Quoth he: 

“O Fidelis, now do I see that I must needs love thee some day.  Fidelis, art a fool, but a right sweet fool, so do I humbly sue thy foolish pardon, and, as to Helen, may she prove worthy thy sweet faith and I thy love and friendship.  So, fair knight, put up thy sword—­come, mount and let us on.  Sir Mars, methinks, doth snuff water afar, and I do yearn me for the cool of it.”

So in a while they rode on again, yet presently Sir Fidelis, meek-voiced, preferred a sudden question, thus: 

“Lord, fain would I know why thou dost contemn her so—­”

“Nay,” sighed Beltane, “here is a tale un-meet thy tender years.  Speak we of other things—­as thus, wherefore didst keep our lives in jeopardy to bring away the wallet that cumbereth thy hip?”

“For that within doth lie, first—­our supper—­”

“O foolish youth, these woods do teem with food!”

“A neat’s tongue, delicately seasoned—­”

“O!” said Beltane.

“’Twixt manchets of fair white bread—­”

“Ah!” said Beltane.

“With a small skin of rare wine—­”

“Enough!” quoth Beltane.  “These be things forsooth worth a little risk.  Now do I thirst and famish, yet knew it not.”

“An thou wilt eat, my lord?”

“Nay, first will we find some freshet where we may bathe awhile.  Ha, to plunge naked within some sweet pool—­’tis a sweet thought, Fidelis?”

But hereupon the young knight made answer none and fell into a reverie and Beltane also, what time they rode by murmuring rills, through swampy hollows, past brake and briar, until, as evening began to fall, they came unto a broad, slow-moving stream whose waters, aglow with sunset glory, split asunder the greeny gloom of trees, most pleasant to behold.  Then, sighing for very gladness, Beltane checked his horse and spake right gleefully: 

“Light down, light down, good Fidelis; ne’er saw I fairer haven for wearied travellers!  We have ridden hard and far, so here will we tarry the night!” and down to earth he sprang, to stride up and down and stretch his cramped limbs, the while Sir Fidelis, loosing off the great, high-peaked saddle, led the foam-flecked war-horse down to the water.

Now because of the heat, Beltane laid by his bascinet, and, hearkening to the soft, cool ripple of the water, he straightway unbuckled his sword-belt and began to doff his heavy hauberk; perceiving the which, cometh Sir Fidelis to him something hastily.

“What do you, messire?” he questioned.

“Do, Fidelis?  Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water—­list how it murmureth ’neath the bank yonder.  Come then, strip as I do, youth, strip and let us swim together—­pray you aid me with this lacing.”

“My lord, I—­indeed, I do think it unsafe—­”

“Unsafe, boy?”

“An our foes should come upon us—­”

“O content you,” quoth Beltane, stooping to loose off his spurs, “our foes were lost hours since, nor shall any find us here in the wild, methinks—­pray you, loose me this buckle.  Come, list how the waters do woo us with their pretty babble.”