"O my lord, must I--tell this?"

"I do ask thee."

Then did Winfrida shrink within herself, and crouched yet further from Sir Jocelyn as though his eyes had hurt her.

"Lord," she whispered, "I was--jealous! Duke Ivo wooed me long ere he loved the d.u.c.h.ess Helen, so was I jealous. Yet was I proud also, for I would suffer not his love until he had made me wife. And, upon a day, he, laughing, bade me bring him captive this mighty man that defied his power--that burned gibbets and wrought such deeds as no other man dared, swearing that, an I did so, he would wed with me forthright. And I was young, and mad with jealousy and--in those days--I knew love not at all. But O, upon a day, I found a new world wherein Love came to me --a love so deep and high, so pure and n.o.ble, that fain would I have died amid the flame than thus speak forth my shame, slaying this wondrous love by my unworthiness. Yet have I told my shame, and love is dead, methinks, since I am known for false friend and traitor vile--a thing for scorn henceforth, that no honourable love may cleave to. So is love dead, and fain would I die also!"

Now, of a sudden, while yet Beltane frowned down upon her, came Sir Jocelyn, and kneeling beside Winfrida, spake with bent head:

"Messire Beltane, thou seest before thee two that are one, henceforth.

So do I beseech thee, forgive us our trespa.s.s against thee, an it may be so. But, if thy wrongs are beyond forgiveness, then will we die together."

"O Jocelyn!" cried Winfrida breathlessly, "O dear my lord--surely never man loved like thee! Lord Beltane, forgive--for this n.o.ble knight's sake--forgive the sinful Winfrida!"

"Forgive?" said Beltane, hoa.r.s.ely, "forgive?--nay, rather would I humbly thank thee on my knees, for thou hast given back the n.o.blest part of me. She that was lost is found again, the dead doth live. Helen is her n.o.ble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her. The happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world, methinks. O kneel not to me--and pray you--speak on this matter no more. Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy. Lady, hast won a true and leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a n.o.ble lady, who hath spoken truth at hazard of losing her love. And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world but love. Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all!" So saying, Beltane turned very suddenly, and strode out, where, beside the great horse Mars, stood Roger, very pale in the moonlight, and starting and staring at every rustling leaf and patch of shadow.

"Roger," said he, "thou art afraid of bats and owls, yet, forsooth, art a wiser man than I. Bring hither the horse."

In a while cometh Sir Jocelyn and the lady Winfrida, hand in hand, aglow with happiness, yet with eyes moistly bright under the moon.

"Good comrade-in-arms," quoth Beltane, "Mortain lieth far hence; now here is a goodly horse--"

"O!" cried Winfrida shrinking, "surely 'tis the horse that bore Sir Gilles of Brandonmere in the lists at Barham Broom--"

"So now, my lady Winfrida, shall it bear thee and thy love to Mortain and happiness--O loved Mortain! So mount, Jocelyn, mount! Haste to thy happiness, man, and in thy joy, forget not Pentavalon, for her need is great. And thou hast goodly men-at-arms! How think ye, messire?"

"Beltane," cried Sir Jocelyn gleefully, "Beltane, O dear my friend, doubt me not--I do tell thee we shall ride together yet, when the battle joins!" So saying, be sprang to saddle. Now turned Beltane to aid the lady Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's hold; but, even then, she fell upon her knees, and catching his hand to her bosom, kissed it.

"Lord Beltane," said she, looking up 'neath glistening lashes--"as thou hast dealt with me, so may heaven deal with thee. May thy sore heart find solace until love find thee--and--dear my lord, I pray you where is--he--the young knight that rode with thee--for where he is, there also is--Helen--"

"And thou dost know, too?"

"I knew her that day in the forest when I fled away, for though I would have confessed my sin to thee, yet her cold scorn I could not have borne. Where is she now, my lord?"

"Safe within Mortain, I pray."

"Then come you to Mortain. Come with us this night--ah! come you to Mortain and--Helen!"

