Quoth Sir Pertolepe, seated upon the bench and smiling upon Beltane’s grim figure: 

“He groweth fat to the killing, seest thou, my Beda, a young man and hearty, very hale and strong—­and therefore meet for death.  So strong a man should be long time a-dying—­an death be coaxed and managed well.  And Tristan is more cunning and hath more love for his craft than ever had Black Roger.  With care, Beda—­I say with care, messire Beltane should die from dawn to sundown.”

“Alack!” sighed the jester, “death shall take him over soon, as thou dost say—­and there’s the pity on’t!”

“Soon, Fool—­soon?  Now out upon thee for a fool ingrain—­”

“Forsooth, sweet lord, fool am I—­mark these bells!  Yet thou art a greater!”

“How, sirrah?”

“In that thou art a greater man, fair, sweet lord; greater in might, greater in body, and greater in folly.”

“Ha, would’st mock me, knave?”

“For perceive me, fair and gentle lord, as this base body of ours being altogether thing material is also thing corruptible, so is it also a thing finite, and as it is a thing finite so are its sensations, be they of pleasure or pain, finite also—­therefore soon must end.  Now upon the other hand—­”

“How now?  What babbling folly is here?”

“As I say, most potent lord, upon the other hand—­as the mind, being altogether thing transcendental, is also thing incorruptible, so is it also a thing infinite, and being a thing infinite so are its sensations infinite also—­therefore everlasting.”

“Ha, there’s reason in thy folly, methinks.  What more?”

“Bethink thee, lord, there be divers rogues who, having provoked thy potent anger, do lie even now awaiting thy lordly pleasure.  E’en now irons be heating for them, moreover they are, by thy will, to suffer the grievous torment of the pulleys and the wheel, and these, as I do know, be sharp punishments and apt to cause prodigious outcry.  Now, to hear one cry out beneath the torture is an evil thing for youthful ears—­and one not soon forgot.”

“Aye, aye, forsooth, I begin to see thy meaning, good Fool—­yet say on.”

“Let this thy prisoner be set within the cell above the torture chamber, so, lying within the dark he must needs hear them cry below, and in his mind shall he suffer as they suffer, every pang of racking wheel and searing iron.  And, because the mind is thing infinite—­”

“Enough—­enough!  O most excellent Beda, ’tis well bethought.  O, rare Fool, so shall it be.”

Forthwith Sir Pertolepe summoned certain of his guard, and, incontinent, Beltane was dragged a-down the winding stair and thereafter fast shut within a place of gloom, a narrow cell breathing an air close and heavy, and void of all light.  Therefore Beltane sat him down on the floor, his back to the wall, staring upon the dark, chin on fist.  Long he sat thus, stirring not, and in his heart a black void, deeper and more awful than the fetid gloom of any dungeon—­a void wherein a new Beltane came into being.