Ever as they clomb, the path grew more difficult, until at last they were come to a parapet or outwork with mantelets of osiers beyond, cunningly wrought, above which a pike-head glimmered and from beyond which a voice challenged them; but at a word from Eric the sentinel stood aside and behold, a narrow opening in the parapet through which they passed and so up another path defended by yet another parapet of osiers. Now of a sudden, having climbed the ascent, Beltane paused and stood leaning upon his axe, for, from where he now stood, he looked down into a great hollow, green and rock-begirt, whose steep sides were shaded by trees and dense-growing bushes. In the midst of this hollow a fire burned whose blaze showed many wild figures that sprawled round about in garments of leather and garments of skins; its ruddy light showed faces fierce and hairy; it glinted on rusty mail and flashed back from many a dinted head-piece and broad spear-head; and upon the air was the sound of noisy talk and boisterous laughter. Through the midst of this great green hollow a stream wound that broadened out in one place into a still and sleepy pool upon whose placid surface stars seemed to float, a deep pool whereby was a tall tree. Now beneath this tree, far removed from the fire, sat a great swarthy fellow, chin on fist, scowling down at that which lay at his feet, and of a sudden he spurned this still and silent shape with savage foot.
"Oswin!" he cried, "Walcher! Throw me this useless carrion into the pool!" Hereupon came two sturdy rogues who, lifting the dead betwixt them, bore her to the edge of the silent pool. Once they swung and twice, and lo, the floating stars shivered to a sullen splash, and subsiding, rippled softly to the reedy banks.
Slowly the swarthy giant rose and stood upon his legs, and Beltane knew him for the tallest man he had ever seen.
"Oswin," quoth he, and beckoned with his finger, "Oswin, did I not bid thee keep watch upon yon dainty light o' love?" Now meeting the speaker's baleful eye, the man Oswin sprang back, striving to draw sword, but even so an iron hand was about his throat, he was lifted by a mighty arm that held him a while choking and kicking above the silent pool until he had gasped and kicked his life out 'midst shouts and gibes and hoarse laughter; thereafter again the sullen waters quivered, were still, and Tostig stood, empty-handed, frowning down at those floating stars.
Then Beltane leapt down into the hollow and strode swift-footed, nor stayed until he stood face to face with Tostig beside the sullen pool. But swift as he had come, Roger had followed, and now stood to his back, hand on sword.
"Aha!" quoth Tostig in staring amaze, and stood a while eying Beltane with hungry gaze. "By Thor!" said he, "but 'tis a good armour and should fit me well. Off with it—off, I am Tostig!" So saying, he drew a slow pace nearer, his teeth agleam, his great hands opening and shutting, whereat out leapt Roger's blade; but now the outlaws came running to throng about them, shouting and jostling one another, and brandishing their weapons yet striking no blow, waiting gleefully for what might befall; and ever Beltane looked upon Tostig, and Tostig, assured and confident, smiled grimly upon Beltane until the ragged throng about them, watching eager-eyed, grew hushed and still. Then Beltane spake:
"Put up thy sword, Roger," said he, "in very truth this Tostig is a foul thing and should not die by thy good steel—so put up thy sword, Roger."
And now, no man spake or moved, but all stood rigid and scarce breathing, waiting for the end. For Tostig, smiling no more, stood agape as one that doubts his senses, then laughed he loud and long, and turned as if to reach his sword that leaned against the tree and, in that instant, sprang straight for Beltane's throat, his griping hands outstretched; but swift as he, Beltane, letting fall his axe, slipped aside and smote with mailed fist, and as Tostig reeled from the blow, closed with and caught him in a deadly wrestling hold, for all men might see Beltane had locked one arm 'neath Tostig's bearded chin and that Tostig's shaggy head was bending slowly backwards. Then the outlaws surged closer, a dark, menacing ring where steel flickered; but lo! to Roger's right hand sprang Walkyn, gripping his axe, and upon his left came Giles, his long-bow poised, a shaft upon the string; so stood the three alert and watchful, eager for fight, what time the struggle waxed ever more fierce and deadly. To and fro the wrestlers swayed, locked in vicious grapple, grimly silent save for the dull trampling of their feet upon the moss and the gasp and hiss of panting breaths; writhing and twisting, stumbling and slipping, or suddenly still with feet that gripped the sod, with bulging muscles, swelled and rigid, that cracked beneath the strain, while eye glared death to eye. But Beltane's iron fingers were fast locked, and little by little, slow but sure, Tostig's swart head was tilting up and back, further and further, until his forked beard pointed upwards—until, of a sudden, there brake from his writhen lips a cry, loud and shrill that sank to groan and ended in a sound—a faint sound, soft and sudden. But now, behold, Tostig's head swayed loosely backwards behind his shoulders, his knees sagged, his great arms loosed their hold: then, or he could fall, Beltane stooped beneath and putting forth all his strength, raised him high above his head, and panting, groaning with the strain, turned and hurled dead Tostig down into the pool whose sullen waters leapt to a mighty splash, and presently subsiding, whispered softly in the reeds; and for a while no man stirred or spoke, only Beltane stood upon the marge and panted.
Then turned he to the outlaws, and catching up his axe therewith pointed downwards to that stilly pool whose placid waters seemed to hold nought but a glory of floating stars.
"Behold," he panted, "here was an evil man—a menace to well-being, wherefore is he dead. But as for ye, come tell me—how long will ye be slaves?"