So saying, Beltane sheathed his sword and beholding Friar Martin on his knees beside that muffled figure, he knelt also, and the three with him. Thereafter at a sign from the friar, Beltane stooped and raised this slender, shrouded figure in his arms and reverently bore it out into the shadows.
And there, all in the tender radiance of the moon, they buried her whose name they never knew, and stood a while in silence. Then, pointing to the new-turned earth, Friar Martin spake soft-voiced:
"Lo, here--in but a little time, wild flowers shall bloom above her-- yet none purer or sweeter than she! In a little shall the grass be green again, and she sleep here forgot by all--save God! And God, my brothers, is a gentle God and very pitiful--so now do we leave her in God's abiding care."
And presently they turned, soft-footed, and went upon their way leaving the place to solitude.
But from the vault of heaven the stars looked down upon that lonely grave like the watching eyes of holy angels.
CHAPTER XII
WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
Scarce a mile without the walls of the fair city of Belsaye my lord Duke had builded him a great gallows, had set it high upon a hill for all the world to see; from whose lofty cross-beams five score rogues had hanged ere now, had writhed and kicked their lives away and rotted there in company, that all the world might know how potent was the anger of my lord Duke Ivo.
Day in, day out, from rosy morn till dewy eve, it frowned upon Belsaye, a thing of doom whose grim sight should warn rebellious townsfolk to dutiful submission; by night it loomed, a dim-seen, brooding horror, whose loathsome reek should mind them how all rogues must end that dared lift hand or voice against my lord Duke, or those proud barons, lords, and knights who, by his pleasure, held their fiefs with rights of justice, the high, the middle and the low.
Day in, day out, the men of Belsaye eyed it askance 'neath scowling brows and, by night, many a clenched hand was shaken and many a whispered malediction sped, toward that thing of doom that menaced them from the dark.
To-night the moon was full, and thus, following Friar Martin's bony outstretched finger, Beltane of a sudden espied afar the Duke's great gallows, rising grisly and stark against the moon's round splendour. So for a space, standing yet within the shade of the woods, Beltane stared fierce-eyed, the while Giles, with Roger at his elbow, pointed out divers shapes that dangled high in air, at sight of which the friar knelt with bowed head and lips that moved in prayer: and Walkyn, scowling, muttered in his beard.
"Messire," said the archer, "my lord Duke's gallows is great and very strong, and we but five all told!"
"I have mine axe!" quoth Walkyn.
"Had we fifty axes we scarce should bring it down ere dawn: moreover, the night is very still and sounds carry far--"
"Nathless," quoth Roger, "to-night we surely shall destroy it--my lord hath said so."
"Aye--but how?" questioned Giles. "In Belsaye is that pale fox Sir Gui of Allerdale with many trusty men-at-arms to hold the town for Black Ivo and teach Belsaye its duty: how may we destroy my lord Duke's gallows 'neath the very beards of my lord Duke's garrison, wilt tell me that, my good, Black Rogerkin?"
"Aye," nodded Roger, "that will I--when I have asked my lord." So saying, he came and touched Beltane and humbly put the question.
Then, with his gaze yet upon the gallows, Beltane sighed and answered:
"There hath been no rain for weeks, look you: the underbrush is dry, methinks, and should burn well!"
"Aye, for sure," said Roger, "we shall burn Black Ivo's gallows to ashes, bowman, and a good end 'twill be."
"By fire!" cried the archer, aghast, "but lord, so soon as they shall see the flames, Sir Gui and his men will sally out upon us!"
"Nay," said Beltane, "for we shall sally in."
"Into Belsaye, mean you, lord?"
"Certes," answered Beltane, "how else may we break open the dungeon? The night is young yet, but we have much to do--follow!" So saying, Beltane turned and keeping ever within the shadow of the trees, set off towards that distant hill where stood the gallows, black against the moon.
Swiftly they went and for the most part in silence, for Beltane's mind was busied upon many matters.
So betimes they climbed the hill and stood at last beneath the gallows, and, glancing up, Beltane beheld noisome shapes, black and shrivelled, that once had lived and laughed. Forthwith he drew his sword and fell to cutting down the brush, whereat friar Martin, girding up his frock, took Walkyn's sword and fell to likewise.
Now, as Beltane laboured thus, he was suddenly aware of a wild and ragged figure, the which started up before him as if from the very ground. An old man he was, bent with years, yet with eyes that burned fierce and undimmed 'neath hoary brows, and shrivelled hands that gripped upon a rusty sword.
"Who are ye," he cried, harsh-voiced, "who are ye that disturb this woeful place? 'Tis here that men are dragged to die--and, being dead, do hang i' the air to rot and rot--and thereby hangs a tale of wolves that howl and birds that shriek, aha!--carrion crows and hook-billed kites--they be well gorged since Ivo came. 'Caw!' they cry, 'caw!'-- soft child's flesh and the flesh of tender maids--aha!--I know--I've watched--I've seen! Ah! since my lord Duke Beltane died, what sights these eyes have seen!"
"Old man," quoth Beltane, bending near, "who art thou?"
"I am the ghost that haunts this place, but, ages since, I was Sir Robert Bellesme of Garthlaxton Keep. But my wife they slew, my daughter ravished from me--and my son--Ah! Christ--my son! They hanged him here --yonder he hung, and I, his father, watched him die. But, by night, when all was still, I crept hither and found a hole to shelter me. And here I stayed to watch over him--my son who hung so quiet and so still. And the rough wind buffeted him, the cruel rain lashed him, and the hot sun scorched him, but still he hung there, so high!--so high! Yet I waited, for the strongest rope will break in time. And upon a moony night, he fell, and I gathered him in my arms, close here against my heart, and buried him--where none can know--save God. Many others have I buried also, for the strongest cords must break in time! And folk do say the devil bears them hence, since none are ever found--but I know where they lie--six hundred and seventy and nine--I know--these hands have buried them and I have kept a tally. Ah!--but you, gentle youth, what would ye here?"
"Burn down the gallows," said Beltane, "'tis an accursed thing, so shall it shame earth and heaven no longer."
"How!--how!" cried the ancient man, letting fall his rusty sword, "Destroy Black Ivo's gibbet? Dare ye--dare ye such a thing indeed? Are there men with souls unconquered yet? Methought all such were old, or dead, or fled away--dare ye this, youth?"
"Aye," nodded Beltane. "Watch now!" and hereupon he, together with the others, fell to hewing down the dry brush with might and main, and piling it about the gibbet's massy beams, while the ancient man, perched upon a rock hard by, watched them 'neath his shaggy brows and laughed soft and shrill.
"Aha!" he cried, "the fire ye kindle here shall set the Duchy in a flame mayhap, to burn Black Ivo with Gui of Allerdale and Red Pertolepe--mayhap! For them, fire on earth and flame in hell--aha! To burn the gibbet! 'tis well bethought: so shall carrion kite and jay go light-bellied