"Beda!" cried Sir Pertolepe faintly, his bloody face uplifted, "and is it forsooth, thou, Beda? Come, free me of my bonds. Ha! why stay ye, I am Pertolepe--thy lord--know you me not, Beda?"
"Aye, full well I know thee, lord Pertolepe, thou art he who had me driven forth with blows and bitter stripes--thou art he who slew my father for an ill-timed jest--oho! well do I know thee, my lord Pertolepe." So saying, Beda the Jester set his pipe within his girdle, and, drawing his dagger, began to creep upon Sir Pertolepe, who shook the dripping blood from his eyes to watch him as he came. Quote he:
"Art a good fool, Beda, aye, a good fool. And for thy father, 'twas the wine, Beda--the wine, not I--come, free me of these my bonds--I loved thy father, e'en as I loved thee."
"Yet is my father dead, lord--and I am outcast!" said Beda, smiling and fingering his dagger.
"So then, will ye slay me, Beda--wilt murder thy lord? Why then, strike, fool, strike--here, i' the throat, and let thy steel be hard-driven. Come!"
Then Sir Pertolepe feebly raised his bloody head, proffering his throat to the steel and so stood faint in his bonds, yet watching the jester calm-eyed. Slowly, slowly the dagger was lifted for the stroke while Sir Pertolepe watched the glittering steel patient and unflinching; then, swift and sudden the dagger flashed and fell, and Sir Pertolepe staggered free, and so stood swaying. Then, looking down upon his severed bonds, he laughed hoarsely.
"How, 'twas but a jest, then, my Beda?" he whispered. "A jest--ha! and methinks, forsooth, the best wilt ever make!"
So saying, Sir Pertolepe stumbled forward a pace, groping before him like a blind man, then, groaning, fell, and lay a'swoon, his bloody face hidden in the grass.
And turning away, Beltane left him lying there with Beda the Jester kneeling above him.
OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
Southward marched Beltane hour after hour, tireless of stride, until the sun began to decline; on and on, thoughtful of brow and speaking not at all, wherefore the three were gloomy and silent also--even Giles had no mind to break in upon his solemn meditations. But at last came Roger and touched him on the shoulder.
"Master," said he, "the day groweth to a close, and we famish."