"And how an he prove worthy?" questioned Beltane.
"Then will I ride with him, to share his deeds and glory mayhap, Sir Smith--I and all the ten-score lusty fellows that muster to my pennon, since in the air is whispered talk of war, and Sir Benedict lieth ready in Thrasfordham Keep."
"Two hundred men," quoth Beltane, his blue eyes agleam, "two hundred, say you?" and, speaking, he stepped forward, unsheathing his sword.
"How now," quoth Sir Jocelyn, "what would ye, sweet smith?"
"I would have thee prove me for thy behoof, Sir Jocelyn; for I am he that with aid of five good men burned down the gibbet without Belsaye."
"Thou!" cried Sir Jocelyn, "and thou art a smith! And yet needs must I credit thee, for thine eyes be truthful eyes. And did'st indeed slay so many in the green, forsooth?"
"Nay," answered Beltane, "there were but twenty; moreover I--"
"Enough!" cried Sir Jocelyn, gaily, "be thou smith or be thou demi-god, now will I make proof of thy might and valiance." And he drew sword.
So did these two youths face each other, smiling above their gleaming steel, and so the long blades rang together, and, thereafter, the air was full of a clashing din, in so much that Roger came running sword in hand, with Walkyn and Giles at his heels; but, seeing how matters stood, they sat them down on the sward, watching round-eyed and eager.
And now Sir Jocelyn (happy-eyed), his doleful heart forgot, did show himself a doughty knight, skipping lightly to and fro despite his heavy armour, and laying on right lustily while the three a-sprawl upon the grass shouted gleefully at each shrewd stroke or skilful parry; but, once Sir Jocelyn's blade clashed upon Beltane's mailed thigh, and straightway they fell silent; and once his point touched the links on Beltane's wide breast, and straightway their brows grew anxious and gloomy--yet none so gloomy as Roger. But now, on a sudden, was the flash and ring of hard smitten steel, and behold, Sir Jocelyn's sword sprang from his grasp and thudded to earth a good three yards away; whereupon the three roared amain--yet none so loud as Roger.
"Now by sweet Cupid his tender bow!" panted Sir Jocelyn--"by the cestus of lovely Venus--aye, by the ox-eyed Juno, I swear 'twas featly done, Sir Smith!"
Quoth Beltane, taking up the fallen sword: "'Tis a trick I learned of that great and glorious knight, Sir Benedict of Bourne."
"Messire," said Sir Jocelyn, his cheek flushing, "an earl am I of thirty and two quarterings and divers goodly manors: yet thou art the better man, meseemeth, and as such do I salute thee, and swear myself thy brother-in-arms henceforth--an ye will."