“Lady, here is tale shall wring his noble heart, methinks, wherefore the telling shall wring mine also—­”

“Then speak not of it, Roger.  Be this Giles’s mission.”

“Aye, Rogerkin, leave it to me.  In faith, noble lady, I will with suggestion soft and subtle, with knowing look and wily wag of head, so work upon my lord that he shall hither hot-foot haste—­”

“At moonrise,” said the Duchess softly, “this evening at moonrise!”

“Verily, lady, at moonrise!  And a blue camlet cloak, say you?”

“Come, Giles, and I will give it thee.”

Meanwhile, Beltane, hurt and angry, betook him to the walls where bow and perrier had already begun their deadly morning’s work; and coming to a quiet corner of the battlement, he leaned him there to watch where the besiegers, under cover of the cat that hourly crept more nigh, worked amain to dam the moat.

Now as he leaned thus, a hand slipped within his arm, and turning, he beheld Sir Benedict.

“A right fair morning, my Beltane,” quoth he.

“Aye, truly, Benedict,” sighed Beltane, “though there be clouds to the west.  And the causeway across the moat groweth apace; I have watched yon cat creep a full yard—­”

“Aye, verily, by mid-day, Beltane, ’twill reach our wall, then will they advance their ram to the battery, methinks.”

“And what then, Benedict?”

“Then shall we destroy their ram forthwith with devil-fire, dear lad!”

“Aye, and how then, Benedict?”

“Then, belike will they plant ladders on the causeway and attempt the wall by storm, so shall we come to handstrokes at last and beset them with pitch and boiling oil and hew their ladders in sunder.”

“And after, Benedict?”

“Hey-day, Beltane, here be a many questions—­”

“Aye, Benedict, ’tis that I do look into the future.  And what future can there be?  Though we maintain our walls a year, or two, or three, yet in the end Belsaye must fall.”

“And I tell thee, Beltane, were Ivo twice as strong Belsaye should yet withstand him.  So gloom not, lad, Belsaye is safe, the sun shineth and behold my arm—­’tis well-nigh healed, thanks to—­to skilful nursing—­”

“Of the Duchess Helen, Benedict?”

“Ha—­so hast found it out—­at last, lad—­”

“Knew you she was here?”

“Aye, verily.”

“And told me not?”

“For that she did so command, Beltane.”

“And wherefore came she hither?”

“For thy dear sake in the first place, and—­”

“Nay, mock me not, friend, for I do know myself of none account.”

“And in the second place, Beltane, to save this fair city of Belsaye.”

“Nay, how mean you?”