And even in that moment came one in answer to the cry, one that leapt to his right hand, a wild man and hairy who plied a gleaming axe and, 'twixt each stroke, seemed, from hairy throat, to echo back the cry:
And now upon his left was Black Roger, fierce-eyed behind his buckler. Thereafter a voice hailed them as from far away, a sweet, deep voice, cheery and familiar as one heard aforetime in a dream, and betwixt every sentence came the twang of swift-drawn bow-string.
"O tall brother, fall back! O gentle paladin, O fair flower of lusty fighters, fall back and leave the rest to our comrades, to me and my good bow, here!"
So, dazed and breathless, came Beltane on stumbling feet and leaned him gasping in the shadow of a great tree whereby stood Giles o' the Bow with arrows planted upright in the sod before him, the which he snatched and loosed so fast 'twas a wonder to behold. Of a sudden he uttered a shout and, setting by his bow, drew sword, and leaping from the shadow, was gone.
But, as for Beltane, he leaned a while against the tree as one who is very faint; yet soon, lifting heavy head, wondered at the hush of all things, and looking toward the clearing saw it empty and himself alone; therefore turned he thitherwards. Now as he went he stumbled and his foot struck a something soft and yielding that rolled before him in the shadow out--out into the full brilliance of the moon, and looking down, he beheld a mangled head that stared up at him wide-eyed and with mouth agape. Then Beltane let fall his reeking sword and staggering out into the light, saw his bright mail befouled with clotted blood, and of a sudden the world went black about him and he fell and lay with his face among the trampled grass.
In a while he groaned and opened his eyes to find Black Roger bathing his face what time Giles o' the Bow held wine to his lips, while at his feet, a wild figure grim and ragged, stood a tall, hairy man leaning upon a blood-stained axe.
"Aha!" cried the bowman. "Come now, my lovely fighter, my gentle giant, sup this--'tis life, and here behold a venison steak fit for Duke Ivo's self, come--"
"Nay, first," says Beltane, sitting up, "are there many hurt?"
"Aye, never fear for that, my blood-thirsty dove, they be all most completely dead save one, and he sore wounded, _laus Deo, amen!_"