Beltane the Smith Part 80

"Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye a.s.sured Sir Rollo shall not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir Brian?"

"Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy n.o.ble lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou, 'twill be healed--Ha, they charge us again--stand firm, pikes!" So shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once again the road echoed to the din of battle.

Thus all day long they fought their way south along the forest-road, as, time and again, Sir Pertolepe's heavy chivalry thundered down upon them, to check and break before that hedge of deadly pikes. So marched this valiant rear-guard, parched with thirst, choked with dust, grim with blood and wounds, until, as the sun sank westwards, the woods thinned away and they beheld at last, glad-eyed and joyful, the walls and towers of fair Belsaye town. Now just beyond the edge of the woods, Sir Benedict halted his shrunken column, his dusty pikemen drawn up across the narrow road with archers behind supported by his cavalry to hold Sir Pertolepe's powers in check amid the woods what time the nuns with the spent and wounded hasted on towards the city.

Hereupon Beltane raised his vizor and setting horn to lip, sounded the rally. And lo! from the city a glad and mighty shout went up, the while above the square and frowning keep a great standard arose and flapping out upon the soft air, discovered a red lion on a white field.

"Aha, Beltane!" quoth Sir Benedict, "yon is a rare-sweet sight--behold thy father's Lion banner that hath not felt the breeze this many a year--"

"Aye, lords," growled Walkyn, "and yonder cometh yet another lion--a black lion on red!" and he pointed where, far to their left, a red standard flaunted above the distant glitter of a wide-flung battle line.

"Hast good eyes, Walkyn!" said Sir Benedict, peering 'neath his hand toward the advancing host, "aye, verily--'tis Ivo himself. Sir Pertolepe must have warned him of our coming."

"So are we like to be crushed 'twixt hammer and anvil," quoth Sir Hacon, tightening the lacing of his battered casque.

"So will I give thee charge of our knights and men-at-arms--what is left of them, alas!--to meet Black Ivo's banner, my doleful Hacon!"

spake Sir Benedict.

"Nay, Benedict," said Sir Hacon, grim-smiling, "my dole is but caution!" So saying, he closed his vizor and rode away to muster his chivalry to meet their new a.s.sailants the while Sir Benedict fell to re-forming his scanty ranks of pikemen and archers. Meantime Beltane, sitting his weary charger, glanced from Sir Pertolepe's deep array of knights and men-at-arms that thronged and jostled each other in the narrow forest-road to the distant flash and glitter of Duke Ivo's mighty van-ward, and from these again to the walls of Belsaye. And as he looked thither he saw the great drawbridge fall, the portcullis raised, and the gates flung wide to admit the fugitives; even at that distance he thought to recognise the Abbess, who paused to turn and gaze towards him, as, last of all, she rode to safety into the city.

Then my Beltane sighed, and, closing his vizor, turned to find Ulf beside him with Roger and Walkyn, who stood to watch the while Sir Benedict rode to and fro, ordering his company for their perilous retreat across the plain. Swift and silent his war-worn veterans fell to their appointed ranks; his trumpets blew and they began to fall back on Belsaye town. Grimly silent they marched, and ever Beltane gazed where, near and ever more near, flashed and flickered Duke Ivo's hard-riding van-ward.

And now from the forest-road Sir Pertolepe's company marched, and forming in the open, spurred down upon them.

"Stand firm, pikes!" roared c.n.u.t.

"Aim low, archers!" squealed small Prat, and forthwith the battle joined.

The weary rear-guard rocked and swayed beneath the onset, but Prat and his archers shot amain, arrows whistled while pike and gisarm thrust and smote, as, encompa.s.sed now on three sides, they fell back and back towards the yawning gates of Belsaye; and ever as he fought, Beltane by times turned to watch where Duke Ivo's threatening van-ward galloped--a long line of gleaming shields and levelled lances gay with the glitter of pennon and banderol.

Back and back the rear-guard staggered, hewing and smiting; twice Beltane reeled 'neath unseen blows and with eyes a-swim beheld Roger and Ulf, who fought at either stirrup: heard of a sudden shrieks and cries and the thunder of galloping hooves; was aware of the flash of bright armour to his left, rank upon rank, where charged Duke Ivo's van-ward before whose furious onset Sir Benedict's weary pikemen were hurled back--their centre swayed, broke, and immediately all was dire uproar and confusion.

