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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Six!" he cried, "six in seven shots: 'tis sweet archery methinks, and quicker than a noose, my Rogerkin, and more deadly than thy axe, my surly Walkyn. Let the rogues yonder but show themselves, and give me arrows enow, so will I slay all Gui's garrison ere the moon fail me quite."
Curse, and Belsaye shall out-curse thee; laugh, and Belsaye laugheth at thee " "Sacrilege!" gasped the Prior, "O 'tis base sacrilege! 'Tis a vile, unhallowed city and shall go up in flame " "And thou," cried Giles, "thou art a fiery churchman and shall be cooled. Ho, Rogerkin loose off!"
Moreover I am not learned like Giles, nor ready of tongue, nor " "Art wondrous skilled in wood-lore, my Rogerkin!" quoth Giles. "Forsooth, lord, there is no man knoweth more of forestry than my good comrade Roger!" "So will I make of him my chiefest huntsman, Giles " "Master O master!" gasped Roger. "And set thee over all my foresters of Pentavalon, Roger."
Now at this Roger looked up, wondering. "My belt?" quoth he, "what would ye, Giles?" "Cut away thy last notch, Roger thy belt shall go smooth-edged henceforth and thy soul clean, methinks." "But I meant to slay thee, Giles." "But spared me, Roger, spared me to life and love, my Rogerkin. O friend, give me thy belt!"
But, upon the silence, loud and sudden rose a high-pitched quavering laugh, and Giles spake, his voice yet shrill and unsteady. "'Twas Walkyn ha, Saint Giles bless Walkyn's long legs! 'Twas Walkyn I saw Walkyn hath brought down the outlaws the woods be full of them. Oho! Sir Pertolepe's slow fire shall not roast me yet awhile, nor his dogs mumble the carcase, my Rogerkin!"
Now I'm fain to know if for these twelve I may cut twelve notches from my belt, or must we share their lives betwixt us and I count but three?" "Three?" laughed Giles, "Oho out upon thee, Rogerkin!
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