“Nay, lord, none save themselves and Walkyn know that.  Walkyn methinks, was great among them once.”

“And where is Walkyn?”

“So soon as ye slept, lord, he and Roger went forth according to thy word.  As for me, I stayed here to watch.  From the spy-hole yonder you may command the road a-wind in the valley, and unseen, see you, may see.  But come, an thy hunger be allayed, reach me thy hand that I may file off those iron bracelets.”

“Nay, let be, Giles.  I will wear them henceforth until my vow be accomplished.”

Hereupon Beltane arose, and, climbing the ladder, looked forth through a screen of leaves and underbrush and saw that from the fissure the ground sloped steeply down, a boulder-strewn hill thick with gorse and bramble, at whose base the road led away north and south until it was lost in the green of the forest.  Now as Beltane stood thus, gazing down at the winding road whose white dust was already mellowing to evening, he beheld one who ran wondrous fleetly despite the ragged cloak that flapped about his long legs, and whose rough-shod feet spurned the dust beneath them so fast ’twas a marvel to behold; moreover as he ran, he bounded hither and thither, and with every bound an arrow sped by him from where, some distance behind, ran divers foresters bedight in a green livery Beltane thought he recognized; but even as Beltane grasped the branches that screened him, minded to swing himself up to the fellow’s aid, the fugitive turned aside from the road and came leaping up the slope, but, of a sudden, uttered a loud cry and throwing up his hands fell face down upon the ling and so lay, what time came up one of the pursuers that had outstripped his fellows, but as he paused, his sword shortened for the thrust, up sprang the fugitive, a great axe flashed and whirled and fell, nor need was there for further stroke.  Then, while the rest of the pursuers were yet a great way off, Walkyn came leaping up the hill.  Back from the ladder Beltane leapt and down through the fissure came Walkyn to fall cat-like upon his feet, to shake free the ladder after him, and thereafter to sit panting upon a stool, his bloody axe betwixt his knees.

“Pertolepe’s wolves!” he panted, “two of them have I—­slain—­within the last mile,” and grinning, he patted the haft of his axe.

“What news, Walkyn?”

“Death!” panted Walkyn, “there be five dead men a-swing from the bartizan tower above Garthlaxton Keep, and one that dieth under the torture e’en now, for I heard grievous outcry, and all by reason of thy escape, lord.”

“Come you then from Garthlaxton?” quoth Beltane, frowning.