Beltane the Smith Part 21

"Wait!" he commanded, "wait you here!" and forthwith turned and ran, and so running, came again at last to that obscure glade whence now came a sound of groans, mocked, thereafter, by fierce laughter. Now, bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his writhen face like a scarlet vizard.

"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"

Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through the hair of his beard.

"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."

Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.

"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"

So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned in a cry hoa.r.s.e and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading, stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his c.o.c.k's-comb flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.

"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his b.l.o.o.d.y face uplifted, "and is it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"

"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle, and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:

"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved thy father, e'en as I loved thee."

"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and fingering his dagger.

"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then, strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be hard-driven. Come!"

Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his b.l.o.o.d.y head, proffering his throat to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching; then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his severed bonds, he laughed hoa.r.s.ely.

"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"

So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him like a blind man, then, groaning, fell, and lay a'swoon, his b.l.o.o.d.y face hidden in the gra.s.s.

And turning away, Beltane left him lying there with Beda the Jester kneeling above him.

CHAPTER XVI

OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART

Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came Roger and touched him on the shoulder.

"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."

"Why, then--eat," said Beltane.

Now while they set about building a fire, Beltane went aside and wandering slow and thoughtful, presently came to a broad glade or ride, and stretching himself out 'neath a tree, lay there staring up at the leafy canopy, pondering upon Sir Pertolepe his sins, and the marvellous ways of G.o.d. Lying thus, he was aware of the slow, plodding hoof-strokes of a horse drawing near, of the tw.a.n.g of a lute, with a voice sweet and melodious intoning a chant; and the tune was plaintive and the words likewise, being these:--

"Alack and woe That love is so Akin to pain!

That to my heart The bitter smart Returns again, Alack and woe!"

Glancing up therefore, Beltane presently espied a knight who bestrode a great and goodly war-horse; a youthful knight and debonair, slender and shapely in his bright mail and surcoat of flame-coloured samite. His broad shield hung behind his shoulder, balanced by a long lance whose gay banderol fluttered wanton to the soft-breathing air; above his mail-coif he wore a small bright-polished bascinet, while, at his high-peaked saddle-bow his ponderous war-helm swung, together with broad-bladed battle-axe. Now as he paced along in this right gallant estate, his roving glance, by hap, lighted on Beltane, whereupon, checking his powerful horse, he plucked daintily at the strings of his lute, delicate-fingered, and brake into song anew:--

"Ah, woe is me That I should be A lonely wight!

That in mankind No joy I find By day or night, Ah, woe is me!"

Thereafter he sighed amain and smote his bosom, and smiling upon Beltane sad-eyed, spake:

"Most excellent, tall, and sweet young sir, I, who Love's lorn pilgrim am, do give thee woeful greeting and entreat now the courtesy of thy pity."

"And wherefore pity, sir?" quoth Beltane, sitting up.

"For reason of a lady's silver laughter. A notable reason this; for, mark me, ye lovers, an thy lady flout thee one hour, grieve not--she shall be kind the next; an she scorn thee to-day, despair nothing--she shall love thee to-morrow; but, an she laugh and laugh--ah, then poor lover, Venus pity thee! Then languish hope, and tender heart be rent, for love and laughter can ne'er be kin. Wherefore a woeful wight am I, foredone and all distraught for love. Behold here, the blazon on my shield--lo! a riven heart proper (direfully aflame) upon a field vert.

The heart, methinks, is aptly wrought and popped, and the flame in sooth flame-like! Here beneath, behold my motto, 'Ardeo' which signifieth 'I burn.' Other device have I laid by for the nonce, what time my pilgrimage shall be accompt."

But Beltane looked not so much upon the shield as on the face of him that bore it, and beholding its high and fearless look, the clear, bright eyes and humorous mouth (albeit schooled to melancholy) he smiled, and got him to his feet.

"Now, well met, Sir Knight of the Burning Heart!" quoth he. "What would ye here, alone, within these solitudes?"

"Sigh, messire. I sing and sigh, and sigh and sing."

"'Tis a something empty life, methinks."

"Not so, messire," sighed the rueful knight, "for when I chance to meet a gentle youth, young and well beseen--as thou, bedight in goodly mail --as thou, with knightly sword on thigh, why then, messire, 'tis ever my wont to declare unto him that she I honour is fairer, n.o.bler, and altogether more worthy and virtuous than any other she soever, and to maintain that same against him, on horse or afoot, with lance, battle-axe or sword. Thus, see you messire, even a love-lorn lover hath betimes his compensations, and the sward is soft underfoot, and level."

Saying which, the knight c.o.c.ked a delicate eyebrow in questioning fashion, and laid a slender finger to the pommel of his long sword.

"How," cried Beltane, "would'st fight with me?"

"Right gladly would I, messire--to break the monotony."

"I had rather hear thy song again."

"Ha, liked you it in sooth? 'Tis small thing of mine own."

"And 'tis brief!" nodded Beltane.

"Brief!" quoth the knight, "brief! not so, most notable youthful sir, for even as love is long enduring so is my song, it being of an hundred and seventy and eight cantos in all, dealing somewhat of the woes and ills of a heart sore smitten (which heart is mine own also). Within my song is much matter of hearts (in truth) and darts, of flames and shames, of yearnings and burnings, the which this poor heart must needs endure since it doth constant bleed and burn."

"Indeed, messire, I marvel that you be yet alive," said Beltane gravely, whereat the young knight did pause to view him, dubious-eyed.

Quoth he:

"In sooth, most youthful and excellent sir, I have myself marvelled thereat betimes, but, since alive am I, now do I declare unto you that she for whom I sigh is the fairest, gentlest, n.o.blest, most glorious and most womanly of all women in the world alive--"

"Save one!" said Beltane.

"Save none, messire!" said the young knight, eager-eyed.

"One!" said Beltane.

"None!" quoth the knight, as, casting aside ponderous lance he vaulted lightly from his saddle and drew his sword; but, seeing that Beltane bore no shield, paused to lay his own tenderly aside, and so faced him serene of brow and smiling of lip. "Sweet sir," said he gaily, "here methinks is fair cause for argument; let us then discuss the matter together for the comfort of our souls and to the glory of our ladies.