babblement of laughing echoes. And who among them all so merry
as Giles o' the Bow at the head of his sturdy archers? Oft trolling
some merry stave or turning with some quip or jape upon his tongue, but
with eyes quick to mark the rhythmic swing of broad, mail-clad
shoulders, eyes critical, yet eyes of pride. Who so grimly eager as
mighty Walkyn, his heavy axe lightly a-swing, his long legs schooling
themselves to his comrade's slower time and pace? Who so utterly
content as Black Roger, oft glancing from Beltane's figure in the van
to the files of his pike-men, their slung shields agleam, their spears
well sloped? And who so gloomy and thoughtful as Beltane, unmindful of
the youthful knight who went beside him, and scarce heeding his
soft-spoke words until his gaze by chance lighted upon the young
knight's armour that gleamed in the sun 'neath rich surcoat; armour of
the newest fashion of link, reinforced by plates of steel, gorget and
breast, elbow and knee, and with cunningly jointed sollerets. Moreover,
his shield was small and light according with the new fashion, and bare
the blazon of two hands, tight clasped, and the legend: "Semper
Fidelis."

Now viewing all this with a smith's knowledgful eye, quick to note the
costly excellence of this equipment, Beltane forthwith brake silence:

"How do men name thee, sir knight?"

Hereupon, after some delay, the young knight made answer:

"Messire, the motto I bear upon my shield is a good motto methinks. So
shalt call me Fidelis an ye will, my lord."

"So be it, Sir Faithful," saying which Beltane fell to deep thought
again.

"I pray you, my lord," quoth Fidelis, "wherefore so sad, so full of
gloom and thought?"

"I seek how we may win through the gates of Belsaye, Sir Fidelis, for
they go strongly guarded night and day; yet this day, ere sunset, ope
to us they must. But how--how?"

"My lord," spake Sir Fidelis, "I have heard say that few may go where
many oft-times may not. Let first some two or three adventure it, hid
'neath some close disguise--"

"A disguise!" cried Beltane, "Ha--a disguise. 'Tis well bethought, good
Fidelis. Forsooth, a disguise! And 'twill be market day!" Thereafter
Beltane strode on, head bent in frowning thought, nor spake again for a
space. And ever the files swung along behind in time to a marching song
carolled blithe in the rich, sweet voice of Giles. At length Beltane
raised his head and beholding the sun well-risen, halted his comp