Beltane the Smith Part 18

"Aye, master, as he hath slain many a man ere now!" quoth Roger, striving to free his arm. "The door is giving, and there be many without: and, since to-night we must die, so let us slay the white fox first."

"Not so," said Beltane, "get you through the window--the river runs below: through the window--out, I say!" and, with the word, he stooped and bore Black Roger to the window.

"But, lord--"

"Jump!" cried Beltane, "jump, ere the door fall."

"But you, master--"

"Jump, I say: I will follow thee." So, groaning, Black Roger hurled his sword far out from the window, and leaping from the sill, was gone.

Then Beltane turned and looked upon Gui of Allerdale. "Seneschal," said he, "I who speak am he, who, an G.o.d so wills, shall be Duke of Pentavalon ere long: howbeit, I will keep my promise to thee, so aid me G.o.d!"

Thus saying, he mounted the window in his turn, and, even as the door splintered behind him, forced himself through, and, leaping wide, whirled over and over, down and down, and the sluggish river closed over him with a mighty splash; thereafter the placid waters went upon their way, bubbling here and there, and dimpling 'neath the waning moon.

CHAPTER XIV

HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH

Down went my Beltane, weighted in his heavy mail--down and ever down through a world of green that grew dark and ever more dark, until, within the pitchy gloom beneath him was a quaking slime that sucked viciously at foot and ankle. Desperately he fought and strove to rise, but ever the mud clung, and, l.u.s.ty swimmer though he was, his triple mail bore him down.

And now his mighty muscles failed, lights flamed before his eyes, in his ears was a drone that grew to a rus.h.i.+ng roar, his lungs seemed bursting, and the quaking ooze yearning to engulf him. Then my Beltane knew the bitter agony of coming death, and strove no more; but in that place of darkness and horror, a clammy something crawled upon his face, slipped down upon his helpless body, seized hold upon his belt and dragged at him fierce and strong; slowly, slowly the darkness thinned, grew lighter, and then--Ah, kind mercy of G.o.d! his staring eyes beheld the orbed moon, his famished lungs drank deep the sweet, cool air of night. And so he gasped, and gasping, strove feebly with arm and leg while ever the strong hand grasped at his girdle. And now he heard, faint and afar, a sound of voices, hands reached down and drew him up-- up to good, firm earth, and there, face down among the gra.s.s, he lay awhile, content only to live and breathe. Gradually he became aware of another sound hard by, a sharp sound yet musical, and in a little, knew it for the "tw.a.n.g" of a swift-drawn bow-string. Now, glancing up, Beltane beheld an ancient tree near by, a tree warped and stunted wherein divers arrows stood, and behind the tree, Giles o' the Bow, who, as he watched, drew and loosed a shaft, which, flas.h.i.+ng upward, was answered by a cry; whereon Giles laughed aloud.

"Six!" he cried, "six in seven shots: 'tis sweet archery methinks, and quicker than a noose, my Rogerkin, and more deadly than thy axe, my surly Walkyn. Let the rogues yonder but show themselves, and give me arrows enow, so will I slay all Gui's garrison ere the moon fail me quite."

But hereupon Beltane got him to his knees and made s.h.i.+ft to stand, and, coming to the tree, leaned there, being faint and much spent.

"Aha, sweet lord," cried the archer, "a man after my very heart art thou. What wonders have we achieved this night--paladins in sooth we be, all four! By the blessed bones of St. Giles, all Pentavalon shall ring with our doings anon."

Said Beltane, faintly:

"Where is my good Roger?"

"Here, lord," a voice answered from the shade of a bush hard by: "'twas my comrade Walkyn dragged me up from death--even as he did thee."

"We thought you gone for good, master."

"Aye!" cried the archer, "so would ye all be dead, methinks, but for me and this my bow."

"Friends," said Beltane, "'tis by doings such as this that men do learn each other's worth: so shall the bonds betwixt us strengthen day by day, and join us in accord and brotherhood that shall outlast this puny life. So now let us begone and join the others."

So they turned their backs upon Belsaye town, and keeping to the brush, came at length to where upon the borders of the forest the white friar waited them, with the nine who yet remained of the prisoners; these, beholding Beltane, came hurrying to meet him, and falling upon their knees about him, strove with each other to kiss his hands and feet.

