“Fidelis!” he called, “Fidelis!” Yet came there no one, and Beltane wondered vaguely why his voice should sound so thin and far away.  So, troubling not to move, he called again: 

“Fidelis—­art sleeping, my Fidelis?”

Now of a sudden, one stirred amid the shadows beyond the fire, mail gleamed, and Black Roger bent over him.

“Master!” he cried joyfully, his eyes very bright, “O, master, art awake at last?—­dost know Roger—­thy man,—­dost know thy Roger, lord?”

“Aye, forsooth, I know thee, Roger,” says Beltane, yet aggrieved and querulous, “but I called not thee.  Send me Fidelis—­where tarries Fidelis?”

“Master, I know not.  He came to me within the Hollow six nights agone and gave to me his horse and bid me seek thee here.  Thereafter went he afoot by the forest road, and I rode hither and found thee, according to his word.”

Then would Beltane have risen, but could not, and stared at Black Roger’s pitiful face with eyes of wonder.

“Why, Roger!” quoth he, “Why, Roger—?”

“Thou hast been very nigh to death, master.  A mad-man I found thee, in sooth—­foaming, master, and crying in direful voice of spells and magic.  Bewitched wert thou, master, in very sooth—­and strove and fought with me, and wept as no man should weep, and all by reason of a vile enchantment which the sweet saints forfend.  So here hast thou lain on the borders of death and here have I ministered to thee as Sir Fidelis did teach me; and, but for these medicaments, I had wept upon thy grave, for wert direly sick, lord, and—­”

“Nay, here is no matter—­tell me, tell me, where is Fidelis?”

“Dear master I know not, forsooth!”

“Went he by the forest road?”

“Aye, master, the forest road.”

“Afoot?”

“Afoot, lord.”

“Said he aught to thee of—­of me, Roger?”

“Aye, ’twas all of thee and thy wound, and how to ease thy pain I must do this, forsooth, and that, forsooth, and to break the fever must mix and give thee certain cordials, the which I have done.”

“Said he aught beside—­aught else, Roger?”

“Aye, master, he bid me pray for thee, the which I have also done, though I had rather fight for thee; nathless the sweet saints have answered even my poor prayers, for behold, thou art alive and shall be well anon.”

Now after this.  Beltane lay with eyes fast shut and spake not; thus he lay so long, that Roger, thinking he slept again, would have moved away, but Beltane’s feeble hand stayed him, and he spake, yet with eyes still closed.

“By the forest road, Roger!”

“Aye, master.”

“Alone, Roger!”

“Aye, lord, alone.”

“And—­afoot, Roger!”

“Aye, lord, he bade me take his horse that I might come to thee the sooner.”

“And—­bid thee—­pray for me—­for me, Roger!”

“Verily, master.  And pray I did, right lustily.”