Now hereupon Beltane turned to look with yearning eyes towards the gloom of the forest beyond which lay the soft and peaceful valleys of fair Mortain, and she that called herself Fidelis, who had indeed been so faithful in all things, so patient and enduring; and, as his eyes yearned, so yearned the great pa.s.sionate soul of him, insomuch that he must needs fall a-trembling, whereat Roger the watchful drew a soft pace nearer. So stood Beltane awhile, hands clenched, head bent, staring ever northwards, his blood aglow with eager love, his heart a-throb with pa.s.sionate remorse.

"Come, my lord," breathed Winfrida, "O come--in Mortain is rest and solace--and love!"

"Rest?" said Beltane softly, "solace and love--O sweet thought! Yet I may not go hence, for here is sorrow and shame and suffering--sword and fire and battle. So must I bide here in Pentavalon--with my duty."

So saying, he lifted Winfrida to Sir Jocelyn's ready clasp and thereafter spake with head downbent: "An thou chance to see--her-- within Mortain, I pray you say that the blind doth see at last and is gone to his duty, that, peradventure, he may be, some day, more worthy her great love. And now fare ye well, good friends, G.o.d have ye ever in His tender care. Come, Roger!"

Then Beltane turned him suddenly away, and with broad back set towards Mortain, strode off across the desolate moor.

CHAPTER L

TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY

Silent went Beltane, his lips firm-set, his wistful eyes staring ever before him, nor paused he once, nor once glanced back towards that happy Mortain which held for him all that was fair and sweet and n.o.ble; that pure and faithful heart wherein no evil could exist; that radiant body in whose soft, white loveliness lay all the joy, all the happiness the wide world might ever yield him.

And now, because of her proved innocence, he was uplifted by a great and mighty joy, and therewith his step was light and swift; anon, because of his base doubt of her, he writhed 'neath the sharp-gnawing tooth of bitter remorse, and therewith his step grew heavy and slow.

Now was he proud of her so great love for him, and again, he knew a profound and deep humility because of his so great unworthiness. Thus went he, nothing speaking, now with flying feet, now with steps that dragged, insomuch that watchful Roger fell to solemn wonderment, to a furtive unease, and so, at last, to speech.

"Lord," quoth he in a voice of awe, but Beltane strode on unheeding, whereat Roger's eyes grew round and his ruddy cheek pale, and clenching his fist, he raised aloft his first and little fingers so that they formed two horns, and with the horns he touched Beltane lightly on the shoulder. "Master!" said he.

Then Beltane started, and turning, looked at Roger, whereupon Roger immediately crossed his fingers.

"Ha, Roger, I was deep in my thoughts, what would ye?"

"Master, hast ever a p.r.i.c.king in the hairs of thy head?"

"Not I."

"Dost ever feel a tingling in the soles of thy feet?"

"Not so, in truth."

"Why then a shivering, quaking o' the back-bone?"

"Roger, man, what troubles thee now?"

"I do fear thou'rt be-devilled and moon-struck, master!"

"Why so?"

"Betimes thou dost smile upon the moon--for no reason; scowl upon the earth--for no reason; work with thy lips yet speak no word, and therewith do bite thy fingers-ends, clench thy fists--and all for no reason. Moreover, thou'rt quick and slow in thy gait, sighing gustily off and on--so it is I do sweat for thee."

"And wherefore?"

"Master," quoth Roger, glancing furtively about, "in my youth I did see a goodly man be-devilled by horrid spells by an ancient hag that was a noted witch, and he acted thus--a poor wight that was thereafter d.a.m.nably be-devilled into a small, black rabbit, see you--"

"Saw you all this indeed, Roger?"

"All but the be-devilling, master, for being young and sore frighted I ran away and hid myself. But afterwards saw I the old woman with the black rabbit in a cage--wherefore the vile hag was stoned to death, and the black rabbit, that was her familiar, also--and very properly. And, lord, because I do love thee, rather would I see thee dead than a rabbit or a toad or lewd cur--wherefore now I pray thee cross thy fingers and repeat after me--"

"Nay, my faithful Roger, never fear, here is no witchcraft. 'Tis but that within the hour the blind doth see, the fool hath got him some little wisdom."

"Master, how mean you?"

"This night, Roger, I have learned this great truth: that white can never be black, nor day night, nor truth lie--and here is great matter for thought, wherefore as I walk, I think."

Now hereupon Black Roger halted and looked upon Beltane glad-eyed.