t of me?--we were
there also, methinks?"

"Nay, show patience," said Giles, "we will amend that in the next
triplet, thus:

"There Roger fought, and Walkyn too,
And Giles that bare the bow of yew;
O swift and strong his arrows flew,
_Dixit_!"

"How think ye of that, now?"

"I think, here is too much Giles," said Roger.

"Forsooth, and say ye so indeed? Let us then to another verse:

"Walkyn a mighty axe did sway,
Black Roger's sword some few did slay,
Yet Giles slew many more than they,
_Dixit_!"

"Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair--and the
lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?"

"I think it a lie!" growled Roger.

"Aye me!" sighed the archer, "thou'rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty
belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue. Yet for thy behoof my song shall
be ended, thus:

"They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
Be glory to Duke Beltane's name,
And unto lusty Giles the same,
_Dixit_!"

"_Par Dex!_" he broke off, "here is a right good song for thee, trolled
forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for
thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap--so come, rejoice,
my rueful Rogerkin--smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is
ablaze."

"And my master grieveth for a Fool!" growled sulky Roger, "and twenty
and two good men slain."

"Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our
youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall
better love a live one--and thou wert ever a fool, Roger--so born and
so bred. As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall
divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of
solace. Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty
toys--you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here. As, item:
a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems--
a pretty piece! Item: a golden girdle from the East--very sweet and
rare. Item: four silver candlesticks--heavy, Roger! Item: a gold hilted
dagger--a notable trinket. Item--"

A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside
the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues
appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was
filled with fierce shouts and cries.

"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with
the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"

"Aye," crie