oice in freedom. To-day is singing on every village
green--happiness is in the very air, for 'tis Pentavalon's Beltane, and
Beltane is a sweet season; so doth this poor second rogue find him
recompense. Verily art well named, lord Beltane, since in thee
Pentavalon's winter is passed away and spring is come--O happy season
of Beltane, O season of new beginnings and new hopes! So, my lord
Beltane, may it ever be Beltane with thee, may it be sweet spring ever
within thy noble heart. God keep thee and farewell."

So saying the Pardoner turned about, and plunging into the dense green,
was gone.

"A pestilent wordy fellow, lord," quoth Giles, "one of your windy
talkers that talketh that no other talker may talk--now give me a good
listener, say I."

"And yet," said Beltane, swinging to saddle, "spake he truly I wonder?
Had Ivo been a little sooner we had not been here, methinks!"

On they rode, through sun and shadow, knee and knee, beneath leafy
arches and along green glades, talking and laughing together or plunged
in happy thought.

Quoth Beltane of a sudden:

"Roger, hast heard how Giles waxeth in fortune these days?"

"And methinks no man is more worthy, master. Giles is for sure a man of
parts."

"Aye--more especially of tongue, Roger."

"As when he did curse the folk of Belsaye out o' their fears, master.
Moreover he is a notable archer and--"

"Art not envious, then, Roger?"

"Not I, master!"

"What would'st that I give unto thee?"

"Thy love, master."

"'Tis thine already, my faithful Roger."

"And therewithal am I content, master."

"Seek ye nought beside?"

"Lord, what is there? Moreover I am not learned like Giles, nor ready
of tongue, nor--"

"Art wondrous skilled in wood-lore, my Rogerkin!" quoth Giles.
"Forsooth, lord, there is no man knoweth more of forestry than my good
comrade Roger!"

"So will I make of him my chiefest huntsman, Giles--"

"Master--O master!" gasped Roger.

"And set thee over all my foresters of Pentavalon, Roger."

"Why master, I--forsooth I do love the greenwood--but lord, I am only
Roger, and--and how may I thank thee--"

"Come!" cried Beltane, and spurred to a gallop.

Thus rode they through the leafy by-ways, avoiding town and village;
yet oft from afar they heard the joyous throb of bells upon the air, or
the sound of merry voices and happy laughter from village commons where
folk rejoiced together that Ivo's iron yoke was lifted from them at
last. But