all bring you safe upon your way--haste you to
be gone. And should any ask how Garthlaxton fell, say, 'twas by the
hand of God, as a sure and certain sign that Pentavalon shall yet arise
to smite evil from her borders. Say also that he that spake you this
was one Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore Duke of
Pentavalon." Thus said Beltane unto these women, his brows knit, and
with eyes that looked aside from each and every, and so went forth of
the chapel.

CHAPTER XXXI

HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG

Morning, young and fragrant, bedecked and brave with gems of dewy fire;
a blithe morning, wherein trees stirred whispering and new-waked birds
piped joyous welcome to the sun, whose level, far-flung beams filled
the world with glory save where, far to the south, a pillar of smoke
rose upon the stilly air, huge, awful, and black as sin--a writhing
column shot with flame that went up high as heaven.

"O merry, aye merry, right merry I'll be,
To live and to love 'neath the merry green tree,
Nor the rain, nor the sleet,
Nor the cold, nor the heat,
I'll mind, if my love will come thither to me."

Sang Giles, a sprig of wild flowers a-dance in his new-gotten,
gleaming bascinet, his long-bow upon his mailed shoulder, and, strapped
to his wide back, a misshapen bundle that clinked melodiously with
every swinging stride; and, while he sang, the ragged rogues about him
ceased their noise and ribaldry to hearken in delight, and when he
paused, cried out amain for more. Whereupon Giles, nothing loth, brake
forth afresh:

"O when is the time a maid to kiss,
Tell me this, ah, tell me this?
'Tis when the day is new begun,
'Tis to the setting of the sun,
Is time for kissing ever done?
Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"

Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the
many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood
aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at
Garthlaxton Keep.

Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger
paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word
betwixt them.

"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe
a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton
aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart
of many a sorry wretch, methinks."

"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming