instinct,
praying fiercely beneath his breath, and with the three ever close
behind.

"Would I had eaten less!" panted Giles.

"Would our legs were longer!" growled Walkyn.

"Would my belt bore fewer notches!" quoth Roger.

And so they ran together, sure-footed and swift, and ever as they ran
the smoke grew denser, and ever Beltane's prayers more fervent. Now in
a while they heard a sound, faint and confused: a hum, that presently
grew to a murmur--to a drone--to a low wailing of voices, pierced of a
sudden by a shrill cry no man's lips could utter, that swelled high
upon the air and died, lost amid the growing clamour.

"They've fired the ricks first!" panted Roger; "'tis ever Pertolepe's
way!"

"They be torturing the women!" hissed Walkyn; "'tis ever so Red
Pertolepe's pleasure!"

"And I have but twelve arrows left me!" groaned Giles.

But Beltane ran in silence, looking neither right nor left, until,
above the hum of voices he heard one upraised in passionate
supplication, followed by another--a loud voice and jovial--and
thereafter, a burst of roaring laughter.

Soon Beltane beheld a stream that flowed athwart their way and, beyond
the stream, a line of willows thick growing upon the marge; and again,
beyond these clustering willows the straggling village lay. Then
Beltane, motioning the others to caution, forded the stream and coming
in the shade of the osiers, drew on his hood of mail, and so,
unsheathing his long sword, peered through the leaves. And this is what
he saw:

A wide road flanked by rows of scattered cottages, rude of wall and
thatch; a dusty road, that led away east and west into the cool depths
of the forest, and a cringing huddle of wretched village folk whose
pallid faces were all set one way, where some score of men-at-arms
lolled in their saddles watching a tall young maid who struggled
fiercely in the grasp of two lusty fellows, her garments rent, her
white flesh agleam in the sunlight. A comely maid, supple and strong,
who ever as she strove 'gainst the clutching hands that held her, kept
her blazing eyes turned upon one in knightly mail who sat upon a great
war-horse hard by, watching her, big chin in big mailed fist, and with
wide lips up-curling in a smile: a strong man this, heavy and broad of
chest; his casque hung at his saddle-bow, and his mail-coif, thrown
back upon his wide shoulders, showed his thick, red hair that fell a-down,
framing his square-set, rugged face.

"H