ROGER. "Aye, this comes of my lord. My master hath a wondrous tongue, Giles."
GILES. "My brother-in-arms hath a wondrous strong fist, Rogerkin--"
ROGER. "Thy brother-in-arms, archer? Thine, forsooth! Ha!"
GILES. "Snort not, my gentle Roger, for I fell in company with him ere he knew aught of thee--so thy snort availeth nothing, my Rogerkin. Howbeit, our snarling wolves do live like tender lambs these days, the which doth but go to prove how blessed a thing is a fist--a fist, mark you, strong to strike, big to buffet, and swift to smite: a capable fist, Roger, to strike, buffet and smite a man to the good of his soul."
ROGER. "In sooth my master is a noble knight, ne'er shall we see his equal. And yet, Giles, methinks he doth mope and grieve these days. He groweth pale-cheeked and careworn, harsh of speech and swift to anger. Behold him now!" and Roger pointed to where Beltane sat apart (as was become his wont of late) his axe betwixt his knees, square chin propped upon clenched fist, scowling into the fire that burned before his sleeping-cave.
"Whence cometh the so great change in him, think you, Giles?"
"For that, while I am I and he is himself, thou art but what thou art, my Rogerkin--well enough after thy fashion, mayhap, but after all thou art only thyself."
"Ha!" growled Roger, "and what of thee, archer?"
"I am his brother-in-arms, Rogerkin, and so know him therefore as a wondrous lord, a noble knight, a goodly youth and a sweet lad. Some day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time. A notable ballade, something on this wise:-"Of gentle Beltane I will tell, A knight who did all knights excel, Who loved of all men here below His faithful Giles that bare the bow; For Giles full strong and straight could shoot, A goodly man was Giles to boot.
A lusty fighter sure was Giles In counsel sage and full of wiles. And Giles was handsome, Giles was young, And Giles he had a merry--"
"How now, Roger, man--wherefore interrupt me?"
"For that there be too many of Giles hereabouts, and one Giles talketh enough for twenty. So will I to Walkyn that seldom talketh enough for one."
So saying Roger arose, donned his shirt of mail and, buckling his sword about him, strode incontinent away.
And in a while Beltane arose also, and climbing one of the many precipitous paths, answered the challenge of sentinel and outpost and went on slow-footed as one heavy in thought, yet with eyes quick to heed how thick was the underbrush hereabouts with dead wood and bracken apt to firing. Before him rose an upland crowned by a belt of mighty forest trees and beyond, a road, or rather track, that dipped and wound away into the haze of evening. Presently, as he walked beneath this leafy twilight, he heard the luring sound of running water, and turning thither, laid him down where was a small and placid pool, for he was athirst. But as he stooped to drink, he started, and thereafter hung above this pellucid mirror staring down at the face that stared up at him with eyes agleam 'neath lowering brows, above whose close-knit gloom a lock of hair gleamed snow-white amid the yellow. Long stayed he thus, to mark the fierce curve of nostril, the square grimness of jaw and chin, and the lips that met in a harsh line, down-trending and relentless. And gazing thus upon his image, he spake beneath his breath: "O lady! O wilful Helen! thy soft white hand hath set its mark upon me; the love-sick youth is grown a man, meseemeth. Well, so be it!" Thus saying, he laughed harshly and stooping, drank his fill.