“Ha!” quoth Beltane, thoughtful of brow.  “They be wild men, meseemeth?”

“Desperate knaves, one and all; and look ye, they would have slain—­”

“Aye?” nodded Beltane.

“All the off-scourings of town and village—­and look ye, they would—­”

“Aye,” said Beltane.

“Thieves, rogues and murderers, branded felons, runaway serfs and villeins—­”

“’Tis well,” said Beltane, “so shall they be my comrades henceforth.”

“Thy comrades!” stammered the archer, staring in amaze—­“thy comrades!  These base knaves that would have hanged me—­me, that am free-born like my father before me—­”

“So, peradventure, Giles, will we make them free men also.  Howbeit this day I seek them out—­”

“Seek them—­’tis death!”

“Death let it be, ’tis none so fearful!”

“They will slay thee out of hand—­a wild rabblement, lawless and disordered!”

“So would I bring order among them, Giles.  And thou shalt aid me.”

“I—­aid thee?  How—­would’st have me company with such vile carrion?  Not I, forsooth.  I am a soldier, free-born, and no serf like Walkyn or villein like Roger.  But sure you do but jest, brother, so will I laugh with thee—­”

But now, very suddenly, Beltane reached out his long arm and seizing Giles in mighty hand, dragged him to his knees; and Giles, staring up in amaze, looked into the face of the new Beltane whose blue eyes glared ’neath frowning brows and whose lips curled back from gleaming teeth.

“Giles,” said he softly, rocking the archer in his grasp, “O Giles Brabblecombe o’ the Hills, did I not save thy roguish life for thee?  Did not Walkyn and Roger preserve it to thee?  So doth thy life belong to Walkyn and to Roger and to me.  Four men are we together, four brothers in arms, vowed to each other in the fulfilment of a purpose—­ is it not so?”

“Yea, verily, lord.  Good men and true are we all, but see you not, lord, these outlaws be lewd fellows—­base-born—­”

“See you not, Giles, these outlaws be men, even as we, who, like us, can laugh and weep, can bleed and die—­who can use their lives to purpose good or evil, even as we.  Therefore, since they are men, I will make of them our comrades also, an it may be.”

Thus saying, Beltane loosed Giles and turning to the table, fell to eating again while the archer sat upon the floor nursing his bruised arm and staring open-mouthed.

Quoth Beltane at last: 

“We will seek out and talk with these outlaws to-night, Giles!”

“Talk with a pack of—­yea, forsooth!” nodded Giles, rubbing his arm.

“I am minded to strike such a blow as shall hearten Sir Benedict for the siege and shake Black Ivo’s confidence.”

“Aha!” cried Giles, springing up so that his link-mail jingled, “aha! a sweet thought, tall brother!  Could we fire another gibbet now—­”

“Know you where the outlaws lie hid, Giles?”