Beltane the Smith Part 19

"Good comrades all," quoth he, "well do I know ye to be staunch and trusty; yet to-day am I minded to speak with him men call Pertolepe the Red, lest he shed innocent blood for that we slew his foresters--"

"Twenty l.u.s.ty fellows!" nodded Giles, with a morsel of venison on his dagger point.

"Nay, there one escaped!" quoth Roger.

"Yet he sore wounded!" said Walkyn.

"Ha! Sir Pertolepe is a terrible lord!" quoth Giles, eyeing the morsel of venison somewhat askance. "'Twill be a desperate adventure, methinks--and we but four."

"Yet each and all--G.o.ds!" quoth Walkyn, reaching for his axe.

"Aye," nodded Giles, frowning at the piece of venison, "yet are we but four G.o.ds."

"Not so," answered Beltane, "for in this thing shall we be but one. Go you three to Bourne, for I am minded to try this adventure alone."

"Alone, master!" cried Black Roger, starting to his feet.

"Alone!" growled Walkyn, clutching his axe.

"An death must come, better one should die than four," said Beltane, "howbeit I am minded to seek out Pertolepe this day."

"Then do I come also, master, since thy man am I."

"I, too," nodded Walkyn, "come death and welcome, so I but stand face to face with Pertolepe."

"Alack!" sighed Giles, "so needs must I come also, since I have twelve shafts yet unsped," and he swallowed the morsel of venison with mighty relish and gusto.

Then laughed Beltane for very gladness, and he looked on each with kindling eye.

"Good friends," quoth he, "as ye say, so let it be, and may G.o.d's hand be over us this day."

Now, as he spake with eyes uplift to heaven, he espied a faint, blue mist far away above the soft-stirring tree tops--a distant haze, that rose lazily into the balmy air, thickening ever as he watched.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, fierce-eyed of a sudden and pointing with rigid finger, "whence cometh that smoke, think ye?"

"Why," quoth Roger, frowning, "Wendonmere village lieth yonder!"

"Nay, 'tis nearer than Wendonmere," said Walkyn, shouldering his axe.

"See, the smoke thickens!" cried Beltane. "Now, G.o.d forgive me! the while I tarry here Red Pertolepe is busy, meseemeth!" So saying, he caught up his sword, and incontinent set off at speed toward where the soft blue haze stole upon the air of morning, growing denser and ever denser.

Fast and furious Beltane sped on, cras.h.i.+ng through underbrush and crackling thicket, o'erleaping bush and brook and fallen tree, heedful of eye, and choosing his course with a forester's unerring instinct, praying fiercely beneath his breath, and with the three ever close behind.

"Would I had eaten less!" panted Giles.

"Would our legs were longer!" growled Walkyn.

"Would my belt bore fewer notches!" quoth Roger.

And so they ran together, sure-footed and swift, and ever as they ran the smoke grew denser, and ever Beltane's prayers more fervent. Now in a while they heard a sound, faint and confused: a hum, that presently grew to a murmur--to a drone--to a low wailing of voices, pierced of a sudden by a shrill cry no man's lips could utter, that swelled high upon the air and died, lost amid the growing clamour.

"They've fired the ricks first!" panted Roger; "'tis ever Pertolepe's way!"

"They be torturing the women!" hissed Walkyn; "'tis ever so Red Pertolepe's pleasure!"

"And I have but twelve arrows left me!" groaned Giles.

But Beltane ran in silence, looking neither right nor left, until, above the hum of voices he heard one upraised in pa.s.sionate supplication, followed by another--a loud voice and jovial--and thereafter, a burst of roaring laughter.

Soon Beltane beheld a stream that flowed athwart their way and, beyond the stream, a line of willows thick growing upon the marge; and again, beyond these cl.u.s.tering willows the straggling village lay. Then Beltane, motioning the others to caution, forded the stream and coming in the shade of the osiers, drew on his hood of mail, and so, unsheathing his long sword, peered through the leaves. And this is what he saw:

A wide road flanked by rows of scattered cottages, rude of wall and thatch; a dusty road, that led away east and west into the cool depths of the forest, and a cringing huddle of wretched village folk whose pallid faces were all set one way, where some score of men-at-arms lolled in their saddles watching a tall young maid who struggled fiercely in the grasp of two l.u.s.ty fellows, her garments rent, her white flesh agleam in the sunlight. A comely maid, supple and strong, who ever as she strove 'gainst the clutching hands that held her, kept her blazing eyes turned upon one in knightly mail who sat upon a great war-horse hard by, watching her, big chin in big mailed fist, and with wide lips up-curling in a smile: a strong man this, heavy and broad of chest; his casque hung at his saddle-bow, and his mail-coif, thrown back upon his wide shoulders, showed his thick, red hair that fell a-down, framing his square-set, rugged face.

