Beltane the Smith Part 53

"Mark ye this horse, Roger. Thou hast said 'twas of good speed and endurance, and methinks 'tis sooth. Howbeit, now shall he prove thy word, for here I wait the hunters, and to-day will I, keeping ever out of bow-shot, lead them through every quag, every bog and marsh 'twixt here and Hundleby Fen, and of those that follow still, thou and Walkyn and our merry men shall make an end, I pray G.o.d. So let all lie well hid, and watch for my coming. And now--farewell to thee, Roger."

"But, master," quoth Roger, waxing rueful, "in this thou must run dire perils and dangers, and I not with thee. So pray thee let Sir Fidelis-- hard!--Ha!--now G.o.d aid us--hark to that! Master, they've loosed the dogs on us!"

Even as he spake, very faint and far as yet but plain to hear above the leafy stirring, the deep baying of a hound came down the wind.

"Hunting-dogs, master! Ride--ride!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "O sweet Christ forgive me, for I have hunted down poor rogues with such ere now--"

"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit, ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go--obey me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir Fidelis:

"How, messire--are ye not gone?"

Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:

"Thou seest, my lord--I go beside thee according to thy word--"

"Presumptuous youth, I want thee not!"

"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord--and I can be patient--"

"Ha--dost defy me?"

"Not so, my lord--nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than thyself, so do I pity thee--pity thee--thou that art so mighty and yet so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a n.o.ble man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies--G.o.d send they soon may pa.s.s. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."

Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce baying of the hounds.

Said Beltane at last:

"Messire, thou dost hear the hounds?"

"In faith, my lord, I tremble to be gone, but an thou dost tarry, so must I."

"Death shall follow hard after us this day, Sir Fidelis."

"Why then, an death o'ertake us--I must die, messire."

"Ha,--the hounds have winded us already, methinks! Hark!--Hark to them!" And in truth the air was full of their raving clamour, with, ever and anon, the shouts and cries of those that urged them on.

"Hast a n.o.ble horse, Sir Fidelis. Now G.o.d send he bear thee well this day, for 'twill be hard and cruel going. Come--'tis time, methinks!"

Thus speaking, Beltane gave his horse the rein and forth they rode together out into the broad and open glade, their armour glinting in the sun; and immediately the dogs gave tongue, louder, fiercer than before. Now looking back. Beltane beheld afar many mounted men who shouted amain, flouris.h.i.+ng lance and sword, while divers others let slip the great dogs they held in leash; then, looking up the glade ahead, and noting its smooth level and goodly length, Beltane smiled grimly and drew sword. "Sir Fidelis," said he, "hast a mace at thy saddle-bow: betake thee to it, 'tis a goodly weapon, and--smite hard.

'Twill be the dogs first. Now--spur!"

Forward bounded the two high-mettled steeds, gathering pace with every stride, but the great hounds came on amain, while beyond, distant as yet, the hunters rode--knight and squire, mounted bowman and man-at-arms they spurred and shouted, filling the air with fierce halloo.

Slowly the hounds drew nearer--ten great beasts Beltane counted--that galloped two and two, whining and whimpering as they came.

Now of a sudden Beltane checked in his career, swerved, swung the plunging roan, and with long blade agleam, rode in upon the racing pack to meet their rush with deadly point and deep-biting edge; a slavering hound launched itself at his throat, its fangs clas.h.i.+ng on the stout links of his camail, but as the great beast hung thus, striving to drag him from the saddle, down came the mace of Sir Fidelis and the snarling beast fell to be crushed 'neath the trampling hoofs of the war-horse Mars. And now did the mighty roan prove himself a very Mars indeed, for, beset round about by fierce, lean shapes that crouched and leapt with cruel, gleaming fangs, he stamped and reared and fought them off, neighing loud defiance. Thus, with las.h.i.+ng hoof, with whirling mace and darting sword fought they, until of the hounds there none remained save three that limped painfully to cover, licking their hurts as they went.

