“Of a verity, sir knight:  for needs must I think of women and the ways of women!  To-night am I haunted of bitter memory.”

Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing, shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands.  Whereat spake Beltane in amaze: 

“How now, sir knight—­art sick in faith?  Dost ail of some wound—?”

“Not so—­ah, God! not so.  Those fetters—­upon thy wrists, messire—?”

“Alack, sir knight,” laughed Beltane, “and is it my looks afflict thee so?  ’Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle knights.  Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns.  As for me, these gyves upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that trusteth to woman and the ways of woman.  So will I wear them henceforth until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her.”

Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood upon the other side of the fire.  And looking upon him in a while.  Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin, showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little smooth-skinned and pale.

“Sir knight,” said Beltane, “free art thou to go hence, nor shall any stay or spoil thee.  Yet first, hear this:  thou art perchance some roving knight seeking adventure to the glory and honour of some fair lady.  O folly! choose you something more worthy—­a horse is a noble beast, and dogs, they say, are faithful.  But see you, a woman’s love is a pitiful thing at best, while dogs and horses be a-plenty.  Give not thine heart into a woman’s hand lest she tear it in her soft, white fingers:  set not thine honour beneath her shapely feet, lest she tread it into the shameful mire.  So fare thee well, sir knight.  God go with thee and keep thee ever from the love of woman!”

So saying Beltane rose, and lifting the bugle-horn he wore, sounded it; whereon came all and sundry, running and with weapons brandished—­but Roger first of all.

To all of whom Beltane spake thus: 

“Behold here this gentle knight our guest is for the nonce—­entreat him courteously therefore; give him all that he doth lack and thereafter set him upon his way—­”

But hereupon divers cast evil looks upon the knight, murmuring among themselves—­and loudest of all Walkyn.

“He knoweth the secret of our hiding-place!”

“’Tis said he knoweth the causeway through the fen!”

“He will betray us!”