Part 49 (1/2)
”My lord,” quoth he, ”fifty and three is a goodly number; must they all die to-morrow?”
”To-morrow? Aye--or whensoever Sir Gui wills.”
”Ah, fair lord,” says Beltane, ”then, as I guess, these fifty and three shall a.s.suredly live on awhile, since Sir Gui of Allerdale will hang men no more.”
”Ha, dare ye mock me, knave?” cried Sir Robert, and clenching iron hand he spurred upon Beltane, but checked as suddenly, and pointed where, midst the shrinking populace, strode one in knightly armour, whose embroidered surcoat bore the arms, and whose vizored helm the crest of Sir Gui of Allerdale. Now beholding this silent figure, a groan of fear went up, divers men sank crouching on their knees, the Reeve uttered a hoa.r.s.e gasp and covered his face, while even Beltane, staring wide-eyed, felt his flesh a-creep. But now Sir Robert rode forward:
”Greeting, lord Seneschal!” said he, ”you come betimes, messire, though not over hastily, methinks!”
”Forsooth,” quoth the figure, his voice booming in his great war-helm, ”forsooth and verily there be three things no man should leave in haste: _videlicit_ and to wit: his prayers, his dinner and his lady.
None the less came I hither to give thee greeting, good my lord.”
”My lord Seneschal, what manner of men be these of thine?”
”O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools--save one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles.”
”Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now,” said Sir Robert, pointing at Beltane, ”who is he?”
”Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs.”
”He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui.”
”Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I.”
”The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more.”
”Ha, said he so forsooth? dared he so asperse mine honour? Ha, here is matter for red-hot irons, the pincers and the rack, anon. But come, Sir Robert--thou dost bear news, belike; come your ways and drink a goblet of wine.”
”Nay, my lord, I thank thee, but I must hence this night to Barham Broom. But for my news, 'tis this: the out-law men call Beltane, hath, by devilish arts, sacked and burned Garthlaxton Keep.”
”Why, this I knew; there is a lewd song already made thereon, as thus:
”They gave Garthlaxton to the flame, Be glory to Duke Beltane's name, And unto l.u.s.ty Giles the same, _Dixit_!”
”Forsooth, a naughty song, a very gallows' song, in faith. Pray you, what more?”
”There hath come unto the Duke one hight Gurth--a hang-dog rogue that doth profess to know the lurking-place of this vile outlaw, and to-morrow at sunset, Sir Pertolepe and I with goodly force march into the green. So now must I hence, leaving with thee these captives from Bourne that you shall hang above the walls for a warning to all such outlaws and traitors. Lastly, my lord Seneschal, drink not so deep a-nights, and so, fare thee well.”
Now as he yet spake rose the shrill notes of a horn, and turning about, Sir Robert beheld men whose mail glistened in the torchlight and whose long pikes hemmed him in close and closer what time a fierce shout went up: ”Kill!” ”Kill!”
”Ho, treason!” he roared, and grasped at his sword hilt; but down came Roger's heavy broadsword upon Sir Robert's helm, beating him to earth where Walkyn's mighty foot crushed him down and his axe gleamed bright.
Then, while the air rang with shouts and cries and the clatter of trampling hoofs, a white figure leapt and bestrode the fallen knight, and Walkyn glared down into the pale face of Friar Martin.
”Forbear, Walkyn, forbear!” he cried, and speaking, staggered for very weakness and would have fallen but Walkyn's long arm was about him. And ever the uproar grew; the grim ranks of archers and pikemen drew closer about Sir Robert's shrinking men-at-arms what time the townsfolk, brandis.h.i.+ng their weapons, shouted amain, ”Kill! Kill!”
Now Roger's blow had been full l.u.s.ty and Sir Robert yet lay a-swoon, seeing which, divers of his company, casting down their arms, cried aloud for quarter; whereat the townsfolk shouted but the fiercer: ”Slay them! Kill! Kill!” But now, high above this clamour, rose the shrill note of Beltane's horn bidding all men to silence. Hereupon there came to him the white friar, who, looking earnestly upon his mailed face, uttered a sudden glad cry and caught his hand and kissed it; then turned he to the surging concourse and spake loud and joyously:
”Stay, good people of Belsaye! O ye children of affliction, spill not the blood of these thine enemies, but look, rather, upon this man! For this is he of whom I told ye in the days of your tribulation, this is he who burned the shameful gallows, who brake open the dungeon and hath vowed his life to the cause of the oppressed and weak. Behold now the son of Beltane the Strong and Just! Behold Beltane, our rightful Duke!”
Now went there up to heaven a great and wild acclaim; shouts of joy and the thunderous battle-cry ”Arise! Arise! Pentavalon!” Then, while all eyes beheld and all ears hearkened, Beltane spake him, plain and to the point, as was his custom: