"O when is the time a maid to kiss, Tell me this, ah, tell me this? 'Tis when the day is new begun, 'Tis to the setting of the sun, Is time for kissing ever done? Tell me this, ah, tell me this?"
Thus blithely sang Giles the Archer, above the tramp and jingle of the many pack-horses, until, being come to the top of a hill, he stood aside to let the ragged files swing by and stayed to look back at Garthlaxton Keep.
Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word betwixt them.
"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart of many a sorry wretch, methinks."
"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--God forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"
"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So, Garthlaxton--smoke!"
"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carcass smoked with thee!"
"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "hell-fire shall have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our youthful, god-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is bright--"
"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but a Fool!"
"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh, methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully touched his arm with tentative fingers.
"Why, the torment is apt to change a man," said Walkyn, grim-smiling. "I have tried it and I know."
Now hereupon Giles fell to whistling, Walkyn to silence and Roger to scowling; oft looking back, jealous-eyed, to where Beltane rode a black war-horse, his mail-coif thrown back, his chin upon his breast, his eyes gloomy and wistful; and as often as he looked, Roger sighed amain. Whereat at last the archer cried: