“Since all men breathing ’neath the sky
   Good or evil, soon must die,
   Ho! bring me wine, and what care I
   For dying!”

It was Giles Brabblecombe singing to himself as he knelt beside a fire of twigs, and Beltane, opening sleepy eyes, looked round upon a world all green and gold and dew-bespangled; a fair world and fragrant, whose balmy air breathed of hidden flowers and blooming thickets, whence came the joyous carolling of new-waked birds; and beholding all this and the glory of it, my Beltane must needs praise God he was alive.

“Hail and good morrow to thee, brother!” cried the bowman, seeing him astir.  “The sun shineth, look you, I sit upon my hams and sing for that this roasting venison smelleth sweet, while yonder i’ the leaves be a mavis and a merle a-mocking of me, pretty rogues:  for each and ever of which, Laus Deo, Amen!”

“Why truly, God hath made a fair world, Giles, a good world to live in, and to live is to act—­yet here have I lain most basely sleeping—­”

“Like any paunched friar, brother.  But a few days since, I met thee in the green, a very gentle, dove-like youth that yet became a very lion of fight and demi-god of battle!  Heroes were we all, last night—­nay, very Titans—­four ’gainst an army!—­whiles now, within this balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o’ the Bloody Axe with grim Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of wanton warblers i’ the green:  and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector, an Ajax—­a very Mars—­do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed friar—­Heigho!  Yet even a demi-god must nod betimes, and Titans eat, look ye.”

Now looking from sun to earth and beholding the shortening of the shadows, Beltane leapt up.  Quoth he: 

“Sluggard that I am, ’tis late!  And Roger was wounded last night, I mind—­”

“Content you, brother, ’twas nought,” said Giles bending above his cooking, “the kiss of a pike-head i’ the thick o’ the arm—­no more.”

“Yet it must be looked to—­”

“I did it, brother, as I shoot—­that is to say I did it most excellent well:  ’twill be healed within the week.”

“How then—­art leech as well as bowman?”

“Quite as well, brother.  When I was a monk I learned two good things, videlicit:  never to argue with those in authority over me, and to heal the hurts of those that did.  So, by my skill in herbs and leechcraft, Roger, having a hole in his arm, recks not of it—­behold here he cometh, and Walkyn too, and Laus Deo! with a trout!  Now shall we feast like any pampered prelate.”

So when Beltane had stripped and bathed him in the brook, they presently sat down, all four together, and ate and talked and laughed right merrily, the while lark and thrush and blackbird carolled lustily far and near.