screened by the thick-budded foliage, seeing nought but this
golden-locked singer whose voice thrilled strangely in her ears. And
who so good a judge as Helen the Beautiful, whose lovers were beyond
count, knights and nobles and princelings, ever kneeling at her haughty
feet, ever sighing forth vows of service and adoration, in whose honour
many a stout lance had shivered, and many a knightly act been wrought?
Wherefore I say, who so good a judge as the Duchess Helen of Mortain?
Thus Beltane the maker of verses, all ignorant that any heard save the
birds in the brake, sang of the glories of the forest-lands. Sang how
the flowers, feeling the first sweet promise of spring stirring within
them, awoke; and lo! the frost was gone, the warm sun they had dreamed
of through the long winter was come back, the time of their waiting
passed away. So, timidly, slowly, they stole forth from the dark,
unveiling their beauties to their lord the sun and filling the world
with the fragrance of their worship.

Somewhat of all this sang Beltane, whiles the Duchess Helen gazed upon
him wide-eyed and wondering.

Could this be Beltane the Smith, this tall, gentle-eyed youth, this
soft-voiced singer of dreams? Could this indeed be the mighty wrestler
of whom she had heard so many tales of late, how that he lived an
anchorite, deep hidden in the green, hating the pomp and turmoil of
cities, and contemning women and all their ways?

Now, bethinking her of all this, the Duchess frowned for that he was
such a goodly man and so comely to look on, and frowning, mused, white
chin on white fist. Then she smiled, as one that hath a bright thought,
and straightway loosed the golden fillet that bound her glowing
tresses so that they fell about her in all their glory, rippling far
down her broidered habit. Then, the song being ended, forth from her
cover rode the lady of Mortain, and coming close where Beltane leaned
him in the shade of the tree, paused of a sudden, and started as one
that is surprised, and Beltane turning, found her beside him, yet spake
not nor moved.

Breathless and as one entranced he gazed upon her; saw how her long
hair glowed a wondrous red 'neath the kisses of the dying sun; saw how
her purpled gown, belted at the slender waist, clung about the beauties
of her shapely body; saw how the little shoe peeped forth from the
perfumed mystery of its folds, and so stood speechless, bound by the
spell of her beauty. Wherefore, at leng