Now when his hunger was somewhat assuaged, Roger turned and looked where Beltane lay.

“My master sleepeth?” said he, his voice grown gentle.

“Nay, Roger, I lie and wait thy news,” spake Beltane, his eyes yet closed.

“Why then, ’tis war, master—­battle and siege.  The country is up as far as Winisfarne.  Black Ivo lieth at Barham Broom with a great company—­I have seen their tents and pavilions like a town, and yet they come, for Ivo hath summoned all his powers to march against Thrasfordham.  ’Twixt here and Pentavalon city, folk do say the roads be a-throng with bows and lances—­lords and barons, knights and esquires, their pennons flutter everywhere.”

“’Tis well!” sighed Beltane.

“Well, master—­nay, how mean you?”

“That being at Barham Broom, they cannot be otherwhere, Roger.  Saw you Pertolepe’s banner among all these?”

“Aye, master; they have set up his pavilion beside the Duke’s.”

“Tell me now,” said Beltane, coming to his elbow, “how many men should be left within Garthlaxton for garrison, think you?”

“An hundred, belike!” said Walkyn.

“Less,” quoth Roger; “Garthlaxton is so strong a score of men have held it ere now.  ’Tis accounted the strongest castle in all the Duchy, save only Thrasfordham.”

“Truly ’tis very strong!” said Beltane thoughtfully, and lying down again he closed his eyes and spake slow and drowsily—­“Aye, ’tis so strong, its garrison, being secure, should sleep sound o’ nights.  So ’twould be no great matter to surprise and burn it ere the dawn, methinks!”

“Burn Garthlaxton!” cried the archer, and sprang up, scattering the arrows right and left.

“Master!” stammered Roger, “master—­”

As for Walkyn, he, having his mouth full and striving to speak, choked instead.

“Lord—­lord!” he gasped at last, “to see Garthlaxton go up in flame—­O blessed sight!  Its blood-soaked walls crumble to ruin—­ah, sweet, rare sight!  But alas! ’tis a mighty place and strong, and we but four—­”

“There be outlaws in the wild-wood!” quoth Beltane.

“Ha!—­the outlaws!” cried Giles, and clapped hand to thigh.

“Aye,” nodded Beltane, “bring me to the outlaws.”

“But bethink thee, tall brother—­of what avail a thousand such poor, ragged, ill-armed rogues ’gainst the walls of Garthlaxton?  They shall not tear you the stones with their finger-nails nor rend them with their teeth, see’st thou!”

“To burn Garthlaxton!” growled Walkyn, biting at his fingers.  “Ha, to give it to the fire!  But the walls be mighty and strong and the outlaws scattered.  ’Twould take a week to muster enough to attempt a storm, nor have they engines for battery—­”

“Enough!” said Beltane rising, his brows close drawn, “now hearken, and mark me well; the hole whereby one man came out may let a thousand in.  Give me but an hundred men at my back and Garthlaxton shall be aflame ere dawn.  So, come now, Walkyn—­bring me to the outlaws.”