“But, messire,” quoth Fidelis, faint-voiced, and fumbling awkwardly with the buckle, “indeed I—­I have no art in swimming.”

“Then will I teach thee.”

“Nay,” spake the young knight hastily, his trouble growing, “I do dread the water!”

“Well, there be shallows ’neath the alders yonder.”

“Aye, but the shallows will be muddy, and I—­”

“Muddy?” cried Beltane, pausing with his hauberk half on, half off, to stare at Sir Fidelis in amaze, “muddy, forsooth!  Art a dainty youth in faith, and over-nice, methinks.  What matter for a little honest mud, prithee?”

“Why ’tis mud!  And slimy under foot!  And I love not mud!  So will I none of the shallows!”

“Then verily must I chide thee, Fidelis, for—­”

“Then verily will I unto yon boskage, messire, to prepare us a fire ’gainst the ‘beasts that raven,’ and our bracken beds.  Howbeit, bathe me I—­will—­not, messire!”

“O luxurious youth, then will I, and shame thy nice luxuriousness!” quoth Beltane; and off came hauberk and quilted gambeson and away skipped Sir Fidelis into the green.

So, presently, Beltane plunged him into the stream, and swimming with powerful strokes, felt his youth and strength redoubled thereby, and rejoiced to be alive.  Thereafter he leapt ashore, his blood aglow with ardent life, and, as he clothed him, felt a great and mighty hunger.

But scarce had he donned chausses and gambeson than he heard an outcry and sudden clamour within the green; whereupon, staying not for his armour, he caught up his sword and, unsheathing it as he ran, plunged in among the trees and there espied Sir Fidelis stoutly withstanding three foul knaves unwashed and ragged.  Then shouted Beltane, and fell upon them right joyously and smote them gleefully and laughed to see them reel and scatter before his sudden onset; whereon, beholding Sir Fidelis pale and scant of breath, he stayed to clap him on the shoulder.

“Blithely done, good Fidelis!” quoth he.  “Rest thee awhile and catch thy wind, for fain am I to try a bout with yon tall rogues!” So saying, he advanced upon the scowling three, his eyes a-dance, his nimble feet light-poised for swift action—­for lusty rogues were these, who, seeing him alone, forthwith met him point and edge, besetting him with many swashing blows, that, whistling, did but cleave the empty air or rang loud upon his swift-opposing blade.  So hewed they, and smote amain until their brows shone moist and their breaths waxed short; whereat Beltane mocked them, saying: 

“Ha—­sweat ye, forsooth?  Do ye puff so soon?  This cometh of foul eating and fouler life.  Off—­off! ye beefy do-nothings!  An ye would be worthy fighters, eat less and bathe ye more!” Then Beltane laid on with the flat of his heavy sword and soundly belaboured these hard-breathing knaves, insomuch that one, hard-smitten on the crown, stumbled and fell, whereupon his comrades, to save their bones, leapt forthwith a-down the steepy bank and, plunging into the stream, made across to the farther side, splashing prodigiously, and cursing consumedly, for the water they liked not at all.