Now indeed did Sir Pertolepe stare upon my Beltane in amaze and spake no word for wonder; then, of a sudden he laughed, scornful and loud.
"Ho! thou burner of gibbets!" quoth he, "take heed lest thy windy boasting bring thy lordly neck within a noose! Art lusty of arm, yet lustier of tongue--and as to thy father, whoe'er he be--"
"Messire?" Beltane's voice was soft, yet, meeting the calm serenity of his gaze, Sir Pertolepe checked the jeer upon his lip and stared upon Beltane as one new-waked; beheld in turn his high and noble look, the costly excellence of his armour, his great sword and belt of silver-- and strode on thereafter with never a word, yet viewing Beltane aslance 'neath brows close-knit in dark perplexity. So, at last, they came into a little clearing deep-hid among the denser green.
Beltane paused here, and lifting mailed hand, pointed to a certain tree. But hereupon, Sir Pertolepe, staring round about him and down upon his galling bonds, spake:
"Sir knight," said he, "who thou art I know not, yet, if indeed thou art of gentle blood, then know that I am Sir Pertolepe, Baron of Trenda, Seneschal of Garthlaxton, lord warden of the marches: moreover, friend and brother-in-arms am I to Duke Ivo--"
"Nay," said Beltane, "all this I know, for much of thee have I heard, messire: of thy dark doings, of the agony of men, the shame of women, and how that there be many desolate hearths and nameless graves of thy making, lord Pertolepe. Thou wert indeed of an high estate and strong, and these but lowly folk and weak--yet mercy on them had ye none. I have this day heard thee doom the innocent to death and bitter shame, and, lord, as God seeth us, it is enough!"
Sir Pertolepe's ruddy cheek showed pale, but his blue eyes stared upon Beltane wide and fearless.
"Have ye then dragged me hither to die, messire?"
"Lord Pertolepe, all men must die, aye, e'en great lords such as thou, when they have sinned sufficiently: and thy sins, methinks, do reach high heaven. So have I brought thee hither into the wilderness that God's will may be wrought upon thee."
"How--wilt forswear thyself?" cried Sir Pertolepe, writhing in his bonds.
Quoth Beltane:
"Come Roger--Walkyn--bring me him to the tree, yonder."
"Ha! rogue--rogue," panted Sir Pertolepe, "would'st leave me to die in a noose, unshriven and unannealed, my soul dragged hell-wards weighted with my sins?"
Now, even as he spake, swift and sudden he leapt aside and would have fled; but Walkyn's fierce fingers dragged at his throat, and Roger's iron arms were close about him. Desperately he fought and struggled, but mighty though he was, his captors were mighty also, moreover his bonds galled him; wherefore, fighting yet, they dragged him to the tree, and to the tree Beltane fast bound him, whiles the forest rang and echoed with his panting cries until his great voice cracked and broke, and he hung 'gainst the tree, spent and breathless.
Then spake Beltane, grim-lipped yet soft of voice:
"Lord Pertolepe, fain would I hang thee as thou hast hanged many a man ere now--but this, methinks, is a better way: for here, unless some wanderer chance to find thee, must thou perish, an so God will it. Thus do we leave thee in the hands of God to grant thee life or death: and may he have mercy on thy guilty soul!"
Thus said Beltane, sombre of brow and pale of cheek; and so, beckoning to the others, turned away, despite Sir Pertolepe's passionate threats and prayers, and plunging into the dense underbrush, strode swift-footed from the place, with the captive's wild cries ringing in his ears.
Haphazard went Beltane, yet straining his ears to catch those mournful sounds that grew faint and fainter with distance till they were lost in the rustle of the leaves. But, of a sudden, he stayed his going and stood with his head aslant hearkening to a sound that seemed to have reached him from the solitudes behind; and presently it came again, a cry from afar--a scream of agony, hoarse and long drawn out, a hateful sound that checked the breath of him and brought the sweat out cold upon his brow; and now, turning about, he saw that his following was but two, for Walkyn had vanished quite. Now Giles, meeting Beltane's wide stare, must needs cough and fumble with his bow, whiles Roger stood with bowed head and fingers tight-clenched upon his quarter-staff: whereat, fierce-frowning, Beltane spake.
"Wait!" he commanded, "wait you here!" and forthwith turned and ran, and so running, came again at last to that obscure glade whence now came a sound of groans, mocked, thereafter, by fierce laughter. Now, bursting from the green, Beltane beheld Sir Pertolepe writhing in his bonds with Walkyn's fierce fingers twined in his red hair, and Walkyn's busy dagger at his upturned brow, where was a great, gory wound, a hideous cruciform blotch whence pulsed the blood that covered his writhen face like a scarlet vizard.
"Ah!" cried Beltane, "what hast thou done?"
Back fell Walkyn, fierce-eyed and grim yet with teeth agleam through the hair of his beard.
"Lord," quoth he, "this man hath slain wife, and child and brother, so do I know him thrice a murderer. Therefore have I set this mark of Cain upon him, that all men henceforth may see and know. But now, an it be so thy will, take this my dagger and slay me here and now--yet shall Red Pertolepe bear my mark upon him when I am dead."
Awhile stood Beltane in frowning thought, then pointed to the green.
"Go," said he, "the others wait thee!"
So Walkyn, obeying, turned and plunged into the green, while Beltane followed after, slow and heavy-footed. But now, even as he went, slow and ever slower, he lifted heavy head and turned about, for above the leafy stirrings rose the mournful lilting of a pipe, clear and very sweet, that drew nearer and louder until it was, of a sudden, drowned in a cry hoarse and woeful. Then Beltane, hasting back soft-treading, stood to peer through the leaves, and presently, his cock's-comb flaunting, his silver bells a-jingle, there stepped a mountebank into the clearing--that same jester with whom Beltane had talked aforetime.
"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"
"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle, and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:
"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved thy father, e'en as I loved thee."
"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and fingering his dagger.
"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then, strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be hard-driven. Come!"
Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his bloody head, proffering his throat to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching; then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his severed bonds, he laughed hoarsely.
"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"
So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him like a blind man,