"Howbeit," quoth Beltane, "I would these arms o' thine clasped the middle of any other man than I."
"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine for solitude?"
"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"
"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be full long a-growing old--"
"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do raven--"
"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"
"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou, forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore here?"
"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."
"How so?"
"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou wilt!"
"Am I of so ill humour, indeed?"
"Look within thyself, my lord."
Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he: "Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that mindeth me of bitter days."
"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."
Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis, head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved to wistful smile.
"Came you in sooth from--the Duchess Helen, Fidelis?"
"In truth, my lord."
"Dost love her--also?"
"Aye, my lord--also!"
"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee to thy death, methinks, for she--this wilful Helen--"
"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"
"Fidelis, art a gentle knight--but very young, art fond and foolish, so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"
"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool, meseemeth."
"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this--that I do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus-- give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping--stoop not to her wanton lure--ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.
"Shame, messire--O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen, I do name thee liar!--liar!"
"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"