"Lord," quoth Walkyn, fumbling with his axe, "we found this knight hard by, so, lest he should disclose the secret of this our haven--I would have slain him--"
"Master," said Roger, "'tis true I had a mind to his horse and armour, since we do such things lack, yet would I have saved him alive and cut from my belt another accursed notch--"
"So art thou a fool, Roger," quoth Walkyn, "for an this knight live, this our refuge is secret no longer."
"Ha!" sneered Beltane, "what matter for that an it shelter but murderers and thieving knaves--"
"Dost name me murderer?" growled Walkyn.
"And me a thief, master?" sighed Roger, "I that am thy man, that would but have borrowed--"
"Peace!" cried Beltane, "hence--begone, and leave me to my thoughts!" Hereupon Walkyn turned and strode away, twirling his axe, but Roger went slow-footed and with head a-droop what time Beltane frowned into the fire, his scowl blacker than ever. But as he sat thus, from the gloom of the cave behind him a voice spake--a soft voice and low, at sound whereof he started and turned him about.
"Meseemeth thy thoughts are evil, messire."
"Of a verity, sir knight: for needs must I think of women and the ways of women! To-night am I haunted of bitter memory."
Now of a sudden, the stranger knight beholding Beltane in the light of the fire, started up to his elbow to stare and stare; then quailing, shivering, shrank away, hiding his face within his mailed hands. Whereat spake Beltane in amaze: "How now, sir knight--art sick in faith? Dost ail of some wound--?"
"Not so--ah, God! not so. Those fetters--upon thy wrists, messire--?"
"Alack, sir knight," laughed Beltane, "and is it my looks afflict thee so? 'Tis true we be wild rogues hereabout, evil company for gentle knights. Amongst us ye shall find men new broke from the gallows-foot and desperate knaves for whom the dungeon yawns. As for me, these gyves upon my wrists were riveted there by folly, for fool is he that trusteth to woman and the ways of woman. So will I wear them henceforth until my work be done to mind me of my folly and of one I loved so much I would that she had died ere that she slew my love for her."
Thus spake Beltane staring ever into the fire, joying bitterly to voice his grief unto this strange knight who had risen softly and now stood upon the other side of the fire. And looking upon him in a while. Beltane saw that he was but a youth, slender and shapely in his rich surcoat and costly mail, the which, laced close about cheek and chin, showed little of his face below the gleaming bascinet, yet that little smooth-skinned and pale.