left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully
nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back
their assailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to
three fresh knights.

"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves
thee well, Benedict!"

"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, God be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict,
eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle
knight's gorget--"

"Yet shore clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the
esquire.

"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and
sighed again.

"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when
steel is ringing, man."

"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha,
Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I
say!"

"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a
moment and--"

The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted
hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the
dust.

"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.

"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen
archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the
riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank,
and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the
nuns they make for!"

Nothing saying, Sir Benedict spurred forward beside his hard-pressed
company; in the midst of the column was dire tumult and shouting,
where, from the dense woods upon their left a body of knights sheathed
in steel from head to foot were cutting their way toward the lady
Abbess, who, conspicuous in her white habit, was soothing her
frightened palfrey. All about her a shouting, reeling press of Sir
Benedict's light-armed footmen were giving back and back before the
swing of ponderous axe and mace and sword, were smitten down and
trampled 'neath those resistless, steel-clad ranks.

"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this
close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice
and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of
sword until he had won beside the Abbess.

"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close--close,
Yolande--stoop--ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee--the debate
waxeth