“Aye,” sighed Beltane, “said I not thine eyes were good, Lord Seneschal?  Now, use thine ears—­hearken!  ’Twas I and five others, men from beyond the marches, fired this night Black Ivo’s gibbet, moreover, to-night also have we broke the dungeon that lieth beneath this thy keep, and set thy prisoners free—­I and these five, all men from the north, mark me this well!  This have we done for a sign and portent—­ha! look!” and Beltane pointed of a sudden to where the great gallows, outlined against the night in seething flame, swayed to and fro, crumbled, and crashed to earth ’mid whirling sparks and flame, while, from the town below rose a murmur that swelled and swelled to a shout, and so was gone.

“Behold, lord Seneschal, Black Ivo’s gallows to-night hath ceased to be:  here is a sign, let those heed it that will.  But for thee—­this!  To-night have I burned this gallows, to-night have I freed thy prisoners.  Upon me therefore, and only me, be the penalty; for—­mark me this, Seneschal!—­spill but one drop of blood of these innocents of Belsaye, and, as God seeth me, so will I hunt thee down, and take thee and tear out thine eyes, and cut off thine hands, and drive thee forth to starve!  And this do I swear by the honour of my father, Beltane the Strong, Duke of Pentavalon!”

But now, even as Sir Gui shrank back before the death in Beltane’s look, amazed beyond all thought by his words, came a sudden shout, and thereafter a clash and ring of steel upon the stair without.  And now, above the sudden din, hoarse and loud a battle-cry arose, at the sound of which Sir Gui’s jaws hung agape, and he stood as one that doubts his ears; for ’twas a cry he had heard aforetime, long ago.

“Arise!  Arise!  I will arise!”

Then Beltane cast up the bar, and, plucking wide the door, beheld the broad, mail-clad back of one who held the narrow stair where flashed pike and gisarm.

“Roger!” he called, “Black Roger!”

“Aye, lord, ’tis I,” cried Roger, parrying a pike-thrust, “make sure of thy work, master, I can hold these in check yet a while.”

“My work is done, Roger.  To me—­to me, I say!”

So Roger, leaping back from the stair-head, turned about and ran to Beltane, stumbling and spattering blood as he came, whereupon Beltane clapped-to the door and barred it in the face of the pursuit.  A while leaned Roger, panting, against the wall, then, beholding Sir Gui: 

“How!” he cried, “lives the pale fox yet?  Methought thy work was done, master!” So saying, he swung aloft his bloody sword, but, even as the Seneschal waited the blow, smiling of lip, Beltane caught Black Roger’s wrist.

“Stay!” cried he, above the thunder of blows that shook the door, “would’st slay a man unarmed?”

“Aye, master, as he hath slain many a man ere now!” quoth Roger, striving to free his arm.  “The door is giving, and there be many without:  and, since to-night we must die, so let us slay the white fox first.”