gleam, his great, white charger leaping 'neath the spur, Duke
Beltane rode. Swift and sure the column wheeled and with lances couched
thundered down upon Black Ivo's reeling flank.

A crash, a sudden roaring clamour, and where had marched Black Ivo's
reserve of archers and pikemen was nought but a scattered rout. But on
rode Duke Beltane, his lion banner a-flutter, in and through the
enemy's staggering columns, and ever as he charged thus upon their
left, so charged Sir Jocelyn upon their right. Then Beltane leaned him
on his sword, and looking down upon the battle, bowed his head.

"Now praise be to God and his holy saints!" quoth he, "yonder is
victory at last!"

"Aye, master," said Roger hoarsely, "and yonder as the dust clears you
shall see the walls and towers of Pentavalon City!"

"And lord--lord," cried Walkyn, "yonder--in their rear--you shall see
Red Pertolepe's accursed Raven banner! Why tarry we here, lord? See,
their ranks break everywhere--'twill be hot-foot now for the city
gates--ha, let us on, master!"

"Aye, verily," quoth Beltane, looking westward, "it groweth to sunset
and the city is yet to storm. To your ranks, there--forward!"

Now as they advanced, Beltane beheld at last where, high above
embattled walls and towers, rose Pentavalon's mighty keep wherein he
had been born; and, remembering his proud and gentle mother, he drooped
his head and grieved; and bethinking him of his proud and gentle Helen,
he took fresh grip upon his sword, and lengthening his stride, looked
where Black Ivo's broken columns, weary with battle, grim with blood
and wounds, already began to ride 'neath the city's frowning gateway,
while hard upon their straggling rearguard Duke Beltane's lion banner
fluttered. A desperate hewing and thrusting in the narrow gateway, and
Black Ivo's shattered following were driven in and the narrow streets
and alleys of the town full of battle and slaughter. Street by street
the town was won until before them loomed the mighty keep of
Pentavalon's ducal stronghold. Outer and inner bailey were stormed and
so at last came they, a desperate, close-fighting company, into the
great tilt-yard before the castle.

Now of a sudden a shout went up and thereafter was a great quiet--a
silence wherein friend and foe, panting and weary, stood alike at gaze.
And amid this expectant hush the two Dukes of Pentavalon fronted each
other. No word said they, but, while all eyes watched them, each took
lance