slew wife and child: so
now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!"

"Not so," quoth Beltane, "stand back--obey me--back, I say!" So,
muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger,
stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and
with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir
Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out
into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and
men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while
above the jostling confusion rose the hoarse babel of their voices. But
of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred
throats a shout went up:

"A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!"

Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's
broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's
right ear.

"Speak!" quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, "speak
now as I commanded thee!"

A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting
his head, spake that all might hear:

"Ho, sirs!" he cried, "I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one
Beltane, who styleth himself--Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back,
therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not
by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!"

Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoarse murmur that
voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those
two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir
Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:

"Go!" he commanded.

So their disarray fell into rank and order, and wheeling about, they
marched away along the forest road with helm agleam and pennons a-dance,
the while Sir Pertolepe stared after them, wild of eye and with
mailed hands clenched; once he made as if to call them back: but
Beltane's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and the dagger pricked his
throat. And thus stood they, side by side, until the tramp of feet was
died away, until the last trembling villager had slunk from sight and
the broad road was deserted, all save for Cuthbert the esquire, and
divers horses that lay stiffly in the dust, silent and very still.

Then Beltane sighed and sheathed his dagger, and Sir Pertolepe faced
him scrowling, fierce-eyed and arrogant.

"Ha, outlaw!" quoth he, "give back my sword and I will cope with