Now he ordained these four companies should keep watch and watch day and night with sentinels and outposts in the green; and when they murmured at this he stared them into silence.

“Fools!” said he, “an ye would lie secure, so must ye watch constantly against surprise.  And furthermore shall ye exercise daily now, at the spoke command, to address your pikes ’gainst charge of horse or foot, and to that company adjudged the best and stoutest will I, each week, give store of money from my share of booty.  So now, Walkyn, summon ye your company and get to your ward.”

Thus it was that slowly out of chaos came order, yet it came not unopposed, for many and divers were they that growled against this new order of things; but Beltane’s hand was swift and heavy, moreover, remembering how he had dealt with Tostig, they growled amain but hasted to obey.  So, in place of idleness was work, and instead of quarrel and riot was peace among the wild men and a growing content.  Insomuch that upon a certain balmy eve, Giles the Archer, lolling beside the fire looking upon Black Roger, who sat beside him furbishing his mail-shirt, spake his mind on this wise: 

“Mark ye these lamb-like wolves of ours, sweet Roger?  There hath been no blood-letting betwixt them these four days, and scarce a quarrel.”

ROGER.  “Aye, this comes of my lord.  My master hath a wondrous tongue, Giles.”

GILES.  “My brother-in-arms hath a wondrous strong fist, Rogerkin—­”

ROGER.  “Thy brother-in-arms, archer?  Thine, forsooth!  Ha!”

GILES.  “Snort not, my gentle Roger, for I fell in company with him ere he knew aught of thee—­so thy snort availeth nothing, my Rogerkin.  Howbeit, our snarling wolves do live like tender lambs these days, the which doth but go to prove how blessed a thing is a fist—­a fist, mark you, strong to strike, big to buffet, and swift to smite:  a capable fist, Roger, to strike, buffet and smite a man to the good of his soul.”

ROGER.  “In sooth my master is a noble knight, ne’er shall we see his equal.  And yet, Giles, methinks he doth mope and grieve these days.  He groweth pale-cheeked and careworn, harsh of speech and swift to anger.  Behold him now!” and Roger pointed to where Beltane sat apart (as was become his wont of late) his axe betwixt his knees, square chin propped upon clenched fist, scowling into the fire that burned before his sleeping-cave.

“Whence cometh the so great change in him, think you, Giles?”

“For that, while I am I and he is himself, thou art but what thou art, my Rogerkin—­well enough after thy fashion, mayhap, but after all thou art only thyself.”

“Ha!” growled Roger, “and what of thee, archer?”

“I am his brother-in-arms, Rogerkin, and so know him therefore as a wondrous lord, a noble knight, a goodly youth and a sweet lad.  Some day, when I grow too old to bear arms, I will to pen and ink-horn and will make of him a ballade that shall, mayhap, outlive our time.  A notable ballade, something on this wise:—­