r changing little by
little to an angry roar that was the voice of awful doom.

Now of a sudden above the hiss of flame, from the valley of Brand a cry
went up--a shout--a roar of fear and amaze and thereafter rose a wild
clamour; a babel inarticulate, split, ever and anon, by frantic
trumpet-blast. But ever the dreadful hubbub waxed and grew, shrieks and
cries and the screaming of maddened horses with the awful, rolling
thunder of their fierce-galloping hooves!

Within that valley of doom Death was abroad already, Death in many dire
shapes. Proud knights, doughty archers and men-at-arms who had fronted
death unmoved on many a stricken field, wept aloud and crouched upon
their knees and screamed--but not so loud as those wild and maddened
horses, that, bursting all bonds asunder, reared and leapt with lashing
hooves, and, choked with rolling smoke-clouds, blinded by flame,
plunged headlong through and over the doomed camp, wave upon wave of
wild-flung heads and tossing manes. On they came, with nought to let or
stay them, their wild hooves trampling down hut of osier and silken
tent, spurning the trembling earth and filling the air with flying
clods; and wheresoever they galloped there was flame to meet them, so
swerved they, screaming their terror and fled round and round within
the valley. So raced they blindly to and fro and back and forth,
trampling down, maiming and mangling 'neath reddened, cruel hooves all
and every that chanced to lie athwart their wild career: on and ever on
they galloped until sobbing, panting, they fell, to be crushed 'neath
the thundering hooves behind.

Within the little valley of Brand Death was rife in many and awful
shapes that no eye might see, for the many watch-fires were scattered
and trampled out; but up from that pit of doom rose shrieks and cries
and many hateful sounds--sounds to pierce the brain and ring there
everlastingly.

Thus Beltane, marching swift to the south at the head of his three
hundred foresters, heard nought of their joyful acclaim, heeded not
their triumph, saw nought of watchful Roger's troubled glances, but
went with head bowed low, with pallid cheek and eyes wide-staring, for
he saw yet again the fierce leap of those merciless flames and in his
ears rang the screams and cries of Sir Rollo's proud chivalry.

CHAPTER LXII

HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME

The sun was high as they came to the western road that led to the ford
at Thornab