back from cloven casque and riven shield, where eyes glared
unseeing and mouths gaped mute and dumb from a dark confusion whence
mailed arms stiffly rose with hands tight-clenched that seemed to
menace heaven, and rigid feet whose spurred heels yet gored the flanks
of rigid, fallen chargers; to and fro and up and down this small flame
leaped merrily, dancing from dead face to dead face but staying never,
a fiendish fire that seemed to mock the horror of wounds and gibe at
solemn death.

Now as he watched this devilish light, Beltane arose and reaching for
his sword went soft-footed to meet it, then paused, for the light was
moving towards him. Near and nearer it came, until, into the glow of
the fire, his betousled head wild and bare, his link-mail yet befouled
with battle, Walkyn strode, and hurling his torch upon the grass,
crushed it out 'neath his heel. Then came he to the fire and stood
there, arms crossed, frowning down at the flame.

"Greeting to thee, Waldron of Brand!"

Swift turned Walkyn, his gloomy scowl relaxed at Beltane's voice, and
stooping, he took and kissed my Beltane's hand.

"Whence come ye, Walkyn?"

"From going to and fro among the dead, seeking Pertolepe, master. Ha!
they do lie thick yonder, five hundred and twenty and three I counted
of Bloody Pertolepe's following. And in the woods do lie certain
others, that I, with divers of our company, pursued and cut off."

"And what of their wounded?"

"I saw none, master--nor have I seen Pertolepe. I have viewed all the
slain, but Pertolepe is not there, yet have I smitten and slain three
Pertolepes this day--hawks, see you, in eagle's feathers! So is my
work yet to do, and I grieve still for Pertolepe's head."

"Sit ye down, Walkyn, here with me beside the fire." Forthwith Walkyn
obeyed and stretching himself on the grass fell to toying with the
haft of his axe and scowling at the fire again.

"This was, methinks, thy father's tower and demesne of Brand, Walkyn?"

"Aye, lord, here was I born--yon ruined walls did hear my father's
groans--the screams of my mother and sister amid the flame. And Red
Pertolepe was there, and Gui of Allerdale and Roger and young Gilles of
Brandonmere--all were there with six other noble knights; but these six
we slew long since, my brother and I. All these were here that day--and
Sir Pertolepe--laughed--full loud, 'twas told me. So 'twere just he
should have died here to-day, methinks? 'Twas for this I lured him