“Aye verily,” sighed Beltane, “I once did dream of such a love, but now am I awake, nor will I dream of love again, nor rest whiles Lust and Cruelty rule this sorrowful Duchy—­”

“Ha, what would ye then, fond youth?”

“I am come to smite them hence,” said Beltane, clenching mighty fists.

“How?” cried the jester, wide of eye.  “Alone?”

“Nay, methinks God goeth with me.  Moreover, I have this sword!” and speaking, Beltane touched the hilt of the great blade at his side.

“What—­a sword!” scoffed the jester, “think ye to mend the woes of thy fellows with a sword?  Go to, thou grave-visaged, youthful fool!  I tell thee, ’tis only humour and good fellowship can mend this wretched world, and there is nought so lacking in humour as a sword—­unless it be your prating priest or mumbling monk.  A pope in cap and bells, now—­ aha, there would be a world indeed, a world of joy and laughter!  No more gloom, no more bans and damnings of Holy Church, no more groaning and snivelling in damp cloister and mildewed chapel, no more burnings and hangings and rackings—­”

“Yet,” said Beltane, shaking his head, “yet would kings and dukes remain, Christian knights and godly lords to burn and hang and rack the defenceless.”

“Aye, Sir Gravity,” nodded the jester, “but the Church is paramount ever; set the pope a-blowing of tunes upon a reed and kings would lay by their sceptres and pipe too and, finding no time or lust for warring, so strife would end, swords rust and wit grow keen.  And wit, look you, biteth sharper than sword, laughter is more enduring than blows, and he who smiteth, smiteth only for lack of wit.  So, an you would have a happy world, lay by that great sword and betake thee to a little pipe, teach men to laugh and so forget their woes.  Learn wisdom of a fool, as thus:  ’Tis better to live and laugh and beget thy kind than to perish by the sword or to dangle from a tree.  Here now is advice, and in this advice thy life, thus in giving thee advice so do I give thee thy life.  And I am hungry.  And in thy purse is money wherewith even a fool might come by food.  And youth is generous!  And thou art very young!  Come, sweet youthful messire, how much for thy life—­and a fool’s advice?”

Then Beltane smiled, and taking out one of his three remaining gold pieces, put it in the jester’s hand.

“Fare thee well, good fool,” said he, “I leave thee to thy dreams; God send they be ever fair—­”

“Gold!” cried the jester, spinning the coin upon his thumb, “ha, now do I dream indeed; may thy waking be ever as joyous.  Farewell to thee, thou kind, sweet, youthful fool, and if thou must hang some day on a tree, may every leaf voice small prayers for thy gentle soul!”

So saying, the jester nodded, waved aloft his bauble, and skipped away among the trees.  But as Beltane went, pondering the jester’s saying, the drowsy stillness was shivered by a sudden, loud cry, followed thereafter by a clamour of fierce shouting; therefore Beltane paused and turning, beheld the jester himself who ran very fleetly, yet with three lusty fellows in close pursuit.