“Sit ye down, Walkyn, here with me beside the fire.”  Forthwith Walkyn obeyed and stretching himself on the grass fell to toying with the haft of his axe and scowling at the fire again.

“This was, methinks, thy father’s tower and demesne of Brand, Walkyn?”

“Aye, lord, here was I born—­yon ruined walls did hear my father’s groans—­the screams of my mother and sister amid the flame.  And Red Pertolepe was there, and Gui of Allerdale and Roger and young Gilles of Brandonmere—­all were there with six other noble knights; but these six we slew long since, my brother and I. All these were here that day—­and Sir Pertolepe—­laughed—­full loud, ’twas told me.  So ’twere just he should have died here to-day, methinks?  ’Twas for this I lured him hither—­and he liveth yet!”

“But God is a just God, Walkyn!  Now therefore leave him to God henceforth—!”

“To God!” cried Walkyn, his eyes wild, his hands tight-clenched, “to God!—­ha! master, ye left him to God on a time and because of thee, I—­ I that had my dagger at his rogue’s throat—­I, yearning to slay him, did but mark him i’ the brow—­aye, forsooth, we left him to God and lo! to-day he burneth, he slayeth and hangeth as was ever his wont—­”

“God’s time is not ours, Walkyn, but for the evil wrought by Sir Pertolepe, Sir Pertolepe needs must answer when God so wills.  So leave him to the vengeance of God—­lest the fire of thy vengeance consume thee quite.  Thou art strong, and few may cope with thee in fight, yet hath vengeance fettered and made thee bond-slave.  Forego thy vengeance then, and be free, good comrade.”

“Nay master, an I so do, what is left me?”

“The love of thy fellows, Walkyn.  Thou art, forsooth, a man, so do I love thee, and perchance within a new Pentavalon thou may’st come to new fortune and honour.  Thou shalt hold again thy father’s lands—­”

“To what end, lord?  As ye do know, my wife and child do lie in nameless grave, done to cruel death by dogs of Pertolepe:  my brother rotted in a noose—­set there by Pertolepe.  So am I a lonely man henceforth; one thing only seek I of life, master.”

“And that, Walkyn?”

“The head of Bloody Pertolepe!” So saying, Walkyn rose, and stood scowling down at the fire again, whose glow shone ominous and red upon the broad blade of the mighty axe that lay on the grass at his feet.

Now of a sudden forth from the shadows, swift and silent on his long legs came crooked Ulf, and stooping, would have lifted the weapon, but in that moment Walkyn snarled, and set his foot upon it.

“Off!” he growled, “touch not mine axe, thou vile mannikin—­lest I tread on thee!”

But scarce were the words spoken, than, with great back low-crouched, Ulf sprang, and whirling mighty Walkyn aloft, mailed feet on high, held him writhing above the fire:  then, swinging about, hurled him, rolling over and over, upon the ling; so lay Walkyn awhile propped on an elbow, staring on Ulf with wide eyes and mouth agape what time, strung for sudden action, Beltane sat cross-legged upon the green, looking from one to the other.