bonds. Yet even so, ever as they went he
+watched her who rode near by, now in moonlight, now in shadow, so
+youthful and shapely, but with hood drawn low as she had worn it when
+he bore her through the forest in his arms.
+
+And ever as they went he watched the pale gleam of her hand upon the
+bridle, or her little foot in its embroidered shoe, or the fold of her
+blue gown with its silver needle-work. And ever the trouble in his
+dazed brain grew the deeper; once, as they crossed a broad glade she
+rode up close beside him, and beneath her hood he saw a strand of her
+glorious hair, bright under the moon.
+
+Then did he writhe and struggle in his bonds.
+
+"Helen!" he cried, "O Helen!" ...
+
+But a great hand, coarse and hairy, came upon his mouth, stopping the
+cry and choking him to silence.
+
+So they bore my Beltane southwards through the misty woods, on and ever
+on, till with the dawn they were come to a castle great and very
+strong, where battlement and tower frowned upon the paling stars.
+
+But with the dawn, 'mid the gloom of the little chapel of Blaen, came
+one who stood, haggard and pallid as the dawn, to stare wild-eyed upon
+a great sword and upon a torn and blood-stained altar-cloth; and so
+gazing, she shrank away back and back, crouching down amid the gloom.
+When at last the sun arose, it glittered on a long broad blade, across
+which, upon the rough pavement, lay one very silent and very still,
+amid the tumbled glory of her hair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
+
+
+A horn, lustily winded, waked my Beltane from his swoon, waked him to a
+glimmering world vague and unreal, where lights flared and voices
+sounded, hoarse and faint, in question and answer. Thereafter, down
+rattled drawbridge and up creaked portcullis, and so, riding 'neath a
+deep and gloomy arch they came out into a courtyard, where were many
+vague forms that flitted to and fro--and many more lights that glinted
+on steel bascinet and hauberk of mail.
+
+Now as Beltane lay helpless in his bonds he felt a hand among his hair,
+a strong hand that lifted his heavy, drooping head and turned up his
+face to the glare of the torches.
+
+"How now, Fool!" cried a gruff voice, "here's not thy meat--ha, what
+would ye--what would ye, Fool?"
+
+"Look upon another fool, for fool, forsooth, is he methinks that cometh
+so into Garthlaxton Keep." Now hereupon, opening unwilling eyes,
+Beltane looked up into the face of Beda the Jester that bent above him
+with a ring of steel-begirt faces beyond.
+
+"Aha!" quoth the jester, clapping Beltane's pale and bloody cheek,
+"here is a fool indeed--forsooth, a very foolish fool, hither come
+through folly, for being great of body and small of wit, look you, his
+folly hath hither brought him in shape of a hairy, ape-like fool--"
+
+"Ape!" growled a voice, and the jester was seized in a hairy hand and
+shaken till his bells jingled; and now Beltane beheld his captor, a
+dwarf-like, gnarled and crooked creature, yet huge of head and with the
+mighty arms and shoulders of a giant; a fierce, hairy monster, whose
+hideousness was set off by the richness of his vesture. "Ape, quotha!"
+he growled. "Dare ye name Ulf the Strong ape, forsooth? Ha! so will I
+shake the flesh from thy bones!" But now, she who sat her horse near by
+so proud and stately, reached forth a white hand, touching Ulf the
+Strong upon the arm, and lo! in that moment, he loosed the breathless
+jester and spake with bowed head: "Dear my lady, I forgot!" Then
+turning to the grinning soldiery he scowled upon them. "Dogs," quoth
+he, "go to your master and say Helen, Duchess of Mortain bringeth a
+wedding gift to Ivo, called the Black. Behold here he that slew twenty
+within the green, that burned down Black Ivo's goodly gallows, that
+broke the dungeons of Belsaye and bore Red Pertolepe into the green,
+behold him ye seek--Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore
+Duke of Pentavalon!"
+
+Now hereupon arose a mighty turmoil and excitement, all men striving to
+behold Beltane, to touch him and look upon his drooping face, but Ulf's
+mighty hand held them back, one and all. And presently came hasting
+divers esquires and knights, who, beholding Beltane, his costly mail,
+his silver belt and golden hair, seized upon him right joyfully and
+bore him into an inner ward, and threw him down upon the floor,
+marvelling and rejoicing over him, while Beltane lay there fast bound
+and helpless, staring up with frowning brow as one that strives to
+think, yet cannot. Now suddenly the noise about him ceased, all voices
+were hushed, and he was aware of one who stood near by, a doleful
+figure swathed in bandages, who leaned upon the arm of a tall esquire.
+And looking upon this figure, he saw it was Sir Pertolepe the Red.
+
+"Ha, by the eyes of God!" quoth Sir Pertolepe, "'tis he himself--O
+sweet sight--see, I grow better already! Who brought him, say you?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Duchess Helen!" said one. "Helen!" cried Sir
+Pertolepe, "Helen of Mortain?" "Aye, lord, as her wedding gift to our
+lord Duke Ivo." Now hereupon Beltane's staring eyes closed, the great
+muscles of his body twitched and writhed and stood out gnarled and
+rigid awhile, then he sighed, a slow, hissing breath, and lay there
+staring up wide-eyed at the vaulted roof again.
+
+"Came she herself, Raoul?"
+
+"Aye, good my lord."
+
+"Why, then--admit her. God's love, messires, would ye keep the glorious
+Helen without?"
+
+"Lord, she is gone--she and her ape-man both."
+
+"Gone? Gone, forsooth? 'Tis strange, and yet 'tis like the wilful
+Helen. Yet hath she left her wedding gift in my keeping. O a rare gift,
+a worthy gift and most acceptable. Strip me off his armour--yet no, as
+he came, so shall he bide until my lord Duke be come. Bring now
+shackles, strong and heavy, bring fetters and rivets, so will I sit
+here and see him trussed."
+
+And presently came two armourers with hammers and rivets, and shackled
+Beltane with heavy chains, the while Sir Pertolepe, sitting near,
+laughed and spake him right jovially.
+
+But Beltane suffered it all, uttering no word and staring ever straight
+before him with wide, vague eyes, knitting his brow ever and anon in
+troubled amaze like a child that suffers unjustly; wherefore Sir
+Pertolepe, fondling his big chin, frowned.
+
+"Ha!" quoth he, "let our Duke that hath no duchy be lodged secure--to
+the dungeons, aye, he shall sleep with rats until my lord Duke Ivo come
+to see him die--yet stay! The dungeons be apt to sap a man's strength
+and spirit, and to a weak man death cometh over soon and easy. Let him
+lie soft, feed full and sleep sound--let him have air and light, so
+shall he wax fat and lusty against my lord Duke's coming. See to it,
+Tristan!"
+
+So they led Beltane away jangling in his fetters, across divers
+courtyards and up a narrow, winding stair and thrust him within a
+chamber where was a bed and above it a loop-hole that looked out across
+a stretch of rolling, wooded country. Now being come to the bed,
+Beltane sank down thereon, and setting elbow to knee, rested his heavy
+head upon his hand as one that fain would think.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, and so whispering, his strong fingers writhed
+and clenched themselves within his yellow hair. And thus sat he all
+that day, bowed forward upon his hand, his fingers tight-clenched
+within his hair, staring ever at the square flagstone beneath his foot,
+heedless alike of the coming and going of his gaoler or of the food set
+out upon the bench hard by. Day grew to evening and evening to night,
+yet still he sat there, mighty shoulders bowed forward, iron fingers
+clenched within his hair, like one that is dead; in so much that his
+gaoler, setting down food beside the other untasted dishes, looked upon
+him in amaze and touched him.
+
+"Oho!" said he, "wake up. Here be food, look ye, and, by Saint Crispin,
+rich and dainty. And drink--good wine, wake and eat!"
+
+Then Beltane's clutching fingers relaxed and he raised his head,
+blinking in the rays of the lanthorn; and looking upon his rumpled
+hair, the gaoler stared and peered more close.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Methought thou wert a golden man, yet art silver also, meseemeth."
+
+"Fellow," said Beltane harsh-voiced and slow, "Troy town was burned,
+and here was great pity, methinks, for 'twas a fair city. Yet to weep
+o'er it these days were a fond madness. Come, let us eat!"
+
+But as Beltane uprose in his jangling fetters, the gaoler, beholding
+his face, backed to the door, and slamming it shut, barred and fast
+bolted it, yet cast full many a glance behind as he hasted down the
+winding stair.
+
+Then Beltane ate and drank, and thereafter threw himself upon his
+narrow couch, but his fetters jangled often in the dark. Thus as he
+lay, staring upwards into the gloom, he was aware of the opening of the
+iron-clamped door, and beheld his gaoler bearing a lanthorn and behind
+him Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of his favourite esquire, who,
+coming near, looked upon Beltane nodding right jovially.
+
+"Messire Beltane," quoth he, "thou did'st dare set up thyself against
+Ivo our lord the Duke--O fool! 'Tis said thou hast sworn to drive him
+forth of Pentavalon--seeking her to wife, O fool of fools! Did'st
+think, presumptuous rogue, that she--the glorious Helen--that Helen
+the Beautiful, whom all men desire, would stoop to thee, an outcast--
+wolf's head and outlaw that thou art? Did'st dare think so, forsooth?
+To-morrow, belike, my lord Duke shall come, and mayhap shall bring the
+Duchess Helen in his train--to look upon the manner of thy dying--"
+
+Now hereupon up started Beltane that his fetters clashed, and laughed
+so sudden, so fierce and harsh, that Raoul the esquire clapped hand to
+dagger and even Red Pertolepe started.
+
+"Sweet lord," quoth Beltane, "noble messire Pertolepe, of thy boundless
+mercy--of thy tender ruth grant unto me this boon. When ye shall have
+done me to death--cut off this head of mine and send it to Helen--to
+Helen the beautiful, the wilful--in memory of what befell at Blaen."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED INTO
+BELTANE
+
+
+Six days came and went, and during all this time Beltane spake word to
+no man. Every evening came Sir Pertolepe leaning on the arm of Raoul
+the esquire, to view his prisoner with greedy eyes and ply him with
+jovial talk whiles Beltane would lie frowning up at the mighty roof-beams,
+or sit, elbows on knee, his fingers clenched upon that lock of
+hair that gleamed so strangely white amid the yellow.
+
+Now upon the seventh evening as he sat thus, came Sir Pertolepe
+according to his wont, but to-night he leaned upon the shoulder of Beda
+the Jester, whose motley flared 'gainst rugged wall and dingy flagstone
+and whose bells rang loud and merry by contrast with the gloom.
+
+Quoth Sir Pertolepe, seated upon the bench and smiling upon Beltane's
+grim figure:
+
+"He groweth fat to the killing, seest thou, my Beda, a young man and
+hearty, very hale and strong--and therefore meet for death. So strong a
+man should be long time a-dying--an death be coaxed and managed well.
+And Tristan is more cunning and hath more love for his craft than ever
+had Black Roger. With care, Beda--I say with care, messire Beltane
+should die from dawn to sundown."
+
+"Alack!" sighed the jester, "death shall take him over soon, as thou
+dost say--and there's the pity on't!"
+
+"Soon, Fool--soon? Now out upon thee for a fool ingrain--"
+
+"Forsooth, sweet lord, fool am I--mark these bells! Yet thou art a
+greater!"
+
+"How, sirrah?"
+
+"In that thou art a greater man, fair, sweet lord; greater in might,
+greater in body, and greater in folly."
+
+"Ha, would'st mock me, knave?"
+
+"For perceive me, fair and gentle lord, as this base body of ours being
+altogether thing material is also thing corruptible, so is it also a
+thing finite, and as it is a thing finite so are its sensations, be
+they of pleasure or pain, finite also--therefore soon must end. Now
+upon the other hand--"
+
+"How now? What babbling folly is here?"
+
+"As I say, most potent lord, upon the other hand--as the mind, being
+altogether thing transcendental, is also thing incorruptible, so is it
+also a thing infinite, and being a thing infinite so are its sensations
+infinite also--therefore everlasting."
+
+"Ha, there's reason in thy folly, methinks. What more?"
+
+"Bethink thee, lord, there be divers rogues who, having provoked thy
+potent anger, do lie even now awaiting thy lordly pleasure. E'en now
+irons be heating for them, moreover they are, by thy will, to suffer
+the grievous torment of the pulleys and the wheel, and these, as I do
+know, be sharp punishments and apt to cause prodigious outcry. Now, to
+hear one cry out beneath the torture is an evil thing for youthful
+ears--and one not soon forgot."
+
+"Aye, aye, forsooth, I begin to see thy meaning, good Fool--yet say
+on."
+
+"Let this thy prisoner be set within the cell above the torture
+chamber, so, lying within the dark he must needs hear them cry below,
+and in his mind shall he suffer as they suffer, every pang of racking
+wheel and searing iron. And, because the mind is thing infinite--"
+
+"Enough--enough! O most excellent Beda, 'tis well bethought. O, rare
+Fool, so shall it be."
+
+Forthwith Sir Pertolepe summoned certain of his guard, and,
+incontinent, Beltane was dragged a-down the winding stair and
+thereafter fast shut within a place of gloom, a narrow cell breathing
+an air close and heavy, and void of all light. Therefore Beltane sat
+him down on the floor, his back to the wall, staring upon the dark,
+chin on fist. Long he sat thus, stirring not, and in his heart a black
+void, deeper and more awful than the fetid gloom of any dungeon--a void
+wherein a new Beltane came into being.
+
+Now presently, as he sat thus, upon the silence stole a sound, low and
+murmurous, that rose and fell yet never quite died away. And Beltane,
+knowing what sound this was, clenched his hands and bowed his face upon
+his knees. As he listened, this drone grew to a sudden squealing cry
+that rang and echoed from wall to wall, whiles Beltane, crouched in
+that place of horror, felt the sweat start out upon him, yet shivered
+as with deadly cold, and ever the cries thrilled within the dark or
+sank to whimpering moans and stifled supplications. And ever Beltane
+hearkened to these fell sounds, staring blindly into the gloom, and
+ever the new Beltane grew the stronger within him.
+
+Hour after hour he crouched thus, so very silent, so very quiet, so
+very still, but long after the groans and wailings had died to silence,
+Beltane stared grim-eyed into the gloom and gnawed upon his fingers. Of
+a sudden he espied a glowing spark in the angle of the wall to the
+right--very small, yet very bright.
+
+Now as he watched, behold the spark changed to a line of golden light,
+so that his eyes ached and he was fain to shade them in his shackled
+arm; and thus he beheld a flagstone that seemed to lift itself with
+infinite caution, and, thereafter, a voice breathed his name.
+
+"Messire--messire Beltane!" And now through the hole in the floor
+behold a hand bearing a lanthorn--an arm--a shoulder--a shrouded head;
+thus slowly a tall, cloaked figure rose up through the floor, and,
+setting down the lanthorn, leaned toward Beltane, putting back the hood
+of his mantle, and Beltane beheld Beda the Jester.
+
+"Art awake, messire Beltane?"
+
+"Aye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head. "And I have used mine ears! The
+wheel and the pulley are rare begetters of groans, as thou did'st
+foretell, Fool! 'Twas a good thought to drag me hither--it needed but
+this. Now am I steel, without and--within. O, 'tis a foul world!"
+
+"Nay, messire--'tis a fair world wherein be foul things: they call them
+'men.' As to me, I am but a fool--mark this motley--yet hither I
+caused thee to be dragged that I might save those limbs o' thine from
+wheel and pulley, from flame and gibbet, and set thee free within a
+world which I do hold a fair world. Yet first--those fetters--behold
+hammer and chisel! Oswin, thy gaoler, sleepeth as sweet as a babe, and
+wherefore? For that I decocted Lethe in his cup. Likewise the guard
+below. My father, that lived here before me (and died of a jest out of
+season), was skilled in herbs--and I am his son! My father (that bled
+out his life 'neath my lord's supper table) knew divers secret ways
+within the thickness of these walls--so do I know more of Pertolepe's
+castle than doth Pertolepe himself. Come, reach hither thy shackles and
+I will cut them off, a chisel is swifter than a file--"
+
+"And why would'st give me life, Fool?"
+
+"For that 'tis a useful thing, messire, and perchance as sweet to thee
+this night within thy dungeon as to me upon a certain day within the
+green that you may wot of?" So speaking, Beda the Jester cut asunder
+the chain that bound the fetters, and Beltane arose and stretched
+himself and the manacles gleamed on each wide-sundered wrist.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"What now?"
+
+Whereat the jester, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, looked up at
+him and spake on this wise:
+
+"Two days agone as I walked me in the green, dreaming such foolish
+dreams as a fool may, there came, very suddenly, a sorry wight--a wild
+man, very ragged--who set me his ragged arm about my neck and a sharp
+dagger to my throat; and thus, looking him within the eyes, I knew him
+for that same Roger from whose hand thou did'st save me aforetime.
+'Beda,' says he, 'I am he that hanged and tortured men at my lord's
+bidding: I am Roger, and my sins be many.' 'Then prithee,' says I,
+'prithee, Roger, add not another to thy sins by cutting the throat of a
+fool.' 'Needs must I,' says he, dolorous of voice, 'unless thou dost
+answer me two questions.' 'Nay, I will answer thee two hundred an thou
+leave my throat unslit,' says I. 'But two,' says Roger, sighing.
+'First, doth Pertolepe hold him I seek?' 'Him?' says I. 'Him they call
+Beltane?' says Roger, 'doth he lie prisoned within Garthlaxton?' 'He
+doth,' quoth I. Now for thine other question. ''Tis this,' says Roger,
+'Wilt aid us to win him free?' 'Why look ye, Roger,' says I, ''Tis only
+a fool that seeketh aid of a fool--and fool am I.' 'Aye,' says Roger,
+'but thou art a live fool; promise, therefore, or wilt be naught but a
+dead fool.' 'Roger,' says I, 'thou did'st once try to slay me in the
+green ere now.' 'Aye,' says Roger, 'and my lord Beltane saved thy
+carcass and my soul.' 'Aye,' quoth I, 'and e'en a fool can repay. So
+was I but now dreaming here within this boskage how I might perchance
+win this same Beltane to life without thy scurvy aid, Black Roger.
+Moreover, methinks I know a way--and thou spare me life to do it.'
+'Aye, forsooth,' says Roger, putting away his dagger, 'thou wert ever a
+fool of thy word, Beda--so now do I spare thy life, and sparing it, I
+save it, and thus do I cut another accursed notch from my belt.' 'Why,
+then,' says I, 'to-morrow night be at the riven oak by Brankton Thicket
+an hour before dawn.' 'So be it, Beda,' says he, and so I left him
+cutting at his belt. And lo, am I here, and within an hour it should be
+dawn. Follow, messire!" So saying, Beda rose, and taking the lanthorn,
+began to descend through the floor, having first shown how the
+flagstone must be lowered in place. Thereafter, Beltane followed the
+jester down a narrow stair built in the thickness of the wall, and
+along a passage that ended abruptly, nor could Beltane see any sign of
+door in the solid masonry that barred their way. Here Beda paused,
+finger on lip, and extinguished the lanthorn. Then, in the dark a hinge
+creaked faintly, a quivering hand seized Beltane's manacled wrist,
+drawing him on and through a narrow opening that yawned suddenly before
+them. Thereafter the hinge creaked again and they stood side by side
+within a small chamber where was a doorway hung across with heavy
+curtains beyond which a light burned. Now even as Beltane looked
+thitherward, he heard the rattle of dice and a sleepy voice that cursed
+drowsily, and shaking off the clutching, desperate fingers that strove
+to stay him, he came, soft-treading, and peered through the curtains.
+Thus he beheld two men that faced each other across a table whereon was
+wine, with dice and store of money, and as they played, these men
+yawned, leaning heavily upon the table. Back swept the curtains and
+striding into the room Beltane stared upon these men, who, yet leaning
+upon the table, stared back at him open-mouthed. But, beholding the
+look in his blue eyes and the smile that curled his mouth, they
+stumbled to their feet and sought to draw weapon--then Beltane sprang
+and caught them each about the neck, and, swinging them wide-armed,
+smote their heads together; and together these men sank in his grasp
+and lay in a twisted huddle across the table among the spilled wine. A
+coin rang upon the stone floor, rolled into a distant corner and came
+to rest, the jester gasped in the shadow of the curtains; and so came
+silence, broke only by the soft drip, drip of the spilled wine.
+
+"O, mercy of God!" whispered the jester hoarsely at last, "what need
+was there for this--they would have slept--"
+
+"Aye," smiled Beltane, "but not so soundly as now, methinks. Come, let
+us go."
+
+Silently the jester went on before, by narrow passage-ways that
+writhed and twisted in the thickness of the walls, up sudden flights of
+steps until at length they came out upon a parapet whose grim
+battlements scowled high in air. But as they hasted on, flitting
+soft-footed 'neath pallid moon, the jester of a sudden stopped, and
+turning, dragged Beltane into the shadows, for upon the silence came the
+sound of mailed feet pacing near. Now once again Beltane brake from the
+jester's clutching fingers and striding forward, came face to face with
+one that bare a pike on mailed shoulder, and who, beholding Beltane,
+halted to peer at him with head out-thrust; quoth he:
+
+"Ha! stand! Stand, I say and speak me who thou art?"
+
+Then Beltane laughed softly; said he:
+
+"O fool, not to know--I am death!" and with the word, he leapt. Came a
+cry, muffled in a mighty hand, a grappling, fierce yet silent, and
+Beda, cowering back, beheld Beltane swing a writhing body high in air
+and hurl it far out over the battlements. Thereafter, above the soft
+rustle of the night-wind, a sound far below--a faint splash, and Beda
+the Jester, shivering in the soft-stirring night wind, shrank deeper
+into the gloom and made a swift motion as though, for all his folly, he
+had crossed himself.
+
+Then came Beltane, the smile still twisting his mouth; quoth he:
+
+"Forsooth, my strength is come back again; be there any more that I may
+deal withal, good Fool?"
+
+"Lord," whispered the shivering jester, "methinks I smell the dawn--
+Come!"
+
+So Beltane followed him from the battlements, down winding stairs,
+through halls that whispered in the dark; down more stairs, down and
+ever down 'twixt walls slimy to the touch, through a gloom heavy with
+mildew and decay. On sped the jester, staying not to light the
+lanthorn, nor once touching, nor once turning with helping hand to
+guide Beltane stumbling after in the dark. Then at last, deep in the
+clammy earth they reached a door, a small door whose rusted iron was
+handed with mighty clamps of rusted iron. Here the jester paused to fit
+key to lock, to strain and pant awhile ere bolts shrieked and turned,
+and the door yawned open. Then, stooping, he struck flint and steel and
+in a while had lit the lanthorn, and, looking upon Beltane with eyes
+that stared in the pallor of his face, he pointed toward the yawning
+tunnel.
+
+"Messire," said he, "yonder lieth thy way to life and the world. As
+thou did'st give me life so do I give thee thine. Thou wert, as I
+remember thee, a very gentle, tender youth--to-night are three dead
+without reason--"
+
+"Reason, good Fool," said Beltane, "thou did'st see me borne in a
+prisoner to Garthlaxton; now, tell me I pray, who was she that rode
+with us?"
+
+"'Twas the Duchess Helen of Mortain, messire; I saw her hair, moreover--"
+
+But lo, even as the jester spake, Beltane turned, and striding down the
+tunnel, was swallowed in the dark.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+A faint glimmer growing ever brighter, a jagged patch of pale sky, a
+cleft in the rock o'er-grown with bush and creeping vines; this Beltane
+saw ere he stepped out into the cool, sweet air of dawn. A while he
+stood to stare up at the sky where yet a few stars showed paling to the
+day, and to drink in mighty breaths of the fragrant air. And thus,
+plain to his ears, stole the ripple of running water hard by, and going
+thitherward he stripped, and naked came down to the stream where was a
+misty pool and plunged him therein. Now as he bathed him thus, gasping
+somewhat because of the cold, yet glorying in the rush and tingle of
+his blood, behold, the leaves parted near by, and uprising in his naked
+might, Beltane beheld the face of one that watched him intently.
+
+"Master!" cried a voice harsh but very joyful, "O dear, my lord!" And
+Roger sprang down the bank and heedless of the water, plunged in to
+catch Beltane's hands and kiss them. "Master!" he cried. And thus it
+was these two met again. And presently, having donned clothes and
+harness, Beltane sat down him beside the brook, head upon hand, staring
+at the swift-running water, whiles Roger, sitting near, watched him in
+a silent ecstasy.
+
+"Whence come ye, Roger?"
+
+"From Thrasfordham-within-Bourne, lord. Ho, a mighty place, great and
+strong as Sir Benedict himself. And within Thrasfordham be many lusty
+fighting men who wait thy coming,--for, master, Bourne, aye and all the
+Duchy, doth ring with tales of thy deeds."
+
+"Hath Sir Benedict many men?"
+
+"Aye--within Thrasfordham five hundred and more."
+
+"So few, Roger?"
+
+"And mayhap as many again in Bourne. But, for Sir Benedict--a right
+lusty knight in sooth, master! and he doth hunger for sight of thee. He
+hath had me, with Walkyn and the archer, speak full oft of how we fired
+the gibbet and roars mighty laughs to hear how thou didst bear off Sir
+Pertolepe in the green--aye, Sir Benedict doth love to hear tell of
+that."
+
+"Aye; and what of Duke Ivo--where is he now, Roger?"
+
+"He hath reinforced Belsaye garrison and all the coast towns and
+castles of the Marches, and lieth at Pentavalon, gathering his powers
+to attack Thrasfordham, so men say, and hath sworn to burn it within
+the year, and all therein save only Sir Benedict--him will he hang;
+'tis so proclaimed far and wide."
+
+"And do men yet come in to Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Not so, master. Since Duke Ivo came they are afraid."
+
+"Ha! And what of the outlaws--there be many wild men within the
+forests."
+
+"The outlaws--hey, that doth mind me. I, with Giles and Walkyn and the
+young knight Sir Jocelyn brought down the outlaws upon Thornaby Mill.
+But when we found thee not, we burned it, and thereafter the outlaws
+vanished all within the wild-wood; Sir Jocelyn rode away a-singing
+mighty doleful, and we three came to Thrasfordham according to thy
+word. But when ye came not, master, by will of Sir Benedict we set
+out, all three, to find thee, and came to a cave of refuge Walkyn wots
+of: there do we sleep by night and by day search for thee. And behold,
+I have found thee, and so is my tale ended. But now, in an hour will be
+day, master, and with the day will be the hue and cry after thee. Come,
+let us haste over into Bourne, there shall we be safe so long as
+Thrasfordham stands."
+
+"True," nodded Beltane and rose to his feet. "Go you to Thrasfordham,
+Roger, Sir Benedict shall need such lusty men as thou, meseemeth."
+
+"Aye--but what of thee, master?"
+
+"I? O, I'm for the wild-wood, to a wild life and wilder doings, being
+myself a wild man, henceforth, lawful food for flame or gibbet, kin to
+every clapper-claw rogue and rascal 'twixt here and Mortain."
+
+"Nay master, within Thrasfordham ye shall laugh at Black Ivo and all
+his powers--let us then to Thrasfordham, beseech thee!"
+
+"Nay, I'm for the woods in faith, to seek me desperate rogues, wild men
+whose lives being forfeit, are void of all hope and fear. So, get thee
+to Sir Benedict and speak him this from me, to wit: that while he
+holdeth Ivo in check before Thrasfordham, I will arise indeed and bring
+with me flame and steel from out the wild-wood. When he shall see the
+night sky aflame, then shall he know I am at work, and when by day he
+heareth of death sudden and swift, then shall he know I am not idle.
+Bid him rede me this riddle: That bringing from chaos order, so from
+order will I bring chaos, that order peradventure shall remain. Haste
+you into Bourne, Roger, and so--fare thee well!"
+
+Now as he spake, Beltane turned on his heel and strode along beside the
+brook, but even as he went, so went Roger, whereon Beltane turned
+frowning.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"Roger--Thrasfordham lieth behind thee!"
+
+"Aye, master, but death lieth before thee!"
+
+"Why then, death will I face alone, Roger."
+
+"Nay, master--not while Roger live. Thy man am I--"
+
+"Ha--wilt withstand me, Black Roger?"
+
+"Thy man am I, to follow thee in life and go down with thee in death--"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane came close, and in the dim light Black Roger
+beheld the new Beltane glaring down at him fierce-eyed and with great
+mailed fist clenched to smite; but even so Black Roger gave not back,
+only he drew dagger and strove to set it in Beltane's iron fingers.
+
+"Take this," quoth he, "for, an ye would be free of Roger, first must
+ye slay him, master." So Beltane took the dagger and fumbled with it
+awhile then gave it back to Roger's hand.
+
+"Roger!" muttered he, his hand upon his brow, "my faithful Roger! So,
+men can be faithful--" saying which he sighed--a long, hissing breath,
+and hid his face within his mittened hand, and turning, strode swiftly
+upon his way. Now in a while, they being come into the forest, Roger
+touched him on the arm.
+
+"Master," said he, "whither do ye go?"
+
+"Nay, it mattereth not so long as I can lie hid a while, for I must
+sleep, Roger."
+
+"Then can I bring thee to a place where none shall ever find thee--
+Come, master!" So saying, Roger turned aside into the denser wood,
+bursting a way through a tangle of brush, plunging ever deeper into the
+wild until they came to a place where great rocks and boulders jutted
+up amid the green and the trees grew scant. Day was breaking, and
+before them in the pale light rose a steep cliff, whose jagged outline
+clothed here and there with brush and vines loomed up before them,
+barring their advance.
+
+But at the foot of this cliff grew a tree, gnarled and stunted, the
+which, as Beltane watched, Black Roger began to climb, until, being
+some ten feet from the ground, he, reaching out and seizing a thick
+vine that grew upon the rock, stepped from the tree and vanished into
+the face of the cliff. But in a moment the leaves were parted and Roger
+looked forth, beckoning Beltane to follow. So, having climbed the tree,
+Beltane in turn seized hold upon the vine, and stumbling amid the
+leaves, found himself on his knees within a small cave, where Roger's
+hand met his. Thereafter Roger led him to the end of the cavern where
+was a winding passage very rough and narrow, that brought them to a
+second and larger cave, as Beltane judged, for in the dark his hands
+could feel nought but space. Here Roger halted and whistled three
+times, a melodious call that woke many a slumbering echo. And in a
+while, behold a glow that grew ever brighter, until, of a sudden, a man
+appeared bearing a flaming pine-torch, that showed a wide cave whose
+rugged roof and walls glistened here and there, and whose rocky floor
+ended abruptly in a yawning gulf from whose black depths came soft
+murmurs and ripplings of water far below. Now, halting on the opposite
+side of this chasm, the man lifted his flaming torch and lo! it was
+Walkyn, who, beholding Beltane in his mail, uttered a hoarse shout of
+welcome, and stooping, thrust a plank across the gulf. So Beltane
+crossed the plank and gave his hand to Walkyn's iron grip and
+thereafter followed him along winding, low-roofed passage-ways hollowed
+within the rock, until they came to a cavern where a fire blazed, whose
+red light danced upon battered bascinets and polished blades that hung
+against the wall, while in one corner, upon a bed of fern, Giles o' the
+Bow lay snoring right blissfully.
+
+To him went Roger to shake him into groaning wakefulness and to point
+with eager finger to Beltane. Whereat up sprang Giles and came running
+with hands outstretched in welcome, yet of a sudden, paused and stood
+staring upon Beltane, as did the others also, for the place was very
+bright and moreover Beltane's mail-coif was fallen back. So they looked
+on him all three, yet spake no word. Therefore Beltane sat him down
+beside the fire and rested his head upon his hands as one that is
+weary. Sitting thus, he told them briefly what had chanced, but of the
+Duchess he said nothing. And in a while, lifting his head he saw them
+watching him all three, and all three incontinent glanced otherwhere.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Wherefore do ye stare upon me?"
+
+"Why, as to that, good brother," said the archer, "'tis but that--that
+we do think thee something--changed of aspect."
+
+"Changed!" said Beltane, and laughed short and bitter, "aye, 'tis like
+I am."
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, clenching mighty fists, "have they tormented
+thee--was it the torture, lord?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "'twas the torture. So now good comrades, here
+will I sleep awhile. But first--go forth with the sun and question all
+ye may of Ivo and his doings--where he doth lie, and where his forces
+muster--hear all ye can and bring me word, for methinks we shall be
+busy again anon!" Then, throwing himself upon the bed of fern that
+Roger had re-made, Beltane presently fell asleep. And while he slept
+came the three, very silent and treading very soft, to look down upon
+his sleeping face and the manacles that gleamed upon his wrists; and
+behold, even as he slept, he groaned and writhed, his tender lips grown
+fierce, a relentless, down-curving line--his jaws grim set, and between
+his frowning brows a lock of silky hair that gleamed snow-white among
+the yellow.
+
+"The torture!" growled Roger, and so, soft as they came, the three
+turned and left him to his slumber. But oft he moaned and once he spake
+a word, sudden and fierce 'twixt clenched teeth.
+
+And the word was:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
+
+
+It was toward evening that Beltane awoke, and sitting up, looked about
+him. He was in a chamber roughly square, a hollow within the rock part
+natural and part hewn by hand, a commodious chamber lighted by a jagged
+hole in the rock above, a fissure all o'er-grown with vines and
+creeping plants whose luxuriant foliage tempered the sun's rays to a
+tender green twilight very grateful and pleasant.
+
+Now pendant from the opening was a ladder of cords, and upon this
+ladder, just beneath the cleft, Beltane beheld a pair of lusty,
+well-shaped legs in boots of untanned leather laced up with leathern
+thongs; as for their owner, he was hidden quite by reason of the leafy
+screen as he leaned forth of the fissure. Looking upon these legs,
+Beltane knew them by their very attitude for the legs of one who watched
+intently, but while he looked, they stirred, shifted, and growing lax,
+became the legs of one who lounged; then, slow and lazily, they began
+to descend lower and lower until the brown, comely face of Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills smiled down upon Beltane with a gleam of
+white teeth. Cried he:
+
+"Hail, noble brother, and likewise the good God bless thee! Hast slept
+well, it lacketh scarce an hour to sundown, and therefore should'st
+eat well. How say ye now to a toothsome haunch o' cold venison, in
+faith, cunningly cooked and sufficiently salted and seasoned--ha? And
+mark me! with a mouthful of malmsey, ripely rare? Oho, rich wine that I
+filched from a fatuous friar jig-jogging within the green! Forsooth,
+tall brother, 'tis a wondrous place, the greenwood, wherein a man shall
+come by all he doth need--an he seek far enough! Thus, an my purse be
+empty, your beefy burgher shall, by dint of gentle coaxing, haste to
+fill me it with good, broad pieces. But, an my emptiness be of the
+belly, then sweet Saint Giles send me some ambulating abbot or
+pensive-pacing prior; for your churchmen do ever ride with saddle-bags
+well lined, as I do know, having been bred a monk, and therefore with
+a rare lust to creature comforts."
+
+Now while he spake thus, the archer was busily setting forth the viands
+upon a rough table that stood hard by, what time Beltane looked about
+him.
+
+"'Tis a wondrous hiding-place, this, Giles!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, verily, brother--a sweet place for hunted men such as we. Here be
+caves and caverns enow to hide an army, and rocky passage-ways, narrow
+and winding i' the dark, where we four might hold all Black Ivo's
+powers at bay from now till Gabriel's trump--an we had food enow!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"'Tis a fair thought that, and I've heard there be many outlaws in the
+woods hereabouts?"
+
+"Yea, forsooth. And each and every a clapper-claw, a rogue in faith. O
+very lewd, bloody-minded knaves see ye now, that would have slain me
+three days agone but for my comrade Walkyn. Scurvy dogs, fit for the
+halter they be, in faith!"
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, thoughtful of brow. "They be wild men, meseemeth?"
+
+"Desperate knaves, one and all; and look ye, they would have slain--"
+
+"Aye?" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All the off-scourings of town and village--and look ye, they would--"
+
+"Aye," said Beltane.
+
+"Thieves, rogues and murderers, branded felons, runaway serfs and
+villeins--"
+
+"'Tis well," said Beltane, "so shall they be my comrades henceforth."
+
+"Thy comrades!" stammered the archer, staring in amaze--"thy comrades!
+These base knaves that would have hanged me--me, that am free-born like
+my father before me--"
+
+"So, peradventure, Giles, will we make them free men also. Howbeit this
+day I seek them out--"
+
+"Seek them--'tis death!"
+
+"Death let it be, 'tis none so fearful!"
+
+"They will slay thee out of hand--a wild rabblement, lawless and
+disordered!"
+
+"So would I bring order among them, Giles. And thou shalt aid me."
+
+"I--aid thee? How--would'st have me company with such vile carrion? Not
+I, forsooth. I am a soldier, free-born, and no serf like Walkyn or
+villein like Roger. But sure you do but jest, brother, so will I laugh
+with thee--"
+
+But now, very suddenly, Beltane reached out his long arm and seizing
+Giles in mighty hand, dragged him to his knees; and Giles, staring up
+in amaze, looked into the face of the new Beltane whose blue eyes
+glared 'neath frowning brows and whose lips curled back from gleaming
+teeth.
+
+"Giles," said he softly, rocking the archer in his grasp, "O Giles
+Brabblecombe o' the Hills, did I not save thy roguish life for thee?
+Did not Walkyn and Roger preserve it to thee? So doth thy life belong
+to Walkyn and to Roger and to me. Four men are we together, four
+brothers in arms, vowed to each other in the fulfilment of a purpose--
+is it not so?"
+
+"Yea, verily, lord. Good men and true are we all, but see you not,
+lord, these outlaws be lewd fellows--base-born--"
+
+"See you not, Giles, these outlaws be men, even as we, who, like us,
+can laugh and weep, can bleed and die--who can use their lives to
+purpose good or evil, even as we. Therefore, since they are men, I will
+make of them our comrades also, an it may be."
+
+Thus saying, Beltane loosed Giles and turning to the table, fell to
+eating again while the archer sat upon the floor nursing his bruised
+arm and staring open-mouthed.
+
+Quoth Beltane at last:
+
+"We will seek out and talk with these outlaws to-night, Giles!"
+
+"Talk with a pack of--yea, forsooth!" nodded Giles, rubbing his arm.
+
+"I am minded to strike such a blow as shall hearten Sir Benedict for
+the siege and shake Black Ivo's confidence."
+
+"Aha!" cried Giles, springing up so that his link-mail jingled, "aha! a
+sweet thought, tall brother! Could we fire another gibbet now--"
+
+"Know you where the outlaws lie hid, Giles?"
+
+"Nay, lord, none save themselves and Walkyn know that. Walkyn methinks,
+was great among them once."
+
+"And where is Walkyn?"
+
+"So soon as ye slept, lord, he and Roger went forth according to thy
+word. As for me, I stayed here to watch. From the spy-hole yonder you
+may command the road a-wind in the valley, and unseen, see you, may
+see. But come, an thy hunger be allayed, reach me thy hand that I may
+file off those iron bracelets."
+
+"Nay, let be, Giles. I will wear them henceforth until my vow be
+accomplished."
+
+Hereupon Beltane arose, and, climbing the ladder, looked forth through
+a screen of leaves and underbrush and saw that from the fissure the
+ground sloped steeply down, a boulder-strewn hill thick with gorse and
+bramble, at whose base the road led away north and south until it was
+lost in the green of the forest. Now as Beltane stood thus, gazing down
+at the winding road whose white dust was already mellowing to evening,
+he beheld one who ran wondrous fleetly despite the ragged cloak that
+flapped about his long legs, and whose rough-shod feet spurned the dust
+beneath them so fast 'twas a marvel to behold; moreover as he ran, he
+bounded hither and thither, and with every bound an arrow sped by him
+from where, some distance behind, ran divers foresters bedight in a
+green livery Beltane thought he recognized; but even as Beltane grasped
+the branches that screened him, minded to swing himself up to the
+fellow's aid, the fugitive turned aside from the road and came leaping
+up the slope, but, of a sudden, uttered a loud cry and throwing up his
+hands fell face down upon the ling and so lay, what time came up one of
+the pursuers that had outstripped his fellows, but as he paused, his
+sword shortened for the thrust, up sprang the fugitive, a great axe
+flashed and whirled and fell, nor need was there for further stroke.
+Then, while the rest of the pursuers were yet a great way off, Walkyn
+came leaping up the hill. Back from the ladder Beltane leapt and down
+through the fissure came Walkyn to fall cat-like upon his feet, to
+shake free the ladder after him, and thereafter to sit panting upon a
+stool, his bloody axe betwixt his knees.
+
+"Pertolepe's wolves!" he panted, "two of them have I--slain--within the
+last mile," and grinning, he patted the haft of his axe.
+
+"What news, Walkyn?"
+
+"Death!" panted Walkyn, "there be five dead men a-swing from the
+bartizan tower above Garthlaxton Keep, and one that dieth under the
+torture e'en now, for I heard grievous outcry, and all by reason of thy
+escape, lord."
+
+"Come you then from Garthlaxton?" quoth Beltane, frowning.
+
+"Aye, lord. For, see you, 'twas market day, so went I to one I know
+that is a swineherd, a trusty fellow that bringeth hogs each week unto
+Garthlaxton. So did we change habits and went to Garthlaxton together,
+driving the hogs before us. Thereafter, while he was away chaffering, I
+sat me down in the outer bailey tending my beasts, yet with eyes and
+ears wide and with my hand upon mine axe 'neath my cloak lest haply I
+might chance within striking distance of Red Pertolepe. And, sitting
+thus, I heard tell that he had marched out with all his array to join
+Black Ivo's banner. Whereupon was I mightily cast down. But it chanced
+the wind lifted my cloak, and one of the warders, spying mine axe, must
+think to recognise me and gave the hue and cry; whereat I, incontinent,
+fled ere they could drop the portcullis--and divers rogues after me.
+Aha! then did I lead them a right merry dance by moor and moss, by
+briar and bog, and contrived to slay of them five in all. But as to
+Pertolepe, a malison on him! he is not yet to die, meseemeth. But, some
+day--aye, some day!" So saying he kissed the great axe and setting it
+by came to the table and fell to eating mightily while Giles sat hard
+by busied with certain arrows, yet betwixt whiles watching Beltane who,
+crossing to the bed of fern, laid him down thereon and closed his eyes.
+But of a sudden he raised his head, hearkening to a whistle, soft and
+melodious, near at hand.
+
+"Aha!" exclaimed Giles, setting aside his arrows, "yonder should be
+Roger--a hungry Roger and therefore surly, and a surly Roger is rare
+sport to lighten a dull hour. Heaven send our Roger be surly!" So
+saying, the archer went forth and presently came hasting back with
+Roger at his heels scowling and in woeful plight. Torn and stained and
+besprent with mud, his rawhide knee-boots sodden and oozing water, he
+stood glowering at Giles beneath the bloody clout that swathed his
+head, his brawny fist upon his dagger.
+
+"No food left, say ye, Giles, no food, and I a-famishing? You and
+Walkyn drunk up all the wine betwixt ye, and I a-perish--ha--so now
+will I let it out again--" and out flashed his dagger.
+
+"Nay, 'tis but the archer's folly," quoth Walkyn--"sit, man, eat,
+drink, and speak us thy news."
+
+"News," growled Roger, seating himself at table, "the woods be thick
+with Pertolepe's rogues seeking my master, rogues known to me each one,
+that ran to do my bidding aforetime--in especial one Ralpho--that was
+my assistant in the dungeons once. Thrice did they beset me close, and
+once did I escape by running, once by standing up to my neck in a pool,
+and once lay I hid in a tree whiles they, below, ate and drank like
+ravening swine--and I a-famishing. A murrain on 'em, one and all, say
+I--in especial Ralpho that was my comrade once--may he rot henceforth--"
+
+"Content you, Roger, he doth so!" laughed grim Walkyn and pointed to
+his axe.
+
+"Forsooth, and is it so?" growled Roger, his scowl relaxing--"now will
+I eat full and blithely, for Ralpho was an arrant knave."
+
+Now when his hunger was somewhat assuaged, Roger turned and looked
+where Beltane lay.
+
+"My master sleepeth?" said he, his voice grown gentle.
+
+"Nay, Roger, I lie and wait thy news," spake Beltane, his eyes yet
+closed.
+
+"Why then, 'tis war, master--battle and siege. The country is up as far
+as Winisfarne. Black Ivo lieth at Barham Broom with a great company--I
+have seen their tents and pavilions like a town, and yet they come, for
+Ivo hath summoned all his powers to march against Thrasfordham. 'Twixt
+here and Pentavalon city, folk do say the roads be a-throng with bows
+and lances--lords and barons, knights and esquires, their pennons
+flutter everywhere."
+
+"'Tis well!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Well, master--nay, how mean you?"
+
+"That being at Barham Broom, they cannot be otherwhere, Roger. Saw you
+Pertolepe's banner among all these?"
+
+"Aye, master; they have set up his pavilion beside the Duke's."
+
+"Tell me now," said Beltane, coming to his elbow, "how many men should
+be left within Garthlaxton for garrison, think you?"
+
+"An hundred, belike!" said Walkyn.
+
+"Less," quoth Roger; "Garthlaxton is so strong a score of men have held
+it ere now. 'Tis accounted the strongest castle in all the Duchy, save
+only Thrasfordham."
+
+"Truly 'tis very strong!" said Beltane thoughtfully, and lying down
+again he closed his eyes and spake slow and drowsily--"Aye, 'tis so
+strong, its garrison, being secure, should sleep sound o' nights. So
+'twould be no great matter to surprise and burn it ere the dawn,
+methinks!"
+
+"Burn Garthlaxton!" cried the archer, and sprang up, scattering the
+arrows right and left.
+
+"Master!" stammered Roger, "master--"
+
+As for Walkyn, he, having his mouth full and striving to speak, choked
+instead.
+
+"Lord--lord!" he gasped at last, "to see Garthlaxton go up in flame--O
+blessed sight! Its blood-soaked walls crumble to ruin--ah, sweet, rare
+sight! But alas! 'tis a mighty place and strong, and we but four--"
+
+"There be outlaws in the wild-wood!" quoth Beltane.
+
+"Ha!--the outlaws!" cried Giles, and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But bethink thee, tall brother--of what avail a thousand such poor,
+ragged, ill-armed rogues 'gainst the walls of Garthlaxton? They shall
+not tear you the stones with their finger-nails nor rend them with
+their teeth, see'st thou!"
+
+"To burn Garthlaxton!" growled Walkyn, biting at his fingers. "Ha, to
+give it to the fire! But the walls be mighty and strong and the outlaws
+scattered. 'Twould take a week to muster enough to attempt a storm, nor
+have they engines for battery--"
+
+"Enough!" said Beltane rising, his brows close drawn, "now hearken, and
+mark me well; the hole whereby one man came out may let a thousand in.
+Give me but an hundred men at my back and Garthlaxton shall be aflame
+ere dawn. So, come now, Walkyn--bring me to the outlaws."
+
+"But lord, these be very wild men, obedient to no law save their own,
+and will follow none but their own; lawless men forsooth, governed only
+by the sword and made desperate by wrong and fear of the rope--"
+
+"Then 'tis time one learned them other ways, Walkyn. So now I command
+thee, bring me to them--'tis said thou wert great among them once."
+
+Hereupon Walkyn rose and taking up his mighty axe twirled it lightly in
+his hand. "Behold, lord," said he, "by virtue of this good axe am I
+free of the wild-wood; for, long since, when certain lords of Black Ivo
+burned our manor, and our mother and sister and father therein, my twin
+brother and I had fashioned two axes such as few men might wield--this
+and another--and thus armed, took to the green where other wronged men
+joined us till we counted many a score tall fellows, lusty fighters
+all. And many of Ivo's rogues we slew until of those knights and
+men-at-arms that burned our home there none remained save Red Pertolepe
+and Gui of Allerdale. But in the green--love came--even to me--so I laid
+by mine axe and vengeance likewise and came to know happiness until--upon
+a day--they hanged my brother, and thereafter they slew--her--my wife
+and child--e'en as ye saw. Then would I have joined the outlaws again.
+But in my place they had set up one Tostig, a sturdy rogue and foul,
+who ruleth by might of arm and liveth but for plunder--and worse. Him I
+would have fought, but upon that night I fell in with thee. Thus, see
+you, though I am free of the wild, power with these outlaws have I
+none. So, an I should bring thee into their secret lurking-place,
+Tostig would assuredly give thee to swift death, nor could I save thee--"
+
+"Yet must I go," said Beltane, "since, while I live, vowed am I to free
+Pentavalon. And what, think you, is Pentavalon? 'Tis not her hills and
+valleys, her towns and cities, but the folk that dwell therein; they,
+each one, man and woman and child, the rich and poor, the high and low,
+the evil and the good, aye, all those that live in outlawry--these are
+Pentavalon. So now will I go unto these wild men, and once they follow
+my call, ne'er will I rest until they be free men every one. Each blow
+they strike, the wounds they suffer, shall win them back to honourable
+life, to hearth and home--and thus shall they be free indeed. So,
+Walkyn, bring me to the outlaws!"
+
+Then stood Walkyn and looked upon Beltane 'neath heavy brows, nothing
+speaking, and turned him of a sudden and, striding forth of the cave,
+came back bearing another great axe.
+
+"Lord," said he, "thy long sword is missing, methinks. Take now this
+axe in place of it--'twas my brother's once. See, I have kept it
+bright, for I loved him. He was a man. Yet man art thou also, worthy,
+methinks, and able to wield it. Take it therefore, lord Duke that art
+my brother-in-arms; mayhap it shall aid thee to bring order in the
+wild-wood and win Pentavalon to freedom. Howbeit, wheresoe'er thou dost
+go, e'en though it be to shame and failure, I am with thee!"
+
+"And I!" cried Giles, reaching for his bow.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Roger.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
+
+
+The sun was down what time they left the hill country and came out upon
+a wide heath void of trees and desolate, where was a wind cold and
+clammy to chill the flesh, where rank-growing rush and reed stirred
+fitfully, filling the dark with stealthy rustlings.
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, shivering and glancing about him, "here is
+Hangstone Waste, and yonder the swamps of Hundleby Fen--you can smell
+them from here! And 'tis an evil place, this, for 'tis said the souls
+of murdered folk do meet here betimes, and hold high revel when the
+moon be full. Here, on wild nights witches and warlocks ride shrieking
+upon the wind, with goblins damned--"
+
+"Ha, say ye so, good Roger?" quoth the archer, "now the sweet Saint
+Giles go with us--amen!" and he crossed himself devoutly.
+
+So went they in silence awhile until they were come where the sedge
+grew thick and high above whispering ooze, and where trees, stunted and
+misshapen, lifted knotted arms in the gloom.
+
+"Lord," spake Walkyn, his voice low and awe-struck, "here is the marsh,
+a place of death for them that know it not, where, an a man tread awry,
+is a quaking slime to suck him under. Full many a man lieth 'neath the
+reeds yonder, for there is but one path, very narrow and winding--
+follow close then, and step where I shall step."
+
+"Aye, master," whispered Roger, "and look ye touch no tree as ye go;
+'tis said they do grow from the bones of perished men, so touch them
+not lest some foul goblin blast thee."
+
+So went they, following a narrow track that wound betwixt slow-stirring
+sedge, past trees huddled and distorted that seemed to writhe and
+shiver in the clammy air until, beyond the swamp, they came to a place
+of rocks where ragged crags loomed high and vague before them. Now, all
+at once, Walkyn raised a warning hand, as from the shadow of those
+rocks, a hoarse voice challenged:
+
+"Stand!" cried the voice, "who goes?"
+
+"What, and is it thou, rogue Perkyn?" cried Walkyn, "art blind not to
+know me?"
+
+"Aye," growled the voice, "but blind or no, I see others with thee."
+
+"Good friends all!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Stand forth that I may see these friends o' thine!" Drawing near,
+Beltane beheld a man in filthy rags who held a long bow in his hand
+with an arrow on the string, at sight of whom Roger muttered and Giles
+held his nose and spat.
+
+"Aha," growled the man Perkyn, peering under his matted hair, "I like
+not the looks o' these friends o' thine--"
+
+"Nor we thine, foul fellow," quoth Giles, and spat again whole-heartedly.
+
+"How!" cried Walkyn fiercely, "d'ye dare bid Walkyn stand, thou dog's
+meat? Must I flesh mine axe on thy vile carcase?"
+
+"Not till I feather a shaft in thee," growled Perkyn, "what would ye?"
+
+"Speak with Eric o' the Noose."
+
+"Aha, and what would ye with half-hung Eric, forsooth? Tostig's our
+chief, and Tostig's man am I. As for Eric--"
+
+"Aye--aye, and what of Eric?" spake a third voice--a soft voice and
+liquid, and a man stepped forth of the rocks with two other men at his
+heels.
+
+"Now well met, Eric o' the Noose," quoth Walkyn. "I bring promise of
+more booty, and mark this, Eric--I bring also him that you wot of."
+
+Now hereupon the man Eric drew near, a broad-set man clad in skins and
+rusty mail who looked upon Beltane with head strangely askew, and
+touched a furtive hand to his battered head-piece.
+
+"Ye come at an evil hour," said he, speaking low-voiced. "Tostig
+holdeth high feast and revel, for to-day we took a rich booty at the
+ford beyond Bassingthorp--merchants out of Winisfarne, with pack-horses
+well laden--and there were women also--in especial, one very fair. Her,
+Tostig bore hither. But a while since, when he bade them bring her to
+him, behold she had stabbed herself with her bodkin. So is she dead and
+Tostig raging. Thus I say, ye come in an evil hour."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane. "Methinks we come in good hour. I am fain
+to speak with Tostig--come!" and he stepped forward, but Eric caught
+him by the arm:
+
+"Messire," said he soft-voiced, "yonder be over five score lusty
+fellows, fierce and doughty fighters all, that live but to do the will
+of Tostig and do proclaim him chief since he hath proved himself full
+oft mightiest of all--"
+
+"Ah," nodded Beltane, "a strong man!"
+
+"Beyond equal. A fierce man that knoweth not mercy, swift to anger and
+joyful to slay at all times--"
+
+"Why, look you," sighed Beltane, "neither am I a lamb. Come, fain am I
+to speak with this Tostig."
+
+A while stood Eric, head aslant, peering at Beltane, then, at a
+muttered word from Walkyn, he shook his head and beckoning the man
+Perkyn aside, led the way through a cleft in the rocks and up a
+precipitous path beyond; and as he went, Beltane saw him loosen sword
+in scabbard.
+
+Ever as they clomb, the path grew more difficult, until at last they
+were come to a parapet or outwork with mantelets of osiers beyond,
+cunningly wrought, above which a pike-head glimmered and from beyond
+which a voice challenged them; but at a word from Eric the sentinel
+stood aside and behold, a narrow opening in the parapet through which
+they passed and so up another path defended by yet another parapet of
+osiers. Now of a sudden, having climbed the ascent, Beltane paused and
+stood leaning upon his axe, for, from where he now stood, he looked
+down into a great hollow, green and rock-begirt, whose steep sides were
+shaded by trees and dense-growing bushes. In the midst of this hollow a
+fire burned whose blaze showed many wild figures that sprawled round
+about in garments of leather and garments of skins; its ruddy light
+showed faces fierce and hairy; it glinted on rusty mail and flashed
+back from many a dinted head-piece and broad spear-head; and upon the
+air was the sound of noisy talk and boisterous laughter. Through the
+midst of this great green hollow a stream wound that broadened out in
+one place into a still and sleepy pool upon whose placid surface stars
+seemed to float, a deep pool whereby was a tall tree. Now beneath this
+tree, far removed from the fire, sat a great swarthy fellow, chin on
+fist, scowling down at that which lay at his feet, and of a sudden he
+spurned this still and silent shape with savage foot.
+
+"Oswin!" he cried, "Walcher! Throw me this useless carrion into the
+pool!" Hereupon came two sturdy rogues who, lifting the dead betwixt
+them, bore her to the edge of the silent pool. Once they swung and
+twice, and lo, the floating stars shivered to a sullen splash, and
+subsiding, rippled softly to the reedy banks.
+
+Slowly the swarthy giant rose and stood upon his legs, and Beltane knew
+him for the tallest man he had ever seen.
+
+"Oswin," quoth he, and beckoned with his finger, "Oswin, did I not bid
+thee keep watch upon yon dainty light o' love?" Now meeting the
+speaker's baleful eye, the man Oswin sprang back, striving to draw
+sword, but even so an iron hand was about his throat, he was lifted by
+a mighty arm that held him a while choking and kicking above the silent
+pool until he had gasped and kicked his life out 'midst shouts and
+gibes and hoarse laughter; thereafter again the sullen waters quivered,
+were still, and Tostig stood, empty-handed, frowning down at those
+floating stars.
+
+Then Beltane leapt down into the hollow and strode swift-footed, nor
+stayed until he stood face to face with Tostig beside the sullen pool.
+But swift as he had come, Roger had followed, and now stood to his
+back, hand on sword.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Tostig in staring amaze, and stood a while eying Beltane
+with hungry gaze. "By Thor!" said he, "but 'tis a good armour and
+should fit me well. Off with it--off, I am Tostig!" So saying, he drew
+a slow pace nearer, his teeth agleam, his great hands opening and
+shutting, whereat out leapt Roger's blade; but now the outlaws came
+running to throng about them, shouting and jostling one another, and
+brandishing their weapons yet striking no blow, waiting gleefully for
+what might befall; and ever Beltane looked upon Tostig, and Tostig,
+assured and confident, smiled grimly upon Beltane until the ragged
+throng about them, watching eager-eyed, grew hushed and still. Then
+Beltane spake:
+
+"Put up thy sword, Roger," said he, "in very truth this Tostig is a
+foul thing and should not die by thy good steel--so put up thy sword,
+Roger."
+
+And now, no man spake or moved, but all stood rigid and scarce
+breathing, waiting for the end. For Tostig, smiling no more, stood
+agape as one that doubts his senses, then laughed he loud and long, and
+turned as if to reach his sword that leaned against the tree and, in
+that instant, sprang straight for Beltane's throat, his griping hands
+outstretched; but swift as he, Beltane, letting fall his axe, slipped
+aside and smote with mailed fist, and as Tostig reeled from the blow,
+closed with and caught him in a deadly wrestling hold, for all men
+might see Beltane had locked one arm 'neath Tostig's bearded chin and
+that Tostig's shaggy head was bending slowly backwards. Then the
+outlaws surged closer, a dark, menacing ring where steel flickered; but
+lo! to Roger's right hand sprang Walkyn, gripping his axe, and upon his
+left came Giles, his long-bow poised, a shaft upon the string; so stood
+the three alert and watchful, eager for fight, what time the struggle
+waxed ever more fierce and deadly. To and fro the wrestlers swayed,
+locked in vicious grapple, grimly silent save for the dull trampling of
+their feet upon the moss and the gasp and hiss of panting breaths;
+writhing and twisting, stumbling and slipping, or suddenly still with
+feet that gripped the sod, with bulging muscles, swelled and rigid,
+that cracked beneath the strain, while eye glared death to eye. But
+Beltane's iron fingers were fast locked, and little by little, slow but
+sure, Tostig's swart head was tilting up and back, further and further,
+until his forked beard pointed upwards--until, of a sudden, there brake
+from his writhen lips a cry, loud and shrill that sank to groan and
+ended in a sound--a faint sound, soft and sudden. But now, behold,
+Tostig's head swayed loosely backwards behind his shoulders, his knees
+sagged, his great arms loosed their hold: then, or he could fall,
+Beltane stooped beneath and putting forth all his strength, raised him
+high above his head, and panting, groaning with the strain, turned and
+hurled dead Tostig down into the pool whose sullen waters leapt to a
+mighty splash, and presently subsiding, whispered softly in the reeds;
+and for a while no man stirred or spoke, only Beltane stood upon the
+marge and panted.
+
+Then turned he to the outlaws, and catching up his axe therewith
+pointed downwards to that stilly pool whose placid waters seemed to
+hold nought but a glory of floating stars.
+
+"Behold," he panted, "here was an evil man--a menace to well-being,
+wherefore is he dead. But as for ye, come tell me--how long will ye be
+slaves?"
+
+Hereupon rose a hoarse murmur that grew and grew--Then stood the man
+Perkyn forward, and scowling, pointed at Beltane with his spear.
+
+"Comrades!" he cried, "he hath slain Tostig! He hath murdered our
+leader--come now, let us slay him!" and speaking, he leapt at Beltane
+with levelled spear, but quick as he leapt, so leapt Walkyn, his long
+arms rose and fell, and thereafter, setting his foot upon Perkyn's
+body, he shook his bloody axe in the scowling faces of the outlaws.
+
+"Back, fools!" he cried, "have ye no eyes? See ye not 'tis he of whom I
+spake--he that burned Belsaye gallows and brake ope the dungeon of
+Belsaye--that is friend to all distressed folk and broken men; know ye
+not Beltane the Duke? Hear him, ye fools, hear him!"
+
+Hereupon the outlaws stared upon Beltane and upon each other, and
+fumbled with their weapons as men that knew not their own minds, while
+Beltane, wiping sweat from him, leaned upon his axe and panted, with
+the three at his elbow alert and watchful, eager for fight; but Perkyn
+lay where he had fallen, very still and with his face hidden in the
+grass.
+
+Of a sudden, Beltane laid by his axe and reached out his hands.
+
+"Brothers," said he, "how long will ye be slaves?"
+
+"Slaves, forsooth?" cried one, "slaves are we to no man--here within
+the green none dare gainsay us--we be free men, one and all. Is't not
+so, comrades?"
+
+"Aye! Aye!" roared a hundred voices.
+
+"Free?" quoth Beltane, "free? Aye, free to wander hither and thither,
+hiding forever within the wilderness, living ever in awe and dread lest
+ye die in a noose. Free to go in rags, to live like beasts, to die
+unpitied and be thrown into a hole, or left to rot i' the sun--call ye
+this freedom, forsooth? Hath none among ye desire for hearth and home,
+for wife and child--are ye become so akin to beasts indeed?"
+
+Now hereupon, divers muttered in their beards and others looked askance
+on one another. Then spake the man Eric, of the wry neck.
+
+"Messire," quoth he, "all that you say is sooth, but what remedy can ye
+bring to such as we. Say now?"
+
+Then spake Beltane on this wise:
+
+"All ye that have suffered wrong, all ye that be broken men--hearken!
+Life is short and quick to escape a man, yet do all men cherish it, and
+to what end? What seek ye of life--is it arms, is it riches? Go with
+me and I will teach ye how they shall be come by. Are ye heavy-hearted
+by reason of your wrongs--of bitter shame wrought upon the weak and
+innocent? Seek ye vengeance?--would ye see tyrants die?--seek ye their
+blood, forsooth? Then follow me!"
+
+Now at this the outlaws began to murmur among themselves, wagging their
+heads one to another and voicing their grievances thus:
+
+"They cut off mine ears for resisting my lord's taxes, and for this I
+would have justice!"
+
+"They burned me in the hand for striking my lord's hunting dog!"
+
+"I had a wife once, and she was young and fair; so my lord's son took
+her and thereafter gave her for sport among his huntsmen, whereof she
+died--and for this would I have vengeance!"
+
+"They burned my home, and therein wife and child--and for this would I
+have vengeance!"
+
+"They cut off my brother's hands!"
+
+"They put out my father's eyes!"
+
+Quoth Eric:
+
+"And me they sought to hang to mine own roof-tree!--behold this crooked
+neck o' mine--so am I Eric o' the Noose. Each one of us hath suffered
+wrong, great or little, so live we outlaws in the green, lawless men in
+lawless times, seeking ever vengeance for our wrongs. Who then shall
+bring us to our desire, how shall our grievous wrongs be righted? An we
+follow, whither would'st thou lead us?"
+
+"By dangerous ways," answered Beltane, "through fire and battle. But by
+fire men are purged, and by battle wrongs may be done away. An ye
+follow, 'tis like some of us shall die, but by such death our brethren
+shall win to honour, and home, and happiness, for happiness is all
+men's birthright. Ye are but a wild, unordered rabble, yet are ye men!
+'Tis true ye are ill-armed and ragged, yet is your cause a just one. Ye
+bear weapons and have arms to smite--why then lurk ye here within the
+wild-wood? Will not fire burn? Will not steel cut? He that is not
+coward, let him follow me!"
+
+"Aye," cried a score of harsh voices, "but whither--whither?"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Be there many among ye that know Sir Pertolepe the Red?"
+
+Now went there up a roar, deep-lunged and ominous; brawny fists were
+shaken and weapons flashed and glittered.
+
+"Ah--we know him--the Red Wolf--we know him--ah!"
+
+"Then tell me," said Beltane, "will not steel cut? Will not fire burn?
+Arise, I say, rise up and follow me. So will we smite Tyranny this
+night and ere the dawn Garthlaxton shall be ablaze!"
+
+"Garthlaxton!" cried Eric, "Garthlaxton!" and thereafter all men stared
+on Beltane as one that is mad.
+
+"Look now," said Beltane, "Sir Pertolepe hath ridden forth with all his
+company to join Black Ivo's banner. Thus, within Garthlaxton his men be
+few; moreover I know a secret way beneath the wall. Well, is't enough?
+Who among ye will follow, and smite for freedom and Pentavalon?"
+
+"That will I!" cried Eric, falling upon his knee.
+
+"And I! And I!" cried others, and so came they to crowd eagerly about
+Beltane, to touch his hand or the links of his bright mail.
+
+"Lead us!" they cried, "come--lead us!"
+
+"Nay first--hearken! From henceforth outlaws are ye none. Come now, one
+and all, draw, and swear me on your swords:--To make your strength a
+shelter to the weak; to smite henceforth but in honourable cause for
+freedom, for justice and Pentavalon--swear me upon your swords to abide
+by this oath, and to him that breaks it--Death. Swear!"
+
+So there upon their knees with gleaming swords uplifted, these wild men
+swore the oath. Then up sprang Walkyn, pointing to Beltane with his
+axe.
+
+"Brothers!" he cried, "behold a man that doeth such deeds as no man
+ever did--that burned the gallows--burst ope the dungeon of Belsaye
+and slew Tostig the mighty with naked hands! Behold Beltane the Duke!
+Is he not worthy to be our leader--shall we not follow him?" Then came
+a roar of voices:
+
+"Aye--let us follow--let us follow!"
+
+"On, then!" cried Walkyn, his glittering axe aloft. "To Garthlaxton!"
+
+Then from an hundred brawny throats a roar went up to heaven, a cry
+that hissed through clenched teeth and rang from eager lips, wilder,
+fiercer than before. And the cry was:--
+
+"Garthlaxton!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
+
+
+It was in the cold, still hour 'twixt night and dawn that Beltane
+halted his wild company upon the edge of the forest where ran a
+water-brook gurgling softly in the dark; here did he set divers eager
+fellows to fell a tree and thereafter to lop away branch and twig, and
+so, bidding them wait, stole forward alone. Soon before him rose
+Garthlaxton, frowning blacker than the night, a gloom of tower and
+turret, of massy wall and battlement, its mighty keep rising stark and
+grim against a faint light of stars. Now as he stood to scan with
+purposeful eye donjon and bartizan, merlon and arrow-slit for gleam of
+light, for glint of mail or pike-head, he grew aware of a sound hard
+by, yet very faint and sweet, that came and went--a small and silvery
+chime he could by no means account for. So crept he near and nearer,
+quick-eyed and with ears on the stretch till he was stayed by the
+broad, sluggish waters of the moat; and thus, he presently espied
+something that moved in the gloom high above the great gateway,
+something that stirred, pendulous, in the cold-breathing air of coming
+dawn.
+
+Now as he peered upward through the gloom, came the wind, colder,
+stronger than before--a chill and ghostly wind that flapped the heavy
+folds of his mantle, that sighed forlornly in the woods afar, and
+softly smote the misty, jingling thing above--swayed it--swung it out
+from the denser shadows of scowling battlement so that Beltane could
+see at last, and seeing--started back faint and sick, his flesh a-creep,
+his breath in check 'twixt pale and rigid lips. And beholding what
+manner of thing this was, he fell upon his knees with head bowed low
+yet spake no prayer, only his hands gripped fiercely upon his axe;
+while to and fro in the dark above, that awful shape turned and swung--
+its flaunting cock's-comb dreadfully awry, its motley stained and rent
+--a wretched thing, twisted and torn, a thing of blasting horror.
+
+And ever as it swung upon the air, it rang a chime upon its little,
+silver bells; a merry chime and mocking, that seemed to gibe at coming
+day.
+
+Now in a while, looking upon that awful, dim-seen shape, Beltane spake
+low-voiced.
+
+"O Beda!" he whispered, "O manly heart hid 'neath a Fool's disguise! O
+Fool, that now art wiser than the wisest! Thy pains and sorrows have
+lifted thee to heaven, methinks, and freed now of thy foolish clay thou
+dost walk with angels and look within the face of God! But, by thine
+agonies endured, now do I swear this night to raise to thy poor Fool's
+body a pyre fit for the flesh of kings!"
+
+Then Beltane arose and lifting high his axe, shook it against
+Garthlaxton's frowning might, where was neither glint of armour nor
+gleam of pike-head, and turning, hasted back to that dark and silent
+company which, at his word, rose up from brake and fern and thicket,
+and followed whither he led, a long line, soundless and phantom-like
+within a phantom world, where a grey mist swirled and drifted in the
+death-cold air of dawn. Swift and silent they followed him, these wild
+men, with fierce eyes and scowling faces all set toward that mighty
+keep that loomed high against the glimmering stars. Axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, in rusty mail, in rags of leather and skins, they
+crept from bush to bush, from tree to tree, till they were come to that
+little pool wherein Beltane had bathed him aforetime in the dawn. Here
+they halted what time Beltane sought to and fro along the bank of the
+stream, until at last, within a screen of leaves and vines he found the
+narrow opening he sought. Then turned he and beckoned those ghostly,
+silent shapes about him, and speaking quick and low, counselled them
+thus:
+
+"Look now, this secret burrow leadeth under the foundations of the
+keep; thus, so soon as we be in, let Walkyn and Giles with fifty men
+haste to smite all within the gate-house, then up with portcullis and
+down with drawbridge and over into the barbican there to lie in ambush,
+what time Roger and I, with Eric here and the fifty and five, shall
+fire the keep and, hid within the dark, raise a mighty outcry, that
+those within the keep and they that garrison the castle, roused by the
+fire and our shout, shall issue out amazed. So will we fall upon them
+and they, taken by surprise, shall seek to escape us by the gate. Then,
+Walkyn, sally ye out of the barbican and smite them at the drawbridge,
+so shall we have them front and rear. How think you? Is it agreed?"
+
+"Agreed! agreed!" came the gruff and whispered chorus.
+
+"Then last--and mark this well each one--till that I give the word, let
+no man speak! Let death be swift, but let it be silent."
+
+Then, having drawn his mail-hood about his face and laced it close,
+Beltane caught up his axe and stepped into the tunnel. There he kindled
+a torch of pine and stooping 'neath the low roof, went on before. One
+by one the others followed, Roger and Giles, Walkyn and Eric bearing
+the heavy log upon their shoulders, and behind them axe and bow, sword
+and pike and gisarm, a wild company in garments of leather and garments
+of skins, soft-treading and silent as ghosts--yet purposeful ghosts
+withal.
+
+Soon came they to the iron door and Beltane stood aside, whereon the
+mighty four, bending brawny shoulders, swung the log crashing against
+the iron; thrice and four times smote they, might and main, ere rusted
+bolt and rivet gave beneath the battery and the door swung wide. Down
+went the log, and ready steel flashed as Beltane strode on, his torch
+aflare, 'twixt oozing walls, up steps of stone that yet were slimy to
+the tread, on and up by winding passage and steep-climbing stairway,
+until they came where was a parting of the ways--the first still
+ascending, the second leading off at a sharp angle. Here Beltane paused
+in doubt, and bidding the others halt, followed the second passage
+until he was come to a narrow flight of steps that rose to the stone
+roof above. But here, in the wall beside the steps, he beheld a rusty
+iron lever, and reaching up, he bore upon the lever and lo! the
+flagstone above the steps reared itself on end and showed a square of
+gloom beyond.
+
+Then went Beltane and signalled to the others; so, one by one, they
+followed him up through the opening into that same gloomy chamber where
+he had lain in bonds and hearkened to wails of torment; but now the
+place was bare and empty and the door stood ajar. So came Beltane
+thither, bearing the torch, and stepped softly into the room beyond, a
+wide room, arras-hung and richly furnished, and looking around upon the
+voluptuous luxury of gilded couch and wide, soft bed, Beltane frowned
+suddenly upon a woman's dainty, broidered shoe.
+
+"Roger," he whispered, "what place is this?"
+
+"'Tis Red Pertolepe's bed-chamber, master."
+
+"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "'tis rank of him, methinks--lead on, Roger, go
+you and Walkyn before them in the dark, and wait for me in the bailey."
+
+One by one, the wild company went by Beltane, fierce-eyed and stealthy,
+until there none remained save Giles, who, leaning upon his bow, looked
+with yearning eyes upon the costly splendour.
+
+"Aha," he whispered, "a pretty nest, tall brother. I'll warrant ye full
+many a fair white dove hath beat her tender pinions--"
+
+"Come!" said Beltane, and speaking, reached out his torch to bed-alcove
+and tapestried wall; and immediately silk and arras went up in a puff
+of flame--a leaping fire, yellow-tongued, that licked at gilded roof-beam
+and carven screen and panel.
+
+"Brother!" whispered Giles, "O brother, 'tis a sin, methinks, to lose
+so much good booty. That coffer, now--Ha!" With the cry the archer
+leapt out through the tapestried doorway. Came the ring of steel, a
+heavy fall, and thereafter a shriek that rang and echoed far and near
+ere it sank to a silence wherein a voice whispered:
+
+"Quick, brother--the besotted fools stir at last--away!"
+
+Then, o'erleaping that which sprawled behind the curtain, Beltane sped
+along a passage and down a winding stair, yet pausing, ever and anon,
+with flaring torch: and ever small fires waxed behind him. So came he
+at last to the sally-port and hurling the blazing torch behind him,
+closed the heavy door. And now, standing upon the platform, he looked
+down into the inner bailey. Dawn was at hand, a glimmering mist wherein
+vague forms moved, what time Walkyn, looming ghostly and gigantic in
+the mist, mustered his silent, ghostly company ere, lifting his axe, he
+turned and vanished, his fifty phantoms at his heels.
+
+Now glancing upward at the rugged face of the keep, Beltane beheld thin
+wisps of smoke that curled from every arrow-slit, slow-wreathing
+spirals growing ever denser ere they vanished in the clammy mists of
+dawn, while from within a muffled clamour rose--low and inarticulate
+yet full of terror. Then Beltane strode down the zig-zag stair and came
+forthright upon Roger, pale and anxious, who yet greeted him in joyous
+whisper:
+
+"Master, I began to fear for thee. What now?"
+
+"To the arch of the parapet yonder. Let each man crouch there in the
+gloom, nor stir until I give word."
+
+Now as they crouched thus, with weapons tight-gripped and eyes that
+glared upon the coming day, a sudden trumpet brayed alarm upon the
+battlements--shouts were heard far and near, and a running of mailed
+feet; steel clashed, the great castle, waking at last, was all astir
+about them and full of sudden bustle and tumult. And ever the clamour
+of voices waxed upon the misty air from hurrying groups dim-seen that
+flitted by, arming as they ran, and ever the fifty and five, crouching
+in the dark, impatient for the sign, watched Beltane--his firm-set lip,
+his frowning brow; and ever from belching arrow-slit the curling
+smoke-wreaths waxed blacker and more dense. Of a sudden, out from the
+narrow sally-port burst a huddle of choking men, whose gasping cries
+pierced high above the clamour:
+
+"Fire! Fire! Sir Fulk is slain! Sir Fulk lieth death-smitten! Fire!"
+
+From near and far men came running--men affrighted and dazed with
+sleep, a pushing, jostling, unordered throng, and the air hummed with
+the babel of their voices.
+
+And now at last--up sprang Beltane, his mittened hand aloft.
+
+"Arise!" he cried, "Arise and smite for Pentavalon!" And from the gloom
+behind him a hoarse roar went up: "Arise! Arise--Pentavalon!" Then,
+while yet the war-cry thundered in the air, they swept down on that
+disordered press, and the bailey rang and echoed with the fell sounds
+of a close-locked, reeling battle; a hateful din of hoarse shouting, of
+shrieks and cries and clashing steel.
+
+Axe and spear, sword and pike and gisarm smote and thrust and swayed;
+stumbling feet spurned and trampled yielding forms that writhed,
+groaning, beneath the press; faces glared at faces haggard with the
+dawn, while to and fro, through swirling mist and acrid smoke, the
+battle rocked and swayed. But now the press thinned out, broke and
+yielded before Beltane's whirling axe, and turning, he found Roger
+beside him all a-sweat and direfully besplashed, his mailed breast
+heaving as he leaned gasping upon a broadsword red from point to hilt.
+
+"Ha, master!" he panted,--"'tis done already--see, they break and fly!"
+
+"On!" cried Beltane, "on--pursue! pursue! after them to the gate!"
+
+With axe and spear, with sword and pike and gisarm they smote the
+fugitives across the wide space of the outer bailey, under the narrow
+arch of the gate-house and out upon the drawbridge beyond. But here, of
+a sudden, the fugitives checked their flight as out from the barbican
+Walkyn leapt, brandishing his axe, and with the fifty at his back. So
+there, upon the bridge, the fight raged fiercer than before; men smote
+and died, until of Sir Pertolepe's garrison there none remained save
+they that littered that narrow causeway.
+
+"Now by the good Saint Giles--my patron saint," gasped Giles, wiping
+the sweat from him, "here was a good and sweet affray, tall brother--a
+very proper fight, _pugnus et calcibus_--while it lasted--"
+
+"Aye," growled Walkyn, spurning a smitten wretch down into the moat,
+"'twas ended too soon! Be these all in faith, lord?"
