Beltane the Smith Part 43

So saying, he stooped, and lifting the unconscious knight, flung him across his shoulder and strode off, leaving the twain to stare upon each other shame-faced.

Scowling and fierce-eyed Beltane descended into the hollow, whereupon up sprang Giles with divers others and would have looked upon and aided with the captive; but beholding Beltane's frown they stayed their questions and stood from his path. So came he to a certain cave hollowed within the hill-side--one of many such--but the rough walls of this cave Black Roger had adorned with a rich arras, and had prepared also a bed of costly furs; here Beltane laid the captive, and sitting within the mouth of the cave--beyond which a fire burned--fell to scowling at the flame. And presently as he sat thus came Roger and Walkyn, who fain would have made their peace, but Beltane fiercely bade them to begone.

"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would have slain him--"

"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour, since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut from my belt another accursed notch--"

"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live, this our refuge is secret no longer."

"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but murderers and thieving knaves--"

"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.

"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would but have borrowed--"

"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!"

Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at sound whereof he started and turned him about.

"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."

"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."

Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing, s.h.i.+vering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.

Whereat spake Beltane in amaze:

"How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"

"Not so--ah, G.o.d! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"

"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."

Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while.

Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin, showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little smooth-skinned and pale.

"Sir knight," said Beltane, "free art thou to go hence, nor shall any stay or spoil thee. Yet first, hear this: thou art perchance some roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair lady. O folly! choose you something more worthy--a horse is a n.o.ble beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful. But see you, a woman's love is a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty. Give not thine heart into a woman's hand lest she tear it in her soft, white fingers: set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she tread it into the shameful mire. So fare thee well, sir knight. G.o.d go with thee and keep thee ever from the love of woman!"

So saying Beltane rose, and lifting the bugle-horn he wore, sounded it; whereon came all and sundry, running and with weapons brandished--but Roger first of all.

To all of whom Beltane spake thus:

"Behold here this gentle knight our guest is for the nonce--entreat him courteously therefore; give him all that he doth lack and thereafter set him upon his way--"

But hereupon divers cast evil looks upon the knight, murmuring among themselves--and loudest of all Walkyn.

"He knoweth the secret of our hiding-place!"

"'Tis said he knoweth the causeway through the fen!"

"He will betray us!"

"Dogs!" said Beltane, clenching his hands, "will ye defy me then? I say this knight shall go hence and none withstand him. Make way, then--or must I?" But now spake the youthful knight his gaze still bent upon the flame, nor seemed he to heed the fierce faces and eager steel that girt him round. "Nay, messire, for here methinks my quest is ended!"

"Thy quest, sir knight--how so?" Then the knight turned and looked upon Beltane. Quoth he: "By thy size and knightly gear, by thy--thy yellow hair, methinks thou art Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong?"

"Verily, 'tis so that I am called. What would you of me?" "This, messire." Herewith the stranger knight loosed belt and surcoat and drew forth a long sword whose broad blade glittered in the firelight, and gave its ma.s.sy hilt to Beltane's grasp. And, looking upon its s.h.i.+ning blade, Beltane beheld the graven legend "Resurgam." Now looking upon this, Beltane drew a deep, slow breath and turned upon the youthful knight with eyes grown suddenly fierce. Quoth he softly: "Whence had you this, sir knight?" "From one that liveth but for thee." "Ah!"

said Beltane with scornful lip, "know ye such an one, in faith?" "Aye, messire," spake the knight, low-voiced yet eager, "one that doth languish for thee, that hath sent me in quest of thee bearing this thy sword for a sign, and to bid thee to return since without thee life is an emptiness, and there is none so poor, so heart-sick and woeful as Helen of Mortain!" "Ah--liar!" cried Beltane, and reaching out fierce hands crushed the speaker to his knees; but even so, the young knight spake on, soft-voiced and calm of eye: "Greater than thine is her love for thee, methinks, since 'tis changeless and abiding--Slay me an thou wilt, but while I live I will declare her true to thee. Whatever hath chanced, whate'er may chance, despite all doubts and enemies she doth love--love--love thee through life till death and beyond. O my lord Beltane--" "Liar!" spake Beltane again. But now was he seized of a madness, a cold rage and a deadly. "Liar!" said he, "thou art methinks one of her many wooers, so art thou greater fool. But Helen the Beautiful hath lovers a-plenty, and being what she is shall nothing miss thee: howbeit thou art surely liar, and surely will I slay thee!"

So saying he swung aloft the great blade, but even so the young knight fronted the blow with eyes that quailed not: pale-lipped, yet smiling and serene; and then, or ever the stroke could fall--an arm, bronzed and hairy, came between, and Roger spake hoa.r.s.e-voiced: "Master," he cried, "for that thy man am I and love thee, shalt ne'er do this till hast first slain me. 'Tis thus thou did'st teach me--to show mercy to the weak and helpless, and this is a youth, unarmed. Bethink thee, master--O bethink thee!" Slowly Beltane's arm sank, and looking upon the bright blade he let it fall upon the ling and covered his face within his two hands as if its glitter had blinded him. Thus did he stand awhile, the fetters agleam upon his wrists, and thereafter fell upon his knees and with his face yet hidden, spake: "Walkyn," said he, "O Walkyn, but a little while since I named thee 'murderer'! Yet what, in sooth, am I? So now do I humbly ask thy pardon. As for thee, sir knight, grant thy pity to one that is abased. Had I tears, now might I shed them, but tears are not for me. Go you therefore to--to her that sent thee and say that Beltane died within the dungeons of Garthlaxton.