"Ah, Beltane--these be fresh men on fresh horses," cried Sir Benedict, "but hey--body o' me--all's not lost yet--malediction, no! And 'tis scarce half a mile to the gates. Ha--yonder rides l.u.s.ty Hacon to stay their rush--in upon them. Beltane--Ho, Pentavalon!"

Shouting thus, Sir Benedict plunged headlong into the raging fury of the battle; but, as Beltane spurred in after him, his weary charger, smitten by an arrow, reared up, screaming, yet ere he fell, Beltane, kicking free of the stirrups, rolled clear; a mighty hand plucked him to his feet and Ulf, roaring in his ear, pointed with his dripping axe.

And, looking whither he pointed, Beltane beheld Sir Benedict borne down beneath a press of knights, but as he lay, pinned beneath his squealing charger, Beltane leapt and bestrode him, sword in hand.

"Roger!" he shouted, "Ulf--Walkyn--to me!"

All about him was a swaying trample of horses and men, an iron ring that hemmed him in, blows dinted his long shield, they rang upon his helmet, they battered his triple mail, they split his shield in sunder; and 'neath this hail of blows Beltane staggered, thrice he was smitten to his knees and thrice he arose, and ever his long blade whirled and darted.

"Yield thee, sir knight--yield thee!" was the cry.

"Ho, Roger!" he shouted hoa.r.s.ely, "Ulf--Walkyn, to me!"

An axe bit through his great helm, a sword bent against his stout mail, a knight spurred in upon him, blade levelled to thrust again, but Beltane's deadly point darted upward and the snorting charger plunged away--riderless.

But now, as he fought on with failing arm, came a joyous roar on his right where Ulf smote direly with b.l.o.o.d.y axe, upon his left hand a broad-sword flickered where Roger fought silent and grim, beyond him again, Walkyn's long arms rose and fell as he whirled his axe, and hard by Tall Orson plied goring pike. So fought these mighty four until the press thinned out and they had cleared them a s.p.a.ce amid the battle, the while Beltane leaned him, spent and panting, upon his reeking sword.

Now, as he stood thus, from a tangle of the fallen near by a bent and battered helm was lifted and Sir Benedict spake, faint and short of breath:

"'Twas n.o.bly done--sweet lad! 'Tis enough, methinks--there be few of us left, I fear me, so--get thee hence--with such as be alive--hence, Beltane, for--thy sweet mother's sake. Nay, heed not--old Benedict, I did my best and--'tis a fitting couch, this--farewell to thee, my Beltane--" So saying, Sir Benedict sank weakly to an elbow and from elbow upon his face, and lay there, very still and mute.

"Master--master!" cried Roger, "we shall win to Belsaye yet, see--see, Giles hath out-flanked them with his pikes and archers, and--ha! yonder good Eric o' the Noose chargeth them home!"

But Beltane leaned him upon his sword very spent and sick, and stared ever upon Sir Benedict's motionless form, his harness bent and hacked, his proud helm p.r.o.ne in the trampled ling. Slowly, and with fumbling hands, Beltane sheathed his sword, and stooping, raised Sir Benedict upon his shoulder and strove to bear him out of the fight, but twice he staggered in his going and would have fallen but for Roger's ready arm.

"Master," quoth he, "master, let me aid thee with him!" But nothing saying, Beltane stumbled on until they came where stood Ulf holding a riderless horse, on the which he made shift to mount with Roger's aid; thereafter Ulf lifted Sir Benedict to his hold.

"And, pray you," said Beltane, slow and blurred of speech, "pray you what of n.o.ble Sir Hacon?"

"Alack, lord," growled Ulf, "yonder is he where they lie so thick, and slain, methinks,--yet will I bring him off--"

"Aye, lord," cried Tall Orson, great tears furrowing the grime of his cheeks, "and little Prat do be killed--and l.u.s.ty c.n.u.t do be killed wi'

him--and my good comrade Jenkyn do lie smitten to death--O there do be none of us left, methinks, lord!"

So, faint and heart-sick, with Sir Benedict limp across his saddle bow, Beltane rode from that place of death; beside him went Roger, stumbling and weary, and behind them strode mighty Ulf with Sir Hacon upon his shoulder. In a while, as they went thus, Beltane, glancing back at the fight, beheld stout Eric with the men of Belsaye, well mounted and equipped, at fierce grapple with Duke Ivo's van-ward, what time Giles and his archers supported by l.u.s.ty pikemen, plied Sir Pertolepe's weary forces with whizzing shafts, drawing and loosing marvellous fast.