+
+But now upon the air rose shrill cries and piercing screams that seemed
+to split the dawn.
+
+"O--women!" cried Giles, and forthwith cleansed and sheathed his sword
+and fell to twirling his beard.
+
+"Aha, the women!" cried a ragged fellow, turning about, "'tis their
+turn--let us to the women--" But a strong hand caught and set him aside
+and Beltane strode on before them all, treading swift and light until
+he was come to the chapel that stood beside the banqueting hall. And
+here he beheld many women, young and fair for the most part, huddled
+about the high altar or struggling in the ragged arms that grasped
+them. Now did they (these poor souls) looking up, behold one in
+knightly mail stained and foul with battle, yet very young and comely
+of face, who leaned him upon a mighty, blood-stained axe and scowled
+'neath frowning brows. Yet his frown was not for them, nor did his blue
+eyes pause at any one of them, whereat hope grew within them and with
+white hands outstretched they implored his pity.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," said he, "as men this night have ye fought in
+goodly cause. Will ye now forget your manhood and new-found honour, ye
+that did swear to me upon your swords? Come, loose me these women!"
+
+"Not so," cried one, a great, red-headed rogue, "we have fought to
+pleasure thee--now is our turn--"
+
+"Loose me these women!" cried Beltane, his blue eyes fierce.
+
+"Nay, these be our booty, and no man shall gainsay us. How think ye,
+comrades?"
+
+Now Beltane smiled upon this red-haired knave and, smiling, drew a slow
+pace nearer, the great axe a-swing in his mailed hand.
+
+"Fellow," quoth he, kind-voiced, "get thee out now, lest I slay thee!"
+Awhile the fellow glared upon Beltane, beheld his smiling look and
+deadly eye, and slowly loosing his trembling captive, turned and strode
+out, muttering as he went. Then spake Beltane to the shrinking women,
+yet even so his blue eyes looked upon none of them. Quoth he:
+
+"Ye are free to go whither ye will. Take what ye will, none shall
+gainsay you, but get you gone within this hour, for in the hour
+Garthlaxton shall be no more."
+
+Then beckoning Walkyn he bade him choose six men, and turning to the
+women--
+
+"These honourable men shall bring you safe upon your way--haste you to
+be gone. And should any ask how Garthlaxton fell, say, 'twas by the
+hand of God, as a sure and certain sign that Pentavalon shall yet arise
+to smite evil from her borders. Say also that he that spake you this
+was one Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore Duke of
+Pentavalon." Thus said Beltane unto these women, his brows knit, and
+with eyes that looked aside from each and every, and so went forth of
+the chapel.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
+
+
+Morning, young and fragrant, bedecked and brave with gems of dewy fire;
+a blithe morning, wherein trees stirred whispering and new-waked birds
+piped joyous welcome to the sun, whose level, far-flung beams filled
+the world with glory save where, far to the south, a pillar of smoke
+rose upon the stilly air, huge, awful, and black as sin--a writhing
+column shot with flame that went up high as heaven.
+
+  "O merry, aye merry, right merry I'll be,
+   To live and to love 'neath the merry green tree,
+   Nor the rain, nor the sleet,
+   Nor the cold, nor the heat,
+   I'll mind, if my love will come thither to me."
+
+Sang Giles, a sprig of wild flowers a-dance in his new-gotten,
+gleaming bascinet, his long-bow upon his mailed shoulder, and, strapped
+to his wide back, a misshapen bundle that clinked melodiously with
+every swinging stride; and, while he sang, the ragged rogues about him
+ceased their noise and ribaldry to hearken in delight, and when he
+paused, cried out amain for more. Whereupon Giles, nothing loth, brake
+forth afresh:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss,
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?
+   'Tis when the day is new begun,
+   'Tis to the setting of the sun,
+   Is time for kissing ever done?
+   Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"
+
+Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the
+many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood
+aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at
+Garthlaxton Keep.
+
+Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger
+paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word
+betwixt them.
+
+"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe
+a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton
+aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart
+of many a sorry wretch, methinks."
+
+"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with
+hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--God
+forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many
+shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless
+children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"
+
+"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So,
+Garthlaxton--smoke!"
+
+"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carcass
+smoked with thee!"
+
+"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "hell-fire shall
+have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So
+away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced
+throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our
+youthful, god-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is
+bright--"
+
+"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but
+a Fool!"
+
+"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall
+brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh,
+methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully
+touched his arm with tentative fingers.
+
+"Why, the torment is apt to change a man," said Walkyn, grim-smiling.
+"I have tried it and I know."
+
+Now hereupon Giles fell to whistling, Walkyn to silence and Roger to
+scowling; oft looking back, jealous-eyed, to where Beltane rode a black
+war-horse, his mail-coif thrown back, his chin upon his breast, his
+eyes gloomy and wistful; and as often as he looked, Roger sighed amain.
+Whereat at last the archer cried:
+
+"Good lack, Roger, and wherefore puff ye so? Why glower ye, man, and
+snort?"
+
+"Snort thyself!" growled Roger.
+
+"Nay, I had rather talk."
+
+"I had rather be silent."
+
+"Excellent, Roger; so will I talk for thee and me. First will I show
+three excellent reasons for happiness--_videlicit:_ the birds sing, I
+talk, and Garthlaxton burns.--"
+
+"I would thou did'st burn with it," growled Roger. "But here is a deed
+shall live when thou and I are dust, archer!"
+
+"Verily, good Roger, for here and now will I make a song on't for souls
+unborn to sing--a good song with a lilt to trip it lightly on the
+tongue, as thus:
+
+  "How Beltane burned Garthlaxton low
+   With lusty Giles, whose good yew bow
+   Sped many a caitiff rogue, I trow,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How!" exclaimed Roger, "here be two whole lines to thy knavish self
+and but one to our master?"
+
+"Aye," grumbled Walkyn, "and what of Roger?--what of me?--we were
+there also, methinks?"
+
+"Nay, show patience," said Giles, "we will amend that in the next
+triplet, thus:
+
+  "There Roger fought, and Walkyn too,
+   And Giles that bare the bow of yew;
+   O swift and strong his arrows flew,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"How think ye of that, now?"
+
+"I think, here is too much Giles," said Roger.
+
+"Forsooth, and say ye so indeed? Let us then to another verse:
+
+  "Walkyn a mighty axe did sway,
+   Black Roger's sword some few did slay,
+   Yet Giles slew many more than they,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair--and the
+lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?"
+
+"I think it a lie!" growled Roger.
+
+"Aye me!" sighed the archer, "thou'rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty
+belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue. Yet for thy behoof my song shall
+be ended, thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"_Par Dex!_" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled
+forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for
+thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap--so come, rejoice,
+my rueful Rogerkin--smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is
+ablaze."
+
+"And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty
+and two good men slain."
+
+"Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our
+youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall
+better love a live one--and thou wert ever a fool, Roger--so born and
+so bred. As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall
+divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of
+solace. Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty
+toys--you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here. As, item:
+a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems--
+a pretty piece! Item: a golden girdle from the East--very sweet and
+rare. Item: four silver candlesticks--heavy, Roger! Item: a gold hilted
+dagger--a notable trinket. Item--"
+
+A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside
+the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues
+appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was
+filled with fierce shouts and cries.
+
+"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with
+the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"
+
+"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for
+your devils or demons!"
+
+Quoth the archer:
+
+"_In nomen Dominum_--Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"
+
+"Foul daughter of an accursed dam!" quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a
+cross in the dust with his bow-stave.
+
+"With the eyes of an angel!" said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a
+maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a
+ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her
+ripe young beauty.
+
+"'Tis Mellent!" cried the fellow. "'Tis the witch's daughter that hath
+escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft--"
+
+"Nay--nay," panted the maid 'twixt pallid lips, "nought am I but a poor
+maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother. Ah, show pity--"
+
+"Witch!" roared a score of voices, "Witch!"
+
+"Not so, in sooth--in very sooth," she gasped 'twixt sobs of terror,
+"nought but a poor maid am I--and the man thrice sought me out and
+would have shamed me but that I escaped, for that I am very swift of
+foot--"
+
+"She lured me into the bog with devil-fires!" cried Gurth.
+
+"And would thou had'st rotted there!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, edging
+nearer. Now hereupon the maid turned and looked at Giles through the
+silken curtain of her black and glossy hair, and beholding the entreaty
+of that look, the virginal purity of those wide blue eyes, the archer
+stood awed and silent, his comely face grew red, grew pale--then, out
+flashed his dagger and he crouched to spring on Gurth; but, of a
+sudden, Beltane rode in between, at whose coming a shout went up and
+thereafter a silence fell. But now at sight of Beltane, the witch-maid
+uttered a strange cry, and shrinking beneath his look, crouched upon
+her knees and spake in strange, hushed accents.
+
+"Messire," she whispered, "mine eyes do tell me thou art the lord
+Beltane!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis so."
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "now glory be and thanks to God that I do see thee
+hale and well!" So saying, she shivered and covered her face. Now while
+Beltane yet stared, amazed by her saying, the bushes parted near by and
+a hooded figure stepped forth silent and soft of foot, at sight of whom
+all men gave back a pace, and Roger, trembling, drew a second cross in
+the dust with his bow-stave, what time a shout went up:
+
+"Ha!--the Witch--'tis the witch of Hangstone Waste herself!"
+
+Very still she stood, looking round upon them all with eyes that
+glittered 'neath the shadow of her hood; and when at last she spake,
+her voice was rich and sweet to hear.
+
+"Liar!" she said, and pointed at Gurth a long, white finger, "unhand
+her, liar, lest thou wither, flesh and bone, body and soul!" Now here,
+once again, men gave back cowering 'neath her glance, while Roger
+crossed himself devoutly.
+
+"The evil eye!" he muttered 'twixt chattering teeth, "cross thy
+fingers, Giles, lest she blast thee!" But Gurth shook his head and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "do ye forget? No witch hath power i' the sun! She
+can work no evil i' the sunshine. Seize her!--'tis an accursed hag--
+seize her! Bring her to the water and see an she can swim with a stone
+at her hag's neck. All witches are powerless by day. See, thus I spit
+upon and defy her!"
+
+Now hereupon a roar of anger went up and, for that they had feared her
+before, so now grew they more fierce; a score of eager hands dragged at
+her, hands that rent her cloak, that grasped with cruel fingers at her
+long grey hair, bending her this way and that; but she uttered no groan
+nor complaint, only the maid cried aloud most pitiful to hear, whereat
+Giles, dagger in hand, pushed and strove to come at Gurth. Then Beltane
+alighted from his horse and parting the throng with mailed hands, stood
+within the circle and looking round upon them laughed, and his laugh
+was harsh and bitter.
+
+"Forsooth, and must ye war with helpless women, O men of Pentavalon?"
+quoth he, and laughed again right scornfully; whereat those that held
+the witch relaxed their hold and fain would justify themselves.
+
+"She is a witch--a cursed witch!" they cried.
+
+"She is a woman," says Beltane.
+
+"Aye--a devil-woman--a notable witch--we know her of old!"
+
+"Verily," cried one, "'tis but a sennight since she plagued me with
+aching teeth--"
+
+"And me with an ague!" cried another.
+
+"She bewitched my shafts that they all flew wide o' the mark!" cried a
+third.
+
+"She cast on me a spell whereby I nigh did perish i' the fen--"
+
+"She is a hag--she's demon-rid and shall to the fire!" they shouted
+amain. "Ha!--witch!--witch!"
+
+"That doeth no man harm by day," said Beltane, "so by day shall no man
+harm her--"
+
+"Aye, lord," quoth Roger, "but how by night? 'tis by night she may work
+her spells and blast any that she will, or haunt them with goblins
+damned that they do run mad, or--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane frowning, "on me let her bewitchments fall;
+thus, see you, an I within this next week wither and languish 'neath
+her spells, then let her burn an ye will: but until this flesh doth
+shrivel on these my bones, no man shall do her hurt. So now let there
+be an end--free these women, let your ranks be ordered, and march--"
+
+"Comrades all!" cried red-haired Gurth, "will ye be slaves henceforth
+to this girl-faced youth? We have arms now and rich booty. Let us back
+to the merry greenwood, where all men are equal--come, let us be gone,
+and take these witches with us to our sport--"
+
+But in this moment Beltane turned.
+
+"Girl-faced, quotha?" he cried; and beholding his look, Gurth of a
+sudden loosed the swooning maid and, drawing sword, leapt and smote at
+Beltane's golden head; but Beltane caught the blow in his mailed hand,
+and snapped the blade in sunder, and, seizing Gurth about the loins,
+whirled him high in air; then, while all men blenched and held their
+breath waiting the thud of his broken body in the dust, Beltane stayed
+and set him down upon his feet. And lo! Gurth's cheek was pale, his eye
+wide and vacant, and his soul sat numbed within him. So Beltane took
+him by the throat, and, laughing fierce, shook him to and fro.
+
+"Beast!" said he, "unfit art thou to march with these my comrades. Now
+therefore do I cast thee out. Take thy life and go, and let any follow
+thee that will--Pentavalon needeth not thy kind. Get thee from among
+us, empty-handed as I found thee--thy share of treasure shall go to
+better men!"
+
+Now even as Beltane spake, Gurth's red head sank until his face was
+hidden within his hands; strong hands, that slowly clenched themselves
+into anger-trembling fists. And ever as Beltane spake, the witch,
+tossing back her long grey hair, looked and looked on him with bright
+and eager eyes; a wondering look, quick to note his shape and goodly
+size, his wide blue eyes, his long and golden hair and the proud, high
+carriage of his head: and slowly, to her wonderment came awe and
+growing joy. But Beltane spake on unheeding:
+
+"Thou dost know me for a hunted man with a price upon my head, but thou
+art thing so poor thy death can pleasure no man. So take thy life and
+get thee hence, but come not again, for in that same hour will I hang
+thee in a halter--go!" So, with drooping head, Gurth of the red hair
+turned him about, and plunging into the green, was gone; then Beltane
+looked awhile upon the others that stood shifting on their feet, and
+with never a word betwixt them.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "mighty deeds do lie before us--such works as
+only true men may achieve. And what is a man? A man, methinks, is he,
+that, when he speaketh, speaketh ever from his heart; that, being quick
+to hate all evil actions, is quicker to forgive, and who, fearing
+neither ghost nor devil, spells nor witchcraft, dreadeth only
+dishonour, and thus, living without fear, he without fear may die. So
+now God send we all be men, my brothers. To your files there--pikes to
+the front and rear, bows to the flanks--forward!"
+
+But now, as with a ring and clash and tramp of feet the ragged company
+fell into rank and order, the witch-woman came swiftly beside Beltane
+and, touching him not, spake softly in his ear.
+
+"Beltane--Beltane, lord Duke of Pentavalon!" Now hereupon Beltane
+started, and turning, looked upon her grave-eyed.
+
+"What would ye, woman?" he questioned.
+
+"Born wert thou of a mother chaste as fair, true wife unto the Duke thy
+father--a woman sweet and holy who liveth but to the good of others:
+yet was brother slain by brother, and thou baptised in blood ere now!"
+
+"Woman," quoth he, his strong hands a-tremble, "who art thou--what
+knowest thou of my--mother? Speak!"
+
+"Not here, my lord--but, an thou would'st learn more, come unto
+Hangstone Waste at the full o' the moon, stand you where the death-stone
+stands, that some do call the White Morte-stone. There shalt thou
+learn many things, perchance. Thou hast this day saved a witch from
+cruel death and a lowly beggar-maid from shame. A witch! A beggar-maid!
+The times be out a joint, methinks. Yet, witch and beggar, do we thank
+thee, lord Duke. Fare thee well--until the full o' the moon!" So spake
+she, and clasping the young maid within her arm they passed into the
+brush and so were gone.
+
+Now while Beltane stood yet pondering her words, came Roger to his
+side, to touch him humbly on the arm.
+
+"Lord," said he, "be not beguiled by yon foul witches' arts: go not to
+Hangstone Waste lest she be-devil thee with goblins or transform thee
+to a loathly toad. Thou wilt not go, master?"
+
+"At the full o' the moon, Roger!"
+
+"Why then," muttered Roger gulping, and clenching trembling hands, "we
+must needs be plague-smitten, blasted and everlastingly damned, for
+needs must I go with thee."
+
+Very soon pike and bow and gisarm fell into array; the pack-horses
+stumbled forward, the dust rose upon the warm, still air. Now as they
+strode along with ring and clash and the sound of voice and laughter,
+came Giles to walk at Beltane's stirrup; and oft he glanced back along
+the way and oft he sighed, a thing most rare in him; at last he spake,
+and dolefully:
+
+"Witchcraft is forsooth a deadly sin, tall brother?"
+
+"Verily, Giles, yet there be worse, methinks."
+
+"Worse! Ha, 'tis true, 'tis very true!" nodded the archer. "And then,
+forsooth, shall the mother's sin cleave unto the daughter--and she so
+wondrous fair? The saints forbid." Now hereupon the archer's gloom was
+lifted and he strode along singing softly 'neath his breath; yet, in a
+while he frowned, sudden and fierce: "As for that foul knave Gurth--ha,
+methinks I had been wiser to slit his roguish weasand, for 'tis in my
+mind he may live to discover our hiding place to our foes, and
+perchance bring down Red Pertolepe to Hundleby Fen."
+
+"In truth," said Beltane, slow and thoughtful, "so do I think; 'twas
+for this I spared his life."
+
+Now here Giles the Archer turned and stared upon Beltane with jaws
+agape, and fain he would have questioned further, but Beltane's gloomy
+brow forbade; yet oft he looked askance at that golden head, and oft he
+sighed and shook his own, what time they marched out of the golden
+glare of morning into the dense green depths of the forest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
+
+
+Now at this time the fame of Beltane's doing went throughout the Duchy,
+insomuch that divers and many were they that sought him out within the
+green; masterless men, serfs new-broke from thraldom, desperate fellows
+beyond the law, thieves and rogues in dire jeopardy of life or limb:
+off-scourings, these, of camp and town and village, hither come seeking
+shelter with Beltane in the wild wood, and eager for his service.
+
+In very truth, a turbulent company this, prone to swift quarrel and
+deadly brawl; but, at these times, fiercer than any was Walkyn o' the
+Axe, grimmer than any was Roger the Black, whereas Giles was quick as
+his tongue and Eric calm and resolute: four mighty men were these, but
+mightier than all was Beltane. Wherefore at this time Beltane set
+himself to bring order from chaos and to teach these wild men the
+virtues of obedience; but here indeed was a hard matter, for these were
+lawless men and very fierce withal. But upon a morning, ere the sun had
+chased the rosy mists into marsh and fen, Beltane strode forth from the
+cave wherein he slept, and lifting the hunting horn he bare about his
+neck, sounded it fierce and shrill. Whereon rose a sudden uproar, and
+out from their caves, from sleeping-places hollowed within the rocks,
+stumbled his ragged following--an unordered rabblement, half-naked,
+unarmed, that ran hither and thither, shouting and rubbing sleep from
+their eyes, or stared fearfully upon the dawn. Anon Beltane sounded
+again, whereat they, beholding him, came thronging about him and
+questioned him eagerly on all sides, as thus:
+
+"Master, are we attacked forsooth?"
+
+"Is the Red Pertolepe upon us?"
+
+"Lord, what shall we do--?"
+
+"Lead us, master--lead us!"
+
+Then, looking upon their wild disorder, Beltane laughed for scorn:--
+
+"Rats!" quoth he, "O rats--is it thus ye throng to the slaughter, then?
+Were I in sooth Red Pertolepe with but a score at my back I had slain
+ye all ere sun-up! Where be your out-posts--where be your sentinels?
+Are ye so eager to kick within a hangman's noose?"
+
+Now hereupon divers growled or muttered threateningly, while others,
+yawning, would have turned them back to sleep; but striding among them,
+Beltane stayed them with voice and hand--and voice was scornful and
+hand was heavy: moreover, beside him stood Roger and Giles, with Walkyn
+and Eric of the wry neck.
+
+"Fools!" he cried, "for that Pentavalon doth need men, so now must I
+teach ye other ways. Fall to your ranks there--ha! scowl and ye will
+but use well your ears--mark me, now. But two nights ago we burned
+down my lord Duke's great castle of Garthlaxton: think you my lord Duke
+will not seek vengeance dire upon these our bodies therefore? Think ye
+the Red Pertolepe will not be eager for our blood? But yest're'en, when
+I might have slain yon knavish Gurth, I suffered him to go--and
+wherefore? For that Gurth, being at heart a traitor and rogue ingrain,
+might straightway his him to the Duke at Barham Broom with offers to
+guide his powers hither. But when they be come, his chivalry and heavy
+armed foot here within the green, then will we fire the woods about
+them and from every point of vantage beset them with our arrows--"
+
+"Ha! Bows--bows!" cried Giles, tossing up his bow-stave and catching
+it featly--"Oho! tall brother--fair lord Duke, here is a sweet and
+notable counsel. Ha, bows! Hey for bows and bills i' the merry
+greenwood!"
+
+"So, perceive me," quoth Beltane, "thus shall the hunters peradventure
+become the hunted, for, an Duke Ivo come, 'tis like enough he ne'er
+shall win free of our ring of fire." Now from these long and ragged
+ranks a buzz arose that swelled and swelled to a fierce shout.
+
+"The fire!" they cried. "Ha, to burn them i' the fire!"
+
+"But so to do," quoth Beltane, "rats must become wolves. Valiant men ye
+are I know, yet are ye but a poor unordered rabblement, mete for
+slaughter. So now will I teach ye, how here within the wild-wood we may
+withstand Black Ivo and all his powers. Giles, bring now the book of
+clean parchment I took from Garthlaxton, together with pens and ink-horn,
+and it shall be henceforth a record of us every one, our names, our
+number, and the good or ill we each one do achieve."
+
+So there and then, while the sun rose high and higher and the mists of
+dawn thinned and vanished, phantom-like, the record was begun. Two
+hundred and twenty and four they mustered, and the name of each and
+every Giles duly wrote down within the book in right fair and clerkly
+hand. Thereafter Beltane numbered them into four companies; over the
+first company he set Walkyn, over the second Giles, over the third
+Roger, and over the fourth Eric of the wry neck. Moreover he caused to
+be brought all the armour they had won, and ordered that all men should
+henceforth go armed from head to foot, yet many there were that needs
+must go short awhile.
+
+Now he ordained these four companies should keep watch and watch day
+and night with sentinels and outposts in the green; and when they
+murmured at this he stared them into silence.
+
+"Fools!" said he, "an ye would lie secure, so must ye watch constantly
+against surprise. And furthermore shall ye exercise daily now, at the
+spoke command, to address your pikes 'gainst charge of horse or foot,
+and to that company adjudged the best and stoutest will I, each week,
+give store of money from my share of booty. So now, Walkyn, summon ye
+your company and get to your ward."
+
+Thus it was that slowly out of chaos came order, yet it came not
+unopposed, for many and divers were they that growled against this new
+order of things; but Beltane's hand was swift and heavy, moreover,
+remembering how he had dealt with Tostig, they growled amain but hasted
+to obey. So, in place of idleness was work, and instead of quarrel and
+riot was peace among the wild men and a growing content. Insomuch that
+upon a certain balmy eve, Giles the Archer, lolling beside the fire
+looking upon Black Roger, who sat beside him furbishing his mail-shirt,
+spake his mind on this wise:
+
+"Mark ye these lamb-like wolves of ours, sweet Roger? There hath been
+no blood-letting betwixt them these four days, and scarce a quarrel."
+
+ROGER. "Aye, this comes of my lord. My master hath a wondrous tongue,
+Giles."
+
+GILES. "My brother-in-arms hath a wondrous strong fist, Rogerkin--"
+
+ROGER. "Thy brother-in-arms, archer? Thine, forsooth! Ha!"
+
+GILES. "Snort not, my gentle Roger, for I fell in company with him ere
+he knew aught of thee--so thy snort availeth nothing, my Rogerkin.
+Howbeit, our snarling wolves do live like tender lambs these days, the
+which doth but go to prove how blessed a thing is a fist--a fist, mark
+you, strong to strike, big to buffet, and swift to smite: a capable
+fist, Roger, to strike, buffet and smite a man to the good of his
+soul."
+
+ROGER. "In sooth my master is a noble knight, ne'er shall we see his
+equal. And yet, Giles, methinks he doth mope and grieve these days. He
+groweth pale-cheeked and careworn, harsh of speech and swift to anger.
+Behold him now!" and Roger pointed to where Beltane sat apart (as was
+become his wont of late) his axe betwixt his knees, square chin propped
+upon clenched fist, scowling into the fire that burned before his
+sleeping-cave.
+
+"Whence cometh the so great change in him, think you, Giles?"
+
+"For that, while I am I and he is himself, thou art but what thou art,
+my Rogerkin--well enough after thy fashion, mayhap, but after all
+thou art only thyself."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, "and what of thee, archer?"
+
+"I am his brother-in-arms, Rogerkin, and so know him therefore as a
+wondrous lord, a noble knight, a goodly youth and a sweet lad. Some
+day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and
+will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time. A
+notable ballade, something on this wise:--
+
+  "Of gentle Beltane I will tell,
+   A knight who did all knights excel,
+   Who loved of all men here below
+   His faithful Giles that bare the bow;
+   For Giles full strong and straight could shoot,
+   A goodly man was Giles to boot.
+
+   A lusty fighter sure was Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles.
+   And Giles was handsome, Giles was young,
+   And Giles he had a merry--"
+
+"How now, Roger, man--wherefore interrupt me?"
+
+"For that there be too many of Giles hereabouts, and one Giles talketh
+enough for twenty. So will I to Walkyn that seldom talketh enough for
+one."
+
+So saying Roger arose, donned his shirt of mail and, buckling his sword
+about him, strode incontinent away.
+
+And in a while Beltane arose also, and climbing one of the many
+precipitous paths, answered the challenge of sentinel and outpost and
+went on slow-footed as one heavy in thought, yet with eyes quick to
+heed how thick was the underbrush hereabouts with dead wood and bracken
+apt to firing. Before him rose an upland crowned by a belt of mighty
+forest trees and beyond, a road, or rather track, that dipped and wound
+away into the haze of evening. Presently, as he walked beneath this
+leafy twilight, he heard the luring sound of running water, and turning
+thither, laid him down where was a small and placid pool, for he was
+athirst. But as he stooped to drink, he started, and thereafter hung
+above this pellucid mirror staring down at the face that stared up at
+him with eyes agleam 'neath lowering brows, above whose close-knit
+gloom a lock of hair gleamed snow-white amid the yellow. Long stayed he
+thus, to mark the fierce curve of nostril, the square grimness of jaw
+and chin, and the lips that met in a harsh line, down-trending and
+relentless. And gazing thus upon his image, he spake beneath his
+breath:
+
+"O lady! O wilful Helen! thy soft white hand hath set its mark upon me;
+the love-sick youth is grown a man, meseemeth. Well, so be it!" Thus
+saying, he laughed harshly and stooping, drank his fill.
+
+Now as he yet lay beside the brook hearkening to its pretty babel, he
+was aware of another sound drawing nearer--the slow plodding of a
+horse's hoofs upon the road below; and glancing whence it came he
+beheld a solitary knight whose mail gleamed 'neath a rich surcoat and
+whose shield flamed red with sunset. While Beltane yet watched this
+solitary rider, behold two figures that crouched in the underbrush
+growing beside the way; stealthy figures, that flitted from tree to
+tree and bush to bush, keeping pace with the slow-riding horseman; and
+as they came nearer, Beltane saw that these men who crouched and stole
+so swift and purposeful were Walkyn and Black Roger. Near and nearer
+they drew, the trackers and the tracked, till they were come to a place
+where the underbrush fell away and cover there was none: and here,
+very suddenly, forth leapt Roger with Walkyn at his heels; up reared
+the startled horse, and thereafter the knight was dragged from his
+saddle and Walkyn's terrible axe swung aloft for the blow, but Black
+Roger turned and caught Walkyn's arm and so they strove together
+furiously, what time the knight lay out-stretched upon the ling and
+stirred not.
+
+"Ha! Fool!" raged Walkyn, "loose my arm--what would ye?"
+
+"Shalt not slay him," cried Roger, "'tis a notch--'tis a notch from my
+accursed belt--shalt not slay him, I tell thee!"
+
+"Now out upon thee for a mad knave!" quoth Walkyn.
+
+"Knave thyself!" roared Black Roger, and so they wrestled fiercely
+together; but, little by little, Walkyn's size and bull strength began
+to tell, whereupon back sprang nimble Roger, and as Walkyn's axe
+gleamed, so gleamed Roger's sword. But now as they circled warily about
+each other, seeking an opening for blow or thrust, there came a rush of
+feet, and Beltane leapt betwixt them, and bestriding the fallen knight,
+fronted them in black and bitter anger.
+
+"Ha, rogues!" he cried, "art become thieves and murderers so soon,
+then? Would'st shed each other's blood for lust of booty like any other
+lawless knaves, forsooth? Shame--O shame on ye both!"
+
+So saying, he stooped, and lifting the unconscious knight, flung him
+across his shoulder and strode off, leaving the twain to stare upon
+each other shame-faced.
+
+Scowling and fierce-eyed Beltane descended into the hollow, whereupon
+up sprang Giles with divers others and would have looked upon and aided
+with the captive; but beholding Beltane's frown they stayed their
+questions and stood from his path. So came he to a certain cave
+hollowed within the hill-side--one of many such--but the rough walls of
+this cave Black Roger had adorned with a rich arras, and had prepared
+also a bed of costly furs; here Beltane laid the captive, and sitting
+within the mouth of the cave--beyond which a fire burned--fell to
+scowling at the flame. And presently as he sat thus came Roger and
+Walkyn, who fain would have made their peace, but Beltane fiercely bade
+them to begone.
+
+"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard
+by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would
+have slain him--"
+
+"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour,
+since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut
+from my belt another accursed notch--"
+
+"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live,
+this our refuge is secret no longer."
+
+"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but
+murderers and thieving knaves--"
+
+"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would
+but have borrowed--"
+
+"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!"
+Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger
+went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into
+the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the
+gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at
+sound whereof he started and turned him about.
+
+"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."
+
+"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways
+of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."
+
+Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of
+the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing,
+shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.
+Whereat spake Beltane in amaze:
+
+"How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"
+
+"Not so--ah, God! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"
+
+"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee
+so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle
+knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot
+and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves
+upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that
+trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth
+until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much
+I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."
+
+Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice
+his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood
+upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while.
+Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich
+surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin,
+showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little
+smooth-skinned and pale.
+
+"Sir knight," said Beltane, "free art thou to go hence, nor shall any
+stay or spoil thee. Yet first, hear this: thou art perchance some
+roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair
+lady. O folly! choose you something more worthy--a horse is a noble
+beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful. But see you, a woman's love is
+a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty. Give not
+thine heart into a woman's hand lest she tear it in her soft, white
+fingers: set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she tread
+it into the shameful mire. So fare thee well, sir knight. God go with
+thee and keep thee ever from the love of woman!"
+
+So saying Beltane rose, and lifting the bugle-horn he wore, sounded it;
+whereon came all and sundry, running and with weapons brandished--but
+Roger first of all.
+
+To all of whom Beltane spake thus:
+
+"Behold here this gentle knight our guest is for the nonce--entreat him
+courteously therefore; give him all that he doth lack and thereafter
+set him upon his way--"
+
+But hereupon divers cast evil looks upon the knight, murmuring among
+themselves--and loudest of all Walkyn.
+
+"He knoweth the secret of our hiding-place!"
+
+"'Tis said he knoweth the causeway through the fen!"
+
+"He will betray us!"
+
+"Dogs!" said Beltane, clenching his hands, "will ye defy me then? I say
+this knight shall go hence and none withstand him. Make way, then--or
+must I?" But now spake the youthful knight his gaze still bent upon
+the flame, nor seemed he to heed the fierce faces and eager steel that
+girt him round. "Nay, messire, for here methinks my quest is ended!"
+"Thy quest, sir knight--how so?" Then the knight turned and looked
+upon Beltane. Quoth he: "By thy size and knightly gear, by thy--thy
+yellow hair, methinks thou art Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong?"
+"Verily, 'tis so that I am called. What would you of me?" "This,
+messire." Herewith the stranger knight loosed belt and surcoat and drew
+forth a long sword whose broad blade glittered in the firelight, and
+gave its massy hilt to Beltane's grasp. And, looking upon its shining
+blade, Beltane beheld the graven legend "Resurgam." Now looking upon
+this, Beltane drew a deep, slow breath and turned upon the youthful
+knight with eyes grown suddenly fierce. Quoth he softly: "Whence had
+you this, sir knight?" "From one that liveth but for thee." "Ah!"
+said Beltane with scornful lip, "know ye such an one, in faith?" "Aye,
+messire," spake the knight, low-voiced yet eager, "one that doth
+languish for thee, that hath sent me in quest of thee bearing this thy
+sword for a sign, and to bid thee to return since without thee life is
+an emptiness, and there is none so poor, so heart-sick and woeful as
+Helen of Mortain!" "Ah--liar!" cried Beltane, and reaching out fierce
+hands crushed the speaker to his knees; but even so, the young knight
+spake on, soft-voiced and calm of eye: "Greater than thine is her love
+for thee, methinks, since 'tis changeless and abiding--Slay me an thou
+wilt, but while I live I will declare her true to thee. Whatever hath
+chanced, whate'er may chance, despite all doubts and enemies she doth
+love--love--love thee through life till death and beyond. O my lord
+Beltane--" "Liar!" spake Beltane again. But now was he seized of a
+madness, a cold rage and a deadly. "Liar!" said he, "thou art methinks
+one of her many wooers, so art thou greater fool. But Helen the
+Beautiful hath lovers a-plenty, and being what she is shall nothing
+miss thee: howbeit thou art surely liar, and surely will I slay thee!"
+So saying he swung aloft the great blade, but even so the young knight
+fronted the blow with eyes that quailed not: pale-lipped, yet smiling
+and serene; and then, or ever the stroke could fall--an arm, bronzed
+and hairy, came between, and Roger spake hoarse-voiced: "Master," he
+cried, "for that thy man am I and love thee, shalt ne'er do this till
+hast first slain me. 'Tis thus thou did'st teach me--to show mercy to
+the weak and helpless, and this is a youth, unarmed. Bethink thee,
+master--O bethink thee!" Slowly Beltane's arm sank, and looking upon
+the bright blade he let it fall upon the ling and covered his face
+within his two hands as if its glitter had blinded him. Thus did he
+stand awhile, the fetters agleam upon his wrists, and thereafter fell
+upon his knees and with his face yet hidden, spake: "Walkyn," said he,
+"O Walkyn, but a little while since I named thee 'murderer'! Yet what,
+in sooth, am I? So now do I humbly ask thy pardon. As for thee, sir
+knight, grant thy pity to one that is abased. Had I tears, now might I
+shed them, but tears are not for me. Go you therefore to--to her that
+sent thee and say that Beltane died within the dungeons of Garthlaxton.
+Say that I who speak am but a sword for the hand of God henceforth, to
+smite and stay not until wrong shall be driven hence. Say that this was
+told thee by a sorry wight who, yearning for death, must needs cherish
+life until his vow be accomplished." But as Beltane spake thus upon
+his knees, his head bowed humbly before them all, the young knight came
+near with mailed hands outstretched, yet touched him not. "Messire,"
+said he, "thou hast craved of me a boon the which I do most full and
+freely grant. But now would I beg one of thee." "'Tis thine," quoth
+Beltane, "who am I to gainsay thee?" "Messire, 'tis this; that thou
+wilt take me to serve thee, to go beside thee, sharing thy woes and
+perils henceforth." "So be it, sir knight," answered Beltane, "though
+mine shall be a hazardous service, mayhap. So, when ye will thou shalt
+be free of it." Thus saying he arose and went aside and sat him down
+in the mouth of the cave. But in a while came Roger to him, his
+sword-belt a-swing in his hand, and looked upon his gloomy face with eyes
+full troubled. And presently he spake, yet halting in his speech and
+timid: "Master," he said, "suffer me a question." "Verily," quoth
+Beltane, looking up, "as many as thou wilt, my faithful Roger."
+"Master," says Roger, twisting and turning the belt in hairy hands, "I
+would but ask thee if--if I might cut another notch from this my
+accursed belt--a notch, lord--I--the young knight--?" "You mean him
+that I would have murdered, Roger? Reach me hither thy belt." So
+Beltane took the belt and with his dagger cut thence two notches,
+whereat quoth Roger, staring: "Lord, I did but save one life--the
+young knight--" "Thou did'st save two," answered Beltane, "for had I
+slain him, Roger--O, had I slain him, then on this night should'st have
+hanged me for a murderer. Here be two notches for thee--so take back
+thy belt and go, get thee to thy rest--and, Roger--pray for one that
+tasteth death in life." So Roger took the belt, and turning softly,
+left Beltane crouched above the fire as one that is deadly cold.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
+
+
+Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy
+elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the
+bank above. Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be
+captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid
+and rotund. A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things
+ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and
+rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat: a pilgrim-like hat,
+adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints. About his waist
+was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as
+well filled. A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who,
+though hurried along in the archer's lusty grip, smiled placidly, and
+spake him sweetly thus: "Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate--
+abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint
+Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead. Trot me
+not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a
+hell seventy times heated, and 'twould be a sad--O me! a very sad thing
+that thou should'st sniff brimstone on my account."
+
+"Why, Giles," quoth Beltane, blinking in the dawn, "what dost bring
+hither so early in the morning?"
+
+"Lord, 'tis what they call a Pardoner, that dealeth in relics, mouldy
+bones and the like, see you, whereby they do pretend to divers miracles
+and wonders--"
+
+"Verily, verily," nodded the little man placidly, "I have here in my
+wallet a twig from Moses' burning bush, with the great toe of Thomas a'
+Didymus, the thumb of the blessed Saint Alban--"
+
+"Ha, rogue!" quoth Giles, "when I was a monk we had four thumbs of the
+good Saint Alban--"
+
+"Why then, content you, fond youth," smiled the Pardoner, "my thumb is
+number one--"
+
+"Oh, tall brother," quoth Giles, "'tis an irreverent knave, that maketh
+the monk in me arise, my very toes do twitch for to kick his lewd and
+sacrilegious carcase--and, lord, he would kick wondrous soft--"
+
+"And therein, sweet and gentle lord," beamed the little buxom man,
+"therein lieth a recommendation of itself. Divers noble lords have
+kicked me very familiarly ere now, and finding me soft and tender have,
+forthwith, kicked again. I mind my lord Duke Ivo, did with his own
+Ducal foot kick me right heartily upon a time, and once did spit upon
+my cloak--I can show you the very place--and these things do breed and
+argue familiarity. Thus have I been familiar with divers noble lords--
+and there were ladies also, ladies fair and proud--O me!"
+
+"Now, by the Rood!" says Beltane, sitting up and staring, "whence had
+you this, Giles?"
+
+"My lord, 'twas found by the man Jenkyn snoring within the green,
+together with a mule--a sorry beast! a capon partly devoured, a pasty--
+well spiced! and a wine-skin--empty, alas! But for who it is, and
+whence it cometh--"
+
+"Sweet, courteous lord,--resplendent, youthful sir, I come from north
+and south, from east and west, o'er land, o'er sea, from village green
+and market-square, but lately from the holy shrine of the blessed Saint
+Amphibalus. As to who I am and what--the universal want am I, for I do
+stand for health, fleshly and spiritual. I can cure your diseases of
+the soul, mind and body. In very sooth the Pardoner of Pardoners am I,
+with pardons and indulgences but now hot from the holy fist of His
+Holiness of Rome: moreover I have a rare charm and notable cure for the
+worms, together with divers salves, electuaries, medicaments and
+nostrums from the farthest Orient. I have also store of songs and
+ballades, grave and gay. Are ye melancholic? Then I have a ditty merry
+and mirthful. Would ye weep? Here's a lamentable lay of love and
+languishment infinite sad to ease you of your tears. Are ye a sinner
+vile and damned? Within my wallet lie pardons galore with powerful
+indulgences whereby a man may enjoy all the cardinal sins yet shall his
+soul be accounted innocent as a babe unborn and his flesh go without
+penance. Here behold my special indulgence! The which, to him that
+buyeth it, shall remit the following sins damned and deadly--to wit:
+Lechery, perjury, adultery, wizardry. Murders, rapes, thievings and
+slanders. Then follow the lesser sins, as--"
+
+"Hold!" cried Beltane, "surely here be sins enough for any man."
+
+"Not so, potent sir: for 'tis a right sinful world and breedeth new
+sins every day, since man hath a rare invention that way. Here is a
+grievous thing, alas! yet something natural: for, since men are human,
+and human 'tis to sin, so must all men be sinners and, being sinners,
+are they therefore inevitably damned!"
+
+"Alas, for poor humanity!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Forsooth, alas indeed, messire, and likewise woe!" nodded the
+Pardoner, "for thou, my lord, thou art but human, after all."
+
+"Indeed at times, 'twould almost seem so!" nodded Beltane gravely.
+
+"And therefore," quoth the Pardoner, "and therefore, most noble, gentle
+lord, art thou most assuredly and inevitably--" The Pardoner sighed.
+
+"Damned?" said Beltane.
+
+"Damned!" sighed the Pardoner.
+
+"Along with the rest of humanity!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"All men be more prone to sin when youth doth riot in their veins,"
+quoth the Pardoner, "and alas, thou art very young, messire, so do I
+tremble for thee."
+
+"Yet with each hour do I grow older!"
+
+"And behold in this hour come I, declaring to thee there is no sin so
+vile but that through me, Holy Church shall grant thee remission--at a
+price!"
+
+"A price, good Pardoner?"
+
+"Why, there be sins great and sins little. But, youthful sir, for
+thine own damnable doings, grieve not, mope not nor repine, since I,
+Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, Past Pardoner of the Holy See, will e'en now
+unloose, assoil and remit them unto thee--"
+
+"At a price!" nodded Beltane.
+
+"Good my lord," spake Giles, viewing the Pardoner's plump person with a
+yearning eye, "pray thee bid me kick him hence!"
+
+"Not so, Giles, since from all things may we learn--with patience.
+Here now is one that hath travelled and seen much and should be wise--"
+
+"Forsooth, messire, I have been so accounted ere now," nodded the
+Pardoner.
+
+"Dost hear, Giles? Thus, from his wisdom I may perchance grow wiser
+than I am. So get thee back to thy duty, Giles. Begone--thy presence
+doth distract us."
+
+"Aye, base archer, begone!" nodded the Pardoner, seating himself upon
+the sward. "Thy visage dour accordeth not with deep-seated thought--
+take it hence!"
+
+"There spake wisdom, Giles, and he is a fool that disobeys. So, Giles
+--begone!"
+
+Hereupon Giles frowned upon the Pardoner, who lolling at his ease,
+snapped his fingers at Giles, whereat Giles scowled amain and scowling,
+strode away.
+
+"Now, messire," quoth the Pardoner, opening his wallet, "now in the
+matter of sinning, messire, an thou hast some pet and peculiar vice--
+some little, pretty vanity, some secret, sweet transgression--"
+
+"Nay, first," quoth Beltane, "'tis sure thou hast a tongue--"
+
+"O infallibly, messire; a sweet tongue--a tongue attuned to cunning
+phrases. God gave to women beauty, to flowers perfume, and to me--a
+tongue!"
+
+"Good Pardoner, a lonely wight am I, ignorant of the world and of its
+ways and doings. So for thy tongue will I barter base coin--what can'st
+tell me for this fair gold piece?"
+
+"That fain would I have the spending on't, noble, generous sir."
+
+"What more?"
+
+"Anything ye will, messire: for since I am the want universal and gold
+the universal need, needs must want need! And here is a rare-turned
+phrase, methinks?"
+
+"So thus do I wed need with want," nodded Beltane, tossing him the
+coin. "Come now, discourse to me of worldly things--how men do trim
+their beards these days, what sins be most i' the fashion, if Duke Ivo
+sleepeth a-nights, whether Pentavalon city standeth yet?"
+
+"Aha!" cried the Pardoner (coin safely pouched), "I can tell ye tales
+a-plenty: sly, merry tales of lovely ladies fair and gay. I can paint
+ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair--her soft,
+white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the
+languorous passion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like
+hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles,
+love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and--there amid
+the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love
+to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen
+fair, a Duchess proud--"
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble
+do ye speak? Helen, forsooth--dare ye name her, O Thing?"
+
+Now before Beltane's swift and blazing anger the Pardoner's assurance
+wilted on the instant, and he cowered behind a lifted elbow.
+
+"Nay, nay, most potent lord," he stammered, "spit on me an ye will--
+spit, I do implore thee, but strike me not. Beseech thee sir, in what
+do I offend? The story runs that the proud and wilful lady is fled
+away, none know wherefore, why, nor where. I do but read the riddle
+thus: wherefore should she flee but for love, and if for love, then
+with a man, and if with a man--"
+
+"Enough of her!" quoth Beltane scowling, "woman and her wiles is of
+none account to me!"
+
+"How--how?" gasped the Pardoner, "of no account--! Woman--! But thou'rt
+youthful--of no account--! Thou'rt a man very strong and lusty--! Of no
+account, forsooth? O, Venus, hear him! Woman, forsooth! She is man's
+aim, his beginning and oft-times his end. She is the everlasting cause.
+She is man's sweetest curse and eke salvation, his slave, his very
+tyrant. Without woman strife would cease, ambition languish, Venus pine
+to skin and bone (sweet soul!) and I never sell another pardon and
+starve for lack of custom; for while women are, so will be pardoners.
+But this very week I did good trade in fair Belsaye with divers women--
+three were but ordinary indulgences for certain small marital
+transgressions; but one, a tender maid and youthful, being put to the
+torment, had denounced her father and lover--"
+
+"The torment?" quoth Beltane, starting. "The torment, say you?"
+
+"Aye, messire! Belsaye setteth a rare new fashion in torments of late.
+Howbeit, the father and lover being denounced before Sir Gui's
+tribunal, they were forthwith hanged upon my lord Gui's new gibbets--"
+
+"O--hanged?" quoth Beltane "hanged?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, by the neck as is the fashion. Now cometh this woeful
+wench to me vowing she heard their voices i' the night, and, to quiet
+these voices besought of me a pardon. But she had but two sorry silver
+pieces and pardons be costly things, and when she could get no pardon,
+she went home and that night killed herself--silly wench! Ha! my lord--
+good messire--my arm--holy saints! 'twill break!"
+
+"Killed herself--and for lack of thy pitiful, accursed pardon! Heard
+you aught else in Belsaye--speak!" and Beltane's cruel grip tightened.
+
+"Indeed--indeed that will I, good news, sweet news--O my lord, loose
+my arm!"
+
+"Thine arm, good Pardoner--thine arm? Aye, take it back, it availeth me
+nothing--take it and cherish it. To part with a pardon for but two
+silver pieces were a grave folly! So pray you forgive now my
+ungentleness and speak my thy good, sweet tidings." But hereupon, the
+Pardoner feeling his arm solicitously, held his peace and glowered
+sullenly at Beltane, who had turned and was staring away into the
+distance. So the Pardoner sulked awhile and spake not, until, seeing
+Beltane's hand creep out towards him, he forthwith fell to volubility.
+
+"'Tis told in Belsaye on right good authority that a certain vile
+knave, a lewd, seditious rogue hight Beltane that was aforetime a
+charcoal-burner and thereafter a burner of gibbets--as witness my lord
+Duke's tall, great and goodly gallows--that was beside a prison breaker
+and known traitor, hath been taken by the doughty Sir Pertolepe, lord
+Warden of the Marches, and by him very properly roasted and burned to
+death within his great Keep of Garthlaxton."
+
+"Roasted, forsooth?" said Beltane, his gaze yet afar off; "and,
+forsooth, burned to ashes; then forsooth is he surely dead?"
+
+"Aye, that is he; and his ashes scattered on a dung-hill."
+
+"A dung-hill--ha?"
+
+"He was but a charcoal-burning knave, 'tis said--a rogue base-born and
+a traitor. Now hereupon my lord, the good lord Sir Gui, my lord Duke's
+lord Seneschal of Belsaye--"
+
+"Forsooth," sighed Beltane, "here be lords a-plenty in Pentavalon!"
+
+"Hereupon the noble Sir Gui set a close watch upon the townsfolk
+whereby he apprehended divers suspected rogues, and putting them to the
+torture, found thereby proofs of their vile sedition, insomuch that
+though the women held their peace for the most part, certain men
+enduring not, did confess knowledge of a subterraneous passage 'neath
+the wall. Then did Sir Gui cause this passage to be stopped, and four
+gibbets to be set up within the market-place, and thereon at sunset
+every day did hang four men, whereto the towns folk were summoned by
+sound of tucket and drum: until upon a certain evening some six days
+since (myself standing by) came a white friar hight Friar Martin--well
+known in Belsaye, and bursting through the throng he did loud-voiced
+proclaim himself the traitor that had oped and shown the secret way
+into the dungeons unto that charcoal-rogue for whose misdeeds so many
+folk had suffered. So they took this rascal friar and scourged him and
+set him in the water-dungeons where rats do frolic, and to-night at
+sunset he dieth by slow fire as a warning to--Ah! sweet, noble, good my
+lord, what--what would ye--" for Beltane had risen and was looking down
+at the crouching Pardoner, suddenly haggard, pallid-lipped, and with
+eyes a-glare with awful menace; but now the Pardoner saw that those
+eyes looked through him and beyond--living eyes in a face of death.
+
+"Messire--messire!" quavered the Pardoner on trembling knees; but
+Beltane, as one that is deaf and blind, strode forward and over him,
+and as he went set his bugle to his lips and sounded a rallying note.
+Forthwith came men that ran towards him at speed, but now was there no
+outcry or confusion and their mail gleamed in the early sun as they
+fell into their appointed rank and company.
+
+Then Beltane set his hands unto his eyes and thereafter stared up to
+the heavens and round about upon the fair earth as one that wakes from
+a dream evil and hateful, and spake, sudden and harsh-voiced:
+
+"Now hither to me Walkyn, Giles and Roger. Ye do remember how upon a
+time we met a white friar in the green that was a son of God--they call
+him Brother Martin? Ye do remember brave Friar Martin?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we mind him!" quoth the three.
+
+"Ye will remember how that we did, within the green, aid him to bury a
+dead maid, young and fair and tender--yet done to shameful death?"
+
+"Verily master--a noble lady!" growled Walkyn.
+
+"And very young!" said Roger.
+
+"And very comely, alas!" added Giles.
+
+"So now do I tell thee that, as she died--snatched out of life by
+brutal hands--so, at this hour, even as we stand idle here, other maids
+do suffer and die within Belsaye town. To-day, as we stand here, good
+Friar Martin lieth within the noisome water-dungeons where rats do
+frolic--"
+
+"Ha! the pale fox!" growled Walkyn. "Bloody Gui of Allerdale that I do
+live but to slay one day with Pertolepe the Red--"
+
+"Thou dost remember, Roger, how, within the Keep at Belsaye I sware an
+oath unto Sir Gui? So now--this very hour--must we march on Belsaye
+that this my oath may be kept." But here a murmur arose that hummed
+from rank to rank; heads were shaken and gruff voices spake on this
+wise:
+
+"Belsaye? 'Tis a long day's march to Belsaye--"
+
+"'Tis a very strong city--very strongly guarded--"
+
+"And we muster scarce two hundred--"
+
+"The walls be high and we have no ladders, or engines for battery and
+storm--"
+
+"Forsooth, and we have here much booty already--"
+
+"Ha--booty!" cried Beltane, "there spake tall Orson, methinks!"
+
+"Aye," cried another voice, loud and defiant, "and we be no soldiers,
+master, to march 'gainst walled cities; look'ee. Foresters are we, to
+live secure and free within the merry greenwood. Is't not so, good
+fellows?"
+
+"And there spake Jenkyn o' the Ford!" quoth Beltane. "Stand forth
+Orson, and Jenkyn with thee--so. Now hearken again. Within Belsaye men
+--aye, and women too! have endured the torment, Orson. To-day, at
+sundown, a noble man doth burn, Jenkyn."
+
+"Why, look'ee, master," spake Jenkyn, bold-voiced yet blenching from
+Beltane's unswerving gaze, "look'ee, good master, here is no matter for
+honest woodsmen, look'ee--"
+
+"Aye," nodded tall Orson, "'tis no matter of ours, so wherefore should
+us meddle?"
+
+"And ye have swords, I see," quoth Beltane, "and thereto hands
+wherewith to fight, yet do ye speak, forsooth, of booty, and fain would
+lie hid secure within the green? So be it! Bring forth the record,
+Giles, and strike me out the names of Orson and Jenkyn, the which,
+being shaped like men, are yet no men. Give therefore unto each his
+share of booty and let him go hence." So saying, Beltane turned and
+looked upon the close-drawn ranks that murmured and muttered no more.
+Quoth he:
+
+"Now, and there be any here among us so faint-hearted--so unworthy as
+this Orson and Jenkyn, that do hold treasure and safety above flesh and
+blood--if there be any here, who, regarding his own base body, will
+strike no blow for these distressed--why, let him now go forth of this
+our company. O men! O men of Pentavalon, do ye not hear them, these
+woeful ones--do ye not hear them crying to us from searing flame, from
+dungeon and gibbet--do ye not hear? Is there one, that, remembering the
+torments endured of groaning bodies, the dire wrongs of innocence
+shamed and trampled in the mire--lives there a man that will not
+adventure life and limb and all he doth possess that such things may be
+smitten hence and made an end of for all time? But if such there be,
+let him now stand forth with Orson here, and Jenkyn o' the Ford!"
+
+Thus spake Beltane quick and passionate and thereafter paused, waiting
+their answer; but no man spake or moved, only from their grim ranks a
+growl went up ominous and deep, and eyes grown bright and fierce glared
+upon tall Orson and Jenkyn o' the Ford, who shuffled with their feet
+and fumbled with their hands and knew not where to look.
+
+"'Tis well, 'tis well, good comrades all!" spake Beltane in a while,
+"this night, mayhap, shall we, each one, achieve great things. Go now,
+dig ye a pit and therein hide such treasure as ye will and thereafter
+arm ye at points, for in the hour we march. Eric, see each doth bear
+with him food, and Giles, look that their quivers be full."
+
+So saying, Beltane turned and coming to his sleeping-place, forthwith
+began to don his armour. And presently he was aware of Orson and Jenkyn
+standing without the cave and each with look downcast; and eke they
+fumbled with their hands and shuffled with their feet and fain were to
+speak yet found no word. But at last spake Jenkyn humbly and on this
+wise:
+
+"Master, here come I, look'ee, with Orson that is my comrade, look'ee--"
+
+"Nay, go get thee to thy 'booty'!" says Beltane, busied with his
+armour.
+
+"Nay, but look'ee master, we be--"
+
+"No men!" quoth Beltane, "thus would I be free of ye both--so get you
+hence."
+
+"But good master," spake Orson, "we do ha' changed our minds--it do be
+a direful thing to burn, and if they do ha' tormented maids--"
+
+"'Tis no matter of thine," quoth Beltane. "So go thy ways and meddle
+not."
+
+"But master, look'ee now, we be stout men, and look'ee, we be full of
+lust to fight--O master, let us go! Kneel, Orson, bend--bend thy long
+shanks, look'ee--" and forthwith on their knees fell Jenkyn and tall
+Orson with pleading eyes and eager hands outstretched.
+
+"O master, look'ee, let us go!"
+
+"Aye, we do ha' changed our minds, master!"
+
+"Then be it so!" said Beltane, "and I pray ye be ever faithful to your
+minds!" Then took they Beltane's hand to kiss and thereafter up they
+sprang and went rejoicing to their company.
+
+And, within the hour, mail and bascinet agleam, the two hundred and
+twenty and four marched forth of the hollow with step blithe and free,
+and swung away through the green till the sound of voice and laughter,
+the ring and clash of their going was died away and none remained, save
+where, cross-legged upon the sward, his open wallet on his knee, the
+round and buxom Pardoner sat to cherish a bruised arm and to stare from
+earth to heaven and from heaven to earth with eyes wider and rounder
+even than was their wont and custom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
+
+
+Through broad glades deep-hid within the wild; by shady alleyway and
+leafy track they held their march south and by east, a close,
+well-ordered company striding long and free and waking the solitudes to
+a blithe babblement of laughing echoes. And who among them all so merry
+as Giles o' the Bow at the head of his sturdy archers? Oft trolling
+some merry stave or turning with some quip or jape upon his tongue, but
+with eyes quick to mark the rhythmic swing of broad, mail-clad
+shoulders, eyes critical, yet eyes of pride. Who so grimly eager as
+mighty Walkyn, his heavy axe lightly a-swing, his long legs schooling
+themselves to his comrade's slower time and pace? Who so utterly
+content as Black Roger, oft glancing from Beltane's figure in the van
+to the files of his pike-men, their slung shields agleam, their spears
+well sloped? And who so gloomy and thoughtful as Beltane, unmindful of
+the youthful knight who went beside him, and scarce heeding his
+soft-spoke words until his gaze by chance lighted upon the young
+knight's armour that gleamed in the sun 'neath rich surcoat; armour of
+the newest fashion of link, reinforced by plates of steel, gorget and
+breast, elbow and knee, and with cunningly jointed sollerets. Moreover,
+his shield was small and light according with the new fashion, and bare
+the blazon of two hands, tight clasped, and the legend: "Semper
+Fidelis."
+
+Now viewing all this with a smith's knowledgful eye, quick to note the
+costly excellence of this equipment, Beltane forthwith brake silence:
+
+"How do men name thee, sir knight?"
+
+Hereupon, after some delay, the young knight made answer:
+
+"Messire, the motto I bear upon my shield is a good motto methinks. So
+shalt call me Fidelis an ye will, my lord."
+
+"So be it, Sir Faithful," saying which Beltane fell to deep thought
+again.
+
+"I pray you, my lord," quoth Fidelis, "wherefore so sad, so full of
+gloom and thought?"
+
+"I seek how we may win through the gates of Belsaye, Sir Fidelis, for
+they go strongly guarded night and day; yet this day, ere sunset, ope
+to us they must. But how--how?"
+
+"My lord," spake Sir Fidelis, "I have heard say that few may go where
+many oft-times may not. Let first some two or three adventure it, hid
+'neath some close disguise--"
+
+"A disguise!" cried Beltane, "Ha--a disguise. 'Tis well bethought, good
+Fidelis. Forsooth, a disguise! And 'twill be market day!" Thereafter
+Beltane strode on, head bent in frowning thought, nor spake again for a
+space. And ever the files swung along behind in time to a marching song
+carolled blithe in the rich, sweet voice of Giles. At length Beltane
+raised his head and beholding the sun well-risen, halted his company
+beside a stream that flowed athwart their way, and sitting thereby,
+summoned to him the four--namely, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and Eric of
+the wry neck; and while they ate together, they held counsel on this
+wise:
+
+BELTANE. "How think ye of this our adventure, comrades all?"
+
+GILES. "Forsooth, as a man do I think well of it. Ho! for the twang of
+bowstrings! the whirr and whistle of well-sped shafts loosed from the
+ear! Ha! as an archer and a man 'tis an adventure that jumpeth with my
+desire. But--as a soldier, and one of much and varied experience, as
+one that hath stormed Belsaye ere now--with divers other towns, cities,
+keeps, and castles beyond number--as a soldier, I do think it but a
+gloomy business and foredoomed to failure--"
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore?"
+
+GILES. "Method, tall brother, method precise and soldier-like. War is a
+very ancient profession--an honourable profession and therefore to be
+treated with due reverence. Now, without method, war would become but a
+scurvy, sorry, hole-and-corner business, unworthy your true soldier. So
+I, a soldier, loving my profession, do stand for method in all things.
+Thus, would I attack a city, I do it _modo et forma:_ first, I set up
+my mantelets for my archers, and under cover of their swift shooting I
+set me up my mangonels, my trebuchets and balistae: then, pushing me
+up, assault the walls with cat, battering-ram and sap, and having made
+me a breach, would forthwith take me the place by sudden storm."
+
+ROGER. "Ha, bowman! here is overmuch of thee, methinks! And dost speak
+like a very archer-like fool--and forsooth, a foolish archer to boot.
+Sure, well ye know that engines for the battery have we none--"
+
+GILES. "Verily! So shall we none of Belsaye, methinks. Lacking engines,
+we lack for all--no method, no city! Remember that, dolt Rogerkin!"
+
+ROGER. "Nay, I remember Garthlaxton aflame, the gallows aflare, and the
+empty dungeon. So, an we go up 'gainst Belsaye again, shall we surely
+take it. Remember these, long-winded Giles, and being a soldier, be ye
+also--a man."
+
+BELTANE. "What think you, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. (patting his axe) "Of Gui of Allerdale, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And you, Eric?"
+
+ERIC. "That where thou dost go, messire, we follow."
+
+BELTANE. "'Tis well. Now here beside me sitteth Sir Fidelis, who though
+methinks the most youthful of us all, hath a head in council wiser than
+us all. For he hath spoke me that whereby though few in number and
+lacking engines for battery, Giles--we yet may win through the walls of
+Belsaye ere sun-down. Know you this country, Walkyn?"
+
+WALKYN. "As my hand, lord."
+
+BELTANE. "Is there a village hereabouts?"
+
+WALKYN. "Aye, five miles west by south is Brand-le-Dene. But there is
+a mill scarce a mile down stream, I wot."
+
+BELTANE. "A mill? 'Twill serve--go ye thither. Here is money--buy
+therewith four hats and smocks the like that millers wear, and likewise
+four meal-sacks well stuffed with straw."
+
+WALKYN. (rising) "Smocks, master? Straw and meal-sacks?"
+
+BELTANE. "And haste, Walkyn. We must be far hence within the hour."
+
+Forthwith up rose Walkyn and summoning divers of his company strode
+away down stream, what time Giles, staring after him in wonderment,
+thereafter shook his head at Roger. Quoth he:
+
+"Tall brother and lord, now do I see that our Roger burneth for
+knowledge, panteth for understanding, and fain would question thee but
+that his mouth is full-crammed of meat. Yet do his bulging eyes
+supplicate the wherefore of smocks, and his goodly large ears do twitch
+for the why of sacks. O impatient Rogerkin, bolt thy food, man, gulp--
+swallow, and ask and importune my lord thyself!"
+
+"Not I--not I!" quoth Roger, "an my master lacketh for a smock or a
+sack, for me is no question of wherefore or why, so long as he doth
+get them!"
+
+"But the straw, Roger," said Giles, glancing askew at Beltane, "an thou
+should'st plague my lord with questions, how think ye then he shall
+answer of this straw?"
+
+"Thus, thou crafty Giles," answered Beltane. "Belsaye is strong, but
+strength may be, perchance, beguiled. So may a miller's smock hide a
+shirt of mail, and straw, I have heard, will burn." "Oho, a wile!"
+cried Giles, "Aha! some notable wile! What more?"
+
+"More shalt thou know, mayhap, in Belsaye market-place."
+
+And when Beltane had handled the well-worn smocks, had viewed the
+bulging meal-sacks that Walkyn and his fellows brought him, he arose.
+At his word the company fell to their ranks and forthwith swung off
+again south and by east, what time Giles carolled blithely, and divers
+chorused lustily: while Roger whistled and even grim Walkyn (bethinking
+him of Gui of Allerdale) rumbled hoarsely in his hairy throat.
+
+So the miles passed unheeded until, as the sun declined, they left the
+wild country behind; wherefore Beltane commanded all men to a strict
+silence and thus came they betimes to the edge of the woods, and
+halting within the green, beheld afar across the plain, the walls of
+fair Belsaye town.
+
+"We are well to time," quoth Beltane, glancing from sinking sun to
+lengthening shadow, "we have yet an hour to sunset, but in this hour
+much have we to do! Hark ye now!" and drawing the four about him, he
+spake them thus: "Walkyn and Roger and Eric shall into the town with me
+in miller's guise, each bearing his sack of flour, what time you,
+Giles, with Sir Fidelis and all our power bide here well hid till such
+time as ye shall see a smoke within Belsaye. And when ye see this
+smoke, rise up and make you ready one and all, yet stir not from the
+green till that ye hear my bugle-horn sound our rallying-note. Then
+come ye on amain, and being within the city, charge ye where my horn
+shall sound. How now, is't agreed?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" nodded Giles, "'tis an excellent strategy in faith, and
+yet 'twere wiser methinks to suffer me in Roger's place: for being
+guileful in war, so should I be a very beguiling miller, whereas Roger,
+an we plastered him with flour, would ne'er be other than Rogerkin the
+Black."
+
+"Nay Giles, thy post is here. Let your bows be strung and ready, but
+set your pikes to the fore--and Giles, watch! Walkyn, bring now the
+smocks."
+
+So saying, Beltane tightened his belt, drew on his hood of mail and
+laced it close, and turning, found Sir Fidelis close by to aid him with
+the hooded smock; and Beltane wondered to see him so pale and his
+slender hands a-tremble.
+
+So the smocks were donned, with straw about their legs bound by withies
+as was the custom, and taking the sacks upon their shoulders, they
+turned aside into the green and were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
+
+
+Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, rode hawk on fist
+at the head of divers noble knights and gentle esquires with verderers
+and falconers attendant. The dusty highway, that led across the plain
+to the frowning gates of Belsaye, was a-throng with country folk
+trudging on foot or seated in heavy carts whose clumsy wheels creaked
+and groaned city-wards; for though the sun was far declined, it was
+market-day: moreover a man was to die by the fire, and though such
+sights were a-plenty, yet 'twas seldom that any lord, seneschal,
+warden, castellan or--in fine, any potent lord dowered with right of
+pit and gallows--dared lay hand upon a son of the church, even of the
+lesser and poorer orders; but Sir Gui was a bold man and greatly
+daring. Wherefore it was that though the market-traffic was well nigh
+done, the road was yet a-swarm with folk all eager to behold and watch
+how a white friar could face death by the flame. So, on horse and
+afoot, in creaking cart and wain, they thronged toward the goodly city
+of Belsaye.
+
+Sir Gui rode at a hand-pace, and as he rode the folk drew hastily aside
+to give him way, and bent the knee full humbly or stood with bowed
+heads uncovered to watch him pass; but 'neath bristling brows, full
+many an eye glared fiercely on his richly-habited, slender figure,
+marking his quick, dark glance, the down-curving, high-bridged nose of
+him with the thin lips and the long, pointed chin below.
+
+Thus rode he, assured in his might and confident, heedless alike of
+the glory of day fast drawing into evening, of the green world whose
+every blade and leaf spake of life abundant, and of these trampling
+folk who bent so humbly at his passing, their cheeks aglow with health;
+thus, heeding but himself and his own most dear desires, how should he
+mark the four tall and dusty miller's men whose brawny backs were
+stooped each beneath its burden? And how should he, confident in his
+strength and might, hale and lusty in his body, come to think on death
+sharp and swift? Thus Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye
+town, rode upon his way, with eyes that glowed with the love of life,
+and tongue that curled 'twixt smiling lips as one that savoured its
+sweetness or meditated coming joys. Perceiving the which, two youthful
+esquires that rode near by nudged elbows, and set their heads together.
+
+"I know yon look--aha! 'tis the goldsmith's fair young wife. There have
+been lovers who loved love ere now--Pan, see you, and Jove himself they
+say: but Pan was coy, and Jove--"
+
+"Hist, he beckons us!"
+
+So came these young esquires beside Sir Gui who, tapping the dust from
+his habit with soft white hand, spake soft-voiced and sweet.
+
+"Ride on, sirs, and bid our careful warden stay awhile the execution of
+this traitorous friar. Let the square be lined with pikes as is our
+custom: let the prisoner be chained unto his stake see you, but let all
+things stay until I be come. There will be many folk in Belsaye,
+meseemeth, well--let them wait, and stare, and whisper, and--wait, till
+I be come!"
+
+Forward spurred the young esquires to do as was commanded, joyful to
+see the confusion that marked their swift career and making good play
+of their whips on the heads and shoulders of such as chanced to be
+within reach; in especial upon a mighty fellow in floured smock that
+bare a sack on his shoulder and who, stung with the blow, cried a curse
+on them in voice so harsh and bold that folk shrank from his
+neighbourhood, yet marvelled at his daring. Being come anon within the
+city Sir Gui dismounted beside the gate, and giving horse and falcon to
+an esquire, beckoned to him a grizzled man-at-arms; now as he did so, a
+tall miller passed him by, and stumbling wearily, set down his sack
+against the wall and panted.
+
+"Bare you the letter as I commanded, Rolf?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"What said she?"
+
+"Wept, my lord."
+
+"Spake she nought?"
+
+"Nought, my lord."
+
+"Lieth the goldsmith deep?"
+
+"Above the water-dungeons, my lord."
+
+"And she wept, say you? Methinks the goldsmith shall go free to-morrow!"
+
+So saying, Sir Gui went on into the city, and as he went, his smile was
+back again, and his tongue curved red betwixt his lips. And presently
+the tall miller hoisted his burden and went on into the city also;
+turned aside down a narrow passage betwixt gloomy houses, and so at
+last out into the square that hummed with a clamour hushed and
+expectant. But my lord Seneschal, unheeding ever, came unto a certain
+quiet corner of the square remote and shady, being far removed from the
+stir and bustle of the place; here he paused at an open doorway and
+turned to look back into the square, ruddy with sunset--a careless
+glance that saw the blue of sky, the heavy-timbered houses bathed in
+the warm sunset glow, the which, falling athwart the square, shone red
+upon the smock of a miller, who stooping 'neath his burden, stumbled
+across the uneven cobble-stones hard by. All this saw Sir Gui in that
+one backward glance; then, unheeding as ever, went in at the doorway
+and up the dark and narrow stair. But now it chanced that the miller,
+coming also to this door, stood a while sack on shoulder, peering up
+into the gloom within; thereafter, having set down his burden in
+stealthy fashion, he also turned and glanced back with eyes that
+glittered in the shadow of his hat: then, setting one hand within his
+smock, he went in at the door and, soft-footed began to creep up that
+dark and narrow stair. She sat in a great carven chair, her arms
+outstretched across the table before her, her face bowed low between,
+and the setting sun made a glory of her golden hair. Of a sudden she
+started, and lifting her head looked upon Sir Gui; her tears,
+slow-falling and bitter, staining the beauty of her face.
+
+"My lord--ah, no!" she panted, and started to her feet.
+
+"Dear and fair my lady--fear not. Strong am I, but very gentle--'tis
+ever my way with beauty. I do but come for my answer." And he pointed
+to a crumpled parchment that lay upon the table.
+
+"O, good my lord," she whispered, "I cannot! If thou art gentle indeed
+--then--"
+
+"He lieth above the water-dungeons, lady!" sighed Sir Gui.
+
+"Ah, the sweet Christ aid me!"
+
+"To-morrow he goeth to death, or lieth in those round, white arms.
+Lady, the choice is thine: and I pray you show pity to thy husband who
+loveth thee well, 'tis said." Now hereupon she sobbed amain and fell
+upon her knees with arms outstretched in passionate appeal--but lo! she
+spake no word, her swimming eyes oped suddenly wide, and with arms yet
+outstretched she stared and stared beyond Sir Gui in so much that he
+turned and started back amazed--to behold one clad as a dusty miller, a
+mighty man whose battered hat touched the lintel and whose great bulk
+filled the doorway--a very silent man who looked and looked with neck
+out-thrust, yet moved not and uttered no word. Hereupon Sir Gui spake
+quick and passion-choked:
+
+"Fool--fool! hence, thou blundering fool. For this shalt be flayed
+alive. Ha!--hence, thou dusty rogue!" But now this grim figure stirred,
+and lifting a great hand, spake hoarse and low:
+
+"Peace, knight! Hold thy peace and look!" The wide-eaved hat was tossed
+to the floor and Sir Gui, clenching his hands, would have spoken but
+the harsh voice drowned his words: "How, knight, thou that art Bloody
+Gui of Allerdale! Dost thou not know me, forsooth? I am Waldron, whose
+father and mother and sister ye slew. Aye, Waldron of Brand am I,
+though men do call me Walkyn o' the Dene these days. Brand was a fair
+manor, knight--a fair manor, but long since dust and ashes--ha! a merry
+blaze wherein father and mother and sister burned and screamed and
+died--in faith, a roguish blaze! Ha! d'ye blench? Dost know me,
+forsooth?"
+
+Then Sir Gui stepped back, drawing his sword; but, even so, death leapt
+at him. A woman, wailing, fled from the chamber, a chair crashed to the
+floor; came a strange, quick tapping of feet upon the floor and
+thereafter rose a cry that swelled louder to a scream--louder to a
+bubbling shriek, and dying to a groaning hiss, was gone.
+
+And, in a while, Walkyn, that had been Waldron of Brand, rose up from
+his knees, and running forth of the chamber, hasted down the dark and
+narrow stair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
+
+
+The market-place was full of the stir and hum of jostling crowds; here
+were pale-faced townsfolk, men and women and children who, cowed by
+suffering and bitter wrong, spake little, and that little below their
+breath; here were country folk from village and farmstead near and far,
+a motley company that talked amain, loud-voiced and eager, as they
+pushed and strove to see where, in the midst of the square beyond the
+serried ranks of pike-men, a post had been set up; a massy post, grim
+and solitary, whose heavy chains and iron girdle gleamed ominous and
+red in the last rays of sunset. Near by, upon a dais, they had set up a
+chair fairly gilded, wherein Sir Gui was wont to sit and watch justice
+done upon the writhing bodies of my lord Duke's enemies. Indeed, the
+citizens of Belsaye had beheld sights many and dire of late, wherefore
+now they blenched before this stark and grisly thing and looked
+askance; but to these country folk such things were something newer,
+wherefore they pushed and strove amid the press that they might view it
+nearer--in especial two in miller's hooded smocks, tall and lusty
+fellows these, who by dint of shoulder and elbow, won forward until
+they were stayed by the file of Sir Gui's heavy-armed pikemen.
+Thereupon spake one, close in his fellow's ear:--
+
+"Where tarries Walkyn, think you?" said Beltane below his breath.
+
+"Master, I know not--he vanished in the press but now--"
+
+"And Eric?"
+
+"He watcheth our meal-sacks. Shall I not go bid him strike flint and
+steel? The time were fair, methinks?"
+
+"Not so, wait you until Sir Gui be come and seated in his chair of
+state: then haste you to bold Eric and, the sacks ablaze, shout 'fire;'
+so will I here amid the press take up the cry, and in the rush join
+with ye at the gate. Patience, Roger."
+
+And now of a sudden the throng stirred, swayed and was still; but from
+many a quivering lip a breath went up to heaven, a sigh--a whispered
+groan, as, through the shrinking populace, the prisoner was brought. A
+man of Belsaye he, a man strong and tender, whom many had loved full
+well. Half borne, half dragged betwixt his gaolers, he came on
+stumbling feet--a woeful shivering thing with languid head a-droop; a
+thing of noisome rags that told of nights and days in dungeon black and
+foul; a thing whose shrunken nakedness showed a multitude of small
+wounds, slow-bleeding, that spoke of teeth little yet vicious, bold
+with hunger in the dark; a miserable, tottering thing, haggard and
+pinched, that shivered and shook and stared upon all things with eyes
+vacant and wide.
+
+And thus it was that Beltane beheld again Friar Martin, the white friar
+that had been a man once, a strong man and a gentle. They brought him
+to the great post, they clasped him fast within the iron band and so
+left him, shivering in his chains with head a-droop. Came the sound of
+muffled weeping from the crowd, while high above, in sky deepening to
+evening, a star twinkled. Now in a while the white friar raised his
+heavy head and looked round about, and lo! his eyes were vacant no
+longer, and as folk strove to come more nigh, he spake, hoarse-voiced
+and feeble.
+
+"O children, grieve not for me, for though this body suffer a little,
+my soul doth sit serene. What though I stand in bonds, yet doth my soul
+go free. Though they burn my flesh to ashes yet doth my soul live on
+forever. So grieve not your hearts for me, my children, and, for
+yourselves, though ye be afflicted even as I--fear ye nothing--since I,
+that ye all do know for a truthful man, do tell ye 'tis none so hard to
+die if that our hearts be clean. What though ye suffer the grievous
+horror of a prison? Within the dark ye shall find God. Thus I amid the
+dreadful gloom of my deep dungeon did lie within the arms of God,
+nothing fearing. So, when the fire shall sear me, though this my flesh
+may groan, God shall reach down to me through smoke and flame and lift
+my soul beyond. O be ye therefore comforted, my children: though each
+must die, yet to the pure in heart death is none so hard--"
+
+Thus spake Friar Martin, shivering in his bonds, what time the crowd
+rocked and swayed, sobbing aloud and groaning; whereat Sir Gui's
+pikemen made lusty play with their spear-shafts.
+
+Then spake Beltane, whispering, to Roger, who, sweating with
+impatience, groaned and stared and gnawed upon his fingers:
+
+"Away, Roger!" And on the instant Roger had turned, and with brawny
+shoulders stooped, drove through the swaying press and was gone.
+
+Now with every moment the temper of the crowd grew more threatening;
+voices shouted, fists were clenched, and the scowling pike-men, plying
+vicious spear-butts, cursed, and questioned each other aloud: "Why
+tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+Hereupon a country fellow hard by took up the question:
+
+"Sir Gui!" he shouted, "Why cometh not Sir Gui?"
+
+"Aye!" cried others, "where tarries Sir Gui?" "Why doth he keep us?"
+"Where tarries Sir Gui?"
+
+"Here!" roared a voice deep and harsh, "Way--make way!" And suddenly
+high above the swaying crowd rose the head and shoulders of a man, a
+mighty man in the dusty habit of a miller, upon whose low-drawn hood
+and be-floured smock were great gouts and stains evil and dark; and
+now, beholding what manner of stains these were, all men fell silent
+and blenched from his path. Thus amid a lane of pallid faces that
+stared and shrank away, the tall miller came unto the wondering pike-men
+--burst their ranks and leapt upon the dais where stood the gilded
+chair.
