"But, master," quoth Roger, waxing rueful, "in this thou must run dire perils and dangers, and I not with thee. So pray thee let Sir Fidelis-- hard!--Ha!--now God aid us--hark to that! Master, they've loosed the dogs on us!"
Even as he spake, very faint and far as yet but plain to hear above the leafy stirring, the deep baying of a hound came down the wind.
"Hunting-dogs, master! Ride--ride!" quoth Roger, wiping sweat from him, "O sweet Christ forgive me, for I have hunted down poor rogues with such ere now--"
"Forsooth, Roger, and now is their turn to hunt thee, mayhap. Howbeit, ride you at speed, and you, sir knight also, get you gone, and whatsoever betide, Roger, wait you at Hundleby Fen for me. Go--obey me!" So, looking upon Beltane with eyes of yearning, Black Roger perforce wheeled and rode out into the glade, and striking spurs to his eager steed, galloped swiftly away. Now turned Beltane upon Sir Fidelis:
Then answered Sir Fidelis, his drooping head averted:
"Thou seest, my lord--I go beside thee according to thy word--"
"The day will yet come, perchance, my lord--and I can be patient--"
"Not so, my lord--nor do I fear thee. For I do know thee better than thyself, so do I pity thee--pity thee--thou that art so mighty and yet so weak. Thou art a babe weeping in a place of shadows, so will I go beside thee in the dark to soothe and comfort thee. Thou art a noble man, thy better self lost awhile 'neath sickly fancies--God send they soon may pass. Till then I can be very patient, my lord Beltane."
Now did Beltane stare with eyes of wonder upon Sir Fidelis who managed his fretting charger with a gracious ease, yet held his face ever averted. While, upon the stilly air, loud and more loud rose the fierce baying of the hounds.
"In faith, my lord, I tremble to be gone, but an thou dost tarry, so must I."
"Death shall follow hard after us this day, Sir Fidelis."
"Why then, an death o'ertake us--I must die, messire."
"Ha,--the hounds have winded us already, methinks! Hark!--Hark to them!" And in truth the air was full of their raving clamour, with, ever and anon, the shouts and cries of those that urged them on.
"Hast a noble horse, Sir Fidelis. Now God send he bear thee well this day, for 'twill be hard and cruel going. Come--'tis time, methinks!"