Thus in a while, Sir Robert of Hurstmanswyke, dazed and bewildered, and his four esquires, together with his thirty men-at-arms, stripped of armour and weapons, were led away and lodged secure beneath the keep.

Now it chanced that as Beltane stood apart with head a-droop as one in thought, there came to him Sir Fidelis and touched him with gentle hand.

“My lord Beltane,” said he softly, “of what think you?”

“Of Pentavalon, and how soonest her sorrows may be done away.”

“Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire?”

“Aye, truly, Fidelis.”

“Then wherefore let her suffer longer?”

“Suffer?  Aye, there it is—­but how may I bring her woes to sudden end?  I am too weak, her oppressors many, and my men but few—­”

“Few?” quoth Sir Fidelis, speaking with head low-stooped.  “Few, messire?  Not so.  Ten thousand lances might follow thee to-morrow an thou but spake the word—­”

“Nay,” sighed Beltane, “mock me not, good Fidelis, thou dost know me a lonely man and friendless—­to whom should I speak?”

“To one that loveth thee now as ever, to one that yearneth for thee with heart nigh to breaking—­to Helen—­”

“Ah!” quoth Beltane, slow and bitter, “speak word to Helen the Beautiful—­the Wilful—­the Wanton?  No, a thousand times!  Rather would I perish, I and all my hopes, than seek aid of such as she—­”

“Lovest thou Pentavalon indeed, messire?  Nay, methinks better far thou dost love thy cold and cruel pride—­so must Pentavalon endure her grievous wrongs, and so do I pity her, but—­most of all—­I pity thee, messire!”

Now would Beltane have answered but found no word, and therefore fell to black and bitter anger, and, turning on his heel, incontinent strode away into the council-hall where a banquet had been spread.  Frowning, he ate and drank in haste, scarce heeding the words addressed to him, wherefore others grew silent also; and thereafter, his hunger assuaged, strode he out into the square and summoned his company.

“Men of Pentavalon,” spake he loud and quick, “howso poor and humble ye be, henceforth ye shall go, each and every, equipped in knightly mail from foot to head, your man’s flesh as secure as flesh of any potent lord or noble of them all.  Henceforth each man of us must fight as valiantly as ten.  Now, if any there be who know the manage of horse and lance, let him step forth.”  Hereupon divers stepped out of the ranks, and Beltane counted of these fifty and two.

“Master Reeve,” spake Beltane, “give now for guerdon instead of gold, horses and equipment for these my comrades, stout lances and mail complete with goodly bascinets.”

“It shall be done, my lord.”

“Roger, in thy command I set these fifty lances.  See now to their arming, let them be mounted and ready with speed, for in this hour we ride.”

“Aye, master,” cried Roger, his eyes a-dance, “that will I, moreover—­”