+
+"Ho! soldiers and men-at-arms--good people of Belsaye--call ye for Gui
+in sooth? hunger ye for sight of Bloody Gui of Allerdale in faith? Why
+then--behold!" and from under his be-dabbled smock he drew forth a
+head, pale as to cheek and hair, whose wide eyes stared blindly as it
+dangled in his hairy hand; and now, staring up at this awful, sightless
+thing--that brow at whose frown a city had trembled, those pallid lips
+that had smiled, and smiling, doomed men and women to torment and
+death--a hush fell on Belsaye and no man spoke or stirred.
+
+Then, while all folk stood thus, rigid and at gaze, a wild cry was
+heard, shivering the stillness and smiting all hearts with sudden
+dread:--
+
+"Fire! Fire!"
+
+"Aye, fire!" roared the miller, "see yonder!" and he pointed where a
+column of thick smoke mounted slowly upon the windless air. But with
+the cry came tumult--a hurry of feet, shouts and yells and hoarse
+commands; armour clashed and pike-heads glittered, down-sweeping for
+the charge. Then Walkyn laughed, and hurling the pale head down at the
+nearest soldiery, drew from his smock his mighty axe and swung it, but
+lo! 'twixt him and the pike-men was a surging, ravening mob that
+closed, front and rear, upon knight and squire, upon pike-man and
+man-at-arms, men who leapt to grip mailed throats in naked hands, women
+who screamed and tore. And one by one, knight and squire, and man-at-arms,
+smiting, shrieking, groaning, were dragged down with merciless hands,
+to be wrenched at, torn, and trampled 'neath merciless feet, while high
+and clear above this fierce and dreadful clamour rose the shrill
+summons of a horn.
+
+And lo! a shout--a roar--drowning the shrieks of dying men, the
+screams of vengeful women, "Arise--arise--Pentavalon!" Came a rush of
+feet, a shock, and thereafter a confused din that rose and fell and,
+gradually ceasing, was lost in a sudden clamour of bells, fierce-pealing
+in wild and joyous riot.
+
+"Aha! 'tis done--'tis done!" panted Roger, stooping to cleanse his
+blade, "spite of all our lack of method, Giles--'tis done! Hark ye to
+those joy-bells! So doth fair Belsaye shout to all men she is free at
+last and clean of Gui and all his roguish garrison--"
+
+"Clean?" quoth Giles. "Clean, forsooth? Roger--O Roger man, I have
+seen men die in many and diver ungentle ways ere now, but these men--
+these men of Gui's, look--look yonder! O sweet heaven keep me ever from
+the tearing hands of vengeful mothers and women wronged!" And turning
+his back on the littered market square, Giles shivered and leaned him
+upon his sword as one that is sick.
+
+"Nay," said Black Roger, "Gui's black knaves being rent in pieces,
+Giles, we shall be saved the hanging of them--ha! there sounds my
+lord's horn, and 'tis the rallying-note--come away, Giles!"
+
+Side by side they went, oft stepping across some shapeless horror,
+until in their going they chanced on one that knelt above a child,
+small and dead. And beholding the costly fashion of this man's armour,
+Roger stooped, and wondering, touched his bowed shoulder:
+
+"Sir Fidelis," said he, "good young messire, and art thou hurt,
+forsooth?"
+
+"Hurt?" sighed Sir Fidelis, staring up great-eyed, "hurt? Nay, behold
+this sweet babe--ah, gentle Christ--so innocent--and slain! A tender
+babe! And yonder--yonder, what dire sights lie yonder--" and sighing,
+the youthful knight sank back across Black Roger's arm and so lay
+speechless and a-swoon.
+
+Quoth Roger, grim-smiling:
+
+"What, Giles, here's one that loveth woman's finger-work no more than
+thou!" Thus saying, he stooped and lifting the young knight in his
+arms, bore him across the square, stumbling now and then on things
+dim-seen in the dark, for night was at hand.
+
+So thus it was that the folk of fair Belsaye town, men and women with
+gnashing teeth and rending hands, made them an end of Tyranny, until
+with the night, there nothing remained of proud Sir Gui and all his
+lusty garrison, save shapeless blotches piled amid the gloom--and that
+which lay, forgotten quite, a cold and pallid thing, befouled with red
+and trampled mire; a thing of no account henceforth, that stared up
+with glazed and sightless eyes, where, remote within the sombre
+firmament of heaven, a great star glowed and trembled.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
+
+
+Lanthorns gleamed and torches flared in the great square of Belsaye
+where panting, shouting townsfolk thronged upon Beltane and his company
+with tears of joy, with laughter loud and high-pitched, with shouts and
+wild acclaim; many there were who knelt to kiss their sun-browned
+hands, their feet, the very links of their armour. And presently came
+Giles o' the Bow, debonair and smiling, a woman's scarf about his
+brawny throat, a dozen ribands and favours tied about each mailed arm.
+
+"Lord," quoth he, "tall brother, I have been fairly kissed by full a
+score of buxom dames--the which is excellent good, for the women of
+Belsaye are of beauty renowned. But to kiss is a rare and notable
+science, and to kiss well a man should eat well, and forsooth, empty am
+I as any drum! Therefore prithee let us eat, that I may uphold my
+reputation, for, as the learned master Ovidius hath it, '_osculos_'--"
+
+But from the townsfolk a shout arose:
+
+"Comes the Reeve! 'Tis good master Cuthbert! Way for the Reeve!"
+
+Hereupon the crowd parting, a tall man appeared, his goodly apparel
+torn, his long white hair disordered, while in his hand he yet grasped
+a naked sword. Stern his face was, and lined beyond his years, moreover
+his broad shoulders were bowed with more than age; but his eye was
+bright and quick, and when he spake, his voice was strong and full.
+
+"Which, I pray, is chiefest among ye?"
+
+"That am I," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Messire," said the Reeve, "who and what men ye are I know not, but in
+the name of these my fellow-citizens do I thank ye for our deliverance.
+But words be poor things, now therefore, an it be treasure ye do seek
+ye shall be satisfied. We have suffered much by extortion, but if gold
+be your desire, then whatsoever gold doth lie in our treasury, the
+half of it is freely thine."
+
+"O most excellent Reeve!" cried Giles, "forsooth, a very proper spirit
+of gratitude."
+
+"Good master," spake Beltane, quelling the archer with a look, "these
+my comrades hither came that a noble man should not perish, and that
+Sir Gui of Allerdale should cease from evil, and behold, 'tis done! So
+I pray you, give us food and shelter for the night, for with the dawn
+we march hence."
+
+"But--O tall brother!" gasped Giles, "O sweet lord, there was mention
+made of treasure! A large-souled Reeve--a Reeve with bowels! 'Treasure'
+quoth he, and likewise 'gold!' And these be matters to excogitate upon.
+Moreover, _pecunioe obediunt omnia_, brother."
+
+"Money, forsooth!" quoth Beltane bitterly; "now out upon thee, Giles--
+how think ye money shall avail the like of us whose lives are forfeit
+each and every, whose foes be many and strong, who must ever be on our
+ward, quick to smite lest we be smitten--money, forsooth! So, good
+master Reeve, keep thy useless treasure, and, in its stead, give to us
+good steel--broadswords, sharp and well-tempered and stout link-mail--
+give of these to such as lack."
+
+"But--O brother," says Giles, "with gold may we gain all these."
+
+"Verily, Giles, but gaining all without gold we lack not for gold, nor
+have the added fear of losing it. He that would gain wealth must first
+win freedom, for without freedom the richest is but a sorry slave. So
+give us steel, good master Reeve."
+
+Now from Giles' archers and divers others beside a growl went up,
+spreading from rank to rank, what time Beltane clenched his hands,
+frowning ever blacker. Then forth stepped Jenkyn o' the Ford with tall
+Orson, which last spake with voice uplift:
+
+"Master," quoth he, "us do love gold--but fighting men us do be, and if
+'steel' says you--'steel' says we!"
+
+"Aye," nodded Jenkyn, "so look'ee master, here stands I wi' Orson my
+comrade look'ee, for witness that to-day we be better men than these
+growlers."
+
+But here, of a sudden, rose the shrill bray of a trumpet without the
+walls, a long flourish, loud and imperious; and at the sound a silence
+fell, wherein divers of the townsfolk eyed each other in fear swift-born,
+and drew nearer to the white-haired Reeve who stood leaning heavily upon
+his sword, his head stooped upon his broad chest. And in
+the silence, Giles spake:
+
+"Now, by the ever-blessed Saint Giles, there spake the summons of
+Robert of Hurstmanswyke--I know his challenge of old--ha, bows and
+bills!" So saying he bent and strung his bow.
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, loosening sword in sheath, "and Sir Robert is a
+dour fighter I've heard."
+
+"So soon!" groaned the Reeve, "so very soon! Now God pity Belsaye!"
+
+"Amen!" quoth Giles, fidgeting uneasily with his bow, "forsooth, Sir
+Robert is a very potent lord--God help us all, say I!"
+
+"And Sir Robert likewise," quoth Roger, "for methinks an he come within
+Belsaye he is like to stay in Belsaye--mind ye Sir Gui, and mark ye my
+master's look!" And he pointed where Beltane stood near by, chin in
+fist, his eye bright and purposeful, his mouth grim-smiling; even as
+they watched he beckoned Walkyn and Eric to him and spake certain
+commands what time the trumpet brayed again in summons fierce and
+arrogant.
+
+"Good master Reeve," quoth Beltane, as Walkyn and Eric, obedient to his
+word, moved into the square to right and left, each with his company,
+"there is one without that groweth impatient. Let us therefore parley
+with him from the battlement above the gate."
+
+"Ah, messire," sighed the Reeve, "to what end? 'Tis Sir Robert's
+summons, and well I know he will demand speech with my lord Gui--alas
+for us and for Belsaye town!"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "be comforted. Answer as I shall direct and
+fear ye nothing. Come your ways."
+
+Now when Roger turned and would have followed, Giles plucked him by the
+arm:
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "Sir Robert will demand speech of Gui of Allerdale,
+mark ye that, my Rogerkin. Nor will he speak to any but Sir Gui--for a
+great lord and proud is Robert of Hurstmanswyke. Ha, what think ye,
+Roger?"
+
+"I think perchance he must go dumb then--come, let us follow."
+
+"Nay, but speak he must--since he may tell us much, aye, and speak he
+shall. So come, my Rogerkin, hither with me!"
+
+"With thee, Giles? And wherefore?"
+
+"A wile, sweet Roger, a notable wile--a wile of wiles. Hush! speak not,
+but come--for mark this:
+
+  "In faith a cunning man is Giles
+   In counsel sage and full of wiles!"
+
+"So come, Rogerkin!" So saying, he gripped stout Roger's arm and
+plunged into the crowd.
+
+Being come out upon the battlement above the gate, Beltane, with the
+Reeve beside him, peering down through the dark, beheld beyond the
+moat, a knight supported by four esquires, and beyond these Beltane
+counted thirty lances what time the Reeve, steadying his voice,
+challenged them.
+
+Hereupon the knight spake:
+
+"Ha! do ye stir at last, dogs! Open in the Duke's name--'tis I, Robert,
+lord of Hurstmanswyke, with message to the lord Seneschal, Sir Gui, and
+captives from Bourne!"
+
+Then, grim-smiling in the dusk, Beltane spake: "Now greeting and
+fair greeting to thee, my lord, and to thy captives. Hath Thrasfordham
+fallen so soon?"
+
+"Thrasfordham, fool! 'tis not yet invested--these be divers of
+Benedict's spies out of Bourne, to grace thy gibbets. Come, unbar--down
+with the drawbridge; open I say--must I wait thy rogue's pleasure?"
+
+"Not so, noble lord. Belsaye this night doth welcome thee with open
+arms--and ye be in sooth Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke."
+
+"Ha, do ye doubt me, knave? Dare ye keep me without? Set wide the
+gates, and instantly, or I will see thee in a noose hereafter. Open!
+Open! God's death! will ye defy me? gate ho!"
+
+So Beltane, smiling yet, descended from the battlement and bade them
+set wide the gates. Down creaked drawbridge; bars fell, bolts groaned,
+the massy gates swung wide--and Sir Robert and his esquires, with his
+weary captives stumbling in their jangling chains, and his thirty
+men-at-arms riding two by two, paced into Belsaye market square; the
+drawbridge rose, creaking, while gates clashed and bar and chain
+rattled ominously behind them. But Sir Robert, nothing heeding, secure
+in his noble might, scowled about him 'neath lifted vizor, and summoned
+the Reeve to his stirrup with imperious hand:
+
+"How now, master Reeve," quoth he, "I am in haste to be gone: where
+tarries Sir Gui? Have ye not warned him of my coming? Go, say I crave
+instant speech with him on matters of state, moreover, say I bring
+fifty and three for him to hang to-morrow--go!"
+
+But now, while the Reeve yet stood, pale in the torchlight, finding
+nought to say, came Beltane beside him.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, "fifty and three is a goodly number; must they all
+die to-morrow?"
+
+"To-morrow? Aye--or whensoever Sir Gui wills."
+
+"Ah, fair lord," says Beltane, "then, as I guess, these fifty and three
+shall assuredly live on awhile, since Sir Gui of Allerdale will hang
+men no more."
+
+"Ha, dare ye mock me, knave?" cried Sir Robert, and clenching iron hand
+he spurred upon Beltane, but checked as suddenly, and pointed where,
+midst the shrinking populace, strode one in knightly armour, whose
+embroidered surcoat bore the arms, and whose vizored helm the crest of
+Sir Gui of Allerdale. Now beholding this silent figure, a groan of fear
+went up, divers men sank crouching on their knees, the Reeve uttered a
+hoarse gasp and covered his face, while even Beltane, staring wide-eyed,
+felt his flesh a-creep. But now Sir Robert rode forward:
+
+"Greeting, lord Seneschal!" said he, "you come betimes, messire, though
+not over hastily, methinks!"
+
+"Forsooth," quoth the figure, his voice booming in his great war-helm,
+"forsooth and verily there be three things no man should leave in
+haste: _videlicit_ and to wit: his prayers, his dinner and his lady.
+None the less came I hither to give thee greeting, good my lord."
+
+"My lord Seneschal, what manner of men be these of thine?"
+
+"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools--save
+one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a
+man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles."
+
+"Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at
+Beltane, "who is he?"
+
+"Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs."
+
+"He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."
+
+"Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I."
+
+"The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more."
+
+"Ha, said he so forsooth? dared he so asperse mine honour? Ha, here is
+matter for red-hot irons, the pincers and the rack, anon. But come, Sir
+Robert--thou dost bear news, belike; come your ways and drink a goblet
+of wine."
+
+"Nay, my lord, I thank thee, but I must hence this night to Barham
+Broom. But for my news, 'tis this: the out-law men call Beltane, hath,
+by devilish arts, sacked and burned Garthlaxton Keep."
+
+"Why, this I knew; there is a lewd song already made thereon, as thus:
+
+  "They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
+   Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
+   And unto lusty Giles the same,
+      _Dixit_!"
+
+"Forsooth, a naughty song, a very gallows' song, in faith. Pray you,
+what more?"
+
+"There hath come unto the Duke one hight Gurth--a hang-dog rogue that
+doth profess to know the lurking-place of this vile outlaw, and
+to-morrow at sunset, Sir Pertolepe and I with goodly force march into
+the green. So now must I hence, leaving with thee these captives from
+Bourne that you shall hang above the walls for a warning to all such
+outlaws and traitors. Lastly, my lord Seneschal, drink not so deep
+a-nights, and so, fare thee well."
+
+Now as he yet spake rose the shrill notes of a horn, and turning about,
+Sir Robert beheld men whose mail glistened in the torchlight and whose
+long pikes hemmed him in close and closer what time a fierce shout went
+up: "Kill!" "Kill!"
+
+"Ho, treason!" he roared, and grasped at his sword hilt; but down came
+Roger's heavy broadsword upon Sir Robert's helm, beating him to earth
+where Walkyn's mighty foot crushed him down and his axe gleamed bright.
+Then, while the air rang with shouts and cries and the clatter of
+trampling hoofs, a white figure leapt and bestrode the fallen knight,
+and Walkyn glared down into the pale face of Friar Martin.
+
+"Forbear, Walkyn, forbear!" he cried, and speaking, staggered for very
+weakness and would have fallen but Walkyn's long arm was about him. And
+ever the uproar grew; the grim ranks of archers and pikemen drew closer
+about Sir Robert's shrinking men-at-arms what time the townsfolk,
+brandishing their weapons, shouted amain, "Kill! Kill!"
+
+Now Roger's blow had been full lusty and Sir Robert yet lay a-swoon,
+seeing which, divers of his company, casting down their arms, cried
+aloud for quarter; whereat the townsfolk shouted but the fiercer: "Slay
+them! Kill! Kill!" But now, high above this clamour, rose the shrill
+note of Beltane's horn bidding all men to silence. Hereupon there came
+to him the white friar, who, looking earnestly upon his mailed face,
+uttered a sudden glad cry and caught his hand and kissed it; then
+turned he to the surging concourse and spake loud and joyously:
+
+"Stay, good people of Belsaye! O ye children of affliction, spill not
+the blood of these thine enemies, but look, rather, upon this man! For
+this is he of whom I told ye in the days of your tribulation, this is
+he who burned the shameful gallows, who brake open the dungeon and hath
+vowed his life to the cause of the oppressed and weak. Behold now the
+son of Beltane the Strong and Just! Behold Beltane, our rightful Duke!"
+Now went there up to heaven a great and wild acclaim; shouts of joy and
+the thunderous battle-cry "Arise! Arise! Pentavalon!" Then, while all
+eyes beheld and all ears hearkened, Beltane spake him, plain and to the
+point, as was his custom:
+
+"Behold now, men of Belsaye, these our enemies do cry us mercy, and
+shall we not bestow it? Moreover one living hostage is better than two
+foemen slain. Entreat them gently, therefore, but let me see them
+lodged secure ere I march hence."
+
+But hereupon came many of the townsfolk with divers counsellors and
+chief men of the city who, kneeling, most earnestly prayed Beltane to
+abide for their defence.
+
+"Good my lord," quoth the Reeve, "bethink thee, when Duke Ivo shall
+hear of our doings he will seek bitter vengeance. Ah, my lord, 'twas
+but five years agone he stormed Belsaye and gave it up to pillage--and
+on that day--my wife--was slain! And when he had set up his great
+gallows and hanged it full with our men, he vowed that, should Belsaye
+anger him again, he would burn the city and all within it and, O my
+lord, my lord--I have yet a daughter--Ah, good my lord, leave us not
+to ravishment and death!"
+
+"Aye, go not from us, my lord!" cried the others. "Be thou our leader
+henceforth!" and thereto they besought him with eager cries and with
+hands outstretched.
+
+But Beltane shook his head; quoth he:
+
+"Look now, as men are born into the world but for the good of man, so
+must I to my duty. And methinks, this is my duty: to do such deeds as
+shall ring throughout this sorrowful Duchy like a trumpet-blast,
+bidding all men arise and take hold upon their manhood. Garthlaxton is
+no more, but there be many castles yet to burn whose flames, perchance,
+shall light such a fire within the souls of men as shall ne'er be
+quenched until Wrong and Tyranny be done away. So must I back to the
+wild-wood to wild and desperate doings. But, as for ye--I have heard
+tell that the men of Belsaye are brave and resolute. Let now the memory
+of wrongs endured make ye trebly valiant to maintain your new-got
+liberty. If Duke Ivo come, then let your walls be manned, for 'tis
+better to die free men than trust again to his mercy."
+
+"Verily, lord," said the Reeve, "but we do lack for leaders. Our
+provost and all our captains Duke Ivo hanged upon his gallows. Beseech
+thee, then, give to us a leader cunning in war."
+
+"That will I," answered Beltane, "on this condition--that every able
+man shall muster under arms each day within the market-square."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+Then summoned he Eric of the wry neck, together with Giles who came
+forthwith, being yet bedight in Sir Gui's harness.
+
+"Eric, I have marked thee well; methinks thou art one long bred to arms
+and learned in war?"
+
+"My lord Beltane, in other days I was the Duke thy father's High
+Constable of all the coast-wise towns."
+
+"Ha--say'st thou so in sooth? Then now do I make thee lord Constable of
+Belsaye. As to thee, Giles, thou guileful rogue, hast full oft vaunted
+thyself a soldier of experience, so now am I minded to prove thee and
+thy methods. How if I give thee charge over the bowmen of Belsaye?"
+
+"Why first, sweet, tall brother, first will I teach them to draw a bow,
+pluck a string, and speed a shaft as never townsman drew, plucked or
+sped--in fine, I will teach them to shoot: and, thereafter, devoutly
+pray the good Saint Giles (that is my patron saint) to send us Black
+Ivo and his dogs to shoot at!"
+
+"So be it. Choose ye now each ten men of your companies that shall
+abide here with ye what time I am away--yet first mark this: In your
+hands do I leave this fair city, to your care I give the lives and
+well-being of all these men and women and children. Come now, lay here
+your hands upon my sword and swear me to maintain Belsaye to the last
+man 'gainst siege or storm, so long as life be in you!"
+
+Now when they had sworn, Beltane turned him to the Reeve:
+
+"Good sir," quoth he, "I pray you loose now the captives from their
+chains. Let your prisoners be secured, and for the rest, let us now eat
+and drink lest we famish."
+
+Thus in a while, Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke, dazed and bewildered, and
+his four esquires, together with his thirty men-at-arms, stripped of
+armour and weapons, were led away and lodged secure beneath the keep.
+
+Now it chanced that as Beltane stood apart with head a-droop as one in
+thought, there came to him Sir Fidelis and touched him with gentle
+hand.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said he softly, "of what think you?"
+
+"Of Pentavalon, and how soonest her sorrows may be done away."
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire?"
+
+"Aye, truly, Fidelis."
+
+"Then wherefore let her suffer longer?"
+
+"Suffer? Aye, there it is--but how may I bring her woes to sudden end?
+I am too weak, her oppressors many, and my men but few--"
+
+"Few?" quoth Sir Fidelis, speaking with head low-stooped. "Few,
+messire? Not so. Ten thousand lances might follow thee to-morrow an
+thou but spake the word--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "mock me not, good Fidelis, thou dost know me a
+lonely man and friendless--to whom should I speak?"
+
+"To one that loveth thee now as ever, to one that yearneth for thee
+with heart nigh to breaking--to Helen--"
+
+"Ah!" quoth Beltane, slow and bitter, "speak word to Helen the
+Beautiful--the Wilful--the Wanton? No, a thousand times! Rather would I
+perish, I and all my hopes, than seek aid of such as she--"
+
+"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire? Nay, methinks better far thou
+dost love thy cold and cruel pride--so must Pentavalon endure her
+grievous wrongs, and so do I pity her, but--most of all--I pity thee,
+messire!"
+
+Now would Beltane have answered but found no word, and therefore fell
+to black and bitter anger, and, turning on his heel, incontinent strode
+away into the council-hall where a banquet had been spread. Frowning,
+he ate and drank in haste, scarce heeding the words addressed to him,
+wherefore others grew silent also; and thereafter, his hunger assuaged,
+strode he out into the square and summoned his company.
+
+"Men of Pentavalon," spake he loud and quick, "howso poor and humble ye
+be, henceforth ye shall go, each and every, equipped in knightly mail
+from foot to head, your man's flesh as secure as flesh of any potent
+lord or noble of them all. Henceforth each man of us must fight as
+valiantly as ten. Now, if any there be who know the manage of horse and
+lance, let him step forth." Hereupon divers stepped out of the ranks,
+and Beltane counted of these fifty and two.
+
+"Master Reeve," spake Beltane, "give now for guerdon instead of gold,
+horses and equipment for these my comrades, stout lances and mail
+complete with goodly bascinets."
+
+"It shall be done, my lord."
+
+"Roger, in thy command I set these fifty lances. See now to their
+arming, let them be mounted and ready with speed, for in this hour we
+ride."
+
+"Aye, master," cried Roger, his eyes a-dance, "that will I, moreover--"
+
+"Walkyn, to thee I give the pikes henceforth. As for our archers--
+Giles, which now think you fittest to command?"
+
+"Why truly, brother--my lord, if one there be can twang a lusty bow and
+hath a cool and soldier-like head 'tis Jenkyn o' the Ford, and after
+him Walcher, and after him--"
+
+"Jenkyn, do you henceforth look to our archers. Are these matters heard
+and known among ye?"
+
+"Aye!" came the thunderous answer.
+
+"'Tis well, for mark me, we go out to desperate doings, wherein
+obedience must be instant, wherein all must love like brothers, and,
+like brothers, fight shoulder to shoulder!"
+
+Now came there certain of the citizens to Beltane, leading a great and
+noble war-horse, richly caparisoned, meet for his acceptance. And thus,
+ere the moon rose, equipped with lance and shield and ponderous,
+vizored casque, Beltane, gloomy and silent, with Sir Fidelis mounted
+beside him, rode forth at the head of his grim array, at whose tramp
+and jingle the folk of Belsaye shouted joyful acclaim while the bells
+rang out right joyously.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE WITCH OF
+HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+It was very dark upon the forest road, where trees loomed gigantic
+against the pitchy gloom wherein dim-seen branches creaked and swayed,
+and leaves rustled faint and fitful in the stealthy night-wind; and
+through the gloom at the head of his silent company Beltane rode in
+frowning thought, his humour blacker than the night.
+
+Now in a while, Sir Fidelis, riding ever at his elbow, ventured speech
+with him:
+
+"Art very silent, messire. Have I angered thee, forsooth? Is aught
+amiss betwixt us?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, shortly:
+
+"Art over-young, sir knight, and therefore fond and foolish. Is a man a
+lover of self because he hateth dishonour? Art a presumptuous youth--
+and that's amiss!"
+
+"Art thou so ancient, messire, and therefore so wise as to judge 'twixt
+thy hates and loves and the abiding sorrows of Pentavalon?" questioned
+Fidelis, low-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Old enough am I to know that in all this world is no baser thing than
+the treachery of a faithless woman, and that he who seeketh aid of
+such, e'en though his cause be just, dishonoureth himself and eke his
+cause. So God keep me from all women henceforth--and as for thee, speak
+me no more the name of this light wanton."
+
+"My lord," quoth Sir Fidelis, leaning near, "my lord--whom mean you?"
+
+"Whom should I mean but Mortain Helen--Helen the Beautiful--"
+
+Now cried Sir Fidelis as one that feels a blow, and, in the dark, he
+seized Beltane in sudden griping fingers, and shook him fiercely.
+
+"And dare ye name her 'wanton!'" he cried. "Ye shall not--I say ye
+shall not!" But, laughing, Beltane smote away the young knight's hold
+and laughed again.
+
+"Is this light lady's fame so dear to thee, poor, youthful fool?" said
+he. "Aye me! doubt not her falsity shall break thy heart some day and
+teach thee wisdom--"
+
+A shout among the woods upon their right, a twinkling light that came
+and went amid the underbrush, and Walkyn appeared, bearing a lighted
+brand.
+
+"Lord," he growled, "here has been devil's work of late, for yonder a
+cottage lieth a heap of glowing ashes, and upon a tree hard by a dead
+man doth swing."
+
+"Learned ye aught else, Walkyn?"
+
+"Nothing, save that a large company passed here yesterday as I judge.
+Horse and foot--going south, see you," and he held his torch to the
+trampled road.
+
+"Going south--aye, Walkyn, to Barham Broom, methinks. Here is another
+debt shall yet be paid in full, mayhap," quoth Beltane grimly.
+"Forward!"
+
+The jingling column moved on again, yet had gone but a little way when
+Sir Fidelis, uttering a cry, swerved his horse suddenly and sprang to
+earth.
+
+"What now?" questioned Beltane, staring into the murk.
+
+"My lord--my lord, a woman lieth here, and--ah, messire--she is dead!"
+
+"O, a woman?" quoth Beltane, "and dead, say you? Why then, the world
+shall know less of evil and treachery, methinks. Come--mount, sir
+knight, mount, I say, and let us on!"
+
+But Sir Fidelis, on his knees beside that silent, dim-seen form, heeded
+him not at all, and with reverent, folded hands, and soft and tender
+voice, spake a prayer for the departed soul. Now hereupon Beltane knew
+sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have
+prayed--yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger
+grew more bitter.
+
+"Mount, mount, sir knight!" cried he harshly. "Better to seek
+vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees--mount, I say!"
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle,
+reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone. But in a while, Beltane
+perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and
+fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.
+
+"Wherefore slink ye behind me?" he demanded.
+
+Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled:
+
+"My lord Beltane, 'twas said thou wert a noble knight--very strong and
+very gentle--"
+
+"Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?"
+
+"Alas!" sighed the young knight; and again "alas!" and therewith a
+great sob brake from him.
+
+Of a sudden, from the gloom beside the way rose a woman's scream, and
+thereafter a great and fierce roar; and presently came Walkyn with his
+torch and divers of his men, dragging a woman in their midst, and lo!
+it was the witch of Hangstone Waste.
+
+Now she, beholding Beltane's face beneath his lifted vizor, cried out
+for very joy:
+
+"Now heaven bless thee, Duke Beltane! Ah, my lord--hear me!"
+
+"What would ye? What seek ye of such as I?"
+
+But hereupon Black Roger spurred beside Beltane, his eyes wide and
+fearful in the shadow of his helm, his strong, mailed hand a-tremble on
+Beltane's arm.
+
+"Beware, my lord, beware!" he cried, "'tis nigh the midnight hour and
+she a noted witch--heed her not lest she blight thy fair body, lest
+she--"
+
+"Peace, Roger! Now speak, woman--what would ye?"
+
+"A life, my lord!"
+
+"Ah, the blessed saints forfend--I feared so!" gasped Roger.
+
+But now the witch turned and looked on Roger, and he incontinent
+crossed himself and fell thenceforth to mumbling prayers beneath his
+breath.
+
+"Lord Duke, for that I am but a woman poor and helpless, now would I
+beseech thine aid for--"
+
+"Nay, tell me first, whence come ye?"
+
+"From Barham Broom, messire. Ah! spare aid for one that lieth in peril
+of death--the maid Mellent--they do proclaim her witch--they will burn
+her--"
+
+"O--a woman!" quoth Beltane, wrinkling his brows; and beholding Sir
+Fidelis watching him, straightway frowned the blacker.
+
+"Nay, messire, hear me!" cried the witch, "ah, turn not away! This
+maid, indeed, is not of common blood--a lady is she of birth and wide
+demesnes--"
+
+"Why then," said Beltane, heedful ever of the young knight's burning
+glance, "why then is she more apt for treachery and evil."
+
+"Not so, my lord; weak is she and beset by cruel enemies. I found her,
+a stranger, wandering lonely in the green, and she, being sick of heart
+and brain, spake wild words of a great wrong, vainly done and suffered,
+and of an abiding remorse. And when I had nursed her into health she
+told me a wondrous tale. So, lord Beltane, do I know that in her hands
+thy happiness doth lie."
+
+"Not so!" sighed Beltane. "Happiness and I are strangers henceforth--"
+
+But here once again came a hoarse and angry roar with the sound of
+desperate struggling amid the leaves hard by, whence came Jenkyn and
+Orson with divers others, dragging a strange, hairy, dwarf-like
+creature, great and shaggy of head and with the arms and shoulders of a
+giant; smirched was he in blood from a great wound above the brow and
+his rich habit was mired and torn. Now looking upon this monstrous
+creature that writhed and struggled mightily with his captors, groaning
+and roaring betimes, Beltane felt his flesh a-creep with swift and
+pregnant memory, and straightway beset the witch with fierce question:
+
+"Woman, what thing is this?"
+
+"My lord, 'tis naught but poor Ulf, a natural, messire, very strong and
+faithful, that hath fought mightily and is nigh slain in our defence--
+see how he bleeds! Let them not harm him, my lord!"
+
+"Yet have I seen him ere this, methinks."
+
+"But for the maid Mellent--thou wilt not let her burn--and for thy
+deeds?"
+
+"Mine, forsooth! How mean you?"
+
+"'Twas yester-eve we were beset hereabouts by a lewd company, and
+brought unto their lord, Sir Grilles of Brandonmere--a man beyond all
+other men base and vile--who, beholding her so young and fair would
+have forced her to his will."
+
+"Ha!--methinks Sir Gilles doth live too long!"
+
+"So to save her from his violence, I discovered to him her name and
+high estate, whereupon at first he would fain have her wed with him.
+But, angered by her scorn, he bore her with him to Duke Ivo at Barham
+Broom, and me also. And there I heard her denounced as witch, by whose
+spells thou, lord Beltane, wert freed of thy duress and Garthlaxton
+utterly destroyed. Thus, to-morrow she must burn, unless one can be
+found to champion her cause and prove her innocent by trial of combat.
+So, when they had let me go I came seeking thee, my lord, since 'tis
+said thou art a very strong man and swift to aid the defenceless." Now
+glancing aside upon Sir Fidelis, Beltane beheld him leaning forward
+with his lips apart and slender hands tight-clasped; whereupon he
+frowned and shook his head.
+
+"A woman!" quoth he, "nay, I had rather fight in a dog's cause."
+
+"Forsooth!" cried Roger, "for rogue is he and fool that would champion
+a vile witch."
+
+"Why, then, let us on, lord," growled Walkyn. "Why tarry we here?"
+
+But now, as the witch sank upon the road with pleading hands uplifted,
+Sir Fidelis rode beside her and, stooping, caught her outstretched
+hands; quoth he:
+
+"Of what avail to plead with such as these? So will I adventure me on
+behalf of this poor maid."
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane. "Walkyn, march ye one and all for Hundleby
+Fen--wait me there and let your watch be strict. But, an I come not
+within two days from now, then hie you each and every to reinforce Eric
+and Giles in Belsaye. As for Roger, he rideth with me to Barham Broom."
+
+"Ha, lord!--wilt fight, then, in the witch's cause?" cried Walkyn.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, though--forsooth I had rather fight in a dog's cause,
+for a dog, see you, is a faithful beast."
+
+"To Barham Broom?" quoth Roger, staring. "Thou and I, master, to Black
+Ivo--alone?" And speaking, he loosened sword in scabbard.
+
+"My lord Beltane," cried Sir Fidelis, beholding him with shining eyes,
+"an thou wilt do this noble thing, suffer me beside thee!"
+
+"Not so, messire," answered Beltane, shaking his head, "art over young
+and tender, methinks--go, get thee back to her that sent thee--keep
+thou thy fond and foolish dream, and may thy gentle heart go unbroken.
+Come, Roger!"
+
+So saying, Beltane wheeled about and rode away with Roger at his heels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH.
+
+
+Barham Broom was gay with the stir of flags and streamers, where, above
+broidered pavilion and silken tent, pennons and banderoles, penoncels
+and gonfalons fluttered and flew, beyond which long lines of smaller
+tents stretched away north and south, east and west, and made up the
+camp of my lord Duke Ivo.
+
+Beyond the confines of this great and goodly camp the lists had been
+formed, and here from earliest dawn a great concourse had been
+gathering; villein and vassal, serf and freedman from town and village:
+noble lords and ladies fair from castle hall and perfumed bower, all
+were here, for to-day a witch was to die--to-day, from her tortured
+flesh the flame was to drive forth and exorcize, once and for all, the
+demon who possessed her, by whose vile aid she wrought her charms and
+spells. So country wenches pushed and strove amid the throng, and
+dainty ladies leaned from canopied galleries to shudder with dread or
+trill soft laughter; but each and every stared at one who stood alone,
+'twixt armed guards, so young and fair and pale within her bonds, oft
+turning piteous face to heaven or looking with quailing eye where stake
+and chain and faggot menaced her with awful doom. And ever the kindly
+sun rose high and higher, and ever the staring concourse grew.
+
+Now, of a sudden the clarions rang out a point of war, and all voices
+were hushed, as, forth into the lists, upon his richly-caparisoned
+charger, my lord Duke Ivo rode, followed by his chiefest lords and
+barons; and as he rode, he smiled to himself full oft as one that
+meditates a hidden jest. Being come where the witch stood, her
+disordered garments rent by vicious handling, striving to veil her
+beauty in her long, dark hair, my lord Duke reined in his pawing steed
+to sit a while and look down at her 'neath sleepy lids; and, ever as he
+looked, his arching nostrils fluttered above curling lip, and ever he
+fingered his long, blue-shaven chin.
+
+"Alack!" cried he at last, "'tis a comely wench, and full young,
+methinks, to die so soon! But witchcraft is a deadly sin, abhorred by
+man and hateful unto God--"
+
+"My lord--my lord," spake the witch swift and passionate yet trembling
+'neath his sleepy gaze, "thou knowest I am no witch indeed--thou
+knowest--"
+
+"Nay, nay," quoth the Duke, shaking his head, and coming more near he
+stooped and spake her, low-voiced, "nay, she thou would'st name was a
+lady proud, soft and white, with hair bright and glorious as the sun--
+in sooth a fair lady--yet something too ambitious. But thou, though of
+her size and shape, art of a dark and swarthy hue and thy hair black,
+meseemeth. Of a verity thou art only the witch Mellent, and so, by
+reason of thy sun-browned skin and raven hair--aye, and for thy
+witchcraft--thou, alack! must die--unless thou find thee a champion.
+Verily I fear me no man will dare take up thy cause, for Sir Gilles is
+a lusty man and famous at the joust. Moreover--my will is known in the
+matter, so do I fear there none shall come to fight on thy behalf.
+Alack! that one should die so young!"
+
+"Ah, my lord--my lord Ivo," she whispered, eager and breathless, "show
+me a little mercy. For that, to be thy Duchess, I denied thee thy
+desire in the past, let me now be prisoned all my days, an it be thy
+will--but give me not to the fire--ah, God--not the fire! Pity--pity
+me for what I did for thee--be merciful--"
+
+"Did, wench--did?" quoth the Duke, gently. "Now when spake I with witch
+ere this? 'Tis true there was a lady--something of thy seeming--who, to
+gain much, promised much, and--achieved me nothing. So now do I know
+thee far one Mellent, a notable witch, that shall this day instead of
+ducal crown, wear crown of flame. Alack!--and so, farewell!"
+
+Thus speaking, my lord Duke rode on up the lists, where stood certain
+noble lords to hold his stirrup and aid him to earth; so mounted he to
+his place 'neath broidered canopy, and many a fair cheek blanched, and
+many a stout knight faltered in his speech, beholding that slow-creeping,
+stealthy smile and the twitch of those thin nostrils.
+
+Now once again the trumpet blew, and a herald stepped forth:
+
+"God save ye, lord Duke," he cried, "ye noble lords and ladies fair--
+good people all, God save ye. Know that before you here assembled, hath
+been brought one Mellent--that hath been denounced a notable witch and
+sorceress, who, by her fiendish arts and by the aid of demons foul and
+damned, doth seek the hurt of our lord the Duke, whom God and the
+saints defend. Forasmuch as this witch, yclept Mellent, did, by her
+unhallowed spells and magic, compass and bring about the escape from
+close duress of one Beltane, a notable outlaw, malefactor and enemy to
+our lord the Duke; and whereas she did also by aid of charms,
+incantations and the like devilish practices, contrive the sack,
+burning and total destruction of my lord Duke's good and fair castle of
+Garthlaxton upon the March. Now therefore it is adjudged that she be
+taken and her body burned to ashes here before you. All of which
+charges have been set forth and sworn to by this right noble lord and
+gallant knight Sir Gilles of Brandonmere--behold him here in person."
+
+Hereupon, while the trumpets brayed a flourish and fanfare, forth rode
+Sir Gilles upon a mighty charger, a grim and warlike figure in his
+shining mail and blazoned surcoat, his ponderous, crested war-helm
+closed, his long shield covering him from shoulder to stirrup, and his
+lance-point twinkling on high.
+
+Then spake again the herald loud and clear: "Good people all, behold
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere, who cometh here before you prepared to
+maintain the truth and justice of the charges he hath made--unto the
+death, 'gainst any man soever, on horse or on foot, with lance,
+battle-axe or sword. Now if there be any here do know this witch Mellent
+for innocent, if there be any here dare adventure his body for her
+innocence and run the peril of mortal combat with Sir Gilles, let him
+now stand forth."
+
+And immediately the trumpets sounded a challenge. Thereafter the herald
+paced slowly round the lists, and behind him rode Sir Gilles, his
+blazon of the three stooping falcons plain for all men to see, on
+gleaming shield and surcoat.
+
+North and south, and east and west the challenge was repeated, and
+after each the trumpet sounded a warlike flourish, yet no horseman
+paced forth and no man leapt the barriers; and the witch Mellent
+drooped pale and trembling betwixt her warders. But, of a sudden she
+opened swooning eyes and lifted her heavy head; for, from the distant
+woods, faint as yet and far, a horn brayed hoarsely--three notes,
+thrice repeated, defiant and warlike. And now, among the swaying
+crowds rose a hum that grew and grew, while ever and anon the horn rang
+out, fiercely winded--and ever it sounded nearer: until, of a sudden,
+out from the trees afar, two horsemen galloped, their harness bright
+in the sunshine, helm and lance-point twinkling, who, spurring knee
+and knee, thundered over the ling; while every tongue grew hushed, and
+every eye turned to mark their swift career.
+
+Tall were these men and lusty, bedight from head to foot in glistening
+mail, alike at all points save that one bare neither shield nor lance,
+and 'neath his open bascinet showed a face brown and comely, whereas
+his companion rode, his long shield flashing in the sun, his head and
+face hid by reason of his ponderous, close-shut casque. Swift they
+rode, the throng parting before them; knee and knee together they leapt
+the palisade, and reining in their horses, paced down the lists and
+halted before the pale and trembling captive. Then spake the knight,
+harsh-voiced behind his vizor:
+
+"Sound, Roger!"
+
+Forthwith the black-haired, ruddy man set a hunting horn to his lips,
+and blew thereon a flourish so loud and shrill as made the very welkin
+ring.
+
+Now came pursuivants and the chief herald, which last made inquisition
+thus:
+
+"Sir Knight, crest hast thou none, nor on thy shield device, so do I
+demand name and rank of thee, who thus in knightly guise doth give this
+bold defiance, and wherefore ye ride armed at points. Pronounce,
+messire!"
+
+Then spake the tall knight loud and fierce, his voice deep-booming
+within the hollow of his closed casque.
+
+"Name and rank have I laid by for the nonce, until I shall have
+achieved a certain vow, but of noble blood am I and kin unto the
+greatest--this do I swear by Holy Rood. To-day am I hither come in arms
+to do battle on behalf of yon innocent maid, and to maintain her
+innocence so long as strength abide. And furthermore, here before ye
+all and every, I do proclaim Sir Gilles of Brandonmere a shame and
+reproach unto his order. To all the world I do proclaim him rogue and
+thief and wilful liar, the which (God willing) I will here prove upon
+his vile body. So now let there be an end of words. Sound, Roger!"
+
+Hereupon he of the ruddy cheek clapped horn to lip and blew amain until
+his cheek grew redder yet, what time the heralds and pursuivants and
+marshals of the field debated together if it were lawful for a nameless
+knight to couch lance 'gainst one of noble blood. But now came Sir
+Gilles himself, choking with rage, and fuming in his harness.
+
+"Ha, thou nameless dog!" cried he, brandishing his heavy lance, "be
+thou serf or noble, art an errant liar--so will I slay thee out of
+hand!" Thus saying, he reined round the great roan stallion he
+bestrode, and galloped to one end of the lists. Now spake Black Roger
+low-voiced, and his hand shook upon his bridle:
+
+"Master, now do I fear for thee. Sir Gilles is a mighty jouster and
+skilled withal, moreover he rideth his famous horse Mars--a noble beast
+and fresh, while thine is something wearied. And then, master, direst
+of all, she thou would'st champion is a witch--"
+
+"That worketh no evil by day, Roger. So do I charge thee, whatsoe'er
+betide, look to the maid, take her across thy saddle and strive to
+bring her to safety. As for me, I will now with might and main seek to
+make an end of Sir Gilles of Brandonmere."
+
+So saying, Beltane rode to the opposite extremity of the lists.
+
+And now, while the trumpets blared, the two knights took their ground,
+Sir Gilles resplendent in lofty crest and emblazoned surcoat, the three
+stooping falcons conspicuous on his shield, his mighty roan charger
+pawing the ling with impatient hoof; his opponent, a gleaming figure
+astride a tall black horse, his round-topped casque unadorned by plume
+or crest. So awhile they remained, very still and silent, what time a
+single trumpet spake, whereat--behold! the two long lances sank feutred
+to the charge, the broad shields flashed, glittered and were still
+again; and from that great concourse a sound went up--a hum, that
+swelled, and so was gone.
+
+The maid Mellent had sunk upon her knees and was praying desperate
+prayers with face upturned to heaven; but none was there to mark her
+now amid that silent gathering--all eyes were strained to watch those
+grim and silent horsemen that fronted each other, the length of the
+lists between; even Duke Ivo, leaning on lazy elbow, looked with
+glowing eye and slow-flushing cheek, ere he let fall his truncheon.
+
+And, on the instant, shrill and fierce the trumpets brayed, and on the
+instant each knight struck spurs, the powerful horses reared, plunged,
+and sprang away at speed. Fast and faster they galloped, their riders
+low-stooped above the high-peaked saddles, shields addressed and lances
+steady, with pounding hooves that sent the turves a-flying, with
+gleaming helms and deadly lance-points a-twinkle; fast and ever faster
+they thundered down upon each other, till, with a sudden direful crash,
+they met in full career with a splintering of well-aimed lances, a
+lashing of wild hooves, a rearing of powerful horses, staggering and
+reeling beneath the shock. And now a thunderous cry went up, for the
+tall black horse, plunging and snorting, went down rolling upon the
+sward. But his rider had leapt clear and, stumbling to his feet, stood
+swaying unsteadily, faint and dazed with the blow of Sir Gilles' lance
+that had borne down the great black horse and torn the heavy casque
+from his head. So stood Beltane, unhelmed, staring dazedly from heaving
+earth to reeling heaven; yet, of a sudden, shook aloft the fragment of
+his splintered lance and laughed fierce and loud, to behold, 'twixt
+reeling earth and sky, a great roan stallion that foamed upon his bit
+'neath sharp-drawn rein, as, swaying sideways from the lofty saddle,
+Sir Gilles of Brandonmere crashed to earth, transfixed through shield
+and hauberk, through breast and back, upon the shaft of a broken lance.
+High over him leapt Beltane, to catch the roan's loose bridle, to swing
+himself up, and so, with stirrups flying and amid a sudden clamour of
+roaring voices, to thunder down the lists where Roger's heavy sword
+flashed, as smiting right and left, he stooped and swung the maid
+Mellent before him.
+
+"Ride, Roger--ride! Spur--spur!" shouted Beltane above the gathering
+din, and shouting, drew his sword, for now before them, steel glittered
+and cries rang upon the air:
+
+"'Tis Beltane the outlaw! Seize him--slay him! 'Tis the outlaw!"
+
+But knee and knee, with loose rein and goading spur rode they, and
+nought could avail and none were quick enough to stay that headlong
+gallop; side by side they thundered over the ling, and knee and knee
+they leapt the barrier, bursting through bewildered soldiery,
+scattering frighted country-folk, and so away, over gorse and heather
+and with arrows, drawn at a venture, whistling by them. Betimes they
+reached the shelter of the woods, and turning, Beltane beheld a
+confusion of armed men, a-horse and a-foot, what time borne upon the
+air came a sound hoarse and menacing, a sound dreadful to hear--the
+sound of the hue and cry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
+
+
+Fast they galloped 'neath the trees, stooping ever and anon to avoid
+some low-swung branch; through grassy rides and sunny glades, until all
+sound of pursuit was died away. So, turning aside into the denser
+green, Beltane stayed, and sprang down to tighten the great roan's
+saddle-girths, strained in the encounter. Now as he was busied thus,
+came the maid Mellent, very pale 'neath her long black hair, and spake
+him low-voiced and humble:
+
+"My lord Beltane, thou, at peril of thy body, hath saved to-day a
+sorrowful maid from the fiery torment. So to prove my gratitude and
+sorrow for past ill--now will I tell thee that in saving me, thou hast
+saved one that for ambition's sake, once did thee grievous wrong."
+
+"Thou!" saith Beltane, staring in amaze, "ne'er hast thou seen me until
+this day!"
+
+"Verily, messire--O messire, thou hast indeed seen me ere this and--to
+my bitter sorrow--for I who speak am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Nay--nay--" stammered Beltane, "here is thing impossible--thy
+night-black hair--"
+
+"'Tis but a wile that many women do know, messire, a device of the
+witch Jolette (that is no witch, but a noble woman) a device whereby I
+might lie hid awhile. O indeed, indeed I who speak to thee am the
+wicked Winfrida--Winfrida the Sorrowful!" Now herewith she sank before
+him on her knees and bowed her face within her hands, and Beltane saw
+that she trembled greatly. "My lord," she whispered, "now must I
+confess a thing beyond all words shameful, and though I fear death, I
+fear thy anger more. If, therefore, when I have spoke thee all, thou
+wilt slay me, then--O my lord--I pray thee--let death come swift--"
+
+"Master!" cried Roger of a sudden, "I hear horses--they be after us
+already! Mount--mount and let us ride--Hark! they come this way!"
+
+"Aye!" nodded Beltane, drawing his sword, "yet here is but one
+methinks--list, Roger--leave him to me!" So waited they all three, what
+time the slow-pacing hoofs drew near and nearer, until, peering through
+the leaves, they beheld a knight, who rode low-stooping in his saddle,
+to mark their tracks plain upon the tender grass. Forth stepped
+Beltane, fierce and threatening, his long sword agleam, and so paused
+to scowl, for the knight raised his head of a sudden and lo! 'twas Sir
+Fidelis.
+
+"Now what seek ye here, sir knight?" saith Beltane, nothing gentle.
+
+"Thee, my lord," quoth Fidelis, meek of aspect, "to share thy perils
+according to thy word. Put up thy sword, messire, thou wilt not harm
+thy companion in arms?"
+
+Now Beltane, finding nought to say, scowled sulkily to earth, and thus
+saw nothing of the eyes so deep and tender that watched him 'neath the
+shadow of the young knight's bascinet, nor the smile so sad and wistful
+that curled his ruddy lips, nor all the lithe and slender grace of him
+as he swayed to the impatient movements of the powerful animal he
+bestrode; but it chanced that Winfrida's eyes saw all this, and being a
+woman's eyes, beheld that which gave her breathing sudden pause--turned
+her red--turned her pale, until, with a gasp of fear she started, and
+uttering a cry, low and inarticulate, sped fleet-footed across the
+glade and was gone.
+
+Quoth Beltane, staring:
+
+"Now what aileth the maid, think ye? But 'tis no matter--we are well
+quit of her, meseemeth." So saying, he turned to behold Roger flat upon
+his belly and with his ear to the ground.
+
+"Master," cried he, "master, there be horsemen i' the forest
+hereabouts--a great company!"
+
+"Why then, do you mount, Roger, and hie thee with Sir Fidelis hot-foot
+to Walkyn at Hundleby Fen. Bid him set our bowmen in every place of
+vantage, and let every man stand to arms. So mayhap, Roger, will we
+this day make hunted men of them that hunt!" So saying, Beltane swung
+to saddle.
+
+"Aye--aye--but what o' thee, master?"
+
+"Mark ye this horse, Roger. Thou hast said 'twas of good speed and
+endurance, and methinks 'tis sooth. Howbeit, now shall he prove thy
+word, for here I wait the hunters, and to-day will I, keeping ever out
+of bow-shot, lead them through every quag, every bog and marsh 'twixt
+here and Hundleby Fen, and of those that follow still, thou and Walkyn
+and our merry men shall make an end, I pray God. So let all lie well
+hid, and watch for my coming. And now--farewell to thee, Roger."
+
+"But, master," quoth Roger, waxing rueful, "in this thou must run dire
+perils and dangers, and I not with thee. So pray thee let Sir Fidelis--
+hard!--Ha!--now God aid us--hark to that! Master, they've loosed the
+dogs on us!"
+
+Even as he spake, very faint and far as yet but plain to hear above the
+leafy stirring, the deep baying of a hound came down the wind.
+
+"Hunting-dogs, master! Ride--ride!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him,
+"O sweet Christ forgive me, for I have hunted down poor rogues with
+such ere now--"
+
+"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit,
+ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and
+whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go--obey
+me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger
+perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his
+eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir
+Fidelis:
+
+"How, messire--are ye not gone?"
+
+Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:
+
+"Thou seest, my lord--I go beside thee according to thy word--"
+
+"Presumptuous youth, I want thee not!"
+
+"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord--and I can be patient--"
+
+"Ha--dost defy me?"
+
+"Not so, my lord--nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than
+thyself, so do I pity thee--pity thee--thou that art so mighty and yet
+so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go
+beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a noble
+man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies--God send they
+soon may pass. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."
+
+Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed
+his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever
+averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce
+baying of the hounds.
+
+Said Beltane at last:
+
+"Messire, thou dost hear the hounds?"
+
+"In faith, my lord, I tremble to be gone, but an thou dost tarry, so
+must I."
+
+"Death shall follow hard after us this day, Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Why then, an death o'ertake us--I must die, messire."
+
+"Ha,--the hounds have winded us already, methinks! Hark!--Hark to
+them!" And in truth the air was full of their raving clamour, with,
+ever and anon, the shouts and cries of those that urged them on.
+
+"Hast a noble horse, Sir Fidelis. Now God send he bear thee well this
+day, for 'twill be hard and cruel going. Come--'tis time, methinks!"
+
+Thus speaking, Beltane gave his horse the rein and forth they rode
+together out into the broad and open glade, their armour glinting in
+the sun; and immediately the dogs gave tongue, louder, fiercer than
+before. Now looking back. Beltane beheld afar many mounted men who
+shouted amain, flourishing lance and sword, while divers others let
+slip the great dogs they held in leash; then, looking up the glade
+ahead, and noting its smooth level and goodly length, Beltane smiled
+grimly and drew sword. "Sir Fidelis," said he, "hast a mace at thy
+saddle-bow: betake thee to it, 'tis a goodly weapon, and--smite hard.
+'Twill be the dogs first. Now--spur!"
+
+Forward bounded the two high-mettled steeds, gathering pace with every
+stride, but the great hounds came on amain, while beyond, distant as
+yet, the hunters rode--knight and squire, mounted bowman and man-at-arms
+they spurred and shouted, filling the air with fierce halloo.
+Slowly the hounds drew nearer--ten great beasts Beltane counted--that
+galloped two and two, whining and whimpering as they came.
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane checked in his career, swerved, swung the
+plunging roan, and with long blade agleam, rode in upon the racing pack
+to meet their rush with deadly point and deep-biting edge; a slavering
+hound launched itself at his throat, its fangs clashing on the stout
+links of his camail, but as the great beast hung thus, striving to drag
+him from the saddle, down came the mace of Sir Fidelis and the snarling
+beast fell to be crushed 'neath the trampling hoofs of the war-horse
+Mars. And now did the mighty roan prove himself a very Mars indeed,
+for, beset round about by fierce, lean shapes that crouched and leapt
+with cruel, gleaming fangs, he stamped and reared and fought them off,
+neighing loud defiance. Thus, with lashing hoof, with whirling mace and
+darting sword fought they, until of the hounds there none remained save
+three that limped painfully to cover, licking their hurts as they went.
+
+But other foes were near, for as Beltane reined his snorting steed
+about, he swayed in his stirrups 'neath the shock of a cross-bow bolt
+that glanced, whirring, from his bascinet, and in that moment Sir
+Fidelis cried aloud:
+
+"My lord, my lord! alas, my poor horse is death-smitten!" Glancing
+round. Beltane beheld Sir Fidelis slip to earth as his charger, rearing
+high, crashed over, his throat transfixed by a cloth-yard shaft. Now
+did their many pursuers shout amain, fierce and joyful, goading their
+horses to swifter pace what time Beltane frowned from them to Sir
+Fidelis, who stood, mailed hands tight-clasped, watching Beltane eager
+and great-eyed.
+
+"Ah!" cried Beltane, smiting hand to thigh in bitter anger, "now is my
+hope of ambush and surprise like to be marred by reason of thee, sir
+knight, for one horse may never carry us twain!"
+
+"Why then, I can die here, my lord, an it be so thy will!" spake Sir
+Fidelis, his pale lips a tremble, "yet is thy horse strong and--O in
+sooth I did yearn--for life. But, an thou wilt give me death--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane hoarsely. "Come, wherefore tarry ye?"
+
+Now leapt Sir Fidelis to the saddle of his fallen steed and snatched
+thence a wallet, whereat Beltane fell a-fuming, for bolts and arrows
+began to whirr and hum thick and fast. "Come--mount, sir knight--mount
+ye up behind me. Thy hand--quick! thy foot on my foot--so! Now set thy
+two arms fast about me and see thou loose me not, for now must we ride
+for the wild--brush and thicket, stock and stone, nought must let or
+stay us--so loose me not, sir knight!"
+
+"Ah--not while life remain, messire Beltane!" said the young knight
+quick-breathing, and speaking, took Beltane within two mailed arms that
+clasped and clung full close. Then, wheeling sharp about, Beltane
+stooping low, struck sudden spurs and they plunged, crashing, into the
+denser green.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
+
+
+Fast galloped the good horse, bursting through underbrush and thicket
+with the roar of the pursuit following ever distant and more distant;
+and ever Beltane spurred deeper into those trackless wilds where few
+dare adventure them by reason of evil spirits that do haunt these
+solitudes (as they do say) and, moreover, of ravening beasts.
+
+Strongly and well the good horse bore them, what time the sun waxed
+fierce and hot, filling the woods with a stifling heat, a close,
+windless air dank and heavy with the scent of leaves and bracken. The
+hue and cry had sunk long since, lost in distance, and nought broke the
+brooding silence but the stir of their going, as, checking their
+headlong pace, Beltane brought the powerful animal to slow and leisured
+gait. And presently, a gentle wind arose, that came and went, to fan
+brow and cheek and temper the sun's heat.
+
+And now, as they rode through sunlight and shadow, Beltane felt his
+black mood slowly lifted from him and knew a sense of rest, a content
+unfelt this many a day; he looked, glad-eyed, upon the beauty of the
+world about him, from green earth to an azure heaven peeping through a
+fretted screen of branches; he marked the graceful, slender bracken
+stirring to the soft-breathing air, the mighty boles of stately trees
+that reached out sinuous boughs one to another, to touch and twine
+together amid a mystery of murmuring leaves. All this he saw, yet
+heeded not at all the round-mailed arms that clasped him in their soft
+embrace, nor the slender hands that held upon his girdle.
+
+So rode they through bosky dell and dingle, until the sun, having
+climbed the meridian, sank slowly westwards; and Sir Fidelis spake
+soft-voiced:
+
+"Think you we are safe at last, my lord?"
+
+"Fidelis," saith Beltane, "Yest're'en did'st thou name me selfish,
+to-day, a babe, and, moreover, by thy disobedience hast made my schemes
+of no avail--thus am I wroth with thee."
+
+"Yet doth the sun shine, my lord," said Sir Fidelis, small of voice.
+
+"Ha--think you my anger so light a thing, forsooth?"
+
+"Messire, I think of it not at all."
+
+"By thy evil conduct are we fugitives in the wilderness!"
+
+"Yet is it a wondrous fair place, messire, and we unharmed--which is
+well, and we are--together, which is--also well."
+
+"And with but one beast to bear us twain!"
+
+"Yet he beareth us strong and nobly, messire!"
+
+"Fidelis, I would I ne'er had seen thee."
+
+"Thou dost not see me--now, lord--content you, therefore," saith
+Fidelis softly, whereat Beltane must needs twist in the saddle, yet saw
+no more than a mailed arm and shoulder.
+
+"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the
+middle of any other man than I."
+
+"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine
+for solitude?"
+
+"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast
+angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"
+
+"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be
+full long a-growing old--"
+
+"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do
+raven--"
+
+"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou,
+forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore
+here?"
+
+"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou
+wilt!"
+
+"Am I of so ill humour, indeed?"
+
+"Look within thyself, my lord."
+
+Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him
+again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy
+voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that
+mindeth me of bitter days."
+
+"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."
+
+Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis,
+head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved
+to wistful smile.
+
+"Came you in sooth from--the Duchess Helen, Fidelis?"
+
+"In truth, my lord."
+
+"Dost love her--also?"
+
+"Aye, my lord--also!"
+
+"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee
+to thy death, methinks, for she--this wilful Helen--"
+
+"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"
+
+"Fidelis, art a gentle knight--but very young, art fond and foolish,
+so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"
+
+"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool,
+meseemeth."
+
+"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this--that I
+do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus--
+give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping--stoop not to her
+wanton lure--ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had
+sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking
+him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.
+
+"Shame, messire--O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with
+lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen,
+I do name thee liar!--liar!"
+
+"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Fidelis, "unworthy art thou to take her name within thy
+lips--enough!" So saying Sir Fidelis stepped back a pace and drew his
+sword.
+
+Now Beltane, yet astride the mighty roan that snuffed the fragrant air
+and stooped to crop the tender herbage, looked upon the youthful
+paladin 'neath wrinkled brow, and pulled his lip as one in doubt. Anon
+he sighed and therewith smiled and shook his head.
+
+Quoth he:
+
+"O Fidelis, now do I see that I must needs love thee some day. Fidelis,
+art a fool, but a right sweet fool, so do I humbly sue thy foolish
+pardon, and, as to Helen, may she prove worthy thy sweet faith and I
+thy love and friendship. So, fair knight, put up thy sword--come, mount
+and let us on. Sir Mars, methinks, doth snuff water afar, and I do
+yearn me for the cool of it."
+
+So in a while they rode on again, yet presently Sir Fidelis, meek-voiced,
+preferred a sudden question, thus:
+
+"Lord, fain would I know why thou dost contemn her so--"
+
+"Nay," sighed Beltane, "here is a tale un-meet thy tender years. Speak
+we of other things--as thus, wherefore didst keep our lives in jeopardy
+to bring away the wallet that cumbereth thy hip?"
+
+"For that within doth lie, first--our supper--"
+
+"O foolish youth, these woods do teem with food!"
+
+"A neat's tongue, delicately seasoned--"
+
+"O!" said Beltane.
+
+"'Twixt manchets of fair white bread--"
+
+"Ah!" said Beltane.
+
+"With a small skin of rare wine--"
+
+"Enough!" quoth Beltane. "These be things forsooth worth a little
+risk. Now do I thirst and famish, yet knew it not."
+
+"An thou wilt eat, my lord?"
+
+"Nay, first will we find some freshet where we may bathe awhile. Ha, to
+plunge naked within some sweet pool--'tis a sweet thought, Fidelis?"
+
+But hereupon the young knight made answer none and fell into a reverie
+and Beltane also, what time they rode by murmuring rills, through
+swampy hollows, past brake and briar, until, as evening began to fall,
+they came unto a broad, slow-moving stream whose waters, aglow with
+sunset glory, split asunder the greeny gloom of trees, most pleasant to
+behold. Then, sighing for very gladness, Beltane checked his horse and
+spake right gleefully:
+
+"Light down, light down, good Fidelis; ne'er saw I fairer haven for
+wearied travellers! We have ridden hard and far, so here will we tarry
+the night!" and down to earth he sprang, to stride up and down and
+stretch his cramped limbs, the while Sir Fidelis, loosing off the
+great, high-peaked saddle, led the foam-flecked war-horse down to the
+water.
+
+Now because of the heat, Beltane laid by his bascinet, and, hearkening
+to the soft, cool ripple of the water, he straightway unbuckled his
+sword-belt and began to doff his heavy hauberk; perceiving the which,
+cometh Sir Fidelis to him something hastily.
+
+"What do you, messire?" he questioned.
+
+"Do, Fidelis? Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water--list
+how it murmureth 'neath the bank yonder. Come then, strip as I do,
+youth, strip and let us swim together--pray you aid me with this
+lacing."
+
+"My lord, I--indeed, I do think it unsafe--"
+
+"Unsafe, boy?"
+
+"An our foes should come upon us--"
+
+"O content you," quoth Beltane, stooping to loose off his spurs, "our
+foes were lost hours since, nor shall any find us here in the wild,
+methinks--pray you, loose me this buckle. Come, list how the waters do
+woo us with their pretty babble."
+
+"But, messire," quoth Fidelis, faint-voiced, and fumbling awkwardly
+with the buckle, "indeed I--I have no art in swimming."
+
+"Then will I teach thee."
+
+"Nay," spake the young knight hastily, his trouble growing, "I do dread
+the water!"
+
+"Well, there be shallows 'neath the alders yonder."
+
+"Aye, but the shallows will be muddy, and I--"
+
+"Muddy?" cried Beltane, pausing with his hauberk half on, half off, to
+stare at Sir Fidelis in amaze, "muddy, forsooth! Art a dainty youth in
+faith, and over-nice, methinks. What matter for a little honest mud,
+prithee?"
+
+"Why 'tis mud! And slimy under foot! And I love not mud! So will I none
+of the shallows!"
+
+"Then verily must I chide thee, Fidelis, for--"
+
+"Then verily will I unto yon boskage, messire, to prepare us a fire
+'gainst the 'beasts that raven,' and our bracken beds. Howbeit, bathe
+me I--will--not, messire!"
+
+"O luxurious youth, then will I, and shame thy nice luxuriousness!"
+quoth Beltane; and off came hauberk and quilted gambeson and away
+skipped Sir Fidelis into the green.
+
+So, presently, Beltane plunged him into the stream, and swimming with
+powerful strokes, felt his youth and strength redoubled thereby, and
+rejoiced to be alive. Thereafter he leapt ashore, his blood aglow with
+ardent life, and, as he clothed him, felt a great and mighty hunger.
+
+But scarce had he donned chausses and gambeson than he heard an outcry
+and sudden clamour within the green; whereupon, staying not for his
+armour, he caught up his sword and, unsheathing it as he ran, plunged
+in among the trees and there espied Sir Fidelis stoutly withstanding
+three foul knaves unwashed and ragged. Then shouted Beltane, and fell
+upon them right joyously and smote them gleefully and laughed to see
+them reel and scatter before his sudden onset; whereon, beholding Sir
+Fidelis pale and scant of breath, he stayed to clap him on the
+shoulder.
+
+"Blithely done, good Fidelis!" quoth he. "Rest thee awhile and catch
+thy wind, for fain am I to try a bout with yon tall rogues!" So saying,
+he advanced upon the scowling three, his eyes a-dance, his nimble feet
+light-poised for swift action--for lusty rogues were these, who,
+seeing him alone, forthwith met him point and edge, besetting him with
+many swashing blows, that, whistling, did but cleave the empty air or
+rang loud upon his swift-opposing blade. So hewed they, and smote amain
+until their brows shone moist and their breaths waxed short; whereat
+Beltane mocked them, saying:
+
+"Ha--sweat ye, forsooth? Do ye puff so soon? This cometh of foul eating
+and fouler life. Off--off! ye beefy do-nothings! An ye would be worthy
+fighters, eat less and bathe ye more!" Then Beltane laid on with the
+flat of his heavy sword and soundly belaboured these hard-breathing
+knaves, insomuch that one, hard-smitten on the crown, stumbled and
+fell, whereupon his comrades, to save their bones, leapt forthwith
+a-down the steepy bank and, plunging into the stream, made across to the
+farther side, splashing prodigiously, and cursing consumedly, for the
+water they liked not at all.
+
+Now as Beltane leaned him on his sword, watching their flounderings
+joyful-eyed, the weapon was dashed from his loosened hold, he staggered
+'neath the bite of vicious steel, and, starting round, beheld the third
+rogue, his deadly sword swung high; but even as the blow fell, Sir
+Fidelis sprang between and took it upon his own slender body, and,
+staggering aside, fell, and lay with arms wide-tossed. Then, whiles the
+robber yet stared upon his sword, shivered by the blow, Beltane leapt,
+and ere he could flee, caught him about the loins, and whirling him
+aloft, dashed him out into the stream. Then, kneeling by Sir Fidelis,
+he took his heavy head upon his arm and beheld his cheeks pale and wan,
+his eyes fast shut, and saw his shining bascinet scored and deep-dinted
+by the blow.
+
+"Fidelis!" he groaned, "O my brave Fidelis, and art thou slain--for my
+sake?" But in a while, what time Beltane kneeled and mourned over him
+full sore, the young knight stirred feebly, sighed, and spake.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered; and again, "Beltane!" Anon his white lids
+quivered, and, opening swooning eyes he spake again with voice grown
+stronger:
+
+"My lord--my lord--what of thy wound?"
+
+And lo! the voice was sweet to hear as note of merle or mavis; these
+eyes were long and deeply blue beneath their heavy lashes; eyes that
+looked up, brimful of tenderness, ere they closed slow and wearily;
+eyes so much at odds with grim bascinet and close-laced camail that
+Beltane must needs start and hold his breath and fall to sudden
+trembling what time Sir Fidelis lay there, pale and motionless, as one
+that is dead. Now great fear came upon Beltane, and he would have
+uttered desperate prayers, but could not; trembling yet, full gently he
+drew his arm from under that drooping head, and, stealing soft-footed
+to the river's marge, stood there staring down at the rippling waters,
+and his heart was rent with conflicting passions--amazement, fear,
+anger, joy, and a black despair. And of a sudden Beltane fell upon his
+knees and bowed him low and lower until his burning brow was hid in the
+cool, sweet grass--for of these passions, fiercest, strongest, wildest,
+was--despair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+Now in a while, he started to feel a hand among his hair, and the hand
+was wondrous light and very gentle; wherefore, wondering, he raised his
+head, but behold, the sun was gone and the shadows deepening to night.
+Yet even so, he stared and thrilled 'twixt wonder and fear to see Sir
+Fidelis bending over him.
+
+"Fidelis!" he murmured, "and is it thee in truth,--or do I dream?"
+
+"Dear my lord, 'tis I indeed. How long hast lain thus? I did but now
+wake from my swoon. Is it thy hurt?--suffer me to look."
+
+"Nay, 'tis of none account, but I did dream thee--dead--Fidelis!"
+
+"Ah, messire, thy hurt bleedeth apace--the steel hath gone deep! Sit
+you thus, thy back against the tree--so. Within my wallet I have a
+salve--wait you here." So, whiles Beltane stared dreamily upon the
+twilit river, Sir Fidelis hasted up the bank and was back again, the
+wallet by his side, whence he took a phial and goblet and mixed therein
+a draught which dreamy Beltane perforce must swallow, and thereafter
+the dreamy languor fell from him, what time Sir Fidelis fell to bathing
+and bandaging the ugly gash that showed beneath his knee. Now as he
+watched these busy, skilful fingers he knew a sudden, uneasy qualm,
+and forthwith spake his thought aloud:
+
+"Thy hands are wondrous--small and slender, Sir Fidelis!"
+
+"Belike, messire, they shall grow bigger some day."
+
+"Yet are they wondrous fair--and soft--and white, Fidelis!"
+
+"Mayhap, messire, they shall grow rough and brown and hairy anon--so
+content you."
+
+"Yet wherefore are they so soft, Fidelis, and so--maid-like? And
+wherefore--"
+
+"See you, my lord, thus must the bandage lie, fast-knotted--so. Nor
+must it slacken, lest the bleeding start afresh." So saying, Sir
+Fidelis arose, and taking the wallet in one hand and setting the other
+'neath Beltane's arm, led him to where, deep-bowered under screening
+willows, a fire burned cheerily, whereby were two beds of scented
+bracken.
+
+Dark and darker the shadows crept down, deepening to a night soft and
+warm and very still, whose quietude was unbroken save for the drowsy
+lap and murmur of the river and the sound the war-horse Mars made as he
+cropped the grass near by. Full of a languorous content lay Beltane,
+despite the smarting of his wound, what time Sir Fidelis came and went
+about the fire; and there, within this great and silent wilderness,
+they supped together, and, while they supped, Beltane looked oft upon
+Sir Fidelis, heedful of every trick of mail-girt feature and gesture of
+graceful hand as he ne'er had been ere now. Wherefore Sir Fidelis grew
+red, grew pale, was by turns talkative and silent, and was fain to
+withdraw into the shadows beyond the fire. And from there, seeing
+Beltane silent and full of thought, grew bold to question him.
+
+"Dost meditate our course to-morrow, my lord Beltane?"
+
+"Nay--I do but think--a strange thought--that I have seen thy face ere
+now, Fidelis. Yet art full young to bear arms a-field."
+
+"Doth my youth plague thee still, messire? Believe me, I am--older than
+I seem."
+
+"Thou, at peril of thy life, Fidelis, didst leap 'twixt me and death,
+so needs must I know thee for my friend, and yet--"
+
+"And yet, messire?"
+
+"Thou hast betimes the look and speech of one--of one beyond all
+traitors vile!"
+
+"Ah," murmured Sir Fidelis, a sudden tremor in his voice, "thou dost
+mean--?"
+
+"Helen of Mortain--poor Fidelis--whom thou dost love."
+
+"Whom thou dost hate, Beltane! And O, I pray thee, wherefore is thy
+hate so bitter?"
+
+"Fidelis, there lived a fool, that, for her beauty, loved her with a
+mighty love: that, for her seeming truth and purity, honoured her
+beyond all things: that, in the end, did find her beyond all things
+vile. Aye, there lived a fool--and I am he."
+
+"Ah, beseech thee," cried Sir Fidelis, white hands outstretched, "how
+know you her thus false to thee, Beltane?"
+
+"Know then, Sir Fidelis, that--upon our wedding-eve I was--by her
+command struck down--within the chapel--upon the very altar, and by
+her borne in bonds unto Garthlaxton Keep--a present to mine enemy, Duke
+Ivo--"
+
+"O, 'tis a lie--O dear my lord--'tis lie most foul--!"
+
+"In witness whereof behold upon my wrists the shameful irons from my
+dungeon--"
+
+"Alas! here was no work of Helen's--no thought, no will--Helen would
+have died to save thee this--"
+
+"So, Fidelis, do I scorn all women that do live upon this earth
+henceforth--but, above all, Helen the Beautiful! the Wilful! who in her
+white bosom doth bear a heart more foul than Trojan Helen, that was a
+woman false and damned. So now, all's said."
+
+Now fell Sir Fidelis upon his knees and spake quick and passionate:
+
+"Nay, Beltane, hear me! For now do I swear that he who told thee 'twas
+Helen wrought thee this vile wrong--who told thee this doth lie--O,
+doth lie! Now do I swear that never by word or thought or deed, hath
+she been false to thee--I do swear she loveth thee--ah, spurn me not--
+O, believe--"
+
+"Enough--enough, good Fidelis, perjure not thy sweet youth for one so
+much unworthy, for with these eyes did I behold her as they bore me in
+my bonds--and shall I not believe mine eyes?"
+
+"Never--ah! never, when they do shew thee Helen false and cruel to
+thee! Here was some vile magic--witchcraft--"
+
+"Enough, Fidelis, 'tis past and done. Here was a woman false--well,
+'tis none so singular--there have been others--there will be others.
+So, God keep thee, sweet youth, from the ways of women. Nay, let us
+speak of this no more, for in sooth I grow a-weary and we must ride
+with the dawn to-morrow. So, betake thee to thy rest, nor grieve thee
+for my sorrows past and done--mayhap they shall be things to smile upon
+one day."
+
+So saying, Beltane sighed, and laid him down among the bracken and
+thereafter Fidelis did the like; the fire sank and waned, and oft Sir
+Fidelis stirred restless in the shadows; the river murmured
+slumberously among the sedge, but Beltane, hearkening with drowsy ears,
+oft thought to hear another sound, very soft and repressed yet very
+dolorous, ere, worn and spent, and something weakened by wound and loss
+of blood, he sank at last to deep and gentle sleep.
+
+But in his sleep he dreamed that one knelt above him in the dark,
+keeping watch upon his slumbers in the attitude of one in prayer--one
+whom he knew, yet knew not; it seemed to Beltane in his dream, that
+this silent, slender shape, stooped of a sudden, low and lower, to kiss
+the iron fetters that bound his wrists; then Beltane strove to wake yet
+could not wake, but in his slumber sighed a name, soft-breathed and
+gentle as the languorous murmur of the stream:
+
+"Helen!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
+
+
+The rising sun, darting an inquisitive beam 'twixt a leafy opening,
+fell upon Beltane's wide, slow-heaving breast; crept upwards to his
+chin, his cheek, and finally strove to peep beneath his slumberous,
+close-shut lids; whereat Beltane stirred, yawned, threw wide and
+stretched his mighty arms, and thereafter, blinking drowsily, sat up,
+his golden hair be-tousled, and stared sleepily about him.
+
+Birds piped joyously near and far; hid among the leaves near by, the
+war-horse Mars stamped eager hoof and snuffed the fragrant air of
+morning; but Sir Fidelis was nowhere to be seen. Thus in a while
+Beltane arose to find his leg very stiff and sore, and his throat be
+parched with feverish thirst; wherefore, limping painfully, he turned
+where a little water-brook went singing o'er pebbly bed to join the
+slow-moving river; but, putting aside the leaves, he paused of a
+sudden, for there, beside the noisy streamlet he beheld Sir Fidelis,
+his bascinet upon the grass beside him, his mail-coif thrown back
+betwixt his shoulders, stooping to bathe his face in the sparkling
+water.
+
+Now would he have called a greeting, but the words died upon his lips,
+his breath stayed, and he stared at something that had caught in the
+links of the young knight's mail-coif, something that stirred light and
+wanton, kissed by the breath of early morn--a lock of bright hair that
+glowed a wondrous red-gold in the new-risen sun. So stood Beltane
+awhile, and, beholding this, a trembling seized him and therewith
+sudden anger, and he strode forth of the leaves. And lo! on the
+instant, on went hood of mail and thereafter shining bascinet, and Sir
+Fidelis arose. But, ere he could turn, Beltane was beside him, had
+caught him within a powerful arm, and, setting a hand 'neath mailed
+chin, lifted the young knight's head and scowled down into his face.
