Beltane the Smith Part 40

Then beckoning Walkyn he bade him choose six men, and turning to the women--

"These honourable men shall bring you safe upon your way--haste you to be gone. And should any ask how Garthlaxton fell, say, 'twas by the hand of G.o.d, as a sure and certain sign that Pentavalon shall yet arise to smite evil from her borders. Say also that he that spake you this was one Beltane, son of Beltane the Strong, heretofore Duke of Pentavalon." Thus said Beltane unto these women, his brows knit, and with eyes that looked aside from each and every, and so went forth of the chapel.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG

Morning, young and fragrant, bedecked and brave with gems of dewy fire; a blithe morning, wherein trees stirred whispering and new-waked birds piped joyous welcome to the sun, whose level, far-flung beams filled the world with glory save where, far to the south, a pillar of smoke rose upon the stilly air, huge, awful, and black as sin--a writhing column shot with flame that went up high as heaven.

"O merry, aye merry, right merry I'll be, To live and to love 'neath the merry green tree, Nor the rain, nor the sleet, Nor the cold, nor the heat, I'll mind, if my love will come thither to me."

Sang Giles, a sprig of wild flowers a-dance in his new-gotten, gleaming bascinet, his long-bow upon his mailed shoulder, and, strapped to his wide back, a misshapen bundle that clinked melodiously with every swinging stride; and, while he sang, the ragged rogues about him ceased their noise and ribaldry to hearken in delight, and when he paused, cried out amain for more. Whereupon Giles, nothing loth, brake forth afresh:

"O when is the time a maid to kiss, Tell me this, ah, tell me this?

'Tis when the day is new begun, 'Tis to the setting of the sun, Is time for kissing ever done?

Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"

Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at Garthlaxton Keep.

Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word betwixt them.

"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart of many a sorry wretch, methinks."

"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--G.o.d forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"

"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So, Garthlaxton--smoke!"

"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carca.s.s smoked with thee!"

"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "h.e.l.l-fire shall have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our youthful, G.o.d-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is bright--"

"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but a Fool!"

"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh, methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully touched his arm with tentative fingers.

"Why, the torment is apt to change a man," said Walkyn, grim-smiling.

"I have tried it and I know."

Now hereupon Giles fell to whistling, Walkyn to silence and Roger to scowling; oft looking back, jealous-eyed, to where Beltane rode a black war-horse, his mail-coif thrown back, his chin upon his breast, his eyes gloomy and wistful; and as often as he looked, Roger sighed amain.

Whereat at last the archer cried:

"Good lack, Roger, and wherefore puff ye so? Why glower ye, man, and snort?"

"Snort thyself!" growled Roger.

"Nay, I had rather talk."

"I had rather be silent."

"Excellent, Roger; so will I talk for thee and me. First will I show three excellent reasons for happiness--_videlicit:_ the birds sing, I talk, and Garthlaxton burns.--"

"I would thou did'st burn with it," growled Roger. "But here is a deed shall live when thou and I are dust, archer!"

"Verily, good Roger, for here and now will I make a song on't for souls unborn to sing--a good song with a lilt to trip it lightly on the tongue, as thus:

"How Beltane burned Garthlaxton low With l.u.s.ty Giles, whose good yew bow Sped many a caitiff rogue, I trow, _Dixit_!"

"How!" exclaimed Roger, "here be two whole lines to thy knavish self and but one to our master?"

"Aye," grumbled Walkyn, "and what of Roger?--what of me?--we were there also, methinks?"

"Nay, show patience," said Giles, "we will amend that in the next triplet, thus:

"There Roger fought, and Walkyn too, And Giles that bare the bow of yew; O swift and strong his arrows flew, _Dixit_!"

"How think ye of that, now?"

"I think, here is too much Giles," said Roger.

"Forsooth, and say ye so indeed? Let us then to another verse:

"Walkyn a mighty axe did sway, Black Roger's sword some few did slay, Yet Giles slew many more than they, _Dixit_!"

"Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair--and the lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?"

"I think it a lie!" growled Roger.

"Aye me!" sighed the archer, "thou'rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue. Yet for thy behoof my song shall be ended, thus:

"They gave Garthlaxton to the flame, Be glory to Duke Beltane's name, And unto l.u.s.ty Giles the same, _Dixit_!"

"_Par Dex!_" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap--so come, rejoice, my rueful Rogerkin--smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is ablaze."

"And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty and two good men slain."

"Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall better love a live one--and thou wert ever a fool, Roger--so born and so bred. As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of solace. Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty toys--you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here. As, item: a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems-- a pretty piece! Item: a golden girdle from the East--very sweet and rare. Item: four silver candlesticks--heavy, Roger! Item: a gold hilted dagger--a notable trinket. Item--"

A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was filled with fierce shouts and cries.

"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"

"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for your devils or demons!"

Quoth the archer:

"_In nomen Dominum_--Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"