A sudden shout from the vanward, a crashing in the underbrush beside the way, a shrill cry, and three or four of Eric's ragged rogues appeared dragging a woman betwixt them, at sight of whom the air was filled with fierce shouts and cries.
"The witch! Ha! 'Tis the witch of Hangstone Waste! To the water with the hag! Nay, burn her! Burn her!"
"Aye," cried Roger, pushing forward, "there's nought like the fire for your devils or demons!"
"_In nomen Dominum_--Holy Saint Giles, 'tis a comely maid!"
"Foul daughter of an accursed dam!" quoth Roger, spitting and drawing a cross in the dust with his bow-stave.
"With the eyes of an angel!" said Giles, pushing nearer where stood a maid young and shapely, trembling in the close grasp of one Gurth, a ragged, red-haired giant, whose glowing eyes stared lustfully upon her ripe young beauty.
"'Tis Mellent!" cried the fellow. "'Tis the witch's daughter that hath escaped me thrice by deviltry and witchcraft--"
"Nay--nay," panted the maid 'twixt pallid lips, "nought am I but a poor maid gathering herbs and simples for my mother. Ah, show pity--"
"Witch!" roared a score of voices, "Witch!"
"Not so, in sooth--in very sooth," she gasped 'twixt sobs of terror, "nought but a poor maid am I--and the man thrice sought me out and would have shamed me but that I escaped, for that I am very swift of foot--"
"She lured me into the bog with devil-fires!" cried Gurth.
"And would thou had'st rotted there!" quoth Giles o' the Bow, edging nearer. Now hereupon the maid turned and looked at Giles through the silken curtain of her black and glossy hair, and beholding the entreaty of that look, the virginal purity of those wide blue eyes, the archer stood awed and silent, his comely face grew red, grew pale--then, out flashed his dagger and he crouched to spring on Gurth; but, of a sudden, Beltane rode in between, at whose coming a shout went up and thereafter a silence fell. But now at sight of Beltane, the witch-maid uttered a strange cry, and shrinking beneath his look, crouched upon her knees and spake in strange, hushed accents.
"Messire," she whispered, "mine eyes do tell me thou art the lord Beltane!"
"Ah!" she cried, "now glory be and thanks to God that I do see thee hale and well!" So saying, she shivered and covered her face. Now while Beltane yet stared, amazed by her saying, the bushes parted near by and a hooded figure stepped forth silent and soft of foot, at sight of whom all men gave back a pace, and Roger, trembling, drew a second cross in the dust with his bow-stave, what time a shout went up: