Part 20 (1/2)

”Fool!” cried Beltane, and threw up his hand to stay the blow, and in that moment Sir Pertolepe oped his eyes.

”'Tis Pertolepe!” panted Walkyn, ”'tis he that slew wife and child: so now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!”

”Not so,” quoth Beltane, ”stand back--obey me--back, I say!” So, muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger, stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while above the jostling confusion rose the hoa.r.s.e babel of their voices. But of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred throats a shout went up:

”A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!”

Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's right ear.

”Speak!” quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, ”speak now as I commanded thee!”

A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting his head, spake that all might hear:

”Ho, sirs!” he cried, ”I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one Beltane, who styleth himself--Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back, therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!”

Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoa.r.s.e murmur that voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:

”Go!” he commanded.

So their disarray fell into rank and order, and wheeling about, they marched away along the forest road with helm agleam and pennons a-dance, the while Sir Pertolepe stared after them, wild of eye and with mailed hands clenched; once he made as if to call them back: but Beltane's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the dagger p.r.i.c.ked his throat. And thus stood they, side by side, until the tramp of feet was died away, until the last trembling villager had slunk from sight and the broad road was deserted, all save for Cuthbert the esquire, and divers horses that lay stiffly in the dust, silent and very still.

Then Beltane sighed and sheathed his dagger, and Sir Pertolepe faced him scrowling, fierce-eyed and arrogant.

”Ha, outlaw!” quoth he, ”give back my sword and I will cope with thee-- wolf's head though thou art--aye, and any two other rogues beside.”

”Nay,” answered Beltane, ”I fight with such as thee but when I needs must. What--Roger!” he called, ”go fetch hither a rope!”

”Dog--would ye murder me?”

”Not so,” sighed Beltane, shaking his head, ”have I not promised to leave thee alive within the greenwood? Yet I would see thee walk in bonds first.”

”Ha, dare ye bind me, then? He that toucheth me, toucheth Duke Ivo-- dare ye so do, rogue?”

”Aye, messire,” nodded Beltane, ”I dare so. Bring hither the rope, Roger.” But when Roger was come nigh, Sir Pertolepe turned and stared upon him.

”What!” cried he, jovial of voice yet deadly-eyed, ”is it my runaway hangman in very sooth. Did I not pay thee enough, thou black-avised knave? Did I not love thee for thy skill with the noose, thou traitorous rogue? Now, mark me, Roger: one day will I feed thee to my hounds and watch them tear thee, as they have certain other rogues-- aha!--you mind them, belike?”

Pale of cheek and with trembling hands, Roger bound the arms of him that had been his over-lord, while Walkyn and Giles, silent and wide-eyed, watched it done.

”Whither would ye take me?” quoth Red Pertolepe, arrogant.

”That shalt thou know anon, messire.”

”How an I defy thee?”

”Then must we carry thee, messire,” answered Beltane, ”yet thine own legs were better methinks--come, let us begone.”

Thus, presently, having forded the brook, they struck into the forest; first went Walkyn, axe on shoulder, teeth agleam; next strode Sir Pertolepe, head high, 'twixt pale-faced Roger and silent Beltane, while the bowman followed after, calling upon St. Giles beneath his breath and crossing himself: and ever and anon Walkyn would turn to look upon their scowling captive with eyes that glared 'neath s.h.a.ggy brows.

Now after they had gone some while, Sir Pertolepe brake silence and spake my Beltane, proud and fierce.