"Fool!" cried Beltane, and threw up his hand to stay the blow, and in that moment Sir Pertolepe oped his eyes.
"'Tis Pertolepe!" panted Walkyn, "'tis he that slew wife and child: so now will I slay him, since we, in this hour, must die!"
"Not so," quoth Beltane, "stand back—obey me—back, I say!" So, muttering, Walkyn lowered his axe, while Beltane, drawing his dagger, stooped above Sir Pertolepe and spake, swift and low in his ear, and with dagger at his throat. And, in a while, Beltane rose and Sir Pertolepe also, and side by side they stepped forth of the leaves out into the road, where, on the outskirts of the village, pikemen and men-at-arms, archer and knight, were halted in a surging throng, while above the jostling confusion rose the hoarse babel of their voices. But of a sudden the clamour died to silence, and thereafter from a hundred throats a shout went up:
"A Pertolepe! 'Tis Sir Pertolepe!"
Now in this moment Beltane laid his dagger-hand about Sir Pertolepe's broad shoulders, and set the point of his dagger 'neath Sir Pertolepe's right ear.
"Speak!" quoth Beltane softly, and his dagger-point bit deeper, "speak now as I commanded thee!"
A while Sir Pertolepe bit savagely at his knuckle-bones, then, lifting his head, spake that all might hear:
"Ho, sirs!" he cried, "I am fain to bide awhile and hold talk with one Beltane, who styleth himself—Duke of Pentavalon. Hie ye back, therefore, one and all, and wait me in Garthlaxton; yet, an I come not by sunset, ride forth and seek me within the forest. Go!"
Hereupon from the disordered ranks a sound arose, a hoarse murmur that voiced their stark amaze, and, for a while, all eyes stared upon those two grim figures that yet stood so close and brotherly. But Sir Pertolepe quelled them with a gesture:
"Go!" he commanded.