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.
"Now by sweet Cupid his tender bow!" panted Sir Jocelyn—"by the cestus of lovely Venus—aye, by the ox-eyed Juno, I swear 'twas featly done, Sir Smith!"
Quoth Beltane, taking up the fallen sword:
"'Tis a trick I learned of that great and glorious knight, Sir Benedict of Bourne."
"Messire," said Sir Jocelyn, his cheek flushing, "an earl am I of thirty and two quarterings and divers goodly manors: yet thou art the better man, meseemeth, and as such do I salute thee, and swear myself thy brother-in-arms henceforth—an ye will."
Now hereupon Beltane turned, and looking upon the mighty three with kindling eye, beckoned them near.
"Lord Jocelyn," said he, "behold here my trusty comrades, valiant men all:—this, my faithful Roger, surnamed the Black: This, Giles Brabblecombe, who shooteth as ne'er did archer yet: and here, Walkyn— who hath known overmuch of sorrow and bitter wrong. Fain would we take thee for our comrade, Lord Jocelyn, for God knoweth Pentavalon hath need of true men these days, yet first, know this—that I, and these my three good comrades do stand pledged to the cause of the weak and woefully oppressed within this sorrowful Duchy; to smite evil, nor stay till we be dead, or Black Ivo driven hence."
"Ivo?—Ivo?" stammered Sir Jocelyn, in blank amaze, "'tis madness!"
"Thus," said Beltane, "is our cause, perchance, a little desperate, and he who companies with us must company with Death betimes." "To defy Black Ivo—ha, here is madness so mad as pleaseth me right well! A rebellion, forsooth! How many do ye muster?"