“Ha,” growled Roger, “the world waggeth well with thee, Giles, these days, but as for me—­poor Roger lacketh.  Saint Cuthbert knoweth I have striven and likewise plagued him sore upon the matter, and yet my belt—­my accursed belt yet beareth a notch—­behold!”

“Why, ’tis but a single notch, Roger.”

“Yet a notch it is, forsooth, and how shall my heart go light and my soul clean until I have a belt with notches not one?”

“Belike thou hast forgot some of the lives thou didst save, Roger—­mine thou didst save four times within the battle, I mind me—­”

“Nay, ’twas but twice, Giles.”

“Why, then ’twas thrice, Roger—­the banner hampered me and—­”

“’Twas but twice, alack!” sighed Roger, “Saint Cuthbert knoweth ’twas but twice and being a very watchful saint may not be cheated, Giles.”

“Why then, Roger, do ye beset him in prayer, so, while thou dost hold him in play thus, I will snick away thy solitary notch so sweetly he shall never know—­”

“Alack, ’twill not avail, Giles.  I must needs bear this notch with me unto the grave, belike.”

“Nay, Roger, I will to artifice and subtle stratagem on thy behalf as—­ mark me!  I do know a pool beside the way!  Now if I slip within the pool and thou should’st pull me from the pool—­how then?  Ha—­’tis well bethought, let’s do’t!”

“Were it any but Saint Cuthbert!” sighed Roger, “but I do thank thee for thy kindly thought, Giles.”

Now after this went they some way in silence, Beltane riding ahead very full of thought, and his companions behind, the one smiling and debonair, the other frowning and sad.

“Forsooth,” quoth Giles at last, “as thou sayest, Roger, the world waggeth well with me.  Hast heard, belike, our lady Duchess hath been pleased to—­”

“Aye, I’ve heard, my lord Bailiff—­who hath not?”

“Nay, I did but mention it to two or three,” quoth Giles.  “Moreover our lord doth smile on me these days, though forsooth he hath been familiar with me since first I found him within the green—­long ere he found thee, Rogerkin!  I rode a white ass, I mind me, and my lord walked beside me very fair and soft-spoken, whereupon I called him—­Sir Dove!  O me—­a dove, mark you!  Since when, as ye know, we have been comrades, he and I, nay, brothers-in-arms, rather!  Very close in his counsels!—­ very near to all his thoughts and actions.  All of the which cometh of possessing a tongue as ready as my wit, Rogerkin!”

Now as he hearkened, Roger’s frown grew blacker and his powerful hand clenched upon the bridle.

“And yet,” quoth Giles, “as I am in my lord’s dear friendship, so art thou in mine, Roger, man, nor in my vaulting fortunes will I e’er forget thee.  Belike within Mortain shalt aid me in my new duties, or shall I speak my lord on thy behalf?”

“Ha!” cried Roger suddenly, “first tell me this, my lord Steward and high Bailiff of Mortain, did the Duke my master chance ever to take thy hand, to wet it with his tears and—­kiss it?”