The sun rose high, jet still Beltane sat there beside the stream, staring down into the gurgling waters, grieving amain for his unworthiness.
Thus presently comes Sir Fidelis, and standing afar, spake in voice strange and bitter: "What do ye there, my lord? Dost dream ever upon thy woes and ills? Wilt dream thy life away here amid the wild, forsooth?"
Quoth Beltane, very humbly: "And wherefore not, Sir Fidelis? Unfit am I for great achievements. But, as to thee, take now the horse and ride you ever north and west--"
"Yea, but where is north, and where west--?"
"The trees shall tell you this. Hearken now--"
"Nay, my lord, no forester am I to find my way through trackless wild. So, an thou stay, so, perforce, must I: and if thou stay then art thou deeply forsworn."
"How mean you, good sir?"
"I mean Belsaye--I mean all those brave souls that do wait and watch, pale-cheeked, 'gainst Ivo's threatened vengeance--"
"Ha--Belsaye!" quoth Beltane, lifting his head.
"Thou must save Belsaye from flame and ravishment, my lord!"
"Aye, forsooth," cried Beltane, clenching his hands, "though I be unworthy to stand in my noble father's place, yet Belsaye must be saved or I die in it. O Fidelis, friend art thou indeed and wise beyond thy years!" But as Beltane arose, Sir Fidelis incontinent turned away, and presently came back leading the great horse. So in a while they set out northwards; but now were no arms to clasp and cling, since Sir Fidelis found hold otherwhere. Thus, after some going, Beltane questioned him: "Art easy, Fidelis?"
"Aye, lord!"
"Wilt not take hold upon my belt, as yesterday?"
"Methinks I am better thus."
"Nay then, shalt have stirrups and saddle, for I am fain to walk."
"And re-open thy wound, messire? Nay, let be--I ride easily thus."
"Art angered with me, Fidelis?"
"Nay, lord, I do but pity thee!"
"And wherefore?"
"For thy so great loneliness--in all thy world is none but Beltane, and he is very woeful and dreameth ever of his wrongs--"
"Would'st call me selfish again, forsooth?"
"Nay, lord--a martyr. O, a very martyr that huggeth his chains and kisseth his wounds and joyeth in the recollection of his pain."
"Have I not suffered, Fidelis?"
"Thou hast known the jangling gloom of a dungeon--'twas at Garthlaxton Keep, methinks?"
"Fetters!" cried Beltane, "a dungeon! These be things to smile at--my grief is of the mind--the deeper woe of high and noble ideals shattered--a holy altar blackened and profaned--a woman worshipped as divine, and proved baser than the basest!"
"And is this all, my lord?"
"All!" quoth Beltane amazed. "All!" saith he, turning to stare.