down
into the reeds, and a moment later they saw him--to their amaze--
fording the river that flowed scarce knee deep.

So, needfully, Beltane followed, and, stepping into the water found his
feet upon a narrow causeway cunningly devised. Thus, slowly and
carefully, because of the flowing of the water, they came betimes to
where the friar waited in the shadow of the massy wall; yet, even as
they came near, the friar waved his arm, stooped--and was gone; whereon
my Beltane stared amazed and the three muttered uneasily behind him.
But, coming nearer, Beltane espied above the hurrying waters the curve
of an arch or tunnel, and pointing it to the others, took a great
breath and, stooping beneath the water, stumbled on and on until it
shallowed, and he was free to breathe again.

On he went, through water now breast-high, with slimy walls above him
and around, seeing naught by reason of the pitchy blackness, and
hearing only the smothered splash of those behind, and gasping breaths
that boomed hollow in the dark. Yet presently he saw a gleam before him
that broadened with each step, and, of a sudden, was out beneath the
sky--a narrow strip wherein stars twinkled, and so beheld again friar
Martin's white frock flitting on, ghost-like, before. In a while he
brought them to a slimy stair, and climbing this, with ever growing
caution, they found themselves at last beneath the frowning shadow of
the citadel within the walls of Belsaye town. Now, looking north,
Beltane beheld afar a fiery gallows that flamed to heaven, and from the
town thitherward came a confused hum of the multitude who watched; but
hereabouts the town seemed all deserted.

"The dungeons lie beneath our feet," whispered Friar Martin. "Come!"

So, keeping ever in the shadow of the great square keep, they went on,
soft-treading and alert of eye till, being come to the angle of the
wall, the friar stayed of a sudden and raised a warning hand. Then came
Beltane with Walkyn close behind, and peering over the friar's broad
shoulders, they beheld a sentinel who stood with his back to them,
leaning on his spear, to watch the burning gallows, his chain-mail
agleam and his head-piece glittering as he stirred lazily in time to
the merry lilt he sang softly.

Then, or ever Beltane could stay him, Walkyn o' the Dene laid by his
axe, and, his soaked shoes soundless upon the stones, began to steal
upon the unconscious singer, who yet lolled upon his spear some thirty
pa