"Aye, Sir Paladin, all sweetly asleep in Abraham's bosom. We three here accounted for some few betwixt us, the rest fell 'neath that great blade o' thine. O sweet Saint Giles! ne'er saw I such sword-work—point and edge, sa-ha! And I called thee—dove!—aye 'dove' it was, I mind me. O blind and worse than blind! But experientia docet, tall brother!"
Now hereupon Beltane bowed his head and clasping his hands, wrung them.
"Sweet Jesu forgive me!" he cried, "I had not meant to slay so many!"
Then he arose and went apart and, kneeling among the shadows, prayed long and fervently.
CHAPTER XI
WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
Now when Beltane's mighty hunger was assuaged he sat—his aching head yet ringing with the blow—and stared up at the moon, sad and wistful-eyed as one full of heaviness the while Black Roger standing beside him gazed askance at the archer who sat near by whistling softly and busied with certain arrows, cleaning and trimming them ere he set them back in his quiver. And presently Black Roger spake softly, low-stooping to Beltane's ear:
"Lord, we have saved the life of yon prating archer-fellow, and behold my belt lacketh for one notch, which is well. So come, let us go our ways, thou and I, for I love not your talkers, and this fellow hath overmuch to say."
But now, ere Beltane could make reply, came the hairy man—but behold his rags had given place to fair garments of tanned leather (albeit something small) together with steel cap and shirt of ringed mail, and, about his middle, a broad belt where swung a heavy sword; being come to Beltane he paused leaning upon his axe, and gazed upon him fierce-eyed:
"Messire," said he, "who ye are I know not, what ye are I care not, for art quick of foot and mighty of arm, and when ye fight, cry a point of war, a battle-shout I knew aforetime ere they enslaved and made of me a serf—and thus it is I would follow thee."