“So doth my heart rejoice for thee, Benedict, thou right trusty and doughty friend.  But how came ye hither, and wherefore?  Methought thee yet in Thrasfordham!”

“Aha, dear lad, so doth Ivo at this moment, I pray God.  A week agone and, ere the investment was complete, wondrous news reached me from Waldron of Brand, whose sire bore my pennon in thy noble father’s wars.  And because I knew Waldron’s word is ever less than his deed, and, belike, that I grow weary of sieges (seven have I withstood within these latter years) I, at dead of night, by devious and secret ways, stole forth of Thrasfordham—­dight in this armour new-fashioned (the which, mark me! is more cumbrous than fair link-mail) howbeit, I got me clear, and my lord Beltane, here stand I to aid and abet thee in all thy desperate affrays, henceforth.  Aha! methinks shall be great doings within the greenwood anon!”

“Aye, but what of Thrasfordham?  An Duke Ivo besiege it—­”

“He shall find five hundred and more right doughty fellows, with Sir Richard of Wark and Sir Brian of Shand (that were armour-bearers to thy knightly sire) to keep him in play.”

“And what would ye here, Sir Benedict?”

“Fight, Beltane, fight!  Methinks he shall lack nothing for hard smiting that rideth with thee—­hey, boy, I do yearn amain for the shock of a charge!”

“My company is but small, alas!” sighed Beltane.

“’Tis so I’ve heard, my Beltane,” quoth Sir Benedict, and smiling his wry smile, he took a small hunting-horn that hung about his neck, “let us therefore make it larger—­”

“How so—­how so, good Benedict?—­Ha! mean you—­”

“Watch now!”

So saying, Sir Benedict set the horn to his lip and winded it three times loud and shrill, and thereafter stood with hand upraised.  And lo! upon the stillness a sound that grew and grew—­a whisper, a rustling as of strong wind in trees, and presently upon the high banks to north and east and west a great company appeared, horse-men and footmen, whose armour flashed ’neath the moon, while high o’er bascinet and helm rose deadly pike and ponderous lance, rank upon rank, a very forest.

Quoth Sir Benedict loud-voiced, and pointing to the grim array: 

“Behold, lord Duke, hither have I brought thee five hundred archers and pike-men, with three hundred knights and men-at-arms, and each and every a man well tried and chosen, all vowed to follow thee and smite in Pentavalon’s cause even as I, their lord, that do love thee for thy noble father’s sake and for thine own sweet and knightly worth!”

So saying, Sir Benedict fell upon his knee before that great assemblage and caught Beltane’s hand and kissed it; whereon, from those gleaming ranks rose a deep and thunderous shout while lance and spear-head flashed again.

Now looking from this right goodly array to the proud and war-like figure that bent so humbly at his feet, Beltane’s heart swelled amain and all things grew blurred and misty in his sight.