+
+Eyes long, black-lashed and darkly blue that looked up awhile into his,
+wide, yet fearless, and anon, were hid 'neath languorous-drooping lids;
+a nose tenderly aquiline, lips red and full that met in ripe and
+luscious curves. This Beltane saw, and straightway his anger grew.
+
+"Ah!" cried he, hoarsely, "now, by the living God, who art thou, and--
+what?"
+
+"Thy--comrade-in-arms, lord Beltane."
+
+"Why hast thou the seeming of one beyond all women false? Why dost thou
+speak me betimes in her voice, look at me with her eyes, touch me with
+her soft, white, traitor's hands--answer me!"
+
+"My lord, we are akin, she and I--of the same house and blood--"
+
+"Then is thy blood foul with treachery!"
+
+"Yet did I save thy life, Beltane!"
+
+"Yet thy soft voice, thy red mouth and false eyes--thy very blood--all
+these do prove thee traitor--hence!" and Beltane threw him off.
+
+"Nay my lord!" he cried, "prithee take care, Beltane,--see--thou hast
+displaced the bandage, thy wound bleedeth amain--so will I bind it up
+for thee--"
+
+But Beltane, nothing heeding, turned and strode back into the green and
+there fell to donning his armour as swiftly as he might--albeit
+stealthily. Thereafter came he to the destrier Mars and, having saddled
+and bridled him with the same swift stealth, set foot in stirrup and
+would have mounted, yet found this a painful matter by reason of his
+wound; thus it befell, that, ere he could reach the saddle, the leaves
+parted close by and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane, why dost thou steal away thus? An it be thy will to
+leave me to perish alone here in the wilderness, first break thy fast,
+and suffer me to bind up thy hurt, so shalt thou ride hence in
+comfort." Now stood Beltane motionless and silent, nor turned nor dared
+he look upon Sir Fidelis, but bowed his head in bitter shame, and,
+therewith, knew a great remorse.
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," said he at last, "thy rebuke stingeth deep, for it is
+just, since I indeed did purpose thee a most vile thing! How vile a
+thing, then, am I--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--dear my lord, I would not have thee grieve, indeed 'twas
+but--"
+
+"Once ere this I would have slain thee, Fidelis--murdered thee before
+my wild fellows--I--I, that did preach them mercy and gentleness! To-day
+I would have left thee to perish alone within this ravening
+wilderness--that do bear so honourable a name! O Beltane, my father!
+Yet, believe me, I did love honour once, and was accounted gentle. I
+did set forth to do great things, but now--now do I know myself unfit
+and most unworthy. Therefore, Sir Fidelis, do thou take the horse and
+what thou wilt beside and leave me here, for fain am I to end my days
+within these solitudes with no eye to see me more--save only the eye of
+God!" So saying, Beltane went aside, and sitting 'neath a tree beside
+the river, bowed his head upon his hands and groaned; then came Sir
+Fidelis full swift, and stooping, touched his bowed head with gentle
+hand, whereat he but groaned again.
+
+"God pity me!" quoth he, "I am in sooth so changed, meseemeth some vile
+demon doth possess me betimes!" and, sighing deep, he gazed upon the
+rippling waters wide-eyed and fearful. And, as he sat thus, abashed
+and despairing, Sir Fidelis, speaking no word, bathed and bound up his
+wound, and, thereafter brought and spread forth their remaining viands.
+
+"Eat," said he gently, "come, let us break our fast, mayhap thy sorrows
+shall grow less anon. Come, eat, I pray thee, Beltane, for none will I
+eat alone and, O, I famish!"
+
+So they ate together, whiles the war-horse Mars, pawing impatient
+hoof, oft turned his great head to view them with round and wistful
+eye.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane suddenly, "thou didst name me selfish, and
+verily, a selfish man am I--and to-day! O Fidelis, why dost not
+reproach me for the evil I purposed thee to-day?"
+
+"For that I do most truly love thee, Beltane my lord!"
+
+"Yet wherefore did ye so yesterday, and for lesser fault?"
+
+"For that I did love thee, so would I see thee a strong man--yet
+gentle: a potent lord, yet humble: a noble man as--as thou wert said to
+be!"
+
+"Alas, my Fidelis, harsh have I been, proud and unforgiving--"
+
+"Aye, my lord--thou art unforgiving--a little!"
+
+"So now, Fidelis, would I crave forgiveness of all men." Then came the
+young knight nearer yet, his face radiant with sudden joy, his white
+hands clasped.
+
+"Lord!" he whispered, "O Beltane, could'st indeed forgive all--all harm
+done thee, howsoever great or small thy mind doth hold them--could'st
+forgive all!"
+
+"Aye, I could forgive them all, Fidelis--all save Helen--who hath
+broke this heart of mine and made my soul a thing as black as she hath
+whited this my hair."
+
+Now of a sudden Beltane heard a sound--a small sound 'twixt a sob and a
+moan, but when he raised his heavy head--lo! Sir Fidelis was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
+
+
+The sun rose high, jet still Beltane sat there beside the stream,
+staring down into the gurgling waters, grieving amain for his
+unworthiness.
+
+Thus presently comes Sir Fidelis, and standing afar, spake in voice
+strange and bitter:
+
+"What do ye there, my lord? Dost dream ever upon thy woes and ills?
+Wilt dream thy life away here amid the wild, forsooth?"
+
+Quoth Beltane, very humbly:
+
+"And wherefore not, Sir Fidelis? Unfit am I for great achievements.
+But, as to thee, take now the horse and ride you ever north and west--"
+
+"Yea, but where is north, and where west--?"
+
+"The trees shall tell you this. Hearken now--"
+
+"Nay, my lord, no forester am I to find my way through trackless wild.
+So, an thou stay, so, perforce, must I: and if thou stay then art thou
+deeply forsworn."
+
+"How mean you, good sir?"
+
+"I mean Belsaye--I mean all those brave souls that do wait and watch,
+pale-cheeked, 'gainst Ivo's threatened vengeance--"
+
+"Ha--Belsaye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head.
+
+"Thou must save Belsaye from flame and ravishment, my lord!"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," cried Beltane, clenching his hands, "though I be
+unworthy to stand in my noble father's place, yet Belsaye must be saved
+or I die in it. O Fidelis, friend art thou indeed and wise beyond thy
+years!" But as Beltane arose, Sir Fidelis incontinent turned away, and
+presently came back leading the great horse. So in a while they set out
+northwards; but now were no arms to clasp and cling, since Sir Fidelis
+found hold otherwhere. Thus, after some going, Beltane questioned him:
+
+"Art easy, Fidelis?"
+
+"Aye, lord!"
+
+"Wilt not take hold upon my belt, as yesterday?"
+
+"Methinks I am better thus."
+
+"Nay then, shalt have stirrups and saddle, for I am fain to walk."
+
+"And re-open thy wound, messire? Nay, let be--I ride easily thus."
+
+"Art angered with me, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord, I do but pity thee!"
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For thy so great loneliness--in all thy world is none but Beltane, and
+he is very woeful and dreameth ever of his wrongs--"
+
+"Would'st call me selfish again, forsooth?"
+
+"Nay, lord--a martyr. O, a very martyr that huggeth his chains and
+kisseth his wounds and joyeth in the recollection of his pain."
+
+"Have I not suffered, Fidelis?"
+
+"Thou hast known the jangling gloom of a dungeon--'twas at Garthlaxton
+Keep, methinks?"
+
+"Fetters!" cried Beltane, "a dungeon! These be things to smile at--my
+grief is of the mind--the deeper woe of high and noble ideals
+shattered--a holy altar blackened and profaned--a woman worshipped as
+divine, and proved baser than the basest!"
+
+"And is this all, my lord?"
+
+"All!" quoth Beltane amazed. "All!" saith he, turning to stare.
+
+"So much of woe and tribulation for so little reason? Nay, hear me, for
+now will I make thee a prophecy, as thus: There shall dawn a day, lord
+Beltane, when thou shalt see at last and know Truth when she stands
+before thee. And, in that day thou shalt behold all things with new
+eyes: and in that day shalt thou sigh, and long, and yearn with all thy
+soul for these woeful hours wherein Self looms for thee so large thou
+art blind to aught else."
+
+"Good Fidelis, thy prophecy is beyond my understanding."
+
+"Aye, my lord, 'tis so I think, indeed!"
+
+"Pray thee therefore rede and expound it unto me!"
+
+"Nay, time mayhap shall teach it thee, and thou, methinks shalt
+passionately desire again the solitude of this wilderness."
+
+"Aye, but wherefore?"
+
+"For that it shall be beyond thy reach--and mine!" and Fidelis sighed
+in deep and troubled fashion and so fell to silence, what time Beltane,
+cunning in wood-lore, glancing hither and thither at knotted branch and
+writhen tree bole, viewing earth and heaven with a forester's quick
+eye, rode on into the trackless wilds of the forest-lands.
+
+Now here, thinketh the historian, it booteth not to tell of all those
+minor haps and chances that befell them; how, despite all Beltane's
+wood-craft, they went astray full oft by reason of fordless rivers and
+quaking swamps: of how they snared game to their sustenance, or how,
+for all the care and skill of Sir Fidelis, Beltane's wound healed not,
+by reason of continual riding, for that each day he grew more restless
+and eager for knowledge of Belsaye, so that, because of his wound he
+knew small rest by day and a fevered sleep by night--yet, despite all,
+his love for Fidelis daily waxed and grew, what time he pressed on
+through the wild country, north-westerly.
+
+Five weary days and nights wandered they, lost to sight and knowledge
+within the wild; days of heat and nights of pain and travail, until
+there came an evening when, racked with anguish and faint with thirst
+and weariness, Beltane drew rein within a place of rocks whereby was a
+shady pool deep-bowered in trees. Down sprang Fidelis to look anxiously
+on Beltane's face, pale and haggard in the light of a great moon.
+
+Says Beltane, looking round about with knitted brow:
+
+"Fidelis--O Fidelis, methinks I know this place--these rocks--the pool
+yonder--there should be a road hereabout, the great road that leadeth
+to Mortain. Climb now the steep and tell me an you can see a road,
+running north and south."
+
+Forthwith Sir Fidelis climbed the rocky eminence, and, being there,
+cried right joyously:
+
+"Aye, lord--'tis the road--the road!" and so came hastily down,
+glad-eyed. "'Tis the end of this wilderness at last, my lord!"
+
+"Aye!" sighed Beltane, "at last!" and groaning, he swayed in the
+saddle--for his pain was very sore--and would have fallen but for the
+ready arms of Sir Fidelis. Thereafter, with much labour, Beltane got
+him to earth, and Fidelis brought him where, beneath the steep, was a
+shallow cave carpeted with soft moss, very excellent suited to their
+need. Here Beltane laid him down, watching a little cataract that
+rippled o'er the rocky bank near by, where ferns and lichens grew; what
+time Sir Fidelis came and went, and, having set fire a-going whereby to
+cook their supper, brought an armful of fragrant heather to set 'neath
+Beltane's weary head. Then, having given him to drink of the cordial,
+fell to work bathing and bandaging his wound, sighing often to see it
+so swollen and angry.
+
+"Fidelis," quoth Beltane, "methinks there is some magic in thy touch,
+for now is my pain abated--hast a wondrous gentle hand--"
+
+"'Tis the cordial giveth thee respite, lord--"
+
+"Nay, 'tis thy hand, methinks. Sure no man e'er was blest with truer
+friend than thou, my Fidelis; brave art thou, yet tender as any woman,
+and rather would I have thy love than the love of any man or woman
+soever, henceforth, dear my friend. Nay, wherefore hang thy head?
+without thee I had died many times ere this; without thy voice to cheer
+me in these solitudes, thy strength and skill to aid me, I had fallen
+into madness and death. Wherefore I do love thee, Fidelis, and fain
+would have thee go beside me ever--so great is become my need of thee."
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou dost know I will ne'er desert thee!"
+
+"So henceforth am I content--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"To-morrow, perchance, shall see the end of this our solitude and close
+comradeship--to-morrow we should reach Hundleby Fen. So, Fidelis,
+promise me, if thou, at any time hereafter should see me harsh, or
+proud, or selfish--do thou mind me of these days of our love and
+companionship. Wilt promise me?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" spake Sir Fidelis, low-bending to his task; and thereafter
+sighed, and bowed him lower yet.
+
+"Wherefore dost thou sigh?"
+
+"For that I feel as if--ah, Beltane!--as if this night should be the
+end of our love and comradeship!"
+
+"Nought but death shall do this, methinks."
+
+"Why then," said Fidelis as he rose, "an it must be, fain would I have
+death."
+
+But when Beltane would have questioned him further he smiled sad and
+wistful and went forth to the fire. Up rose the moon, a thing of glory
+filling the warm, stilly night with a soft and radiant splendour--a
+tender light, fraught with a subtle magic, whereby all things, rock and
+tree and leaping brook, found a new and added beauty.
+
+And in some while comes Sir Fidelis to set out their viands, neat and
+orderly, as was ever his custom, and thereafter must needs chide
+Beltane, soft-voiced, for his lack of hunger, and cut dainty morsels,
+wooing him thereby to eat.
+
+"Fidelis," says Beltane, "on so fair a night as this, methinks, the old
+fables and romances might well be true that tell of elves that dance on
+moony nights, and of shapely nymphs and lovely dryads that are the
+spirits of the trees. Aye, in the magic of so fair a night as this
+aught might happen--miracles and wonders."
+
+"Save one thing, dear my lord."
+
+"As what, my Fidelis?"
+
+"That thou should'st dream Helen pure and faithful and worthy to thy
+love--that, doubting thine own senses, thou should'st yearn and sigh to
+hold her once again, heart on heart--"
+
+"Ah, Fidelis," quoth Beltane, sighing deep, "why wilt thou awake a
+sleeping sorrow? My love was dead long since, meseemeth, and buried in
+mine heart. O Fidelis, mine eyes, mine ears, my every sense do tell me
+she is false--so is an end of love for me henceforth."
+
+"Dear my lord," spake Fidelis, and his voice thrilled strangely in
+Beltane's ears--"O, Beltane, my lord, could'st thou but doubt thyself a
+little--could'st thou, doubting thine own senses for love's sake,
+believe her now true--true as thou would'st have her, then Love indeed
+might work for thee a miracle this night and thou be loved as man of
+god-like faith."
+
+"Nay, sweet Fidelis, I am but a man, apt to evil betimes and betimes
+seeking good. Howbeit, now am I a weary man that fain would sleep. Come
+then, lay you down here beside me where I may touch thee an I awake i'
+the night." And, lying down, Beltane beckoned Fidelis beside him.
+
+So in a while the young knight came and did as Beltane bade, and side
+by side they lay within the shelter of the little cave; and in the
+dark, Beltane set his mighty arm about him and thereafter spake,
+wondering:
+
+"Art not cold, Fidelis?"
+
+"Nay, lord."
+
+"Then why dost tremble?"
+
+"Indeed I know not--mayhap I grieved that--the age of miracles--is
+passed away."
+
+Now at this Beltane wondered the more and would fain have questioned
+him, but in that moment sighed, and fell to slumber. But in his sleep
+he dreamed that Fidelis was beset by foes and cried to him for aid,
+whereon he would have hasted to his deliverance yet could not for that
+unseen hands held him fast; then strove he amain against these griping
+hands, and so awaked in sudden terror and lay there trembling in the
+dark; and in the dark he reached out cautious hand further and further
+and so found himself alone--for the young knight was gone.
+
+Now being very sick with the fever of his wound, dread came upon him,
+fear seized and shook him, and, trembling in the dark he called aloud
+"Fidelis! Fidelis!" But no sound heard he save the ripple of the brook
+near by. Groaning, he arose and, limping forth of the cave stood in the
+glory of the moon, voiceless now by reason of his ever-growing terror;
+conscious only of his passionate desire to find again the youth whose
+gentle voice had cheered him often in the dark, whose high courage and
+tender care had never failed. So, leaning upon his great sword, Beltane
+limped through light and shadow, heedless of direction, until he was
+stayed by the waters of the pool.
+
+A faint splash, a rippling of the sleepy waters, and, out into the
+moonlight came one that swam the pool with long, easy strokes; one that
+presently leapt lightly ashore and stood there to shake down the
+unwetted glory of her hair. At first he thought this some enchanted
+pool and she the goddess of the place, but even then she turned, and
+thus at last--he knew. And in that moment also, she beheld him amid the
+leaves; tall and fair she stood, proud and maidenly, nor moved she,
+nor spake: only she shook about her loveliness the shining mantle of
+her hair. And beholding the reproachful sadness of those clear, virgin
+eyes, Beltane, abashed by her very beauty, bowed his head, and turning,
+stumbled away and thus presently finding himself within the cave, threw
+himself down and clasped his head within fierce hands. Yet, even so,
+needs must he behold the slim, white beauty of her, the rippling
+splendour of her hair, and the deep, shy sadness of her eyes, and,
+because of her beauty he trembled, and because of her falsity he
+groaned aloud.
+
+Now as he lay thus, after some while he heard a swift, light footfall,
+the whisper of mail, and knew that she stood above him; yet he heeded
+not, wherefore at last she spake, sweet-voiced and gentle.
+
+"Beltane--dear my lord, now dost thou know who is Fidelis, and thou
+didst--love Fidelis!" But Beltane stirred not, and finding him silent,
+she spake on, yet faltering a little:
+
+"When I waked from my swoon within the chapel at--at Blaen, and found
+thee gone, I, distraught with woeful fear and a most strange sickness,
+took thy sword and therewith horse and armour and in that same hour
+fled from Blaen, none knowing. Many days I rode seeking thee, until
+Love brought me to thee in the green. But, O Beltane, for those dire
+chances of our--wedding night, by what spells and witchcraft our
+happiness was changed to sorrow and dire amaze, I know no more than
+thou. Ah, Beltane--dear my lord--speak--speak to me!" And falling on
+her knees she would have lifted his head. But of a sudden he shrank
+away, and rose to his feet.
+
+"Touch me not, I am but a man and thou--art woman, and there is evil in
+thee, so touch me not with thy false, alluring hands. O, thou hast
+deceived me now as ever--As Fidelis did I love thee above all men, but
+for what thou art, I do despise thee--"
+
+But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her
+white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon
+with love and supplication.
+
+"Beltane!" she sighed, "Beltane! Is thy great love dead in very truth?
+nay, indeed I know it liveth yet even as mine, and shall live on
+forever. I know--I have seen it leap within thine eyes, heard it in thy
+voice--and wherefore did'st thou love Fidelis? Look at me, Beltane! I
+can be as brave, as faithful and tender as Fidelis! Look at me!"
+
+But Beltane dared not look, and trembled because of her so great
+beauty, and fain would speak yet could not.
+
+Whereat she, yet upon her knees, drew nearer.
+
+"Beltane," she murmured, "trust me. Despite thyself, O, trust me--so
+shalt thou find happiness at last and Pentavalon an end to all her
+sorrows. Be thou my lord, my master--my dear love and husband--ride
+with me this night to my fair Mortain--"
+
+"To Mortain?" cried Beltane wildly, "aye, to Blaen, belike--to silken
+wantonings and to--death! Tempt me not, O witch--aye, witch that
+weaveth spells of her beauty--tempt me not I say, lest I slay thee to
+mine own defence, for I know thee beyond all women fair, yet would I
+slay thee first--" But, groaning, Beltane cast aside his sword and
+covered burning eyes with burning palms, yet shook as with an ague fit.
+
+The pleading hands fell, to clasp and wring each other; her proud head
+sank, and a great sob brake from her, what time Beltane watched her
+with eyes bright with fever and swayed upon his feet. Stumbling, he
+turned, and left her, yet presently came back leading the war-horse
+Mars.
+
+"To Mortain shalt thou ride to-night--I pray thee mount!" cried he,
+"Come--mount, I say!"
+
+Standing tall and proud before him she sighed and spake deep-sorrowing:
+
+"Then will I leave thee--an it must be so. But, in days to come,
+mayhap, thou shalt grieve for this hour, Beltane, nor shall all thy
+sighs nor all thy tears avail to bring it back again. Thou hast shamed
+me oft, yet for all thy bitter scorns I do forgive thee, aye, even the
+anguish of my breaking heart, for that my love doth rise beyond my
+pain; and so, dear my lord--fare thee well!"
+
+So she mounted, whereat the mettled charger must needs rear, and
+Beltane, staggering aside, catch at a tree and lean there.
+
+"Art sick, Beltane?" she cried in sudden fear--"how may I leave thee
+thus--art sick!"
+
+"Aye, Helen, for thy beauty. The devil is here, and I am here, so here
+is no place for thee--so get thee gone, spur--spur! for despising thee
+in my heart yet would I have thee stay: yet, an thou stay needs must I
+slay thee ere the dawn and myself thereafter!"
+
+Thus spake he, his voice loud, his speech quick and fevered.
+
+"Indeed, thou'rt sick, my lord--nor do I fear thee, thou noble son of
+noble father!"
+
+"My father! Forsooth he liveth in Holy Cross Thicket within Mortain; he
+bade me beware of women and the ways of women. So do I know thee witch,
+thou golden Helen. Ha! must Troy burn again--I loved thee once, but
+love is dead long since and turned corrupt--so get thee hence, Helen
+the Wilful!"
+
+"O, God pity thee, my Beltane, for thou dost love me yet, even as I
+love thee--thou lonely man-child! God pity thee, and me also!" and,
+crying thus, forlorn and desolate, the Duchess Helen rode upon her
+solitary way.
+
+Then turned Beltane and stumbled on he knew not whither, and betimes he
+laughed loud and high and betimes he was shaken by great and fierce
+sobs, yet found he never a tear. Thus, limping painfully, and stumbling
+anon as one smitten blind, he wandered awhile, and so at length found
+himself beside the little cave; and throwing himself down within its
+shadows, tore away the bandages her gentle hands had wrought.
+
+And lying there, it seemed that Fidelis yet lay beneath his arm, the
+Fidelis who was no Fidelis; and in the shadows he laughed amain--wild
+laughter that died of a sudden, choked by awful sobs, what time he
+clenched his hands upon his throbbing ears; yet still, above the sounds
+of his own anguish, needs must he hear again that forlorn and desolate
+cry:
+
+"O, God pity thee, Beltane!"
+
+And now followed long hours when demons vile racked him with anguish
+and mocked him with bitter gibes; a haunted darkness where was fear and
+doubt and terror of things unknown: yet, in the blackness, a light that
+grew to a glory wherein no evil thing might be, and in this glory SHE
+did stand, tall and fair and virginal. And from the depths of
+blackness, he cried to her in agony of remorse, and from the light she
+looked down on him with eyes brimful of yearning love and tenderness,
+for that a gulf divided them. But, across this hateful void she called
+to him--"O, God pity thee, my Beltane!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
+
+
+A darkness, full of a great quietude, a grateful stillness, slumberous
+and restful; yet, little by little, upon this all-pervading silence, a
+sound crept, soft, but distressful to one who fain would sleep; a sound
+that grew, a sharp noise and querulous. And now, in the blackness, a
+glimmer, a furtive gleam, a faint glow that grew brighter and yet more
+bright, hurtful to eyes long used to deeps of gloom; but, with the
+noise, ever this light grew--from gleam to glow and from glow to
+dazzling glare; and so, at last, Beltane opened unwilling eyes--eyes
+that blinked and smarted as they beheld a leaping flame where a fire of
+twigs crackled merrily against a purple void beyond; beholding all of
+which, Beltane forthwith shut his eyes again. But those soft deeps
+wherein he had found so sweet oblivion, that great and blessed quietude
+were altogether vanished and beyond him to regain; wherefore Beltane
+felt himself aggrieved and sorrowed within himself, and so, presently
+oped his reluctant eyes and fell to watching the play of wanton spark
+and flame. None the less he knew himself yet aggrieved, also he felt a
+sudden loneliness, wherefore (as was become his custom of late) he
+called on one ever heedful and swift to answer his call.
+
+"Fidelis!" he called, "Fidelis!" Yet came there no one, and Beltane
+wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away. So,
+troubling not to move, he called again:
+
+"Fidelis--art sleeping, my Fidelis?"
+
+Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail
+gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.
+
+"Master!" he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, "O, master, art
+awake at last?--dost know Roger--thy man,--dost know thy Roger, lord?"
+
+"Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger," says Beltane, yet aggrieved and
+querulous, "but I called not thee. Send me Fidelis--where tarries
+Fidelis?"
+
+"Master, I know not. He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone
+and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here. Thereafter went he
+afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according
+to his word."
+
+Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black
+Roger's pitiful face with eyes of wonder.
+
+"Why, Roger!" quoth he, "Why, Roger--?"
+
+"Thou hast been very nigh to death, master. A mad-man I found thee, in
+sooth--foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and
+magic. Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth--and strove and
+fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a
+vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend. So here hast thou lain
+on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir
+Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon
+thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and--"
+
+"Nay, here is no matter--tell me, tell me, where is Fidelis?"
+
+"Dear master I know not, forsooth!"
+
+"Went he by the forest road?"
+
+"Aye, master, the forest road."
+
+"Afoot?"
+
+"Afoot, lord."
+
+"Said he aught to thee of--of me, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, 'twas all of thee and thy wound, and how to ease thy pain I must
+do this, forsooth, and that, forsooth, and to break the fever must mix
+and give thee certain cordials, the which I have done."
+
+"Said he aught beside--aught else, Roger?"
+
+"Aye, master, he bid me pray for thee, the which I have also done,
+though I had rather fight for thee; nathless the sweet saints have
+answered even my poor prayers, for behold, thou art alive and shall be
+well anon."
+
+Now after this. Beltane lay with eyes fast shut and spake not; thus he
+lay so long, that Roger, thinking he slept again, would have moved
+away, but Beltane's feeble hand stayed him, and he spake, yet with eyes
+still closed.
+
+"By the forest road, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, master."
+
+"Alone, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, alone."
+
+"And--afoot, Roger!"
+
+"Aye, lord, he bade me take his horse that I might come to thee the
+sooner."
+
+"And--bid thee--pray for me--for me, Roger!"
+
+"Verily, master. And pray I did, right lustily."
+
+"So do I thank thee, Roger," said Beltane, speaking ever with closed
+eyes. "Yet I would that God had let me die, Roger." And behold, from
+these closed eyes, great tears, slow-oozing and painful, that rolled
+a-down the pallid cheek, very bright in the fire-glow, and glistening
+like the fairest gems.
+
+"Master--O master!" cried Roger, "dost grieve thee for Sir Fidelis?"
+
+"Forsooth, I must, Roger--he was a peerless friend, methinks!"
+
+"Aye master, and--noble lady!"
+
+"Roger--O Roger, how learned you this? Speak!"
+
+"Lord, thou hast had visions and talked much within thy sickness. So do
+I know that thou dost love the Duchess Helen that men do call 'the
+Beautiful.' I do know that on thy marriage night thou wert snatched
+away to shameful prison. I do know that she, because her heart was as
+great as her love, did follow thee in knightly guise, and thou did most
+ungently drive her from thee. All this, and much beside, thou didst
+shout and whisper in thy fever."
+
+Quoth Beltane, plucking at Roger with feeble hand:
+
+"Roger--O Roger, since this thou knowest--tell me, tell me, can faith
+and treachery lie thus within one woman's heart--and of all women--
+her's?"
+
+"Master, can white be black? Can day be night? Can heaven be hell--or
+can truth lie? So, an Sir Fidelis be faithful (and faithful forsooth is
+he) so is the Duchess Helen faithful--"
+
+"Nay, an she be true--O Roger, an she be true indeed, how think you of
+the treachery, of--"
+
+"I think here was witchcraft, master, spells, see'st thou, and magic
+black and damned. As thou wert true to her, so was she true to thee, as
+true as--aye, as true as I am, and true am I, Saint Cuthbert knoweth
+that, who hath heard my prayers full oft of late, master."
+
+"Now God bless thee, Roger--O, God bless thee!" So crying, of a sudden
+Beltane caught Black Roger's sun-burned hand and kissed it, and
+thereafter turned him to the shadows. And, lying thus, Beltane wept,
+very bitterly yet very silent, until, like a grieving child he had wept
+himself to forgetfulness and sleep. So slept he, clasped within Roger's
+mailed arm. But full oft Black Roger lifted his bronzed right hand--the
+hand that had felt Beltane's sudden kiss--and needs must he view it
+with eyes of wonder, as if it had been indeed some holy thing, what
+time he kept his midnight vigil beside the fire.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED
+
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, art a very sweet and potent saint, and therefore
+hast good eyes--which is well; so canst thou see him for thyself, how
+weak he is and languid, that was a mighty man and lusty. Cherish him, I
+pray thee! A goodly youth thou dost know him, thou didst see him burn a
+gibbet, moreover I have told thee--and eke a knight of high degree. Yet
+doth he lie here direly sick of body. Cherish him, I pray! Moreover,
+sick is he of mind, for that he loveth one, a lady, methinks good and
+worthy--so bring them together, these twain, not above, as saints in
+heaven, but first as man and woman that shall beget such men as he,
+such noble dames as she, and make the world a better place therefor.
+See you to this matter, good Saint Cuthbert, and also the matter of his
+Dukedom. But when he shall be Duke indeed, and blest with her that is
+so fair a maid and apt to motherhood--I pray thee, Saint Cuthbert, let
+him not forget me whose soul he saved long since within the green in
+the matter of Beda that was a Jester--I pray thee let him have regard
+to Black Roger that am his man henceforth to the end. Amen. Holy Saint
+Cuthbert grant me this."
+
+It was Black Roger, praying in the dawn, his broadsword set upright in
+the ling, his hands devoutly crossed and his black head stooped full
+low; thus he saw not Beltane's eyes upon him until his prayer was
+ended.
+
+Quoth Beltane then:
+
+"May heaven grant thee thy prayer, Roger--'twas a good prayer and I the
+better for it."
+
+"Why, look now, master," says Roger, somewhat abashed, "I am a
+something better prayer than I was, and I pray in good Saxon English;
+thus do I call on Saint Cuthbert, that was a lusty Saxon ere that he
+was a saint."
+
+"But, Roger, what need to supplicate lest I forget thee? Think you I
+should forget my faithful Roger?"
+
+"Why, lord," says Roger, busily preparing wherewith to break their
+fast, "when a man marrieth, see you, and thereafter proceedeth
+forthwith to get him children, as the custom is--"
+
+"Nay, dost talk folly, Roger!" quoth Beltane, his pale cheek flushing.
+
+"Yet folly thou dost dream of, master, and she also--else wherefore
+love--"
+
+"Nay, Roger, doth Belsaye lie secure yet? What of Walkyn and our
+comrades? Marched they to Belsaye as I did command?"
+
+"Why, see you now, master, when our foes came not, and you came not, we
+sent word to Belsaye that, within two days we would march thither,
+according to thy word, and forthwith Giles sends word back that he was
+very well and wanted no long-legged Walkyn or surly Roger to share
+authority with him yet a while, and bid us twirl our thumbs within the
+green until he commanded our presence--with divers other ribald japes
+and wanton toys--whereon Walkyn and I waxed something wroth.
+Therefore, when ye came not, our comrades fell to factions and riot,
+whereat I, perforce, smote me one or two and Walkyn three or four and
+so brought peace among them. But when we would have tarried yet for
+thee, these rogue-fellows clamoured for Walkyn to lead them into the
+wild, back to their ancient outlawry; so loud they clamoured and so
+oft, that, in the end, Walkyn smiled--a strange thing in him, master--
+but he agreed, whereon we came nigh to cutting each other's throats,
+he and I. Howbeit, in the end he went, he and all the other rogues. So
+bided I alone in the Hollow, day and night, waiting thee, master, and
+at the last, cometh Sir Fidelis--and so all's said and behold thy
+breakfast--a coney, see you, lord, that I snared but yest're'en."
+
+"Our company gone--outlaws, spending their lives to no purpose--here is
+evil news, Roger!"
+
+"Here is tender meat, master, and delicate!"
+
+"Back to outlawry! And Walkyn too!"
+
+"Aye--but he smiled, master! Walkyn, methinks, is not a jovial soul,
+lord, and when he smileth it behoveth others to frown and--beware. So
+prithee eat hearty, lord, for, in a while the sun will stand above yon
+whin-bush, and then 'twill be the eleventh hour, and at the eleventh
+hour must I wash thy hurt and be-plaster it with this good ointment."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Then shalt thou sleep, master, and I to the woods with my bow to get
+us meat--sweet juicy venison, an the saints be kind!"
+
+"And wherefore at the eleventh hour?"
+
+"For that--She did so command me, master."
+
+"She?" sighed Beltane.
+
+"Aye, forsooth, master. She that the good Saint Cuthbert shall give to
+thy close embracements one day."
+
+"Think you so?" spake Beltane beneath his breath, and staring across
+the sunny glade with eyes of yearning, "think you so indeed, Roger?"
+
+"Of a surety, lord," nodded Roger, "seeing that I do plague the good
+saint on the matter continually--for, master, when I pray, I do pray
+right lustily."
+
+So, in a while, the meal done and crock and pannikin washed and set
+aside, Beltane's leg is bathed and dressed right skilfully with hands,
+for all their strength and hardness, wondrous light and gentle.
+Thereafter, stretched upon his bed of heather, Beltane watches Black
+Roger gird on belt and quiver, and, bow in hand, stride blithely into
+the green, and, ere he knows it, is asleep. And in his sleep, beholds
+one who bends to kiss him, white hands outstretched and all heaven in
+her eyes; and with her voice thrilling in his ears, wakes, to find the
+sun already westering and Black Roger near by, who, squatting before a
+rough table he has contrived set close beside the fire whereon a
+cooking pot seethes and bubbles, is busied with certain brewings,
+infusings and mixings in pipkin and pannikin, and all with brow of
+frowning portent.
+
+Whereat says Beltane, wondering:
+
+"What do ye, good Roger?"
+
+"Master, I mix thee thy decoction as She did instruct--She is a
+learned youth, master--Sir Fidelis. In these dried herbs and simples,
+look you, lieth thy health and strength and Pentavalon's freedom--aye,
+a notable youth in faith, thy Duchess."
+
+Hereupon Beltane, remembering his dream, must needs close his eyes that
+he may dream again, and is upon the portal of sleep when Roger's hand
+rouses him.
+
+"What would'st, Roger?"
+
+"Master--thy draught."
+
+"Take it hence!"
+
+"Nay, it must be swallowed, master."
+
+"Then swallow it thyself!"
+
+"Nay, lord, 'tis the hour for thy draught appointed by Sir Fidelis and
+She must be obeyed--come, master!" Forthwith, yet remembering his
+dream, Beltane opens unwilling eyes and more unwilling mouth and the
+draught is swallowed; whereupon comes languor and sleep, and therewith,
+more dreams.
+
+Anon 'tis even-fall, and the stars, one by one, peep forth of the
+darkening heaven, shadows steal and lengthen and lo! 'tis night; a
+night wherein the placid moon, climbing apace, fills the silent world
+with the splendour of her advent. And ever and always Beltane lies
+deep-plunged in slumber; but in his sleep he groans full oft and oft
+doth call upon a name--a cry faint-voiced and weak, yet full of a
+passionate yearning; whereupon cometh sturdy Roger to behold him in the
+light of the fire, to stoop and soothe him with gentle hand; thus needs
+must he mark the glitter of a tear upon that pale and sunken cheek,
+wherefore Black Roger's own eyes must needs fall a-smarting and he to
+grieving amain. In so much that of a sudden he stealeth swiftly from
+the cave, and, drawing sword setteth it up-right in the ling; then
+kneeling with bowed head and reverent hands, forthwith fell to his
+prayers, after this wise:--
+
+"Sweet Cuthbert--gentle saint--behind me in the shadows lieth my
+master--a-weeping in his slumber. So needs must I weep also, since I do
+love him for that he is a man. Good Saint Cuthbert, I have wrought for
+him my best as thou hast seen--tended his hurt thrice daily and
+ministered the potion as I was commanded. I have worked for him--prayed
+for him--yet doth he weep great tears within his sleep. So now do I
+place him in thy care, good saint, for thou dost know me but poor rogue
+Roger, a rough man and all unlearned, yet, even so, I do most truly
+love him and, loving him, do fear--for meseemeth his hurt is deeper
+than hurt of body, he doth pine him and grieve for lack of his heart's
+desire--a young man, sweet saint, that doth yearn for a maid right fair
+and noble, _pars amours,_ good saint, as is the custom. But alack, she
+is far hence and he lieth here sick and like to perish and I am but
+poor Roger--a very sinful man that knoweth not what to do. So do I call
+on thee, sweet saint--achieve me a miracle on his behalf, bring him to
+his heart's desire that he may wax hale and well and weep no more
+within his sleep. And this do I ask for his sake and his lady's sake
+and for the sake of Pentavalon Duchy--not forgetting poor Roger that
+doth plague thee thus for love of him. Amen!"
+
+Now behold! even as the prayer was ended came a faint stir and rustle
+amid the leaves hard by, and, lifting startled head, Black Roger beheld
+a radiant vision standing in the pale glory of the moon, whereat he
+knew fear and a great awe.
+
+"O, good Saint Cuthbert, and is it thou indeed?" he whispered, "Sweet
+saint, I thought not to win thee down from heaven thus, though forsooth
+I did pray right lustily. But, since thou art come--"
+
+"Hush, good Roger!" spake a voice soft and wondrous sweet to hear; and,
+so speaking, the shining figure raised the vizor of its helm. "O hush
+thee, Roger, for he sleepeth. All day, unseen, have I watched over him,
+nor can I leave him until his strength be come again. And sleep is life
+to him, so wake him not. Come your ways, for I would speak thee many
+things--follow!"
+
+As one that dreams, Roger stared into the eyes beneath the vizor, and
+as one that dreams he rose up from his knees, and, sheathing his sword,
+followed whither the gleaming vision led; yet betimes he blinked upon
+the moon, and once he shook his head and spake as to himself:
+
+"Verily--aye, verily, a lusty pray-er, I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
+
+
+Slowly the days sped, dewy dawn and tender eve, days of sun and shadow
+and gentle rain; golden days wherein Beltane lay 'twixt sleep and
+wake, and nights of silver wherein he slept full deep and dreamed
+wondrously of gentle hands that soothed him with their touch, and warm
+soft lips on cheek and brow that filled him with a great and deep
+content.
+
+And in these days, who so cheery as Black Roger, full of a new-found
+gaiety, who laughed for small reason and ofttimes for none at all and
+was forever humming snatches of strange song as he stooped above pipkin
+and pannikin. Much given was he also to frequent comings and goings
+within the green to no apparent end, while Beltane, within the little
+cave, lay 'twixt sleep and waking; moreover, full oft as they ate their
+evening meal together, he would start, and falling to sudden silence,
+sit as one that hearkens to distant sounds. Yet withal was he ever
+heedful of Beltane's many wants, who, as health came, grew more eager
+to be gone, but finding himself too weak, straightway waxed moody and
+rebellious, whereat smiling Roger waxed firm, so needs must frowning
+Beltane be bathed and bandaged and swallow his draught--because of She
+who had so commanded.
+
+Now it befell upon a certain evening as Roger bent to peer into the pot
+that seethed and bubbled upon the fire and to sniff its appetising
+savour, he presently fell a-singing to himself in a voice gruff yet
+musical withal; whereupon Beltane, turning languid head, fell to
+watching this new Roger, and thereafter spake on this wise:
+
+BELTANE. "What do ye so oft within the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Hunt, that we may eat, master."
+
+BELTANE. "I have seen thee go full oft of late and leave thy bow
+behind, Roger."
+
+ROGER. "Whereby I judge that though thine eyes be shut ye do not always
+slumber, master, and methinks our supper is done--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nay--what do ye in the green?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, thy horse Mars hath a proud spirit and snorteth against
+his bonds. So, lest he break thy slumber, have I made him a shelter of
+wattles in the green."
+
+BELTANE. "Truly, Roger, thou art greatly changed methinks."
+
+ROGER (starting). "As how, master?"
+
+BELTANE. "I have heard thee called Roger the grim, and Roger the surly,
+ere now."
+
+ROGER (shaking woeful head). "Ere now, lord, I hanged men, conceiving
+it my duty."
+
+BELTANE. "And to-day you sing--and wherefore?"
+
+ROGER. "For joy in life, master."
+
+BELTANE. "And thou dost laugh, surly Roger--oft-times for little
+reason, meseemeth."
+
+ROGER. "For that my heart is renewed within me, master. Happiness is my
+bedfellow and companion--here is good reason for laughter, methinks."
+
+BELTANE. "And wherefore art thou happy, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Item first: thou dost mend apace, lord. Item second: this mess
+of venison hath a savour most delectable. Item third: happiness is the
+birthright of every man. Moreover I have learned that behind the
+blackest cloud is a glory of sun, and beyond sorrow, joy. So do I
+rejoice that all is like to be well with thee."
+
+BELTANE (bitterly). "Well with me, say you? Is Pentavalon free, Roger?
+Do I not lie here, weak and helpless--my company scattered? O, call you
+this well, forsooth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis true thou art weak as yet, master, but thou shalt rise
+again stronger than aforetime--aye, thou shalt arise indeed, and all
+Pentavalon with thee. So let thine heart rejoice and sing, as mine
+doth."
+
+BELTANE (fiercely). "O evil day, that ere I gave my heart to woman's
+love, so do I lie here a useless thing--O day accursed!"
+
+ROGER. "O day most blessed, since woman's love hath lifted thee from
+death and shall be thy glory and Pentavalon's salvation, master!"
+
+BELTANE (eagerly). "Roger--Roger, speak you of the Duchess Helen? What
+mean you, man?"
+
+ROGER. "There be signs and portents, master, the very air is full o'
+them. Whiles we tarry here, others be up and doing--"
+
+BELTANE. "Others, Roger?"
+
+ROGER. "Notably Walkyn o' the Axe, master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Ha! and what of Walkyn?"
+
+ROGER. "He smiled, master, as I told thee ere this, and when Walkyn
+smileth it behoveth others to be wary. So now do I tell thee that
+Walkyn hath taken and burned Duke Ivo's great Castle of Brandonmere,
+that Winisfarne city hath risen 'gainst the Duke and all the border
+villages likewise--aha! master, there be scythe-blades and good brown
+bills a-twinkle all along the marches eager to smite for freedom and
+Pentavalon when time is ripe!"
+
+BELTANE (rising upon his knees). "Forsooth, is this so? O Roger, is
+this so in very truth?"
+
+ROGER. "'Tis very truth, master. Upon my sword I swear it!"
+
+BELTANE. "But whence had ye the wondrous news--how--when?"
+
+ROGER. "Master, 'twas three nights agone, as I wrestled prodigiously in
+prayer on thy behalf, one came to me and spake me many things
+marvellous good to hear. Moreover, I have met divers folk within the
+greenwood and upon the forest-road yonder, and with all do I hold
+converse."
+
+Then to Roger's amaze Beltane rose up, and standing square upon his
+feet lifted hands and eyes to heaven. "Now glory be to the living God,"
+quoth he, "that hath heard the prayers of such as I. So now do I swear,
+come life, come death, to walk my appointed way sword in hand,
+henceforth, nor will I turn aside for man or woman, heeding not the
+lure of friendship or of love. I do swear never to look upon a woman to
+love--"
+
+ROGER (fearfully). "Master--master!"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor to suffer woman's love to come 'twixt me and my duty--"
+
+ROGER (despairingly). "O master, swear it not--swear it not--"
+
+BELTANE. "Nor shall aught let or stay me until Pentavalon win to
+freedom or my poor soul return whence it came. And this do I swear to
+the ears of God!"
+
+Now turned he to Roger, bright-eyed and with hands tight-clenched.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art witness to this my oath, an I do fail or
+falter henceforth, then in that same hour may sharp death be mine. So
+now bring to me sword and armour, for this night must I hence."
+
+Now was Roger sore troubled and fain was to speak, but beholding his
+master's flashing eye, he presently did as he was commanded. So Beltane
+took hold upon the sword and drew it, and looked glad-eyed upon its
+broad and shining blade. But when he would have wielded it, behold! he
+scarce could lift it; with teeth fierce-clenched he strove against his
+weakness until his breath waxed short and the sweat ran from him, but
+ever the great blade grew the heavier. Then he groaned to find himself
+so feeble, and cried aloud an exceeding bitter cry, and cast the sword
+from him, and, staggering, fell into Roger's waiting arms. Forthwith
+Roger bare him to the cave and laid him down upon his bed.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "O master, grieve not thyself, thou shalt be hale
+and strong anon, but the time is not yet. Comfort ye, comfort ye, my
+lord--ere long thou shalt be strong, aye, and mightier e'en than
+aforetime. So grieve not nor repine, my master!"
+
+But Beltane lay heeding not, nor would he eat despite all Roger's
+wheedling arts; but being fevered and athirst, drank deep of the
+sleeping draught, and thereafter, falling to his black humour, turned
+his face to the shadows, and, lying thus, straightway fell to weeping,
+very silently, because of his so great weakness, until, like a child,
+he had wept himself to sleep.
+
+Slowly the moon sank, the fire burned low and Roger snored blissfully
+hard by, but Beltane, blessed within his slumbers, dreamed again of one
+who stole, light of foot, to lie beside him watchful in the dark and
+with warm, soft arms set close about him like the sheltering arms of
+that mother he had never known.
+
+Thus slept Beltane, like a weary child upon a mother's breast, and knew
+great peace and solace and a deep and utter content.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
+
+
+Day by day Beltane waxed in health and strength, and daily, leaning
+upon Roger's trusty arm he walked further afield. And day by day, with
+growing strength, so grew his doubt, and therewith, by times, a black
+despond; for needs must he think ever of Helen the Beautiful, and fain
+was he to tear her from his heart yet could not; then fain he would
+have hated her, but in his ears her cry rang still--"God pity thee, my
+Beltane!"--wherefore he was wont to fall to sudden gloom and
+melancholy.
+
+But upon a certain blithe evening Black Roger stood leaning on his
+bow-stave to watch where Beltane swam the pool with mighty strokes, who,
+laughing for very joy of it, presently sprang ashore, panting with his
+exertions, and fell to donning his garments.
+
+"How think ye, Roger," he cried, "am I fit to adventure me the world
+again?"
+
+"Forsooth, master, art well of thy wound and fever, and in a week or so
+mayhap thou shalt perchance be well enough--"
+
+"A week, Roger! I tell thee, man, this very day will I hence!"
+
+"But, master," says Roger, shaking cautious head, "thy world is a world
+of battles, and for battle art scarce yet strong enough--"
+
+"Say ye so, Roger? Then here and now shalt make trial of me. Art a tall
+and lusty fellow--come, man, let us try a fall together. And mark this,
+Roger, an thou canst put me on my back shalt have thy will in the
+matter, but, an I down thee, then hey! for horse and armour and the
+forest-road this very night. Come, is't agreed?"
+
+Now hereupon the wily Roger, noting the pallor of Beltane's sunken
+cheek and how his broad breast laboured yet, and moreover feeling
+himself aglow with lusty life and vigour, smiled grimly, nothing
+doubting the issue. Wherefore he nodded his head.
+
+"So be it, master," said he, "only take thy wind first." So saying he
+set aside bow and quiver, loosed off his sword, and tightening his
+belt, stepped towards Beltane, his broad back stooped, his knotted arms
+advanced and fingers crooked to grapple. Once and twice he circled,
+seeking a hold, then leapt he swift and low; arms and fingers clenched
+and locked, and Beltane was bent, swayed, and borne from his feet; but
+even so, with a cunning twist he brake Black Roger's hold and staggered
+free. Quoth he:
+
+"Art a very strong man, Roger, stronger than methought. Come again!"
+
+Once more they circled heedfully, for Beltane had grown more wary:
+thrice he sought a certain hold and thrice Black Roger foiled him, ere,
+sudden and grim, he leapt and closed; and breast to breast they strove
+fiercely, mighty arms straining and tight-clenched, writhing, swaying,
+reeling, in fast-locked, desperate grapple. Now to Roger's strength and
+quickness Beltane opposed craft and cunning, but wily Roger met guile
+with guile nor was to be allured to slack or change his gripe.
+Therefore of a sudden Beltane put forth his strength, and wrestled
+mightily, seeking to break or weaken Roger's deadly hold. But Roger's
+iron arms gripped and held him fast, crushed him, checked him.
+
+"Aha! master," panted Roger, "now I have thee!" and therewith heaved
+right lustily, felt Beltane yield and stagger, slacked his grip for the
+final hold, and, in that moment, his arms were burst asunder, he was
+whirled up, kicking, 'twixt earth and heaven, laid gently upon the
+sward and, sitting up, found Beltane lying breathless beside him.
+
+"'Twas a trick, Roger!" he panted, "I beat thee--but by an artifice--"
+
+"Yet beaten I am, master," quoth Roger, vastly rueful.
+
+"And art mightier than I thought thee, Roger."
+
+"Master, I have wrestled oft with Gefroi that was the Duke's wrestler."
+
+"Then art a better man than he, meseemeth," quoth Beltane.
+
+"Yet thou hast beaten me, master!"
+
+"So within the hour we will begone to our duty, Roger!"
+
+"Whither, lord?"
+
+"First to Winisfarne, and thence south to Belsaye, with every lusty
+fellow we can muster. How think you?"
+
+"I think the time is not yet, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"For that though things go well with thee and thy cause, yet shall they
+go better anon."
+
+"Nevertheless, Roger, within the hour we march. So come, first let us
+eat, for I do famish."
+
+So, when they had caught their breath again, together they arose and,
+coming to the cave beneath the steep, they re-made the fire and set the
+pot thereon; which done, Roger brought forth his lord's armour, bright
+and newly polished, and in a while Beltane stood, a shining figure from
+golden spur to gleaming bascinet. Thereafter, Roger armed him likewise,
+and as two brothers-in-arms they sat together and ate their meal with
+mighty appetite and gusto. Now presently, as they sat thus, Beltane
+espied a thing that lay by Roger's knee, and, taking it up, behold!
+'twas a wallet of fair-sewn leather, very artfully wrought, and, gazing
+upon it he must needs fall to sudden thought, whereto he sighed full
+deep and oft, till, finding Roger watching him, he forthwith checked
+his sighs and frowned instead.
+
+"Roger," quoth he, "whence had ye this thing?"
+
+"My lord, from--Her, the sweet knight Sir Fidelis, thy lady--"
+
+"Why wilt thou call her my lady, Roger?"
+
+"For that 'tis she you love and sigh for, she that doth love thee and
+shall bear thee right fair and lusty children yet, so do I pray, and my
+prayers are potent these days, for the good Saint Cuthbert heedeth me
+regardfully. So do I know that she shall yet lie within thine arms and
+yield thee thine heart's desire, _pars_--"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger--aye, a very fool, and talk arrant folly--"
+
+"Yet, master, here is folly shall be thy joy and her joy and--"
+
+"Enough, Roger! Hast forgot the oath I sware? And the ways of woman be
+crooked ways. And woman's love a light matter. Talk we of women no
+more."
+
+"How!" quoth Roger, staring, "speak we no more of--Her?"
+
+"No more!"
+
+"Forsooth, so be it, master, then will we talk of Sir Fidelis his love--"
+
+"Nor of Sir Fidelis."
+
+"Ha!" growled Roger, scratching his head, "must we go mumchance then,
+master?"
+
+"There be other matters for talk."
+
+"Aye--there's witchcraft, master. For mark me, when thou wert sick and
+nigh to God and the holy saints, the evil spell could not come nigh
+thee, and thou didst yearn and cry continually for nought but--Her. But
+now--now that thou'rt hale and strong again--"
+
+"I behold things with mind unclouded, Roger."
+
+"Save by enchantments damned, master. Since that evil day we met yon
+accursed witch of Hangstone, hast never been thyself."
+
+"Now do ye mind me how this woman did speak me of marvels and wonders,
+Roger--"
+
+"Artifice, lord--devilish toys to lure thee to fouler bewitchments."
+
+"Howbeit, I will seek her out."
+
+"Nay, good master, here shall be perils dire and deadly. O bethink
+thee, lest she change thee into a swine, or black dog, aye, or even a
+small shrew-mouse--I've heard of such ere now--or blast thee with fire,
+or loathly disease, or--"
+
+"None the less will I go."
+
+"Never say so, master!"
+
+"At the full o' the moon."
+
+"Lord, now do I beseech thee--"
+
+"And the moon will be full--to-night, Roger. Go you and saddle now the
+horse."
+
+Forthwith went Roger, gloomy and nothing speaking, what time Beltane
+sat there staring down at the wallet on his knee, bethinking him of
+many things, and, for that he was alone, sighing deep and oft; and so,
+very suddenly, hung the wallet to his girdle and thereafter arose.
+
+In a while cometh gloomy Roger leading the destrier Mars, whereon
+gloomy Beltane swung to saddle, and, looking round about him once and
+twice, rode slowly towards where, beyond the shade of trees, the forest
+road ran north and south.
+
+But, as for Roger, needs must he pause upon the edge of the clearing to
+look back at the little cave beneath the steep, whereby the small
+water-brook flowed murmurously; a while he stood thus, to frown and
+shake gloomy head; then lifted he his hand on high, much as he had bid
+one sorrowful farewell, and, turning about, trudged away after his
+lord.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
+
+
+It had been an evening of cloud, but now the sky was clear and the moon
+shone bright and round as they reached that desolate, wind-swept heath
+that went by the name of Hangstone Waste, a solitary place at all
+times but more especially wild and awful 'neath the ghostly moon;
+wherefore Roger went wide-eyed and fearful, and kept fast hold of
+Beltane's stirrup.
+
+"Ha--master, master!" cried he 'twixt chattering teeth, "did'st not
+hear it, master?"
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, checking his horse, "what was it? where away?"
+
+"'Twas a cry, master--beyond the marsh yonder. 'Tis there again!"
+
+"'Twas an owl, Roger."
+
+"'Twas a soul, master, a poor damned soul and desolate! We shall see
+dire and dreadful sights on Hangstone Waste this night, master--holy
+Saint Cuthbert! What was yon?"
+
+"Nought but a bat, Roger."
+
+"A bat, lord? Never think so. Here was, belike, a noble knight or a
+lusty fellow be-devilled into a bat. Good master, let us go no further
+--if thou hast no thought for thyself, have a little heed for poor
+Roger."
+
+"Why look ye, good Roger, canst go where thou wilt, but, as for me, I
+ride for the White Morte-stone."
+
+"Nay then, an thou'rt blasted this night, master, needs must I be
+blasted with thee--yonder lieth the Morte-stone, across the waste. And
+now, may Saint Cuthbert and Saint Bede have us in their blessed care,
+Amen!"
+
+So they began to cross the rolling desolation of the heath and
+presently espied a great boulder, huge and solitary, gleaming white and
+ghostly 'neath the moon.
+
+Being come very nigh, Beltane checked his horse and was about to
+dismount, when Roger, uttering a sudden gasping cry, cowered to his
+knees, for in the air about them was a sound very sweet to hear--the
+whisper of lute-strings softly plucked by skilled and cunning fingers,
+and thereafter a man's voice, rich and melodious, brake forth into
+tender singing: and the words were these:--
+
+  "O moon! O gentle moon, to-night
+   Unveil thy softest, tend'rest light
+   Where feet I love, so small and white,
+      Do bear my love to me!"
+
+"Stand up, Roger, here is nought to harm us, methinks," quoth Beltane
+softly, "stand up, and hold my bridle."
+
+"But see now, master, there be devil-goblins a many that do pipe like
+very angels."
+
+"Nathless here's one that I must speak with," said Beltane, slipping to
+earth and looking about him with wondering eyes, for the voice had
+seemed to come from the grass at his feet. And while he yet sought to
+and fro in frowning perplexity the melodious voice brake forth anew:
+
+  "O little feet, more white than snow,
+   If through the thorny brake ye go,
+   My loving heart I'll set below
+      To take the hurt for thee."
+
+Now as the voice sank and the lute-strings quivered to silence,
+Beltane, coming behind the great rock, beheld a glow, very faint and
+feeble, that shone through thick-clustering leaves; and, putting aside
+a whin-bush that grew against the rock, perceived a low and narrow
+alley or passage-way leading downwards into the earth, lighted by a
+soft, mellow beam that brightened as he advanced and presently showed
+him a fair-sized chamber cunningly hollowed within the rock and adorned
+with rich furs and skins. And behold one who reclined upon a couch of
+skins, a slender, youthful figure with one foot wondrously be-wrapped
+and swathed, who, beholding Beltane's gleaming mail, sprang up very
+nimbly and fronted him with naked sword advanced.
+
+"Nay, hast forgot thy friend, Sir Jocelyn?"
+
+Incontinent the sword was tossed aside, and with a joyous cry Sir
+Jocelyn sprang and caught him in close embrace.
+
+"Now by sweet Venus her downy dove--'tis Beltane!" he cried. "Now
+welcome and thrice welcome, my lordly smith, thou mighty son of noble
+father. Ah, lord Duke, I loved thee that day thou didst outmatch Gefroi
+the wrestler in the green. Since then much have I learned of thee and
+thy valiant doings, more especially of Barham Broom--how thou didst
+slay the vile Sir Gilles 'neath the eyes of Ivo and all his powers and
+thereby didst snatch from shame and cruel death one that is become the
+very heart of me, so needs must I love and honour and cherish thee so
+long as I be Jocelyn and thou thy noble self. Come, sit ye--sit ye
+here, for fain am I to question thee--"
+
+"But," said Beltane, wrinkling puzzled brow, "how came you hither--and
+art wounded, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, to desperation--O direly, Beltane. I do languish night
+and day, sleep doth bring me no surcease and music, alack, abatement
+none. Food--base food repelleth me and wine no savour hath. Verily,
+verily, wounded deep am I."
+
+"Forsooth," said Beltane, "thy foot doth wear bandages a many, but--"
+
+"Bandages?" cried Jocelyn, staring. "Foot? Nay, nay, my torment is not
+here," and he flourished his beswathed foot in an airy, dancing step.
+"Indeed, Beltane, herein do I confess me some small artifice, yet, mark
+me, to a sweet and worthy end. For my hurt lieth here,--sore smit am I
+within this heart o' mine."
+
+"Thy heart again, Jocelyn?"
+
+"Again?" said the young knight, wrinkling slender brows.
+
+"Aye, thou did'st sing thy heart's woe to me not so long since--in an
+hundred and seventy and eight cantos, and I mind thy motto: 'Ardeo'."
+
+"Nay, Beltane, in faith--indeed, these were folly and youthful folly,
+the tide hath ebbed full oft since then and I, being older, am wiser.
+Love hath found me out at last--man's love. List now, I pray thee and
+mark me, friend. Wounded was I at the ford you wot of beside the mill,
+and, thereafter, lost within the forest, a woeful wight! Whereon my
+charger, curst beast, did run off and leave me. So was I in unholy
+plight, when, whereas I lay sighful and distressed, there dawned upon
+my sight one beyond all beauty beautiful. Y-clad in ragged garb was
+she, yet by her loveliness her very rags were glorified. To me, shy as
+startled doe, came she and, with saintly pity sweet, did tend my hurt,
+which done, with much ado she did hither bring me. Each day, at morn
+and eve, came she with cates rare and delicate, and her gentle hands
+did woo my wound to health, the which indeed so swift grew well that I
+did feign divers pains betimes lest she should vanish from me quite--so
+grew my love. At the first loved I her something basely, for the beauty
+of her body fair, whereat she grieved and sorrowed and fled from my
+regard, and for an eternity of days came not again until yestere'en.
+And, Beltane, though base her birth, though friendless, poor and
+lonely, yet did my heart know her far 'bove my base self for
+worthiness. So did I, yestere'en, upon my knightly word, pledge her my
+troth, so shall she be henceforth my lady of Alain and chatelaine of
+divers goodly castles, manors, and demesnes. To-night she cometh to me
+in her rags, and to-night we set forth, she and I, to Mortain, hand in
+hand--nor shall my lips touch hers, Beltane, until Holy Church hath
+made us one. How think ye of my doing, friend?"
+
+"I do think thee true and worthy knight, Sir Jocelyn, and moreover--"
+
+But of a sudden, Roger's voice reached them from without, hoarse with
+terror.
+
+"Master--O master, beware! 'Tis the witch, lord--O beware!"
+
+And with the cry, lo! a hurry of feet running swift and light, a rustle
+of flying garments, and there, flushed and panting, stood the witch--
+the witch Mellent that was the lady Winfrida. Now, beholding Beltane,
+her eyes grew wide with swift and sudden fear--she quailed, and sank to
+her knees before him; and when Sir Jocelyn, smitten to mute wonder,
+would have raised her, she brake forth into bitter weeping and crouched
+away.
+
+"Nay, touch me not my lord, lest thou repent hereafter--for now do I
+see that happiness is not for me--now must I say such words as shall
+slay thy love for me, so touch me not."
+
+"Ha, never say so!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "not touch thee? art not mine
+own beloved Mellent?"
+
+"Nay, I am the lady Winfrida--"
+
+"Thou--Winfrida the rich and proud--in these rags? Thou, Winfrida the
+Fair?--thy raven hair--"
+
+"O, my hair, my lord? 'twas gold, 'tis black and shall be gold again,
+but I am that same Winfrida."
+
+"But--but I have seen Winfrida betimes in Mortain ere now."
+
+"Nay, then, didst but look at her, my lord, for thine eyes saw only the
+noble Helen's beauty. Alas! that ever I was born, for that I am that
+Winfrida who, for ambition's sake and wicked pride, did a most vile
+thing--O my lord Beltane, as thou art strong, be pitiful--as thou art
+deeply wronged, be greatly merciful."
+
+"How--how--mean you?" said Beltane, slow-speaking and breathing deep.
+
+"Lord--'twas I--O, how may I tell it? My lord Beltane, upon thy wedding
+night did I, with traitorous hand, infuse a potent drug within the
+loving-cup, whereby our lady Duchess fell into a swoon nigh unto death.
+And--while she lay thus, I took from her the marriage-robe--the gown of
+blue and silver. Thereafter came I, with my henchman Ulf the Strong
+and--found thee sleeping in the chapel. So Ulf--at my command--smote
+thee and--bound thee fast, and, ere the dawn, I brought thee--to
+Garthlaxton--O my lord!"
+
+"Thou--? It was--thou?"
+
+"I do confess it, my lord Beltane--traitor to thee, and base traitor to
+her--"
+
+"Why, verily--here was treachery--" quoth Beltane speaking slow and
+soft, "truly here--methinks--was treachery--and wherefore?"
+
+"O my lord, must I--tell this?"
+
+"I do ask thee."
+
+Then did Winfrida shrink within herself, and crouched yet further from
+Sir Jocelyn as though his eyes had hurt her.
+
+"Lord," she whispered, "I was--jealous! Duke Ivo wooed me long ere he
+loved the Duchess Helen, so was I jealous. Yet was I proud also, for I
+would suffer not his love until he had made me wife. And, upon a day,
+he, laughing, bade me bring him captive this mighty man that defied his
+power--that burned gibbets and wrought such deeds as no other man
+dared, swearing that, an I did so, he would wed with me forthright. And
+I was young, and mad with jealousy and--in those days--I knew love not
+at all. But O, upon a day, I found a new world wherein Love came to me
+--a love so deep and high, so pure and noble, that fain would I have
+died amid the flame than thus speak forth my shame, slaying this
+wondrous love by my unworthiness. Yet have I told my shame, and love is
+dead, methinks, since I am known for false friend and traitor vile--a
+thing for scorn henceforth, that no honourable love may cleave to. So
+is love dead, and fain would I die also!"
+
+Now, of a sudden, while yet Beltane frowned down upon her, came Sir
+Jocelyn, and kneeling beside Winfrida, spake with bent head:
+
+"Messire Beltane, thou seest before thee two that are one, henceforth.
+So do I beseech thee, forgive us our trespass against thee, an it may
+be so. But, if thy wrongs are beyond forgiveness, then will we die
+together."
+
+"O Jocelyn!" cried Winfrida breathlessly, "O dear my lord--surely never
+man loved like thee! Lord Beltane, forgive--for this noble knight's
+sake--forgive the sinful Winfrida!"
+
+"Forgive?" said Beltane, hoarsely, "forgive?--nay, rather would I
+humbly thank thee on my knees, for thou hast given back the noblest
+part of me. She that was lost is found again, the dead doth live. Helen
+is her noble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her. The
+happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world,
+methinks. O kneel not to me--and pray you--speak on this matter no
+more. Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy. Lady, hast won a true and
+leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a noble lady, who hath spoken truth
+at hazard of losing her love. And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed
+thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world
+but love. Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all!" So saying,
+Beltane turned very suddenly, and strode out, where, beside the great
+horse Mars, stood Roger, very pale in the moonlight, and starting and
+staring at every rustling leaf and patch of shadow.
+
+"Roger," said he, "thou art afraid of bats and owls, yet, forsooth, art
+a wiser man than I. Bring hither the horse."
+
+In a while cometh Sir Jocelyn and the lady Winfrida, hand in hand,
+aglow with happiness, yet with eyes moistly bright under the moon.
+
+"Good comrade-in-arms," quoth Beltane, "Mortain lieth far hence; now
+here is a goodly horse--"
+
+"O!" cried Winfrida shrinking, "surely 'tis the horse that bore Sir
+Gilles of Brandonmere in the lists at Barham Broom--"
+
+"So now, my lady Winfrida, shall it bear thee and thy love to Mortain
+and happiness--O loved Mortain! So mount, Jocelyn, mount! Haste to thy
+happiness, man, and in thy joy, forget not Pentavalon, for her need is
+great. And thou hast goodly men-at-arms! How think ye, messire?"
+
+"Beltane," cried Sir Jocelyn gleefully, "Beltane, O dear my friend,
+doubt me not--I do tell thee we shall ride together yet, when the
+battle joins!" So saying, be sprang to saddle. Now turned Beltane to
+aid the lady Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's hold; but, even then, she fell
+upon her knees, and catching his hand to her bosom, kissed it.
+
+"Lord Beltane," said she, looking up 'neath glistening lashes--"as thou
+hast dealt with me, so may heaven deal with thee. May thy sore heart
+find solace until love find thee--and--dear my lord, I pray you where
+is--he--the young knight that rode with thee--for where he is, there
+also is--Helen--"
+
+"And thou dost know, too?"
+
+"I knew her that day in the forest when I fled away, for though I would
+have confessed my sin to thee, yet her cold scorn I could not have
+borne. Where is she now, my lord?"
+
+"Safe within Mortain, I pray."
+
+"Then come you to Mortain. Come with us this night--ah! come you to
+Mortain and--Helen!"
+
+Now hereupon Beltane turned to look with yearning eyes towards the
+gloom of the forest beyond which lay the soft and peaceful valleys of
+fair Mortain, and she that called herself Fidelis, who had indeed been
+so faithful in all things, so patient and enduring; and, as his eyes
+yearned, so yearned the great passionate soul of him, insomuch that he
+must needs fall a-trembling, whereat Roger the watchful drew a soft
+pace nearer. So stood Beltane awhile, hands clenched, head bent,
+staring ever northwards, his blood aglow with eager love, his heart
+a-throb with passionate remorse.
+
+"Come, my lord," breathed Winfrida, "O come--in Mortain is rest and
+solace--and love!"
+
+"Rest?" said Beltane softly, "solace and love--O sweet thought! Yet I
+may not go hence, for here is sorrow and shame and suffering--sword
+and fire and battle. So must I bide here in Pentavalon--with my duty."
+So saying, he lifted Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's ready clasp and
+thereafter spake with head downbent: "An thou chance to see--her--
+within Mortain, I pray you say that the blind doth see at last and is
+gone to his duty, that, peradventure, he may be, some day, more worthy
+her great love. And now fare ye well, good friends, God have ye ever in
+His tender care. Come, Roger!"
+
+Then Beltane turned him suddenly away, and with broad back set towards
+Mortain, strode off across the desolate moor.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
+
+
+Silent went Beltane, his lips firm-set, his wistful eyes staring ever
+before him, nor paused he once, nor once glanced back towards that
+happy Mortain which held for him all that was fair and sweet and noble;
+that pure and faithful heart wherein no evil could exist; that radiant
+body in whose soft, white loveliness lay all the joy, all the happiness
+the wide world might ever yield him.
+
+And now, because of her proved innocence, he was uplifted by a great
+and mighty joy, and therewith his step was light and swift; anon,
+because of his base doubt of her, he writhed 'neath the sharp-gnawing
+tooth of bitter remorse, and therewith his step grew heavy and slow.
+Now was he proud of her so great love for him, and again, he knew a
+profound and deep humility because of his so great unworthiness. Thus
+went he, nothing speaking, now with flying feet, now with steps that
+dragged, insomuch that watchful Roger fell to solemn wonderment, to a
+furtive unease, and so, at last, to speech.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in a voice of awe, but Beltane strode on unheeding,
+whereat Roger's eyes grew round and his ruddy cheek pale, and clenching
+his fist, he raised aloft his first and little fingers so that they
+formed two horns, and with the horns he touched Beltane lightly on the
+shoulder. "Master!" said he.
+
+Then Beltane started, and turning, looked at Roger, whereupon Roger
+immediately crossed his fingers.
+
+"Ha, Roger, I was deep in my thoughts, what would ye?"
+
+"Master, hast ever a pricking in the hairs of thy head?"
+
+"Not I."
+
+"Dost ever feel a tingling in the soles of thy feet?"
+
+"Not so, in truth."
+
+"Why then a shivering, quaking o' the back-bone?"
+
+"Roger, man, what troubles thee now?"
+
+"I do fear thou'rt be-devilled and moon-struck, master!"
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"Betimes thou dost smile upon the moon--for no reason; scowl upon the
+earth--for no reason; work with thy lips yet speak no word, and
+therewith do bite thy fingers-ends, clench thy fists--and all for no
+reason. Moreover, thou'rt quick and slow in thy gait, sighing gustily
+off and on--so it is I do sweat for thee."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"Master," quoth Roger, glancing furtively about, "in my youth I did see
+a goodly man be-devilled by horrid spells by an ancient hag that was a
+noted witch, and he acted thus--a poor wight that was thereafter
+damnably be-devilled into a small, black rabbit, see you--"
+
+"Saw you all this indeed, Roger?"
+
+"All but the be-devilling, master, for being young and sore frighted I
+ran away and hid myself. But afterwards saw I the old woman with the
+black rabbit in a cage--wherefore the vile hag was stoned to death, and
+the black rabbit, that was her familiar, also--and very properly. And,
+lord, because I do love thee, rather would I see thee dead than a
+rabbit or a toad or lewd cur--wherefore now I pray thee cross thy
+fingers and repeat after me--"
+
+"Nay, my faithful Roger, never fear, here is no witchcraft. 'Tis but
+that within the hour the blind doth see, the fool hath got him some
+little wisdom."
+
+"Master, how mean you?"
+
+"This night, Roger, I have learned this great truth: that white can
+never be black, nor day night, nor truth lie--and here is great matter
+for thought, wherefore as I walk, I think."
+
+Now hereupon Black Roger halted and looked upon Beltane glad-eyed.
+
+"Lord," he cried, "is it that ye do know the very truth at last--of Sir
+Fidelis--that glorious lady, thy Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Aye, the very truth at last, Roger."
+
+"Ha!--'tis so I petitioned the good Saint Cuthbert this very night!"
+
+"And lo! he hath answered thy prayer, Roger."
+
+"Verily he regardeth poor Roger these days, master, e'en though my belt
+doth yet bear many accursed notches."
+
+"They shall be fewer anon, Roger; there be many poor souls for thee to
+save in woeful Pentavalon."
+
+Hereafter went they a while in silence, until of a sudden Roger halted
+and clapped hand to thigh.
+
+"Master, we go the wrong way, methinks."
+
+"Not so, we be close upon the forest road, Roger."
+
+"But thou dost know her faithful, master, pure and holy in mind and
+body--at sure of this at last!"
+
+"Aye," sighed Beltane, "at last!"
+
+"Why then, lord, let us incontinent seek her out."
+
+"She is in for Mortain, Roger, moreover--"
+
+"Nay, master, forsooth she is--hum! aye, she's in Mortain, mayhap, but
+'tis none so far to Mortain for such legs as thine and mine. And belike
+we may--chance upon her by the way, or--or she with us, or both!"
+
+"Even so, needs must I to my duty."
+
+"Thy duty!--aye, master--thy duty is to woo her, wed her, take her to
+thy arms and--"
+
+"I tell thee, Roger, ne'er will I speak word of love to her until I
+have proved myself in some sense fit and worthy. First will I free
+Pentavalon as I did swear--"
+
+"Nay, master, wed first thy Duchess, so shall she aid thee in thy vows,
+and thereafter--"
+
+"Enough!" cried Beltane, "think ye 'tis so easy to thus gainsay the
+love that burns me? But shame were it that I, beggared in fortune, my
+friends few, should wed her in my dire need, dragging thereby peaceful
+Mortain to mine aid and the bloody arbitrament of battle. Moreover,
+hast forgot the oath I sware--that nought henceforth should let or stay
+me?"
+
+"Master," sighed Roger, "there be times, methinks, thou dost swear
+over-many oaths. Art man and woman full of youth and love, wherefore
+not marry? Wherefore heed a vow here or there? Needs must I wrestle
+with the good Saint Cuthbert in the matter."
+
+But here Beltane fell again to meditation and Roger likewise. So came
+they presently to the forest-road, and turning north towards Winisfarne
+they strode on, side by side, in silence profound and deep. And of a
+sudden upon this silence, rose a voice high-pitched and quavering:
+
+"O ye that have eyes, have pity--show mercy on one that is maimed and
+helpless, and creepeth ever in the dark."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
+
+
+Forthwith Beltane paused, and presently beheld one that sat by the
+wayside--a man who crouched 'neath a dusty cloak and kept his white
+head down-bent and who now reached out a hand to grope and grope for
+the staff that lay near; wherefore Beltane took hold upon this hand and
+raised the white-haired traveller, and thereafter put the cudgel in his
+grasp.
+
+"Messire," said the blind man, "though I have no eyes I do know thee
+young, for thy clasp is strong and quick with life, yet wondrous
+gentle. God bless thee, youthful sir, for 'tis well to meet with
+gentleness within a world so cruel. Tell me, I pray, doth this road
+lead unto Belsaye town?"
+
+"Verily," answered Beltane, "but 'tis a long day's march thither."
+
+"Yet needs must I reach there, since I do bear a message. But, O young
+messire, when cruel men put out mine eyes, the good God, in His sweet
+clemency, made sharp mine ears. So do I know thy voice, methinks, for
+voice of one who, long months since, did cherish me in my need and
+hunger, and sent me unto the saintly Ambrose."
+
+"Ha!" cried Beltane joyously, "and is it thou indeed? Tell me, how doth
+my father?--is he well?--what said he?--how looked he? O, I do yearn
+for word of him!"
+
+"Thy father? How, young sir, is he indeed thy father? Then is thy name
+Beltane, for I have heard him name thee oft--"
+
+"Forsooth, and did he so? But how came you here, and wherefore?"
+
+"To seek thee, lord Beltane, according to thy saintly father's word.
+And the manner of it, thus: As we sat together of a certain fair noon
+within Holy Cross Thicket, there came to us thither a woman, young,
+methinks, and fair, for her speech was soft and wondrous sweet in mine
+ears. And she did hail thy father 'Duke,' and thereafter spake thy name
+full oft, and so they fell to many words, walking together up and down
+before the hut. Anon, sudden and silent as she came, she was gone, and
+thy father walked full long, praying oft as one that rejoiceth greatly,
+and oft as one in deep perplexity. In a while cometh he to me and gave
+me scrip and therewith food and money, and bade me seek thee in Belsaye
+and speak thee thus: 'Tell Beltane, my well-beloved, that I, his
+father, have heard of his great and knightly deeds and that I do glory
+in them, praising God. Say that through him my youth and strength are
+renewed and my great sin made easier to bear. Tell him that the woes of
+Pentavalon draw to an end, and that ere long she shall arise above her
+sorrows. Bid him be of good courage yet a little longer, for the lion
+is waked at last, and the leopard also.' Behold now, messire, all's
+said." And the blind man stood with down-bent head, one hand grasping
+the staff, his other arm hid within his wide sleeve, what time Roger
+watched him furtive and askance, and moreover, his bow-stave shook and
+quivered in his grasp; as for Beltane, he stood as one lost in happy
+thought, upon his lips a smile ineffably tender. Smiling yet, he turned
+and touched the blind man's stooping shoulder. Quoth he:
+
+"Greatly welcome is thy news and greatly would I thank thee. Pray you
+now, how may I show my gratitude?"
+
+"Messire, fain would I shelter me in Belsaye, for there is fire and
+sword and battle on the marches. But the way is long, and on my road
+hither two rogues took from me purse and scrip. Give me, therefore,
+enough to bear me on my way."
+
+"Aye, verily! Roger, thou dost bear the purse. Give him store of money
+and some of our food--see that he lacketh for nothing, Roger." So
+saying, Beltane turned him away and fell again to pondering his
+father's words.
+
+Now at sound of Roger's name the blind man started round and fixed
+Roger with the horror of his eyeless sockets, and, therewith, flung up
+an arm as though fearing a blow; and behold! this arm was but a
+mutilated stump, for hand was there none.
+
+"Roger!" he whispered, "not Roger the Black? No, no! There be a many
+Rogers. But who art thou dost bear such a name, and wherefore cower and
+gasp ye?"
+
+Then stood the blind man with head out-thrust and awful arm upraised,
+before which Black Roger shrank and shrank to cower in the deeper
+shadow.
+
+Of a sudden the blind man turned and coming beside Beltane, grasped him
+by the mantle.
+
+"Lord," he questioned, "who is he that trembleth before the maimed and
+blind?--who is he that croucheth yonder?"
