But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about and set the very leaves a-quiver.  Once it came, and twice, and so—­was gone.  Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff, and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and dragging him from the ass all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush whence the cry had come.  And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon whose threshold a child lay—­not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed hauberks glittered in the sun.  Close and ever closer they beset the hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close.  Beside the man a woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry, leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled ’neath a pike-thrust.  Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and wild.  So for a space, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane, laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they writhing upon the sward.  Then Beltane turned to see Giles o’ the Bow, who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.

“Look!” he cried, pointing with quivering finger, “one dead and one sore hurt—­Saint Giles save us, what have ye done?  These be Sir Pertolepe’s foresters—­behold his badge!”

But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.

“How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then?  I was too meek and gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou’rt afraid—­get you gone!”

“Art surely mad!” quoth Giles.  “The saints be my witness here was no act of mine!” So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through the green.  Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman.  Said he: 

“Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?”

“Wife and child—­and dead!” the man muttered, “child and wife—­and dead!  A week ago, my brother—­and now, the child, and then the wife!  Child and wife and brother—­and dead!” Then Beltane came, minded to aid him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at heart, turned him away.  And, in a while, being come to the road once more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his brow grew dark and troubled.

“’Tis thus have I made beginning,” he sighed, “so now, God aiding me, ne’er will I rest ’till peace be come again and tyranny made an end of!”