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.