+
+"Nay, fear ye nothing," said Beltane, "'tis none but my trusty Roger,
+my good comrade in arms--comfort ye!" Then he beckoned Roger and took
+the purse and gave to the blind man bounteously, saying:
+
+"See now, when you shall come to Belsaye go you to Eric that hath
+command of the town and to Giles that is captain of the archers, and
+say that I, Beltane, will come to Belsaye within the week, and all our
+company with me, God willing. Bid them be vigilant and watch for our
+coming; let bows be strung and wall and turret manned night and day. So
+now fare thee well, and God's hand guide thy sightless going."
+
+Then the blind man blessed Beltane, and turning, forthwith set out upon
+his way, and his staff tapped loud upon the forest-road. Right joyfully
+Beltane strode on again, his mind ever busied with thought of his
+father; but Roger's step was listless and heavy, so that Beltane must
+needs turn to look on him, and straightway marvelled to see how he hung
+his head, and that his ruddy cheek was grown wondrous pale and haggard.
+
+"Roger?" quoth he, "art sick, Roger?"
+
+"Sick, lord? nay--not sick, 'tis but that I--I--" But when he would
+have said more his voice failed him, his lip fell a-quivering, and even
+as Beltane stared in wonder, Black Roger groaned and flung himself upon
+his knees, and hid his face within his hands.
+
+"Why Roger! What ails thee, Roger, man?" said Beltane and laid a hand
+upon his shoulder, whereat Roger groaned again and shrank away.
+
+"Ah, lord, touch me not!" he cried, "unfit am I for hand of thine,
+unfit and all unworthy--"
+
+"Nay, good friend--"
+
+"Master--master!" groaned Roger, and therewith a great cry brake from
+him and he cast himself face downwards in the dust. "Unworthy am I to
+be thy man, so must I leave thee this night--aye, leave thee! For O my
+lord! yon poor blind man--'twas I--at the Red Pertolepe's command--
+'twas I--did burn out his eyes and--cut off his hand--'twas I--I--Black
+Roger! O Saint Cuthbert! O sweet Jesu! So all unworthy am I to be thy
+man!"
+
+And now great sobs shook him, fierce sobs and bitter, and he writhed
+there in the dust, groaning in the agony of his remorse. Little by
+little his passion spent itself, but still he lay there, yearning
+mightily for sound of his master's voice or touch of his hand, yet
+dared he not look up because of his abasement.
+
+At last, whenas his sobs had ceased, he lifted his wretched head and
+stared in wide-eyed wonder to see Beltane upon his knees, his mailed
+hands clasped and his lips moving in silent prayer; when, his prayer
+ended, he raised his head and straightway Roger's wonder grew, for
+behold! the eyes of Beltane were wondrous gentle, his mouth sweet-curved
+and tender, the old harsh lines of grim-curled lip and lowering
+brow had vanished quite; and thus at last Black Roger saw again the
+face of my Beltane that had smiled on him long since amid the green
+across the prostrate form of poor Beda the Jester. So now, my Beltane
+smiled, and smiling, reached forth his hand.
+
+"Roger," said he, "by shame and agony some men do win to new life and
+fuller manhood, and such a man, methinks, thou art. So hath God need of
+thee, and from this the dust of thy abasement, mayhap, shall lift thee,
+one day, high as heaven. Stand up, Roger, good my friend, stand up, O
+man, for he only is unworthy that ne'er hath wept remorseful in the
+dust for evil past and done."
+
+Then Roger grasped that strong, uplifting hand, and stood upon his
+feet, yet spake he no word; and presently they went on along the road
+together.
+
+And Roger's habit was stained with dust, and on his cheek the mark of
+bitter tears--but his head was high and manfully uplifted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
+
+
+Now went they in silence again for that Beltane dreamed of many things
+while Roger marvelled within himself, oft turning to look on my
+Beltane's radiant face, while ever his wonder grew; so oft did he turn
+thus to gape and stare that Beltane, chancing to meet his look, smiled
+and questioned him, thus:
+
+"Why gape ye on me so, Roger man?"
+
+"For wonder, master."
+
+"Wherefore?"
+
+"To see thee so suddenly thyself again--truly Saint Cuthbert is a
+potent saint!"
+
+"And thou a sturdy pray-er, good Roger."
+
+"And most vile sinner, lord. Howbeit I have dared supplicate on thy
+behalf and behold! thou art indeed thyself again--that same sweet and
+gentle youth that smote me on my knavish mazzard with thy stout
+quarter-staff in Shevening Thicket in the matter of Beda, Red
+Pertolepe's fool--a dour ding, yon, master--forsooth, a woundy rap!"
+
+Now fell they to thoughtful silence again, but oft Black Roger's stride
+waxed uneven, and oft he stumbled in his going, wherefore Beltane
+slackened his pace.
+
+"What is it, Roger?"
+
+"Naught but my legs, master. Heed 'em not."
+
+"Thy legs?"
+
+"They be shorter than thine, lord, and love not to wag so fast. An thou
+could'st abate thy speed a little--a very little, master, they shall
+thank thee dearly."
+
+"Art so weary, Roger?"
+
+"Master, I was afoot ere sunrise."
+
+"Why truly, Roger. Yet do I, to mine own selfish ends, keep thee from
+thy slumber thus. Verily a selfish man, I!"
+
+"Not so, master, indeed--"
+
+"So now will we halt, and thou shalt to thy rest."
+
+"Why then, lord, let us to the Hollow--it lieth scarce a mile through
+the brush yonder, and 'twas there I did appoint for Walkyn to meet with
+thee again--so shall we sleep secure; moreover I have a feeling--as it
+were one calling us thither, a wondrous strange feeling, master! Mayhap
+we shall come by news of Walkyn there--"
+
+"'Tis well bethought, Roger. Come thy ways."
+
+Forthwith turned they from the forest-road, and forcing their way
+through a leafy tangle, presently came out into a ride, or narrow
+glade; but they had gone only a very little distance when they espied
+the red glow of a fire within a thicket hard by, and therewith the
+sound of voices reached them:
+
+"Three great bags, I tell thee!" cried one voice, high and querulous,
+"three great, fair and goodly bags full crammed of sweet gold pieces!
+All my lord Duke's revenue of Winisfarne and the villages adjacent
+thereunto! Taxes, see ye, my lord Duke's taxes--and all stolen, reft,
+and ravished from me, Guido, Steward and Bailiff of the northern
+Marches, by clapper-claws and raveners lewd and damned! Woe's me for my
+lord's good money-bags!"
+
+"O, content thee!" spake another voice, sleepy and full-fed, "for, an
+these monies were the Duke's they were not thine, and if they were not
+thine thou wert not robbed, and, since thou wert not robbed, wherefore
+groan and glower ye on the moon? Moreover, thou hast yet certain monies
+thou didst--collect--from yon blind fellow, the which remindeth me I
+have not yet my share. So pray thee now disburse, good steward."
+
+Hereupon, ere Beltane could stay him, Roger slipped, soft-treading,
+into the undergrowth; upon whose vanishing the air grew very suddenly
+full of shouts and cries, of scuffling sounds and woeful pleadings; and
+striding forward, Beltane beheld two men that crouched on bended knees,
+while Roger, fierce and threatening, stood betwixt, a hairy hand upon
+the throat of each. Now beholding Beltane, they (these gasping rogues)
+incontinent beset him with whimpering entreaties, beseeching of him
+their lives. Ragged knaves they seemed, and in woeful plight--the one a
+lank fellow and saturnine, with long, down-trending, hungry nose; the
+other a little man, plump and buxom, whose round eyes blinked woefully
+in his round and rosy face as he bent 'neath Roger's heavy hand. Yet
+spake he to Beltane in soft and soothing accents, on this wise:
+
+"Resplendent sir, behold this thy most officious wight who doth my
+tender throat with hurtful hand encompass--doubtless to some wise and
+gracious end an he doth squeeze me thus at thy command. Yet, noble sir,
+humbly would I woo of thee the mercy of a little more air, lest this
+right noble youth do choke me quite!"
+
+But hereupon the lank fellow cried out, bold and querulous:
+
+"Take ye heed, for whoso dareth lay hand on me, toucheth the person of
+Duke Ivo's puissant self!"
+
+"Ha--say ye so?" growled Roger, and forthwith squeezed him until he
+gasped again.
+
+"Loose me, knave!" he panted, "Duke Ivo's Steward, I--Bailiff of the
+northern Marches with--towns and villages--adjacent thereunto--"
+
+"Unhand them, Roger," said Beltane, "entreat them gently--in especial
+my lord Duke's Steward and Bailiff of the Marches, if so he be in very
+truth."
+
+"Yea my lord, in very truth!" cried the Bailiff. "But two days since in
+ermined robe and chain of office, a notable man, I, courted by many,
+feared by more, right well be-seen by all, with goodly horse betwixt my
+knees and lusty men-at-arms at my beck and call. To-night, alas and
+woe! thou see'st me a ragged loon, a sorry wight the meanest rogue
+would scorn to bow to, and the very children jeer at--and all by reason
+of a lewd, black-avised clapper-claw that doth flourish him a mighty
+axe--O, a vile, seditious fellow ripe for the gallows."
+
+"Ah! with an axe say'st thou, sir Bailiff?"
+
+"O most infallibly an axe, messire--a ponderous axe with haft the
+length of this my leg. A vilely tall, base, and most unseemly dog that
+hath spoiled me of my lord's sweet money-bags, wherefore I yearn to see
+him wriggle in a noose. To the which end I journey in these my rags,
+unto my lord Duke on Barham Broom, with tale of wrong and outrage most
+abominable."
+
+"And dared they rob thee indeed?" quoth Beltane, "and thou my lord
+Duke's High Steward and Bailiff of the Marches! Come, sit ye down and
+tell me of the matter--and Roger, methinks he shall talk the better an
+thou keep thy fingers farther from his wind-pipe."
+
+So down sat they together round the fire, and, what time the little
+buxom man viewed Beltane 'twixt stealthy lids from golden spur to open
+bascinet, the Bailiff fell to his tale, as followeth:
+
+"Know then, good and noble sir knight, that I sat me, but two days
+since, in right fair and goodly estate, my lackeys to hand, my men-at-arms
+at my back (twenty tall fellows). I sat me thus, I say, within the
+square at Winisfarne, whither, by sound of trumpet, I had summoned me
+the knavish townsfolk to pay into my hand my lord Duke's rightful dues
+and taxes, which folk it is my custom to call upon by name and one by
+one. When lo! of a sudden, and all uncalled, comes me a great, tall
+fellow, this same black-avised knave, and forthwith seized him one of
+my lord's great money-bags, and when I would have denied him, set me
+his axe beneath my very nose. Thereafter took he the bags all three and
+scattered (O hateful--hateful sight!) my lord's good monies among the
+base rabblement. And, when my lusty fellows sought to apprehend me this
+rogue, he smote them dolefully and roared in hideous fashion 'Arise--
+Pentavalon!' And straightway, at this lewd shout, forth of the crowd
+leapt many other rogues bedight as gentle knights in noble mail,
+cap-a-pie, and fell upon us and smote us dire, and stripped me of my
+goodly apparel, and drave me forth of the town with stripes and blows
+and laughter most ungentle. So here sit I, poor Guido, Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches, in most vile estate, very full of woe yet,
+alack, empty of belly."
+
+"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "within thy pouch, methinks, a
+blind man's money."
+
+"How--a blind man?" gasped the Bailiff, "a blind man's monies, say'st
+thou? Nay messire, in very truth."
+
+"Search him, Roger."
+
+Hereupon Roger, having straightway choked him to silence with the one
+hand full soon had found the money with the other, and thereafter, he
+loosed the Bailiff that he might get his breath again; the which he no
+sooner had done than he fell to prayers and humble entreaties:
+
+"Sir knight--right noble sir, sure thou wilt not take thus from a
+woeful wight all that he hath."
+
+"Nay," answered Beltane, "I take only from my lord Duke's Steward and
+Bailiff of the Marches. And now," said he, turning upon the small,
+round man, "thou hast marked me well, how say you, Pardoner?"
+
+"First, most truly potent, wise, yet very youthful, noble sir, that for
+all the world and all the glory thereof I would not anger thee."
+
+"Hast good eyes, Pardoner, and art quick to heed."
+
+"Nay, dull am I, sweet lord, aye, dull forsooth and slow beyond
+belief."
+
+"Would'st know me again? could'st bear my likeness in thy memory?"
+
+"Never, lord. Never, O never! I swear it by the toe of the blessed
+Didymus, by the arm of Saint Amphibalus thrice blessed, by--"
+
+"Why then, Pardoner, behold here my belt of silver, my good,
+long-bladed sword. And here--behold my yellow hair!" and off came bascinet,
+and back fell mail-coif, whereat the Bailiff started and caught his
+breath and stared on Beltane in sudden awe.
+
+"Dost mark me well, Pardoner?"
+
+"Aye, noble sir, verily and in truth do I. So, next time I think on
+thee thou wilt be a squat man, middle-aged and black-haired. For, my
+lord, a poor Pardoner I, but nought beside."
+
+Then Beltane did on coif and bascinet and rose to his feet, whereat the
+Bailiff cried out in sudden fear and knelt with hands upraised:
+
+"Slay me not, my lord! O messire Beltane, spare my life nor think I
+will betray thee, outlaw though thou art!"
+
+"Fear not, sir Bailiff," answered Beltane, "thy life is safe from me.
+But, when thou dost name me to thy lord, Duke Ivo, tell him that I
+spake thee this: That, whiles I do lie within the green he shall not
+sleep o' nights but I will be at work with fire and steel, nor rest nor
+stay until he and the evil of him be purged from this my father's duchy
+of Pentavalon--say I bid him remember this upon his pillow. Tell him
+that whiles I do hold the woods my powers grow daily, and so will I
+storm and burn his castles, one by one, as I did burn Garthlaxton. Say
+I bid him to think upon these things what time he wooeth slumber in the
+night. As to thee, thou wily Pardoner, when thou shalt come to betray
+this our meeting, say that I told thee, that as Belsaye rose, and
+Winisfarne, so shall town and village rise until Ivo and his like are
+driven hence, or Beltane slain and made an end of. And so--fare ye
+well! Come, Roger!" Then Beltane strode away with grim Roger at his
+heels what time the Bailiff and the Pardoner stared in dumb amaze.
+
+"Here," quoth the Pardoner at last, stroking his round chin, "here was
+a man, methinks, wherefore are we yet alive!"
+
+"Here," quoth the Bailiff, scratching his long nose, "here was a fool,
+methinks, for that we are alive. A traitor, see ye, Pardoner, whose
+yellow head is worth its weight in gold! Truly, truly, here was a very
+fool!" So saying, he arose, albeit furtively, and slipping forthwith
+into the shadow, crept furtively away until the fire-glow was lost and
+hidden far behind him. Then, very suddenly, he betook him to his heels,
+and coming to the forest-road, fled southwards towards Duke Ivo's great
+camp that lay on Barham Broom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
+
+
+"Lord," said Roger, shaking his head, as they halted upon the edge of
+the Hollow, "lord, 'twere better thou hadst let me strangle them; those
+dogs will bay of thee to Black Ivo ere this time to-morrow!"
+
+"'Tis so I hope, Roger."
+
+"Hope?"
+
+"Could I but lure Black Ivo into the wild, Roger, where swamp and
+thicket should fight for us! Could I but draw him hither after me, of
+what avail the might of his heavy chivalry upon this narrow forest-road,
+his close-ranked foot-men a sure mark for the arrows of our war-wise
+foresters? Thus, our pikes in front, a charge in flank, his line
+once pierced needs must follow confusion and disorder. Then press we
+where his banner flieth, and, hemmed in by our pikes and gisarms and
+Giles's bowmen, he once our prisoner or slain, his great army would
+crumble and melt away, since they do serve but for base hire, whiles
+we, though few, do smite amain for home and children. O Roger man,
+could I but lure him into the green!"
+
+"Yet methinks there is a surer way, master."
+
+"How--as how, Roger?"
+
+"Wed thou thy Duchess, and so bring down on him all the powers of
+Mortain!"
+
+"Roger, dost well know my mind on this matter; prate ye no more!"
+
+"Then will I pray, master--so I do warn thee! Forsooth, I will this
+night fall to work upon the good saint and plague him right prayerfully
+that thy Duchess may come and save thee and thy Duchy in despite of
+thee, and having made thee Duke of Pentavalon with her lances,
+thereafter make thee Duke of Mortain in her own sweet body, for as I do
+know--"
+
+But Beltane was already descending the steep path leading down into the
+great green hollow that lay all silent and deserted 'neath the ghostly
+moon, where nought stirred in the windless air, where bush and tree
+cast shadows monstrous and distorted, and where no sound brake the
+brooding quiet save the murmurous ripple of the brook that flowed to
+lose itself in the gloomy waters of that deep and sullen pool.
+
+Swift and sure-treading as only foresters might, they descended the
+steep, and lured by some elfin fancy, Beltane must needs come to stand
+beside the pool and to stare down into those silent waters, very dark
+by reason of that great tree 'neath whose writhen branches Tostig the
+outlaw had fought and died; so stood Beltane awhile lost in
+contemplation, what time Roger, drawing ever nearer his master's elbow,
+shivered and crossed himself full oft.
+
+"Come away, master," said he at last, low-voiced, "I love not this pool
+at any time, more especially at the full o' the moon. On such nights
+ghosts do walk! Tostig was an ill man in life, but Tostig's ghost
+should be a thing to fright the boldest--prithee, come away."
+
+"Go get thee to thy rest, Roger. As for me, I would fain think."
+
+"But wherefore here?"
+
+"For that I am so minded."
+
+"So be it, master. God send thy thoughts be fair." So saying, Roger
+turned where, on the further side of the Hollow, lay those caves 'neath
+the rocky bank wherein the outlaws had been wont to sleep. But, of a
+sudden, Beltane heard a hoarse scream, a gasp of terror, and Roger was
+back beside him, his naked broad-sword all a-shake in his trembling
+hand, his eyes wide and rolling.
+
+"Master--O master!" he whimpered, "ghosts! 'neath the tree--Tostig--
+the Dead Hand!"
+
+"Nay, what folly is here, Roger?"
+
+"Lord, 'twas the Dead Hand--touched me--on the brow--in the shadow
+yonder! Aye--on the brow--'neath the tree! O master, dead men are we,
+'tis Tostig come to drag us back to hell with him!" And crouching on
+his knees, Roger fell to desperate prayers.
+
+Then Beltane turned whither Roger's shaking finger had pointed, and
+strode beneath the great tree. And peering up through the dark, he
+presently espied a shadowy thing that moved amid a gloom of leaves and
+branches; and, beholding what it was, he drew sword and smote high
+above his head.
+
+Something thudded heavily upon the grass and lay there, mute and rigid,
+while Beltane, leaning upon his sword, stared down at that fell shape,
+and breathing the noxious reek of it, was seized of trembling horror;
+nevertheless he stooped, and reaching out a hand of loathing in the
+dimness, found the cord whereby it had swung and dragged the rigid,
+weighty thing out into the radiance of the moon until he could see a
+pallid face twisted and distorted by sharp and cruel death. Now in this
+moment Roger sware a fierce, great oath, and forthwith kicked those
+stiffened limbs.
+
+"Ha!" cried he, "methought 'twas Tostig his ghost come for to drag us
+down into yon accursed pool--and 'tis naught but the traitor-rogue
+Gurth!"
+
+"And dead, Roger!"
+
+"Forsooth, he's dead enough, master--faugh!"
+
+"And it availeth nothing to kick a dead man, Roger."
+
+"Yet was he an arrant knave, master."
+
+"And hath paid for his knavery, methinks!"
+
+"A very rogue! a traitor! a rogue of rogues, master!"
+
+"Then hath he the more need of our prayers, Roger."
+
+"Prayers! How, lord, would'st pray for--this?"
+
+"Nay, Roger, but thou shalt, since thou art potent in prayer these
+days." So saying, Beltane knelt upon the sward and folded reverent
+hands; whereupon Roger, somewhat abashed, having set his sword upright
+in the ling as was his custom, presently knelt likewise, and clearing
+his throat, spake aloud in this fashion:
+
+"Holy Saint Cuthbert, thou see'st here all that is left of one that in
+life was a filthy, lewd, and traitorous knave, insomuch that he hath,
+methinks, died of roguery. Now, most blessed saint, do thy best for the
+knavish soul of him, intercede on his behalf that he may suffer no more
+than he should. And this is the prayer of me, Black Roger, that has
+been a vile sinner as I have told thee, though traitor to no man, I
+praise God. But, most blessed and right potent saint, while I am at the
+ears of thee, fain would I crave thy aid on matter of vasty weight and
+import. To wit, good saint: let now Sir Fidelis, who, as ye well know,
+doth hide womanly beauties in ungentle steel--let now this brave and
+noble lady muster forthwith all the powers within her Duchy of Mortain
+--every lusty fellow, good saint--and hither march them to my master's
+aid. Let her smite and utterly confound Black Ivo, who (as oft I've
+told thee--moreover thine eyes are sharp), is but a rogue high-born,
+fitter for gallows than ducal crown, even as this most unsavoury Gurth
+was a rogue low-born. So when she hath saved my master despite himself,
+sweet saint, then do thou join them heart and body, give them joy
+abounding and happiness enduring, nor forget them in the matter of
+comely children. So bring to woeful Pentavalon and to us all and every,
+peace at last and prosperity--and to sorrowful Roger a belt wherein be
+no accursed notches and a soul made clean. _In nomen Dominum, Amen!_"
+
+"Master," quoth he, yet upon his knees and viewing Beltane somewhat
+askance, "here is the best I can do for such as yon Gurth; will't
+suffice, think ye?"
+
+"Aye, 'twill serve, Roger. But, for the other matter--"
+
+"Why see you, master, a man may freely speak his dear desires within
+his prayers--more especially when his prayers are potent, as mine.
+Moreover I warned thee--I warned thee I would pray for thee--and pray
+for thee I have." Now hereupon Beltane rose somewhat hastily and turned
+his back, what time Roger sheathed his sword.
+
+Then spake Beltane, turning him to the pool again:
+
+"We had store of tools and mattocks, I mind me. Go and look within the
+caves if there be ever a one left, for now must we bury this poor
+clay."
+
+"Ha, must we pray for him--_and_ bury him, master?"
+
+"And bury him, Roger."
+
+Then Roger sighed and shook his head and so left Beltane, who fell
+again to profound meditation; but of a sudden hearing a cry, he turned
+to behold Roger running very fleetly, who, coming near, caught him by
+the arm and sought to drag him away.
+
+"Run!" he panted, "run, master--I ha' just seen a goblin--run, master!"
+
+Now beholding the terror in Roger's eyes, Beltane unsheathed his sword.
+"Show me, Roger," said he.
+
+"Nay, lord--of what avail? Let's away, this place is rank o' deviltries
+and witchcraft--"
+
+"Show me, Roger--come!"
+
+Perforce, Roger led the way, very heedful to avoid each patch of
+shadow, until they were come opposite that cave where aforetime Beltane
+had been customed to sleep. Here Roger paused.
+
+"Master," he whispered, "there is a thing within that groaneth--
+goblin-groans, master. A thing very like unto a goblin, for I ha' seen it
+--a pale thing that creepeth--holy saints, 'tis here again--hark to it!"
+
+And in very truth Beltane heard a sound the which, soft though it was,
+checked his breath and chilled his flesh; and, as he peered into the
+gloomy recesses of the cavern, there moved something vague amid the
+shadows, something that rose up slow and painfully.
+
+Roger was down gasping on his knees, Beltane's hand was tight-clenched
+upon the hilt of his sword, as out into the moonlight crept one, very
+bent and feeble, shrouded in a long grey cloak; a pitiful figure, that,
+leaning a hand upon the rock, slowly raised a drooping head. Then
+Beltane saw that this was the witch Jolette.
+
+A while she stood thus, one hand supporting her against the rocky bank,
+the other hid within the folds of her long mantle.
+
+"O my lord!" said she, low-voiced, "all day long my heart hath been
+calling--calling to thee; so art come at last--thanks be to God--O my
+lord Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake, she reached out a hand to him so that the shrouding
+mantle fell away; then, beholding what it had hid, Beltane let fall his
+sword, and leaping forward, caught her within his arm.
+
+"Ah!--thou'rt hurt!" he cried.
+
+"My lord, I--strove to bind it up--I am cunning in herbs and simples--
+but my hurt is too deep for any leechcraft. To-night--soon--I must die.
+Lay me down, I pray thee. Thine arms are strong, lord Beltane, and--
+very gentle. How, dost grieve for a witch, lord--for poor Jolette? Nay,
+comfort ye--my life has been none so sweet I should dread to lose it."
+
+"How cometh this?" he questioned gently, on his knees beside her.
+
+"'Twas the Red Pertolepe's men--nay, messire, they have but killed me.
+But O, my dear lord--heed me well. A week agone lord Pertolepe marched
+hither seeking thee with a great company led by yon Gurth. And when he
+found thee not he hanged Gurth, yet tarried here awhile. Then I,
+knowing a secret path hither that none else do know, came and hearkened
+to their councils. So do I know that he is marched for Winisfarne--"
+
+"Ha, is this so!" cried Beltane, clenching his fist, "then will he hang
+and burn!"
+
+"Aye, 'tis like enough, messire. But--O heed me! He goeth for a deeper
+purpose--list, Beltane--O list--he goeth to seize upon the noble and
+saintly Abbess Veronica--to bear her captive unto Pentavalon city,
+there to hold her hostage for--for thee, Beltane--for thee!"
+
+"How mean you?"
+
+"When he hath her safe, Duke Ivo, because he hath learned to fear thee
+at last, will send envoys to thee demanding thou shalt yield up to him
+the town of Belsaye and thy body to his mercy, or this fair and noble
+lady Abbess shall be shamed and dishonoured, and know a death most
+dire. And--ah! because thou art the man thou art, thou must needs yield
+thyself to Ivo's cruel hands, and Belsaye to flame and ravishment."
+
+"Not so," answered Beltane, frowning, "within Belsaye are many women
+and children also, nor should these die that one might live, saintly
+abbess though she be."
+
+Now hereupon the witch Jolette raised herself, and set her two hands
+passionately on Beltane's shoulders, and looked upon him great-eyed and
+fearful.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--Beltane, my lord!" she panted, "but that I am under a
+vow, now could I tell thee a thing would fire thy soul to madness--but,
+O believe, believe, and know ye this--when Duke Ivo's embassy shall
+tell thee all, thou--shalt suffer them to take thee--thou shalt endure
+bonds and shame and death itself. So now thou shalt swear to a dying
+woman that thou wilt not rest nor stay until thou shalt free this lady
+Abbess, for on her safety doth hang thy life and the freedom of
+Pentavalon. Swear, O swear me this, my lord Beltane, so shall I die in
+peace. Swear--O swear!"
+
+Now, looking within her glowing eyes, feeling the tremble of her
+passionate-pleading hands, Beltane bowed his head.
+
+"I swear!" said he.
+
+"So now may God hear--this thy oath, and I--die in peace--"
+
+And saying this, Jolette sank in his arms and lay a while as one that
+swoons; but presently her heavy eyes unclosed and on her lips there
+dawned a smile right wondrous to behold, so marvellous tender was it.
+
+"I pray thee, lord, unhelm--that I may see thee--once again--thy golden
+hair--"
+
+Wondering, but nothing speaking, Beltane laid by his bascinet, threw
+back his mail-coif, and bent above her low and lower, until she might
+reach up and touch those golden curls with failing hand.
+
+"Lord Beltane!--boy!" she whispered, "stoop lower, mine eyes fail.
+Hearken, O my heart! Even as thy strong arms do cradle me, so--have
+these arms--held thee, O little Beltane, I--have borne thee oft upon my
+heart--ere now. Oft have hushed thee to rosy sleep--upon this bosom.
+'Twas from--these arms Sir Benedict caught thee on--that woeful day.
+For I that die here--against thy heart, Beltane--am Jolette, thy
+foster-mother--wilt thou--kiss me--once?"
+
+So Beltane stooped and kissed her, and, when he laid her down, Jolette
+the witch was dead.
+
+Full long Beltane knelt, absorbed in prayer, and as he prayed, he wept.
+So long knelt he thus, that at last cometh Roger, treading soft and
+reverently, and touched him.
+
+"Master!" he whispered.
+
+Then Beltane arose as one that dreams and stood a while looking down
+upon that pale and placid face, on whose silent lips the wondrous smile
+still lingered. But of a sudden, Roger's fingers grasped his arm.
+
+"Master!" he whispered again. Thereon Beltane turned and thus he saw
+that Roger looked neither on him nor on the dead and that he pointed
+with shaking finger. Now, glancing whither he pointed, Beltane beheld,
+high on the bank above them, a mounted knight armed cap-a-pie, who
+stared down at them through closed visor--a fierce and war-like figure
+looming gigantic athwart the splendour of the sinking moon. And even as
+they stared in wonder, a broad shield flashed, and knight and horse
+were gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
+
+
+"Lord!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "yonder certes was Hob-gob!
+Forsooth ne'er saw I night the like o' this! How think ye of yon
+devilish things? Here was it one moment, and lo! in the twinkle of an
+eye it is not. How think ye, master?"
+
+"I do think 'twas some roving knight."
+
+"Nay but, lord--how shall honest flesh and blood go a-vanishing away
+into thin air whiles a man but blinketh an eye?"
+
+"The ground hath sudden slope thereabouts, belike."
+
+"Nay, yonder was some arch-wizard, master--the Man o' the Oak, or
+Hob-gob himself. Saint Cuthbert shield us, say I--yon was for sure a
+spirit damned--"
+
+"Hark! Do spirits go in steel, Roger?" said Beltane, stooping for his
+sword; for indeed, plain and loud upon the prevailing quiet was the
+ring and clash of heavy armour, what time from the bushes that clothed
+the steep a tall figure strode, and the moon made a glory in polished
+shield, it gleamed upon close-vizored helm, it flashed upon brassart,
+vanbrace and plastron. Being come near, the grim and warlike figure
+halted, and leaning gauntleted hand upon long shield, stood silent a
+while seeming to stare on Beltane through the narrow slit of his great
+casque. But even as he viewed Beltane, so stared Beltane on him, on the
+fineness of his armour, chain and plate of the new fashion, on his
+breadth of shoulder and length of limb--from shining casque to
+gleaming shield, whereon was neither charge nor blazon; and so at last,
+spake my Beltane, very gentle and courteous:
+
+"Messire, an thou be come in peace, now shalt thou be right welcome--"
+
+"Peace!" quoth the knight loud and fierce, and his laughter rang hoarse
+within his helm. "Peace, forsooth! Thou art a tall and seemly youth, a
+youth fair spoken, and yet--ha! A belt of silver! And golden hair! And
+yet--so very youthful! Art thou in very truth this famous rogue whose
+desperate deeds do live on every tongue, who hath waked Duke Ivo from
+his long-time security, insomuch that he doth yearn him for that yellow
+head o' thine--art thou Beltane the Outlaw and Rebel?"
+
+"'Tis so men do call me, messire."
+
+"Verily, youth, methinks dost lie, for I have heard this outlaw is
+beyond all men wild and fierce and weaveth him demoniac spells and
+enchantments most accurst, whereby he maketh gate and door and mighty
+portcullis to ope and yield before his pointed finger, and bolt and bar
+and massy wall to give him passage when he will, as witness the great
+keep of Garthlaxton that he did burn with hellish fire. I have heard he
+doth commonly burn gibbets to warm him, and beareth off great lords
+beneath his arm as I might a small coney and slayeth him three or four
+with his every stroke. 'Tis said that he doth wax daily mightier and
+more fierce, since he doth drink hot blood and batteneth on flesh o'
+tender babes beneath the orbed moon--"
+
+"Messire," said Beltane beginning to frown, "within thy wild and
+foolish talk is this much truth, that I, with divers trusty comrades,
+did indeed burn down the shameful gallows of Belsaye, and bore captive
+a certain lordly knave. As for Garthlaxton, the thing was simple--"
+
+"O boastful boy!" quoth the knight, tossing aside his shield, "O
+beardless one, since thou dost proclaim thyself this desperate rogue,
+here is reason just for some small debate betwixt us. Do on thy coif
+forthwith, for now will I strive to make an end of thee," and speaking,
+the knight unsheathed a long and ponderous sword.
+
+"How an I fight thee not, sir knight?"
+
+"Then must I needs belabour thee to the good of thy soul, sir outlaw.
+So on with thy coif, I say!"
+
+Incontinent ran Roger to fetch his bascinet the which Beltane slowly
+fitted on above his hood of mail, and thereafter, albeit unwillingly,
+fronted this doughty knight, foot to foot and point to point. Now
+stepped they a moment about each other, light-treading for all their
+weighty armour, and with long blades advanced; then, of a sudden they
+closed, and immediately the air shivered to the ring and grind of
+flashing, whirling steel. To and fro, and up and down they fought upon
+the level sward what time Black Roger rubbed complacent hands,
+grim-smiling and confident; and ever as they fought the stranger knight
+laughed and gibed, harsh and loud, from behind his grimly casque.
+
+"Ho!--fight, youth, fight!" cried he, "have done with love-taps! Sa-ha,
+have at thee--fight, I say!" A panther-like side-leap, a whirl of
+glimmering steel, and his long blade smote sparks from Beltane's
+bascinet, whereat Roger's smile, incontinent, vanished, and his face
+waxed suddenly anxious and long.
+
+But fierce and fiercer the stranger knight beset my Beltane, the while
+he lashed him with mocking tongue:
+
+"Call ye this fighting, sir youthful outlaw? Doth thine arm fail thee
+so soon? Tap not, I say, lest I grow angered and slay thee forthright!"
+
+Then, blow for blow, did Beltane the mighty fall on right furiously,
+but ever blade met blade whiles Roger danced on anxious feet, praying
+for the end. Of a sudden, shouted he joyously, for, flashing high in
+air, down came Beltane's long blade strong and true upon the knight's
+helm--a fell, deep-dinting stroke that drave the stranger reeling back.
+Fierce and swift leapt Beltane to smite again--came a shock of clashing
+steel, a flurry of stroke and counter-stroke, and thereafter, a hoarse
+shout of dismay from Roger: for Beltane stood as one dazed, staring
+upon his empty right hand what time the knight boomed derisive laughter
+through his vizor. Then sprang grim Roger, dagger aloft, but swifter
+than he, the knight's sword swung; flat fell that long blade on Roger's
+bascinet, wielded by an arm so strong that Roger, staggering aside,
+rolled upon the ling, and thereafter, sat up, round-eyed and fearful:
+
+"O master!" he panted, "here is none of--honest flesh and blood, 'tis--
+Hob-gob himself, as I did warn thee. May Saint Cuthbert, Saint Bede,
+Saint Edmund--"
+
+"Go to--cease thy windy prattling, Roger Thick-pate!" spake the knight,
+and letting fall his sword, he lifted his visor. And behold! a face
+lean and hawk-like, with eyes quick and bright, and a smiling mouth
+wry-twisted by reason of an ancient wound.
+
+"Know ye me not, lord Beltane?" quoth he, with look right loving, "hast
+forgot me indeed, most loved lad?" But swift came my Beltane, glad-eyed
+and with arms out-flung in eager welcome.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" he cried, "hast come at last? Now do I joy to see
+thee!"
+
+"My lord," says Benedict, wagging mailed finger. "Ha, Beltane, canst
+burn gibbets, storm mighty castles and out-face desperate odds, yet is
+old Benedict thy master at stroke of sword still--though, forsooth,
+hast dinted me my helm, methinks! O sweet lad, come to my arms, I've
+yearned for thee these many days." Herewith Sir Benedict caught Beltane
+within his close embrace, and patted him with gauntleted hands, and
+laughed for very gladness.
+
+"O foolish youth--O youthful fool!" quoth he, "surely thou of all fools
+art greatest, a youthful, god-like fool! O mighty son of mighty father,
+how mighty hath thy folly been! O lovely lad that hath attempted deeds
+impossible, pitting thyself 'gainst Ivo and all his might! Verily,
+Beltane, thou'rt the loveliest fool that ever man did love--"
+
+"Nay, but dear messire," says Beltane as Sir Benedict stayed for
+breath, "pray thee, where is thy meaning?"
+
+"Sweet lad, I do but strive to tell thee thou'rt a fool, yet so glad am
+I of thy foolish company the words do stick somewhat, but my meaning
+shall be manifest--now mark me! Didst not carry off the Red Pertolepe
+'neath the lances of his men-at-arms?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Didst not have thy hand on the throat of that cold, smiling rogue Sir
+Gui of Allerdale?"
+
+"Verily, messire."
+
+"And hold within thy grasp the life of that foul-living Gilles of
+Brandonmere, whose father I slew twelve years agone, I thank God!"
+
+"'Tis true, good Benedict."
+
+"And didst not suffer these arch-knaves to live on and work their
+pestilent wills, Beltane?"
+
+"Sir, I did, but--"
+
+"So art thrice a fool. When we see a foul and noxious worm, to tread it
+under foot is a virtuous act. So when a man doth constant sin 'gainst
+man and maid, to kill him--"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Sir Gui and Gilles of Brandonmere have made an end of sinning,
+methinks."
+
+"Why 'tis so I've heard of late, Beltane, and herein is some small
+comfort; but Red Pertolepe is yet to slay--"
+
+"Truly!" cried Beltane, clenching his fists, "and he marcheth on
+Winisfarne, to burn and hang--"
+
+"Content you, my lord Beltane, Waldron of Brand lieth in Winisfarne,
+and I am here--"
+
+"So doth my heart rejoice for thee, Benedict, thou right trusty and
+doughty friend. But how came ye hither, and wherefore? Methought thee
+yet in Thrasfordham!"
+
+"Aha, dear lad, so doth Ivo at this moment, I pray God. A week agone
+and, ere the investment was complete, wondrous news reached me from
+Waldron of Brand, whose sire bore my pennon in thy noble father's wars.
+And because I knew Waldron's word is ever less than his deed, and,
+belike, that I grow weary of sieges (seven have I withstood within
+these latter years) I, at dead of night, by devious and secret ways,
+stole forth of Thrasfordham--dight in this armour new-fashioned (the
+which, mark me! is more cumbrous than fair link-mail) howbeit, I got me
+clear, and my lord Beltane, here stand I to aid and abet thee in all
+thy desperate affrays, henceforth. Aha! methinks shall be great doings
+within the greenwood anon!"
+
+"Aye, but what of Thrasfordham? An Duke Ivo besiege it--"
+
+"He shall find five hundred and more right doughty fellows, with Sir
+Richard of Wark and Sir Brian of Shand (that were armour-bearers to thy
+knightly sire) to keep him in play."
+
+"And what would ye here, Sir Benedict?"
+
+"Fight, Beltane, fight! Methinks he shall lack nothing for hard smiting
+that rideth with thee--hey, boy, I do yearn amain for the shock of a
+charge!"
+
+"My company is but small, alas!" sighed Beltane.
+
+"'Tis so I've heard, my Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, and smiling his
+wry smile, he took a small hunting-horn that hung about his neck, "let
+us therefore make it larger--"
+
+"How so--how so, good Benedict?--Ha! mean you--"
+
+"Watch now!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict set the horn to his lip and winded it three
+times loud and shrill, and thereafter stood with hand upraised. And lo!
+upon the stillness a sound that grew and grew--a whisper, a rustling as
+of strong wind in trees, and presently upon the high banks to north and
+east and west a great company appeared, horse-men and footmen, whose
+armour flashed 'neath the moon, while high o'er bascinet and helm rose
+deadly pike and ponderous lance, rank upon rank, a very forest.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict loud-voiced, and pointing to the grim array:
+
+"Behold, lord Duke, hither have I brought thee five hundred archers and
+pike-men, with three hundred knights and men-at-arms, and each and
+every a man well tried and chosen, all vowed to follow thee and smite
+in Pentavalon's cause even as I, their lord, that do love thee for thy
+noble father's sake and for thine own sweet and knightly worth!"
+
+So saying, Sir Benedict fell upon his knee before that great assemblage
+and caught Beltane's hand and kissed it; whereon, from those gleaming
+ranks rose a deep and thunderous shout while lance and spear-head
+flashed again.
+
+Now looking from this right goodly array to the proud and war-like
+figure that bent so humbly at his feet, Beltane's heart swelled amain
+and all things grew blurred and misty in his sight.
+
+"Sir Benedict," said he hoarse-voiced, "thou good and noble knight--O
+Benedict, dear my friend, kneel not to me. For thy so great love, thy
+faith and loyalty, fain would I thank thee--yet words be so poor, and
+I--O, Benedict--"
+
+"Lord," said Benedict, "our camp lieth scarce three miles westward,
+come, I pray thee--"
+
+"Nay, first come ye, friend, and look upon a dead witch that was indeed
+a noble woman."
+
+So Beltane brought Sir Benedict where lay the dead Jolette, smiling yet
+as though into the eyes of God. Now beholding her, Sir Benedict
+beckoned Roger and bid him stimmon certain of his company, forthwith;
+and when Roger hasted back with divers awestruck fellows at his heels,
+they stood staring, amazed to behold these two great knights humbly
+kneeling side by side to pray for the soul of her who, all her days,
+had been scorned of men as the witch Jolette.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
+
+
+At peep of day the trumpets blew, and Beltane, starting up from
+slumber, found the great camp all astir about him; the smoke of a
+hundred watch-fires rose up into the stilly air of morning and made a
+fragrant mist amid the trees beneath which armour glinted as guard
+relieved guard and the new-waked companies mustered under arms. And
+ever as the sun rose the bustle waxed and grew, with a coming and going
+about the fires where the morning meal was preparing; here a mighty
+furbishing of arms and armour, yonder a prodigious hissing and so-hoing
+where chargers and pack-horses were picketed, line upon line--goodly
+beasts that stamped and snorted and whinnied joyously--and everywhere
+was noise and cheer of talk and laughter; yet everywhere was method and
+a strict orderliness in all things, wherefore Beltane's very heart sang
+within him.
+
+Now as he stood thus, viewing all things keen-eyed and watchful, he was
+presently aware of Sir Benedict and Black Roger who walked together
+within a distant alley; and as they passed them to and fro Black Roger
+talked amain, what time Sir Benedict seemed to hearken right solemn and
+attentive, oft pausing to question him quick and eager, and oft to clap
+hand to Roger's brawny back; and sometimes laughed he blithe and joyous
+and sometimes hearkened with grizzled head a-droop, until a turn in the
+glade hid them from sight.
+
+Little by little, above the resinous fragrance of the fires rose other
+scents more delectable to the nostrils of a hungry man, thus, waking
+from his meditations Beltane turned him wistfully towards where, above
+the nearest fire, a goodly cooking pot seethed and bubbled invitingly.
+But even now a hand slipped within his arm and holding him thus, Sir
+Benedict viewed him joyful-eyed and smiled on him his wry and twisted
+smile.
+
+"Beltane," said he, wagging his head, "O Beltane, thou wilt mind how
+upon a time as I drank a bowl of milk with thee amid the green in
+Mortain, I did warn thee that she had red hair and was like to prove a
+spit-fire, therefore!"
+
+Now hereupon my Beltane must needs catch his breath and flush to the
+ears of him, and therewith strive to look at his ease, like the very
+youth he was.
+
+"How, messire, hath Roger babbled to thee?"
+
+"Babbled?" quoth Sir Benedict, shaking his head, "nay, Roger is no
+babbler of secret matters, for many do ken of thy love, Beltane--and I
+am thy friend, so is thy happiness my happiness. Thus do I say God and
+the sweet saints bless thee in thy love, dear lad, for a right noble
+lady is Helen the Beautiful and meet to thine embracements. By her so
+great love, by her proved faithfulness shalt thou yet win to
+happiness--"
+
+"Nay, dear my Benedict, first must Pentavalon win to peace."
+
+"Aye, by Helen's noble love, for--"
+
+"O Sir Benedict, I have sworn an oath!"
+
+"Aye, sweet lad, but Roger hath prayed a prayer!"
+
+"Hath he told thee so much, Benedict?"
+
+"So much," quoth Sir Benedict, pressing his arm, "so much, O man, that
+hereafter needs must I love thee and honour thee the more. Since man
+art thou, my Beltane, for all thy so great youthfulness."
+
+"Nay, Benedict, am none so youthful."
+
+"Thy very speech doth prove thee so, yet, being boy, thou art forsooth
+a man to-day."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that to-day I do know more of thee. 'Tis suffering, 'tis sorrow
+nobly borne doth make the man, Beltane."
+
+"Suffering, messire?"
+
+"Yon lock of hair showeth very white amid the gold, Beltane, but thou
+art better man therefore, methinks. The fetters of thy dungeon yet
+gleam upon thy wrists, Beltane. But truly I do think within thy prison
+was forged the sword shall avenge our woes and free Pentavalon at
+last."
+
+"Think you indeed, thou wise Benedict, that we by grief and sorrow do
+rise to find our nobler selves?"
+
+"Aye verily! 'Tis but by sorrow and suffering our strength or weakness
+groweth manifest, Beltane."
+
+"Yet--O Benedict--I did doubt her--plied her with scornful tongue and--
+drave her lonely from me!"
+
+"And dost grieve amain, and sorrow therefore, O youth!"
+
+"Yea, indeed, indeed--sleeping and waking!"
+
+"And do yearn to woo her to forgiveness on thy knees, to crush her in
+thine arms and kiss her breath away, O Lover?"
+
+"Aye, dear Sir Benedict, in such sort and so greatly that my passion
+oft doth fright me, so fiercely do I yearn and long--yet tremble and
+grow faint at thought of it!"
+
+"Yet art thou here, bedight in arms, O man--thy yearning body far
+removed from all temptation till thou hast proved thee worthy her
+embrace! And thus it is I know thee for a man, my Beltane!"
+
+"And thou, Benedict, thou hast yearned and trembled with love ere now,
+thou hast been a lover once, methinks?" But here Sir Benedict fell to
+silence, walking with face averted and gaze bent towards the dewy
+grass, and quickened his steps until they were come nigh unto the camp.
+Then lifted he his head; quoth he:
+
+"My lord Beltane, how think you of this thy new-found company?"
+
+"Men--ha! men, good Benedict--soldiers born and bred!"
+
+"Forsooth, and 'neath mine own eye, Beltane. There is not one but I
+have watched him in the stress of battle. Body o' me, but I have chosen
+needfully, there is none but hath proved his worthiness! See you the
+little man yonder, in half-mail with sword as great as himself--he that
+pipeth shrill-voiced as a boy? 'Tis Prat who alone stood off a score
+what time I lay wounded and pinned beneath my charger. Mark ye yon
+lusty fellow beside him? 'Tis Cnut that, single-handed, hewed him a
+path through Ivo's battle and bare away his own banner, the which doth
+grace my hall at Thrasfordham e'en now. And yonder is Dirk that was a
+slave, yet fighteth like a paladin. And there again is Siward, that
+with his brother maintained the sallyport 'gainst Ivo's van what time
+they drave us from the outer bailey. And yonder Cedric--but so could I
+name them each and every--ha! there sounds the welcome tucket! Come,
+let us break our fast, and there be many knights and esquires and
+gentles of degree do wait to pay thee homage."
+
+So presently came they into the midst of the camp, where, seated on the
+mossy ling, hungry and expectant, were many noble lords and gentle
+knights and esquires of degree, who, beholding Sir Benedict with
+Beltane, rose up with one accord. Young men were these for the most
+part, yet were there many grizzled heads and wrinkled brows among them--
+grim lords of the old Duke's following much versed in war, calm of
+judgment and wise in council; but one and all did they stare upon my
+Beltane in wonder at his youth because of his so famous deeds.
+
+Now spake to them Sir Benedict, short and soldier-like:
+
+"My lords, this is he of whom ye all have heard, Beltane hight, son of
+Beltane our Duke, for whom we together have held Thrasfordham so long
+and painfully. My lord Beltane, of all the knights and nobles of the
+Duke thy father's days, here do stand, sire or son, all that have
+withstood Black Ivo. Behold here Sir Bertrand, that was thy father's
+seneschal of Pentavalon City. Here, Sir John of Griswold whose sire
+bare thy father's banner, wherefore Griswold is ashes long since. Here
+Hubert of Erdington, that was thy father's marshal-of-the-field. Here,
+Hacon of Trant, that was wont to lead thy father's vanward, and here,
+Sir Brian of Hartismere, brother to Eric, called the Wry-neck. So now,
+all's said, my lord, wherefore I pray, let us eat."
+
+Forthwith down they sat together on the grass, all and sundry, and ate
+and drank and laughed and talked, insomuch that in brake and thicket
+near and far the birds carolled and chattered in pretty mockery.
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict when the meal was ended, "ere I met
+thee, 'twas my intent this hour to march on Winisfarne, according to my
+promise to Waldron of Brand, how say you?"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Beltane, "as soon as ye will."
+
+Thus, within the hour, the trumpets brayed 'to horse' and all was
+seeming hurry and confusion; yet a confusion, this, governed by
+soldierly method, so that, ere long, horsemen were mounted and footmen
+in array what time Beltane, bedight in goodly vizored casque, with
+lance and shield borne behind him, came where stood Sir Benedict beside
+a great and noble war-horse.
+
+Forthwith Beltane mounted, and forthwith from these well-ordered ranks
+a great shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+Now, reining in his eager beast, Beltane looked upon that stern array,
+and as he looked his eye kindled and his heart swelled within him.
+
+"O men!" said he, "I that ye do acclaim am but a man even as ye are
+men, to bear with ye the heat and labour of the day. What ye must
+endure that will I endure with you. Here stand I, ready to spill my
+blood that Wrong may cease. Even as ye, I am prepared to adventure me,
+life and limb, that Lust and Murder may cease to be and Innocence and
+Truth may walk again all unashamed. So shall I lead ye into battles and
+affrays desperate and bloody, where foes shall be a-many and we, few.
+But we do fight for hearth and home, and the thought of this, methinks,
+shall nerve us strong as giants. Yet is our way a perilous way, and
+some of us, belike, must die. But, by the blood of such, this our
+country is hallowed unto those that shall come after us, so shall our
+memories teach others how to die--and better--how to live that this our
+country may stand, hereafter, for all things great and noble. He that
+dieth for home and children shall, mayhap, from the floor of heaven,
+look down upon a great and happy people whose freedom he--by weary
+marches, by pain of wounds, by sharp and sudden death--he himself hath
+helped to purchase, and, in their peace and happiness, find an added
+joy.
+
+"O men! who would not be a man to fight in such just cause? Who would
+not cherish life that he might lose it to such noble purpose?
+
+"Now therefore, all ye that do love Pentavalon--follow!"
+
+Thus saying, my Beltane wheeled his horse; and with rhythmic ring and
+clash, together, rank on rank, horsemen and footmen, they followed hard
+behind, a silent, grim array, with eyes that gleamed 'neath helm and
+bascinet, and purposeful hands that griped full strong on lance and
+spear-shaft, as, coming to the forest-road, they swung away northwards
+towards Winisfarne.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI
+
+WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
+
+
+Two and two they rode--for the way was oft-times narrow--their flanks
+well covered by light-armed archers who marched within the green, with
+mounted archers far in their van and others in their rear.
+
+A glory of sun dappled their way with dancing shadows, flowers were
+a-bloom in bank and hedgerow, and birds carolled blithe in the fragrant
+air, what time Sir Benedict rode beside Beltane, his ponderous casque
+a-swing at saddle-bow; and oft he turned his grizzled head to view my
+thoughtful Beltane as one might look upon a son, new-found.
+
+Now in a while Beltane turned and meeting his look reached out to him
+his hand.
+
+"Dear Benedict," said he, "how much--how very much I owe to thee. Thou
+art methinks the greatest knight that e'er couched lance--"
+
+"Save thy noble father!" quoth Sir Benedict with solemn nod.
+
+"My father--you were his esquire and much-loved comrade, Benedict?"
+
+"I was, Beltane."
+
+"Knew you my mother well, also?"
+
+"Thy mother? Why--aye, forsooth, I--knew thy mother--very well,
+Beltane."
+
+"What manner of woman was she, I pray?"
+
+"The fairest and noblest these eyes have e'er beheld!"
+
+"The--noblest?"
+
+"And purest! Hark ye, Beltane, and mark me well--there ne'er lived wife
+of so stainless honour as the noble woman that bare thee!"
+
+"And yet," sighed Beltane, with wrinkled brow, "within the garden of
+Pentavalon--my father--"
+
+"Thy father was a sick man, faint with wounds and spent with hardship.
+All that day, as we rode unto Pentavalon City, he and I, his mind oft
+wandered and he held wild talk in his fever. But hale was I, mind and
+body, and I do know the Duke thy father fell to strange and sudden
+madness upon that dreadful day, whereby came woe to Pentavalon, and
+bitter remorse to him. This do I swear, thy mother was noble wife and
+saintly woman!"
+
+"Loved she my father?"
+
+"Aye, verily--she was his wife! Thy father was a noble knight and
+peerless--and oft warring on the marches, but methinks--she was
+something lonely--at times, Beltane."
+
+"Alas!" sighed Beltane, and again "Alas!" So fell they incontinent to
+deep thought and rode full long in silence. But ever and anon as they
+paced along together thus, Sir Benedict must needs lift his head to
+gaze upon my Beltane, and his grim lips curved to smile infinite
+tender, and in his eyes was growing wonder.
+
+Quoth he at last:
+
+"Beltane, d'ye mark this our silent company, not a stave have they
+carolled since we set forth! But how shall a man sing and jest whose
+heart is set on great emprise? Verily thy words have fired e'en this
+shrivelled heart o' mine till I, even as they, methinks, do burn to
+fight Pentavalon's cause, to shield her from woeful shame and--ha!--
+such vile sights as yon!"
+
+Now looking where Sir Benedict pointed, Beltane beheld a thing,
+crookedly contorted, a-dangle from a knotted branch that jutted athwart
+the way, insomuch that the must needs stoop, cowering in his saddle,
+lest he touch the twisted feet of it.
+
+"Dead three days I judge!" mused Sir Benedict. "Much is possible to the
+Red Pertolepe in three days. And he hath a great and powerful
+following, 'tis said!"
+
+Quoth Beltane, pale-cheeked and frowning a little:
+
+"So would I have it, Benedict--they shall be the more for us to smite!"
+
+"I've heard he musters full three thousand, Beltane."
+
+"What then, good Benedict? Yon poor, dead thing we passed but now was
+worth a score of men to us--and there will be others--Sir Pertolepe
+loveth to see men hang! So perchance, ere we come to Winisfarne, the
+strength of thousands shall lie within these arms of ours."
+
+"'Tis a fair thought, lad--aye, 'tis a right fair thought! May all the
+poor souls done thus to sudden, cruel death, march within our slender
+ranks and smite with us, shoulder to shoulder, henceforth!"
+
+And now as they went, came they on many and divers signs of the Red
+Pertolepe's passing; here a smouldering heap of ruin whereby lay pale,
+stiff shapes half hidden in the grass--yonder a little child
+outstretched as though asleep, save for wide eyes that looked so
+blindly on the sun: and there, beyond, upon the white dust of the road,
+great gouts and pools that had trickled from something sprawled among
+the underbrush.
+
+And the soft wind crooned and whispered in the leaves--leaves that
+parting, showed other shapes swung high in air, whose pallid faces
+looked down on them, awful-eyed, from the tender green, faces drawn and
+haggard, with teeth agleam or open mouths whence screams had come, but
+very silent now until the Day of Judgment.
+
+So rode they, with death above them and around, death in many hateful
+shapes; and oft Sir Benedict bowed his head as one that prayed, the
+while his strong hands knit themselves to iron fists; and oft from
+those grim ranks behind a sound went up to heaven, a sound ominous and
+low, that was like unto a moan.
+
+Thus marched they, through heat and dust, through cool, green shadow,
+splashing through noisy brook and shallow ford, until, as the sun
+reached the zenith, they came to the brow of a hill and saw afar the
+walls and roofs of the prosperous town of Winisfarne.
+
+And ever as they drew nearer. Sir Benedict stared on it, his black
+brows close-knit, and fingered his square chin as one puzzled.
+
+"Beltane," quoth he at last, "'tis full ten years since I saw
+Winisfarne, and yet--meseemeth--it looked not so! 'Tis as though I
+missed somewhat, and yet--"
+
+But now came Roger, a dusty figure, spurring from the rear:
+
+"Master," he cried, pointing with eager finger, "O master, the keep--
+where is the great keep that stood yonder?"
+
+"Aye, verily--the keep!" nodded Sir Benedict, clapping mailed hand to
+thigh, "and 'twas a great and mighty hold as I do mind me!"
+
+Now looked they gloomily on each other and halted their array what time
+Sir Benedict passed word for bows to be strung and every eye and every
+ear to be strained right needfully; then moved they on again.
+
+Betimes they reached the outskirts of the town, for defences it had
+none, but no man moved therein and no sound reached them but the noise
+of their own going. Thus, in a while, with hands tight-clenched and
+lips firm-set they rode into the desolation of the market-place
+befouled by signs of battle fierce and fell, while beyond, a mass of
+charred ruin, lay all that was left of Winisfarne's once great and
+famous keep.
+
+Now above this ruin divers gibbets had been set up, and behold! these
+gibbets each bore a heavy burden. Then Beltane lighted from his horse,
+and going apart, laid by his casque and sat him down, his head bowed
+betwixt his hands as one that is direly sick. In a while as he sat
+thus, heedless of all things, cometh Roger.
+
+"Master," said he, "saw ye the gibbets yonder?"
+
+"I saw them, Roger."
+
+"Upon those gibbets be divers of our good fellows, master. There is
+Diccon and Peter of my company of pikes, and Gregory that was a fair
+good bowman, and there be others also--and master, these be not hanged
+men!"
+
+"Not hanged--?"
+
+"No, master! All these our men died in battle, as their wounds do
+testify--they were dead men already when Pertolepe hanged them on his
+gibbets. And Walkyn is not here, wherefore, methinks, he liveth yet.
+And Pertolepe is not here, yet where Pertolepe is, there shall we
+surely find Walkyn, for Walkyn hath sworn full oft--ha! master--
+master, behold what cometh here--see, yonder!"
+
+Then Beltane arose, and looking where Roger pointed, beheld a strange,
+misshapen thing, half beast, half man, that ran wondrous fleetly
+towards them, and, as it ran, flourished aloft a broken sword; now was
+he lost to sight behind some bush or quick-set, now he bounded high
+over stream or stone or fallen tree--nought was there could let or stay
+him--until he came where stood Sir Benedict's outposts, to whose
+conduct he yielded him forthwith and so was presently brought into the
+market-square.
+
+A wild figure this, great and hairy of head and with the arms and
+shoulders of a very giant; bedight was he in good link-mail, yet foul
+with dirt and mire and spattered with blood from heel to head, and in
+one great hand he griped still the fragment of a reddened sword. All
+a-sweat was he, and bleeding from the hair, while his mighty chest
+heaved and laboured with his running.
+
+So stood he betwixt his brawny captors what time he panted hoarse and
+loud, and stared about him fierce-eyed 'neath beetling brows. Thus, of
+a sudden he espied my Beltane standing bare-headed in his youthful
+might, whereon this monstrous man forthwith dashed aside his stalwart
+guards as they had been babes, and ran towards Beltane with hairy hands
+outstretched, whereon sprang Roger to front him, dagger a-gleam; but
+lo! Roger was caught up in those mighty arms and shaken helplessly.
+"Fool!" cried this grim fellow, "think ye I would harm Beltane that is
+my most loved lord henceforth? I am Ulf, called the Strong, and, as
+this my hateful body is strong, so is my love--lie there!" So saying,
+Ulf laid Roger upon his back, and coming to Beltane, fell upon his face
+before him and caught his mailed feet and kissed them.
+
+"Lord Beltane," he cried, harsh-voiced, "thou seest I do love thee--yet
+'twas I did bear thee captive to thy foe by command of one I love
+beyond all others. But thou, lord Beltane, thou at peril of thy life
+did save her from shame and fiery death when Ulf could not--so do I
+love thee, lord Beltane, and will be thy slave henceforth, to love and
+serve thee till I die--an thou wilt take me. Misshapen and unlovely ye
+behold me--a vile thing that men would jeer at but that they fear to
+die, for God who hath denied me all else, hath given me strength beyond
+all men. Yet do I hate myself and do hide me from the eyes of my
+fellows: but, an thou canst bear with me, canst suffer me beside thee
+and be not ashamed of my unloveliness, then will I front all eyes
+right boldly. Now lord, an thou wilt take Ulf for thy man, reach down
+to me thy hand."
+
+Then Beltane reached down and took Ulf's hairy hand in his.
+
+"Ulf," said he, "thou that God hath blessed with such noble strength,
+methinks 'neath thy grim shape thy heart is noble also, and thy soul,
+mayhap, straight and lovely. So will I make thee brother in arms to my
+faithful Roger, that ye two shall ride ever near me when the battle
+joins."
+
+Now Ulf the strong stood up erect upon his feet, and on his swart
+cheeks great tears rolled, glistening.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "O Beltane, my lord and master--" and bowed grim head
+with sudden sob, whereat Beltane questioned him full hastily, as thus:
+
+"Art wounded, Ulf! And whence come ye in such guise?"
+
+"Lord," says Ulf, wiping off his tears and choking upon a sob, "I came
+through Bloody Pertolepe's array."
+
+"Through?--nay, how mean you?" questioned Beltane, the while Sir
+Benedict and many wondering knights and esquires pressed round them in
+a ring.
+
+"I mean through, lord, for Walkyn's need is dire. So burst I through
+them--I had an axe but it brake in my hold, see you, even as this my
+sword--alack, there is no weapon that I do not break! Howbeit here am
+I, lord, hither come with word for one Sir Benedict of Bourne that did
+covenant to meet with Walkyn here at Winisfarne!"
+
+"Behold us here--speak on!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Thus, then, saith Walkyn o' the Dene: That scarce had he stormed and
+set fire to yonder prison-keep, than from the south cometh a great
+company, the which he at the first did take for ye. But, in a while,
+behold Sir Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner, the which giveth Walkyn
+much to think. Now cometh to him one beyond all women noble and
+gracious and holy (as I do know) the fair and stately Abbess Veronica,
+who, years agone, did build and endow yon great and goodly abbey,
+wherein all poor desolate souls should be cherished and comforted by
+her and her saintly nuns, and where the stricken fugitive might find
+sanctuary and peace and moreover be healed of his hurts. (All this know
+I since I was fugitive, hurt and very woeful and found me solace
+there.) So cometh this noble lady to Walkyn (and with her, I) and
+speaketh him calm and sweetly, thus: 'Yonder rideth Sir Pertolepe that
+is knight of noble birth, yet the rather would I trust myself and these
+my good sisters in thy hands, O man! So do I pray thee when thou goest
+hence, yield us the protection of thy strength, so shall heaven bless
+thee!' Hereon Walkyn frowned and plucked his beard awhile, but
+thereafter, came he to kneel and kiss her hand and swear to aid her the
+while life him lasted. Then summoned he his company (lusty fellows all)
+and called for thirty men that would remain to hold Red Pertolepe in
+play what time he seeketh place of greater vantage well beknown to him.
+Forthwith stood out one Tall Orson hight (a doughty fellow) and with
+him nine and twenty other lusty fellows, right willing (and with them,
+I) and thereafter Walkyn formeth his company (the nuns in the midst)
+and marched in haste for Brand that is a lonely tower. Then did these
+thirty (and with them I) shoot arrows amain on Pertolepe's vanguard
+from every place of vantage hereabouts, and met them with right lusty
+hand-strokes and stayed thus their advance until of the thirty there
+none remained alive save seven (and of these, I). And, since we could
+do no more, I (that do know this country from my misshapen youth)
+brought these men by secret ways unto the Tower of Brand that is
+desolate and a ruin, yet strong withal. And there lay Walkyn (that is a
+notable fighter) keeping watch and ward within the tower what time he
+waited thy succour. Now who so skilful and tender with our wounded as
+this sweet and gracious lady Abbess! Next day, sure enough, cometh
+Pertolepe with brave show of horse and foot (above three thousand,
+lords) and straightway sendeth he a haughty fellow to demand
+incontinent surrender--a loud-voiced knight whom Walkyn forthwith shot
+and slew with his own hand. Whereat Sir Pertolepe waxed exceeding wroth
+and came on amain and beset the tower on all sides, whereby they lost
+others of their men, for Walkyn's fellows shot exceeding strong and
+true (and with them, I). Then, O my lords, in all that fierce debate,
+who so brave and calm, heartening wearied and wounded with gentle voice
+and gentler hand, than this same noble lady Abbess! For two days lay we
+besieged whereby our food and drink began to fail (for the well within
+the tower is well-nigh dried up) yet none did eat or drink so sparingly
+as this same holy Abbess. Now on this (the second day, lords) cometh
+Pertolepe himself (under flag of truce, lords) and demands we yield to
+him the body of this same lady Abbess (to our ransom) swearing on his
+knightly word he then will march away forthwith, and seek our hurt no
+more. And, to save our lives, fain would this brave lady have yielded
+her to Pertolepe's hands. But Walkyn (mindful of his oath, lords),
+leaning him from the battlement, spake Red Pertolepe defiantly, calling
+him knave and liar, and therewith spat upon him, very fairly. Whereat
+Pertolepe sware to hang us one and all and the battle joined again
+fiercer than before. Therefore, on this the third day, seeing no hope
+of succour, Walkyn made him ready to sally out (a right desperate
+venture because of the women). Then spake I before them all, saying I
+doubted not I might win through, and bring thee to their aid (an ye had
+kept the tryst) would they but ply their shafts amain to cover me. The
+which was so agreed. Then did this saintly lady Abbess set her white
+hand on this my hateful head and prayed the sweet Christ to shield this
+my monstrous body, and I thereafter being bedight in right good mail
+(as thou seest) issued suddenly out of the tower whiles our foemen sat
+at meat, and ran among them roaring dreadfully and smote amain full
+many until my axe brake and I betook me to my sword and smote them as I
+ran what time Walkyn's archers shot right furiously and well. Thus came
+I through Bloody Pertolepe's array, and thus, lords, ye do behold a
+something weary man and a mighty hungry one withal!"
+
+Now came Sir Benedict to grasp Ulf's great hand.
+
+"Forsooth, hast done a great and noble thing!" quoth he. "Thy twisted
+body doth hide a great and manly soul, meseemeth, so ne'er shalt lack
+for friend whiles Benedict doth live!"
+
+And after Sir Benedict came many other knights and esquires of degree,
+to bring him of their own viands and press upon him rich and goodly
+wine. In so much that Ulf grew hot and awkward, and presently stole
+away to eat with Roger in a quiet corner.
+
+But now within the market-place was sound of song, of jest and
+laughter, where bow-strings were looked to heedfully, sword-belts
+buckled tighter, mail-coifs laced the closer, stirrup-chain and
+saddle-girth carefully regarded, whiles ever and anon all eyes turned
+where Beltane sat among the older knights, Sir Benedict beside him,
+hearkening to their counsel. And presently he rose and lifted his hand,
+whereat the trumpets blared and, thereafter, with ring of hoof and
+tramp of foot, marched they forth of Winisfarne, the sun bright on helm
+and shield, a right gallant array.
+
+And at their head rode Ulf the Strong.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII
+
+TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
+
+
+By wild and lonely ways Ulf led them, through mazy thicket, o'er
+murmurous rill, through fragrant bracken that, sweeping to their
+saddle-girths, whispered as they passed; now rode they by darkling
+wood, now crossed they open heath; all unerring rode Ulf the Strong,
+now wheeling sharp and sudden to skirt treacherous marsh or swamp, now
+plunging into the gloom of desolate woods, on and on past lonely pools
+where doleful curlews piped, nor faltered he nor stayed until, as the
+sun grew low, they climbed a sloping upland crowned by mighty trees and
+thick with underbrush; here Ulf checked his horse and lifted long arm
+in warning, whereon the company halted, hard-breathing, yet very
+orderly and silent.
+
+Forthwith down lighted Beltane with Sir Benedict and Ulf who pointed
+before them with his finger.
+
+"Lords," said he, "beyond yon trees is a valley and in the valley the
+tower of Brand, the which you may see from the brush yonder--aha! and
+hear also, methinks!"
+
+And indeed the air was full of a strange droning sound that rose and
+fell unceasing, a drowsy, ominous hum.
+
+"Ah, Benedict," said Beltane, frowning a little, "I like not that
+sound! Summon we our wisest heads, for here is matter for thought and
+sudden action methinks!"
+
+Hereupon Sir Benedict beckoned to his five chiefest knights and they
+together followed Ulf's broad back up the slope until they were come
+within the little wood; and ever as they advanced the strange hum grew
+louder, hoarser--a distant roar, pierced, ever and anon, by sharper
+sound, a confused din that was the voice of desperate conflict.
+Presently Ulf brought them to the edge of the little wood and, parting
+twig and leaf, they looked forth and down. And what they saw was this:
+
+A little valley, wondrous green but very desolate-seeming, for here and
+there stood ruined walls and charred timbers that once had been fair
+dwellings; and in the midst of this small and ruined hamlet, a mighty
+tower uprose, hoary and weather-beaten, yet stark and grim against the
+sunset. All about this tower a great camp lay, set well out of bow-shot,
+and 'twixt camp and tower were many men whose armour flashed,
+rank on rank, and archers who, kneeling behind mantlets, shot amain at
+battlement and loophole. Against the tower were two great ladders,
+roughly fashioned and a-swarm with men; but ever as they strove to
+reach the battlement a mighty axe whirled and swung and a long sword
+flashed, and ever as they fell, so fell one of the besiegers.
+
+"There stand Walkyn and Tall Orson!" quoth Ulf, biting his nails. "Ha!--
+they be dour fighters--would I stood with them!"
+
+"We come in due season, methinks!" said Sir Benedict, stroking his
+square chin, "what is your counsel, my lords?"
+
+Quoth young Sir John of Griswold:
+
+"Let us to horse and sally out on them, the hill is with us and we
+shall--"
+
+"Slay and be slain!" quoth Sir Benedict.
+
+"Verily!" nodded grim Sir Bertrand, "dost speak like a very youth,
+John!"
+
+"Here, methinks," said Sir Benedict, "is work for pike and bow-string.
+First break we their charge, then down on them in flank with shock and
+might of all our lances."
+
+"Ha! 'tis well be-thought, Benedict!" growled old Hubert of Erdington,
+"so let me march with the pikes."
+
+"Art silent, lord Beltane," quoth Sir Hacon, "dost agree?"
+
+"Aye, truly," answered Beltane, rising, "but let our pikes march in V
+formation, our mightiest men at the point of the V, and with archers
+behind. Then, ere the foe do engage, let the V become an L, so shall we
+oppose them two faces. Now, when Sir Pertolepe's chivalry charge, let
+Sir Benedict with two hundred knights and men-at-arms spur in upon
+their flank, driving them confused upon their main battle, what time I,
+yet hid within the green, will sound my rallying note that Walkyn
+knoweth of old, whereat he shall sally out upon their further flank.
+Then will I, with my hundred horse, charge down upon their rear, so
+should we have them, methinks? How say you, my lords?"
+
+"Truly," quoth Sir Bertrand, closing his vizor, "thy father liveth
+again in thee, methinks!"
+
+Forthwith, pikemen and archers fell into array with Cnut at their head,
+while behind the spreading ranks of pikes Prat and his archers were
+ranged, bows strung and quivers slung before; and presently, at
+Beltane's word, they swung forth of the sheltering green, fierce-eyed,
+grim-lipped, bascinet and pike-head a-twinkle. Away they swung down the
+slope, a stalwart company swift-treading and light, and in their midst
+old Hubert of Erdington in his heavy armour, whose long sword flashed
+as he flourished his farewell.
+
+With rhythmic step and swing of broad mailed shoulders they marched
+until they were come down into the valley. And now, as they advanced
+swift and steady, rose shouts from besieged and besiegers; Sir
+Pertolepe's trumpets brayed defiance and alarm, and of a sudden, forth
+of his camp mailed horsemen rode rank upon rank, pennons a-flutter and
+armour flashing in the sunset glare. But, as they mustered to the
+charge, as shields flashed and lances sank, Sir Benedict's pikemen
+wheeled, their ranks swung wide, and lo! the V was become an L. Now
+from this L bows twanged and arrows flew amain above the kneeling
+pikemen, what time Sir Pertolepe's trumpets blared the charge, and down
+upon those slender ranks his heavy-armed chivalry thundered; horses
+reared and fell, screaming, beneath the whistling arrow-shower, but on
+swept the charge; those thin ranks bent and swayed 'neath the shock as
+lance crossed pike, but these pike-butts rested on firm ground and upon
+their deadly points, horses, smitten low, reared transfixed, and above
+these rocking pikes steel flashed and flickered where the stout archers
+plied their heavy broadswords, while, loud above the din, Sir Hubert's
+voice boomed hoarse encouragement what time he thrust and smote above
+the kneeling pikemen.
+
+Now out from the green Sir Benedict paced astride his great black
+charger, and behind him his two hundred steel-girt knights and
+men-at-arms, their vizors closed, their shields slung before, the
+points of their long and ponderous lances agleam high in air. Then
+turned Sir Benedict and looked on their grimly ranks, glad-eyed:
+
+"O sirs," quoth he, "who would not be a man to fight in such just
+cause!"
+
+So saying, he smiled his wry and twisted smile and closed his vizor:
+then, with shield addressed and feet thrust far within the stirrups he
+lightly feutred his deadly lance; and behold! down swept every lance
+behind him as, leaning low behind his shield, he shouted right
+joyously:
+
+"Come ye, messires--lay on this day for Pentavalon!"
+
+Forward bounded the great horses a-down the slope--away, away,
+gathering speed with every stride--away, away, across the level with
+flying rein and busy spur; and now a loud shouting and dire amaze among
+Sir Pertolepe's battle with desperate wheeling of ranks and spurring of
+rearing horses, while Sir Benedict's riders swept down on them, grim
+and voiceless, fast and faster. Came a roaring crash beneath whose dire
+shock Sir Pertolepe's ranks were riven and rent asunder, and over and
+through their red confusion Sir Benedict rode in thunderous, resistless
+might, straight for where, above their mid-most, close-set ranks,
+fluttered and flew Sir Pertolepe's Raven banner. Now, in hot haste, Sir
+Pertolepe launched another charge to check that furious onset, what
+time he reformed and strengthened his main battle; but, with speed
+unchecked, Sir Benedict's mighty ranks met them in full career--broke
+them, flung them reeling back on Sir Pertolepe's staggering van and all
+was wild disorder, above which roaring tumult the Raven banner reeled
+and swayed and the fray waxed ever fiercer.
+
+Now ran Beltane where stood Roger to hold his horse, with Ulf who
+leaned upon a goodly axe and young Sir John of Griswold, who clenched
+and wrung his mailed hands and bit upon his boyish lip and stamped in
+his impatience.
+
+"My lord," he cried, "my lord, suffer us to charge--ah! see--our good
+Sir Benedict will be surrounded--cut off--"
+
+"Nay, methinks he is too wise in war, he fighteth ever with calm head,
+Sir John."
+
+"But, messire, do but see--his charge is checked--see--see, he
+yieldeth ground--he giveth back!"
+
+"Aye, verily!" quoth Beltane, springing to saddle, "but behold how he
+orders his line! O lovely knight! O wise Benedict! See you not his
+wisdom now, Sir John? In his retreat he draweth Sir Pertolepe's main
+battle athwart our line of charge, their flank exposed and open--to
+horse, Sir John, to horse! Yet stir not until I give the word."
+Forthwith sprang Sir John to saddle and Roger and Ulf also, what time
+Beltane sat, his gaze upon the conflict, his bugle-horn in his hand; of
+a sudden he clapped it to lip and sounded the old fierce rallying note.
+High and shrill and loud it rang above the roar of battle, and lo!
+distant and far, like an answer to the call, from the grim and battered
+tower of Brand a mighty shout went up--"Arise! Arise!--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Oho!" cried Roger, sitting close on Beltane's left, "list ye to that,
+now! And see--ha! there cometh our long-legged Walkyn, first of them
+all! See how they order their pikes--O master, they be sweet and
+doughty fellows! See how Jenkyn's archers shoot--each man to the ear!"
+
+Awhile sat Beltane watching, wide-eyed, while Sir Benedict, fighting
+sword in hand, fell back and back before the furious onset of Sir
+Pertolepe's main battle until he had drawn the fight mid-way. Then,
+quick-breathing, my Beltane closed his vizor.
+
+"Now!" cried he, "now, good comrades all, God willing, we have them.
+Let each man choose his foe and smite this day for Liberty and
+Justice!"
+
+So saying, he levelled his lance, and a hundred lances sank behind him.
+Spurs struck deep, horses reared, plunged, and sped away. Before their
+galloping line rode Sir John of Griswold with Roger and Ulf: and before
+these, Beltane.
+
+He felt the wind a-whistle through the eye-vents of his casque, heard
+the muffled thunder of the galloping hoofs behind mingled with the
+growing din of battle; heard a shout--a roar of anger and dismay, saw a
+confusion of rearing horses as Sir Pertolepe swung about to meet this
+new attack, steadied his aim, and with his hundred lances thundering
+close behind, drove in upon those bristling ranks to meet them shield
+to shield with desperate shock of onset--felt his tough lance go home
+with jarring crash--saw horses that reared high and were gone, lost
+beneath the trampling fray, and found his lance shivered to the very
+grip. Out flashed his sword, for all about him was a staggering press
+of horses that neighed and screamed, and men who smote, shouting, and
+were smitten; unseen blows battered him while he thrust and hewed, and
+wondered to see his long blade so dimmed and bloody. And ever as he
+fought, through the narrow vent of his casque he caught small and
+sudden visions of this close-locked, desperate fray; of Ulf standing in
+his stirrups to ply his whirling axe whose mighty, crashing blows no
+armour might withstand; of grim Roger, scowling and fierce, wielding
+ponderous broad-sword; of young Sir John of Griswold, reeling in his
+saddle, his helpless arms wide-flung.
