Jeffery Farnol

“ I am a duke, a king, a very god! I create me a world wherein is neither hunger nor stripes, a world of joy and laughter, for, blessed within his dreams, even a fool may walk with gods and juggle with the stars!"
"Aye," nodded Beltane, "but how when he awake?"
"Why then, messire," laughed the fellow, leaping nimbly to his feet, "why then doth he ask alms of thee, as thus: Prithee most noble messire, of thy bounty show kindness to a fool that lacks everything but wit. So give, messire, give and spare not, so may thy lady prove kind, thy wooing prosper and love strengthen thee." ”

“ But, of a sudden, Beltane heard a hoarse scream, a gasp of terror, and Roger was back beside him, his naked broad-sword all a-shake in his trembling hand, his eyes wide and rolling.
"Master—O master!" he whimpered, "ghosts! 'neath the tree—Tostig— the Dead Hand!"
"Nay, what folly is here, Roger?"
"Lord, 'twas the Dead Hand—touched me—on the brow—in the shadow yonder! Aye—on the brow—'neath the tree! O master, dead men are we, 'tis Tostig come to drag us back to hell with him!" And crouching on his knees, Roger fell to desperate prayers. ”

“ Ah!—but you, gentle youth, what would ye here?"
"Burn down the gallows," said Beltane, "'tis an accursed thing, so shall it shame earth and heaven no longer."
"How!—how!" cried the ancient man, letting fall his rusty sword, "Destroy Black Ivo's gibbet? Dare ye—dare ye such a thing indeed? Are there men with souls unconquered yet? Methought all such were old, or dead, or fled away—dare ye this, youth?" ”

“ Dost know aught of Sir Benedict, O Innocence?"
BELTANE. "I have seen him."
BOWMAN. "Then, my soft and gentle dove-like youth, get thee to thy marrow-bones and pray that kind heaven shall make thee more his like, for in his shoes doth stand a man—a knight—a very paladin!"
BELTANE. "Who fighteth not for—hire. Sir Bowman!"
BOWMAN. "Yet who hireth to fight, Sir Dove-eyed Giant, for I have fought for him, ere now, within his great keep of Thrasfordham within Bourne. But, an ye seek employ, his is but a poor service, where a man shall come by harder knocks than good broad pieces." ”

“ Helen is her noble self, and only I am vile that could have doubted her. The happiest man, the proudest, and the most woeful, I, in all the world, methinks. O kneel not to me—and pray you—speak on this matter no more. Rise, rise up and get ye to your joy. Lady, hast won a true and leal knight, and thou, Sir Jocelyn, a noble lady, who hath spoken truth at hazard of losing her love. And I do tell ye, love is a very blessed thing, greater than power, or honour, or riches, or aught in the world but love. Aye, surely Love is the greatest thing of all! ”

“ As for Giles o' the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin with strong, brown fingers.
"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well—hast the makings of a right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!" ”

“ Heroes were we all, last night—nay, very Titans—four 'gainst an army!—whiles now, within this balmy-breathing morn you shall see Walkyn o' the Bloody Axe with grim Black Rogerkin, down at the brook yonder, a-sprawl upon their bellies busily a-tickling trout for breakfast, while I, whose good yew bow carrieth death in every twang, toasting deer-flesh on a twig, am mocked of wanton warblers i' the green: and thou, who art an Achilles, a Hector, an Ajax—a very Mars—do sleep and slumber, soft and sweet as full-fed friar—Heigho! Yet even a demi-god must nod betimes, and Titans eat, look ye. ”

“ FRIAR. "'Tis a necessary evil! Doth it not say in Holy Writ, 'the poor ye have always with you'?"
BELTANE. "Aye, so shall ye ever—until the laws be amended. So needs must men starve and starve—"
FRIAR. "There be worse things! And these serfs be born to starve, bred up to it, and 'tis better to starve here than to perish hereafter, better to purge the soul by lack of meat than to make of it a fetter of the soul!"
"Excellently said, holy sir!" quoth Beltane, stooping of a sudden. "But for this pasty now, 'tis a somewhat solid fetter, meseemeth, so now do I free thee of it—thus!" ”

“ An ye follow, 'tis like some of us shall die, but by such death our brethren shall win to honour, and home, and happiness, for happiness is all men's birthright. Ye are but a wild, unordered rabble, yet are ye men! 'Tis true ye are ill-armed and ragged, yet is your cause a just one. Ye bear weapons and have arms to smite—why then lurk ye here within the wild-wood? Will not fire burn? Will not steel cut? He that is not coward, let him follow me!"
"Aye," cried a score of harsh voices, "but whither—whither?"
Quoth Beltane:
"Be there many among ye that know Sir Pertolepe the Red?" ”

