Then of a sudden Walkyn shouted fierce and loud, and sprang forward with mighty axe whirled aloft.
"Ha—Pertolepe, turn!" he roared, "Ho, Bloody Pertolepe—turn, thou dog! 'Tis I—'tis Waldron of Brand!" So cried he, and, plunging into the thick of the affray, smote aside all such as barred his way until he fronted Sir Pertolepe, who, astride a powerful mailed charger, wielded a bloody mace, and who, hearing that hoarse cry, turned and met the shearing axe with blazoned shield—and behold! the gorgeous shield was split in twain; but even so, he smote in turn and mighty Walkyn was beaten to his knee. Forth sprang Ulf, swift and eager, but Walkyn, bounding up, shouldered him aside—his axe whirled and fell once, and Sir Pertolepe's mace was dashed from his loosened hold—whirled and fell again, and Sir Pertolepe's great casque was beaten from his head and all men might see the ghastly, jagged cross that scarred his brow beneath his fiery hair—whirled again, but, ere it could fall, knights and esquires mounted and afoot, had burst 'twixt Walkyn and their reeling lord, and Walkyn was dashed aside, shouting, cursing, foaming with rage, what time Sir Pertolepe was borne out of the fight.
But the rear-guard was saved, and, with a hedge of bristling pikes behind, Sir Benedict's sore-battered company marched on along the forest-road and breathed again, the while their pursuers, staggered in their onset, paused to re-form ere they thundered down upon that devoted rear-guard once more. But Sir Benedict was there, loud-voiced and cheery still despite fatigue, and Sir Hacon was there, his wonted gloom forgotten quite, and Beltane was there, equipped with shield and vizored war-helm and astride a noble horse, and there, too, was Roger, grim and silent, and fierce Ulf, and Walkyn in black and evil temper; quoth he:
"Ha—'tis ever so, his life within my very grasp, yet doth he escape me! But one more blow and the Red Pertolepe had been in hell—"
"Yet, forsooth, didst save our rear-guard, comrade!" said Ulf.
"Aye—and what o' that? 'Twas Pertolepe's foul life I sought—"
"And there," quoth Beltane, "there spake Vengeance, and vengeance is ever a foul thing and very selfish!" Now hereupon Walkyn's scowl deepened, and, falling further to the rear, he spake no more.
"Beltane, dear my lad," said Sir Benedict as they rode together, "hast told me nought of thy doings last night—what of Sir Rollo?"
"Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye assured Sir Rollo shall not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir Brian?"
"Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy noble lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou, 'twill be healed—Ha, they charge us again—stand firm, pikes!" So shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once again the road echoed to the din of battle.