o spill my
blood that Wrong may cease. Even as ye, I am prepared to adventure me,
life and limb, that Lust and Murder may cease to be and Innocence and
Truth may walk again all unashamed. So shall I lead ye into battles and
affrays desperate and bloody, where foes shall be a-many and we, few.
But we do fight for hearth and home, and the thought of this, methinks,
shall nerve us strong as giants. Yet is our way a perilous way, and
some of us, belike, must die. But, by the blood of such, this our
country is hallowed unto those that shall come after us, so shall our
memories teach others how to die--and better--how to live that this our
country may stand, hereafter, for all things great and noble. He that
dieth for home and children shall, mayhap, from the floor of heaven,
look down upon a great and happy people whose freedom he--by weary
marches, by pain of wounds, by sharp and sudden death--he himself hath
helped to purchase, and, in their peace and happiness, find an added
joy.

"O men! who would not be a man to fight in such just cause? Who would
not cherish life that he might lose it to such noble purpose?

"Now therefore, all ye that do love Pentavalon--follow!"

Thus saying, my Beltane wheeled his horse; and with rhythmic ring and
clash, together, rank on rank, horsemen and footmen, they followed hard
behind, a silent, grim array, with eyes that gleamed 'neath helm and
bascinet, and purposeful hands that griped full strong on lance and
spear-shaft, as, coming to the forest-road, they swung away northwards
towards Winisfarne.

CHAPTER LVI

WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE

Two and two they rode--for the way was oft-times narrow--their flanks
well covered by light-armed archers who marched within the green, with
mounted archers far in their van and others in their rear.

A glory of sun dappled their way with dancing shadows, flowers were
a-bloom in bank and hedgerow, and birds carolled blithe in the fragrant
air, what time Sir Benedict rode beside Beltane, his ponderous casque
a-swing at saddle-bow; and oft he turned his grizzled head to view my
thoughtful Beltane as one might look upon a son, new-found.

Now in a while Beltane turned and meeting his look reached out to him
his hand.

"Dear Benedict," said he, "how much--how very much I owe to thee. Thou
art methinks the greatest knight that e'er couched lance--"

"Save thy noble father!" quoth Sir Benedict with solemn nod.

"My father--you were his e