"Forsooth, my lord? And do they crush thee so? Or is it thou dost pine for solitude?"

"Neither, youth: 'tis for thy youth's sake, for, though thou hast angered me full oft, art but a very youth--"

"Gramercy for my so much youthfulness, my lord. Methinks I shall be full long a-growing old--"

"Heed me, sir knight, 'tis a fell place this, where direful beasts do raven--"

"Nathless, messire, my youthfulness is but where it would be--"

"Aye, forsooth, and there it is! Where thou would'st be--thou, forsooth! Art indeed a wilful youth and very headstrong. And wherefore here?"

"To cheer thee in thy loneliness, my lord."

"How so?"

"Thou shalt reproach me for my youth and quarrel with me when thou wilt!"

"Am I of so ill humour, indeed?"

"Look within thyself, my lord."

Now here they rode a while in silence; but presently Beltane turned him again in the saddle and saw again only arm and shoulder. Quoth he:

"Fidelis, art a strange youth and a valiant--and yet, thy voice--thy voice hath betimes a--a something I love not--a note of softness that mindeth me of bitter days."

"Then heed it not, my lord; 'tis but that I grow a-weary, belike."

Here silence again, what time Beltane fell to frowning and Sir Fidelis, head a-slant, to watching him furtive-eyed, yet with lips that curved to wistful smile.

"Came you in sooth from--the d.u.c.h.ess Helen, Fidelis?"

"In truth, my lord."

"Dost love her--also?"

"Aye, my lord--also!"

"Then alas for thee, poor youthful fool, 'twere better I had left thee to thy death, methinks, for she--this wilful Helen--"

"My lord," cried Sir Fidelis, "nought will I hear to her defame!"

"Fidelis, art a gentle knight--but very young, art fond and foolish, so, loving this light lady, art doubly fool!"

"Wherein," saith Fidelis, "wherein, my lord, thou art likewise fool, meseemeth."

"Verily," nodded Beltane, "O verily fool am I, yet wise in this--that I do know my folly. So I, a fool, would counsel thee in thy folly thus-- give not thy heart to Helen's faithless keeping--stoop not to her wanton lure--ha! what now?" For, lithe and swift, Sir Fidelis had sprung to earth and had seized the great roan's bridle, and checking him in his stride, faced Beltane with cheeks suffused and flaming eyes.

"Shame, messire--O shame!" he cried. "How vile is he that would, with lying tongue, smirch the spotless honour of any maid. And, as to Helen, I do name thee liar!--liar!"

"Would'st quarrel with me in matter so unworthy?"

"Enough!" quoth Fidelis, "unworthy art thou to take her name within thy lips--enough!" So saying Sir Fidelis stepped back a pace and drew his sword.

Now Beltane, yet astride the mighty roan that snuffed the fragrant air and stooped to crop the tender herbage, looked upon the youthful paladin 'neath wrinkled brow, and pulled his lip as one in doubt. Anon he sighed and therewith smiled and shook his head.

Quoth he:

"O Fidelis, now do I see that I must needs love thee some day. Fidelis, art a fool, but a right sweet fool, so do I humbly sue thy foolish pardon, and, as to Helen, may she prove worthy thy sweet faith and I thy love and friendship. So, fair knight, put up thy sword--come, mount and let us on. Sir Mars, methinks, doth snuff water afar, and I do yearn me for the cool of it."

So in a while they rode on again, yet presently Sir Fidelis, meek-voiced, preferred a sudden question, thus:

"Lord, fain would I know why thou dost contemn her so--"

"Nay," sighed Beltane, "here is a tale un-meet thy tender years. Speak we of other things--as thus, wherefore didst keep our lives in jeopardy to bring away the wallet that c.u.mbereth thy hip?"

"For that within doth lie, first--our supper--"

"O foolish youth, these woods do teem with food!"

"A neat's tongue, delicately seasoned--"

"O!" said Beltane.

"'Twixt manchets of fair white bread--"

"Ah!" said Beltane.

"With a small skin of rare wine--"

"Enough!" quoth Beltane. "These be things forsooth worth a little risk. Now do I thirst and famish, yet knew it not."

"An thou wilt eat, my lord?"

"Nay, first will we find some freshet where we may bathe awhile. Ha, to plunge naked within some sweet pool--'tis a sweet thought, Fidelis?"

But hereupon the young knight made answer none and fell into a reverie and Beltane also, what time they rode by murmuring rills, through swampy hollows, past brake and briar, until, as evening began to fall, they came unto a broad, slow-moving stream whose waters, aglow with sunset glory, split asunder the greeny gloom of trees, most pleasant to behold. Then, sighing for very gladness, Beltane checked his horse and spake right gleefully:

"Light down, light down, good Fidelis; ne'er saw I fairer haven for wearied travellers! We have ridden hard and far, so here will we tarry the night!" and down to earth he sprang, to stride up and down and stretch his cramped limbs, the while Sir Fidelis, loosing off the great, high-peaked saddle, led the foam-flecked war-horse down to the water.

Now because of the heat, Beltane laid by his bascinet, and, hearkening to the soft, cool ripple of the water, he straightway unbuckled his sword-belt and began to doff his heavy hauberk; perceiving the which, cometh Sir Fidelis to him something hastily.

"What do you, messire?" he questioned.

"Do, Fidelis? Forsooth, I would bathe me in yon cool, sweet water--list how it murmureth 'neath the bank yonder. Come then, strip as I do, youth, strip and let us swim together--pray you aid me with this lacing."

"My lord, I--indeed, I do think it unsafe--"

"Unsafe, boy?"