So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting loud and hoarse.
"Ha!" cried Cnut, "'tis lusty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?"
"I'm sped, Cnut!" groaned Siward, "but yon hag lieth dead, so am I-- content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind-- for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!" And Siward, feebly pointing to the ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.
Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him tender and compassionate.
"Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?"
"O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!"
Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very carefully, bore him down toward the ford.
"Messire," quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, "art very strong and wondrous gentle withal!" Presently Beltane brought him beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.
"Ho!" cried he, "'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog blazoned on the shield of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him, 'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may remember it in her prayers?"
"I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee well!" So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye and mouth.