“She is a witch—­a cursed witch!” they cried.

“She is a woman,” says Beltane.

“Aye—­a devil-woman—­a notable witch—­we know her of old!”

“Verily,” cried one, “’tis but a sennight since she plagued me with aching teeth—­”

“And me with an ague!” cried another.

“She bewitched my shafts that they all flew wide o’ the mark!” cried a third.

“She cast on me a spell whereby I nigh did perish i’ the fen—­”

“She is a hag—­she’s demon-rid and shall to the fire!” they shouted amain.  “Ha!—­witch!—­witch!”

“That doeth no man harm by day,” said Beltane, “so by day shall no man harm her—­”

“Aye, lord,” quoth Roger, “but how by night? ’tis by night she may work her spells and blast any that she will, or haunt them with goblins damned that they do run mad, or—­”

“Enough!” cried Beltane frowning, “on me let her bewitchments fall; thus, see you, an I within this next week wither and languish ’neath her spells, then let her burn an ye will:  but until this flesh doth shrivel on these my bones, no man shall do her hurt.  So now let there be an end—­free these women, let your ranks be ordered, and march—­”

“Comrades all!” cried red-haired Gurth, “will ye be slaves henceforth to this girl-faced youth?  We have arms now and rich booty.  Let us back to the merry greenwood, where all men are equal—­come, let us be gone, and take these witches with us to our sport—­”

But in this moment Beltane turned.

“Girl-faced, quotha?” he cried; and beholding his look, Gurth of a sudden loosed the swooning maid and, drawing sword, leapt and smote at Beltane’s golden head; but Beltane caught the blow in his mailed hand, and snapped the blade in sunder, and, seizing Gurth about the loins, whirled him high in air; then, while all men blenched and held their breath waiting the thud of his broken body in the dust, Beltane stayed and set him down upon his feet.  And lo!  Gurth’s cheek was pale, his eye wide and vacant, and his soul sat numbed within him.  So Beltane took him by the throat, and, laughing fierce, shook him to and fro.

“Beast!” said he, “unfit art thou to march with these my comrades.  Now therefore do I cast thee out.  Take thy life and go, and let any follow thee that will—­Pentavalon needeth not thy kind.  Get thee from among us, empty-handed as I found thee—­thy share of treasure shall go to better men!”

Now even as Beltane spake, Gurth’s red head sank until his face was hidden within his hands; strong hands, that slowly clenched themselves into anger-trembling fists.  And ever as Beltane spake, the witch, tossing back her long grey hair, looked and looked on him with bright and eager eyes; a wondering look, quick to note his shape and goodly size, his wide blue eyes, his long and golden hair and the proud, high carriage of his head:  and slowly, to her wonderment came awe and growing joy.  But Beltane spake on unheeding: