Here, for a while, the hermit Ambrose stayed his tale, and Beltane saw his brow was moist and that his thin hands clenched and wrung each other.

“So thus, my son, came Duke Beltane home again, he and his esquire Sir Benedict of Bourne alone of all his company, each alike worn with hardship and spent with wounds.  But now was the Duke stricken of a greater pain and leaned him upon the shoulder of his esquire, faint and sick of soul, and knew an anguish deeper than any flesh may know.  Then, of a sudden, madness came upon him and, breaking from the mailed arms that held him, he came hot-foot to the courtyard and to the hall beyond, hurling aside all such as sought to stay him and so reached at last my lady’s bower, his mailed feet ringing upon the Atones.  And, looking up, the Duchess saw and cried aloud and stood, thereafter, pale and speechless and wide of eye, while Johan’s cheek grew red and in his look was shame.  Then the Duke put up his vizor and, when he spake, his voice was harsh and strange:  ‘Greeting, good brother!’ said he, ’go now, I pray you, get you horse and armour and wait me in the courtyard, yet first must I greet this my lady wife.’  So Johan turned, with hanging head, and went slow-footed from the chamber.  Then said the Duke, laughing in his madness, ’Behold, lady, the power of a woman’s beauty, for I loved a noble brother once, a spotless knight whose honour reached high as heaven, but thou hast made of him a something foul and base, traitor to me and to his own sweet name, and ’tis for this I will requite thee!’ But the Duchess spake not, nor blenched even when the dagger gleamed to strike—­O sweet God of mercy, to strike!  But, in that moment, came Benedict of Bourne and leapt betwixt and took the blow upon his cheek, and, stanching the blood within his tattered war-cloak, cried:  ’Lord Duke, because I love thee, ne’er shalt thou do this thing until thou first slay me!’ A while the Duke stood in amaze, then turned and strode away down the great stair, and coming to the courtyard, beheld his brother Johan armed at all points and mounted, and with another horse equipped near by.  So the Duke laughed and closed his vizor and his laughter boomed hollow within his rusty casque, and, leaping to the saddle, rode to the end of the great tilt-yard, and, wheeling, couched his lance.  So these brethren, who had loved each other so well, spurred upon each other with levelled lances but, or ever the shock came—­O my son, my son!—­Johan rose high in his stirrups and cried aloud the battle-cry of his house ’Arise!  Arise!  I shall arise!’ and with the cry, tossed aside his lance lest he might harm the Duke his brother—­O sweet clemency of Christ!—­and crashed to earth—­ and lay there—­very still and silent.  Then the Duke dismounted and, watched by pale-faced esquires and men-at-arms, came and knelt beside his brother, and laid aside his brother’s riven helm and, beholding his comely features torn and marred and his golden hair all hatefully bedabbled,