“ Surely blue eyes were fairest in a woman? And then the voice of her, liquid and soft like the call of merle or mavis. And she was a nun! How white and slim her hands, yet strong and resolute, as when she grasped the dagger 'gainst Sir Gilles; aye—resolute hands, like the spirit within her soft and shapely body. And then again—her lips; red and full, up-curving to sweet, slow smile, yet withal tinged with subtle mockery. With such eyes and such lips she might—aye, but she was a nun—a nun, forsooth!
"Messire!" Beltane started from his reverie. "Art cold, messire?" ”

“ Quoth Sir Pertolepe, seated upon the bench and smiling upon Beltane's grim figure:
"He groweth fat to the killing, seest thou, my Beda, a young man and hearty, very hale and strong—and therefore meet for death. So strong a man should be long time a-dying—an death be coaxed and managed well. And Tristan is more cunning and hath more love for his craft than ever had Black Roger. With care, Beda—I say with care, messire Beltane should die from dawn to sundown."
"Alack!" sighed the jester, "death shall take him over soon, as thou dost say—and there's the pity on't!" ”

“ Now came Beltane to kneel beside the friar, who, opening swooning eyes, smiled and spake faint-voiced:
"My lord Beltane—noble son, my work on earth is ended, methinks—so doth God call me hence—and I do go right gladly. These dying eyes grow dim—but with the deathless eyes of the soul I do see many things most plainly—so, dear and valiant children, hear ye this! The woes of Belsaye are past and done—behold, thy deliverance is at hand! I see one that rideth from the north—and this I give thee for a sign—he is tall, this man, bedight in sable armour and mounted upon a great white horse. ”

“ But of a sudden he shrank away, and rose to his feet.
"Touch me not, I am but a man and thou—art woman, and there is evil in thee, so touch me not with thy false, alluring hands. O, thou hast deceived me now as ever—As Fidelis did I love thee above all men, but for what thou art, I do despise thee—"
But, with sudden gesture passionate and yearning, she reached out her white hands, and, kneeling thus, looked up at him with eyes a-swoon with love and supplication.
"Beltane!" she sighed, "Beltane! Is thy great love dead in very truth? ”

“ Then Beltane arose and lifting high his axe, shook it against Garthlaxton's frowning might, where was neither glint of armour nor gleam of pike-head, and turning, hasted back to that dark and silent company which, at his word, rose up from brake and fern and thicket, and followed whither he led, a long line, soundless and phantom-like within a phantom world, where a grey mist swirled and drifted in the death-cold air of dawn. Swift and silent they followed him, these wild men, with fierce eyes and scowling faces all set toward that mighty keep that loomed high against the glimmering stars. ”

“ I can paint ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair—her soft, white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the languorous passion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles, love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and—there amid the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen fair, a Duchess proud—"
"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble do ye speak? ”

“ But Beltane shook his head; quoth he:
"Look now, as men are born into the world but for the good of man, so must I to my duty. And methinks, this is my duty: to do such deeds as shall ring throughout this sorrowful Duchy like a trumpet-blast, bidding all men arise and take hold upon their manhood. Garthlaxton is no more, but there be many castles yet to burn whose flames, perchance, shall light such a fire within the souls of men as shall ne'er be quenched until Wrong and Tyranny be done away. ”

“ Must she be weighed in the balance ere thou yield her a son's respect and love? So many weary years—'tis something hard, methinks! Nay, heed me not, my lord—seek out thy mother, unbeknown—prove for thyself her worthiness or falsity, prove for thyself her honour or her shame—'tis but just, aye, 'tis but just in very truth. But I, beholding things with woman's eyes, know only that a mother's love shrinketh not for any sin, but reacheth down through shame and evil with sheltering arms outstretched—a holy thing, fearless of sin, more lasting than shame and stronger than death itself. ”

“ Love calleth thee away,
Each leaf a small, soft voice doth find,
Each pretty bird doth cry in kind,
O heart, haste north to-day."
Beltane sat up broad awake, for Blaen lay to the north, and in Blaen—
But Giles was singing on:
"Youth is quick to speed away,
But love abideth ever.
Fortune, though she smile to-day,
Fickle is and will not stay,
But true-love changeth never.
"The world doth change, as change it must,
But true-love changeth never.
Proud ambition is but dust,
The bow doth break, the sword doth rust,
But love abideth ever." ”