“Here now, we have each one his line apiece, which is fair—­and the lines trip it commendingly, how think ye?”

“I think it a lie!” growled Roger.

“Aye me!” sighed the archer, “thou’rt fasting, Rogerkin, and an empty belly ever giveth thee an ill tongue.  Yet for thy behoof my song shall be ended, thus: 

  “They gave Garthlaxton to the flame,
   Be glory to Duke Beltane’s name,
   And unto lusty Giles the same,
      Dixit!”

“Par Dex!” he broke off, “here is a right good song for thee, trolled forth upon this balmy-breathing morn sweet as any merle; a song for thee and me to sing to our children one day, mayhap—­so come, rejoice, my rueful Rogerkin—­smile, for to-day I sing and Garthlaxton is ablaze.”

“And my master grieveth for a Fool!” growled sulky Roger, “and twenty and two good men slain.”

“Why, see you, Roger, here is good cause for rejoicing also, for, our youthful Ajax grieving for a dead Fool, it standeth to reason he shall better love a live one—­and thou wert ever a fool, Roger—­so born and so bred.  As for our comrades slain, take ye comfort in this, we shall divide their share of plunder, and in this thought is a world of solace.  Remembering the which, I gathered unto myself divers pretty toys—­you shall hear them sweetly a-jingle in my fardel here.  As, item:  a silver crucifix, very artificially wrought and set with divers gems—­ a pretty piece!  Item:  a golden girdle from the East—­very sweet and rare.  Item:  four silver candlesticks—­heavy, Roger!  Item:  a gold hilted dagger—­a notable trinket.  Item—­”

A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric’s ragged rogues appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was filled with fierce shouts and cries.

“The witch!  Ha!  ’Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste!  To the water with the hag!  Nay, burn her!  Burn her!”

“Aye,” cried Roger, pushing forward, “there’s nought like the fire for your devils or demons!”

Quoth the archer: 

“In nomen Dominum—­Holy Saint Giles, ’tis a comely maid!”

“Foul daughter of an accursed dam!” quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a cross in the dust with his bow-stave.

“With the eyes of an angel!” said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her ripe young beauty.

“’Tis Mellent!” cried the fellow. “’Tis the witch’s daughter that hath escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft—­”

“Nay—­nay,” panted the maid ’twixt pallid lips, “nought am I but a poor maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother.  Ah, show pity—­”

“Witch!” roared a score of voices, “Witch!”

“Not so, in sooth—­in very sooth,” she gasped ’twixt sobs of terror, “nought but a poor maid am I—­and the man thrice sought me out and would have shamed me but that I escaped, for that I am very swift of foot—­”