Say that I who speak am but a sword for the hand of G.o.d henceforth, to smite and stay not until wrong shall be driven hence. Say that this was told thee by a sorry wight who, yearning for death, must needs cherish life until his vow be accomplished." But as Beltane spake thus upon his knees, his head bowed humbly before them all, the young knight came near with mailed hands outstretched, yet touched him not. "Messire,"

said he, "thou hast craved of me a boon the which I do most full and freely grant. But now would I beg one of thee." "'Tis thine," quoth Beltane, "who am I to gainsay thee?" "Messire, 'tis this; that thou wilt take me to serve thee, to go beside thee, sharing thy woes and perils henceforth." "So be it, sir knight," answered Beltane, "though mine shall be a hazardous service, mayhap. So, when ye will thou shalt be free of it." Thus saying he arose and went aside and sat him down in the mouth of the cave. But in a while came Roger to him, his sword-belt a-swing in his hand, and looked upon his gloomy face with eyes full troubled. And presently he spake, yet halting in his speech and timid: "Master," he said, "suffer me a question." "Verily," quoth Beltane, looking up, "as many as thou wilt, my faithful Roger."

"Master," says Roger, twisting and turning the belt in hairy hands, "I would but ask thee if--if I might cut another notch from this my accursed belt--a notch, lord--I--the young knight--?" "You mean him that I would have murdered, Roger? Reach me hither thy belt." So Beltane took the belt and with his dagger cut thence two notches, whereat quoth Roger, staring: "Lord, I did but save one life--the young knight--" "Thou did'st save two," answered Beltane, "for had I slain him, Roger--O, had I slain him, then on this night should'st have hanged me for a murderer. Here be two notches for thee--so take back thy belt and go, get thee to thy rest--and, Roger--pray for one that tasteth death in life." So Roger took the belt, and turning softly, left Beltane crouched above the fire as one that is deadly cold.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER

Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the bank above. Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid and rotund. A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat: a pilgrim-like hat, adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints. About his waist was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as well filled. A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who, though hurried along in the archer's l.u.s.ty grip, smiled placidly, and spake him sweetly thus: "Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate-- abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead. Trot me not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a h.e.l.l seventy times heated, and 'twould be a sad--O me! a very sad thing that thou should'st sniff brimstone on my account."

"Why, Giles," quoth Beltane, blinking in the dawn, "what dost bring hither so early in the morning?"

"Lord, 'tis what they call a Pardoner, that dealeth in relics, mouldy bones and the like, see you, whereby they do pretend to divers miracles and wonders--"

"Verily, verily," nodded the little man placidly, "I have here in my wallet a twig from Moses' burning bush, with the great toe of Thomas a'

Didymus, the thumb of the blessed Saint Alban--"

"Ha, rogue!" quoth Giles, "when I was a monk we had four thumbs of the good Saint Alban--"

"Why then, content you, fond youth," smiled the Pardoner, "my thumb is number one--"

"Oh, tall brother," quoth Giles, "'tis an irreverent knave, that maketh the monk in me arise, my very toes do twitch for to kick his lewd and sacrilegious carcase--and, lord, he would kick wondrous soft--"

"And therein, sweet and gentle lord," beamed the little buxom man, "therein lieth a recommendation of itself. Divers n.o.ble lords have kicked me very familiarly ere now, and finding me soft and tender have, forthwith, kicked again. I mind my lord Duke Ivo, did with his own Ducal foot kick me right heartily upon a time, and once did spit upon my cloak--I can show you the very place--and these things do breed and argue familiarity. Thus have I been familiar with divers n.o.ble lords-- and there were ladies also, ladies fair and proud--O me!"

"Now, by the Rood!" says Beltane, sitting up and staring, "whence had you this, Giles?"

"My lord, 'twas found by the man Jenkyn snoring within the green, together with a mule--a sorry beast! a capon partly devoured, a pasty-- well spiced! and a wine-skin--empty, alas! But for who it is, and whence it cometh--"

"Sweet, courteous lord,--resplendent, youthful sir, I come from north and south, from east and west, o'er land, o'er sea, from village green and market-square, but lately from the holy shrine of the blessed Saint Amphibalus. As to who I am and what--the universal want am I, for I do stand for health, fleshly and spiritual. I can cure your diseases of the soul, mind and body. In very sooth the Pardoner of Pardoners am I, with pardons and indulgences but now hot from the holy fist of His Holiness of Rome: moreover I have a rare charm and notable cure for the worms, together with divers salves, electuaries, medicaments and nostrums from the farthest Orient. I have also store of songs and ballades, grave and gay. Are ye melancholic? Then I have a ditty merry and mirthful. Would ye weep? Here's a lamentable lay of love and languishment infinite sad to ease you of your tears. Are ye a sinner vile and d.a.m.ned? Within my wallet lie pardons galore with powerful indulgences whereby a man may enjoy all the cardinal sins yet shall his soul be accounted innocent as a babe unborn and his flesh go without penance. Here behold my special indulgence! The which, to him that buyeth it, shall remit the following sins d.a.m.ned and deadly--to wit: Lechery, perjury, adultery, wizardry. Murders, rapes, thievings and slanders. Then follow the lesser sins, as--"

"Hold!" cried Beltane, "surely here be sins enough for any man."

"Not so, potent sir: for 'tis a right sinful world and breedeth new sins every day, since man hath a rare invention that way. Here is a grievous thing, alas! yet something natural: for, since men are human, and human 'tis to sin, so must all men be sinners and, being sinners, are they therefore inevitably d.a.m.ned!"

"Alas, for poor humanity!" sighed Beltane.

"Forsooth, alas indeed, messire, and likewise woe!" nodded the Pardoner, "for thou, my lord, thou art but human, after all."

"Indeed at times, 'twould almost seem so!" nodded Beltane gravely.