“Ah—­and what of the village folk?”

“My lord, they were but serfs for the most part, but—­for Sir Pertolepe’s dogs—­twenty and two—­and roasted alive, poor beasts!”

But here Black Roger checked both speech and stride, all at once, and stood with quarter-staff poised as from the depth of the wood came the sound of voices and fierce laughter.

“Come away, master,” he whispered, “these should be Sir Pertolepe’s men, methinks.”

But Beltane shook his head: 

“I’m fain to see why they laugh,” said he, and speaking, stole forward soft-footed amid the shadows; and so presently parting the leaves, looked down into an open dell or dingle full of the light of the rising moon; light that glinted upon the steel caps and hauberks of some score men, who leaned upon pike or gisarm about one who sat upon a fallen tree—­and Beltane saw that this was Giles the Bowman.  But the arms of Giles were bound behind his back, about his neck hung a noose, and his face showed white and pallid ’neath the moon, as, lifting up his head, he began to sing: 

  “O ne’er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
   Nor my love for my good long bow;
   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
   Is a—­”

The rich voice was strangled to a gasping sob as the rope was tightened suddenly about the singer’s brawny throat and he was swung, kicking, into the air amid the hoarse gibes and laughter of the men-at-arms.  But, grim and silent, Beltane leaped down among them, his long blade glittering in the moonlight, and before the mighty sweep of it they fell back, crowding upon each other and confused; then Beltane, turning, cut asunder the cord and Giles Brabblecombe fell and lay ’neath the shade of the tree, wheezing and whimpering in the grass.

And now with a clamour of cries and fierce rallying shouts, the men-at-arms, seeing Beltane stand alone, set themselves in array and began to close in upon him.  But Beltane, facing them in the tender moonlight, set the point of his sword to earth and reached out his mailed hand in salutation.

“Greeting, brothers!” said he, “why seek ye the death of this our brother?  Come now, suffer him to go his ways in peace, and God’s blessing on ye, one and all.”

Now at this some laughed and some growled, and one stood forth before his fellows staring upon Beltane ’neath close-drawn, grizzled brows: 

“’Tis a rogue, and shall dance for us upon a string!” laughed he.

“And this tall fellow with him!” said another.

“Aye, aye, let us hang ’em together,” cried others.

“Stay!” said Beltane, “behold here money; so now will I ransom this man’s life of ye.  Here be two pieces of gold, ’tis my all—­yet take them and yield me his life!”

Hereupon the men fell to muttering together doubtfully, but in this moment the grizzled man of a sudden raised a knotted fist and shook it in the air.