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Updated: May 20, 2025
So the smocks were donned, with straw about their legs bound by withies as was the custom, and taking the sacks upon their shoulders, they turned aside into the green and were gone. Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, rode hawk on fist at the head of divers noble knights and gentle esquires with verderers and falconers attendant.
And how should he, confident in his strength and might, hale and lusty in his body, come to think on death sharp and swift? Thus Sir Gui of Allerdale, lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, rode upon his way, with eyes that glowed with the love of life, and tongue that curled 'twixt smiling lips as one that savoured its sweetness or meditated coming joys.
The wide-eaved hat was tossed to the floor and Sir Gui, clenching his hands, would have spoken but the harsh voice drowned his words: "How, knight, thou that art Bloody Gui of Allerdale! Dost thou not know me, forsooth? I am Waldron, whose father and mother and sister ye slew. Aye, Waldron of Brand am I, though men do call me Walkyn o' the Dene these days.
Go, say I crave instant speech with him on matters of state, moreover, say I bring fifty and three for him to hang to-morrow go!" But now, while the Reeve yet stood, pale in the torchlight, finding nought to say, came Beltane beside him. "My lord," quoth he, "fifty and three is a goodly number; must they all die to-morrow?" "To-morrow? Aye or whensoever Sir Gui wills."
"O fair sir, they be ordinary men, rogues, see you, and fools save one, a comely man this, an archer unequalled, hight Giles o' the Bow, a man of wit, very full of strategies and wiles." "Aye, but what of yon tall knave, now," said Sir Robert, pointing at Beltane, "who is he?" "Forsooth, a knave, my lord, an arrant knave with long legs." "He will look well on a gibbet, methinks, Sir Gui."
And on the instant Roger had turned, and with brawny shoulders stooped, drove through the swaying press and was gone. Now with every moment the temper of the crowd grew more threatening; voices shouted, fists were clenched, and the scowling pike-men, plying vicious spear-butts, cursed, and questioned each other aloud: "Why tarries Sir Gui?"
"Ah, fair lord," says Beltane, "then, as I guess, these fifty and three shall assuredly live on awhile, since Sir Gui of Allerdale will hang men no more."
One contemplates the thing in its most unlovely aspects in the form of Simeon Stylites upon his pillar, devoured by worms, or of Bernard Gui, with his racks and his thumb-screws and his "secular arm" and it seems the very culmination of all human madness and horror.
"Nought, my lord." "Lieth the goldsmith deep?" "Above the water-dungeons, my lord." "And she wept, say you? Methinks the goldsmith shall go free to-morrow!" So saying, Sir Gui went on into the city, and as he went, his smile was back again, and his tongue curved red betwixt his lips.
But Sir Gui sat on, his thin lips upcurling to a smile, his black eyes unswerving: wherefore came Beltane and seized him in fierce hands and plucked him to his feet and so brought him to the window. "Ha!" he cried, "look now and tell me what ye see. Speak! speak for, God help me! now am I minded to kill thee here and now, unarmed though ye be, and cast thy carrion to the dogs speak!"
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