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It was in the cold, still hour 'twixt night and dawn that Beltane halted his wild company upon the edge of the forest where ran a water-brook gurgling softly in the dark; here did he set divers eager fellows to fell a tree and thereafter to lop away branch and twig, and so, bidding them wait, stole forward alone.
Forthwith Sir Fidelis climbed the rocky eminence, and, being there, cried right joyously: "Aye, lord 'tis the road the road!" and so came hastily down, glad-eyed. "'Tis the end of this wilderness at last, my lord!" "Aye!" sighed Beltane, "at last!" and groaning, he swayed in the saddle for his pain was very sore and would have fallen but for the ready arms of Sir Fidelis.
Wondering, but nothing speaking, Beltane laid by his bascinet, threw back his mail-coif, and bent above her low and lower, until she might reach up and touch those golden curls with failing hand. "Lord Beltane! boy!" she whispered, "stoop lower, mine eyes fail. Hearken, O my heart!
"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.
Then, looking whither he pointed, Roger saw a tree whose hole leaned far out across the stream, so that one far-flung branch well nigh scraped the broken roof of the mill. "Yon lieth our way, Roger come!" said he. Being come to that side of the tree afar from the watch-fires, Beltane swung himself lightly and began to climb, but hearing a groan, paused.
Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music. A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of stature and comely of feature.
Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song, and the song was right merry and the words likewise: "O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline, Nor my love for my good long bow; For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine, Is a maid to a man, I trow."
Thus, during this time, Beltane saw and talked much with the lady Abbess: oft went he to watch her among the sick and to aid her when he might; saw how fierce faces softened when she bent to touch fevered brow or speak them cheerily with smiling lip despite the deep and haunting sadness of her eyes; saw how eagerly rough hands were stretched forth to furtive touch her white habit as she passed; heard harsh voices grow sudden soft and all unfamiliar voices that broke in murmurous gratitude.
Now as he spake, Beltane turned on his heel and strode along beside the brook, but even as he went, so went Roger, whereon Beltane turned frowning. Quoth he: "Roger Thrasfordham lieth behind thee!" "Aye, master, but death lieth before thee!" "Why then, death will I face alone, Roger." "Nay, master not while Roger live. Thy man am I " "Ha wilt withstand me, Black Roger?"
And when the Duchess was gone, Beltane sat and stared upon the fire and felt himself vaguely troubled, yet even so, as he watched the leaping flame, his head nodded and he slept, yet sleeping, dreamed he heard the Duchess calling him, and opening his eyes, found the fair Winfrida beside him: "My lord Beltane," said she softly, "thy Duchess biddeth thee wait her in the chapel follow me, messire!"
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