+
+So cut they bloody path through Pertolepe's deep array, on and forward
+with darting point and deep-biting edge, unheeding wounds or shock of
+blows, until Beltane beheld the press yield, thin out, and melt away,
+thereupon shouted he hoarse and loud, rode down a knight who sought to
+bar his way, unhorsed a second, and wheeling his snorting charger,
+wondered at the seeming quiet; then lifting his vizor, looked about
+him. And lo! wheresoever his glance fell were men that crawled
+groaning, or lay very mute and still amid a huddle of fallen horses,
+and, beyond these again, were other men, a-horse and a-foot, that
+galloped and ran amain for the shelter of the green. Sir Pertolepe's
+array was scattered up and down the valley--the battle was lost and
+won.
+
+Now while he yet sat thus, dazed by the shock of blows and breathing
+deep of the sweet, cool air, he beheld one rise up from where the
+battle-wrack lay thickest, an awful figure that limped towards him,
+holding aloft the broken shaft of an axe.
+
+"Aha, lord Beltane!" cried Ulf, wiping sweat and blood from him, "there
+be no more--left to smite, see you. The which--is well, for weapon--
+have I none. This axe was the third this day--broken, see you! Alas!
+there is no weapon I may use. Saw you Roger, lord, that is my comrade?"
+
+"Nay, good Ulf--ha, what of him?"
+
+"His horse was slain, lord. So fought he afoot, since when I saw him
+not."
+
+"And where is Sir Benedict and Walkyn--O see you not Sir Benedict? mine
+eyes are dazzled with the sun."
+
+But now Ulf uttered a joyful cry and pointed with his axe-shaft.
+
+"Yonder cometh Roger, lord, and with him the little archer, but whom
+bring they?"
+
+Very slowly they came, Roger and Prat the archer, up-bearing betwixt
+them good Sir Hubert of Erdington, his harness hacked and broken, his
+battered helm a-swing upon its thongs, his eyes a-swoon in the pallor
+of his face.
+
+Down sprang Beltane and ran to greet him and to catch his nerveless
+hands:
+
+"Lord Beltane," quoth he, faintly, "full oft have I shed my blood for--
+Pentavalon--to-day I die, messire. But, as thou didst say--'tis well to
+die--in cause so noble! My lord, farewell to thee!"
+
+And with the word, even as he stood 'twixt Roger and the archer, the
+stout old knight was dead. So they laid Hubert of Erdington very
+reverently upon that trampled field he had maintained so well.
+
+"A right noble knight, my lord," quoth Prat, shaking gloomy head, "but
+for him, methinks our pikemen would have broke to their third onset!"
+
+"There is no man of you hath not fought like ten men this day!" said
+Beltane, leaning on his sword and with head a-droop. "Have we lost
+many, know ye?"
+
+"A fair good number, master, as was to be expected," quoth Roger,
+cleansing his sword on a tuft of grass, "Sir John of Griswold fell
+beside me deep-smitten through the helm."
+
+"And what of Sir Benedict?"
+
+"See yonder--yonder he rides, my lord!" cried Prat, "though methinks
+you scarce shall know him." And he pointed where, on spent and weary
+charger, one rode, a drooping, languid figure, his bright armour
+bespattered and dim, his dinted casque smitten awry; slowly he rode
+before his weary company until of a sudden espying Beltane, he uttered
+a great and glad cry, his drooping shoulders straightened, and he rode
+forward with mailed arms outstretched.
+
+"Beltane!" he cried, "praise be to God! One told me thou wert down--art
+well, sweet lad, and all unharmed? God is merciful!" And he patted
+Beltane's mailed shoulder, what time blood oozed from his steel
+gauntlet and his sobbing charger hung weary head and snorted purple
+foam. "O lad," quoth he, smiling his wry smile, "here was an hour worth
+living for--though Sir Bertrand is sore hurt and many do lie dead of my
+company."
+
+"And here," sighed Beltane, "brave Hubert of Erdington--behold!"
+
+"A gallant knight, Beltane! May I so valiantly die when that my time be
+come. Truly 'twas a sharp debate what time it lasted, there be many
+that will ride with us no more."
+
+"And thou, my lord?" cried Beltane suddenly, "thy cheek so pale--
+thou'rt hurt, Benedict!"
+
+"Nought to matter, lad, save that it is my sword-arm: nay indeed, my
+Beltane, 'twas but an axe bit through my vanbrace, 'twill heal within
+the week. But take now my horn and summon ye our scattered company, for
+I do lack the wind."
+
+Knight and man-at-arms, limping and afoot, on horses weary and blown,
+they came at the summons--archer and pike-man they came, a blood
+be-spattered company; many were they that staggered, faint with wounds,
+and many that sank upon the trampled grass a-swoon with weariness, but
+in the eyes of each and every was the look of men that triumph.
+
+Cnut was there, his bascinet gone, his fiery hair betousled: Tall Orson
+was there, leaning on a bent and battered pike, and there his comrade,
+Jenkyn o' the Ford, with many others that Beltane well remembered and
+others whose faces he knew not. So formed they their battle-scarred
+array what time Beltane viewed them with glowing eye and heart swelling
+within him.
+
+"Master!" cried Tall Orson of a sudden, "O master, us do be clean men
+and goodly fighters as us did promise thee time 'gone i' the Hollow,
+master, ye'll mind us as did promise so to be--I and Jenkyn as be my
+comrade?"
+
+"Aye, master!" cried Jenkyn o' the Ford, "aye, look'ee, we ha' kept our
+word to thee as we did promise, look'ee master! So now, speak word to
+us master, look'ee!"
+
+"Ye men!" quoth Beltane, hoarse-voiced, "O my good comrades all, your
+deeds this day shall speak when we are dust, methinks! Your foes this
+day did muster three thousand strong, and ye do number scarce a
+thousand--yet have ye scattered them, for that your cause is just--'tis
+thus ye shall lift Pentavalon from shame and give to her peace at
+last!"
+
+Then Tall Orson shook aloft his battered pike and shouted amain, and on
+the instant, others took up the cry--a hoarse roar that rolled from
+rank to rank; lance and sword, axe and pike were flourished high in
+air, and from these men who had marched so grimly silent all the day a
+great and mighty shout went up:
+
+"Arise, Pentavalon! Ha! Beltane--Pentavalon!" Now even as they shouted,
+upon this thunderous roar there stole another sound, high and clear and
+very sweet, that rose and swelled upon the air like the voices of
+quiring angels; and of a sudden the shouting was hushed, as, forth of
+the tower's gloomy portal the lady Abbess came, tall and fair and
+saintly in her white habit, her nuns behind her, two and two, their
+hands clasped, their eyes upraised to heaven, chanting to God a hymn of
+praise and thanksgiving. Slow paced they thus, the stately Abbess with
+head low-bended and slim hands clasped upon her silver crucifix until,
+the chant being ended, she raised her head and beheld straightway Sir
+Benedict unhelmed and yet astride his great charger. The silver
+crucifix fell, the slim hands clasped themselves upon her bosom and the
+eyes of the tall, white Abbess grew suddenly wide and dark: and even as
+she gazed on him, so gazed Sir Benedict on her.
+
+"Yolande!" said he, hoarse-voiced and low.
+
+"Benedict!" she murmured.
+
+Slowly Sir Benedict bowed his head, and turning, laid his hand on
+Beltane's mailed shoulder.
+
+"Lady," said he, "behold here Beltane--that is son to Beltane
+heretofore Duke and Lord of Pentavalon!"
+
+"Ah!" she whispered, "Beltane!" and of a sudden stretched out her arms
+in passionate yearning gesture, then, covering her face, sank upon her
+knees, "God pity me!" she sighed, "God pity me!" Thereafter she rose to
+her stately height and looked on Beltane, gentle and calm-eyed.
+
+"My lord Beltane," said she, "I have heard tell thou art a noble
+knight, strong yet gentle--so should thy father be greatly blessed in
+thee--and thy--mother also. God have thee ever in His keeping--
+Beltane!"
+
+Now as she spake the name her soft voice brake, and turning, she stood
+with head bowed upon her hands, and standing thus, spake again,
+deep-voiced and soft:
+
+"Sir Benedict, we are come to minister to the hurt, all is prepared
+within the tower, let them be brought to us I pray, and--my lord,
+forget not the sacred oath thou didst swear me--long years agone!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII
+
+HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
+
+
+They found rich booty in Pertolepe's camp, with store of arms and
+armour and many goodly horses, and thither Sir Benedict's wearied
+followers betook them as night fell and knew blessed rest and sleep.
+But in the tower of Brand lights gleamed where the Abbess and her
+gentle nuns went to and fro among the wounded, ministering to their
+wants; and far beyond the camp, armour glinted ever and anon against
+the blackness of the surrounding woods, where outpost and sentinel kept
+vigilant watch and ward. Though late the hour Beltane sat wakeful, chin
+on fist, beside a glimmering watch-fire, oft turning his glance towards
+the massy, weather-beaten tower, bethinking him of the noble lady
+Abbess, of her strange looks and words, and so fell to brooding
+thought. High overhead the moon rode, obscured by flying clouds, a wild
+wrack up-whirling from the south: at fitful intervals was a wind that
+moaned drearily 'mid the gloom of distant woods, a desolate sound that
+sobbed upon the air, and dying to a wail, was gone. Now becoming aware
+of this, Beltane raised his head, and looked up at the ominous heavens
+and round about him. And thus he espied a light that hovered hither and
+thither above the distant battle-field, a small light whose red flame
+flashed back from cloven casque and riven shield, where eyes glared
+unseeing and mouths gaped mute and dumb from a dark confusion whence
+mailed arms stiffly rose with hands tight-clenched that seemed to
+menace heaven, and rigid feet whose spurred heels yet gored the flanks
+of rigid, fallen chargers; to and fro and up and down this small flame
+leaped merrily, dancing from dead face to dead face but staying never,
+a fiendish fire that seemed to mock the horror of wounds and gibe at
+solemn death.
+
+Now as he watched this devilish light, Beltane arose and reaching for
+his sword went soft-footed to meet it, then paused, for the light was
+moving towards him. Near and nearer it came, until, into the glow of
+the fire, his betousled head wild and bare, his link-mail yet befouled
+with battle, Walkyn strode, and hurling his torch upon the grass,
+crushed it out 'neath his heel. Then came he to the fire and stood
+there, arms crossed, frowning down at the flame.
+
+"Greeting to thee, Waldron of Brand!"
+
+Swift turned Walkyn, his gloomy scowl relaxed at Beltane's voice, and
+stooping, he took and kissed my Beltane's hand.
+
+"Whence come ye, Walkyn?"
+
+"From going to and fro among the dead, seeking Pertolepe, master. Ha!
+they do lie thick yonder, five hundred and twenty and three I counted
+of Bloody Pertolepe's following. And in the woods do lie certain
+others, that I, with divers of our company, pursued and cut off."
+
+"And what of their wounded?"
+
+"I saw none, master--nor have I seen Pertolepe. I have viewed all the
+slain, but Pertolepe is not there, yet have I smitten and slain three
+Pertolepes this day--hawks, see you, in eagle's feathers! So is my
+work yet to do, and I grieve still for Pertolepe's head."
+
+"Sit ye down, Walkyn, here with me beside the fire." Forthwith Walkyn
+obeyed and stretching himself on the grass fell to toying with the
+haft of his axe and scowling at the fire again.
+
+"This was, methinks, thy father's tower and demesne of Brand, Walkyn?"
+
+"Aye, lord, here was I born--yon ruined walls did hear my father's
+groans--the screams of my mother and sister amid the flame. And Red
+Pertolepe was there, and Gui of Allerdale and Roger and young Gilles of
+Brandonmere--all were there with six other noble knights; but these six
+we slew long since, my brother and I. All these were here that day--and
+Sir Pertolepe--laughed--full loud, 'twas told me. So 'twere just he
+should have died here to-day, methinks? 'Twas for this I lured him
+hither--and he liveth yet!"
+
+"But God is a just God, Walkyn! Now therefore leave him to God
+henceforth--!"
+
+"To God!" cried Walkyn, his eyes wild, his hands tight-clenched, "to
+God!--ha! master, ye left him to God on a time and because of thee, I--
+I that had my dagger at his rogue's throat--I, yearning to slay him,
+did but mark him i' the brow--aye, forsooth, we left him to God and lo!
+to-day he burneth, he slayeth and hangeth as was ever his wont--"
+
+"God's time is not ours, Walkyn, but for the evil wrought by Sir
+Pertolepe, Sir Pertolepe needs must answer when God so wills. So leave
+him to the vengeance of God--lest the fire of thy vengeance consume
+thee quite. Thou art strong, and few may cope with thee in fight, yet
+hath vengeance fettered and made thee bond-slave. Forego thy vengeance
+then, and be free, good comrade."
+
+"Nay master, an I so do, what is left me?"
+
+"The love of thy fellows, Walkyn. Thou art, forsooth, a man, so do I
+love thee, and perchance within a new Pentavalon thou may'st come to
+new fortune and honour. Thou shalt hold again thy father's lands--"
+
+"To what end, lord? As ye do know, my wife and child do lie in nameless
+grave, done to cruel death by dogs of Pertolepe: my brother rotted in a
+noose--set there by Pertolepe. So am I a lonely man henceforth; one
+thing only seek I of life, master."
+
+"And that, Walkyn?"
+
+"The head of Bloody Pertolepe!" So saying, Walkyn rose, and stood
+scowling down at the fire again, whose glow shone ominous and red upon
+the broad blade of the mighty axe that lay on the grass at his feet.
+
+Now of a sudden forth from the shadows, swift and silent on his long
+legs came crooked Ulf, and stooping, would have lifted the weapon, but
+in that moment Walkyn snarled, and set his foot upon it.
+
+"Off!" he growled, "touch not mine axe, thou vile mannikin--lest I
+tread on thee!"
+
+But scarce were the words spoken, than, with great back low-crouched,
+Ulf sprang, and whirling mighty Walkyn aloft, mailed feet on high, held
+him writhing above the fire: then, swinging about, hurled him, rolling
+over and over, upon the ling; so lay Walkyn awhile propped on an elbow,
+staring on Ulf with wide eyes and mouth agape what time, strung for
+sudden action, Beltane sat cross-legged upon the green, looking from
+one to the other.
+
+"Mannikin?" roared Ulf, great hands opening and shutting, "unworthy to
+touch axe of thine, thou pestilent beast! Dare ye so say to one gently
+born, base fellow? Now will I break thee thine accursed axe--and thee
+thereafter, an ye will!"
+
+So saying, Ulf the Mighty caught up the axe and wheeling it full-armed,
+smote and buried it in a young tree close by--wrenched it free and
+smote again. And lo! with prodigious crack and rending of fibres the
+tall tree swayed, crashing to earth. Now while Ulf yet stood to stare
+amazed upon this wondrous axe, upon its sharp-glittering, flawless
+edge, Walkyn had risen, dagger in hand; but even as he crouched to
+spring, a voice spake--a gentle voice but commanding; and in the
+fire-glow stood the white Abbess, tall and gracious, the silver
+crucifix agleam upon her bosom.
+
+"Children!" she sighed; and looking from scowling Walkyn to frowning
+Ulf she reached a slim hand to each. "O children," said she, "lay by
+your steel and give to me your hands!"
+
+Fumbling and awkward, Walkyn sheathed his dagger while Ulf laid the
+mighty axe upon the grass very tenderly, as it had been a sleeping
+child; so came they both, shame-faced, unto the lady Abbess and gave
+her each a hand. Holding them thus she looked with sad, sweet eyes from
+one grim face to the other, and drew them nearer the fire.
+
+"Walkyn, son of God," said she, "behold here Ulf whose valiant heart
+and mighty strength have been our salvation! Ulf, child of Heaven, whom
+God hath made so mighty, behold here brave Walkyn who did protect the
+weak and helpless and fighteth for the right! Come then, as ye are
+children of God, go ye in brotherly love together henceforth, and may
+heaven bless ye, valiant sons!"
+
+Thus saying, she set their hands one in another, and these hands
+gripped and held.
+
+Quoth Ulf, sighing:
+
+"Forsooth, I did but mean to try the balance of thine axe, Walkyn. And
+truly it is a mighty weapon and a peerless--one that even my strength
+cannot break!"
+
+Quoth Walkyn, grim-smiling:
+
+"There is in this world no axe like unto it save one that was my
+brother's--and shall be thine henceforth, Ulf the Strong. Come now, and
+I will give it unto thee." Then bent they reverently before the Abbess,
+saluted Beltane and, side by side, strode away together.
+
+"Would all feuds might so end, sweet son," sighed the Abbess, her
+wistful eyes down-bent upon the fire.
+
+"Would there were more sweet souls abroad to teach men reason!" quoth
+Beltane.
+
+"Why sit you here, my son, wakeful and alone and the hour so late?"
+
+"For that sleep doth fly my wooing, holy mother."
+
+"Then fain would I share thy vigil awhile."
+
+Forthwith Beltane brought her a stool, rough and rudely fashioned, and
+while she sat, he lay beside her in the firelight; and thus, despite
+her hood and wimple, he saw her face was of a calm and noble beauty,
+smooth and unwrinkled despite the silver hair that peeped forth of her
+loosened hood. A while they sat thus, nothing speaking, he viewing her,
+she gazing ever on the fire; at last:
+
+"Thou'rt young, messire," she said wistfully, "yet in thy life hath
+been much of strife, I've heard. Thou hast known much of hardship, my
+son, and sorrow methinks?"
+
+"So do I live for that fair day when Peace shall come again, noble
+lady."
+
+"Full oft have I heard tell of thee, my son, strange tales and
+marvellous. Some do liken thee to a demon joying in slaughter, and
+some to an archangel bearing the sword of God."
+
+"And how think you, reverend mother?"
+
+"I think of thee as a man, my son. I have heard thee named 'outlaw' and
+'lawless ravener,' and some do call thee 'Beltane the Smith.' Now
+wherefore smith?"
+
+"For that smith was I bred, lady."
+
+"But thou'rt of noble blood, lord Beltane."
+
+"Yet knew I nought of it until I was man grown."
+
+"Thy youth--they tell me--hath been very lonely, my son--and desolate."
+
+"Not desolate, for in my loneliness was the hermit Ambrose who taught
+me many things and most of all, how to love him. So lived I in the
+greenwood, happy and content, until on a day this saintly Ambrose told
+me a woeful tale--so did I know this humble hermit for the noble Duke,
+my father."
+
+"Thy father! The Duke! A hermit! Told he of--all his sorrows, my son?"
+
+"All, reverend mother, and thereafter bade me beware the falsity of
+women."
+
+The pale cheek of the Abbess grew suddenly suffused, the slim hand
+clenched rigid upon the crucifix at her bosom, but she stirred not nor
+lifted her sad gaze from the fire.
+
+"Liveth thy father yet, my son?"
+
+"'Tis so I pray God, lady."
+
+"And--thy mother?"
+
+"'Tis so I've heard."
+
+"Pray you not for--for her also?"
+
+"I never knew my mother, lady."
+
+"Alas! poor lonely mother! So doth she need thy prayers the more. Ah,
+think you she hath not perchance yearned with breaking heart for her
+babe? To have kissed him into rosy slumber! To have cherished his
+boyish hurts and sorrows! To have gloried in his youthful might and
+manhood! O sure there is no sorrow like the loneliness of desolate
+motherhood. Would'st seek this unknown mother, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Truly there be times when I do yearn to find her--and there be times
+when I do fear--"
+
+"Fear, my lord?"
+
+"Holy mother, I learned of her first as one false to her vows,
+light-minded and fickle from her youth--"
+
+"O hath there been none to speak thee good of her--in all these years?"
+
+"There was Jolette, that folk did call a witch, and there is Sir
+Benedict that doth paint her pure and noble as I would have her. Yet
+would I know for myself, fain would I be sure ere we do meet, if she is
+but the woman who bore me, or the proud and noble mother I fain would
+love."
+
+"Could'st not love her first and judge her after, my son? Could not her
+very motherhood plead her cause with thee? Must she be weighed in the
+balance ere thou yield her a son's respect and love? So many weary
+years--'tis something hard, methinks! Nay, heed me not, my lord--seek
+out thy mother, unbeknown--prove for thyself her worthiness or falsity,
+prove for thyself her honour or her shame--'tis but just, aye, 'tis but
+just in very truth. But I, beholding things with woman's eyes, know
+only that a mother's love shrinketh not for any sin, but reacheth down
+through shame and evil with sheltering arms outstretched--a holy thing,
+fearless of sin, more lasting than shame and stronger than death
+itself."
+
+So saying, the lady Abbess rose and turned to look up at the lights
+that burned within the tower.
+
+"'Tis late, my lord," she sighed, "get thee now to thy rest, for I must
+begone to my duty till the dawn. There be many sick, and good Sir
+Bertrand lieth very nigh to death--he ne'er will see another dawn,
+methinks, so needs must I away. Good night, sweet son, and in thy
+prayers forget not thy--thy most unhappy mother!"
+
+Then she lifted her hand and blessed him, and, ere he rose up from his
+knees she set that white hand upon his bowed head and touched his
+yellow hair--a light touch, furtive and shy, but a touch that was like
+to a caress.
+
+Thereafter, Beltane, coming into his hut of woven wattle, rolled
+himself in his weather-worn mantle and presently fell to slumber.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX
+
+TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
+
+
+Next day Sir Bertrand died of his hurts, so they buried him beside
+young Sir John of Griswold and sturdy old Hubert of Erdington and a
+hundred and twenty and five others of their company who had fallen in
+that desperate affray; therefore tarried they a while what time their
+sick and wounded grew towards health and strength by reason of the
+skill and tender care of the lady Abbess and her nuns.
+
+Now on the afternoon of this day. Sir Benedict being sick a-bed of his
+wound, Beltane sat in council among the oldest and wisest of the
+knights, and presently summoned Walkyn and Ulf, Roger and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, speaking them on this wise:
+
+"Good comrades, list ye now! These noble knights and I have hither
+summoned ye for that ye are of good and approved courage and moreover
+foresters born and cunning in wood-lore. As ye do know, 'tis our intent
+to march for Belsaye so soon as our wounded be fit. But first must we
+be 'ware if our road be open or no. Therefore, Walkyn, do ye and Ulf
+take ten men and haste to Winisfarne and the forest-road that runneth
+north and south: be ye wary of surprise and heedful of all things. You,
+Roger and Jenkyn, with other ten, shall seek the road that runneth east
+and west; marching due south you shall come to the northern road where
+ye shall wait two hours (but no longer) for Walkyn. Ye are woodsmen!
+Heed ye the brush and lower branches of the trees if any be broken,
+mark well the track in dusty places and seek ye the print of feet in
+marshy places, learn all ye may from whomsoever ye may and haste ye
+hot-foot back with tidings good or ill. Is it understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" quoth the four.
+
+"And look'ee master," said Jenkyn, "there be my comrade Orson the
+Tall, look'ee. His hurt is nigh healed and to go wi' us shall be his
+cure--now, look'ee lord, shall he go wi' us?"
+
+"Nay, Roger shall answer thee this, Jenkyn. So now begone and God speed
+ye, good comrades all!" Hereupon the mighty four made their obeisance
+and hasted away, rejoicing.
+
+Now Sir Benedict's hurt had proved an evil one and deep, wherefore the
+Abbess, in accent soft and tender, had, incontinent, ordered him to
+bed, and there, within the silken tent that had been Sir Pertolepe's,
+Beltane oft sat by, the while she, with slim and dexterous fingers,
+washed and anointed and bound the ugly wound: many times came she,
+soft-treading, gentle and gracious ever; and at such times Beltane
+noticed that full often he would find her deep, sad gaze bent upon him;
+he noticed also that though her voice was low and gentle, yet she spake
+ever as one 'customed to obedience. Thus it was, that Sir Benedict
+being ordered to his couch, obeyed the soft-spoke command, but being
+kept there all day, grumbled (albeit to Beltane): being kept there the
+second day he fell to muttered oaths and cursing (albeit to Beltane):
+but at sunset he became unruly, in so much that he ventured to
+remonstrate with the lady Abbess (albeit humbly), whereon she smiled,
+and bidding Beltane reach her cup and spoon, forthwith mixed a
+decoction and dosed Sir Benedict that he fell asleep and slumbered
+amain.
+
+Thus, during this time, Beltane saw and talked much with the lady
+Abbess: oft went he to watch her among the sick and to aid her when he
+might; saw how fierce faces softened when she bent to touch fevered
+brow or speak them cheerily with smiling lip despite the deep and
+haunting sadness of her eyes; saw how eagerly rough hands were
+stretched forth to furtive touch her white habit as she passed; heard
+harsh voices grow sudden soft and all unfamiliar--voices that broke in
+murmurous gratitude. All this saw and heard he and failed not, morn and
+eve, to kneel him at her feet to hear her bless him and to feel that
+soft, shy touch among his hair.
+
+So passed two days, but neither Roger, nor Walkyn, nor Ulf, nor indeed
+any of the twenty chosen men had yet returned or sent word or sign,
+wherefore Beltane began to wax moody and anxious. Thus it was that upon
+a sunny afternoon he wandered beside a little rivulet, bowered in
+alder and willow: here, a merry brook that prattled over pebbly bed and
+laughed among stones and mossy boulders, there a drowsy stream that,
+widening to dreamy pool, stayed its haste to woo down-bending branches
+with soft, kissing noises.
+
+Now as Beltane walked beside the stream, head a-droop and very
+thoughtful, he paused of a sudden to behold one richly dight in
+gambeson of fair-wrought leather artificially quilted and pinked, who
+sat ensconced within this greeny bower, his back to a tree, one
+bandaged arm slung about his neck and in the other hand a long
+hazel-branch trimmed with infinite care, whereunto a line was tied.
+
+"Sir Benedict!" cried Beltane, "methought thee asleep: what do ye so
+far from camp and bed?"
+
+"I fish, lad, I fish--I ply a tentative angle. Nay--save thy breath, I
+have caught me nothing yet, save thoughts. Thoughts do flock a many,
+but as to fish--they do but sniff my bait and flirt it with their
+wanton tails, plague take 'em! But what o' fish? 'Tis not for fish
+alone that man fisheth, for fishing begetteth thought and thought,
+dreams--and to dream is oft-times sweet!"
+
+"But--Benedict, what of the Abbess?"
+
+"The Abbess? Ha, the Abbess, Beltane! Sweet soul, she sleepeth. At noon
+each day needs must she sleep since even she is mortal and mortals must
+sleep now and then. The Abbess? Come sit ye, lad, what time I tickle
+the noses of these pestilent fish. Sit ye here beside me and tell me,
+how think ye of this noble and most sweet lady?"
+
+"That, for thy truancy, she will incontinent mix thee another sleeping
+draught, Benedict."
+
+"Ha--then I'll never drink it!" quoth Sir Benedict, settling his
+shoulder against Beltane and frowning at his line. "Am I a babe,
+forsooth, to be dosed to slumber? Ha, by the foul fiend his black dam,
+ne'er will I drink it, lad!"
+
+"Then will she smile on thee, sad-eyed, and set it to thy lip, and woo
+thee soft-voiced, so shalt thou swallow it every drop--"
+
+"Not so--dear blood of all the saints! Must I be mewed up within an
+accursed bed on such a day and all by reason of a small axe-stroke?
+Malediction, no!"
+
+"She is wondrous gentle with the sick, Benedict--"
+
+"She is a very woman, Beltane, and therefore gentle, a noble lady sweet
+of soul and body! To die for such were joyful privilege, methinks, aye,
+verily!" and Sir Benedict, forgetful of his line, drooped his head and
+sighed.
+
+"And thou didst know her well--long years agone, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye, long--years--agone!"
+
+"Very well, Benedict?"
+
+"Very well."
+
+"She was 'Yolande' then, Benedict?"
+
+"Aye," quoth Sir Benedict, lifting his head with a start and looking at
+Beltane askance, "and to-day she is the lady Abbess Veronica!"
+
+"That shall surely dose thee again and--"
+
+"Ha! bones and body o' me, not so! For here sit I, and here angle I,
+fish or no fish, thunder o' God, yes! Aye, verily, here will I sit till
+I have caught me a fish, or weary and go o' my own free will--by
+Beelzebub I vow, by Bel and the Dragon I swear it! And furthermore--"
+
+Sir Benedict paused, tilted his head and glancing up, beheld the lady
+Abbess within a yard of them. Gracious she stood in her long white
+habit and shook her stately head in grave rebuke, but beholding his
+abashed look and how the rod sagged in his loosened hold, her lips
+parted of a sudden and her teeth gleamed in a smile wondrous young and
+pleasant to see.
+
+"O Benedict!" said she, "O child most disobedient! O sir knight! Is
+this thy chivalry, noble lord--to steal away for that a poor soul
+must needs sleep, being, alas! so very mortal?"
+
+"Forsooth and indeed, dear my lady," quoth Sir Benedict, fumbling with
+his angle, "the sun did woo me forth--and the wind, see you--the wind--"
+
+"Nay, I see it not, my lord, but I did hear something of thy fearsome,
+great oaths as I came hither."
+
+"Oaths, lady?" said Sir Benedict, fingering his chin, "Forsooth and did
+I so? Mayhap 'twas by reason that the fish, see you, the pestilent
+fish--Ha! Saint Benedict! I have a bite!" Up sprang Sir Benedict,
+quite forgetting his wounded arm, capering lightly to and fro, now in
+the water, now out, with prodigious stir and splash and swearing oaths
+galore, until, his pallid cheek flushed and bright eyes a-dance, he had
+won the fish into the shallows and thence landed it right skilfully,
+where it thrashed and leapt, flashing in the sun.
+
+"Ha, Yolande!" he cried, "in the golden days thou wert ever fond of a
+goodly trout fresh caught and broiled upon a fire of--"
+
+"Benedict!" cried the Abbess, and, all forgetful of his hurt, caught
+him by his wounded arm, "O Sir Benedict!" Now, man of iron though he
+seemed, Sir Benedict must needs start and flinch beneath her hold and
+grow livid by reason of the sharp pain of it; whereat she loosed him of
+a sudden and fell away, white hands tight clasped together.
+
+"Ah Benedict!--I have hurt thee--again!" she panted.
+
+"Not so, 'twas when I landed the fish--my lady Abbess!" Now at this she
+turned away and standing thus awhile very silent, presently raised her
+hand, whereat came two of her gentle nuns.
+
+"Dear my daughters," said she, "take now Sir Benedict unto the camp and
+look to his hurt, anoint it as ye have seen me do. Go!"
+
+Nothing speaking, Sir Benedict bowed him humbly to the stately Abbess
+and went away between the two white-robed sisters and so was gone.
+
+Slowly the Abbess turned to Beltane who had risen and was regarding her
+with a new and strange intensity, and meeting that look, her own glance
+wavered, sank, and she stood awhile gazing down into the murmurous
+waters; and as she stood thus, aware of his deep-searching eyes, into
+her pale cheek crept a flush that deepened and ever deepened.
+
+"My lord," said she, very low and placid-seeming, "why dost thou look
+on me so?"
+
+And for all her stately calm, her hand, which had clenched itself upon
+the silver crucifix, was woefully a-tremble. "What--is it--my lord
+Beltane?"
+
+"A thought, noble lady."
+
+"What is thy thought?"
+
+"Lady, 'tis this--that, an I might find a mother such as thee, then
+would I pay her homage on my knees, and love her and honour her for
+what I do know her, praying God to make me worthy--!" So saying, he
+came a step towards her, faltered, stopped, and reached out appealing
+hands to her.
+
+From red to white and from white to red again the colour flushed in
+cheek and brow while the Abbess hearkened to his words; then she
+looked on him with proud head uplifted and in her eyes a great and
+wondrous light, quick and passionate her slim hands came out to meet
+his--
+
+A sudden clamour in the air! A clash of arms! A running of swift feet
+and Walkyn sprang betwixt them, his face grimed with dust and sweat,
+his armour gone, his great axe all bloody in his hand: "Master!" he
+cried, "in Winisfarne lieth Pertolepe with over a thousand of his
+company, I judge--and in the woods 'twixt here and Winisfarne is Hollo
+of Revelsthorne marching on us through the woods with full five
+thousand of Ivo's picked levies, new come from Barham Broom!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX
+
+TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
+
+
+Within the camp was prodigious stir, a fanfare of trumpets and hoarse
+commands, where archers and pikemen, knights and men-at-arms were
+mustering; but nowhere was hurry or confusion, wherefore Beltane's
+heart rejoiced and he smiled glad-eyed as he came where, before Sir
+Benedict and the assembled council, stood Roger and Ulf with fifteen of
+their twenty men.
+
+"Walkyn," said Sir Benedict, what time his esquire strapped and buckled
+him into his bright armour, "where-abouts do they hold their march?"
+
+"Scarce twenty miles from here due west, lord."
+
+"Ha, and they come through the forest, ye say?" questioned Sir Brian,
+"so shall they move more slowly, methinks."
+
+"Why see you, messire," said Walkyn, "they march by way of Felindre
+that was once a fair town, and from Felindre is a road that leadeth
+through the wild unto this valley of Brand."
+
+"So have we, I judge, 'twixt six and seven hours," quoth Hacon of
+Trant.
+
+"Less, Hacon, less!" said Sir Benedict, beginning to stride up and down
+in his clanking armour, "Sir Rollo ever rideth with busy spur, and he
+will doubtless push on amain nor spare his men that he may take us
+unprepared. Put it at five hours, Hacon, mayhap less!"
+
+"'Tis so I pray!" said Beltane, glancing towards the glowing west, "and
+in two hours it will be dark, my lords! Walkyn, thy company doth lack
+for five, meseemeth?" "Aye, master--for five; two fell in Winisfarne
+where I lay in bonds; other three were slain in the pursuit."
+
+"Saw Sir Rollo aught of thee?"
+
+"Nay, lord, we lay well hid."
+
+"'Tis very well. Are they many?"
+
+"Of horsemen I counted full three thousand, master."
+
+"And I, lord," quoth Ulf, "did reckon over two thousand foot."
+
+"'Tis a fairish company!" said Sir Brian.
+
+"And I do lack my sword-arm!" sighed Sir Benedict, "but my left hath
+served me well ere now."
+
+"And Sir Pertolepe lieth yet in Winisfarne!" said Beltane thoughtfully.
+
+"Aye," nodded Sir Benedict, "and shall march south to cut off our
+retreat if haply any of us escape Sir Rollo's onfall."
+
+"So should we strike camp and march forthright," said Sir Brian.
+
+"March--aye, but whither?" questioned Sir Hacon. "We are threatened on
+two fronts and for the rest, we have the trackless wilderness! Whither
+would'st march, Brian?"
+
+"South to Belsaye," answered Sir Benedict. "South through the wild
+until we strike the western road by Thornaby. I with certain others
+will form a rear-guard and hold Sir Rollo in play what time our main
+body presses on at speed."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Sir Hacon, "and what of Red Pertolepe? Truly our case is
+desperate methinks, old comrade!"
+
+"Why, 'tis not the first time we have out-faced desperate odds, Hacon!"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict--thy cool head and cunning strategy have saved
+us from dungeon and death a score of times, but then were we a chosen
+company, swift at onfall or retreat, well mounted and equipped--
+to-night we go hampered with our wounded and these lady nuns. So is our
+case desperate, Benedict, and needeth desperate remedy--"
+
+"And that, methinks, I've found, messire!" quoth Beltane, and rising
+up he looked upon them all, his eye bright with sudden purpose. "Hark
+ye, my lords! Great and valiant knights do I know ye, one and all--wise
+in experience of battle and much versed in warlike stratagem beyond my
+understanding; but this is the wild-wood where only wood-craft shall
+advantage us. Within these wilds your tactics shall avail nothing nor
+all your trampling chivalry--here must be foresters that may go silent
+and unseen amid the leaves, 'neath whose trained feet no twig shall
+snap, who smite unseen from brush and thicket and being wise in
+wood-craft thus make the forest their ally. And, lords, I am a forester;
+all my days the greenwood hath been my home, and in my loneliness I made
+the trees my friends. So, I pray you, let me with three hundred chosen
+foresters keep our rear to-night, and this night the forest shall fight
+for us and Sir Rollo rue the hour he dared adventure him within the
+green. Messires, how say you?"
+
+"Why my lord, 'tis very well!" sighed Sir Benedict, glancing down at
+his wounded arm, "I, for one, do agree right heartily."
+
+"And I!" nodded Sir Brian.
+
+"And I also!" quoth Sir Hacon, "though 'tis a far cry to Belsaye and I
+love not to be pent within walls, and with Red Pertolepe threatening
+our flank 'tis a very parlous case, methinks."
+
+"And thou art ever at thy best where danger is, Hacon," said Sir
+Benedict, "so will I give thee charge of our van-ward!" Now hereupon
+Sir Hacon's gloom vanished and rising up, he smiled and forthwith did
+on his great war-helm.
+
+"Then it is agreed!" said Beltane and beckoned to Roger and Walkyn;
+quoth he:
+
+"Good friends, go now and choose three hundred trusty fellows, skilled
+foresters all; look that each doth bear flint and steel for by yon
+clouds I judge 'twill be a dark night. Let every fire within the camp
+be quenched and the ground well cooled with water, that by the feel of
+it none may know how long we have removed--see you to this, Ulf."
+
+Now when the mighty three were gone about the business, their fifteen
+lusty fellows at their heels, Beltane turned and pointed westward, and
+lo! the sun was set.
+
+"Messires," said he, "you were wise, methinks, to mount and away ere
+the night fall. To-night, since the moon is hid, 'twill be very dark
+amid the trees, therefore let Orson guide you--he is forest-bred and
+well knoweth the way to Thornaby. Heaven prosper you, for in your
+valiant keeping is the safety of--of our noble lady Abbess--and her
+ladies. So mount, my lords, press on with what speed ye may, and God
+aid us this night each and every--fare ye well!"
+
+Presently the trumpets sounded and forthwith armour was buckled on,
+horses saddled, while everywhere was stir and bustle of departure, what
+time, within his osier hut, my Beltane was busily doing on his armour,
+and, being in haste, making slow business of it; thrice he essayed to
+buckle a certain strap and thrice it escaped him, when lo! came a slim
+white hand to do it for him, and turning, he beheld the lady Abbess.
+And in her eyes was yet that soft and radiant look, but nought said she
+until Beltane stood armed from head to heel, until she had girt the
+great sword about him; then she set her hands upon his shoulders:
+
+"Beltane," said she soft-voiced, "thou didst yearn for thy mother, so
+is she come to thee at last, dear son!" So saying, she drew him down
+into her embrace. "O Beltane, son of mine, long, long have I waited--
+aye, bitter, weary years, and oft-times in my sorrow I have dreamed of
+this hour--the arms about thee are thy mother's arms!"
+
+Now fell Beltane upon his knees and caught those white and gentle hands
+and kissed them; quoth he:
+
+"Mother--O dear my mother, ne'er did I know how deep had been my need
+of thee until now. And yet, all unknowing, I have yearned for thee; in
+my youth I did love all sweet and gentle things in thy stead--the
+trees, the tender flowers, the murmurous brooks--these did I love in
+place of thee for that mine heart did yearn and hunger for a mother's
+tender love--" Here needs must she stoop, all soft whispers and tender
+mother-cries, to kiss him oft, to lay her cheek upon his golden head
+and murmur over him.
+
+"And thou wilt love thy mother, Beltane--thou wilt love thy unknown
+mother--now and always, for that she is thy mother?"
+
+"I will love her and honour her now and always, for that my mother is a
+sweet and noble woman!"
+
+"And thou didst need me, Beltane, in thy lonely childhood thou didst
+need me, and I--O God pity me--I was far from thee! But, dear my son,
+because I could not cherish thee within these arms I strove to love and
+cherish all motherless children for thy dear sake and to grieve for all
+sorrowing mothers. So builded I the nunnery at Winisfarne and there
+sought to bring solace and comfort to desolate hearts because my heart
+was so desolate for thee, my babe, my Beltane. And I have prayed
+unceasing unto God, and He, in His infinite mercy, hath given thee to
+my arms again--"
+
+A trumpet brayed harsh and loud near by, whereat those tender mother-arms
+drew him closer yet within their sheltering embrace.
+
+"Sweet son," she sighed, "methinks death is very near each one of us
+to-night--but I have held thee to my heart, have felt thy kisses and
+heard thy loving words--now if death come how shall it avail 'gainst
+such love as ours? Sir Benedict telleth me thou hast chosen the post of
+danger--'tis so I would have it, dear my son, and thy proud mother's
+prayers go with thee--God keep thee--O God keep thee, my Beltane--ah,
+there sounds again the clarion bidding me from thee! Kiss now thy
+mother farewell, for alas! I must be gone!"
+
+So presently Beltane brought the Abbess where stood Sir Benedict with
+an easy-paced jennet for her use and his company formed up in column
+beyond the camp. Then Beltane lifted the lady Abbess to the saddle and
+with her hand yet clasped in his, reached the other to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord of Bourne," said he, "dear my friend, to thy care I give this
+lady Abbess, Duchess of Pentavalon--my well-beloved and noble mother.
+O Benedict, no prouder son than I in all the world, methinks--nor one
+so humble! God send we meet again anon, but now--fare ye well!" Saying
+the which, Beltane caught his mother's hand to his lips, and turning
+him suddenly about, hasted to Roger and Walkyn and the chosen three
+hundred. And in a while, the nuns and wounded in their midst, Sir
+Benedict's steel-clad column moved forward up the slope. First rode Sir
+Hacon and his knights in the van and last Sir Benedict with his grim
+men-at-arms to form a rear-ward, while archers and pikemen marched upon
+their flanks. With ring of steel, with jingle of stirrup and
+bridle-chain they swung away up the slope and plunging into the gloom of
+the forest were gone; only Sir Benedict paused to turn in his saddle and
+lift unwounded arm in salutation ere he too vanished into the shadows
+of the wild-wood. Awhile stood Beltane before the three hundred, his
+head bowed as one in meditation until the sound of voices, the ring
+and clash of their companions' going was died away; then looked he at
+the cloudy sky already deepening to evening, and round about upon the
+encircling woods.
+
+"The wind is from the south, methinks!" said he.
+
+"Aye, master," nodded Walkyn.
+
+"South-westerly!" quoth Roger.
+
+Now came Beltane and looked upon his company, tall, lusty fellows they,
+whose bold, sun-tanned faces proclaimed them free men of the
+forest-lands; and beholding their hardy look Beltane's eye brightened.
+
+"Comrades," quoth he, "we be foresters all, and the wild-wood our home
+and playground. But yonder from the west do march full five thousand of
+Duke Ivo's knights and soldiery-men, they, of courts, of town and city,
+so now will we teach them 'tis an ill thing to adventure them 'gainst
+trained foresters within the green. List now--and mark me well, for, an
+our plan do fail, there shall few of us live to see to-morrow's sun."
+
+Then Beltane spake them plain and to the point, insomuch that when all
+was said, these hardy foresters stood mute awhile, desperate fellows
+though they were; then laughed they fierce and loud, and flourished
+sword and bow-stave and so fell to clamourous talk.
+
+Now did Beltane divide the three hundred into five companies of sixty;
+over the first company he set Walkyn, over the second, Roger, over the
+third, Ulf, over the fourth Jenkyn o' the Ford. Then spake he on this
+wise:
+
+"Walkyn, take now these sixty good fellows and march you north-westerly
+yonder across the valley; let your men lie well hid a bow-shot within
+the forest, but do you stay upon the verge of the forest and watch for
+the coming of our foes. And when they be come, 'tis sure they will
+plant outposts and sentinels within the green, so be ye wary to smite
+outpost and sentinel suddenly and that none may hear within the camp
+nor take alarm; when 'tis done, cry you thrice like unto a curlew that
+we may know. Are all things understood?"
+
+"Aye, lord!" they cried, one and all.
+
+"Why then, be ye cautious each and every, for, an our foes do take
+alarm, so shall it be our death. March, Walkyn--away!"
+
+Forthwith Walkyn lifted his axe and strode off up the slope until he
+and his sixty men had vanished quite into the glooming woods to the
+north-west.
+
+"Jenkyn, didst hear my commands to Walkyn, so shalt thou do also--your
+post doth lie to the east, yonder."
+
+"Aye, master, and look'ee now--my signal shall be three owl-hoots,
+master, look'ee!"
+
+So saying, Jenkyn turned, his sixty at his heels, and swung away until
+they were lost to sight in the woods to the east.
+
+"Ulf the Strong, thy post doth lie south-westerly, and Roger's
+south-easterly; thus I, lying south, shall have ye on my left and right:
+go get ye to your places, watch ye, and wait in patience for the
+signals, and when time for action cometh, be swift and sure."
+
+Away marched Roger and Ulf with their companies, and presently were
+gone, and there remained within the little valley only Beltane and his
+sixty men. Awhile he stood to look to the north and east and west but
+nought saw he save the dense gloom of forest growing dark and ever
+darker with evening. Then of a sudden turned he, and summoning his
+company, strode away into the forest to the south.
+
+Thus, as night fell, the valley of Brand lay deserted quite, and no
+sound brake the pervading quiet save the wind that moaned feebly
+through those dark and solitary woods wherein Death lay hid, so very
+silent--so very patient, but Death in grim and awful shape.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI
+
+HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
+
+
+A hum upon the night-wind, lost, ever and anon, in wailing gust, yet a
+hum that never ceased; a sound that grew and grew, loud and ever more
+loud until it seemed to fill the very night, a dreadful sound, ominous
+and threatening, a sound to shake the boldest heart--the ring and
+tramp of an armed, oncoming multitude.
+
+Now, lying amid the leaves and fern with Cnut and the small man Prat
+beside him. Beltane presently espied certain figures moving in the
+valley below, stealthy figures that were men of Sir Rollo's van-ward.
+Soft-creeping they approached the deserted camp, soft-creeping they
+entered it; and suddenly their trumpets brayed loud and long, and,
+dying away, gave place to the ring and trampling thunder of the
+advancing host.
+
+On they came, knights and men-at-arms, rank upon rank, company by
+company, until the valley seemed full of the dull gleam of their armour
+and the air rang loud with clash and jingle and the trample of
+countless hooves. Yet still they came, horsemen and foot-men, and ever
+the sound of them waxed upon the air, a harsh, confused din--and ever,
+from the glooming woods above, Death stared down on them.
+
+And now the trumpets blew amain, lights flickered and flared, as one by
+one, fires were lighted whose red glow flashed back from many a helm
+and shield and breast-plate, from broad gisarm and twinkling
+lance-point, what time, above the confused hum, above stamping hooves
+and clashing armour, voices shouted hoarse commands.
+
+So, little by little, from chaos order was wrought, pack-horse and
+charger were led away to be watered and picketed and gleaming figures
+sank wearily about the many camp-fires where food was already
+preparing. In a while, from the stir of the camp, bright with its many
+watch-fires, divers small groups of men were detached, and, pike and
+gisarm on shoulder, began to mount toward the forest at varying
+points.
+
+Hereupon, Beltane reached out in the dark and touched the small man
+Prat the Archer. Quoth he:
+
+"Hither come their outposts, go now and bring up my company,--and bid
+them come silently!"
+
+Forthwith Prat sank down among the fern and was gone, while Beltane
+watched, keen-eyed, where four men of Sir Hollo's outposts climbed the
+slope hard by. And one was singing, and one was cursing, and two were
+quarrelling, and all four, Beltane judged, were men aweary with long
+marching. Thus, singing, cursing, quarrelling, came they to keep their
+ward within these dark and silent woods, crashing through the
+underbrush careless of their going and all unheeding the sombre,
+stealthy forms that rose up so silently behind them and before from
+brush and brake and thicket, creeping figures that moved only when the
+night-wind moaned in the shivering leaves.
+
+Beltane's dagger was out and he rose up from the fern, crouched and
+strung for action--but from the gloom near by rose a sudden, strange
+flurry amid the leaves, a whimpering sound evil to hear and swiftly
+ended, a groan, a cry choked to strangling gasp and thereafter--
+silence, save for the fitful wailing of the wind--a long, breathless
+pause; then, high and clear rose the cry of an owl thrice repeated, and
+presently small Prat was beside him in the fern again.
+
+"Lord," said he softly, albeit panting a little, "these men were fools!
+We do but wait our comrades' signals now." And he fell to cleansing his
+dagger-blade carefully with a handful of bracken.
+
+"Ha--list ye!" whispered Cnut, "there sounds Ulf's warning, methinks!"
+
+And from the gloom on their left a frog croaked hoarsely.
+
+A hundred watch-fires blazed in the valley below and around each fire
+armour glittered; little by little the great camp grew to silence and
+rest until nought was heard but the stamp and snorting of the many
+horses and the cries of the sentinels below. But ever dagger in hand
+Beltane strained eyes and ears northward across the valley, while big
+Cnut bit his nails and wriggled beside him in the bracken, and small
+Prat softly snapped his fingers; so waited they with ears on the
+stretch and eyes that glared ever to the north.
+
+At last, faint and far across the valley, rose the doleful cry of a
+curlew thrice repeated, the which was answered from the east by the
+hooting of an owl, which again was caught up like an echo, and repeated
+thrice upon their right.
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his dagger.
+
+"Look," said he, "Cnut--Prat, look north and tell me what ye see!"
+
+"Fire, my lord!" quoth Prat. "Ha! it burneth well--see, see how it
+spreads!"
+
+"And there again--in the east," said Cnut, "Oho! Jenkyn is busy--look,
+master!"
+
+"Aye, and Roger too!" said Beltane, grim-lipped, "our ring of fire is
+well-nigh complete--it lacketh but for us and Ulf--to work, then!"
+
+Came the sound of flint meeting steel--a sound that spread along the
+ranks that lay unseen beyond Prat and Cnut. And behold--a spark! a
+glow! a little flame that died down, leapt up, caught upon dry grass
+and bracken, seized upon crackling twigs, flared up high and ever
+fiercer--a devouring flame, hungry and yellow-tongued that licked along
+the earth--a vengeful flame, pitiless and unrelenting--a host of fiery
+demons that leapt and danced with crackling laughter changing little by
+little to an angry roar that was the voice of awful doom.
+
+Now of a sudden above the hiss of flame, from the valley of Brand a cry
+went up--a shout--a roar of fear and amaze and thereafter rose a wild
+clamour; a babel inarticulate, split, ever and anon, by frantic
+trumpet-blast. But ever the dreadful hubbub waxed and grew, shrieks and
+cries and the screaming of maddened horses with the awful, rolling
+thunder of their fierce-galloping hooves!
+
+Within that valley of doom Death was abroad already, Death in many dire
+shapes. Proud knights, doughty archers and men-at-arms who had fronted
+death unmoved on many a stricken field, wept aloud and crouched upon
+their knees and screamed--but not so loud as those wild and maddened
+horses, that, bursting all bonds asunder, reared and leapt with lashing
+hooves, and, choked with rolling smoke-clouds, blinded by flame,
+plunged headlong through and over the doomed camp, wave upon wave of
+wild-flung heads and tossing manes. On they came, with nought to let or
+stay them, their wild hooves trampling down hut of osier and silken
+tent, spurning the trembling earth and filling the air with flying
+clods; and wheresoever they galloped there was flame to meet them, so
+swerved they, screaming their terror and fled round and round within
+the valley. So raced they blindly to and fro and back and forth,
+trampling down, maiming and mangling 'neath reddened, cruel hooves all
+and every that chanced to lie athwart their wild career: on and ever on
+they galloped until sobbing, panting, they fell, to be crushed 'neath
+the thundering hooves behind.
+
+Within the little valley of Brand Death was rife in many and awful
+shapes that no eye might see, for the many watch-fires were scattered
+and trampled out; but up from that pit of doom rose shrieks and cries
+and many hateful sounds--sounds to pierce the brain and ring there
+everlastingly.
+
+Thus Beltane, marching swift to the south at the head of his three
+hundred foresters, heard nought of their joyful acclaim, heeded not
+their triumph, saw nought of watchful Roger's troubled glances, but
+went with head bowed low, with pallid cheek and eyes wide-staring, for
+he saw yet again the fierce leap of those merciless flames and in his
+ears rang the screams and cries of Sir Rollo's proud chivalry.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII
+
+HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
+
+
+The sun was high as they came to the western road that led to the ford
+at Thornaby, but upon the edge of the forest Beltane stopped of a
+sudden to stare up at an adjacent tree.
+
+"What is't, master?" questioned Roger, halting beside him.
+
+"An arrow--and new-shot by the look of it!" said Beltane, gloomily.
+
+"Aye master, and it hath travelled far--see, it hath scarce pierced the
+bark!"
+
+"'Twas shot from the brush yonder, methinks," said Beltane, pointing to
+the dense underwood that skirted the opposite side of the dusty
+highway. "Reach me it down, Roger!" so saying Beltane stooped and hove
+Roger aloft until he could grasp and draw the arrow from the tree.
+
+"Here is no woodsman's shaft, master!" quoth Roger, turning the missile
+over in his hand ere he gave it to Beltane, "no forester doth wing his
+shafts so."
+
+"True!" nodded Beltane, frowning at the arrow. "Walkyn, Ulf! here hath
+been an ambushment, methinks--'tis a likely place for such. Let our
+company scatter and search amid the fern hereabouts--"
+
+But even as he spake came a cry, a clamour of voices, and Prat the
+archer came frowning and snapping his restless fingers.
+
+"My lord," said he, "yonder doth lie my good comrade Martin and three
+other fellows of my archer-company that marched with Sir Benedict, and
+all dead, lord, slain by arrows all four."
+
+"Show me!" said Beltane.
+
+And when he had viewed and touched those stark and pallid forms that
+lay scattered here and there amid the bracken, his anxious frown
+deepened. "These have been dead men full six hours!" quoth he.
+
+"Aye, lord," says Prat, "and 'tis unmeet such good fellows should lie
+here for beasts to tear; shall we bury them?"
+
+"Not so!" answered Beltane, turning away. "Take their shafts and fall
+to your ranks--we must march forthright!"
+
+Thus soon the three hundred were striding fast behind Beltane, keeping
+ever to the forest yet well within bow-shot of the road, and, though
+they travelled at speed they went very silently, as only foresters
+might.
+
+In a while Beltane brought them to those high wooded banks betwixt
+which the road ran winding down to Thornaby Ford--that self-same hilly
+road where, upon a time, the Red Pertolepe had surprised the lawless
+company of Gilles of Brandonmere; and, now as then, the dark defile was
+littered with the wrack of fight, fallen charges that kicked and
+snorted in their pain or lay mute and still, men in battered harness
+that stared up from the dust, all unseeing, upon the new day. They lay
+thick within the sunken road but thicker beside the ford, and they
+dotted the white road beyond, grim signs of Sir Benedict's stubborn
+retreat. Hereupon Beltane halted his hard-breathing foresters and
+bidding them rest awhile and break their fast, hasted down into the
+roadway with Walkyn and Cnut and Black Roger.
+
+"Aha!" cried Walkyn, pointing to divers of the slain that hampered
+their going, "these be Pertolepe's rogues--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, throwing back his mail-coif, "and yonder lie four,
+five--six of Sir Benedict's good fellows! It hath been a dour fight
+hereabouts--they have fought every yard of the way!"
+
+"Forsooth," nodded Cnut, "Sir Benedict is ever most fierce when he
+retreats, look you." A while stood Beltane in that dark defile, the
+which, untouched as jet by the sun's level beams, struck dank and
+chill, a place of gloom and awful silence--so stood he, glancing from
+one still form to another, twice he knelt to look more closely on the
+dead and each time he rose thereafter, his brow was blacker and he
+shivered, despite his mantle.
+
+"'Tis strange," said he, "and passing strange that they should all lie
+dead--not a living man among them! How think you Roger?"
+
+"I think, lord, others have been here afore us. See you this knight
+now, his gorget loosed off--"
+
+"O messire!" said a faint voice hard by, "if ye have any pity save me
+from the crone--for the love of Christ let not the hag slay me as she
+hath so many--save me!"
+
+Starting round, Beltane espied a pale face that glared up at him from a
+thick furze-bush beside the way, a youthful face albeit haggard and
+drawn.
+
+"Fear not!" said Beltane, kneeling beside the wounded youth, "thy life
+is safe from us. But what mean you by talk of hag and crone?"
+
+"Ah, messire, to-day, ere the dawn, we fell upon Sir Benedict of
+Bourne--a seditious lord who hath long withstood Duke Ivo. But though
+his men were few they fought hard and gained the ford ahead of us. And
+in the fight I, with many others as ye see, was smitten down and the
+fight rolled on and left us here in the dust. As I lay, striving to
+tend my hurt and hearkening to the sighs and groans of the stricken, I
+heard a scream, and looking about, beheld an ancient woman--busied with
+her knife--slaying--slaying and robbing the dead--ah, behold her--with
+the black-haired archer--yonder!"
+
+And verily Roger stepped forth of the underwood that clothed the steep,
+dragging a thing of rags and tatters, a wretched creature, bent and
+wrinkled, that mopped and mowed with toothless chaps and clutched a
+misshapen bundle in yellow, talon-like fingers, and these yellow
+fingers were splotched horribly with dark stains even as were the rags
+that covered her. She whined and whimpered querulously, mouthing
+inarticulate plaints and prayers as Roger haled her along, with Cnut
+and Walkyn, fierce and scowling, behind. Having brought her to Beltane,
+Roger loosed her, and wrenching away her bundle, opened it, and lo! a
+yellow-gleaming hoard of golden neck-chains, of rings and armlets, of
+golden spurs and belt-buckles, the which he incontinent scattered at
+Beltane's feet; whereon the gibbering creature screamed in high-pitched,
+cracked and ancient voice, and, screeching, threw herself upon
+the gold and fell to scrabbling among the dust with her gnarled and
+bony fingers; and ever as she raked and raked, she screeched harsh and
+high--a hateful noise that ended, of a sudden, in a wheezing sob, and
+sinking down, she lay outstretched and silent, her wrinkled face in the
+dust and a cloth-yard shaft transfixing her yellow throat.
+
+So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were
+yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an
+archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting
+loud and hoarse.
+
+"Ha!" cried Cnut, "'tis lusty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?"
+
+"I'm sped, Cnut!" groaned Siward, "but yon hag lieth dead, so am I--
+content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind--
+for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him
+she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the
+brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach
+my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!" And Siward, feebly pointing to the
+ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.
+
+Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him
+tender and compassionate.
+
+"Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?"
+
+"O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!"
+
+Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very
+carefully, bore him down toward the ford.
+
+"Messire," quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, "art very
+strong and wondrous gentle withal!" Presently Beltane brought him
+beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound
+above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a
+strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as
+he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while
+this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.
+
+"Ho!" cried he, "'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this
+was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth
+fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir
+Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he
+fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog
+blazoned on the shield of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous
+news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped
+Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir
+Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him,
+'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful
+thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother
+that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may
+remember it in her prayers?"
+
+"I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed
+that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee
+well!" So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time
+the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye
+and mouth.
+
+Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very
+soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into
+the green.
+
+Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain
+southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain;
+what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through
+the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon
+the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and
+the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen
+arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.
+
+"Ha, Benedict!" quoth Sir Brian, "they do know thee, methinks, 'spite
+thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many
+minutes!"
+
+"So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!" Sir Benedict
+groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his
+chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front
+the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times
+Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote
+left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully
+nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back
+their assailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to
+three fresh knights.
+
+"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves
+thee well, Benedict!"
+
+"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, God be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict,
+eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle
+knight's gorget--"
+
+"Yet shore clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the
+esquire.
+
+"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and
+sighed again.
+
+"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when
+steel is ringing, man."
+
+"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha,
+Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I
+say!"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a
+moment and--"
+
+The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted
+hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the
+dust.
+
+"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.
+
+"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen
+archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the
+riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank,
+and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the
+nuns they make for!"
+
+Nothing saying, Sir Benedict spurred forward beside his hard-pressed
+company; in the midst of the column was dire tumult and shouting,
+where, from the dense woods upon their left a body of knights sheathed
+in steel from head to foot were cutting their way toward the lady
+Abbess, who, conspicuous in her white habit, was soothing her
+frightened palfrey. All about her a shouting, reeling press of Sir
+Benedict's light-armed footmen were giving back and back before the
+swing of ponderous axe and mace and sword, were smitten down and
+trampled 'neath those resistless, steel-clad ranks.
+
+"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this
+close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice
+and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of
+sword until he had won beside the Abbess.
+
+"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close--close,
+Yolande--stoop--ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee--the debate
+waxeth a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath
+the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and
+thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back
+before the sweep of that long sword.
+
+"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good
+Hacon spurs in to our relief--ha, mighty lance!"
+
+"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what
+avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so--dear
+Benedict--let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair
+lives be saved--ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See--O see how fast
+they fall and die about us! I must go--I will go! My lord, let me pass--
+loose my bridle--"
+
+A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar
+of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang,
+two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous
+broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced--
+the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a
+mighty shout rent the air:
+
+"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his
+swaying ranks, the bloody gap in his column closed up and Sir
+Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but
+scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red
+confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels,
+and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.
+
+"Mother!" he cried.
+
+"Dear, dear son of mine--and thou art safe? Thanks be to God who hath
+heard the passion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned,
+and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near
+by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.
+
+"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look--Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue--a
+rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into
+the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring
+behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted
+company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down
+beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other.
+So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged
+swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust
+where horsemen and footmen strove together in desperate grapple, where
+knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of
+Beltane's lusty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.
+
+Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward
+with mighty axe whirled aloft.
+
+"Ha--Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, Bloody Pertolepe--turn, thou
+dog! 'Tis I--'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into
+the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until
+he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger,
+wielded a bloody mace, and who, hearing that hoarse cry, turned and met
+the shearing axe with blazoned shield--and behold! the gorgeous shield
+was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was
+beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn,
+bounding up, shouldered him aside--his axe whirled and fell once, and
+Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold--whirled and
+fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head
+and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow
+beneath his fiery hair--whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights
+and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their
+reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming
+with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.
+
+But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes
+behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the
+forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in
+their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that
+devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced
+and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted
+gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and
+vizored war-helm and astride a noble horse, and there, too, was Roger,
+grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper;
+quoth he:
+
+"Ha--'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape
+me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in hell--"
+
+"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.
+
+"Aye--and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought--"
+
+"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is
+ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl
+deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lad," said Sir Benedict as they rode together, "hast
+told me nought of thy doings last night--what of Sir Rollo?"
+
+"Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye assured Sir Rollo shall
+not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir
+Brian?"
+
+"Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy noble
+lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou,
+'twill be healed--Ha, they charge us again--stand firm, pikes!" So
+shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once
+again the road echoed to the din of battle.
+
+Thus all day long they fought their way south along the forest-road,
+as, time and again, Sir Pertolepe's heavy chivalry thundered down upon
+them, to check and break before that hedge of deadly pikes. So marched
+this valiant rear-guard, parched with thirst, choked with dust, grim
+with blood and wounds, until, as the sun sank westwards, the woods
+thinned away and they beheld at last, glad-eyed and joyful, the walls
+and towers of fair Belsaye town. Now just beyond the edge of the
+woods, Sir Benedict halted his shrunken column, his dusty pikemen drawn
+up across the narrow road with archers behind supported by his cavalry
+to hold Sir Pertolepe's powers in check amid the woods what time the
+nuns with the spent and wounded hasted on towards the city.
+
+Hereupon Beltane raised his vizor and setting horn to lip, sounded the
+rally. And lo! from the city a glad and mighty shout went up, the while
+above the square and frowning keep a great standard arose and flapping
+out upon the soft air, discovered a red lion on a white field.
+
+"Aha, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, "yon is a rare-sweet sight--behold
+thy father's Lion banner that hath not felt the breeze this many a
+year--"
+
+"Aye, lords," growled Walkyn, "and yonder cometh yet another lion--a
+black lion on red!" and he pointed where, far to their left, a red
+standard flaunted above the distant glitter of a wide-flung battle
+line.
+
+"Hast good eyes, Walkyn!" said Sir Benedict, peering 'neath his hand
+toward the advancing host, "aye, verily--'tis Ivo himself. Sir
+Pertolepe must have warned him of our coming."
+
+"So are we like to be crushed 'twixt hammer and anvil," quoth Sir
+Hacon, tightening the lacing of his battered casque.
+
+"So will I give thee charge of our knights and men-at-arms--what is
+left of them, alas!--to meet Black Ivo's banner, my doleful Hacon!"
+spake Sir Benedict.
+
+"Nay, Benedict," said Sir Hacon, grim-smiling, "my dole is but
+caution!" So saying, he closed his vizor and rode away to muster his
+chivalry to meet their new assailants the while Sir Benedict fell to
+re-forming his scanty ranks of pikemen and archers. Meantime Beltane,
+sitting his weary charger, glanced from Sir Pertolepe's deep array of
+knights and men-at-arms that thronged and jostled each other in the
+narrow forest-road to the distant flash and glitter of Duke Ivo's
+mighty van-ward, and from these again to the walls of Belsaye. And as
+he looked thither he saw the great drawbridge fall, the portcullis
+raised, and the gates flung wide to admit the fugitives; even at that
+distance he thought to recognise the Abbess, who paused to turn and
+gaze towards him, as, last of all, she rode to safety into the city.
+Then my Beltane sighed, and, closing his vizor, turned to find Ulf
+beside him with Roger and Walkyn, who stood to watch the while Sir
+Benedict rode to and fro, ordering his company for their perilous
+retreat across the plain. Swift and silent his war-worn veterans fell
+to their appointed ranks; his trumpets blew and they began to fall back
+on Belsaye town. Grimly silent they marched, and ever Beltane gazed
+where, near and ever more near, flashed and flickered Duke Ivo's
+hard-riding van-ward.
+
+And now from the forest-road Sir Pertolepe's company marched, and
+forming in the open, spurred down upon them.
+
+"Stand firm, pikes!" roared Cnut.
+
+"Aim low, archers!" squealed small Prat, and forthwith the battle
+joined.
+
+The weary rear-guard rocked and swayed beneath the onset, but Prat and
+his archers shot amain, arrows whistled while pike and gisarm thrust
+and smote, as, encompassed now on three sides, they fell back and back
+towards the yawning gates of Belsaye; and ever as he fought, Beltane
+by times turned to watch where Duke Ivo's threatening van-ward
+galloped--a long line of gleaming shields and levelled lances gay with
+the glitter of pennon and banderol.
+
+Back and back the rear-guard staggered, hewing and smiting; twice
+Beltane reeled 'neath unseen blows and with eyes a-swim beheld Roger
+and Ulf, who fought at either stirrup: heard of a sudden shrieks and
+cries and the thunder of galloping hooves; was aware of the flash of
+bright armour to his left, rank upon rank, where charged Duke Ivo's
+van-ward before whose furious onset Sir Benedict's weary pikemen were
+hurled back--their centre swayed, broke, and immediately all was dire
+uproar and confusion.
+
+"Ah, Beltane--these be fresh men on fresh horses," cried Sir Benedict,
+"but hey--body o' me--all's not lost yet--malediction, no! And 'tis
+scarce half a mile to the gates. Ha--yonder rides lusty Hacon to stay
+their rush--in upon them. Beltane--Ho, Pentavalon!"
+
+Shouting thus, Sir Benedict plunged headlong into the raging fury of
+the battle; but, as Beltane spurred in after him, his weary charger,
+smitten by an arrow, reared up, screaming, yet ere he fell, Beltane,
+kicking free of the stirrups, rolled clear; a mighty hand plucked him
+to his feet and Ulf, roaring in his ear, pointed with his dripping axe.
+And, looking whither he pointed, Beltane beheld Sir Benedict borne down
+beneath a press of knights, but as he lay, pinned beneath his squealing
+charger, Beltane leapt and bestrode him, sword in hand.
+
+"Roger!" he shouted, "Ulf--Walkyn--to me!"
+
+All about him was a swaying trample of horses and men, an iron ring
+that hemmed him in, blows dinted his long shield, they rang upon his
+helmet, they battered his triple mail, they split his shield in sunder;
+and 'neath this hail of blows Beltane staggered, thrice he was smitten
+to his knees and thrice he arose, and ever his long blade whirled and
+darted.
+
+"Yield thee, sir knight--yield thee!" was the cry.
+
+"Ho, Roger!" he shouted hoarsely, "Ulf--Walkyn, to me!"
+
+An axe bit through his great helm, a sword bent against his stout mail,
+a knight spurred in upon him, blade levelled to thrust again, but
+Beltane's deadly point darted upward and the snorting charger plunged
+away--riderless.
+
+But now, as he fought on with failing arm, came a joyous roar on his
+right where Ulf smote direly with bloody axe, upon his left hand a
+broad-sword flickered where Roger fought silent and grim, beyond him
+again, Walkyn's long arms rose and fell as he whirled his axe, and hard
+by Tall Orson plied goring pike. So fought these mighty four until the
+press thinned out and they had cleared them a space amid the battle,
+the while Beltane leaned him, spent and panting, upon his reeking
+sword.
+
+Now, as he stood thus, from a tangle of the fallen near by a bent and
+battered helm was lifted and Sir Benedict spake, faint and short of
+breath:
+
+"'Twas nobly done--sweet lad! 'Tis enough, methinks--there be few of
+us left, I fear me, so--get thee hence--with such as be alive--hence,
+Beltane, for--thy sweet mother's sake. Nay, heed not--old Benedict, I
+did my best and--'tis a fitting couch, this--farewell to thee, my
+Beltane--" So saying, Sir Benedict sank weakly to an elbow and from
+elbow upon his face, and lay there, very still and mute.
+
+"Master--master!" cried Roger, "we shall win to Belsaye yet, see--see,
+Giles hath out-flanked them with his pikes and archers, and--ha! yonder
+good Eric o' the Noose chargeth them home!"
+
+But Beltane leaned him upon his sword very spent and sick, and stared
+ever upon Sir Benedict's motionless form, his harness bent and hacked,
+his proud helm prone in the trampled ling. Slowly, and with fumbling
+hands, Beltane sheathed his sword, and stooping, raised Sir Benedict
+upon his shoulder and strove to bear him out of the fight, but twice he
+staggered in his going and would have fallen but for Roger's ready arm.
+
+"Master," quoth he, "master, let me aid thee with him!" But nothing
+saying, Beltane stumbled on until they came where stood Ulf holding a
+riderless horse, on the which he made shift to mount with Roger's aid;
+thereafter Ulf lifted Sir Benedict to his hold.
+
+"And, pray you," said Beltane, slow and blurred of speech, "pray you
+what of noble Sir Hacon?"
+
+"Alack, lord," growled Ulf, "yonder is he where they lie so thick, and
+slain, methinks,--yet will I bring him off--"
+
+"Aye, lord," cried Tall Orson, great tears furrowing the grime of his
+cheeks, "and little Prat do be killed--and lusty Cnut do be killed wi'
+him--and my good comrade Jenkyn do lie smitten to death--O there do be
+none of us left, methinks, lord!"
+
+So, faint and heart-sick, with Sir Benedict limp across his saddle bow,
+Beltane rode from that place of death; beside him went Roger, stumbling
+and weary, and behind them strode mighty Ulf with Sir Hacon upon his
+shoulder. In a while, as they went thus, Beltane, glancing back at the
+fight, beheld stout Eric with the men of Belsaye, well mounted and
+equipped, at fierce grapple with Duke Ivo's van-ward, what time Giles
+and his archers supported by lusty pikemen, plied Sir Pertolepe's weary
+forces with whizzing shafts, drawing and loosing marvellous fast.
+
+So came they at last unto the gates of Belsaye town that were already
+a-throng with many wounded and divers others of Sir Benedict's company
+that had won out of the affray; now upon the drawbridge Beltane paused
+and gave Sir Benedict and brave Hacon into kindly, eager hands, then,
+wheeling, with Ulf and Roger beside him, rode back toward the battle.
+And ever as they went came scattered groups of Sir Benedict's stout
+rear-guard, staggering with weariness and limping with wounds, the
+while, upon the plain beyond, Eric with his men-at-arms and Walkyn with
+the survivors of the foresters and Giles with his archers and pikemen,
+holding the foe in play, fell back upon the town, compact and orderly.
+Thus, they in turn began to cross the drawbridge, archers and pikemen,
+and last of all, the men-at-arms, until only Eric o' the Noose and a
+handful of his horsemen, with Beltane, Roger and Ulf remained beyond
+the drawbridge, whereon the enemy came on amain and 'neath their
+furious onset brave Eric was unhorsed; then Beltane drew sword and with
+Roger and Ulf running at either stirrup, spurred in to the rescue.
+
+A shock of hard-smitten steel--a whirl and flurry of blows--a shout of
+triumph, and, reeling in his saddle, dazed and sick, Beltane found
+himself alone, fronting a bristling line of feutred lances; he heard
+Roger shout to him wild and fearful, heard Walkyn roar at him--felt a
+sudden shock, and was down, unhelmed, and pinned beneath his stricken
+charger. Half a-swoon he lay thus, seeing dimly the line of on-rushing
+lance-points, while on his failing senses a fierce cry smote:
+
+"'Tis Beltane--the Outlaw! Slay him! Slay him!"
+
+But now of a sudden and as one that dreamed, he beheld a tender face
+above him with sad-sweet eyes and lips that bent to kiss his brow, felt
+soft arms about him--tender arms that drew his weary head upon a
+gentle bosom to hide and pillow it there; felt that enfolding embrace
+tighten and tighten in sudden shuddering spasm, as, sighing, the lady
+Abbess's white-clad arms fell away and her proud head sank beside his
+in the dust.
+
+And now was a rush and roar of fierce voices as over them sprang Roger
+and Giles with Ulf and Eric, and, amid the eddying dust, axe and sword
+swung and smote, while came hands strong yet tender, that bare Beltane
+into the city.
+
+Now beyond the gate of the city was a well and beside the well they
+laid Beltane and bathed him with the sweet cool water, until at length
+the mist vanished from his sight and thus he beheld the White Abbess
+who lay upon a pile of cloaks hard by. And beholding the deadly pallor
+of lip and cheek, the awful stains that spotted her white robe and the
+fading light in those sad-sweet eyes, Beltane cried aloud--a great and
+bitter cry, and fell before her on his knees.
+
+"Mother!" he groaned, "O my mother!"
+
+"Dear my Beltane," she whispered faintly, striving to kiss his hand,
+"death is none so--painful, so grieve not thine heart for me, sweet
+son. And how may a mother--die better than for her own--beloved son?
+Beltane, if God--O if God in His infinite mercy--shall think me worthy
+--to be--one of His holy angels, then will I be ever near thee when thy
+way proveth dark--to comfort thee--to aid thee. O dear my son--I
+sought thee so long--so long--'tis a little hard to leave thee--so
+soon. But--God's will--fare thee well, I die--aye--this is death,
+methinks. Beltane, tell thy father that I--O--dear my--my Beltane--"
+
+So died the gracious lady Abbess that had been the proud Yolande,
+Duchess of Pentavalon, wept and bemoaned by full many who had known
+her tender care; and, in due season, she was laid to rest within the
+fair Minster of Belsaye. And thereafter, Beltane took to his bed and
+abode there many days because of his wounds and by reason of his so
+great sorrow and heart-break.
+
+But, that night, through the dark hours was strange stir and hum beyond
+the walls of Belsaye, and, when the dawn broke, many a stout heart
+quailed and many a cheek blanched to see a great camp whose fortified
+lines encompassed the city on all sides, where lay Ivo the Black Duke
+to besiege them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII
+
+TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
+
+
+Six days and nights my Beltane kept his bed, seeing and speaking to no
+man; and it is like he would have died but for the fostering care of
+the good Friar Martin who came and went softly about him, who watched
+and tended and prayed over him long and silently but who, perceiving
+his heart-sickness, spake him not at all. Day in and day out Beltane
+lay there, heedless of all but his great sorrow, sleeping little and
+eating less, his face hid in his pillow or turned to the wall, and in
+all this time he uttered no word nor shed a single tear.
+
+His wounds healed apace but his soul had taken a deeper hurt, and day
+and night he sorrowed fiercely for his noble mother, wherefore he lay
+thus, heeding nought but his great grief. But upon the seventh night,
+he dreamed she stood beside his couch, tall and fair and gracious, and
+looked down on him, the mother-love alight within her sweet, sad eyes.
+Now within her hand she bare his sword and showed him the legend graven
+upon the bright steel:
+
+RESURGAM
+
+And therewith she smiled wondrous tender and put the great weapon into
+his grasp; then stooped and kissed him, and, pointing upward with her
+finger, was gone.
+
+And now within his sleep his anguished heart found solacement in slow
+and burning tears, and, sleeping yet, he wept full bitterly, insomuch
+that, sobbing, he awoke. And lo! beneath his right hand was the touch
+of cold steel and his fingers clenched tight upon the hilt of his great
+sword.
+
+Then my Beltane arose forthwith, and finding his clothes near by, clad
+himself and did on his mail, and, soft-treading, went forth of his
+narrow chamber. Thus came he where Friar Martin lay, deep-breathing in
+his slumber, and waking him not, he passed out into the dawn. And in
+the dawn was a gentle wind, very cool and grateful, that touched his
+burning brow and eyes like a caress; now looking up to heaven, where
+stars were paling to the dawn, Beltane raised the hilt of his sword
+and pressed it to his lips.
+
+"O blessed mother!" he whispered, "God hath surely found thee worthy to
+be one of His holy angels, so hast thou stooped from heaven to teach to
+me my duty. Thus now will I set by my idle grieving for thee, sweet
+saint, and strive to live thy worthy son--O dear my mother, who, being
+dead, yet liveth!"
+
+Then Beltane sheathed his sword and went softly up the narrow stair
+that led to the battlements.