So came they at last unto the gates of Belsaye town that were already a-throng with many wounded and divers others of Sir Benedict's company that had won out of the affray; now upon the drawbridge Beltane paused and gave Sir Benedict and brave Hacon into kindly, eager hands, then, wheeling, with Ulf and Roger beside him, rode back toward the battle.

And ever as they went came scattered groups of Sir Benedict's stout rear-guard, staggering with weariness and limping with wounds, the while, upon the plain beyond, Eric with his men-at-arms and Walkyn with the survivors of the foresters and Giles with his archers and pikemen, holding the foe in play, fell back upon the town, compact and orderly.

Thus, they in turn began to cross the drawbridge, archers and pikemen, and last of all, the men-at-arms, until only Eric o' the Noose and a handful of his hors.e.m.e.n, with Beltane, Roger and Ulf remained beyond the drawbridge, whereon the enemy came on amain and 'neath their furious onset brave Eric was unhorsed; then Beltane drew sword and with Roger and Ulf running at either stirrup, spurred in to the rescue.

A shock of hard-smitten steel--a whirl and flurry of blows--a shout of triumph, and, reeling in his saddle, dazed and sick, Beltane found himself alone, fronting a bristling line of feutred lances; he heard Roger shout to him wild and fearful, heard Walkyn roar at him--felt a sudden shock, and was down, unhelmed, and pinned beneath his stricken charger. Half a-swoon he lay thus, seeing dimly the line of on-rushing lance-points, while on his failing senses a fierce cry smote:

"'Tis Beltane--the Outlaw! Slay him! Slay him!"

But now of a sudden and as one that dreamed, he beheld a tender face above him with sad-sweet eyes and lips that bent to kiss his brow, felt soft arms about him--tender arms that drew his weary head upon a gentle bosom to hide and pillow it there; felt that enfolding embrace tighten and tighten in sudden shuddering spasm, as, sighing, the lady Abbess's white-clad arms fell away and her proud head sank beside his in the dust.

And now was a rush and roar of fierce voices as over them sprang Roger and Giles with Ulf and Eric, and, amid the eddying dust, axe and sword swung and smote, while came hands strong yet tender, that bare Beltane into the city.

Now beyond the gate of the city was a well and beside the well they laid Beltane and bathed him with the sweet cool water, until at length the mist vanished from his sight and thus he beheld the White Abbess who lay upon a pile of cloaks hard by. And beholding the deadly pallor of lip and cheek, the awful stains that spotted her white robe and the fading light in those sad-sweet eyes, Beltane cried aloud--a great and bitter cry, and fell before her on his knees.

"Mother!" he groaned, "O my mother!"

"Dear my Beltane," she whispered faintly, striving to kiss his hand, "death is none so--painful, so grieve not thine heart for me, sweet son. And how may a mother--die better than for her own--beloved son?

Beltane, if G.o.d--O if G.o.d in His infinite mercy--shall think me worthy --to be--one of His holy angels, then will I be ever near thee when thy way proveth dark--to comfort thee--to aid thee. O dear my son--I sought thee so long--so long--'tis a little hard to leave thee--so soon. But--G.o.d's will--fare thee well, I die--aye--this is death, methinks. Beltane, tell thy father that I--O--dear my--my Beltane--"

So died the gracious lady Abbess that had been the proud Yolande, d.u.c.h.ess of Pentavalon, wept and bemoaned by full many who had known her tender care; and, in due season, she was laid to rest within the fair Minster of Belsaye. And thereafter, Beltane took to his bed and abode there many days because of his wounds and by reason of his so great sorrow and heart-break.

But, that night, through the dark hours was strange stir and hum beyond the walls of Belsaye, and, when the dawn broke, many a stout heart quailed and many a cheek blanched to see a great camp whose fortified lines encompa.s.sed the city on all sides, where lay Ivo the Black Duke to besiege them.

CHAPTER LXIII

TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW

Six days and nights my Beltane kept his bed, seeing and speaking to no man; and it is like he would have died but for the fostering care of the good Friar Martin who came and went softly about him, who watched and tended and prayed over him long and silently but who, perceiving his heart-sickness, spake him not at all. Day in and day out Beltane lay there, heedless of all but his great sorrow, sleeping little and eating less, his face hid in his pillow or turned to the wall, and in all this time he uttered no word nor shed a single tear.