"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools--save
one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a
man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles."

"Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at
Beltane, "who is he?"

"Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs."

"He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."

"Indeed, my lord he might grace the gallows as well as you or I."

"The rogue telleth me that you will hang men no more."

"Ha, said he so forsooth? dared he so asperse mine honour? Ha, here is
matter for red-hot irons, the pincers and the rack, anon. But come, Sir
Robert--thou dost bear news, belike; come your ways and drink a goblet
of wine."

"Nay, my lord, I thank thee, but I must hence this night to Barham
Broom. But for my news, 'tis this: the out-law men call Beltane, hath,
by devilish arts, sacked and burned Garthlaxton Keep."

"Why, this I knew; there is a lewd song already made thereon, as thus:

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

"Forsooth, a naughty song, a very gallows' song, in faith. Pray you,
what more?"

"There hath come unto the Duke one hight Gurth--a hang-dog rogue that
doth profess to know the lurking-place of this vile outlaw, and
to-morrow at sunset, Sir Pertolepe and I with goodly force march into
the green. So now must I hence, leaving with thee these captives from
Bourne that you shall hang above the walls for a warning to all such
outlaws and traitors. Lastly, my lord Seneschal, drink not so deep
a-nights, and so, fare thee well."

Now as he yet spake rose the shrill notes of a horn, and turning about,
Sir Robert beheld men whose mail glistened in the torchlight and whose
long pikes hemmed him in close and closer what time a fierce shout went
up: "Kill!" "Kill!"

"Ho, treason!" he roared, and grasped at his sword hilt; but down came
Roger's heavy broadsword upon Sir Robert's helm, beating him to earth
where Walkyn's mighty foot crushed him down and his axe gleamed bright.
Then, while the air rang with shouts and cries and the clatter of
trampling hoofs, a white figure leapt and bestrode the fallen knight,
and Walkyn glared down into the pale face of Friar Martin.

"Forbear, Walkyn, forbear!" he cried, and speaking, staggered for very
weakness and would have fallen but Walkyn's long arm was about