But other foes were near, for as Beltane reined his snorting steed about, he swayed in his stirrups 'neath the shock of a cross-bow bolt that glanced, whirring, from his bascinet, and in that moment Sir Fidelis cried aloud:

"My lord, my lord! alas, my poor horse is death-smitten!" Glancing round. Beltane beheld Sir Fidelis slip to earth as his charger, rearing high, crashed over, his throat transfixed by a cloth-yard shaft. Now did their many pursuers shout amain, fierce and joyful, goading their horses to swifter pace what time Beltane frowned from them to Sir Fidelis, who stood, mailed hands tight-clasped, watching Beltane eager and great-eyed.

"Ah!" cried Beltane, smiting hand to thigh in bitter anger, "now is my hope of ambush and surprise like to be marred by reason of thee, sir knight, for one horse may never carry us twain!"

"Why then, I can die here, my lord, an it be so thy will!" spake Sir Fidelis, his pale lips a tremble, "yet is thy horse strong and--O in sooth I did yearn--for life. But, an thou wilt give me death--"

"Come!" cried Beltane hoa.r.s.ely. "Come, wherefore tarry ye?"

Now leapt Sir Fidelis to the saddle of his fallen steed and s.n.a.t.c.hed thence a wallet, whereat Beltane fell a-fuming, for bolts and arrows began to whirr and hum thick and fast. "Come--mount, sir knight--mount ye up behind me. Thy hand--quick! thy foot on my foot--so! Now set thy two arms fast about me and see thou loose me not, for now must we ride for the wild--brush and thicket, stock and stone, nought must let or stay us--so loose me not, sir knight!"

"Ah--not while life remain, messire Beltane!" said the young knight quick-breathing, and speaking, took Beltane within two mailed arms that clasped and clung full close. Then, wheeling sharp about, Beltane stooping low, struck sudden spurs and they plunged, cras.h.i.+ng, into the denser green.

CHAPTER XLI

HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS

Fast galloped the good horse, bursting through underbrush and thicket with the roar of the pursuit following ever distant and more distant; and ever Beltane spurred deeper into those trackless wilds where few dare adventure them by reason of evil spirits that do haunt these solitudes (as they do say) and, moreover, of ravening beasts.

Strongly and well the good horse bore them, what time the sun waxed fierce and hot, filling the woods with a stifling heat, a close, windless air dank and heavy with the scent of leaves and bracken. The hue and cry had sunk long since, lost in distance, and nought broke the brooding silence but the stir of their going, as, checking their headlong pace, Beltane brought the powerful animal to slow and leisured gait. And presently, a gentle wind arose, that came and went, to fan brow and cheek and temper the sun's heat.

And now, as they rode through sunlight and shadow, Beltane felt his black mood slowly lifted from him and knew a sense of rest, a content unfelt this many a day; he looked, glad-eyed, upon the beauty of the world about him, from green earth to an azure heaven peeping through a fretted screen of branches; he marked the graceful, slender bracken stirring to the soft-breathing air, the mighty boles of stately trees that reached out sinuous boughs one to another, to touch and twine together amid a mystery of murmuring leaves. All this he saw, yet heeded not at all the round-mailed arms that clasped him in their soft embrace, nor the slender hands that held upon his girdle.

So rode they through bosky dell and dingle, until the sun, having climbed the meridian, sank slowly westwards; and Sir Fidelis spake soft-voiced:

"Think you we are safe at last, my lord?"

"Fidelis," saith Beltane, "Yest're'en did'st thou name me selfish, to-day, a babe, and, moreover, by thy disobedience hast made my schemes of no avail--thus am I wroth with thee."

"Yet doth the sun s.h.i.+ne, my lord," said Sir Fidelis, small of voice.

"Ha--think you my anger so light a thing, forsooth?"

"Messire, I think of it not at all."

"By thy evil conduct are we fugitives in the wilderness!"

"Yet is it a wondrous fair place, messire, and we unharmed--which is well, and we are--together, which is--also well."

"And with but one beast to bear us twain!"

"Yet he beareth us strong and n.o.bly, messire!"

"Fidelis, I would I ne'er had seen thee."

"Thou dost not see me--now, lord--content you, therefore," saith Fidelis softly, whereat Beltane must needs twist in the saddle, yet saw no more than a mailed arm and shoulder.

"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the middle of any other man than I."