," answered Beltane, "though
mine shall be a hazardous service, mayhap. So, when ye will thou shalt
be free of it." Thus saying he arose and went aside and sat him down
in the mouth of the cave. But in a while came Roger to him, his
sword-belt a-swing in his hand, and looked upon his gloomy face with eyes
full troubled. And presently he spake, yet halting in his speech and
timid: "Master," he said, "suffer me a question." "Verily," quoth
Beltane, looking up, "as many as thou wilt, my faithful Roger."
"Master," says Roger, twisting and turning the belt in hairy hands, "I
would but ask thee if--if I might cut another notch from this my
accursed belt--a notch, lord--I--the young knight--?" "You mean him
that I would have murdered, Roger? Reach me hither thy belt." So
Beltane took the belt and with his dagger cut thence two notches,
whereat quoth Roger, staring: "Lord, I did but save one life--the
young knight--" "Thou did'st save two," answered Beltane, "for had I
slain him, Roger--O, had I slain him, then on this night should'st have
hanged me for a murderer. Here be two notches for thee--so take back
thy belt and go, get thee to thy rest--and, Roger--pray for one that
tasteth death in life." So Roger took the belt, and turning softly,
left Beltane crouched above the fire as one that is deadly cold.

CHAPTER XXXIII

HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER

Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy
elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the
bank above. Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be
captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid
and rotund. A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things
ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and
rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat: a pilgrim-like hat,
adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints. About his waist
was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as
well filled. A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who,
though hurried along in the archer's lusty grip, smiled placidly, and
spake him sweetly thus: "Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate--
abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint
Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead. Trot me
not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a
hell seventy times heated,