a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath
the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and
thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back
before the sweep of that long sword.

"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good
Hacon spurs in to our relief--ha, mighty lance!"

"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what
avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so--dear
Benedict--let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair
lives be saved--ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See--O see how fast
they fall and die about us! I must go--I will go! My lord, let me pass--
loose my bridle--"

A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar
of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang,
two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous
broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced--
the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a
mighty shout rent the air:

"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"

Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his
swaying ranks, the bloody gap in his column closed up and Sir
Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but
scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red
confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels,
and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.

"Mother!" he cried.

"Dear, dear son of mine--and thou art safe? Thanks be to God who hath
heard the passion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned,
and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near
by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.

"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look--Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue--a
rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into
the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring
behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted
company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down
beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other.
So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged
swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust
where horsemen and footmen strove together in