Thus then, this stranger dwelt the week with Beltane in the greenwood, teaching him, day by day, tricks of sword and much martial lore beside. And, day by day, a friendship waxed and grew betwixt them so that upon the seventh morning, as they broke their fast together, Beltane's heart was heavy and his look downcast; whereat the stranger spake him thus: "Whence thy dole, good youth?"
"For that to-day needs must I part with thee."
"And thy friends are few, belike?"
"None, messire," answered Beltane, sighing.
"Aye me! And yet 'tis well enough, for--mark me, youth!--friends be ofttimes a mixed blessing. As for me, 'tis true I am thy friend and so shall ever be, so long as you shall bear yon goodly blade."
"And wherefore?" questioned Beltane.
"Moreover thou art my scholar, and like, perchance, to prove thyself, some day, a notable sworder and a sweet and doughty fighter, belike."
"Yet hast never spoken me thy name, messire."
"Why, hast questioned me but once, and then thou wert something of a blockhead dreamer, methought. But now, messire Beltane, since thou would'st know--Benedict of Bourne am I called."
Now hereupon Beltane rose and stood upon his feet, staring wide-eyed at this grim-faced stranger who, with milk-bowl at lip, paused to smile his wry smile. "Aha!" said he, "hast heard such a name ere now, even here in the greenwood?"
"Sir," answered Beltane, "betimes I have talked with soldiers and men-at-arms, so do I know thee for that same great knight who, of all the nobles of Pentavalon, doth yet withstand the great Duke Ivo--"
"Call you that black usurper 'great,' youth? Body o' me! I knew a greater, once, methinks!"
"Aye," nodded Beltane, "there was him men called 'Beltane the Strong.'"
"Ha!" quoth Sir Benedict, setting down his milk-bowl, "what know you of Duke Beltane?"
"Nought but that he was a great and lusty fighter who yet loved peace and mercy, but truth and justice most of all."
"And to-day," sighed Sir Benedict, "to-day we have Black Ivo! Aye me! these be sorry days for Pentavalon. 'Tis said he woos the young Duchess yonder. Hast ever seen Helen of Mortain, sir smith?"
"Nay, but I've heard tell that she is wondrous fair."
"Hum!" quoth Sir Benedict, "I love not your red-haired spit-fires. Methinks, an Ivo win her, she'll lead him how she will, or be broke in the adventure--a malison upon him, be it how it may!"