+
+It was a bleak dawn, full of a thick, low-lying mist beyond the walls,
+but within this mist, to north and south and east and west, was a faint
+stir, while, ever and anon, rose the distant cry of some sentinel
+within Duke Ivo's sleeping camp, a mighty camp whose unseen powers held
+the fair city in deadly grip. In Belsaye nothing stirred and none waked
+at this dead hour save where, high on the bartizan above the square and
+mighty keep, the watchman paced to and fro, while here and there from
+curtain wall and massy tower, spear-head and bascinet gleamed.
+
+Slow and light of foot Beltane climbed the narrow stair that led up to
+one of the two square towers that flanked the main gate, but, being
+come thither, he paused to behold Giles, who chancing to be captain of
+the watch, sat upon a pile of great stones beside a powerful mangonel
+or catapult and stared him dolefully upon the lightening east: full oft
+sighed he, and therewith shook despondent head and even thus fell he to
+soft and doleful singing, groaning to himself 'twixt each verse, on
+this wise:
+
+  "She will not heed her lover's moan,
+   His moped tear, his deep-fetched groan,
+   So doth he sit, and here alone
+      Sing willow!
+
+("With three curses on this foul mist!)
+
+  "The little fishes fishes woo,
+   Birds blithe on bough do bill and coo,
+   But lonely I, with sad ado
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may Saint Anthony's fire consume Bernard, the merchant's round,
+plump son!)
+
+  "'Tis sure a maid was made for man,
+   'Twas e'en so since the world began,
+   Yet doleful here, I only can
+      Sing willow!"
+
+("And may the blessed saints have an eye upon her tender slumbers!")
+
+Here Giles paused to sigh amain, to fold his arms, to cross his legs,
+to frown and shake gloomy head; having done the which, he took breath
+and sang again as followeth:--
+
+  "Alack-a-day, alas and woe!
+   Would that Genevra fair might know
+   'Tis for her love Giles of the Bow
+      Sings willow!"
+
+But now, chancing to turn and espy Beltane, Giles fell suddenly
+abashed, his comely face grew ruddy 'neath its tan and he sprang very
+nimbly to his feet:
+
+"Ha, tall brother--good brother," he stammered, "noble lord, God den to
+ye--hail and good morrow! Verily and in faith, by Saint Giles (my
+patron saint, brother) I do rejoice to see thee abroad again, as will
+our surly Rogerkin that doth gloom and glower for thee and hath hung
+about thy chamber door morn and noon and night, and our noble Sir
+Benedict and Walkyn--but none more unfeignedly than Giles that doth
+grow glad because of thee--"
+
+"That is well," quoth Beltane, seating himself upon the battlement,
+"for verily thy song was vastly doleful, Giles!"
+
+"My song, lord, my song? Ha--hum! O verily, my song is a foolish song
+or the song of a fool, for fool am I, forsooth--a love-lorn fool; a
+doleful fool, a very fool of fools, that in my foolish folly hath set
+his foolish heart on thing beyond reach of such base fool as I. In a
+word, tall brother, I'm a fool, _videlicet_--a lover!"
+
+"Truly, hast the speech and outward seeming of your approved lover,
+Giles," nodded Beltane.
+
+"Aye, verily!" sighed Giles, "aye, verily--behold my beard, I have had
+no heart to trim it this sennight! Alack, I--I that was so point-de-vice
+am like to become a second Diogenes (a filthy fellow that never washed
+and lived in a foul tub!). As for food, I eat no more than the
+chameleon that doth fill its belly with air and nought else, foolish
+beast! I, that was wont to be a fair figure of a man do fall away to
+skin and bone, daily, hourly, minute by minute--behold this leg, tall
+brother!" And Giles thrust out a lusty, mailed limb. "Here was a leg
+once--a proper shapely leg to catch a woman's eye--see how it hath
+shrunk, nay, faith, 'tis hidden in mine armour! But verily, my shanks
+will soon be no thicker than my bowstave! Lastly I--I that loved
+company and good cheer do find therein abomination these days, so do I
+creep, like moulting fowl, brother, to corners dark and dismal and
+there make much ado--and such is love, O me!"
+
+"Doth the maid know of thy love?"
+
+"Nay lord, good lack, how should she?--who am I to speak of it? She is
+a fair lady and noble, a peerless virgin, while I--I am only Giles--
+poor Giles o' the Bow, after all!"
+
+"Truly, love is teaching thee wisdom, Giles," said Beltane, smiling.
+
+"Indeed, my lord, my wisdom teacheth me this--that were I the proudest
+and noblest in the land yet should I be unworthy!" and Giles shook
+miserable head and sighed again full deep.
+
+"Who is she, Giles?"
+
+"She is Genevra, daughter to the Reeve! And the Reeve is a great man in
+Belsaye and gently born, alas! And with coffers full of good broad
+pieces. O would she were a beggar-maid, the poorest, the meanest, then
+might I woo her for mine own. As it is, I can but look and sigh--for
+speak me her I dare not--ha, and there is a plump fellow!" Here Giles
+clenched bronzed fist. "A round and buxom fellow he, a rich merchant's
+son doth woo her boldly, may speak with her, may touch her hand! So do
+I ofttimes keep him shooting at the butts by the hour together and
+therein do make me some small amend. Yet daily do I mope and pine, and
+pine and mope--O tall brother, a most accursed thing is this love--and
+dearer than my life, heigho!"
+
+"Nay, pluck up thy heart, thou'rt a man, Giles."
+
+"Aye, verily, but she is a maid, brother, therein lieth vasty
+difference, and therefore do I fear her for her very sweetness and
+purity--fear her? Faith, my knees do knock at sound of her voice, her
+very step doth set me direly a-tremble. For she is so fair--so pure and
+nigh the angels, that I--alack! I have ever been a something light
+fellow in matters of love--forget not I was bred a monk, noble brother!
+Thus, brother, a moping owl, I--a very curst fellow, gloomy and silent
+as the grave, saving my breath for sighs and groans and curses fell,
+wherefore I have builded me a 'mockery' above the wall and there-from
+do curse our foes, as only a churchman may, brother."
+
+"Nay, how mean you, Giles?" questioned Beltane, staring.
+
+"Follow me, lord, and I will show thee!" So saying, Giles led the way
+down to the battlement above the great gates, where was a thing like
+unto a rough pulpit, builded of massy timbers, very stout and strong,
+and in these timbers stood many arrows and cross-bow bolts.
+
+"Here, lord," quoth Giles, "behold my 'mockery' wherefrom it is my wont
+and custom to curse our foes thrice daily. The which is a right good
+strategy, brother, in that my amorous anguish findeth easement and I do
+draw the enemy's shafts, for there is no man that heareth my
+contumacious dictums but he forthwith falleth into rageful fury, and an
+angry fellow shooteth ever wide o' the mark, brother. Thus, thrice
+daily do we gather a full sheaf of their ill-sped shafts, whereby we
+shall not lack for arrows an they besiege us till Gabriel's trump--
+heigho! Thus do I live by curses, for, an I could not curse, then would
+my surcharged heart assuredly in sunder burst--aye me!"
+
+Now whiles they sat thus in talk, up rose the sun, before whose joyous
+beams the stealthy mists slunk away little by little, until Beltane
+beheld Duke Ivo's mighty camp--long lines of tents gay with fluttering
+pennon and gonfalon, of huts and booths set well out of bowshot behind
+the works of contravallation--stout palisades and barriers with
+earthworks very goodly and strong. And presently from among these
+booths and tents was the gleam and glitter of armour, what time from
+the waking host a hum and stir arose, with blare and fanfare of trumpet
+to usher in the day: and in a while from the midst of the camp came the
+faint ring and tap of many hammers.
+
+Now as the mists cleared, looking thitherward, Beltane stared wide-eyed
+to behold wooden towers in course of building, with the grim shapes of
+many powerful war-engines whose mighty flying-beams and massy
+supporting-timbers filled him with great awe and wonderment.
+
+"Ha!" quoth Giles, "they work apace yonder, and by Saint Giles they
+lack not for engines; verily Black Ivo is a master of siege tactics--
+but so is Giles, brother! See where he setteth up his mangonels,
+trebuchets, perriers and balistae, with bossons or rams, towers and
+cats, in the use of the which he is right cunning--but so also is
+Giles, brother! And verily, though your mangonels and trebuchets are
+well enough, yet for defence the balista is weapon more apt, methinks,
+as being more accurate in the shooting and therefore more deadly--how
+think you, lord?"
+
+"Indeed Giles, being a forester I could scarce tell you one from
+another."
+
+"Ha--then you'll know nought of their nature and use, lord?"
+
+"Nought, Giles. Ne'er have I seen their like until now."
+
+"Say ye so, brother?" cried Giles full eager, his brown eyes a-kindle,
+"say ye so in very truth? Then--an it be so thy wish--I might instruct
+thee vastly, for there is no man in the world to-day shall discourse
+you more fluent and learned upon siege-craft, engines and various
+tormenta than I. So--an it be thy wish, lord--?"
+
+"It is my wish: say on, Giles."
+
+"Why then firstly, lord, firstly we have the great Mangon or mangonel,
+_fundis fundibula_, that some do also term _catapultum_, the which
+worketh by torsion and shall heave you great stones of the bigness of a
+man fully two hundred yards an it be dry weather; next is the
+Trebuchet, like to the mangon save that it swingeth by counterpoise;
+next cometh the Balista or Springald that worketh by tension--a pretty
+weapon! and shall shoot you dart or javelin so strong as shall
+transpierce you six lusty fellows at a time, hauberk and shield, like
+so many fowl upon a spit--very sweet to behold, brother! Then have we
+the Bore or Cat that some again do name _musculus_ or mouse for that it
+gnaweth through thick walls--and some do call this hog, sow, _scrofa_
+or _sus_, brother, and some again, _vulpes_.
+
+"And this Cat is a massy pole that beareth a great and sharp steel
+point, the which, being mounted within a pent-house, swingeth merrily
+to and fro, much like to a ram, brother, and shall blithely pick you a
+hole through stone and mortar very pleasing to behold. Then we have
+the Ram, _cancer testudo_, that battereth; next we have the Tower or
+Beffroi that goeth on wheels--yonder you shall see them a-building. And
+these towers, moving forward against your city, shall o'ertop the walls
+and from them archers and cross-bowmen may shoot into your town what
+time their comrades fill up and dam your moat until the tower may come
+close unto your walls. And these towers, being come against the wall,
+do let fall drawbridges over which the besiegers may rush amain and
+carry your walls by assault. Lastly, there be Mantlets--stakes wattled
+together and covered with raw-hide--by the which means the besiegers
+make their first approaches. Then might I descant at goodly length upon
+the Mine and Furnace, with divers and sundry other stratagems, devices,
+engines and tormenta, but methinks this shall mayhap suffice thee for
+the nonce?"
+
+"Aye, verily--'twill suffice!" said Beltane, rising. "Truly war is even
+more terrible than I had thought."
+
+"Why lord, 'tis an art--a notable art and--ha! this doth mind me of my
+heart, heigho! And of all terrible things, of all the woes and ills
+man-hearts may know is--love. O me, alack and woe!"
+
+"When doth thy watch end, Giles?"
+
+"It ended an hour agone, but to what end? Being a lover I sleep little
+and pine much, and this is a fair good place and solitary, so will I
+pine awhile and likewise mope and languish, alack!"
+
+So presently, as Beltane descended the stair, he heard the archer break
+forth again in doleful song.
+
+Across the wide market-square went Beltane, with brow o'ercast and head
+low-bowed until he came to one of the many doors of the great minster;
+there paused he to remove bascinet and mail-coif, and thus bareheaded,
+entered the cathedral's echoing dimness. The new-risen sun made a glory
+of the great east window, and with his eyes uplifted to this
+many-coloured glory, Beltane, soft-treading, crossed dim aisle and
+whispering transept; but, as he mounted the broad steps of the
+sanctuary he paused with breath in check, for he heard a sound--a soft
+sound like the flutter of wings or the rustle of silken draperies. Now
+as he stood thus, his broad, mail-clad shoulders and golden hair bathed
+in the refulgence of the great window, it seemed to him that from
+somewhere near there breathed a sigh, tremulous and very soft, and
+thereafter was the quick, light tread of feet, and silence.
+
+A while stood Beltane scarce breathing, then, slow and reverent, he
+approached the high altar; and ever as he went was a fragrance,
+wonder-sweet, that grew stronger and stronger until he was come behind
+the high altar where was his mother's grave. And lo! upon that long,
+white stone lay flowers a-bloom, roses and lilies whose dewy loveliness
+filled the place with their pure and fragrant sweetness. So looked he
+round about and upon these flowers with grateful wonder, and sinking to
+his knees, bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer.
+
+But presently, as he knelt thus, he was roused by the clank of steel
+and a shuffling step, wherefore he arose and crossing to the shadows of
+the choir, sat him down within the deeper gloom to wait until his
+disturber should be gone. Slowly these halting steps advanced, feet
+that stumbled oft; near they came and nearer, until Beltane perceived
+a tall figure whose armour gleamed dully and whose shoulders were bowed
+like one that is feeble or very weary.
+
+"Yolande!" said a voice, a hoarse voice but very tender, "Yolande,
+beloved!" And on the word the voice broke and ended upon a great sob,
+swift followed by another and yet another, the fierce sobbing of a
+man.
+
+Then Beltane clenched his hands and rose up, for behold! this man was
+Sir Benedict. But now, and very suddenly, Sir Benedict was upon his
+knees, and bent and kissed that white, smooth stone whereon as yet was
+no inscription.
+
+"Yolande!" he whispered, "now thou art one among the holy angels, O
+forget not thy most unworthy Benedict. God--O God! Father to whom all
+hearts are open, Thou dost know how as child and maid I loved her, how
+as a wife I loved her still--how, in my madness, I spake my love--and
+she, being saint and woman, bade me to my duty. So, by her purity, kept
+she my honour unstained--"
+
+Beltane's long scabbard struck the carven panelling, a soft blow that
+yet echoed and re-echoed in vaulted arch and dim roof, and, glancing
+swiftly up, Sir Benedict beheld him.
+
+And kneeling thus beside the grave of the woman he had loved, Sir
+Benedict looked up into Beltane's face with eyes wide, eyes unflinching
+but dimmed with great grief and pain.
+
+Quoth he, firm-voiced:
+
+"My lord, thou hast learned my life's secret, but, ere thou dost judge
+me, hear this! Long ere thy princely father met thy mother, we loved,
+she and I, and in our love grew up together. Then came the Duke thy
+father, a mighty lord; and her mother was ambitious and very guileful--
+and she--but a maid. Thus was she wed. Then rode I to the foreign wars
+seeking death--but death took me not. So, the wars ended, came I home
+again, burning ever with my love, and sought her out, and beholding the
+sadness in her eyes I spake my love; and forgetful of honour and all
+save her sweet soul and the glory of her beauty, I tempted her--aye,
+many times!--tempted her in fashion merciless and cruel insomuch that
+she wept many bitter tears, and, upon a day, spake me thus: 'Benedict,
+'tis true I loved thee, for thou wert a noble knight--but now, an thy
+love for me be so small that thou canst bring me to this shame, then--
+take me where thou wilt--but--ne'er shall all thy love nor all my
+tears thereafter cleanse us from the shame of it.' Thus went I from
+her, nor have I looked on woman since. So followed I thy father in all
+his warring and all my days have I fought much--fierce foes within me
+and without, and lived--a very solitary life. And to-day she lieth
+dead--and I am here, old and worn, a lonely man and sinful, to be
+judged of as ye will."
+
+Then came Beltane and looked down into Sir Benedict's pale, sad face.
+And beholding him thus in his abasement, haggard with wounds and bowed
+with grief, needs must Beltane kneel also and thereafter spake thus:
+
+"Sir Benedict, who am I, to judge of such as thou?"
+
+"I tempted her--I wooed her to shame, I that loved her beyond life--did
+cause her many bitter tears--alas!"
+
+"Yet in the end, Sir Benedict, because thy love was a great and noble
+love, thou didst triumph over base self. So do I honour thee and pray
+that I, in like case, may act as nobly."
+
+"And now--she lieth dead! So for me is life ended also, methinks!"
+
+"She is a saint in heaven, Benedict, living forever. As to thee, on
+whose skill and valiance the safety of this fair city doth hang--so
+hath God need of thee here, methinks. So now for thy sake and for her
+sake needs must I love thee ever and always, thou noble knight. She,
+being dead, yet liveth and shall go betwixt us henceforth, drawing us
+together in closer bonds of love and amity--is it not so, dear my
+friend?" And speaking, Beltane reached out his hands across his
+mother's narrow grave, and straightway came Sir Benedict's hands, swift
+and eager, to meet and clasp them.
+
+For a while knelt they thus, hand clasping hand above that long, white
+stone whence stole to them the mingled fragrance of the flowers, like a
+silent benediction. And presently, together they arose and went their
+way; but now, seeing how Sir Benedict limped by reason of his wounds,
+Beltane set an arm about him. So came they together out of the shadows
+into the glory of the morning.
+
+Now as they came forth of the minster, the tocsin rang loud in sudden
+alarm.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIV
+
+HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUT OF HER FEAR
+
+
+Within the market-place all was dire confusion; men hasted hither and
+thither, buckling on armour as they went, women wept and children
+wailed, while ever the bell clashed out its fierce summons.
+
+Presently, through the populace cometh Sir Brian of Hartismere,
+equipped in his armour and leaning on the mailed arm of his brother
+Eric of the wry neck, but perceiving Sir Benedict and Beltane, they
+turned and came up forthwith.
+
+"Eric--Brian, what meaneth the tumult?" questioned Sir Benedict, his
+eye kindling, "are we attacked--so soon?"
+
+"Not so," answered Sir Brian, "at the least--not by Ivo's men."
+
+"'Tis worse than that," sighed Eric, shaking his head, "yonder cometh a
+churchman, borne on the shoulders of his monks, and with choristers and
+acolytes attendant."
+
+"Ha!" said Sir Benedict, frowning and rubbing his chin, "I had dreaded
+this! The citizens do shake and shiver already, I'll warrant me! There
+is nought like a cowl with bell, book and candle to sap the courage of
+your citizen soldier. Let us to the walls!"
+
+In a corner hard by the main gate they beheld Giles, holding forth to
+Roger and Walkyn and Ulf, but perceiving Sir Benedict he ceased
+abruptly, and advancing, saluted the noble company each in turn, but
+addressed himself to Sir Benedict.
+
+"My lord," quoth he, eyes a-dance, "yonder cometh a pompous prior that
+was, not very long since, nought but massy monk that did upon a time
+(though by dint of some small persuasion) bestow on me a goodly ass. My
+lord, I was bred a monk, so do I know, by divers signs and portents,
+he cometh here to ban the city with book, bell and candle, wherefore
+the townsfolk, fearing greatly, do shiver and shake, especially the
+women and maids--sweet souls! And, lord, by reason of the matter of the
+ass, I do know this priest prolific of damnatory pronouncements and
+curses contumacious (O verily). Yet I, messire (having been bred a
+monk) shall blithely him out-curse, an the joy be permitted me, thus
+turning tears to laughter and gloomy fear to loud-voiced merriment--my
+lord, messires, how say you?"
+
+"'Tis blasphemy unheard!" quoth Sir Brian.
+
+"Save in the greenwood where men do breathe God's sweet air and live
+free!" said wry-necked Eric.
+
+"And," spake Sir Benedict, stroking his square chin, "there is a fear
+can be quelled but by ridicule, so may thy wit, sir archer, avail more
+than our wisdom--an thou canst make these pale-cheeked townsfolk laugh
+indeed. How think you, my Beltane?"
+
+"That being the wise and valiant knight thou art, Sir Benedict, thy
+will during the siege is law in Belsaye, henceforth."
+
+Now hereupon Giles made his obeisance, and together with Roger and
+Walkyn and Ulf, hasted up to the battlement above the gateway.
+
+"Benedict," said Sir Brian as they climbed the turret stair, "blasphemy
+is a dread and awful thing. We shall be excommunicate one and all--
+better methinks to let the populace yield up the city and die the
+death, than perish everlastingly!"
+
+"Brian," quoth Sir Benedict pausing, something breathless by reason of
+his recent sickness, "I tell thee fire and pillage and ravishment of
+women is a thing more dread and awful--better, methinks, to keep
+Innocence pure and unspotted while we may, and leave hereafter in the
+hands of God and His holy angels!"
+
+Upon the tower there met them the Reeve, anxious of brow, who pointed
+where the townsfolk talked together in fearful undertones or clustered,
+mute and trembling, while every eye was turned where, in the open,
+'twixt town and camp, a procession of black-robed priests advanced,
+chanting very solemn and sweet.
+
+"My lords," said the Reeve, looking round with haggard eyes, "an these
+priests do come to pronounce the Church's awful malediction upon the
+city--then woe betide! Already there be many--aye, some of our chiefest
+citizens do fear the curse of Holy Church more than the rapine of Ivo's
+vile soldiery, fair women shamed, O Christ! Lords--ha, messires, there
+is talk afoot of seizing the gates, of opening to this churchman and
+praying his intercession to Ivo's mercy--to Ivo the Black, that knoweth
+nought of mercy. Alas, my lords, once they do ope the gates--"
+
+"That can they in nowise do!" said Sir Benedict gently, but with face
+grim and hawk-like. "Every gate is held by stout fellows of my own
+following, moreover I have good hope yon churchman may leave us yet
+uncursed." And Sir Benedict smiled his wry and twisted smile. "Be you
+our tongue, good Reeve, and speak this churchman as thy bold heart
+dictateth."
+
+Solemn and sweet rose the chanting voices growing ever more loud, where
+paced the black-robed priests. First came acolytes swinging censers,
+and next, others bearing divers symbolic flags and standards, and after
+these again, in goodly chair borne on the shoulders of brawny monks, a
+portly figure rode, bedight in full canonicals, a very solid cleric he,
+and mightily round; moreover his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping
+lip.
+
+Slow and solemn the procession advanced, and ever as they came the
+choristers chanted full melodiously what time the white-robed acolytes
+swung their censers to and fro; and ever as they came, the folk of
+Belsaye, from wall and turret, eyed these slow-pacing, sweet-singing
+monks with fearful looks and hearts cold and full of dire misgiving.
+Beyond the moat over against the main gate, the procession halted, the
+chair with its portly burden was set down, and lifting up a white,
+be-ringed hand, the haughty cleric spake thus, in voice high-pitched,
+mellifluous and sweet:
+
+"Whereas it hath pleased ye, O rebellious people of Belsaye, to deny,
+to cast off and wantonly repudiate your rightful allegiance to your
+most just, most merciful and most august lord--Ivo, Duke of Pentavalon
+(whom God and the saints defend--amen!) and whereas ye have moreover
+made captive and most barbarously entreated certain of your lord Duke
+his ambassadors unto you sent; now therefore--and let all ears be
+opened to my pronouncements, since Holy Church doth speak ye, one and
+all, each and every through humble avenue of these my lips--list, list,
+O list, rebellious people, and mark me well. For inasmuch as I, Prior
+of Holy Cross within Pentavalon City, do voice unto ye, one and all,
+each and every, the most sacred charge of Holy Church, her strict
+command or enactment, mandate or caveat, her holy decree, _senatus
+consultum_, her writ, edict, precept or decretal, namely and to wit:
+That ye shall one and all, each and every, return to your rightful
+allegiance, bowing humbly, each and every, to the will of your lawful
+lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend) and shall forthwith make
+full and instant surrender of this his ancient city of Belsaye unto
+your lord the Duke (whom God and the saints defend--amen!) Failing the
+which, I, in the name of Holy Church, by power of papal bull new come
+from Rome--will, here and now, pronounce this most rebellious city
+(and all that therein be) damned and excommunicate!"
+
+Now hereupon, from all the townsfolk crowding wall and turret a groan
+went up and full many a ruddy cheek grew pale at this dire threat.
+Whereupon the Prior, having drawn breath, spake on in voice more stern
+and more peremptory:
+
+"Let now your gates unbar! Yield ye unto your lord Duke his mercy! Let
+the gates unbar, I say, lest I blast this wicked city with the most
+dread and awful ban and curse of Holy Church--woe, woe in this life,
+and, in the life to come, torment and everlasting fire! Let the gates
+unbar!"
+
+Now once again the men of Belsaye sighed and groaned and trembled in
+their armour, while from crowded street and market-square rose buzz of
+fearful voices. Then spake the Reeve in troubled tones, his white head
+low-stooped above the battlement.
+
+"Good Prior, I pray you an we unbar, what surety have we that this our
+city shall not be given over to fire and pillage and ravishment?"
+
+Quoth the Prior:
+
+"Your lives are your lord's, in his hand resteth life and death,
+justice and mercy. So for the last time I charge ye--set wide your
+rebellious gates!"
+
+"Not so!" cried the Reeve, "in the name of Justice and Mercy ne'er will
+we yield this our city until in Belsaye no man is left to strike for
+maid and wife and child!"
+
+At the which bold words some few men shouted in acclaim, but for the
+most part the citizens were mumchance, their hearts cold within them,
+while all eyes stared fearfully upon the Prior, who, lifting white
+hand again, rose up from cushioned chair and spake him loud and clear:
+
+"Then, upon this rebellious city and all that therein is, on babe, on
+child, on youth, on maid, on man, on wife, on the hale, the sick, the
+stricken in years, on beast, on bird, and on all that hath life and
+being I do pronounce the church's dread curse and awful ban:--ex--"
+
+The Prior's mellifluous voice was of a sudden lost and drowned in
+another, a rich voice, strong and full and merry:
+
+"Quit--quit thy foolish babblement, thou fat and naughty friar; too
+plump art thou, too round and buxom to curse a curse as curses should
+be cursed, so shall thy curses avail nothing, for who doth heed the
+fatuous fulminations of a fat man? But as to me, I could have out-cursed
+thee in my cradle, thou big-bellied thing of emptiness--go to for a
+sounding brass and tinkling cymbal!"
+
+Thus, from his "mockery" perched high above the battlement, spake
+Giles, with many and divers knowing gestures of arm, waggings of the
+head, rollings of the eyes and the like, what time Roger and Walkyn and
+Ulf, their heads bent close together, busied themselves above a great
+and bulging wine-skin.
+
+And now on wall and tower and market-square a great silence had fallen,
+yet a silence broken now and then by sound of stifled laughter, while
+the Prior, staring in wonder and amaze, suddenly clenched white fist,
+and, albeit very red and fiery of visage, strove whole-heartedly to
+curse on:
+
+"Ha--now upon the lewd populace of this most accursed and rebellious
+city do I call down the--"
+
+"Upon thy round and barrel-like paunch," cried Giles, "do I pronounce
+this dire and dreadful ban, _videlicet_, Sir Fatness, _nota bene_ and
+to wit: may the fiend rend it with gruesome gripings--aye, rend it with
+claws and beak, _unguibus et rostro_, most mountainous monk!"
+
+Here, once again came sounds of stifled merriment, what time the Prior,
+puffing out his fat cheeks, fell to his curses full-tongued:
+
+"Upon this evil city be the malison of Holy Church, her maledictions
+bitter, her imprecation and anathema. I do pronounce all within this
+city ex--"
+
+"Abate thee, friar, abate!" roared Giles, "cease thy rumbling, thou
+empty wine-butt. An thou must deal in curses, leave them to one more
+apt and better schooled--to Giles, in faith, who shall forthwith curse
+thee sweet and trippingly as thus--now mark me, monk! Aroint, aroint
+thee to Acheron dark and dismal, there may the foul fiend seize and
+plague thee with seven and seventy plaguey sorrows! May Saint Anthony's
+fire frizzle and fry thee--woe, woe betide thee everlastingly--(bate
+thy babble, Prior, I am not ended yet!) In life may thou be accursed
+from heel to head, within thee and without--(save thy wind, Prior, no
+man doth hear or heed thee!) Be thou accursed in father and in mother,
+in sister and in brother, in oxen and in asses--especially in asses! Be
+thou accursed in sleeping and in waking, eating and drinking, standing,
+sitting, lying--O be thou accursed completely and consumedly! Here now,
+methinks, Sir Monkish Tunbelly, is cursing as it should be cursed. But
+now--(hush thy vain babbling, heed and mark me well!)--now will I to
+dictums contumacious, from cursing thee I will to song of thee, of thy
+plump and pertinacious person--a song wherein shall pleasant mention be
+o' thy round and goodly paunch, a song that shall be sung, mayhap, when
+thee and it are dusty dust, O shaveling--to wit:
+
+  "O frater fat and flatulent, full foolish, fatuous Friar
+   A prime plump priest in passion seen, such pleasure doth inspire,
+   That sober souls, 'spite sorrows sad, shall sudden, shout and sing
+   Because thy belly big belittleth baleful ban ye bring.
+   Wherefore with wondrous wit withal, with waggish wanton wiles,
+   I joyful chant to glorify the just and gentle Giles."
+
+And now behold! fear and dread were forgotten quite, and wheresoever
+Beltane looked were men who bent and contorted themselves in their
+merriment, and who held their laughter yet in check to catch the
+archer's final words.
+
+"Thus, thou poor and pitiful Prior, for thy rude speech and curses
+canonical we do requite thee with song sweet-sung and of notable rhyme
+and metre. Curse, and Belsaye shall out-curse thee; laugh, and Belsaye
+laugheth at thee--"
+
+"Sacrilege!" gasped the Prior, "O 'tis base sacrilege! 'Tis a vile,
+unhallowed city and shall go up in flame--"
+
+"And thou," cried Giles, "thou art a fiery churchman and shall be
+cooled. Ho, Rogerkin--loose off!"
+
+Came the thudding crash of a powerful mangonel, whose mighty beam,
+swinging high, hurled aloft the bulging wine-skin, the which, bursting
+in mid-air, deluged with water all below--prior and monk, acolyte and
+chorister; whereat from all Belsaye a shout went up, that swelled to
+peal on peal of mighty laughter, the while, in stumbling haste, the
+dripping Prior was borne by dripping monks back to Duke Ivo's mighty
+camp. And lo! from this great camp another sound arose, a roar of
+anger, fierce and terrible to hear, that smote Belsaye to silence. But,
+out upon the battlement, plain for all folk to see, sprang Giles
+flourishing his six-foot bow.
+
+"Archers!" he cried, "archers, ye hear the dogs bay yonder--fling back
+their challenge!
+
+  "Ho, archers! shout and rend the skies,
+   Bold archers shout amain
+   Belsaye, Belsaye--arise, arise!
+   Pentavalon--Beltane!"
+
+Then from tower and turret, from wall and keep and market-square a
+great and joyous shout was raised--a cry fierce and loud and very
+purposeful, that rolled afar:
+
+"Arise, arise!--ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"
+
+"Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, smiling his wry smile as he turned to
+descend the tower, "methinks yon roguish archer's wit hath served us
+better than all our wisdom. Belsaye hath frighted away fear with
+laughter, and her men, methinks, will fight marvellous well!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXV
+
+TELLETH OF ROSES
+
+
+A fair and strong city was Belsaye, for (as hath been said) to north
+and east of it the river flowed, a broad stream and deep, while south
+and west it was fortified by a goodly moat; wherefore it was to south
+and west that the besiegers mustered their chief force and set up their
+mightiest engines and towers. Day in, day out, mangonel, trebuchet and
+balista whirred and crashed from keep and tower and curtain-wall, while
+from every loophole and crenelle long-bows twanged and arrows flew; yet
+with each succeeding dawn the besiegers' fence-works crept nearer,
+closing in upon the city until, within close bowshot of the walls, they
+set up earthworks and stockades and from these strong barriers plied
+the defenders with cloth-yard shaft and cross-bow bolt what time their
+mighty engines advanced, perriers and rams wherewith to batter and
+breach the city's massy walls.
+
+So day in, day out, Eric's chosen men plied trebuchet and balista, and
+Beltane, beholding the dire havoc wrought by heavy stone and whizzing
+javelin among the dense ranks of the besiegers despite their mantlets
+and stout palisades, grew sick at times and was fain to look
+otherwhere. But the besiegers were many and Duke Ivo had sworn swift
+destruction on Belsaye; thus, heedless of all else, he pushed on the
+attack until, despite their heavy losses, his men were firmly
+established close beyond the moat; wherefore my Beltane waxed full
+anxious and was for sallying out to destroy their works: at the which,
+gloomy Sir Hacon, limping in his many bandages, grew suddenly jovial
+and fain was to call for horse and lance forthwith.
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict placidly:
+
+"Nay, let them come, messires; they are a sea, but Belsaye is a rock.
+Duke Ivo is cunning in war, but is, mark me! a passionate man, and he
+who fighteth in blind anger, fighteth ill. So let them come, I say the
+time for us to beware is when Ivo's hot temper shall have cooled. Ha,
+look yonder!" and Sir Benedict pointed where a great wooden tower,
+urged forward by rope and pulley and winch, was creeping near and
+nearer the walls, now stopping jerkily, now advancing, its massy
+timbers protected from fire by raw hides, its summit bristling with
+archers and cross-bow men, who from their lofty post began to sweep
+wall and turret with their whizzing shafts.
+
+"Now mark yon tower," said Sir Benedict, closing his vizor, "here shall
+be good sport for Eric's perriers--watch now!" and he nodded where on
+the battlement below, crouched Eric with Walkyn and Roger who laboured
+at the winches of a great trebuchet hard by. To left and right on wall
+and turret, Eric glanced, then blew a blast upon the horn he carried;
+and immediately, from wall and turret mangonels, trebuchets and
+balistae unknown of until now crashed and whirred, and the tall tower
+shook and quivered 'neath the shock of great stones and heavy bolts,
+its massy timbers were split and rent, insomuch that it was fain to be
+withdrawn.
+
+Thereafter the besiegers brought up a long pent-house or cat unto the
+edge of the moat, and sheltered within this cat were many men who fell
+to work filling up the moat with bags of earth and stone werewith to
+form a causeway across which they might assault the wall with bore and
+ram; and because this cat was builded very strong, Eric's engines
+battered it in vain, wherefore he presently desisted; thus, hour by
+hour the causeway grew and lengthened. So needs must Beltane seek Sir
+Benedict and point this out with anxious finger.
+
+"Let them come, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, placid as was his wont,
+"once they are close against the wall with ram a-swing, I will make
+their labour of no avail; you shall see me burn them with a devil's
+brew I learned of in the foreign wars. So, let them come. Beltane!"
+
+Thus, day in, day out, was roar of conflict about the walls of Belsaye
+town, and ever Sir Benedict, with Beltane beside him, went to and fro,
+quick of eye and hand, swift to foresee and counteract the tactics of
+the besiegers, meeting cunning artifice with crafty strategem;
+wheresoever was panic or pressing need there was Sir Benedict,
+calm-voiced and serene. And Beltane, watching him thus, came to
+understand why this man had withstood the powers of Duke Ivo all these
+years, and why all men trusted to his judgment.
+
+Thus, all day was rage of battle, but with the night peace came, since
+in the dark men might not see to aim and slay each other. And by night
+the folk of Belsaye made good their battered walls what time the
+besiegers prepared fresh devices of attack. Every morning at sunrise it
+was Beltane's custom to steal to the great minster and, soft-treading
+despite his armour, come to his mother's grave to hold communion with
+her in his prayers. And lo! upon that hallowed stone there always he
+found fragrant flowers, roses and lilies, new-gathered, upon whose
+sweet petals the dew yet sparkled, and ever his wonder grew.
+
+More than once he had thought to hear again that indefinable stir and
+whisper the which had thrilled him on that first morning, and, starting
+up, he would peer into the vague shadows. Twice he had thought to see a
+draped figure bending above that long, white stone, a veiled figure
+slender and graceful, that upon his approach, soft though it was,
+flitted swiftly into the dark recesses of the choir. Once he had
+followed, and stood amazed to see it vanish through the carven
+panelling, though door could he find none. Therefore was he sore
+perplexed and oft would touch the dewy flowers as half expecting they
+should vanish also. Now upon a certain dawn he had hid himself within
+the shadows and waited with bated breath and heart strangely a-throb.
+And with the day-spring she came again, tall and gracious in her
+clinging draperies and long green veil. Then, even as she bent to lay
+the flowers upon the grave came Beltane, soft of foot, and spake ere
+she was 'ware of him.
+
+"Lady--!" now though his voice was very low and gentle she started, the
+flowers fell from her loosened clasp, and, after a moment, she turned
+and fronted him, proud head up-flung beneath her veil. So stood they
+within that place of silence, while high above, the great window grew
+luminous with coming day.
+
+"Lady," said he again, "for thy sweet flowers, for thy sweeter thought
+for one that is--gone, fain would I thank thee, for she who lieth here
+I found, and loved, and have lost again a while. She did love all fair
+things, so loved she the flowers, methinks; yet I, who have grieved for
+my noble mother, ne'er thought to bring her flowers--this did need a
+woman's gentle soul. So, for thy flowers, I do most truly thank thee."
+
+Very still she stood, nor spake nor moved, save for the sweet hurry of
+her breathing; and beholding her thus, of a sudden Beltane's heart
+leapt and he fell a-trembling though wherefore he knew not, only
+yearned he mightily to look beneath her veil. And now it seemed to him
+that, in the stillness, she must needs hear the passionate throbbing of
+his heart; twice would he have spoken yet could not; at last:
+
+"Beseech thee," he whispered, "O beseech thee unveil, that I may behold
+the face of one so tender to her that was my dear-loved mother--O
+beseech thee!"
+
+As he spake, he drew a swift pace nearer, hand outstretched in
+supplication, but, because this hand shook and quivered so, he clenched
+it, whereat the unknown shrank back and back and, turning swift and
+sudden, was gone.
+
+A while stood my Beltane, his head a-droop, and fell to wonderment
+because of the so painful throbbing of his heart. Then knelt he above
+his mother's grave with hands tight-clasped.
+
+"Dear mother in heaven," he sighed, "being an angel, thou dost know all
+my heart, its hopes and fears--thou hast seen me tremble--thou dost
+know wherefore this my heart doth yearn so bitterly. O sweet mother
+with God, plead thou on my behalf that I may be worthy her love--meet
+to her embracements--fit for so great happiness. Angel of God, thou
+dost know how great is my desire--how empty life without her--O
+mother--aid me!"
+
+In a while he arose and immediately beheld that which lay beyond his
+mother's grave full in the radiance of the great east window--a thing
+small and slender and daintily wrought; and stooping, he picked up a
+little shoe. Of soft leather it was fashioned, cunningly pinked, and
+sewn, here and there, with coloured silks; and as he stared down at it,
+so small-seeming in his mailed hand, his heart leapt again, and again
+his strong hand fell a-trembling. Of a sudden he raised his eyes to
+heaven, then, coming to his mother's grave, very reverently took thence
+a single great bloom and thrusting the shoe in the wallet at his girdle
+(that same wallet Sir Fidelis had borne) went out into the golden dawn.
+
+Like one in a dream went Beltane, heedless of his going; by silent
+street and lane where none stirred at this early hour, thus he wandered
+on until he was stayed by a high wall wherein was set a small, green
+door.
+
+As he stood, staring down at the rose he held and lost in pleasant
+dream, he was aroused by a scrambling sound near by, and, glancing up,
+beheld a mailed head and shoulders rise suddenly above the wall and so
+looked into the face of Giles o' the Bow. Now in his teeth Giles bare a
+great red rose--even as that which Beltane held.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, sharp and stern, "whence had ye that flower?"
+
+For answer, Giles, straddling the wall, laid finger to lip, then
+dropping cat-like to his feet, drew Beltane down an adjacent lane.
+
+"Lord," said he, "yonder is the Reeve's garden and in the Reeve's
+garden cometh the Reeve to taste the sweet dawn, wherefore Giles doth
+incontinent vanish him over the Reeve's wall because of the Reeve;
+nevertheless needs must I bless the Reeve because of the Reeve's
+daughter--though verily, both in my speech and in the Reeve's garden is
+too much Reeve, methinks. As to this rose, now--ha!"
+
+"How came you by the rose, Giles?"
+
+"Why, in the first place, tall brother, I stole it--"
+
+"Stole it!" repeated Beltane, and behold! his frown was gone
+completely.
+
+"But, in the second place, brother, 'twas given to me--"
+
+"Given to thee--by whom?" and immediately Beltane's frown was back
+again.
+
+"And therefore, in the third place, brother, Giles this day would not
+change skins with any lord, duke, archduke, pope or potentate that e'er
+went in skin--"
+
+"Who gave it thee?--speak, man!"
+
+"Faith, lord, I had it from one as pure, as fair, as--"
+
+"Aye, but what like is she?"
+
+"Like unto this flower for sweetness, lord, and--ha, saints and
+martyrs! whence had ye that bloom, tall brother--speak!" and Giles
+pointed to the rose in Beltane's fingers.
+
+"What like is she--answer me!"
+
+"Alack!" sighed Giles, shaking gloomy head, "she is very like a woman,
+after all, methinks--"
+
+"Mean ye the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Even so, lord!"
+
+"Doth she wear ever a--a green veil, Giles?"
+
+"Verily, lord, and with a most sweet grace--"
+
+"And her shoes--"
+
+"Her shoes, tall brother, O methinks her sweet shoe doth kiss the earth
+so sweet and light poor earth must needs love and languish as doth poor
+Giles! Her shoe--"
+
+"Is it aught like to this, Giles?" and forthwith Beltane took out the
+little shoe.
+
+"Aye, 'tis her very own, master!" groaned Giles. "Ah, woe is me, for if
+she hath given to thee rose and therewith her pretty shoe--thou hast,
+belike, her heart also, and with her heart--"
+
+"Nay, take it, Giles,--take it!" quoth Beltane, sighing. "I did but
+find it in my going, and this rose--I found also, but this will I keep.
+Methinks thy love is what thy heart telleth thee--a maid very gentle
+and sweet--so God prosper thy wooing, Giles!"
+
+So saying, Beltane thrust the shoe upon bewildered Giles and, turning
+swiftly about, hasted away. But even then, while the archer yet stared
+after him, Beltane turned and came striding back.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, "how tall is the Reeve's daughter?"
+
+"Lord, she is better than tall--"
+
+"Ha--is she short of stature, good Giles?"
+
+"Messire, God hath shaped her lovely body no higher and no lower than
+my heart. Small is she and slender, yet in her sweet and slender
+shapeliness is all the beauty of all the women that all men have ever
+loved--"
+
+"Small, say you, Giles--small? Then give me back yon lovely thing!"
+
+Saying the which, Beltane caught the shoe from Giles's hold and strode
+away blithe and debonair, leaving the garrulous archer dumb for once
+and beyond all words amazed.
+
+Now as Beltane went very deep in thought there met him Friar Martin,
+who bore upon his arm a great basket full of green vegetables and
+sweet herbs. Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Good friar, what do ye abroad so early?"
+
+"Sweet son, I praise the good God for His mercies and pant by reason of
+this my weighty basket."
+
+"Indeed 'tis a something well-laden basket," said Beltane, relieving
+the friar of his burden with gentle force.
+
+"Why, verily, my children are hungry children and clamour to be filled.
+And see you, my son, I have a secret of a certain broth whereof these
+lentils and these sweet herbs do so tickle their palates that to
+satisfy them is a hard matter--more especially Orson and Jenkyn--who
+being nigh cured of their hurts do eat like four men and vaunt my
+cooking full-mouthed, insomuch that I must needs grow heedful of vain
+pride."
+
+"Fain would I see these children of thine an I may, good friar, so will
+I bear thy burden for thee."
+
+"Verily they shall rejoice to see thee," quoth the friar, "but for my
+basket, methinks 'tis better suited to my habit than thy knightly mail--"
+
+For answer Beltane slipped the basket on his arm and they went on
+together talking whole-heartedly of many things. Thus the gentle friar
+brought him at last to a low-arched portal within a narrow lane, and
+pushing open the door, ushered him into the great refectory of the
+abbey, where Beltane set down the basket, and Friar Martin, rolling up
+his sleeves, brought pot and pannikin but paused to smile and shake his
+head, as from a stone-flagged passage hard by came the sound of voices
+raised in altercation.
+
+"My children do grow a little fractious at times," quoth he, "as is but
+natural, methinks. Yonder you shall hear Orson and Jenkyn, who having
+saved each other's life in battle and loving like brothers, do oft
+contend together with tongues most ungentle; go you, my son, and quiet
+me the naughty rogues."
+
+So saying, Friar Martin fell to washing and preparing his herbs and
+vegetables whiles Beltane, hasting down the passage, opened a certain
+door and entered a cool and airy dormitory, where upon pallets neat and
+orderly lay divers fellows whose hurts were swathed in fair white
+linen, and who, despite their bandages, started up on hand or elbow to
+greet Beltane right gladly. And behold! beside each man's couch was a
+bowl wherein roses bloomed.
+
+"Master," quoth Tall Orson, "us do be glad to see thee--in especial me--
+and Jenkyn that I did save the carcase of and as do be a liar as do
+say my roses do be a-fading, master, and as his roses do bloom fairer
+than my roses and--"
+
+"And look'ee master, so they be, for I ha' watered mine wi' Orson's
+drinking-water, while he snored, look'ee--" "So Jenkyn do be thief as
+well, master--"
+
+"Nay," said Beltane smiling, and seating himself on Orson's bed, "stint
+now your angers and tell me who gave ye flowers so fair?"
+
+"Master, she do be an angel!"
+
+"Heed him not, lord, for look'ee, she is a fair and lovely woman, and
+look'ee, a good woman is better than an angel, look'ee!"
+
+"And what like is she?" questioned Beltane.
+
+"She do be like to a stag for grace o' body, and wi' the eyes of a
+stag--"
+
+"Nay, master, her eyes do be maid's eyes, look'ee, very soft and sweet,
+and her hair, look'ee--"
+
+"Her hair do be like a forest-pool brim-full o' sunset--"
+
+"Not so, master, her hair is red, look'ee--"
+
+"And each day she do bring us flowers, master--"
+
+"And suckets, look'ee, very sweet and delicate, master."
+
+In a while Beltane arose and going from bed to bed spake with each and
+every, and went his way, leaving Orson and Jenkyn to their
+recriminations.
+
+Being come back into the refectory, he found Friar Martin yet busied
+with the preparations of his cooking, and seating himself upon the
+great table hard by, fell to a profound meditation, watched ever and
+anon by the friar's kindly eyes: so very silent and thoughtful was he
+that the friar presently looked up from slicing and cutting his
+vegetables and spake with smile wondrous tender:
+
+"Wherefore so pensive, my son?"
+
+"Good father, I think and dream of--red roses!"
+
+Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here
+was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white
+cowl.
+
+"A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!" quoth he.
+
+"As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!"
+
+"'She,' my son?"
+
+"As Helen, good friar, as Helen the Beautiful, Duchess of Mortain!"
+
+"Ah!" sighed the friar, and forthwith popped the leek into the pot. "I
+prithee, noble son, reach me the salt-box yonder!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVI
+
+CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
+
+
+Next morning, ere the sun was up, came Beltane into the minster and
+hiding within the deeper gloom of the choir, sat there hushing his
+breath to listen, trembling in eager anticipation. Slowly amid the
+dimness above came a glimmer from the great window, a pale beam that
+grew with dawn until up rose the sun and the window glowed in many-hued
+splendour.
+
+And in a while to Beltane's straining senses came the faint creak of a
+door, a soft rustle, the swift light tread of feet, and starting forth
+of his lurking place he stepped forward with yearning arms
+outstretched--then paused of a sudden beholding her who stood at gaze,
+one slender foot advanced and white hands full of roses and lilies, one
+as fair, as sweet and pure as the fragrant blooms she bore. Small was
+she and slender, and of a radiant loveliness, red of lip and grey-eyed:
+now beholding Beltane thus suddenly, she shrank and uttered a soft cry.
+
+"Nay," quoth he, "fear me not, sweet maid, methought thee other than
+thou art--I grieve that I did fright thee--forgive me, I pray," so
+saying, he sighed and bowing full humbly, turned, but even so paused
+again: "Thou art methinks the Reeve's fair daughter--thou art the lady
+Genevra?" he questioned.
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then, an thou dost love, gentle maid, heaven send thee happier in thy
+love than I." At the which Genevra's gentle eyes grew softer yet and
+her sweet mouth full pitiful and tender.
+
+"Art thou so unhappy, lord Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, truly!" he sighed, and drooped mournful head.
+
+"Ah, messire, then fain would I aid thee an I might!" said she,
+soft-voiced.
+
+"Then where, I pray you, is she that came here yesterday?"
+
+"Nay, lord, how may I tell thee this? There be many women in Belsaye
+town."
+
+"For me," quoth Beltane, "in all the world there is but one and to this
+one, alas! thou canst not aid me, yet for thy kind intent I thank thee,
+and so farewell, sweet maid." Thus saying, he took three steps away
+from her, then turning, came back in two. "Stay," quoth he, slipping
+hand in wallet, "know you this shoe?"
+
+Now beholding this, Genevra's red lips quivered roguishly, and she
+bowed her little, shapely head:
+
+"Indeed, my lord, 'tis mine!" said she.
+
+"Then pray you, who was she did wear it yesterday--?"
+
+"Aye, messire, 'twas yesterday I--missed it, wilt not give it me
+therefore? One shoe can avail thee nothing and--and 'tis too small for
+thee to wear methinks--"
+
+"Did she--she that lost this yesterday, send thee to-day in her
+stead?"
+
+"Wilt not give a poor maid her shoe again, messire?"
+
+"O Genevra, beseech thee, who was she did wear it yesterday--speak!"
+
+"Nay, this--this I may not tell thee, lord Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore?"
+
+"For that I did so promise--and yet--what seek you of her, my lord?"
+
+"Forgiveness," said Beltane, hot and eager, "I would woo her sweet
+clemency on one that hath wrought her grievous wrong. O sweet Genevra,
+wilt not say where I may find her?"
+
+A while stood the maid Genevra with bowed head as one in doubt, then
+looked on him with sweet maiden eyes and of a sudden smiled
+compassionate and tender.
+
+"Ah, messire," said she, "surely thine are the eyes of one who loveth
+greatly and well! And I do so love her that fain would I have her
+greatly loved--so will I tell thee despite my word--hearken!" And
+drawing him near she laid white finger to rosy lip and thereafter spake
+in whispers. "Go you to the green door where yesterday thou didst meet
+with Gi--with the captain of the archers--O verily we--she and I, my
+lord, did see and hear all that passed betwixt you--and upon this door
+knock you softly three times. Go--yet, O prithee say not 'twas Genevra
+told thee this!" and again she laid white finger to roguish, pouting
+lip.
+
+Then Beltane stooped, and catching that little hand kissed it, and
+thereafter hasted blithely on his way.
+
+Swift of foot went he and with eyes a-dance, nor paused in his long
+stride until he was come to a certain high wall wherein was set the
+small, green door, whereon he knocked three times. And presently he
+heard the bar softly raised, the door was opened slow and cautiously,
+and stooping, Beltane stepped beneath the lintel and stood suddenly
+still, staring into the face of Black Roger. And even as Beltane stared
+thus amazed, so stared Roger.
+
+"Why, master--" quoth he, pushing back his mail-coif to rumple his
+black hair, "why, master, you--you be early abroad--though forsooth
+'tis a fair morning and--"
+
+"Roger," quoth Beltane, looking round upon a fair garden a-bloom with
+flowers, "Roger, where is the Duchess Helen?"
+
+"Ha, so ye do know, master--who hath discovered it--?"
+
+"Where is she, Roger?"
+
+"Lord," quoth Roger, giving a sudden sideways jerk of his head, "how
+should Roger tell thee this?" Now even as he spake, Roger must needs
+gesture again with his head and therewith close one bright, black eye,
+and with stealthy finger point to a certain tall hedge hard by; all of
+which was seen by one who stood beyond the hedge, watching Beltane with
+eyes that missed nought of him, from golden spur to golden head; quick
+to note his flushing cheek, his parted lips and the eager light of his
+blue eyes; one who perceiving him turn whither Roger's sly finger
+pointed, gathered up her flowing robe in both white hands that she
+might flee the faster, and who, speeding swift and light, came to a
+certain leafy bower where stood a tambour frame, and sitting there,
+with draperies well ordered, caught up silk and needle, yet paused to
+close her eyes and set one hand upon rounded bosom what time a quick,
+firm step drew near and ever nearer with clash and ring of heavy mail
+until Beltane stood before her. And how was he to know of the eyes that
+had watched him through the hedge, or that the hand that held the
+needle had paused lest he should see how direfully it trembled: how
+should my Beltane know all this, who was but a very man?
+
+A while stood he, viewing her with eyes aglow with yearning tenderness,
+and she, knowing this, kept her face down-bent, therefore. Now
+beholding all the beauty of her, because of her gracious loveliness,
+his breath caught, then hurried thick and fast, insomuch that when he
+would have spoken he could not; thus he worshipped her in a look and
+she, content to be so worshipped, sat with head down-bent, as sweetly
+demure, as proud and stately as if--as if she ne'er in all her days had
+fled with hampering draperies caught up so high!
+
+So Beltane stood worshipping her as she had been some young goddess in
+whose immortal beauty all beauty was embodied.
+
+At last he spake, hoarse and low and passionate:
+
+"Helen!" said he, "O Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly the Duchess lifted stately head and looked on him: but
+now, behold! her glance was high and proud, her scarlet mouth firm-set
+like the white and dimpled chin below and her eyes swept him with look
+calm and most dispassionate.
+
+"Ah, my lord Beltane," she said, sweet-voiced, "what do you here within
+the privacy of Genevra's garden?"
+
+Now because of the sweet serenity of her speech, because of the calm,
+unswerving directness of her gaze, my Beltane felt at sudden loss, his
+outstretched arms sank helplessly and he fell a-stammering.
+
+"Helen, I--I--O Helen, I have dreamed of, yearned for this hour! To see
+thee again--to hear thy voice, and yet--and yet--"
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+Now stood Beltane very still, staring on her in dumb amaze, and the
+pain in his eyes smote her, insomuch that she bent to her embroidery
+and sewed three stitches woefully askew.
+
+"O surely, surely I am mad," quoth he wondering, "or I do dream. For
+she I seek is a woman, gentle and prone to forgiveness, one beyond all
+women fair and brave and noble, in whose pure heart can nothing evil
+be, in whose gentle eyes her gentle soul lieth mirrored, whose tender
+lips be apt and swift to speak mercy and forgiveness. Even as her soft,
+kind hands did bind up my wounds, so methought she with gentle sayings
+might heal my grieving heart--and now--now--"
+
+"O my lord," she sighed, bending over idle fingers, "methinks you came
+seeking an angel of heaven and find here--only a woman."
+
+"Yet 'tis this woman I do love and ever must--'tis this woman I did
+know as Fidelis--"
+
+"Alas!" she sighed again, "alas, poor Fidelis, thou didst drive him
+from thee into the solitary wild-wood. So is poor Fidelis lost to thee,
+methinks--"
+
+"Nay, Helen--O Helen, be just to me--thou dost know I loved Fidelis--"
+
+"Yet thou didst spurn and name him traitor and drave him from thee!"
+
+Now of a sudden he strode towards her, and as he came her bosom
+swelled, her lashes drooped, for it seemed he meant to clasp her to his
+heart. But lo! being only man, my Beltane paused and trembled, and
+dared not touch her, and sinking before her on his knees, spake very
+humbly and with head low-bowed.
+
+"Helen--show me a little mercy!" he pleaded. "Would'st that I abase
+myself? Then here--here behold me at thy feet, fearing thee because of
+my unworthiness. But O believe--believe, for every base doubt of thee
+this heart hath known, now doth it grieve remorseful. For every harsh
+and bitter word this tongue hath spoke thee, now doth it humbly crave
+thy pitiful forgiveness! But know you this, that from the evil hour I
+drave thee from me, I have known abiding sorrow and remorse, for
+without thee life is indeed but an empty thing and I a creature lost
+and desolate--O Helen, pity me!"
+
+Thus spake he, humble and broken, and she, beholding him thus, sighed
+(though wondrous softly) and 'neath her long lashes tears glittered
+(though swift dashed away) but--slowly, very slowly, one white hand
+came out to him, faltered, stopped, and glancing up she rose in haste
+and shrank away. Now Beltane, perceiving only this last gesture, sprang
+up, fierce-eyed:
+
+"How?" quoth he, "am I then become a thing so base my presence doth
+offend thee--then, as God liveth, ne'er shalt see me more until thou
+thyself do summon me!"
+
+Even as he spake thus, swift and passionate, Giles clambered the
+adjacent wall and dropping softly within the garden, stared to behold
+Beltane striding towards him fierce-eyed, who, catching him by the arm
+yet viewing him not, spun him from his path, and coming to the green
+door, sped out and away.
+
+Now as Giles stood to rub his arm and gape in wonderment, he started to
+find the Duchess beside him; and her eyes were very bright and her
+cheeks very red, and, meeting her look, poor Giles fell suddenly
+abashed.
+
+"Noble lady--" he faltered.
+
+"Foolish Giles!" said she, "go, summon me my faithful Roger." But as
+she spake, behold Roger himself hasting to her through the roses.
+
+"Roger," said she, frowning a little, "saw you my lord go but now?"
+
+"Aye, verily, dear my lady," quoth he, ruffling up his hair, "but
+wherefore--"
+
+"And I," said Giles, cherishing his arm, "both saw and felt him--"
+
+"Ha," quoth Roger, "would'st have him back, sweet mistress?"
+
+"Why truly I would, Roger--"
+
+"Then forsooth will I go fetch him."
+
+"Nay--rather would I die, Roger."
+
+"But--dear lady--an thou dost want him--"
+
+"I will bring him by other means!" said the Duchess, "aye, he shall
+come despite himself," and her red lips curved to sudden roguish smile,
+as smiling thus, she brought them to a certain arbour very shady and
+remote, and, seating herself, looked from one tanned face to the other
+and spake them certain matters, whereat the archer's merry eyes grew
+merrier yet, but Roger sighed and shook his head; said he:
+
+"Lady, here is tale shall wring his noble heart, methinks, wherefore
+the telling shall wring mine also--"
+
+"Then speak not of it, Roger. Be this Giles's mission."
+
+"Aye, Rogerkin, leave it to me. In faith, noble lady, I will with
+suggestion soft and subtle, with knowing look and wily wag of head, so
+work upon my lord that he shall hither hot-foot haste--"
+
+"At moonrise," said the Duchess softly, "this evening at moonrise!"
+
+"Verily, lady, at moonrise! And a blue camlet cloak, say you?"
+
+"Come, Giles, and I will give it thee."
+
+Meanwhile, Beltane, hurt and angry, betook him to the walls where bow
+and perrier had already begun their deadly morning's work; and coming
+to a quiet corner of the battlement, he leaned him there to watch
+where the besiegers, under cover of the cat that hourly crept more
+nigh, worked amain to dam the moat.
+
+Now as he leaned thus, a hand slipped within his arm, and turning, he
+beheld Sir Benedict.
+
+"A right fair morning, my Beltane," quoth he.
+
+"Aye, truly, Benedict," sighed Beltane, "though there be clouds to the
+west. And the causeway across the moat groweth apace; I have watched
+yon cat creep a full yard--"
+
+"Aye, verily, by mid-day, Beltane, 'twill reach our wall, then will
+they advance their ram to the battery, methinks."
+
+"And what then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then shall we destroy their ram forthwith with devil-fire, dear lad!"
+
+"Aye, and how then, Benedict?"
+
+"Then, belike will they plant ladders on the causeway and attempt the
+wall by storm, so shall we come to handstrokes at last and beset them
+with pitch and boiling oil and hew their ladders in sunder."
+
+"And after, Benedict?"
+
+"Hey-day, Beltane, here be a many questions--"
+
+"Aye, Benedict, 'tis that I do look into the future. And what future
+can there be? Though we maintain our walls a year, or two, or three,
+yet in the end Belsaye must fall."
+
+"And I tell thee, Beltane, were Ivo twice as strong Belsaye should yet
+withstand him. So gloom not, lad, Belsaye is safe, the sun shineth and
+behold my arm--'tis well-nigh healed, thanks to--to skilful nursing--"
+
+"Of the Duchess Helen, Benedict?"
+
+"Ha--so hast found it out--at last, lad--"
+
+"Knew you she was here?"
+
+"Aye, verily."
+
+"And told me not?"
+
+"For that she did so command, Beltane."
+
+"And wherefore came she hither?"
+
+"For thy dear sake in the first place, and--"
+
+"Nay, mock me not, friend, for I do know myself of none account."
+
+"And in the second place, Beltane, to save this fair city of Belsaye."
+
+"Nay, how mean you?"
+
+"I mean that Belsaye cannot fall whiles it holdeth Helen the Proud. And
+the reason this--now mark me, Beltane! Since her father's death Duke
+Ivo hath had his glutton eye on fair Mortain, whereof her counsellors
+did ken, yet, being old men and averse to war, would fain have had her
+wed with him. Now upon a day word reached me in Thrasfordham bidding me
+come to her and Waldron of Brand at Winisfarne. So, as thou dost know,
+stole I from my goodly castle and marched north. But on the way she
+came to me bedight in mail, and she and I took counsel together.
+Wherefore came she hither to Belsaye and sent speedy messengers to Sir
+Jocelyn of Alain and others of her greatest lords and knights, bidding
+them come down with all their powers--nay, why shake ye gloomy head,
+fond boy? Body o' me, Beltane, I tell thee this--to-day she--"
+
+"To-day," sighed Beltane, frowning, "to-day she spurneth me! Kneeling
+at her feet e'en as I was she shrank away as I had leprous been!"
+
+"Aye, lad, and then--didst woo as well as kneel to her, didst clasp her
+to thee, lift her proud head that needs must she give to thine her
+eyes--she is in sooth very woman--did you this, my Beltane?"
+
+"Ah, dear Benedict, she that I love was not wont to shrink from me
+thus! 'Tis true I am unworthy--and yet, she spurned me--so is her love
+dead, methinks!"
+
+"So art thou but youth, and foolish youth, and belike, foolish, hungry
+youth--so come, let us break our fast together."
+
+"Not I, Benedict, for if love be dead, no mind have I to food."
+
+"O lad--lad!" sighed Sir Benedict, "would I had one as fair and noble
+to love me in such sort!" And turning, he gazed sad-eyed towards
+Belsaye's great minster, and sighing, went his way.
+
+And presently, as Beltane leaned thus, grieving and alone, cometh Giles
+that way, who, pausing beside him, peered down where the besiegers, but
+ill-sheltered by battered mantlet and palisades, strove amain to bring
+up one of their rams, since the causeway across the moat was well-nigh
+complete.
+
+"Holy saints!" quoth Giles, "the rogues grow bold and venturesome,
+methinks!" So saying, he strung his powerful bow, and laying arrows to
+his hand fell to drawing and loosing amain. So swift shot he and with
+aim so true, that in a while the enemy gave over their attempt and
+betook them to cover what time their archers and cross-bowmen plied the
+wall with a storm of shafts and bolts.
+
+Upon this Giles, laying by his bow, seated himself in corner well
+screened from harm, beckoning Beltane to do the like, since the enemy's
+missiles whizzed and whistled perilously near. But sighing, Beltane
+closed his vizor and heedless of flying bolt and arrow strode to the
+narrow stair that led up to the gate-tower and being come there sat him
+down beside the great mangonel. But lo! very soon Giles was there also
+and even as Beltane sighed, so sighed Giles.
+
+"Heigho--a sorry world, brother!" quoth he, "a sorry world!" and
+forthwith fell to his archery, yet now, though his aim was true as
+ever, he sighed and murmured plaintively 'twixt every shot: "Alack, a
+sorry world!" So deep and oft were his sighs, so plaintive his groans,
+that Beltane, though plunged in bitter thought, must needs at length
+take heed of him.
+
+"Giles," quoth he, looking up, "a heaven's name, what aileth thee,
+man?"
+
+"'Tis my eyes, lord."
+
+"Thine eyes are well enough, Giles, and see wondrous well to judge by
+thy shooting."
+
+"Wondrous well--aye, there it is, tall brother, mine eyes do see
+wondrous well, mine eyes do see so much, see you, that they do see
+over-much, over-much, aye--too, too much. Alack, 'tis a sorry and
+woeful world, brother! beshrew my eyes, I say!"
+
+"And wherefore, Giles?"
+
+"For that these eyes do see what other eyes see not--thine, methinks,
+saw nought of a fine, lusty and up-standing fellow in a camlet cloak
+within the Reeve's garden this morning, I'll warrant me now? A tall,
+shapely rogue, well be-seen, see you, soft-voiced and very debonair?"
+
+"Nay, not I," said Beltane, and sighing he arose and descended to the
+battlement above the gates. And presently, behold Giles was there also!
+
+"Brother," quoth he, selecting an arrow with portentous care, "'tis an
+ill thing to be cursed with eyes such as mine, I tell thee!"
+
+"Aye, and wherefore, Giles?" said Beltane, yet intent on his own
+thoughts.
+
+"For that they do see more than is good for this heart o' mine--as this
+fellow in the blue camlet cloak--"
+
+"What fellow, Giles?"
+
+"The buxom fellow that was in the Reeve's garden this morning."
+
+"Why then," quoth Beltane, turning away, "go you not to the Reeve's
+garden, Giles."
+
+All day long Beltane kept the wall, eating not at all, wherefore his
+gloom waxed the more profound; so spake he to few men and oft exposed
+himself to shaft and missile. And so, all day long, wheresoever he
+came, on tower or keep, in corners most remote, there sure was Giles to
+come also, sighing amain and with brow of heavy portent, who, so oft as
+he met Beltane's gloomy eye, would shake his head in sad yet knowing
+fashion. Thus, as evening fell, Beltane finding him at his elbow yet
+despondent, betook him to speech at last; quoth he:
+
+"Giles, art thou sick?"
+
+"Aye, lord, by reason of this fellow in the blue camlet--"
+
+"What fellow?"
+
+"The tall and buxom fellow in the Reeve's garden."
+
+"Ha!" quoth Beltane, frowning. "In the garden, say you--what manner of
+man is this?"
+
+"O brother--a shapely man, a comely man--a man of words and cunning
+phrases--a man shall sing you sweet and melodious as any bird--why, I
+myself can sing no sweeter!"
+
+"Cometh he there often, Giles?"
+
+"Why lord, he cometh and he goeth--I saw him there this morning!"
+
+"What doeth he there?"
+
+"Nay, who shall say--Genevra is wondrous fair, yet so is she that is
+Genevra's friend, so do I hope belike 'tis she--"
+
+"Hold thy peace, Giles!"
+
+Now beholding Beltane's fierce eye and how his strong hands clenched
+themselves, Giles incontinent moved further off and spake in accents
+soft and soothing:
+
+"And yet, tall brother, and yet 'tis belike but some gentle troubadour
+that singeth songs to their delectation, and 'tis meet to hark to songs
+sweet-sung--at moonrise, lord!"
+
+"And wherefore at moonrise?"
+
+"'Tis at this sweet hour your minstrel singeth best. Aye me, and to-night
+there is a moon!" Hereupon Beltane must needs turn to scowl upon
+the moon just topping the distant woods. Now as they sat thus, cometh
+Roger with bread and meat for his lord's acceptance; but Beltane,
+setting it aside, stared on Roger with baleful eye.
+
+"Roger," said he, "wherefore hast avoided me this day?"
+
+"Avoided thee, master--I?"
+
+"And what did you this morning in the Reeve's garden?"
+
+"Master, in this big world are two beings that I do truly love, and
+thou art one and the other Sir Fidelis thy right sweet and noble lady--
+so is it my joy to serve her when I may, thus daily do I go aid her
+with the sick."
+
+"And what of him that singeth; saw you this troubadour within the
+garden?"
+
+"Troubadour?" quoth Roger, staring.
+
+"Why verily," nodded Giles, "my lord meaneth the tall and goodly fellow
+in the cloak of blue camlet, Roger."
+
+"Ne'er have I seen one in blue cloak!" said Roger, "and this do I
+swear!"
+
+"None the less," said Beltane, rising, "I will seek him there myself."
+
+"At moonrise, lord?" questioned Giles.
+
+"Aye," said Beltane grimly; "at moonrise!" and scowling he turned away.
+
+"Aha!" quoth Giles, nudging Roger with roguish elbow, "it worketh,
+Roger, it worketh!"
+
+"Aye, Giles, it worketh so well that an my master get his hands on this
+singing fellow--then woe betide this singing fellow, say I."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVII
+
+TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
+
+
+The moon was already filling the night with her soft splendour when
+Beltane, coming to a certain wall, swung himself up, and, being there,
+paused to breathe the sweet perfume of the flowers whose languorous
+fragrance wrought in him a yearning deep and passionate, and ever as
+love-longing grew, bitterness and anger were forgot. Very still was it
+within this sheltered garden, where, fraught by the moon's soft magic,
+all things did seem to find them added beauties.
+
+But, even as he paused thus, he heard a step approaching, a man's
+tread, quick and light yet assured, and he beheld one shrouded in a
+long cloak of blue, a tall figure that hasted through the garden and
+vanished behind the tall yew hedge.
+
+Down sprang Beltane fierce-eyed, trampling the tender flowers under
+cruel feet, and as he in turn passed behind the hedge the moon
+glittered evilly on his dagger blade. Quick and soft of foot went he
+until, beholding a faint light amid the leaves, he paused, then hasted
+on and thus came to an arbour bowered in eglantine.
+
+She sat at a table where burned a rushlight that glowed among the
+splendour of her hair, for her head was bowed above the letter she was
+writing.
+
+Now as he stood regarding her 'neath frowning brows, she spake, yet
+lifted not her shapely head.
+
+"Well, my lord?"
+
+"Helen, where is he that came here but now?"
+
+Slowly she lifted her head, and setting white hands 'neath dimpled
+chin, met his frown with eyes of gentleness.
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, my lord."
+
+"Helen," said he again, grim-lipped, "whom dost wait for?"
+
+"Nay, first put up thy dagger, messire."
+
+Frowning he obeyed, and came a pace nearer.
+
+"What do you here with pen and ink-horn?"
+
+"My lord, I write."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"To such as it pleaseth me."
+
+"I pray you--show me."
+
+"Nay, for that doth not please me, messire."
+
+"I pray you, who was he that came hither but now--a tall man in a long
+blue cloak?"
+
+"I saw him not, my lord."
+
+"So needs must I see thy letter."
+
+"Nay, that thou shalt not, my lord," said she, and rose to her stately
+height.
+
+"Aye, but I shall!" quoth Beltane softly, and came a pace yet nearer.
+
+Now because of the grim and masterful look of him, her heart fell
+a-fluttering, yet she fronted him scornful-eyed, and curled her red lip
+at him.
+
+"Messire," said she, "methinks you do forget I am the--"
+
+"I remember thou art woman and thy name--Helen!"
+
+Now at this laughed she softly and thereafter falleth to singing very
+sweet and blithe and merry withal.
+
+"The letter!" said he, "give me thy letter!"
+
+Hereupon she took up the letter, and, yet singing, crumpled it up
+within white fingers.
+
+Then Beltane set by the table and reaching out sudden arms, caught her
+up 'neath waist and knee, and lifting her high, crushed her upon his
+breast.
+
+"Helen!" said he, low-voiced and fierce, "mine art thou as I am thine,
+forever, 'twas so we plighted our troth within the green. Now for thy
+beauty I do greatly love thee, but for thy sweet soul and purity of
+heart I do reverence and worship thee--but an thou slay my reverent
+worship then this night shalt thou die and I with thee--for mine art
+thou and shalt be mine forever. Give me thy letter!"
+
+But now her eyes quailed 'neath his, her white lids drooped, and
+sighing, she spake small-voiced:
+
+"O my lord, thine arms are so--so tyrannous that I do fear thee--
+almost! And how may a poor maid, so crushed and helpless thus, gainsay
+thee? So prithee, O prithee take my poor letter an thou wilt ravish it
+from one so defenceless--O beseech thee, take it!"
+
+So she gave the crumpled parchment into his hand, yet while he read it,
+nestled closer in his arms and hid her face against him; for what he
+read was this:
+
+"Beloved, art thou angered, or sorrowful, or humble in thy foolish
+jealousy? If angered, then must I woo thee. If sorrowful, cherish thee.
+But being Beltane, needs must I love thee ever--so write I this,
+bidding thee come, my Beltane the Smith, for I--"
+
+The crumpled letter fell to the ground.
+
+"Helen!" he whispered, "Beloved, I am all of this, so do I need thy
+comfort, thy cherishing, and all thy dear love--turn thy head--O Helen,
+how red is thy sweet mouth!" Then stooped he, and so they kissed each
+other, such kisses as they ne'er had known, until she sighed and
+trembled and lay all breathless in his arms.
+
+"O my lord," she whispered, "have mercy, I pray! Dear Beltane, loose me
+for I--I have much to tell thee."
+
+And because of her pleading eyes he loosed her, and she, sinking upon
+the bench, leaned there all flushed and tremulous, and looking on him,
+sighed, and sighing, put up her hands and hid her face from his regard.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered, "how wondrous a thing is this our love, so
+great and fierce it frighteth me--see how I tremble!" and she held out
+to him her hands.
+
+Then came he and knelt before her, and kissed those slender fingers
+amain.
+
+"Dear hands of Fidelis," said he, "but for their tender skill and
+gentle care I had not lived to know this night--O brave, small hands
+of Fidelis!"
+
+"Poor Fidelis!" she sighed, "but indeed it wrung my heart to see thy
+woeful face when I did tell thee Fidelis was lost to thee--Nay,
+Beltane, stay--O prithee let me speak--"
+
+Quoth Beltane 'twixt his kisses:
+
+"Wherefore wert so cold and strange to me but yesterday?"
+
+"Dear my heart," she murmured, "I needs must make thee suffer a little--
+just a very little, for that I had known so much of pain and heartache
+because of thee. But I was glad to see thee bear the wallet of poor
+Fidelis--and O, 'twas foolish in thee to grieve for him, for he being
+gone, thy Helen doth remain--unless, forsooth, thou had rather I came
+to thee bedight again in steel--that did so chafe me, Beltane--indeed,
+my tender skin did suffer much on thy account--"
+
+"Then soon with my kisses will I seek--" But a cool, soft hand schooled
+his hot lips to silence and the while he kissed those sweet arresting
+fingers, she spake 'twixt smiling lips: "Prithee where is my shoe that
+was Genevra's? Indeed, 'twas hard matter to slip it off for thee,
+Beltane, for Genevra's foot is something smaller than mine--a very
+little! Nay, crush me not, messire, but tell me, what of him ye came
+hither seeking--the man in the long cloak--what of him?"
+
+"Nought!" answered Beltane, "the world to-night doth hold but thee and
+me--"
+
+"Aye, my Beltane, as when sick of thy wound within the little cave I
+nursed thee, all unknown. O love, in all thy sickness I was with thee,
+to care for thee. Teaching good Roger to tend thee and--to drug thee to
+gentle sleep that I might hold thee to me in the dark and--kiss thy
+sleeping lips--"
+
+"Ah!" he sighed, "and methought 'twas but a dream! O Helen, sure none
+ever loved as we?"
+
+"Nay, 'twere thing impossible, Beltane."
+
+"And thou art truly mine?"
+
+"Beltane--thou dost know this! Ah, love--what would you?" For of a
+sudden his mighty arms were close about her, and rising, he lifted her
+upon his breast. "What would'st do with me, Beltane?"
+
+"Do?" quoth he, "do? This night, this very hour thou shalt wed me--"
+
+"Nay, dear my lord--bethink thee--"
+
+"It hath been my thought--my dearest dream since first I saw thee
+within the woods at Mortain--so now shalt wed me--"
+
+"But, Beltane--"
+
+"Shalt wed me!"
+
+"Nay, love, I--I--thou art so sudden!"
+
+"Aye, within this hour shalt call me 'husband'!"
+
+"Wilt force me, my lord?"
+
+"Aye, verily," said Beltane, "as God sees me, I will!"
+
+"Why then," she sighed, "how may I gainsay thee!" and she hid her face
+against him once more. But, as he turned to leave the arbour, she
+stayed him:
+
+"I prithee, now, whither dost take me, Beltane?"
+
+"To the minster--anywhere, so that I find good Friar Martin."
+
+"Nay, prithee, Beltane, prithee set me down!"
+
+"What would'st, my Helen?"
+
+"Loose me and shalt see."
+
+So Beltane, sighing, let her go, whereupon she took a small silver
+whistle that hung at her girdle and sounded it.
+
+"Ah--what do you?" he questioned.
+
+"Wait!" said she, roguish-eyed.
+
+And in a while came the sound of steps from the outer garden, and
+looking thither, Beltane beheld a tall man in cloak of blue camlet, and
+when this man drew near, behold! it was Giles.
+
+"Giles!" quoth he, "thou wily rogue--"
+
+"Giles," spake the Duchess softly, "I pray you let them come!"
+
+Then Giles bowed him low, and smiling, hasted joyously away.
+
+"Beltane, dear my lord," said the Duchess a little breathlessly,
+"because thou art true man and thy love is a noble love, I did lure
+thee hither to-night that I might give myself to thee in God's holy
+sight--an so it be thy will, my lord. O Beltane, yonder Giles and Roger
+do bring--Friar Martin to make me--thy wife--wherefore I do grow
+something fearful. 'Tis foolish in me to fear thee and yet--I do--a
+little, Beltane!" So saying, she looked on him with eyes full sweet
+and troubled, wherefore he would have kissed her, but steps drew nigh
+and lo! without the arbour stood the white friar with Giles and Roger
+in the shadows behind.
+
+Now came Beltane and took the friar's hand.
+
+"Holy father," said he, "O good Friar Martin, though I am but what I
+am, yet hath this sweet and noble lady raised me up to be what I have
+dreamed to be. To-night, into my care she giveth her sweet body and
+fair fame, of which God make me worthy."
