, at
the storming of Belsaye, five years agone. Aha! a right good town is
Belsaye, and growing rich and fat against another plucking."

"And how came Belsaye to be stormed?" Quoth Giles the Bowman, eying
his golden chain:

"My lord Duke Ivo had a mind to a certain lady, who was yet but a
merchant's daughter, look ye. But she was young and wondrous fair, for
Duke Ivo hath a quick eye and rare judgment in such pretty matters. But
she (and she but a merchant's daughter!) took it ill, and when Duke
Ivo's messengers came to bear her to his presence, she whined and
struggled, as is ever woman's way, and thereafter in the open street
snatched a dagger and thereupon, before her father's very eye did slay
herself (and she but a merchant's daughter!), whereat some hot-head
plucked out sword and other citizens likewise, and of my lord Duke's
messengers there none escaped save one and he sore wounded. So Belsaye
city shut its gates 'gainst my lord Duke and set out fighting-hoards
upon its walls. Yet my lord Duke battered and breached it, for few can
match him in a siege, and stormed it within three days. And, by Saint
Giles, though he lost the merchant's daughter methinks he lacked not
at all, for the women of Belsaye are wondrous fair."

The rising sun made a glory all about them, pouring his beams 'twixt
mighty trees whose knotted, far-flung branches dappled the way here and
there with shadow; but now Beltane saw nought of it by reason that he
walked with head a-droop and eyes that stared earthward; moreover his
hands were clenched and his lips close and grim-set. As for Giles o'
the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full
melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a
while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin
with strong, brown fingers.

"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir
Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er
saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to
twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well--hast the makings of a
right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!"

"Yet a lover of peace am I!" said Beltane, his head yet drooping.

"Peace, quotha--peace? Ha? by all the holy saints--peace! A soft word!
A woman's word! A word smacking of babes and milk! Out upon thee, what
hath a man with such an arm--aye, and legs--to do with peace? An you
would no