Beltane the Smith Part 79

"'Tis strange," said he, "and pa.s.sing strange that they should all lie dead--not a living man among them! How think you Roger?"

"I think, lord, others have been here afore us. See you this knight now, his gorget loosed off--"

"O messire!" said a faint voice hard by, "if ye have any pity save me from the crone--for the love of Christ let not the hag slay me as she hath so many--save me!"

Starting round, Beltane espied a pale face that glared up at him from a thick furze-bush beside the way, a youthful face albeit haggard and drawn.

"Fear not!" said Beltane, kneeling beside the wounded youth, "thy life is safe from us. But what mean you by talk of hag and crone?"

"Ah, messire, to-day, ere the dawn, we fell upon Sir Benedict of Bourne--a seditious lord who hath long withstood Duke Ivo. But though his men were few they fought hard and gained the ford ahead of us. And in the fight I, with many others as ye see, was smitten down and the fight rolled on and left us here in the dust. As I lay, striving to tend my hurt and hearkening to the sighs and groans of the stricken, I heard a scream, and looking about, beheld an ancient woman--busied with her knife--slaying--slaying and robbing the dead--ah, behold her--with the black-haired archer--yonder!"

And verily Roger stepped forth of the underwood that clothed the steep, dragging a thing of rags and tatters, a wretched creature, bent and wrinkled, that mopped and mowed with toothless chaps and clutched a misshapen bundle in yellow, talon-like fingers, and these yellow fingers were splotched horribly with dark stains even as were the rags that covered her. She whined and whimpered querulously, mouthing inarticulate plaints and prayers as Roger haled her along, with c.n.u.t and Walkyn, fierce and scowling, behind. Having brought her to Beltane, Roger loosed her, and wrenching away her bundle, opened it, and lo! a yellow-gleaming h.o.a.rd of golden neck-chains, of rings and armlets, of golden spurs and belt-buckles, the which he incontinent scattered at Beltane's feet; whereon the gibbering creature screamed in high-pitched, cracked and ancient voice, and, screeching, threw herself upon the gold and fell to scrabbling among the dust with her gnarled and bony fingers; and ever as she raked and raked, she screeched harsh and high--a hateful noise that ended, of a sudden, in a wheezing sob, and sinking down, she lay outstretched and silent, her wrinkled face in the dust and a cloth-yard shaft transfixing her yellow throat.

So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting loud and hoa.r.s.e.

"Ha!" cried c.n.u.t, "'tis l.u.s.ty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?"

"I'm sped, c.n.u.t!" groaned Siward, "but yon hag lieth dead, so am I-- content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind-- for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!" And Siward, feebly pointing to the ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.

Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him tender and compa.s.sionate.

"Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?"

"O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!"

Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very carefully, bore him down toward the ford.

"Messire," quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, "art very strong and wondrous gentle withal!" Presently Beltane brought him beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.

"Ho!" cried he, "'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog blazoned on the shield of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him, 'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may remember it in her prayers?"

"I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee well!" So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye and mouth.

Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into the green.

Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain; what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.

"Ha, Benedict!" quoth Sir Brian, "they do know thee, methinks, 'spite thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many minutes!"

"So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!" Sir Benedict groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back their a.s.sailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to three fresh knights.

"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves thee well, Benedict!"

"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, G.o.d be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict, eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle knight's gorget--"

"Yet sh.o.r.e clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the esquire.

"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and sighed again.

"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when steel is ringing, man."

"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha, Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I say!"

"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a moment and--"

The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the dust.

"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.

"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank, and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the nuns they make for!"

Nothing saying, Sir Benedict spurred forward beside his hard-pressed company; in the midst of the column was dire tumult and shouting, where, from the dense woods upon their left a body of knights sheathed in steel from head to foot were cutting their way toward the lady Abbess, who, conspicuous in her white habit, was soothing her frightened palfrey. All about her a shouting, reeling press of Sir Benedict's light-armed footmen were giving back and back before the swing of ponderous axe and mace and sword, were smitten down and trampled 'neath those resistless, steel-clad ranks.

"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of sword until he had won beside the Abbess.

"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close--close, Yolande--stoop--ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee--the debate waxeth a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back before the sweep of that long sword.

"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good Hacon spurs in to our relief--ha, mighty lance!"

"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so--dear Benedict--let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair lives be saved--ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See--O see how fast they fall and die about us! I must go--I will go! My lord, let me pa.s.s-- loose my bridle--"

A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang, two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced-- the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a mighty shout rent the air:

"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane--Pentavalon!"

Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his swaying ranks, the b.l.o.o.d.y gap in his column closed up and Sir Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels, and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.

"Mother!" he cried.

"Dear, dear son of mine--and thou art safe? Thanks be to G.o.d who hath heard the pa.s.sion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned, and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.

"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look--Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue--a rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other.

So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust where hors.e.m.e.n and footmen strove together in desperate grapple, where knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of Beltane's l.u.s.ty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.

Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward with mighty axe whirled aloft.

"Ha--Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, b.l.o.o.d.y Pertolepe--turn, thou dog! 'Tis I--'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger, wielded a b.l.o.o.d.y mace, and who, hearing that hoa.r.s.e cry, turned and met the shearing axe with blazoned shield--and behold! the gorgeous shield was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn, bounding up, shouldered him aside--his axe whirled and fell once, and Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold--whirled and fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow beneath his fiery hair--whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.

But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and vizored war-helm and astride a n.o.ble horse, and there, too, was Roger, grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper; quoth he:

"Ha--'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in h.e.l.l--"

"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.

"Aye--and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought--"

"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.

"Beltane, dear my lad," said Sir Benedict as they rode together, "hast told me nought of thy doings last night--what of Sir Rollo?"