Beltane the Smith Part 50

I am too weak, her oppressors many, and my men but few--"

"Few?" quoth Sir Fidelis, speaking with head low-stooped. "Few, messire? Not so. Ten thousand lances might follow thee to-morrow an thou but spake the word--"

"Nay," sighed Beltane, "mock me not, good Fidelis, thou dost know me a lonely man and friendless--to whom should I speak?"

"To one that loveth thee now as ever, to one that yearneth for thee with heart nigh to breaking--to Helen--"

"Ah!" quoth Beltane, slow and bitter, "speak word to Helen the Beautiful--the Wilful--the Wanton? No, a thousand times! Rather would I perish, I and all my hopes, than seek aid of such as she--"

"Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire? Nay, methinks better far thou dost love thy cold and cruel pride--so must Pentavalon endure her grievous wrongs, and so do I pity her, but--most of all--I pity thee, messire!"

Now would Beltane have answered but found no word, and therefore fell to black and bitter anger, and, turning on his heel, incontinent strode away into the council-hall where a banquet had been spread. Frowning, he ate and drank in haste, scarce heeding the words addressed to him, wherefore others grew silent also; and thereafter, his hunger a.s.suaged, strode he out into the square and summoned his company.

"Men of Pentavalon," spake he loud and quick, "howso poor and humble ye be, henceforth ye shall go, each and every, equipped in knightly mail from foot to head, your man's flesh as secure as flesh of any potent lord or n.o.ble of them all. Henceforth each man of us must fight as valiantly as ten. Now, if any there be who know the manage of horse and lance, let him step forth." Hereupon divers stepped out of the ranks, and Beltane counted of these fifty and two.

"Master Reeve," spake Beltane, "give now for guerdon instead of gold, horses and equipment for these my comrades, stout lances and mail complete with goodly bascinets."

"It shall be done, my lord."

"Roger, in thy command I set these fifty lances. See now to their arming, let them be mounted and ready with speed, for in this hour we ride."

"Aye, master," cried Roger, his eyes a-dance, "that will I, moreover--"

"Walkyn, to thee I give the pikes henceforth. As for our archers-- Giles, which now think you fittest to command?"

"Why truly, brother--my lord, if one there be can tw.a.n.g a l.u.s.ty bow and hath a cool and soldier-like head 'tis Jenkyn o' the Ford, and after him Walcher, and after him--"

"Jenkyn, do you henceforth look to our archers. Are these matters heard and known among ye?"

"Aye!" came the thunderous answer.

"'Tis well, for mark me, we go out to desperate doings, wherein obedience must be instant, wherein all must love like brothers, and, like brothers, fight shoulder to shoulder!"

Now came there certain of the citizens to Beltane, leading a great and n.o.ble war-horse, richly caparisoned, meet for his acceptance. And thus, ere the moon rose, equipped with lance and s.h.i.+eld and ponderous, vizored casque, Beltane, gloomy and silent, with Sir Fidelis mounted beside him, rode forth at the head of his grim array, at whose tramp and jingle the folk of Belsaye shouted joyful acclaim while the bells rang out right joyously.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE

It was very dark upon the forest road, where trees loomed gigantic against the pitchy gloom wherein dim-seen branches creaked and swayed, and leaves rustled faint and fitful in the stealthy night-wind; and through the gloom at the head of his silent company Beltane rode in frowning thought, his humour blacker than the night.

Now in a while, Sir Fidelis, riding ever at his elbow, ventured speech with him:

"Art very silent, messire. Have I angered thee, forsooth? Is aught amiss betwixt us?"

Quoth Beltane, shortly:

"Art over-young, sir knight, and therefore fond and foolish. Is a man a lover of self because he hateth dishonour? Art a presumptuous youth-- and that's amiss!"

"Art thou so ancient, messire, and therefore so wise as to judge 'twixt thy hates and loves and the abiding sorrows of Pentavalon?" questioned Fidelis, low-voiced and gentle.

"Old enough am I to know that in all this world is no baser thing than the treachery of a faithless woman, and that he who seeketh aid of such, e'en though his cause be just, dishonoureth himself and eke his cause. So G.o.d keep me from all women henceforth--and as for thee, speak me no more the name of this light wanton."

"My lord," quoth Sir Fidelis, leaning near, "my lord--whom mean you?"

"Whom should I mean but Mortain Helen--Helen the Beautiful--"

Now cried Sir Fidelis as one that feels a blow, and, in the dark, he seized Beltane in sudden griping fingers, and shook him fiercely.

"And dare ye name her 'wanton!'" he cried. "Ye shall not--I say ye shall not!" But, laughing, Beltane smote away the young knight's hold and laughed again.

"Is this light lady's fame so dear to thee, poor, youthful fool?" said he. "Aye me! doubt not her falsity shall break thy heart some day and teach thee wisdom--"

A shout among the woods upon their right, a twinkling light that came and went amid the underbrush, and Walkyn appeared, bearing a lighted brand.

"Lord," he growled, "here has been devil's work of late, for yonder a cottage lieth a heap of glowing ashes, and upon a tree hard by a dead man doth swing."

"Learned ye aught else, Walkyn?"

"Nothing, save that a large company pa.s.sed here yesterday as I judge.

Horse and foot--going south, see you," and he held his torch to the trampled road.

"Going south--aye, Walkyn, to Barham Broom, methinks. Here is another debt shall yet be paid in full, mayhap," quoth Beltane grimly.

"Forward!"

The jingling column moved on again, yet had gone but a little way when Sir Fidelis, uttering a cry, swerved his horse suddenly and sprang to earth.

"What now?" questioned Beltane, staring into the murk.

"My lord--my lord, a woman lieth here, and--ah, messire--she is dead!"

"O, a woman?" quoth Beltane, "and dead, say you? Why then, the world shall know less of evil and treachery, methinks. Come--mount, sir knight, mount, I say, and let us on!"

But Sir Fidelis, on his knees beside that silent, dim-seen form, heeded him not at all, and with reverent, folded hands, and soft and tender voice, spake a prayer for the departed soul. Now hereupon Beltane knew sudden shame and swift remorse, and bowed his head also, and would have prayed--yet could not; wherefore his black mood deepened and his anger grew more bitter.

"Mount, mount, sir knight!" cried he harshly. "Better to seek vengeance dire than mumble on thy knees--mount, I say!"

Forthwith Sir Fidelis arose, nothing speaking, and being in the saddle, reined back and suffered Beltane to ride alone. But in a while, Beltane perceiving himself thus shunned, found therein a new grievance and fiercely summoned Sir Fidelis beside him.

"Wherefore slink ye behind me?" he demanded.

Then spake Sir Fidelis in voice full low and troubled:

"My lord Beltane, 'twas said thou wert a n.o.ble knight--very strong and very gentle--"

"Ha! dost think such report a lie, mayhap?"