+
+"Sweet children," spake the friar, "this world is oft-times a hard and
+cruel world, but God is a gentle God and merciful, wherefore as he hath
+given to man the blessed sun and the sweet and tender flowers, so hath
+he given him love. And when two there be who love with soul as well as
+body, with mind as well as heart, then methinks for them this world may
+be a paradise. And, my children, because I do love thee for thy sweet
+lives and noble works, so do I joy now to bind ye one to another."
+
+Then hand in hand, the Duchess and my Beltane knelt together, and
+because he had no ring, needs must she give to him one of hers; so were
+they wed.
+
+As one that dreamed, Beltane knelt there murmuring the responses, and
+thus knelt he so long that he started to feel a soft touch upon his
+cheek, and looking up, behold! they were alone.
+
+"Dost dream, my lord?" she questioned, tender-voiced.
+
+"Aye, verily," he answered, "of the wonder of our love and thee,
+beloved, as I did see thee first within the thicket at Mortain,
+beautiful as now, though then was thy glorious hair unbound. I dream of
+thine eyes beneath thy nun's veil when I did bear thee in my arms from
+Thornaby--but most do I dream of thee as Fidelis, and the clasp of thy
+dear arms within the dark."
+
+"But thou didst leave me in Mortain thicket despite my hair, Beltane!
+And thou didst tell me mine eyes were not--a nun's eyes, Beltane--"
+
+"Wherefore this night do I thank God!" said he, drawing her close
+beside him on the bench.
+
+"And for my arms, Beltane, thou didst think them man's arms--because
+they went bedight in mail, forsooth!"
+
+"So this night shall they go bedight in kisses of my mouth! loose me
+this sleeve, I pray--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane,--I do beseech thee--"
+
+"Art not my wife?"
+
+"Aye, my lord."
+
+"Then loose me thy sleeve, Helen."
+
+So blushing, trembling, needs must she obey and yield her soft arms to
+his caresses and hide her face because of their round, white nakedness.
+
+But in a while she spake, low and very humble.
+
+"Dear my lord, the moon doth set already, methinks!"
+
+"Aye, but there is no cloud to dim her glory to-night, Helen!"
+
+"But the hour waxeth--very late, my lord and I--must away."
+
+"Aye, beloved, let us go."
+
+"Nay my lord, I--O dear Beltane--"
+
+"Wife!" said he, "dear my love and wife, have I not waited long
+enough?"
+
+Hand in hand they walked amid the flowers with eyes only for each other
+until came they to a stair and up the stair to a chamber, rich with
+silk and arras and sweet with spicy odours, a chamber dim-lighted by a
+silver lamp pendent from carven roof-beam, whose soft glow filled the
+place with shadow. Yet even in this tender dimness, or because of it,
+her colour ebbed and flowed, her breath came apace and she stood before
+him voiceless and very still save for the sweet tumult of her bosom.
+
+Then Beltane loosed off his sword and laid it upon the silken couch,
+but perceiving how she trembled, he set his arm about her and drew her
+to the open lattice where the moon made a pool of glory at their feet.
+
+"Dost fear me, Helen?"
+
+"Nay, my lord, I--think not."
+
+"Then wherefore dost tremble?"
+
+"Ah, Beltane, thou methinks dost--tremble also?"
+
+Then Beltane knelt him at her feet and looked upon her loveliness with
+yearning eyes, yet touched her not:
+
+"O beloved maid!" said he, "this is, methinks, because of thy sweet
+virgin eyes! For I do so love thee, Helen, that, an it be thy will,
+e'en now will I leave thee until thy heart doth call me!"
+
+Now stooped she and set her white arms about him and her soft cheek to
+his hot brow.
+
+"Dear my lord and--husband," she whispered, "'tis for this so sweet
+tenderness in thee that I do love thee best, methinks!"
+
+"And fear me no more?"
+
+"Aye, my lord, I do fear thee when--when thou dost look on me so, but--
+when thou dost look on me so--'tis then I do love thee most, my
+Beltane!"
+
+Up to his feet sprang Beltane and caught her to him, breast to breast
+and lip to lip.
+
+The great sword clattered to the floor; but now, even as she sank in
+his embrace, she held him off to stare with eyes of sudden terror as,
+upon the stilly night broke a thunderous rumble, a shock, and
+thereafter sudden roar and outcry from afar, that swelled to a wild
+hubbub of distant voices and cries, lost, all at once, in the raving
+clamour of the tocsin.
+
+Locked thus within each other's arms, eye questioned eye, while ever
+the bell beat out its fierce alarm. And presently, within the garden
+below, was the sound of running feet and, coming to the casement,
+Beltane beheld a light that hovered to and fro, growing ever nearer and
+brighter, until he saw that he who bore it was Black Roger; and Roger's
+face shone with sweat and his breath laboured with his running.
+
+"Master!" he panted, "O master--a mine! a mine! They have breached the
+wall beside the gate--hark, where they storm the city! Come, master, O
+come ere it be too late!"
+
+Now Beltane clenched his fists and scowled on pale-faced Roger and from
+him to the radiant sky, yet when he spake his voice was low and even:
+
+"I thank thee, faithful Roger! Go you and summon such of our foresters
+as ye may, muster them in the market-square, there will I come to
+thee."
+
+Now when Roger's flickering light had vanished he turned, and found
+Helen close beside him; her cheeks were pale, but in her hand she held
+his sword.
+
+"'Tis well thou wert not all unarmed, my lord!" she sighed, and
+forthwith belted the weapon about him. "Kneel down, I prithee, that I
+may lace for thee thy hood of mail." And when it was done she knelt
+also, and taking his hand pressed it to her throbbing heart, and
+holding him thus fell to prayer:
+
+"O God of mercy, have in care those that fight in our defence this
+night, in especial guard and shield this man of mine that I do love
+beyond all men--O God of mercy, hear us!"
+
+So they arose, and as he looked on her so looked she on him, and of a
+sudden clasped him in close and passionate embrace:
+
+"Beltane--Beltane!" she sobbed, "God knoweth I do so love thee that thy
+dear flesh is mine, methinks, and the steel that woundeth thee shall
+hurt me also. And--O love--an thou should'st die to-night, then surely
+will this heart of mine die with thee--no man shall have my love other
+than thou--so to my grave will I go thy virgin wife for thy dear sake.
+Fare thee well Beltane, O dear my husband, fare thee well. Tarry no
+longer, lest I pray thee on my knees to go not to the battle."
+
+So Beltane kissed her once and went forth of the chamber, looking not
+back. She heard the ring of his armour a-down the stair, the quick
+tread of his feet, and leaning from the casement watched him go; and
+he, knowing her there, looked not up, but with teeth hard shut and iron
+hands clenched, strode fast upon his way.
+
+And now, since he looked not up, it seemed to her she was out of his
+thoughts already, for his face was stern and set, and in his eyes was
+the fierce light of battle.
+
+And she, kneeling alone in the failing glory of the moon, hid her face
+within yearning, desolate arms and wept long and bitterly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXVIII
+
+FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
+
+
+Now as Beltane hasted along he heard the tread of mailed feet, and
+looking round beheld the white friar, and 'neath his white frock mail
+gleamed, while in his hand he grasped a heavy sword. Close on his heels
+came many men, old men these for the most part, grey of beard and white
+of head, and their armour, even as they, was ancient and rusty; but the
+faces that stared from casque and mail-hood were grim and sorrow-lined,
+stern faces and purposeful, and the eyes that gleamed 'neath shaggy
+brows ere now had looked on sons and brothers done to death by fire and
+gallows, and wives and daughters shamed and ravished. And ever as they
+came Friar Martin smote, sword in hand, on door and shuttered window,
+and cried hoarse and loud:
+
+"Ye men of Belsaye--fathers and husbands, arm ye, arm ye! Ye greybeards
+that have seen Duke Ivo's mercy, arm ye! Your foes be in, to burn, to
+loot again and ravish! O ye husbands and fathers, arise, arise--arm,
+arm and follow me to smite for wife and children!"
+
+So cried the tall white friar, pallid of cheek but dauntless of eye,
+and ever as he cried, smote he upon door and shutter with his sword,
+and ever his company grew.
+
+Within the square was Roger, hoarse-voiced, with Beltane's battered
+war-helm on a pike whereto the foresters mustered--hardy and brown-faced
+men, fitting on bascinet and buckling belt, yet very quiet and
+orderly. And beside Roger, Ulf the Mighty leaned him upon his axe, and
+in the ranks despite their bandages stood Orson the Tall and Jenkyn o'
+the Ford, even yet in wordy disputation.
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"How many muster ye, Roger?"
+
+"One hundred and nine, master."
+
+"And where is Walkyn--where Giles?"
+
+"With Sir Benedict, hard by the gate, master. My lord, come take thy
+helm--come take it, master, 'twill be a close and bitter fight--and
+thou art no longer thine own man--bethink thee of thy sweet wife, Sir
+Fidelis, master!"
+
+So Beltane did on the great casque and even now came Sir Brian beside
+whom Sir Hacon limped, yet with sword bloody.
+
+"Ha, my lord," he cried, "mine eyes do joy to see thee and these goodly
+fellows--'tis hard and fierce business where Benedict and his pikes do
+hold the gate--"
+
+"Aye, forsooth," quoth Sir Brian, "they press their attack amain, for
+one that falleth, two do fill his place."
+
+"Verily, and what fighting man could ask more of any foe? And we be
+fighting men, praise be to Saint Cuthbert--"
+
+"Aye," quoth Roger, crossing himself, "Saint Cuthbert be our aid this
+night."
+
+Forthwith Beltane formed his column and with Ulf and Roger beside him
+marched from the square. By narrow streets went they, 'neath dim-lighted
+casements where pale faces looked down to pray heaven's aid on
+them.
+
+So came they where torch and lanthorn smoked and gleamed, by whose
+fitful light they beheld a barricade, rough and hastily contrived,
+whence Sir Benedict fought and Walkyn smote, with divers of their stout
+company and lusty fellows from the town. Above, upon the great flanking
+tower of the gate, was Giles with many archers who plied their whizzing
+shafts amain where, 'twixt outer and inner wall, the assailants sought
+to storm the barricade; but the place was narrow, and moreover, beyond
+the breach stout Eric, backed by his fierce townsmen, fought in
+desperate battle: thus, though the besiegers' ranks were constantly
+swelled by way of the breach, yet in that confined space their very
+numbers hampered them, while from sheltered wall and gate-tower Giles
+and his archers showered them with whistling shafts very fast and
+furious; so in that narrow place death was rife and in the fitful
+torch-glare was a sea of tossing steel and faces fierce and wild, and
+ever the clamour grew, shouts and screams and cries dreadful to be
+heard.
+
+Now as Beltane stood to watch this, grim-lipped, for it needed but few
+to man the barricade, so narrow was it, Roger caught his arm and
+pointed to the housetops above them; and what he saw, others saw also,
+and a cry went up of wonder and amaze. For, high upon the roof, his
+mail agleam, his white robe whiter in the torch-glare, stood Friar
+Martin, while crouched behind him to left and right were many men in
+ancient and rusty armour, men grey-bearded and white of head, at sight
+of whom the roar of battle died down from sheer amaze until all men
+might hear the friar's words:
+
+"Come, ye men of Belsaye!" he cried, "all ye that do love wife or
+daughter or little child--all ye that would maintain them innocent and
+pure--follow me!"
+
+As he ended, his sword flashed, and, even as he sprang, so sprang all
+those behind him--down, down they leapt upon the close-ranked foemen
+below, so swift, so sudden and unexpected, that ere they could be met
+with pike or sword the thing was done. And now from that narrow way,
+dim-lit by lanthorn and torch-glare, there rose a sound more awful to
+hear than roar of battle, a hoarse and vicious sound like to the
+worrying snarl of many great and fierce hounds.
+
+With ancient swords, with axe and dagger and fierce-rending teeth they
+fought, those fathers of Belsaye; thick and fast they fell, yet never
+alone, while ever they raved on, a company of madmen, behind the
+friar's white robe. Back and back the besiegers reeled before that
+raging fury--twice the white friar was smitten down yet twice he arose,
+smiting the fiercer, wherefore, because of his religious habit, the
+deathly pallor of his sunken cheek and the glare of his eyes, panic
+came, and all men shrank from the red sweep of his sword.
+
+Then Sir Benedict sounded his horn, and sword in hand leapt over the
+barricade, and behind him Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn and
+their serried pikemen, while Sir Brian and Sir Hacon limped in their
+rear.
+
+"The breach!" cried Sir Benedict, "seize we now the breach!"
+
+"The breach! The breach!" roared a hundred voices. And now within the
+gloom steel rasped steel, groping hands seized and griped with
+merciless fingers; figures, dim-seen, sank smitten, groaning beneath
+the press. But on they fought, slipping and stumbling, hewing and
+thrusting, up and up over ruined masonry, over forms that groaned
+beneath cruel feet--on and ever on until within the narrow breach
+Beltane's long sword darted and thrust and Ulf's axe whirled and fell,
+while hard by Walkyn's hoarse shout went up in roaring triumph.
+
+So within this narrow gap, where shapeless things stirred and whimpered
+in the dark, Beltane leaned breathless upon his sword and looked down
+upon the watch-fires of Duke Ivo's great camp. But, even as he gazed,
+these fires were blotted out where dark figures mounted fresh to the
+assault, and once again sword and axes fell to their dire work.
+
+And ever as he fought Beltane bethought him of her whose pure lips
+voiced prayers for him, and his mighty arm grew mightier yet, and he
+smote and thrust untiring, while Walkyn raged upon his left, roaring
+amain for Red Pertolepe, and Ulf the strong saved his breath to ply his
+axe the faster.
+
+Now presently as they fought thus, because the breach was grown very
+slippery, Beltane tripped and fell, but in that instant two lusty
+mailed legs bestrode him, and from the dimness above Roger's voice
+hailed:
+
+"Get thee back, master--I pray thee get back and take thy rest awhile,
+my arm is fresh and my steel scarce blooded, so get thee to thy rest--
+moreover thou art a notch, lord--another accursed notch from my belt!"
+
+Wherefore Beltane presently crept down from the breach and thus beheld
+many men who laboured amain beneath Sir Benedict's watchful eye to
+build a defence work very high and strong where they might command the
+breach. And as Beltane sat thus, finding himself very spent and weary,
+cometh Giles beside him.
+
+"Lord," said he, leaning him on his bow, "the attack doth languish,
+methinks, wherefore I do praise the good God, for had they won the
+town--ah, when I do think on--her--she that is so pure and sweet--and
+Ivo's base soldiery--O sweet Jesu!" and Giles shivered.
+
+"Forsooth, thou didst see fair Belsaye sacked--five years agone,
+Giles?"
+
+"Aye, God forgive me master, for I--I--O, God forgive me!"
+
+"Thou once did show me a goodly chain, I mind me, Giles."
+
+"Aye, but I lost it--I lost it, master!" he cried eagerly, "O verily I
+did lose it, so did it avail me nothing."
+
+"Moreover, Giles, thou didst with knowing laugh, vaunt that the women
+of Belsaye town were marvellous fair--and methinks didst speak truly,
+Giles!"
+
+Now at this Giles bowed his head and turning him about, went heavily
+upon his way. Then, sighing, Beltane arose and came where stood Sir
+Benedict who forthwith hailed him blithely:
+
+"Can we but hold them until the dawn, Beltane--and mark me, we can,
+here is a work shall make us strong 'gainst all attacks," and he
+pointed to the growing barricade. "But what of our noble Friar Martin?
+But for him, Beltane, but for him and his ancient company we had been
+hard put to it, lad. Ha, 'neath that white gown is saint and friar,
+and, what is better--a man! Now God be praised, yonder cometh the dawn
+at last! Though forsooth this hath been a sorry wedding-night for thee,
+dear lad--and for her, sweet maid--"
+
+"Thou dost know then, Benedict?"
+
+"Think ye not good Roger hasted to tell me, knowing thy joy is my joy--
+ha! list ye to those blessed joy-bells! glory be to God, there doth
+trusty Eric tell us he hath made an end of such as stormed the breach.
+But who cometh here? And by this hand, in tears!"
+
+Already in the east was a roseate glory by whose soft light Beltane
+beheld Tall Orson, who grasped a bloody sword in one hand and wiped
+away his tears with the other. He, perceiving Beltane and Sir Benedict,
+limped to them forthwith and spake, albeit hoarse and brokenly.
+
+"Lords, I do be bid hither to bring ye where he lieth a-dying--the
+noblest as do be in this world alive--his white robe all bloodied,
+lords, yet his face do be an angel's face!"
+
+"Ah," sighed Beltane rising, "is it the noble Friar Martin, Orson?"
+
+"Aye, lord, it do be he--as blessed me wi' his poor hand as do be so
+faint and feeble."
+
+So saying, Orson brought them to a house beside the wall, wherein, upon
+a pallet, the white friar lay with Jenkyn beside him, and the
+white-haired Reeve and many other of the sturdy townsfolk about him.
+
+Now came Beltane to kneel beside the friar, who, opening swooning eyes,
+smiled and spake faint-voiced:
+
+"My lord Beltane--noble son, my work on earth is ended, methinks--so
+doth God call me hence--and I do go right gladly. These dying eyes grow
+dim--but with the deathless eyes of the soul I do see many things most
+plainly--so, dear and valiant children, hear ye this! The woes of
+Belsaye are past and done--behold, thy deliverance is at hand! I see
+one that rideth from the north--and this I give thee for a sign--he is
+tall, this man, bedight in sable armour and mounted upon a great white
+horse. And behind him marcheth a mighty following--the woods be bright
+with the gleam of armour! O ye valiant men--O children of Belsaye that
+I have loved so well, let now your hearts be glad! O Belsaye town, thy
+shames and sorrows be passed away forever. I see thee through the years
+a rich city and a happy, thy gates ever open to the woeful and
+distressed! Rejoice, rejoice--thy sorrows are past and done--even as
+mine. Ah, list--list ye to those bells! Hear ye not their joyful
+clamour--hearken!"
+
+But indeed, silence had fallen upon Belsaye, and no sound brake the
+quiet save the distant hum and stir of conflict upon the broken wall.
+Nevertheless the friar's dying face waxed bright with a wondrous
+happiness.
+
+"O blessed--blessed sound!" he whispered. Of a sudden he rose up from
+his pillow with radiant eyes uplifted, and stretched up arms in eager
+welcome.
+
+"Sweet Jesu!" he whispered. Slowly his arms sank, the thin hands strove
+to fold themselves--fell apart, and, sighing rapturously, Friar Martin
+sank back upon his pillows like one that is weary, and, with the sigh,
+was dead. And lo! in that same moment, from tower and belfry near and
+far, rose a sudden wild and gladsome clamour of bells ringing out peal
+on peal of rapturous joy, insomuch that those who knelt beside that
+couch of death lifted bowed heads--eye questioning eye in a wonder
+beyond words.
+
+And now, all at once was the ring and tramp of mailed feet coming
+swiftly, and in the doorway stood Roger, his riven mail befouled with
+battle.
+
+"Lords!" he panted, "rejoice--rejoice! our woes and sorrows be past and
+done--hark ye to the bells! Our deliverance cometh from the north--you
+shall see the woods alight with--the gleam of their armour!"
+
+Nothing saying, Beltane arose and went soft-treading from the chamber,
+past the blood and horror of the breach, and climbing the flanking
+tower beside the gate, looked to the north. And there he beheld a
+mighty company that marched forth of the woods, rank upon rank, whose
+armour, flashing in the early sun, made a dazzling splendour against
+the green. Company by company they mustered on the plain, knights and
+men-at-arms with footmen and archers beyond count.
+
+And presently, before this deep array, two standards were advanced--a
+white banner whereon was a red lion and a banner on whose blue ground
+black leopards were enwrought.
+
+Now as Beltane gazed upon this glorious host he felt a gentle hand
+touch him and turning, beheld the Duchess Helen, and her cheek showed
+pale with her long night vigil.
+
+"My Beltane," said she, flushing 'neath his regard, "lord Duke of
+Mortain, behold yonder thy goodly powers of Mortain that shall do thy
+bidding henceforth--look yonder, my lord Duke!"
+
+"Duke!" quoth Beltane, "Duke of Mortain--forsooth, and am I so indeed?
+I had forgot this quite, in thy beauty, my Helen, and did but know that
+I had to wife one that I do love beyond all created things. And now,
+beloved, thy sweet eyes do tell me thy night was sleepless."
+
+"Mine eyes--ah, look not on them, Beltane, for well I know these poor
+eyes be all red and swollen with weeping for thee--though indeed I
+bathed them ere I sought thee--"
+
+"Sweet eyes of love!" said he, setting his arm about her, "come let me
+kiss them!"
+
+"Ah, no, Beltane, look yonder--behold where salvation cometh--"
+
+"I had rather look where my salvation lieth, within these dear eyes--
+nay, abase them not. And didst weep for me, and wake for me, my Helen?"
+
+"I was so--so fearful for thee, my lord."
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And very sorrowful--"
+
+"Aye, and what more?"
+
+"And--heartsick--"
+
+"Aye, sweet my wife--but what more?"
+
+"And--very lonely, Beltane--"
+
+Then my Beltane caught her close and kissed her full long, until she
+struggled in his embrace and slipping from him, stood all flushed and
+breathless and shy-eyed. But of a sudden she caught his hand and
+pointed where, before the glittering ranks of Mortain's chivalry, a
+herald advanced.
+
+"Look, Beltane," she said, "oh, look and tell me who rideth yonder!"
+
+Now behind this herald two knights advanced, the one in glittering
+armour whose shield was resplendent with many quarterings, but
+beholding his companion, Beltane stared in wondering awe; for lo! he
+saw a tall man bedight in sable armour who bore a naked sword that
+flashed in the sun and who bestrode a great, white charger. And because
+of Friar Martin's dying words, Beltane stood awed and full of amaze.
+
+Nearer and nearer they came until all men might read the cognizance
+upon the first knight's resplendent shield and know him for one Sir
+Jocelyn, lord of Alain, but his companion they knew not, since neither
+charge nor blazon bore he of any sort. Of a sudden the herald set
+clarion to lip and blew a challenge that was taken up and answered from
+within the camp, and forth came Duke Ivo, bare-headed in his armour
+and with knights attendant, who, silencing the heralds with a gesture,
+spake loud and fierce.
+
+"Sir Jocelyn, lord of Alain, why come ye against me in arms and so
+ungently arrayed, wherefore come ye in such force, and for what?"
+
+Then answered Sir Jocelyn:
+
+"My lord Ivo, thou wert upon a time our honoured guest within Mortain,
+thou didst with honeyed word and tender phrase woo our fair young
+Duchess to wife. But--and heed this, my lord!--when Helen the
+Beautiful, the Proud, did thy will gainsay, thou didst in hearing of
+divers of her lords and counsellors vow and swear to come one day and
+seek her with flaming brands. So here to-day stand I and divers other
+gentles of Mortain--in especial this right noble lord--to tell thee
+that so long as we be men ne'er shalt set foot across our marches.
+Lastly, we are hither come to demand the safe conduct from Belsaye of
+our lady Duchess Helen, and such of the citizens as may choose to
+follow her."
+
+"So!" quoth Duke Ivo, smiling and fingering his long, blue chin, "'tis
+war ye do force on me, my lord of Alain?"
+
+"Nay, messire," answered Sir Jocelyn, "that must be asked of this sable
+knight--for he is greater than I, and leadeth where I do but follow."
+
+Now hereupon the black knight paced slowly forward upon his great,
+white horse nor stayed until he came close beside Duke Ivo. Then
+reining in his charger, he lifted his vizor and spake in voice deep and
+strong.
+
+"O thou that men call Ivo the Duke, look upon this face--behold these
+white hairs, this lined brow! Bethink thee of the innocent done to
+cruel death by thy will, the fair cities given to ravishment and flame--
+and judge if this be just and sufficient cause for war, and bitter
+war, betwixt us!"
+
+Now beholding the face of the speaker, his proud and noble bearing, his
+bold eyes fierce and bright and the grim line of nose and chin, Duke
+Ivo blenched and drew back, the smile fled from his lip, and he stared
+wide of eye and breathless.
+
+"Beltane!" quoth he at last, "Beltane--ha! methought thee dusty bones
+these many years--so it is war, I judge?"
+
+For answer Duke Beltane lifted on high the long sword he bore.
+
+"Ivo," said he, "the cries and groans of my sorrowful and distressed
+people have waked me from my selfish griefs at last--so am I come for
+vengeance on their innocent blood, their griefs and wrongs so long
+endured of thee. This do I swear thee, that this steel shall go
+unsheathed until I meet thee in mortal combat--and ere this sun be set
+one of us twain shall be no more."
+
+"Be it so," answered Black Ivo, "this night belike I shall hang thee
+above the ruins of Belsaye yonder, and thy son with thee!" So saying,
+he turned about and chin on fist rode into his camp, where was mounting
+and mustering in hot haste.
+
+"Beltane," spake the Duchess, clasping Beltane's hand, "dost know at
+last?"
+
+"Aye," answered he with eyes aglow, "But how cometh my noble father
+yonder?"
+
+"I sought him out in Holy Cross Thicket, Beltane. I told him of thy
+valiant doings and of thy need of instant aid, and besought him to take
+up arms for thee and for me and for dear Mortain, and to lead my army
+'gainst--"
+
+But Beltane, falling before her on his knee spake quick and passionate:
+
+"O Helen--Helen the Beautiful! without thee I had been nought, and less
+than nought! Without thee, Pentavalon had groaned yet 'neath cruel
+wrong! Without thee--O without thee, my Helen, I were a thing lost and
+helpless in very truth!"
+
+Now hereupon, being first and foremost a woman, young and loving and
+passionate, needs must she weep over him a little and stoop to cherish
+his golden head on her bosom, and holding it thus sweetly pillowed, to
+kiss him full oft and thereafter loose him and blush and sigh and turn
+from his regard, all sweet and shy demureness like the very maid she
+was.
+
+Whereat Beltane, forgetful of all but her loveliness, heedful of nought
+in the world but her warm young beauty, rose up from his knees and,
+trembling-mute with love, would have caught her to his eager arms; but
+of a sudden cometh Giles, breathless--hasting up the narrow stair and,
+all heedless of his lord, runneth to fling himself upon his knees
+before the Duchess, to catch her robe and kiss it oft.
+
+"O dear and gracious lady!" he cried, "Genevra hath told me! And is it
+true thou hast promised me a place within thy court at fair Mortain--is
+it true thou wilt lift me up that I may wed with one so much o'er me in
+station--is it true thou wilt give me my Genevra, my heart's desire--
+all unworthy though I be--I--O--" And behold! Giles's ready tongue
+faltered for very gratitude and on each tanned cheek were bright,
+quick-falling tears.
+
+"Giles," said she, "thou wert true and faithful to my lord when his
+friends were few, so methinks thou should'st be faithful and true to
+thy sweet Genevra--so will I make thee Steward and Bailiff of Mortain
+an my lord is in accord--"
+
+"Lord," quoth Giles brokenly, "ere thou dost speak, beseech thee hear
+this. I have thought on thy saying regarding my past days--and grieved
+sorely therefore. Now an ye do think my shameful past beyond
+redemption, if these arms be too vile to clasp her as my wife, if my
+love shall bring her sorrow or shame hereafter, then--because I do
+truly love her--I will see her no more; I will--leave her to love one
+more worthy than I. And this I do swear thee, master--on the cross!"
+
+Quoth Beltane:
+
+"Giles, he that knoweth himself unworthy, if that his love be a true
+love, shall by that love make himself, mayhap, worthier than most. He
+that loveth so greatly that in his love base self is forgot--such a
+man, methinks, doth love in God-like fashion. So shall it be as my lady
+hath said."
+
+Then Giles arose, and wiping off his tears strove to speak his thanks
+but choked upon a sob instead, and turning, hasted down the turret
+stair.
+
+Now presently within the city Sir Benedict's trumpets Hew, and looking
+from the battlement Beltane beheld Sir Hacon mustering their stout
+company, knights and men-at-arms, what time Roger and Walkyn and Ulf
+ordered what remained of their pikemen and archers.
+
+"Beloved!" sighed Beltane, drawing his Duchess within his arm, "see
+yonder, 'tis horse and saddle--soon must I leave thee again."
+
+Now did she sigh amain, and cling to him and droop her lovely head, yet
+when she spake her words were brave:
+
+"My Beltane, this love of mine is such that I would not have thee fail
+in duty e'en though this my heart should break--but ah! husband, stay
+yet a little longer, I--I have been a something lonely wife hitherto,
+and I--do hate loneliness, Beltane--" A mailed foot sounded upon the
+stone stair and, turning about, they beheld a knight in resplendent
+armour, blazoned shield slung before.
+
+"Greeting to thee, my lord Duke of Mortain, and to thy lovely lady
+wife," spake a cheery voice, and the speaker, lifting his vizor,
+behold! it was Sir Benedict. "I go in mine own armour to-day, Beltane,
+that haply thy noble father shall know me in the press. Ha, see where
+he ordereth his line, 'twas ever so his custom, I mind me--in four
+columns with archers betwixt. Mark me now lad, I have brought thee here
+a helm graced with these foolish feathers as is the new fashion--white
+feathers, see you--that my lady's sweet eyes may follow thee in the
+affray."
+
+"For that, dear Benedict," cried she, "for that shalt kiss me, so off
+with thy great helm!" Forthwith Sir Benedict did off his casque, and
+stooping, kissed her full-lipped, and meeting Beltane's eye, flushed
+and laughed and was solemn all in a moment.
+
+"Ah, Beltane, dear lad," quoth he, "I envy thee and grieve for thee! To
+possess such a maid to wife--and to leave her--so soon! May God bring
+thee safe again to her white arms. Ah, youth is very sweet, lad, and
+love--true love is youth's fair paradise and--body o' me, there sound
+our tuckets! See where Ivo formeth his main battle--and yonder he
+posteth a goodly company to shut us up within the city. So must we wait
+a while until the battle joins--thy noble father is wondrous wise in
+war--O verily he hath seen, behold how he altereth his array! O wise
+Beltane!"
+
+Now Duke Ivo threw out a screen of archers and horsemen to harass the
+powers of Mortain what time he formed his battle in three great
+companies, a deep and formidable array of knights and men-at-arms whose
+tall lances rose, a very forest, with pennons and banderols a-flutter
+in the gentle wind of morning. Far on the left showed the banner of
+his marshal Sir Bors; above his right battle flew the Raven banner of
+Sir Pertolepe the Red, and above his main battle rose his own standard--
+a black lion on a red field. So mustered he his powers of Pentavalon,
+gay with stir of pennons and rich trappings; the sun flashed back from
+ponderous casques and bascinets innumerable and flamed on blazoned
+shields. And beholding their might and confident bearing, Beltane
+clenched nervous hands and his mouth grew hard and grim, so turned he
+from this formidable host to where, just beyond the woods, his father's
+banner flew beside the leopards of Mortain. Conspicuous upon his white
+charger he beheld Duke Beltane, a proud and warlike figure, who sat his
+stamping war-horse deep in converse with Sir Jocelyn, while behind were
+the dense ranks of Mortain. Suddenly, Sir Jocelyn wheeled his charger
+and galloped along Mortain's front, his rich armour glittering, until
+he halted at the head of that knightly company posted upon the left.
+
+Meantime, Black Ivo's archers advancing, fell into arrow formation and
+began to ply the Mortain ranks with clouds of shafts and bolts 'neath
+which divers men and horses fell--what time Black Ivo's massed columns
+moved slowly forward to the attack--yet Duke Beltane, sitting among his
+knights, stirred not, and the army of Mortain abode very silent and
+still. But of a sudden Duke Beltane wheeled his horse, his sword
+flashed on high, whereat trumpets brayed and on the instant Sir Jocelyn
+wheeled off to the left, he and all his company, and gathering speed
+began to skirt Duke Ivo's advanced pikemen and archers, and so rode
+down upon those men of Pentavalon who were drawn up against Belsaye.
+Hereupon Black Ivo would have launched a counter-charge to check Sir
+Jocelyn's attack, but his advanced lines of cross-bowmen and archers
+hampered him. Once again Duke Beltane's sword flashed up, the first
+line of Mortain's great array leapt forward and with levelled lances
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's ranks, scattering and trampling down
+his archers; but as they checked before the serried pikes behind, forth
+galloped Duke Beltane's second line and after this a third--
+o'erwhelming Ivo's pikemen by their numbers, and bursting over and
+through their torn ranks, reformed, and, spurring hard, met Ivo's rank
+with crashing shock in full career. And, behind this raging battle,
+Duke Beltane rode at the head of his reserves, keen-eyed and watchful,
+what time Sir Jocelyn was hotly engaged upon the left, nigh unto the
+town itself.
+
+"Ah, Beltane!" sighed the Duchess, shivering and covering her face--
+"'tis horrible, horrible--see how they fall!"
+
+"Nay, my brave Fidelis, heed rather how valiant Sir Jocelyn and his
+knights drive in their advanced lines--ha! Benedict, see how he breaks
+their array--an he can but turn their flank--"
+
+"Nay, Beltane--yonder cometh the Raven banner where Pertolepe spurreth
+in support--"
+
+"Aye, but yonder doth my father launch yet another charge--ha!
+Benedict, let us out and aid them--the way lieth open beyond the
+drawbridge an we can but turn Ivo's flank!" quoth Beltane looking ever
+upon the battle, "O, methinks the time is now, Benedict!"
+
+With Helen's soft hand a-tremble in his, Beltane hasted down from the
+tower and Sir Benedict followed, until they were come to the square
+where, amid the joyful acclaim of the populace, their small and hardy
+following were drawn up; and, as they came, from townsfolk and soldiery
+a shout arose:
+
+"Beltane--the Duke--the Duke!"
+
+"My lord Duke of Mortain," quoth Sir Benedict, "I and thy company do
+wait thee to lead us."
+
+But Beltane smiled and shook his head.
+
+"Not so, my lord of Bourne, thou art so cunning in war and hast led us
+so valiantly and well--shalt lead us to this battle, the which I pray
+God shall be our last! As for me, this day will I march with the
+foresters--so mount, my lord."
+
+Hereupon, from foresters, from knights and men-at-arms another shout
+arose what time Sir Benedict, having knelt to kiss the Duchess Helen's
+white hand, found it woefully a-tremble.
+
+"Alas, my lady Helen," said he, "methinks thine is the harder part this
+day. God strengthen thy wifely heart, for God, methinks, shall yet
+bring him to thine embrace!" So saying, Sir Benedict mounted and rode
+to the head of his lances, where flew his banner. "Unbar the gates!" he
+cried. And presently the great gates of Belsaye town swung wide, the
+portcullis clanked up, the drawbridge fell, and thus afar off they
+beheld where, 'mid swirling dust-cloud the battle raged fierce and
+fell.
+
+And behold a sorry wight who hobbled toward them on a crutch, so begirt
+and bandaged that little was to see of him but bright eyes.
+
+"O Sir Hacon!" cried the Duchess, "did I not bid thee to thy bed?"
+
+"Why truly, dear my lady, but since I may not go forth myself, fain
+would I see my good comrades ride into the battle--faith, methinks I
+might yet couch a lance but for fear of this thy noble lady, my lord
+Beltane--aye me, this shall be a dismal day for me, methinks!"
+
+"Nay, then I will keep thee company, good Sir Hacon!" smiled the
+Duchess a little tremulously, "shalt watch with me from the bartizan
+and tell me how the day goeth with us."
+
+And now Sir Benedict lifted aloft his lance, the trumpet sounded, and
+with ring and tramp he with his six hundred knights and men-at-arms
+rode forth of the market-square, clattering through the narrow street,
+thundering over the drawbridge, and, forming in the open, spurred away
+into the battle.
+
+Then Beltane sighed, and kneeling, kissed his lady's white hands:
+
+"Beloved," spake he low-voiced, "e'en now must I go from thee, but
+howsoever fortune tend--thine am I through life--aye, and beyond."
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'twixt quivering lips, "O loved Beltane, take
+heed to thy dear body, cover thee well with thy shield since thy hurts
+are my hurts henceforth and with thee thou dost bear my heart--O risk
+not my heart to death without good cause!" So she bent and kissed him
+on the brow: but when he would have risen, stayed him. "Wait, my lord!"
+she whispered and turning, beckoned to one behind her, and lo! Genevra
+came forward bearing a blue banner.
+
+"My lord," said the Duchess, "behold here thy banner that we have
+wrought for thee, Genevra and I."
+
+So saying, she took the banner and gave it into Beltane's mailed hand.
+But as he arose, and while pale-cheeked Genevra, hands clasped upon
+the green scarf at her bosom, looked wet-eyed where the archers stood
+ranked, forth stepped Giles and spake quick and eager.
+
+"Lord!" said he, "to-day methinks will be more hard smiting than chance
+for good archery, wherefore I do pray let me bear thy standard in the
+fight--ne'er shall foeman touch it whiles that I do live--lord, I pray
+thee!"
+
+"Be it so, Giles!" So Giles took the banner whiles Beltane fitted on
+his great, plumed helm; thereafter comes Roger with his shield and Ulf
+leading his charger whereon he mounted forthwith, and wheeling, put
+himself at the head of his pikemen and archers, with Roger and Ulf
+mounted on either flank and Giles bestriding another horse behind.
+
+Yet now needs must he turn to look his last upon the Duchess standing
+forlorn, and beholding the tender passion of her tearless eyes he
+yearned mightily to kiss them, and sighed full deep, then, giving the
+word, rode out and away, the blue standard a-dance upon the breeze; but
+his heart sank to hear the clash and clang of gate and portcullis,
+shutting away from him her that was more to him than life itself.
+
+Now when they had gone some way needs must he look back at Belsaye, its
+battered walls, its mighty towers; and high upon the bartizan he beheld
+two figures, the one be-swathed in many bandages, and one he knew who
+prayed for him, even then; and all at once wall and towers and distant
+figures swam in a mist of tears wherefore he closed his bascinet, yet
+not before Giles had seen--Giles, whose merry face was grim now and
+hard-set, and from whose bright bascinet a green veil floated.
+
+"Lord," said he, blinking bright eyes, "we have fought well ere now,
+but to-day methinks we shall fight as ne'er we fought in all our days."
+
+"Aye," nodded Beltane, "verily, Giles, methinks we shall!"
+
+Thus saying, he turned and looked upon the rolling battle-dust and
+settling his feet within the stirrups, clenched iron fingers upon his
+long sword.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIX
+
+HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
+
+
+All day long the din and thunder of battle had roared upon the plain;
+all day the Duchess Helen with Sir Hacon at her side had watched the
+eddying dust-clouds rolling now this way, now that, straining anxious
+eyes to catch the gleam of a white plume or the flutter of the blue
+banner amid that dark confusion. And oft she heard Sir Hacon mutter
+oaths half-stifled, and oft Sir Hacon had heard snatches of her
+breathless prayers as the tide of battle swung to and fro, a desperate
+fray whence distant shouts and cries mingled in awful din. But now, as
+the sun grew low, the close-locked fray began to roll southwards fast
+and ever faster, a mighty storm of eddying dust wherein armour gleamed
+and steel glimmered back and forth, as Duke Ivo and his proud array
+fell back and back on their last stronghold of Pentavalon City.
+Whereupon Sir Hacon, upon the bartizan, cursed no more, but forgetful
+of his many wounds, waxed jubilant instead.
+
+"Now, by Holy Rood!" he cried, "see, lady--they break--they break!
+'Twas that last flanking onset! None but Beltane the Strong could have
+marshalled that last charge--drawing on Black Ivo to attempt his
+centre, see you, and crushing in his flanks--so needs must their main
+battle fall back or meet attack on two sides! Oho, a wondrous crafty
+leader is Duke Beltane the Strong! See--ha, see now how fast he driveth
+them--and southward--southward on Pentavalon town!"
+
+"So do I thank God, but see how many--O how many do lie fallen by the
+way!"
+
+"Why, in battle, most gentle lady, in battle men must needs fall or
+wherefore should battles be? Much have I seen of wars, lady, but ne'er
+saw eyes sterner fray than this--"
+
+"And I pray God," spake the Duchess, shivering, "these eyes may ne'er
+look upon another! O 'tis hateful sight--see--look yonder!" and she
+pointed where from the awful battle-wrack reeled men faint with wounds
+while others dragged themselves painfully across the trampled ground.
+
+"Why, 'twas a bloody business!" quoth the knight, shaking his bandaged
+head.
+
+"Sir Hacon," said the Duchess, frowning and pale, "I pray you summon me
+the Reeve, yonder." And when the Reeve was come, she spake him very
+soft and sweet:
+
+"Messire, I pray you let us out and aid the poor, stricken souls
+yonder."
+
+"But lady, the battle is not yet won--to open our gates were unwise,
+methinks."
+
+"Good Reeve, one died but lately whom all men loved, but dying, Friar
+Martin spake these words--'I see Belsaye rich and happy, her gates ever
+open to the woeful and distressed.' Come, ope the gates and let us out
+to cherish these afflicted."
+
+Thus presently forth from Belsaye rode the Duchess Helen, with Sir
+Hacon beside her and many of the townsfolk, hasting pale-cheeked and
+trembling to minister unto the hurt and dying, and many there were that
+day who sighed out their lives in blessings on her head.
+
+But meantime the battle roared, fierce and furious as ever, where Black
+Ivo's stubborn ranks, beset now on three sides, gave back sullenly,
+fighting step by step.
+
+And amid the blood and dust, in the forefront of that raging tumult, a
+torn and tattered blue banner rocked and swayed, where Beltane with
+Giles at his right hand led on his grim foresters, their ranks woefully
+thinned and with never a horse among them. But Roger was there, his
+face besmeared with blood that oozed 'neath his dinted bascinet, and
+Ulf was there, foul with slaughter, and there was Walkyn fierce and
+grim, while side by side amid the trampling pikemen behind, Jenkyn and
+Tall Orson fought. And presently to Beltane came Walkyn, pointing
+eagerly to their left.
+
+"Master," he cried, "yonder flaunteth Pertolepe's banner, beseech thee
+let us make thitherward--"
+
+"Not so," quoth Beltane, stooping 'neath the swing of a gisarm, "O
+forget thy selfish vengeance, man, and smite but for Pentavalon this
+day--her foes be many enow, God wot! Ho!" he roared, "they yield! they
+yield! Close up pikes--in, in--follow me!" Forward leapt he with Roger
+beside him and the blue banner close behind, and forward leapt those
+hardy foresters where the enemy's reeling line strove desperately to
+stand and re-form. So waxed the fight closer, fiercer; griping hands
+fumbled at mailed throats and men, locked in desperate grapple, fell
+and were lost 'neath the press; but forward went the tattered banner,
+on and on until, checking, it reeled dizzily, dipped, swayed and
+vanished; but Roger had seen and sprang in with darting point.
+
+"Up, man," he panted, covering the prostrate archer with his shield,
+"up, Giles, an ye can--we're close beset--"
+
+"But we be here, look'ee Roger--'tis we, look'ee!" cried a voice
+behind.
+
+"Aye, it do be us!" roared another voice, and Roger's assailants were
+borne back by a line of vicious-thrusting pikes.
+
+"Art hurt, Giles?"
+
+"Nay," quoth the archer, getting to unsteady legs, "but they've spoiled
+me Genevra's veil, methinks--and our flag is something smirched, but,
+as for me, I'll sing ye many a song yet!"
+
+"Then here's twice I've saved thee, Giles, so art two accursed notches
+from my--"
+
+A mace beat Roger to his knees, but, ere his assailant could strike
+again, Giles's broadsword rose and fell.
+
+"So are we quits, good Roger!" he cried, "Ha, see--they break! On,
+pikes, on! Bows and bills, sa-ha!"
+
+Up rose the dust, forward swept the battle as Black Ivo's hosts gave
+back before the might of Mortain; forward the blue banner reeled and
+staggered where fought Beltane fierce and untiring, his long shield
+hacked and dinted, his white plumes shorn away, while ever his hardy
+foresters smote and thrust on flank and rear. Twice Black Roger fell
+and twice Giles leapt 'twixt him and death, and perceiving his haggard
+eyes and the pallor of his grimed and bloody cheek, roared at him in
+fierce anxiety:
+
+"Fall out, Roger, fall out and rest ye, man!"
+
+"Not whiles I can stand, archer!"
+
+"Art a fool, Roger."
+
+"Belike I am, Giles--"
+
+"And therefore do I love thee, Rogerkin! Ha, bear up man, yonder is
+water--a muddy brook--"
+
+"O blessed Saint Cuthbert!" panted Roger.
+
+Now before them was a water-brook and beyond this brook Black Ivo's
+harassed columns made a fierce and desperate rally what time they
+strove to re-form their hard-pressed ranks; but from Duke Beltane's
+midmost battle the trumpets brayed fierce and loud, whereat from a
+thousand parched throats a hoarse cry rose, and chivalry and foot, the
+men of Mortain charged with levelled lance, with goring pike, with
+whirling axe and sword, and over and through and beyond the brook the
+battle raged, sweeping ever southwards.
+
+Presently before them the ground sloped sharply down, and while Beltane
+shouted warning to those behind, his voice was drowned in sudden
+trumpet-blast, and glancing to his left, he beheld at last all those
+knights and men-at-arms who had ridden with his father in their reserve
+all day--a glittering column, rank on rank, at whose head, his sable
+armour agleam, his great, white charger leaping 'neath the spur, Duke
+Beltane rode. Swift and sure the column wheeled and with lances couched
+thundered down upon Black Ivo's reeling flank.
+
+A crash, a sudden roaring clamour, and where had marched Black Ivo's
+reserve of archers and pikemen was nought but a scattered rout. But on
+rode Duke Beltane, his lion banner a-flutter, in and through the
+enemy's staggering columns, and ever as he charged thus upon their
+left, so charged Sir Jocelyn upon their right. Then Beltane leaned him
+on his sword, and looking down upon the battle, bowed his head.
+
+"Now praise be to God and his holy saints!" quoth he, "yonder is
+victory at last!"
+
+"Aye, master," said Roger hoarsely, "and yonder as the dust clears you
+shall see the walls and towers of Pentavalon City!"
+
+"And lord--lord," cried Walkyn, "yonder--in their rear--you shall see
+Red Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner! Why tarry we here, lord? See,
+their ranks break everywhere--'twill be hot-foot now for the city
+gates--ha, let us on, master!"
+
+"Aye, verily," quoth Beltane, looking westward, "it groweth to sunset
+and the city is yet to storm. To your ranks, there--forward!"
+
+Now as they advanced, Beltane beheld at last where, high above
+embattled walls and towers, rose Pentavalon's mighty keep wherein he
+had been born; and, remembering his proud and gentle mother, he drooped
+his head and grieved; and bethinking him of his proud and gentle Helen,
+he took fresh grip upon his sword, and lengthening his stride, looked
+where Black Ivo's broken columns, weary with battle, grim with blood
+and wounds, already began to ride 'neath the city's frowning gateway,
+while hard upon their straggling rearguard Duke Beltane's lion banner
+fluttered. A desperate hewing and thrusting in the narrow gateway, and
+Black Ivo's shattered following were driven in and the narrow streets
+and alleys of the town full of battle and slaughter. Street by street
+the town was won until before them loomed the mighty keep of
+Pentavalon's ducal stronghold. Outer and inner bailey were stormed and
+so at last came they, a desperate, close-fighting company, into the
+great tilt-yard before the castle.
+
+Now of a sudden a shout went up and thereafter was a great quiet--a
+silence wherein friend and foe, panting and weary, stood alike at gaze.
+And amid this expectant hush the two Dukes of Pentavalon fronted each
+other. No word said they, but, while all eyes watched them, each took
+lance and riding to the extremity of the courtyard, wheeled, and
+couching their lances, spurred fiercely against each other. And now men
+held their breath to behold these two great knights, who, crouched low
+in their saddles, met midway in full career with crash and splintering
+shock of desperate onset. Duke Beltane reeled in his stirrups,
+recovered, and leaning forward stared down upon his enemy, who,
+prostrate on his back, slowly lifted gauntleted hand that, falling
+weakly, clashed upon the stones--a small sound, yet plain to be heard
+by reason of that breathless hush.
+
+Slow and stiffly Duke Beltane dismounted, and reeling in his gait, came
+and knelt beside Black Ivo and loosed off his riven helm. Thereafter,
+slow and painfully, he arose, and looking round upon all men, spake
+faint-voiced.
+
+"God--hath judged--betwixt us this day!" said he, "and to-day--
+methinks--He doth summon me--to judgment--" Even as he spake he lifted
+his hands, struggling with the lacing of his helmet, staggered, and
+would have fallen, wherefore Beltane sprang forward. Yet one there was
+quicker than he, one whose goodly armour, smirched and battered, yet
+showed the blazon of Bourne.
+
+"Benedict!" quoth Duke Beltane feebly, "faithful wert thou to the last!
+O Benedict, where is my noble son!"
+
+"Father!" cried Beltane, "thou hast this day won Pentavalon from her
+shame and misery!" But the Duke lay very still in their arms and spake
+no word.
+
+So, when they had uncovered his white head, they bore him tenderly into
+the great banqueting hall and laid him on goodly couch and cherished
+him with water and wine, wherefore, in a while, he opened swooning
+eyes.
+
+"Beltane!" he whispered, "dear and noble son--thy manhood--hath belike
+won thy father's soul to God's mercy. So do I leave thee to cherish all
+those that--have known wrong and woe--by reason of my selfish life!
+Dear son, bury me with thy--noble mother, but let me lie--at her feet,
+Beltane. O had I been less selfish--in my sorrow! But God is merciful!
+Benedict--kiss me--and thou, my Beltane--God calleth me--to rest. _In
+manus tuas--Domine!_" Then Duke Beltane, that had been the Hermit
+Ambrose, clasped his mailed hands and smiling wondrous glad and tender,
+yielded his soul to God.
+
+In a while Beltane came forth into the courtyard and beheld Sir Jocelyn
+mustering their knightly prisoners in the ward below, for, with Black
+Ivo's death, all resistance was ended. And now the trumpets blared,
+rallying their various companies, but Beltane abode very full of
+sorrowful thoughts. To him presently cometh Giles yet grasping the blue
+standard befouled with dust and blood, the which he laid reverently at
+Beltane's feet.
+
+"Lord," said he, "my trust is ended. See, yonder standeth our company
+of foresters!" and he pointed where a single rank of grimed and weary
+men lay upon the hard flag-stones or leaned on their battered weapons.
+
+"Giles--O Giles, is this all?"
+
+"Aye, lord, we muster but seventy and one all told, and of these Tall
+Orson lieth dead yonder in Jenkyn's arms, and Roger--poor Roger is
+a-dying, methinks--and Ulf and Walkyn are not."
+
+But even as he spake he turned and started, for, from the ward below a
+hunting horn brayed feebly.
+
+"'Tis our forester's rally, master!" quoth he, "and see--Jesu, what men
+are these?" For into the courtyard, followed by many who gaped and
+stared in wonderment, six men staggered, men hideously stained and
+besplashed from head to foot, and foremost came two. And Walkyn was one
+and Ulf the Strong the other.
+
+Now as he came Walkyn stared in strange, wild fashion, and choked often
+in his breathing, and his mailed feet dragged feebly, insomuch that he
+would have fallen but for Ulf's mighty arm. Being come where Beltane
+stood with Sir Benedict and many other wondering knights and nobles,
+Walkyn halted and strove to speak but choked again instead. In one hand
+bare he his great axe, and in the other a torn and stained war-cloak.
+
+"Lord," quoth he in sobbing breaths, "a good day for thee--this--lord
+Duke--a good day for Pentavalon--a joyous day--blessed day for me--
+You'll mind they slew mother and father and sister, lord--brother and
+wife and child? Empty-hearted was I and desolate therefore, but--to-day,
+ha, to-day I die also, methinks. So, an ye will, lord Duke--keep
+thou mine axe in memory--of Walkyn--'tis a goodly axe--hath served me
+well today--behold!"
+
+Now as he spake he loosed a corner of the war-cloak, and from its
+grimed and ghastly folds there rolled forth into the red light of the
+cleanly sun a thing that trundled softly across the pavement and
+stopping, shewed a pallid face crowned with red hair, 'neath which upon
+the brow, betwixt the staring eyes, was a jagged scar like to a cross.
+
+Now while all men stared upon this direful thing, holding their
+breaths, Walkyn laughed loud and high, and breaking from Ulf's clasp,
+staggered to where it lay and pointed thereto with shaking finger.
+
+"Behold!" he cried, "behold the head of Bloody Pertolepe!" Therewith he
+laughed, and strove to kick it with feeble foot--but staggered instead,
+and, loosing his axe, stretched wide his long arms and fell, face
+downward.
+
+"Bloody Pertolepe--is dead!" he cried, and choked; and choking--died.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXX
+
+WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
+
+
+It was not the piping of throstle or sweet-throated merle that had
+waked my Beltane, who with slumberous eyes stared up at carven canopy,
+round him upon rich arras, and down upon embroidered bed-covering and
+silken pillow, while through the narrow lattice the young sun played
+upon gilded roof-beam and polished floor. So lay Beltane, blinking
+sleepy eyes and hearkening to a soft and melodious whistling from the
+little garden below his casement.
+
+Being thus heavy with sleep, he wondered drowsily what great content
+was this that filled him, and wherefore? Wondering yet, he sighed, and
+because of the sun's radiance, closed slumberous eyes again and would
+have slept; but, of a sudden the whistling ceased, and a rich, sweet
+voice fell to gentle singing.
+
+  "Hark! in the whisper of the wind
+   Love calleth thee away,
+   Each leaf a small, soft voice doth find,
+   Each pretty bird doth cry in kind,
+   O heart, haste north to-day."
+
+Beltane sat up broad awake, for Blaen lay to the north, and in Blaen--
+But Giles was singing on:
+
+  "Youth is quick to speed away,
+   But love abideth ever.
+   Fortune, though she smile to-day,
+   Fickle is and will not stay,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+
+  "The world doth change, as change it must,
+   But true-love changeth never.
+   Proud ambition is but dust,
+   The bow doth break, the sword doth rust,
+   But love abideth ever."
+
+Beltane was leaning half out of the casement, of the which fact who so
+unconscious as Giles, busily furbishing armour and bascinet.
+
+"Giles!" he cried, "O Giles--rouse ye, man!"
+
+"How, lord--art awake so early?" questioned Giles, looking up innocent
+of eye.
+
+"Was it not for this thou didst sing, rogue Giles? Go now, bid Roger
+have three horses saddled, for within the hour we ride hence."
+
+"To Mortain, lord?" questioned Giles eagerly.
+
+"Aye, Giles, to Mortain--north to Blaen; where else should we ride
+to-day?"
+
+So saying, Beltane turned back into his sumptuous chamber and fell to
+donning, not his habiliments of state, but those well-worn garments,
+all frayed by his heavy mail. Swift dressed he and almost stealthily,
+oft pausing to glance into the empty garden below, and oft staying to
+listen to some sound within the massy building. And thus it was he
+started to hear a soft knocking at the door, and turning, beheld Sir
+Benedict.
+
+"Forsooth, art up betimes, my lord Duke," quoth he, bright eyes
+a-twinkle, "and verily I do commend this so great zeal in thee since
+there be many and divers matters do need thy ducal attention--matters
+of state and moment--"
+
+"Matters of state?" saith Beltane, something troubled.
+
+"There be many noble and illustrious lords come in to pay thee homage
+and swear to thee divers fealty oaths--"
+
+"Then must they wait, Benedict."
+
+"Wait, my lord--men so illustrious! Then this day a deputation waiteth
+on thee, merchants and what not--"
+
+"These must wait also, Benedict--" saith Beltane, his trouble growing.
+
+"Moreover there is high festival at the minster with much chanting and
+glorification in thy behalf--and 'tis intended to make for thee a
+triumphal pageant--fair maidens to strow flowers beneath thy horse's
+feet, musicians to pleasure thee with pipe and tabor--and--"
+
+"Enough, enough, Benedict. Prithee why must I needs endure this?"
+
+"Such things do wait upon success, Beltane, and moreover thou'rt Duke!
+Aye, verily thou'rt Duke! The which mindeth me that, being Duke, it
+behoveth thee--"
+
+"And yet, Benedict, I do tell thee that all things must wait awhile,
+methinks, or better--do you attend them for me--"
+
+"Nay--I am no Duke!" quoth Sir Benedict hastily.
+
+"Yet thou art my chiefest counsellor and lord Seneschal of Pentavalon.
+So to thy wise judgment I do entrust all matters soever--"
+
+"But I have no warranty, thou cunning boy, and--"
+
+"Shalt have my bond, my ducal ring, nay, the very crown itself, howbeit
+this day--"
+
+"Wilt ride for Mortain, O lover?" said Sir Benedict, smiling his wry
+smile.
+
+"Aye, verily, dear Benedict, nor shall aught under heaven let or stay
+me--yet how knew ye this, Benedict?"
+
+"For that 'tis so my heart would have prompted had I been so blessed as
+thou art, dear my Beltane. And knowing thou needs must to thy beauteous
+Helen, I have a meal prepared within my chamber, come your ways and let
+us eat together."
+
+So came they to a handsome chamber hard by where was spread a goodly
+repast whereto they did full justice, though talking much the while,
+until one tapped lightly upon the door, and Roger entered bearing
+Beltane's new-burnished mail.
+
+"Nay, good Roger," said Beltane, smiling, "need for that is done
+methinks; we ride light to-day!" But Sir Benedict shook wise head.
+
+"My lord 'tis true our wars be ended I thank God, and we may sheathe
+our swords at last, but the woods be full of Black Ivo's scattered
+soldiery, with outlaws and other masterless men."
+
+"Ha, verily, lords," quoth Roger, "there shall many turn outlaw,
+methinks--"
+
+"Then must we end outlawry!" said Beltane, frowning.
+
+"And how would'st do it, Beltane?"
+
+"Make an end of the game laws, Benedict--throw wide the forests to all
+who will--"
+
+"But master, thus shall every clapper-claw rogue be free to kill for
+his base sport thy goodly deer, or belike a hart of ten, fit for sport
+of kings--"
+
+"Well, let them in this thing be kings. But I do hold a man's life
+dearer than a stag's. So henceforth in Pentavalon the woods are free--I
+pray you let this be proclaimed forthwith, my lord."
+
+Quoth Sir Benedict, as with Roger's aid Beltane did on his armour:
+
+"There is a postern beyond the pleasaunce yonder shall bring you forth
+of the city and no man the wiser."
+
+"Why, then, bring ye the horses thither, Roger, and haste ye!"
+
+Now when Roger was gone, Sir Benedict arose and setting his hands on
+Beltane's shoulders questioned him full serious:
+
+"Mean ye forsooth to make the forests free, Beltane?"
+
+"Aye, verily, Benedict."
+
+"This shall cause much discontent among the lords--"
+
+"Well, we wear swords, Benedict! But this I swear, whiles I am Duke,
+never again shall a man hang for killing of my deer. Moreover, 'tis my
+intent forthwith to lower all taxes, more especially in the market
+towns, to extend their charters and grant them new privileges."
+
+"Beltane, I fear thy years shall be full of discord."
+
+"What matter, an my people prosper? But thou art older and much wiser
+than I, Benedict, bethink thee of these things then, I pray, and judge
+how best such changes may be 'stablished, for a week hence, God
+willing, I summon my first council. But now, dear Benedict, I go to
+find my happiness."
+
+"Farewell, my lord--God speed thee, my Beltane! O lad, lad, the heart
+of Benedict goeth with thee, methinks!" and Sir Benedict turned
+suddenly away. Then Beltane took and clasped those strong and able
+hands.
+
+"Benedict," said he, "truer friend man never had than thou, and for
+this I do love thee--and thou art wise and valiant and great-hearted,
+and thou didst love my noble mother with a noble love, and for this do
+I love thee best of all, dear friend."
+
+Then Benedict lifted his head, and like father and son they kissed each
+other, and together went forth into the sweet, cool-breathing morn.
+
+Beyond the postern were Giles and Black Roger with the horses, and
+Giles sang blithe beneath his breath, but Roger sighed oft and deep.
+
+Now being mounted, Beltane reined close beside Sir Benedict and smiled
+full joyous and spake him thus, low-voiced:
+
+"Dear Benedict, to-day one that loveth thee doth ride away, but in a
+week two that love thee shall return. And needs must these two love
+thee ever and always, very greatly, Benedict, since but for thee they
+had not come to their joy." So saying, he touched spur to flank and
+bounded away, with Giles and Roger spurring behind.
+
+Soon were they free of the city and reaching that rolling down where
+the battle had raged so lately, Beltane set his horse to a stretching
+gallop, and away they raced, over upland and lowland until they beheld
+afar to their right the walls and towers of Belsaye. But on they rode
+toward the green of the woods, and ever as they rode Giles sang full
+blithely to himself whiles Roger gloomed and sighed; wherefore at last
+the archer turned to clap him on the shoulder.
+
+"What aileth thee, my Rogerkin?" quoth he.
+
+"Ha," growled Roger, "the world waggeth well with thee, Giles, these
+days, but as for me--poor Roger lacketh. Saint Cuthbert knoweth I have
+striven and likewise plagued him sore upon the matter, and yet my
+belt--my accursed belt yet beareth a notch--behold!"
+
+"Why, 'tis but a single notch, Roger."
+
+"Yet a notch it is, forsooth, and how shall my heart go light and my
+soul clean until I have a belt with notches not one?"
+
+"Belike thou hast forgot some of the lives thou didst save, Roger--mine
+thou didst save four times within the battle, I mind me--"
+
+"Nay, 'twas but twice, Giles."
+
+"Why, then 'twas thrice, Roger--the banner hampered me and--"
+
+"'Twas but twice, alack!" sighed Roger, "Saint Cuthbert knoweth 'twas
+but twice and being a very watchful saint may not be cheated, Giles."
+
+"Why then, Roger, do ye beset him in prayer, so, while thou dost hold
+him in play thus, I will snick away thy solitary notch so sweetly he
+shall never know--"
+
+"Alack, 'twill not avail, Giles. I must needs bear this notch with me
+unto the grave, belike."
+
+"Nay, Roger, I will to artifice and subtle stratagem on thy behalf as--
+mark me! I do know a pool beside the way! Now if I slip within the pool
+and thou should'st pull me from the pool--how then? Ha--'tis well
+bethought, let's do't!"
+
+"Were it any but Saint Cuthbert!" sighed Roger, "but I do thank thee
+for thy kindly thought, Giles."
+
+Now after this went they some way in silence, Beltane riding ahead very
+full of thought, and his companions behind, the one smiling and
+debonair, the other frowning and sad.
+
+"Forsooth," quoth Giles at last, "as thou sayest, Roger, the world
+waggeth well with me. Hast heard, belike, our lady Duchess hath been
+pleased to--"
+
+"Aye, I've heard, my lord Bailiff--who hath not?"
+
+"Nay, I did but mention it to two or three," quoth Giles. "Moreover our
+lord doth smile on me these days, though forsooth he hath been familiar
+with me since first I found him within the green--long ere he found
+thee, Rogerkin! I rode a white ass, I mind me, and my lord walked
+beside me very fair and soft-spoken, whereupon I called him--Sir Dove!
+O me--a dove, mark you! Since when, as ye know, we have been comrades,
+he and I, nay, brothers-in-arms, rather! Very close in his counsels!--
+very near to all his thoughts and actions. All of the which cometh of
+possessing a tongue as ready as my wit, Rogerkin!"
+
+Now as he hearkened, Roger's frown grew blacker and his powerful hand
+clenched upon the bridle.
+
+"And yet," quoth Giles, "as I am in my lord's dear friendship, so art
+thou in mine, Roger, man, nor in my vaulting fortunes will I e'er
+forget thee. Belike within Mortain shalt aid me in my new duties, or
+shall I speak my lord on thy behalf?"
+
+"Ha!" cried Roger suddenly, "first tell me this, my lord Steward and
+high Bailiff of Mortain, did the Duke my master chance ever to take thy
+hand, to wet it with his tears and--kiss it?"
+
+"Art mad, Roger! Wherefore should my lord do this?"
+
+"Aye," nodded Roger, "wherefore?"
+
+And when Giles had whistled awhile and Roger had scowled awhile, the
+archer spake again:
+
+"Hast never been in love, Roger?"
+
+"Never, Saint Cuthbert be praised!"
+
+"Then canst know nought of the joy and wonder of it. So will I make for
+thee a song of love, as thus: open thine ears and hearken:
+
+  "So fair, so sweet, so pure is she
+   I do thank God;
+   Her love an armour is to me
+   'Gainst sorrow and adversity,
+   So in my song right joyfully
+   I do thank God for love.
+
+  "Her love a cloak is, round me cast,
+   I do thank God;
+   To cherish me 'gainst fortunes blast.
+   Her love, forgetting evils past,
+   Shall lift me up to heaven at last,
+   So I thank God for love."
+
+"Here is a fair song, methinks; dost not wonder at love now, Roger, and
+the glory of it?"
+
+"I wonder," quoth Roger, "how long thou shalt believe all this when
+thou art wed. I wonder how long thou wilt live true to her when she is
+thy wife!"
+
+Now hereupon the archer's comely face grew red, grew pale, his bronzed
+hands flew to his belt and leapt on high, gripping his dagger; but
+Roger had seen, his fingers closed on the descending wrist and they
+grappled, swaying in their saddles.
+
+Grim and silent they slipped to earth and strove together on the ling.
+But Roger had Giles in a cruel wrestling-hold, wrenched him, bent him,
+and bearing him to earth, wrested away the dagger and raised it above
+the archer's naked throat. And Giles, lying powerless beneath, looked
+up into Roger's fierce scowling face and seeing no pity there, his pale
+cheek grew paler and in his eyes came an agony of broken hopes; but his
+gaze quailed not and when he spake, his voice was firm.
+
+"Strike true, comrade!" said he.
+
+The hand above him wavered; the dagger was dashed aside and covering
+his face, Black Roger crouched there, his broad shoulders and powerful
+figure quaking and shivering. Then Giles arose and stepping to his
+dagger, came back with it grasped in his hand.
+
+"Roger!" said he.
+
+Quoth Roger, his face still hidden:
+
+"My throat is bare also, archer!"
+
+"Roger--comrade, give to me thy belt!"
+
+Now at this Roger looked up, wondering.
+
+"My belt?" quoth he, "what would ye, Giles?"
+
+"Cut away thy last notch, Roger--thy belt shall go smooth-edged
+henceforth and thy soul clean, methinks."
+
+"But I meant to slay thee, Giles."
+
+"But spared me, Roger, spared me to life and--love, my Rogerkin. O
+friend, give me thy belt!"
+
+So Roger gave him the belt, wherefrom Giles forthwith cut the last
+notch, which done, they together, like mischievous lads, turned to look
+where their lord rode far ahead; and beholding him all unconscious and
+lost in thought, they sighed their relief and mounting, went on
+together.
+
+Now did Roger oft glance at Giles who kept his face averted and held
+his peace, whereat Roger grew uneasy, fidgeted in his saddle, fumbled
+with the reins, and at last spake:
+
+"Giles!"
+
+"Aye, Roger!"
+
+"Forgive me!"
+
+But Giles neither turned nor spake, wherefore contrite Roger must needs
+set an arm about him and turn him about, and behold, the archer's eyes
+were brimming with great tears!
+
+"O Giles!" gasped Roger, "O Giles!"
+
+"Roger, I--I do love her, man--I do love her, heart and soul! Is this
+so hard to believe, Roger, or dost think me rogue so base that true
+love is beyond me? 'Tis true I am unworthy, and yet--I do verily love
+her, Roger!"
+
+"Wilt forgive me--can'st forgive me, Giles?"
+
+"Aye, Roger, for truly we have saved each other's lives so oft we must
+needs be friends, thou and I. Only thy words did--did hurt me, friend--
+for indeed this love of mine hath in it much of heaven, Roger. And--
+there be times when I do dream of mayhap--teaching--a little Giles--to
+loose a straight shaft--some day. O sweet Jesu, make me worthy, amen!"
+
+And now Beltane glancing up and finding the sun high, summoned Giles
+and Roger beside him.
+
+"Friends," said he, "we have journeyed farther than methought. Now let
+us turn into the boskage yonder and eat."
+
+So in a while, the horses tethered, behold them within a leafy bower
+eating and drinking and laughing like the blithe foresters they were,
+until, their hunger assuaged, they made ready to mount. But of a sudden
+the bushes parted near by and a man stepped forth; a small man he,
+plump and buxom, whose quick, bright eyes twinkled 'neath his wide-eaved
+hat as he saluted Beltane with obeisance very humble and lowly. Quoth he:
+
+"Right noble and most resplendent lord Duke Beltane, I do most humbly
+greet thee, I--Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, past Pardoner of the Holy See--who
+but a poor plain soul am, do offer thee my very insignificant, yet most
+sincere, felicitous good wishes."
+
+"My thanks are thine. Pardoner. What more would you?"
+
+"Breath, lord methinks," said Giles, "wind, my lord, after periods so
+profound and sonorous!"
+
+"Lord Duke, right puissant and most potential, I would but tell thee
+this, to wit, that I did keep faith with thee, that I, by means of this
+unworthy hand, did set thee beyond care, lift thee above sorrow, and
+gave to thee the heaven of thy most warm and earnest desires."
+
+"How mean you, Pardoner?"
+
+"Lord Duke, when thou didst bestow life on two poor rogues upon a time,
+when one rogue stole away minded to betray thee to thine enemy, the
+second rogue did steal upon the first rogue, and this second rogue bare
+a small knife whereof the first rogue suddenly died. And thus Duke Ivo,
+thine enemy, came not before Belsaye until thou and thy company were
+safe within its walls. So by reason of this poor second rogue,
+Pentavalon doth rejoice in freedom. To-day is singing on every village
+green--happiness is in the very air, for 'tis Pentavalon's Beltane, and
+Beltane is a sweet season; so doth this poor second rogue find him
+recompense. Verily art well named, lord Beltane, since in thee
+Pentavalon's winter is passed away and spring is come--O happy season
+of Beltane, O season of new beginnings and new hopes! So, my lord
+Beltane, may it ever be Beltane with thee, may it be sweet spring ever
+within thy noble heart. God keep thee and farewell."
+
+So saying the Pardoner turned about, and plunging into the dense green,
+was gone.
+
+"A pestilent wordy fellow, lord," quoth Giles, "one of your windy
+talkers that talketh that no other talker may talk--now give me a good
+listener, say I."
+
+"And yet," said Beltane, swinging to saddle, "spake he truly I wonder?
+Had Ivo been a little sooner we had not been here, methinks!"
+
+On they rode, through sun and shadow, knee and knee, beneath leafy
+arches and along green glades, talking and laughing together or plunged
+in happy thought.
+
+Quoth Beltane of a sudden:
+
+"Roger, hast heard how Giles waxeth in fortune these days?"
+
+"And methinks no man is more worthy, master. Giles is for sure a man of
+parts."
+
+"Aye--more especially of tongue, Roger."
+
+"As when he did curse the folk of Belsaye out o' their fears, master.
+Moreover he is a notable archer and--"
+
+"Art not envious, then, Roger?"
+
+"Not I, master!"
+
+"What would'st that I give unto thee?"
+
+"Thy love, master."
+
+"'Tis thine already, my faithful Roger."
+
+"And therewithal am I content, master."
+
+"Seek ye nought beside?"
+
+"Lord, what is there? Moreover I am not learned like Giles, nor ready
+of tongue, nor--"
+
+"Art wondrous skilled in wood-lore, my Rogerkin!" quoth Giles.
+"Forsooth, lord, there is no man knoweth more of forestry than my good
+comrade Roger!"
+
+"So will I make of him my chiefest huntsman, Giles--"
+
+"Master--O master!" gasped Roger.
+
+"And set thee over all my foresters of Pentavalon, Roger."
+
+"Why master, I--forsooth I do love the greenwood--but lord, I am only
+Roger, and--and how may I thank thee--"
+
+"Come!" cried Beltane, and spurred to a gallop.
+
+Thus rode they through the leafy by-ways, avoiding town and village;
+yet oft from afar they heard the joyous throb of bells upon the air, or
+the sound of merry voices and happy laughter from village commons where
+folk rejoiced together that Ivo's iron yoke was lifted from them at
+last. But Beltane kept ever to the woods and by-ways, lest, being
+recognised, he should be stayed longer from her of whom he dreamed,
+bethinking him ever of the deep, shy passion of her eyes, the soft
+tones of her voice, the clinging warmth of her caress, and all the
+sweet, warm beauty of her. Betimes they crossed the marches into
+Mortain, but it was late evening ere they saw at last the sleepy manor
+of Blaen, its white walls and steepy roofs dominated by its one square
+watch-tower, above which a standard, stirring lazily in the gentle
+air, discovered the red lion of Pentavalon.
+
+And now Beltane's breath grew short and thick, his strong hand trembled
+on the bridle, and he grew alternate hot and cold. So rode they into
+the echoing courtyard whither hasted old Godric to welcome them, and
+divers servants to take their horses. Being ushered forthwith into the
+garden, now who so silent and awkward as my Beltane, what time his lady
+Duchess made known to him her gentle ladies, among whom sweet Genevra,
+flushed of cheek, gazed breathless upon Giles even as Giles gazed upon
+her--who so mumchance as Beltane, I say, who saw and heard and was
+conscious only of one among them all. And who so stately, so
+calm-voiced and dignified as this one until--aye, until they stood alone
+together, and then--
+
+To see her sway to his fierce arms, all clinging, yearning womanhood,
+her state and dignity forgotten quite! To hear her voice soft and low
+and all a-thrill with love, broken with sighs and sinking to
+passionate-whispered questioning:
+
+"And thou art come back to me at last. Beltane! Hast brought to me my
+heart unharmed from the battle, beloved! And thou didst take no hurt--
+no hurt, my Beltane? And art glad to see--thy--wife, Beltane? And dost
+love me--as much as ever, Beltane? O wilt never, never leave me
+desolate again, my lord--art thou mine--mine henceforth as I am thine,
+Beltane? And wilt desire me ever near thee, my lord?"
+
+"Helen," said he, "O my 'Helen the Beautiful'--our wars be ended, our
+time of waiting is done, I thank God! So am I here to claim thee,
+beloved. Art glad to be in mine arms--glad I am come to--make thee mine
+own at last, Helen?"
+
+"I had died without thee, Beltane--I would not live without thee now,
+my Beltane. See, my lord, I--O how may I speak if thus you seal my
+lips, Beltane? And prithee how may I show thee this gown I wear for
+thee if thou wilt hold me so--so very close, Beltane?"
+
+And in a while as the moon rose she brought him into that bower he well
+remembered and bade him admire the beauty of her many flowers, and he,
+viewing her loveliness alway, praised the flowers exceeding much yet
+beheld them not at all, wherefore she chid him, and yet chiding,
+yielded him her scarlet mouth. Thus walked they in the fragrant garden
+until Genevra found them and sweet-voiced bid them in to sup. But the
+Duchess took Genevra's slender hands and looked within her shy, sweet
+eyes.
+
+"Art happy, sweet maid?" she questioned.
+
+"O dear my lady, methinks in all this big world is none more happy than
+thy grateful Genevra."
+
+"Then haste thee back to thy happiness, dear Genevra, to-morrow we will
+see thee wed."
+
+And presently came they within a small chamber and here Beltane did off
+his armour, and here they supped together, though now the lady Helen
+spake little and ate less, and oft her swift-flushing cheek rebuked the
+worshipping passion of his eyes; insomuch that presently she arose and
+going into the great chamber beyond, came back, and kneeling at his
+feet, showed him a file.
+
+"Beltane," said she, "thou didst, upon a time, tell poor Fidelis
+wherefore thy shameful fetters yet bound thy wrists--so now will thy
+wife loose them from thee."
+
+Then, while Beltane, speaking not, watched her downbent head and busy
+hands, she filed off his fetters one by one, and kissing them, set them
+aside.
+
+But when she would have risen he prevented her, and with reverent
+fingers touched the coiled and braided glory of her hair.
+
+"O Helen," he whispered, "loose me down thy hair."
+
+"Nay, dear Beltane--"
+
+"My hands are so big and clumsy--"
+
+"Thy hands are my hands!" and she caught and kissed them.
+
+"Let down for me thy hair, beloved, I pray thee!"
+
+"Forsooth my lord and so I will--but--not yet."
+
+"But the--the hour groweth late, Helen!"
+
+"Nay--indeed--'tis early yet, my lord--nay, as thou wilt, my Beltane,
+only suffer that I--I leave thee a while, I pray."
+
+"Must I bide here alone, sweet wife?"
+
+"But indeed I will--call thee anon, my lord."
+
+"Nay, first--look at me, my Helen!"
+
+Slowly, slowly she lifted her head and looked on him all sweet and
+languorous-eyed.
+
+"Aye, truly--truly thine eyes are not--a nun's eyes, Helen. So will I
+wait thy bidding." So he loosed her and she, looking on him no more,
+turned and hasted into the further chamber.
+
+And after some while she called to him very soft and sweet, and he,
+trembling, arose and entered the chamber, dim-lighted and fragrant.
+
+But now, beholding wherefore she had left him, his breath caught and he
+stood as one entranced, nor moved, nor spake he a while.
+
+"O Helen!" he murmured at last, "thou art glorious so--and with thy
+long hair--"
+
+But now, even as he came to her, the Duchess Helen put out the little
+silver lamp. But in the moonlit dusk she gave her lips to his, and her
+tender arms were close about him.
+
+"Beltane," she whispered 'neath his kiss, "dear my lord and husband,
+here is an end at last of sorrow and heart-break, I pray."
+
+"Here--my Helen, beginneth--the fulness of life, methinks!"
+
+Now presently upon the stillness, from the court below, stole the notes
+of a lute and therewith a rich voice upraised in singing:
+
+  "O when is the time a maid to kiss?
+   Tell me this, now tell me this.
+   'Tis when the day is scarce begun,
+   'Tis from the setting of the sun.
+   Is time for kissing ever done,
+   Tell me this, now tell me this."
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beltane The Smith, by Jeffery Farnol
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+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELTANE THE SMITH ***
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