"What do you, messire?" he questioned.
"Do, Fidelis? Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water—list how it murmureth 'neath the bank yonder. Come then, strip as I do, youth, strip and let us swim together—pray you aid me with this lacing."
"My lord, I—indeed, I do think it unsafe—"
"Unsafe, boy?"
"An our foes should come upon us—"
"O content you," quoth Beltane, stooping to loose off his spurs, "our foes were lost hours since, nor shall any find us here in the wild, methinks—pray you, loose me this buckle. Come, list how the waters do woo us with their pretty babble."
"But, messire," quoth Fidelis, faint-voiced, and fumbling awkwardly with the buckle, "indeed I—I have no art in swimming."
"Then will I teach thee."
"Nay," spake the young knight hastily, his trouble growing, "I do dread the water!"
"Well, there be shallows 'neath the alders yonder."