“To sigh, and sing, and seek adventure.  ’Twas for this I left my goodly castle of Alain and journeyed, a lorn pilgrim, hither to Pentavalon, since when strange stories have I heard that whisper in the air, speeding from lip to lip, of a certain doughty knight-at-arms, valiant beyond thought, that beareth a sword whose mighty sweep none may abide, who, alone and unaided slew an hundred and twenty and four within the greenwood, and thereafter, did, ’neath the walls of Belsaye town burn down Duke Ivo’s gibbet, who hath sworn to cut Duke Ivo into gobbets, look you, and feed him to the dogs; which is well, for I love not Duke Ivo.  All this have I heard and much beside, idle tales mayhap, yet would I seek out this errant Mars and prove him, for mine own behoof, with stroke of sword.”

“And how an he prove worthy?” questioned Beltane.

“Then will I ride with him, to share his deeds and glory mayhap, Sir Smith—­I and all the ten-score lusty fellows that muster to my pennon, since in the air is whispered talk of war, and Sir Benedict lieth ready in Thrasfordham Keep.”

“Two hundred men,” quoth Beltane, his blue eyes agleam, “two hundred, say you?” and, speaking, he stepped forward, unsheathing his sword.

“How now,” quoth Sir Jocelyn, “what would ye, sweet smith?”

“I would have thee prove me for thy behoof, Sir Jocelyn; for I am he that with aid of five good men burned down the gibbet without Belsaye.”

“Thou!” cried Sir Jocelyn, “and thou art a smith!  And yet needs must I credit thee, for thine eyes be truthful eyes.  And did’st indeed slay so many in the green, forsooth?”

“Nay,” answered Beltane, “there were but twenty; moreover I—­”

“Enough!” cried Sir Jocelyn, gaily, “be thou smith or be thou demi-god, now will I make proof of thy might and valiance.”  And he drew sword.

So did these two youths face each other, smiling above their gleaming steel, and so the long blades rang together, and, thereafter, the air was full of a clashing din, in so much that Roger came running sword in hand, with Walkyn and Giles at his heels; but, seeing how matters stood, they sat them down on the sward, watching round-eyed and eager.

And now Sir Jocelyn (happy-eyed), his doleful heart forgot, did show himself a doughty knight, skipping lightly to and fro despite his heavy armour, and laying on right lustily while the three a-sprawl upon the grass shouted gleefully at each shrewd stroke or skilful parry; but, once Sir Jocelyn’s blade clashed upon Beltane’s mailed thigh, and straightway they fell silent; and once his point touched the links on Beltane’s wide breast, and straightway their brows grew anxious and gloomy—­yet none so gloomy as Roger.  But now, on a sudden, was the flash and ring of hard smitten steel, and behold, Sir Jocelyn’s sword sprang from his grasp and thudded to earth a good three yards away; whereupon the three roared amain—­yet none so loud as Roger.