"Yet must I go," said Beltane, "since, while I live, vowed am I to free Pentavalon. And what, think you, is Pentavalon? 'Tis not her hills and valleys, her towns and cities, but the folk that dwell therein; they, each one, man and woman and child, the rich and poor, the high and low, the evil and the good, aye, all those that live in outlawry--these are Pentavalon. So now will I go unto these wild men, and once they follow my call, ne'er will I rest until they be free men every one. Each blow they strike, the wounds they suffer, shall win them back to honourable life, to hearth and home--and thus shall they be free indeed. So, Walkyn, bring me to the outlaws!"
Then stood Walkyn and looked upon Beltane 'neath heavy brows, nothing speaking, and turned him of a sudden and, striding forth of the cave, came back bearing another great axe.
"Lord," said he, "thy long sword is missing, methinks. Take now this axe in place of it--'twas my brother's once. See, I have kept it bright, for I loved him. He was a man. Yet man art thou also, worthy, methinks, and able to wield it. Take it therefore, lord Duke that art my brother-in-arms; mayhap it shall aid thee to bring order in the wild-wood and win Pentavalon to freedom. Howbeit, wheresoe'er thou dost go, e'en though it be to shame and failure, I am with thee!"
"And I!" cried Giles, reaching for his bow.
HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
The sun was down what time they left the hill country and came out upon a wide heath void of trees and desolate, where was a wind cold and clammy to chill the flesh, where rank-growing rush and reed stirred fitfully, filling the dark with stealthy rustlings.
"Master," quoth Roger, shivering and glancing about him, "here is Hangstone Waste, and yonder the swamps of Hundleby Fen--you can smell them from here! And 'tis an evil place, this, for 'tis said the souls of murdered folk do meet here betimes, and hold high revel when the moon be full. Here, on wild nights witches and warlocks ride shrieking upon the wind, with goblins damned--"
"Ha, say ye so, good Roger?" quoth the archer, "now the sweet Saint Giles go with us--amen!" and he crossed himself devoutly.
So went they in silence awhile until they were come where the sedge grew thick and high above whispering ooze, and where trees, stunted and misshapen, lifted knotted arms in the gloom.