arrows, yet betwixt whiles watching Beltane who,
crossing to the bed of fern, laid him down thereon and closed his eyes.
But of a sudden he raised his head, hearkening to a whistle, soft and
melodious, near at hand.

"Aha!" exclaimed Giles, setting aside his arrows, "yonder should be
Roger--a hungry Roger and therefore surly, and a surly Roger is rare
sport to lighten a dull hour. Heaven send our Roger be surly!" So
saying, the archer went forth and presently came hasting back with
Roger at his heels scowling and in woeful plight. Torn and stained and
besprent with mud, his rawhide knee-boots sodden and oozing water, he
stood glowering at Giles beneath the bloody clout that swathed his
head, his brawny fist upon his dagger.

"No food left, say ye, Giles, no food, and I a-famishing? You and
Walkyn drunk up all the wine betwixt ye, and I a-perish--ha--so now
will I let it out again--" and out flashed his dagger.

"Nay, 'tis but the archer's folly," quoth Walkyn--"sit, man, eat,
drink, and speak us thy news."

"News," growled Roger, seating himself at table, "the woods be thick
with Pertolepe's rogues seeking my master, rogues known to me each one,
that ran to do my bidding aforetime--in especial one Ralpho--that was
my assistant in the dungeons once. Thrice did they beset me close, and
once did I escape by running, once by standing up to my neck in a pool,
and once lay I hid in a tree whiles they, below, ate and drank like
ravening swine--and I a-famishing. A murrain on 'em, one and all, say
I--in especial Ralpho that was my comrade once--may he rot henceforth--"

"Content you, Roger, he doth so!" laughed grim Walkyn and pointed to
his axe.

"Forsooth, and is it so?" growled Roger, his scowl relaxing--"now will
I eat full and blithely, for Ralpho was an arrant knave."

Now when his hunger was somewhat assuaged, Roger turned and looked
where Beltane lay.

"My master sleepeth?" said he, his voice grown gentle.

"Nay, Roger, I lie and wait thy news," spake Beltane, his eyes yet
closed.

"Why then, 'tis war, master--battle and siege. The country is up as far
as Winisfarne. Black Ivo lieth at Barham Broom with a great company--I
have seen their tents and pavilions like a town, and yet they come, for
Ivo hath summoned all his powers to march against Thrasfordham. 'Twixt
here and Pentavalon city, folk do say the roads be a-throng with bows
and lances--lords and barons, knights and esquires, their pennons
flutter eve