Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into the green.
Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain; what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.
"Ha, Benedict!" quoth Sir Brian, "they do know thee, methinks, 'spite thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many minutes!"
"So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!" Sir Benedict groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully nevertheless, since shield he bare none. Time and again they beat back their assailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to three fresh knights.
"By Our Lady of Hartismere!" panted Sir Brian, "but thy left arm serves thee well, Benedict!"
"'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, God be thanked!" sighed Sir Benedict, eyeing his reeking blade, "though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle knight's gorget--"
"Yet shore clean through his helm, my lord!" quoth young Walter the esquire.
"Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine," said Sir Benedict, and sighed again.
"Art doleful, Benedict?" questioned Sir Brian, "'tis not like thee when steel is ringing, man."
"In very sooth, Brian, I hanker for knowledge of our Beltane--ha, Walter!" he cried suddenly, "lower thy vizor, boy--down with it, I say!"
"Nay, dear my lord, fain would I breathe the sweet, cool air--but a moment and--"
The young esquire rose up stiffly in his stirrups, threw up gauntleted hands and swaying from the high saddle, pitched down crashing into the dust.
"Alas! there endeth my poor Walter!" sighed Sir Benedict.
"Aye, a shaft between the eyes, poor lad! A curse on these unseen archers!" quoth Sir Brian, beckoning a pikeman to lead forward the riderless horse. "Ha--look yonder, Benedict--we are beset in flank, and by dismounted knights from the underwood. See, as I live 'tis the nuns they make for!"