oment, I pray God. A week agone
and, ere the investment was complete, wondrous news reached me from
Waldron of Brand, whose sire bore my pennon in thy noble father's wars.
And because I knew Waldron's word is ever less than his deed, and,
belike, that I grow weary of sieges (seven have I withstood within
these latter years) I, at dead of night, by devious and secret ways,
stole forth of Thrasfordham--dight in this armour new-fashioned (the
which, mark me! is more cumbrous than fair link-mail) howbeit, I got me
clear, and my lord Beltane, here stand I to aid and abet thee in all
thy desperate affrays, henceforth. Aha! methinks shall be great doings
within the greenwood anon!"

"Aye, but what of Thrasfordham? An Duke Ivo besiege it--"

"He shall find five hundred and more right doughty fellows, with Sir
Richard of Wark and Sir Brian of Shand (that were armour-bearers to thy
knightly sire) to keep him in play."

"And what would ye here, Sir Benedict?"

"Fight, Beltane, fight! Methinks he shall lack nothing for hard smiting
that rideth with thee--hey, boy, I do yearn amain for the shock of a
charge!"

"My company is but small, alas!" sighed Beltane.

"'Tis so I've heard, my Beltane," quoth Sir Benedict, and smiling his
wry smile, he took a small hunting-horn that hung about his neck, "let
us therefore make it larger--"

"How so--how so, good Benedict?--Ha! mean you--"

"Watch now!"

So saying, Sir Benedict set the horn to his lip and winded it three
times loud and shrill, and thereafter stood with hand upraised. And lo!
upon the stillness a sound that grew and grew--a whisper, a rustling as
of strong wind in trees, and presently upon the high banks to north and
east and west a great company appeared, horse-men and footmen, whose
armour flashed 'neath the moon, while high o'er bascinet and helm rose
deadly pike and ponderous lance, rank upon rank, a very forest.

Quoth Sir Benedict loud-voiced, and pointing to the grim array:

"Behold, lord Duke, hither have I brought thee five hundred archers and
pike-men, with three hundred knights and men-at-arms, and each and
every a man well tried and chosen, all vowed to follow thee and smite
in Pentavalon's cause even as I, their lord, that do love thee for thy
noble father's sake and for thine own sweet and knightly worth!"

So saying, Sir Benedict fell upon his knee before that great assemblage
and caught Beltane's hand and kissed it; whereon, from those gleaming
rank