le and thudded to earth, while his great war-horse, rearing
affrighted, plunged among the men-at-arms, and all was shouting and
confusion; while from amid the willows arrows whizzed and flew, 'neath
whose cruel barbs horses snorted, stumbling and kicking, or crashed
into the dust; and ever the confusion grew.

But now Sir Pertolepe, wriggling beneath Beltane's iron foot had
unsheathed his dagger, yet, ere he could stab, down upon his red pate
crashed the heavy pommel of Beltane's sword and Sir Pertolepe, sinking
backward, lay out-stretched in the dust very silent and very still.
Then Beltane sheathed his sword and, stooping, caught Sir Pertolepe by
the belt and dragged him into the shade of the willows, and being come
to the stream, threw his captive down thereby and fell to splashing his
bruised face with the cool water. And now, above the shouts and the
trampling of hoofs upon the road, came the clash of steel on steel and
the harsh roar of Walkyn and Black Roger as they plied axe and sword--
"Arise! Ha, arise!" Then, as Beltane glanced up, the leaves near by
were dashed aside and Giles came bounding through, his gay feather
shorn away, his escalloped cape wrenched and torn, his broadsword a-swing
in his hand.

"Ho, tall brother--a sweet affray!" he panted, "the fools give back
already: they cry that Pertolepe is slain and the woods full of
outlaws; they be falling back from the village--had I but a few shafts
in my quiver, now--" but here, beholding the face of Beltane's captive,
Giles let fall his sword, staring round-eyed.

"Holy St. Giles!" he gasped, "'tis the Red Pertolepe!" and so stood
agape, what time a trumpet brayed a fitful blast from the road and was
answered afar. Thereafter came Roger, stooping as he ran, and shouting:

"Archers! Archers!--run, lord!"

But Beltane stirred not, only he dashed the water in Sir Pertolepe's
twitching face, wherefore came Roger and caught him by the arm,
pleading:

"Master, O master!" he panted, "the forest is a-throng with lances, and
there be archers also--let us make the woods ere we are beset!"

But Beltane, seeing the captive stir, shook off Black Roger's grasp;
but now, one laughed, and Walkyn towered above him, white teeth agleam,
who, staring down at Sir Pertolepe, whirled up his bloody axe to smite.

"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