ereafter, by fierce laughter. Now,
bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his
bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's
busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a
hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his
writhen face like a scarlet vizard.

"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"

Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through
the hair of his beard.

"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so
do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of
Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it
be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall
Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."

Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.

"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"

So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane
followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow
and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the
leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very
sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned
in a cry hoarse and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading,
stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his cock's-comb
flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into
the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.

"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is
it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I
am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"

"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me
driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my
father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord
Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle,
and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook
the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:

"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the
wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved
thy father, e'en as I loved thee."

"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and
fingering his dagger.

"So then, will ye sla