Benedict's watchful eye to
build a defence work very high and strong where they might command the
breach. And as Beltane sat thus, finding himself very spent and weary,
cometh Giles beside him.

"Lord," said he, leaning him on his bow, "the attack doth languish,
methinks, wherefore I do praise the good God, for had they won the
town--ah, when I do think on--her--she that is so pure and sweet--and
Ivo's base soldiery--O sweet Jesu!" and Giles shivered.

"Forsooth, thou didst see fair Belsaye sacked--five years agone,
Giles?"

"Aye, God forgive me master, for I--I--O, God forgive me!"

"Thou once did show me a goodly chain, I mind me, Giles."

"Aye, but I lost it--I lost it, master!" he cried eagerly, "O verily I
did lose it, so did it avail me nothing."

"Moreover, Giles, thou didst with knowing laugh, vaunt that the women
of Belsaye town were marvellous fair--and methinks didst speak truly,
Giles!"

Now at this Giles bowed his head and turning him about, went heavily
upon his way. Then, sighing, Beltane arose and came where stood Sir
Benedict who forthwith hailed him blithely:

"Can we but hold them until the dawn, Beltane--and mark me, we can,
here is a work shall make us strong 'gainst all attacks," and he
pointed to the growing barricade. "But what of our noble Friar Martin?
But for him, Beltane, but for him and his ancient company we had been
hard put to it, lad. Ha, 'neath that white gown is saint and friar,
and, what is better--a man! Now God be praised, yonder cometh the dawn
at last! Though forsooth this hath been a sorry wedding-night for thee,
dear lad--and for her, sweet maid--"

"Thou dost know then, Benedict?"

"Think ye not good Roger hasted to tell me, knowing thy joy is my joy--
ha! list ye to those blessed joy-bells! glory be to God, there doth
trusty Eric tell us he hath made an end of such as stormed the breach.
But who cometh here? And by this hand, in tears!"

Already in the east was a roseate glory by whose soft light Beltane
beheld Tall Orson, who grasped a bloody sword in one hand and wiped
away his tears with the other. He, perceiving Beltane and Sir Benedict,
limped to them forthwith and spake, albeit hoarse and brokenly.

"Lords, I do be bid hither to bring ye where he lieth a-dying--the
noblest as do be in this world alive--his white robe all bloodied,
lords, yet his face do be an angel's face!"

"Ah," sighed Beltane rising, "is it the noble Friar Martin, Orson?"

"Aye, lord