Part 2 (1/2)
”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 s.h.i.+eld; '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 friends.h.i.+p 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.
”Moreover thou art my scholar, and like, perchance, to prove thyself, some day, a notable sworder and a sweet and doughty fighter, belike.”
”Yet hast never spoken me thy name, messire.”
”Why, hast questioned me but once, and then thou wert something of a blockhead dreamer, methought. But now, messire Beltane, since thou would'st know--Benedict of Bourne am I called.”
Now hereupon Beltane rose and stood upon his feet, staring wide-eyed at this grim-faced stranger who, with milk-bowl at lip, paused to smile his wry smile. ”Aha!” said he, ”hast heard such a name ere now, even here in the greenwood?”
”Sir,” answered Beltane, ”betimes I have talked with soldiers and men-at-arms, so do I know thee for that same great knight who, of all the n.o.bles of Pentavalon, doth yet withstand the great Duke Ivo--”
”Call you that black usurper 'great,' youth? Body o' me! I knew a greater, once, methinks!”
”Aye,” nodded Beltane, ”there was him men called 'Beltane the Strong.'”
”Ha!” quoth Sir Benedict, setting down his milk-bowl, ”what know you of Duke Beltane?”
”Nought but that he was a great and l.u.s.ty fighter who yet loved peace and mercy, but truth and justice most of all.”
”And to-day,” sighed Sir Benedict, ”to-day we have Black Ivo! Aye me!
these be sorry days for Pentavalon. 'Tis said he woos the young d.u.c.h.ess yonder. Hast ever seen Helen of Mortain, sir smith?”
”Nay, but I've heard tell that she is wondrous fair.”
”Hum!” quoth Sir Benedict, ”I love not your red-haired spit-fires.
Methinks, an Ivo win her, she'll lead him how she will, or be broke in the adventure--a malison upon him, be it how it may!”
So, having presently made an end of eating, Sir Benedict arose and forthwith donned quilted gambeson, and thereafter his hauberk of bright mail and plain surcoat, and buckling his sword about him, strode into the glade where stood the great grey horse. Now, being mounted, Sir Benedict stayed awhile to look down at Beltane, whiles Beltane looked up at him.
”Messire Beltane,” said he, pointing to his scarred cheek, ”you look upon my scar, I think?”
Quoth Beltane, flus.h.i.+ng hot: