desperate grapple, where
knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of
Beltane's lusty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.

Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward
with mighty axe whirled aloft.

"Ha--Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, Bloody Pertolepe--turn, thou
dog! 'Tis I--'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into
the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until
he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger,
wielded a bloody mace, and who, hearing that hoarse cry, turned and met
the shearing axe with blazoned shield--and behold! the gorgeous shield
was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was
beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn,
bounding up, shouldered him aside--his axe whirled and fell once, and
Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold--whirled and
fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head
and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow
beneath his fiery hair--whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights
and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their
reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming
with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.

But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes
behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the
forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in
their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that
devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced
and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted
gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and
vizored war-helm and astride a noble horse, and there, too, was Roger,
grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper;
quoth he:

"Ha--'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape
me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in hell--"

"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.

"Aye--and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought--"

"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is
ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl
deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.