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.