“Sweet son,” she sighed, “methinks death is very near each one of us to-night—­but I have held thee to my heart, have felt thy kisses and heard thy loving words—­now if death come how shall it avail ’gainst such love as ours?  Sir Benedict telleth me thou hast chosen the post of danger—­’tis so I would have it, dear my son, and thy proud mother’s prayers go with thee—­God keep thee—­O God keep thee, my Beltane—­ah, there sounds again the clarion bidding me from thee!  Kiss now thy mother farewell, for alas!  I must be gone!”

So presently Beltane brought the Abbess where stood Sir Benedict with an easy-paced jennet for her use and his company formed up in column beyond the camp.  Then Beltane lifted the lady Abbess to the saddle and with her hand yet clasped in his, reached the other to Sir Benedict.

“My lord of Bourne,” said he, “dear my friend, to thy care I give this lady Abbess, Duchess of Pentavalon—­my well-beloved and noble mother.  O Benedict, no prouder son than I in all the world, methinks—­nor one so humble!  God send we meet again anon, but now—­fare ye well!” Saying the which, Beltane caught his mother’s hand to his lips, and turning him suddenly about, hasted to Roger and Walkyn and the chosen three hundred.  And in a while, the nuns and wounded in their midst, Sir Benedict’s steel-clad column moved forward up the slope.  First rode Sir Hacon and his knights in the van and last Sir Benedict with his grim men-at-arms to form a rear-ward, while archers and pikemen marched upon their flanks.  With ring of steel, with jingle of stirrup and bridle-chain they swung away up the slope and plunging into the gloom of the forest were gone; only Sir Benedict paused to turn in his saddle and lift unwounded arm in salutation ere he too vanished into the shadows of the wild-wood.  Awhile stood Beltane before the three hundred, his head bowed as one in meditation until the sound of voices, the ring and clash of their companions’ going was died away; then looked he at the cloudy sky already deepening to evening, and round about upon the encircling woods.

“The wind is from the south, methinks!” said he.

“Aye, master,” nodded Walkyn.

“South-westerly!” quoth Roger.

Now came Beltane and looked upon his company, tall, lusty fellows they, whose bold, sun-tanned faces proclaimed them free men of the forest-lands; and beholding their hardy look Beltane’s eye brightened.

“Comrades,” quoth he, “we be foresters all, and the wild-wood our home and playground.  But yonder from the west do march full five thousand of Duke Ivo’s knights and soldiery-men, they, of courts, of town and city, so now will we teach them ’tis an ill thing to adventure them ’gainst trained foresters within the green.  List now—­and mark me well, for, an our plan do fail, there shall few of us live to see to-morrow’s sun.”

Then Beltane spake them plain and to the point, insomuch that when all was said, these hardy foresters stood mute awhile, desperate fellows though they were; then laughed they fierce and loud, and flourished sword and bow-stave and so fell to clamourous talk.