s as
only true men may achieve. And what is a man? A man, methinks, is he,
that, when he speaketh, speaketh ever from his heart; that, being quick
to hate all evil actions, is quicker to forgive, and who, fearing
neither ghost nor devil, spells nor witchcraft, dreadeth only
dishonour, and thus, living without fear, he without fear may die. So
now God send we all be men, my brothers. To your files there--pikes to
the front and rear, bows to the flanks--forward!"

But now, as with a ring and clash and tramp of feet the ragged company
fell into rank and order, the witch-woman came swiftly beside Beltane
and, touching him not, spake softly in his ear.

"Beltane--Beltane, lord Duke of Pentavalon!" Now hereupon Beltane
started, and turning, looked upon her grave-eyed.

"What would ye, woman?" he questioned.

"Born wert thou of a mother chaste as fair, true wife unto the Duke thy
father--a woman sweet and holy who liveth but to the good of others:
yet was brother slain by brother, and thou baptised in blood ere now!"

"Woman," quoth he, his strong hands a-tremble, "who art thou--what
knowest thou of my--mother? Speak!"

"Not here, my lord--but, an thou would'st learn more, come unto
Hangstone Waste at the full o' the moon, stand you where the death-stone
stands, that some do call the White Morte-stone. There shalt thou
learn many things, perchance. Thou hast this day saved a witch from
cruel death and a lowly beggar-maid from shame. A witch! A beggar-maid!
The times be out a joint, methinks. Yet, witch and beggar, do we thank
thee, lord Duke. Fare thee well--until the full o' the moon!" So spake
she, and clasping the young maid within her arm they passed into the
brush and so were gone.

Now while Beltane stood yet pondering her words, came Roger to his
side, to touch him humbly on the arm.

"Lord," said he, "be not beguiled by yon foul witches' arts: go not to
Hangstone Waste lest she be-devil thee with goblins or transform thee
to a loathly toad. Thou wilt not go, master?"

"At the full o' the moon, Roger!"

"Why then," muttered Roger gulping, and clenching trembling hands, "we
must needs be plague-smitten, blasted and everlastingly damned, for
needs must I go with thee."

Very soon pike and bow and gisarm fell into array; the pack-horses
stumbled forward, the dust rose upon the warm, still air. Now as they
strode along with ring and clash and the sound of voice and laughter,
came Giles to walk at Beltane's sti