"Good fellows," said Beltane, "G.o.d hath this night brought ye out of death into life--how will ye use your lives hereafter? List now:--even as ye have suffered, others are suffering: as ye have endured the gloom of dungeon and fear of death, so, at this hour, others do the like by reason of misrule and tyranny. Now here stand I, together with Sir Benedict of Bourne who holdeth Thrasfordham Keep, pledged to live henceforth, sword in hand, until these evils are no more--since 'tis only by bitter strife and conflict that evil may be driven from our borders. Thus, Pentavalon needeth men, strong-armed and resolute: if such ye be, march ye this hour to Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say to Sir Benedict that G.o.d having given you new life, so now will ye give your lives to Pentavalon, that tyranny may cease and the Duchy be cleansed of evil. Who now among ye will draw sword for freedom and Pentavalon?"

Then sprang the squat man Osric to his feet, with clenched fist upraised and eyes ablaze 'neath his matted hair.

"That will I!" he cried. "And I! And I! And I!" cried the rest, grim-faced and eager. "Aye--give us but swords, and one to lead, and we will follow!"

Quoth Beltane:

"Go you then to Sir Benedict within Bourne and say to all men that Beltane the Duke hath this night burned down Black Ivo's shameful gibbet, for a sign that he is come at last and is at work, nor will he stay until he die, or Pentavalon be free!"

CHAPTER XV

HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST

"Since all men breathing 'neath the sky Good or evil, soon must die, Ho! bring me wine, and what care I For dying!"

It was Giles Brabblecombe singing to himself as he knelt beside a fire of twigs, and Beltane, opening sleepy eyes, looked round upon a world all green and gold and dew-bespangled; a fair world and fragrant, whose balmy air breathed of hidden flowers and blooming thickets, whence came the joyous carolling of new-waked birds; and beholding all this and the glory of it, my Beltane must needs praise G.o.d he was alive.

"Hail and good morrow to thee, brother!" cried the bowman, seeing him astir. "The sun s.h.i.+neth, look you, I sit upon my hams and sing for that this roasting venison smelleth sweet, while yonder i' the leaves be a mavis and a merle a-mocking of me, pretty rogues: for each and ever of which, _Laus Deo, Amen!_"

"Why truly, G.o.d hath made a fair world, Giles, a good world to live in, and to live is to act--yet here have I lain most basely sleeping--"

"Like any paunched friar, brother. But a few days since, I met thee in the green, a very gentle, dove-like youth that yet became a very lion of fight and demi-G.o.d of battle! Heroes were we all, last night--nay, very t.i.tans--four 'gainst an army!--whiles now, within this balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the b.l.o.o.d.y Axe with grim Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow carrieth death in every tw.a.n.g, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector, an Ajax--a very Mars--do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed friar--Heigho! Yet even a demi-G.o.d must nod betimes, and t.i.tans eat, look ye."

Now looking from sun to earth and beholding the shortening of the shadows, Beltane leapt up. Quoth he:

"Sluggard that I am, 'tis late! And Roger was wounded last night, I mind--"

"Content you, brother, 'twas nought," said Giles bending above his cooking, "the kiss of a pike-head i' the thick o' the arm--no more."

"Yet it must be looked to--"

"I did it, brother, as I shoot--that is to say I did it most excellent well: 'twill be healed within the week."

"How then--art leech as well as bowman?"

"Quite as well, brother. When I was a monk I learned two good things, _videlicit_: never to argue with those in authority over me, and to heal the hurts of those that did. So, by my skill in herbs and leechcraft, Roger, having a hole in his arm, recks not of it--behold here he cometh, and Walkyn too, and _Laus Deo!_ with a trout! Now shall we feast like any pampered prelate."

So when Beltane had stripped and bathed him in the brook, they presently sat down, all four together, and ate and talked and laughed right merrily, the while lark and thrush and blackbird carolled l.u.s.tily far and near.

"Now eat, brothers," cried the bowman, full-mouthed, "eat and spare not, as I do, for to-day I smell the battle from afar: Ho! Ho! the noise of captains and the shouting! Yesterday were we heroes, to-day must we be G.o.ds--yet cautious G.o.ds, for, mark me, I have but twelve shafts remaining, and with twelve shafts can but promise ye a poor twelve lives."

But now came Roger wistful-eyed, and with belt a-swing in his hand.

"Master," quoth he, "last night did we four rescue twelve. Now I'm fain to know if for these twelve I may cut twelve notches from my belt, or must we share their lives betwixt us and I count but three?"

"Three?" laughed Giles, "Oho--out upon thee, Rogerkin! Our lord here claimeth six, since he the rescue planned, next, I claim three, since but for my goodly shooting ye all had died, then hath Walkyn two, since he saved thee from the fishes, which leaveth thee--one. _Quod erat demonstrandum!_"

But now, seeing Roger's downcast look, Giles s.n.a.t.c.hed the belt and gave it unto Beltane, who forthwith cut there-from twelve notches. And, in a while, having made an end of eating, Beltane rose and looked round upon the three.