lkyn, "loose my arm--what would ye?"

"Shalt not slay him," cried Roger, "'tis a notch--'tis a notch from my
accursed belt--shalt not slay him, I tell thee!"

"Now out upon thee for a mad knave!" quoth Walkyn.

"Knave thyself!" roared Black Roger, and so they wrestled fiercely
together; but, little by little, Walkyn's size and bull strength began
to tell, whereupon back sprang nimble Roger, and as Walkyn's axe
gleamed, so gleamed Roger's sword. But now as they circled warily about
each other, seeking an opening for blow or thrust, there came a rush of
feet, and Beltane leapt betwixt them, and bestriding the fallen knight,
fronted them in black and bitter anger.

"Ha, rogues!" he cried, "art become thieves and murderers so soon,
then? Would'st shed each other's blood for lust of booty like any other
lawless knaves, forsooth? Shame--O shame on ye both!"

So saying, he stooped, and lifting the unconscious knight, flung him
across his shoulder and strode off, leaving the twain to stare upon
each other shame-faced.

Scowling and fierce-eyed Beltane descended into the hollow, whereupon
up sprang Giles with divers others and would have looked upon and aided
with the captive; but beholding Beltane's frown they stayed their
questions and stood from his path. So came he to a certain cave
hollowed within the hill-side--one of many such--but the rough walls of
this cave Black Roger had adorned with a rich arras, and had prepared
also a bed of costly furs; here Beltane laid the captive, and sitting
within the mouth of the cave--beyond which a fire burned--fell to
scowling at the flame. And presently as he sat thus came Roger and
Walkyn, who fain would have made their peace, but Beltane fiercely bade
them to begone.

"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard
by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would
have slain him--"

"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour,
since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut
from my belt another accursed notch--"

"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live,
this our refuge is secret no longer."

"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but
murderers and thieving knaves--"

"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.

"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would
but have borrowed--"

"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence