“But,” says Beltane, shaking his head, “within thy pouch, methinks, a blind man’s money.”

“How—­a blind man?” gasped the Bailiff, “a blind man’s monies, say’st thou?  Nay messire, in very truth.”

“Search him, Roger.”

Hereupon Roger, having straightway choked him to silence with the one hand full soon had found the money with the other, and thereafter, he loosed the Bailiff that he might get his breath again; the which he no sooner had done than he fell to prayers and humble entreaties: 

“Sir knight—­right noble sir, sure thou wilt not take thus from a woeful wight all that he hath.”

“Nay,” answered Beltane, “I take only from my lord Duke’s Steward and Bailiff of the Marches.  And now,” said he, turning upon the small, round man, “thou hast marked me well, how say you, Pardoner?”

“First, most truly potent, wise, yet very youthful, noble sir, that for all the world and all the glory thereof I would not anger thee.”

“Hast good eyes, Pardoner, and art quick to heed.”

“Nay, dull am I, sweet lord, aye, dull forsooth and slow beyond belief.”

“Would’st know me again? could’st bear my likeness in thy memory?”

“Never, lord.  Never, O never!  I swear it by the toe of the blessed Didymus, by the arm of Saint Amphibalus thrice blessed, by—­”

“Why then, Pardoner, behold here my belt of silver, my good, long-bladed sword.  And here—­behold my yellow hair!” and off came bascinet, and back fell mail-coif, whereat the Bailiff started and caught his breath and stared on Beltane in sudden awe.

“Dost mark me well, Pardoner?”

“Aye, noble sir, verily and in truth do I. So, next time I think on thee thou wilt be a squat man, middle-aged and black-haired.  For, my lord, a poor Pardoner I, but nought beside.”

Then Beltane did on coif and bascinet and rose to his feet, whereat the Bailiff cried out in sudden fear and knelt with hands upraised: 

“Slay me not, my lord!  O messire Beltane, spare my life nor think I will betray thee, outlaw though thou art!”

“Fear not, sir Bailiff,” answered Beltane, “thy life is safe from me.  But, when thou dost name me to thy lord, Duke Ivo, tell him that I spake thee this:  That, whiles I do lie within the green he shall not sleep o’ nights but I will be at work with fire and steel, nor rest nor stay until he and the evil of him be purged from this my father’s duchy of Pentavalon—­say I bid him remember this upon his pillow.  Tell him that whiles I do hold the woods my powers grow daily, and so will I storm and burn his castles, one by one, as I did burn Garthlaxton.  Say I bid him to think upon these things what time he wooeth slumber in the night.  As to thee, thou wily Pardoner, when thou shalt come to betray this our meeting, say that I told thee, that as Belsaye rose, and Winisfarne, so shall town and village rise until Ivo and his like are driven hence, or Beltane slain and made an end of.  And so—­fare ye well!  Come, Roger!” Then Beltane strode away with grim Roger at his heels what time the Bailiff and the Pardoner stared in dumb amaze.