CHAPTER I

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.