"Ha, Cuthbert," quoth he, turning to one who rode at his elbow--a slender youth who stared with evil eyes and sucked upon his finger, "Aha, by the fiend, 'tis a sweet armful, Sir Squire?"

"Aye, my lord Pertolepe, 'tis rarely shaped and delicately fleshed!"

answered the esquire, and so fell to sucking his finger again.

"What, silly wench, will ye defy me still?" cried Sir Pertolepe, jovial of voice, "must ye to the whip in sooth? Ho, Ralph--Otho, strip me this stubborn jade--so!--Ha! verily Cuthbert, hast shrewd eyes, 'tis a dainty rogue. Come," said he smiling down into the girl's wide, fierce eyes, "save that fair body o' thine from the lash, now, and speak me where is thy father and brother that I may do justice on them, along with these other dogs, for the foul murder of my foresters yest're'en; their end shall be swift, look ye, and as for thyself--shalt find those to comfort thee anon--speak, wench!"

But now came a woman pale and worn, who threw herself on trembling knees at Sir Pertolepe's stirrup, and, bowed thus before him in the dust, raised a pa.s.sionate outcry, supplicating his mercy with bitter tears and clasped hands lifted heavenwards.

"O good my lord Pertolepe," she wailed, "'twas not my husband, nor son, nor any man of our village wrought this thing; innocent are we, my lord--"

"O witch!" quoth he, "who bade thee speak?" So saying he drew mail-clad foot from stirrup and kicked her back into the dust. "Ho, whips!" he called, "lay on, and thereafter will we hang these vermin to their own roof-trees and fire their hovels for a warning."

But now, even as the struggling maid was dragged forward--even as Pertolepe, smiling, settled chin on fist to watch the lithe play of her writhing limbs, the willows behind him swayed and parted to a sudden panther-like leap, and a mail-clad arm was about Sir Pertolepe--a mighty arm that bore him from the saddle and hurled him headlong; and thereafter Sir Pertolepe, half stunned and staring up from the dust, beheld a great blade whose point p.r.i.c.ked his naked throat, and, beyond this blade, a mail-clad face, pallid, fierce, grim-lipped, from whose blazing eyes death glared down at him.

"Dog!" panted Beltane.

"Ha! Cuthbert!" roared Red Pertolepe, writhing 'neath Beltane's grinding heel, "to me, Cuthbert--to me!"

But, as the esquire wheeled upon Beltane with sword uplifted, out from the green an arrow whistled, and Cuthbert, shrill-screaming, swayed in his saddle and thudded to earth, while his great war-horse, rearing affrighted, plunged among the men-at-arms, and all was shouting and confusion; while from amid the willows arrows whizzed and flew, 'neath whose cruel barbs horses snorted, stumbling and kicking, or crashed into the dust; and ever the confusion grew.

But now Sir Pertolepe, wriggling beneath Beltane's iron foot had unsheathed his dagger, yet, ere he could stab, down upon his red pate crashed the heavy pommel of Beltane's sword and Sir Pertolepe, sinking backward, lay out-stretched in the dust very silent and very still.

Then Beltane sheathed his sword and, stooping, caught Sir Pertolepe by the belt and dragged him into the shade of the willows, and being come to the stream, threw his captive down thereby and fell to splas.h.i.+ng his bruised face with the cool water. And now, above the shouts and the trampling of hoofs upon the road, came the clash of steel on steel and the harsh roar of Walkyn and Black Roger as they plied axe and sword-- "Arise! Ha, arise!" Then, as Beltane glanced up, the leaves near by were dashed aside and Giles came bounding through, his gay feather shorn away, his escalloped cape wrenched and torn, his broadsword a-swing in his hand.

"Ho, tall brother--a sweet affray!" he panted, "the fools give back already: they cry that Pertolepe is slain and the woods full of outlaws; they be falling back from the village--had I but a few shafts in my quiver, now--" but here, beholding the face of Beltane's captive, Giles let fall his sword, staring round-eyed.

"Holy St. Giles!" he gasped, "'tis the Red Pertolepe!" and so stood agape, what time a trumpet brayed a fitful blast from the road and was answered afar. Thereafter came Roger, stooping as he ran, and shouting:

"Archers! Archers!--run, lord!"

But Beltane stirred not, only he dashed the water in Sir Pertolepe's twitching face, wherefore came Roger and caught him by the arm, pleading:

"Master, O master!" he panted, "the forest is a-throng with lances, and there be archers also--let us make the woods ere we are beset!"

But Beltane, seeing the captive stir, shook off Black Roger's grasp; but now, one laughed, and Walkyn towered above him, white teeth agleam, who, staring down at Sir Pertolepe, whirled up his b.l.o.o.d.y axe to smite.