“Messire,” panted the jester, wild of eye and with a trickle of blood upon his pallid face, “O sweet sir—­let them not slay me!”

Now while he spake, and being yet some way off, he tripped and fell, and, as he lay thus the foremost of his pursuers, a powerful, red-faced man, leapt towards him, whirling up his quarter-staff to smite; but, in that moment, Beltane leapt also and took the blow upon his staff and swung it aloft, yet stayed the blow, and, bestriding the prostrate jester, spake soft and gentle, on this wise: 

“Greeting to thee, forest fellow!  Thy red face liketh me well, let us talk together.”

But, hereupon, as the red-faced man fell back, staring in amaze, there came his two companions, albeit panting and short of breath.

“What, Roger,” cried one, “doth this fellow withstand thee?”

But Roger only growled, whiles Beltane smiled upon the three, gentle-eyed, but with heavy quarter-staff poised lightly in practised hand; quoth he: 

“How now, would ye harm the fool?  ’Tis a goodly fool forsooth, yet with legs scarce so nimble as his wit, and a tongue—­ha, a golden tongue to win all men to humour and good fellowship—­”

“Enough!” growled red-faced Roger, “Sir Pertolepe’s foresters we be, give us yon scurvy fool then, that we may hang him out of hand.”

“Nay,” answered Beltane, “first let us reason together, let us hark to the wisdom of Folly and grow wise—­”

“Ha, Roger!” cried one of the men, “tap me this tall rogue on his golden mazzard!”

“Or,” said Beltane, “the fool shall charm thy souls to kindliness with his pipe—­”

“Ho, Roger!” cried the second forester, “split me this tall talker’s yellow sconce, now!”

“Come,” growled Roger, threatening of mien, “yield us the fool, ’tis an arrant knave hath angered his lord!”

“What matter for that,” said Beltane, “so he hath not angered his God?  Come now, ye be hearty fellows and have faces that might be honest, tell me, how long will ye serve the devil?”

“Devil?  Ha, what talk be this?  We serve no devil!”

“Aye,” nodded Beltane, “though they call him Pertolepe the Red, hereabouts.”

“Devil!” cried Black Roger aghast.  And, falling back a step he gaped in amaze from Beltane to his gaping fellows.  “Devil, forsooth!” he gasped, “aha, I’ve seen many a man hang for less than this—­”

“True,” sighed Beltane, “men hang for small matters here in Pentavalon, and to hang is an evil death, methinks!”

“So, so!” nodded Black Roger, grim-smiling, “I’ve watched them kick a fair good while, betimes!”

“Ah!” cried Beltane, his eyes widening, “those hands of thine, belike, have hanged a man ere this?”

“Aye, many a score.  Oho! folk know Black Roger’s name hereabouts.  I carry ever a noose at my girdle here—­behold it!” and he showed a coil of rope that swung at his belt.

Now looking from the man’s grim features to this murderous cord, Beltane blenched and shivered, whereat Black Roger laughed aloud, and pointed a scornful finger.