Through broad glades deep-hid within the wild; by shady alleyway and leafy track they held their march south and by east, a close, well-ordered company striding long and free and waking the solitudes to a blithe babblement of laughing echoes.  And who among them all so merry as Giles o’ the Bow at the head of his sturdy archers?  Oft trolling some merry stave or turning with some quip or jape upon his tongue, but with eyes quick to mark the rhythmic swing of broad, mail-clad shoulders, eyes critical, yet eyes of pride.  Who so grimly eager as mighty Walkyn, his heavy axe lightly a-swing, his long legs schooling themselves to his comrade’s slower time and pace?  Who so utterly content as Black Roger, oft glancing from Beltane’s figure in the van to the files of his pike-men, their slung shields agleam, their spears well sloped?  And who so gloomy and thoughtful as Beltane, unmindful of the youthful knight who went beside him, and scarce heeding his soft-spoke words until his gaze by chance lighted upon the young knight’s armour that gleamed in the sun ’neath rich surcoat; armour of the newest fashion of link, reinforced by plates of steel, gorget and breast, elbow and knee, and with cunningly jointed sollerets.  Moreover, his shield was small and light according with the new fashion, and bare the blazon of two hands, tight clasped, and the legend:  “Semper Fidelis.”

Now viewing all this with a smith’s knowledgful eye, quick to note the costly excellence of this equipment, Beltane forthwith brake silence: 

“How do men name thee, sir knight?”

Hereupon, after some delay, the young knight made answer: 

“Messire, the motto I bear upon my shield is a good motto methinks.  So shalt call me Fidelis an ye will, my lord.”

“So be it, Sir Faithful,” saying which Beltane fell to deep thought again.

“I pray you, my lord,” quoth Fidelis, “wherefore so sad, so full of gloom and thought?”

“I seek how we may win through the gates of Belsaye, Sir Fidelis, for they go strongly guarded night and day; yet this day, ere sunset, ope to us they must.  But how—­how?”

“My lord,” spake Sir Fidelis, “I have heard say that few may go where many oft-times may not.  Let first some two or three adventure it, hid ’neath some close disguise—­”

“A disguise!” cried Beltane, “Ha—­a disguise.  ’Tis well bethought, good Fidelis.  Forsooth, a disguise!  And ’twill be market day!” Thereafter Beltane strode on, head bent in frowning thought, nor spake again for a space.  And ever the files swung along behind in time to a marching song carolled blithe in the rich, sweet voice of Giles.  At length Beltane raised his head and beholding the sun well-risen, halted his company beside a stream that flowed athwart their way, and sitting thereby, summoned to him the four—­namely, Walkyn and Roger, Giles and Eric of the wry neck; and while they ate together, they held counsel on this wise: