“Art less of a dullard than I thought thee,” said the stranger, taking back his cap, “though, mark me boy, ’tis another matter to ride against a man fully armed and equipped, lance to lance and shield to shield, than to charge a harmless, ancient leathern cap.  Still, art less of a dullard than I thought thee.  But there is the sword, now—­with the sword thou art indeed but a sorry fool!  Go fetch the sword and I will e’en belabor thee again.”

So Beltane, lighting down from the horse that reared and plunged no more, went and fetched the great sword; and when they had laid their jerkins by (for the sun was hot) they faced each other, foot to foot and eye to eye.  Then once again the long blades whirled and flew and rang together, and once again the stranger laughed and gibed and struck my Beltane how and where he would, nor gave him stay or respite till Beltane’s mighty arm grew aweary and his shoulder ached and burned; then, when he recked not of it, the stranger, with the same cunning stroke, beat the sword from Beltane’s hand, and laughed aloud and wagged his head, saying: 

“Art faint, boy, and scant o’ breath already?  Methinks we ne’er shall make of thee a lusty sworder!” But beholding Beltane’s flushing cheek and drooping eye, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Go to!” cried he, “art young and all unlearned as yet—­heed not my gibes and quirks, ’tis ever so my custom when steel is ringing, and mark me, I do think it a good custom, as apt to put a man off his ward and flurry him in his stroke.  Never despair, youth, for I tell thee, north and south, and east and west my name is known, nor shall you find in any duchy, kingdom or county, a sworder such as I. For, mark me now! your knight and man-at-arms, trusting to his armour, doth use his sword but to thrust and smite.  But—­and mark me again, boy! a man cannot go ever in his armour, nor yet be sure when foes are nigh, and, at all times, ’tis well to make thy weapon both sword and shield; ’tis a goodly art, indeed I think a pretty one.  Come now, take up thy sword and I will teach thee all my strokes and show thee how ’tis done.”

Thus then, this stranger dwelt the week with Beltane in the greenwood, teaching him, day by day, tricks of sword and much martial lore beside.  And, day by day, a friendship waxed and grew betwixt them so that upon the seventh morning, as they broke their fast together, Beltane’s heart was heavy and his look downcast; whereat the stranger spake him thus: 

“Whence thy dole, good youth?”

“For that to-day needs must I part with thee.”

“And thy friends are few, belike?”

“None, messire,” answered Beltane, sighing.

“Aye me!  And yet ’tis well enough, for—­mark me, youth!—­friends be ofttimes a mixed blessing.  As for me, ’tis true I am thy friend and so shall ever be, so long as you shall bear yon goodly blade.”

“And wherefore?” questioned Beltane.