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BELTANE THE SMITH


BY


JEFFERY FARNOL


AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER





TO

FREDERICK HUGHSON HAWLEY

TO WHOM BELTANE IS NO STRANGER I DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE

Jeffery Farnol

London, August, 1915.



CONTENTS

      I HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD

     II HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO

    III HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD

     IV OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD

      V WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT

     VI HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN

    VII HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS
      A NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER

   VIII HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR

     IX WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE
      WISDOM OF A FOOL

      X HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN

     XI WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND
      HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD

    XII WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE

   XIII HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE

    XIV HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH

     XV HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY
      LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST

    XVI OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART

   XVII OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL

  XVIII HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE

    XIX CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN

     XX HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN

    XXI OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN

   XXII CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR

  XXIII OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD

   XXIV OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN

    XXV HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE

   XXVI OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED
      INTO BELTANE

  XXVII HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD

 XXVIII OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN

   XXIX HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN

    XXX HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON

   XXXI HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG

  XXXII HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT

 XXXIII HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER

  XXXIV HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE

   XXXV HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL

  XXXVI HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY

 XXXVII HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE

 XXXVIII OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE
     WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE

   XXXIX HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH

      XL FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY

     XLI HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS

    XLII HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD

   XLIII HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY

    XLIV HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD

     XLV HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM

    XLVI HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE
      ANSWERED

   XLVII HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH

  XLVIII HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE

    XLIX HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW

       L TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY

      LI HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD

     LII HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN

    LIII OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH

     LIV HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER

      LV HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE

     LVI WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE

    LVII TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND

   LVIII HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS

     LIX TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING

      LX TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND

     LXI HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM

    LXII HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME

   LXIII TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW

    LXIV HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUR OF HER FEAR

     LXV TELLETH OF ROSES

    LXVI CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK

   LXVII TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN

  LXVIII FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY

    LXIX HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY

     LXX WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his

Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous

Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot

So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
lady's hand

She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
miller

Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate



BELTANE THE SMITH



CHAPTER I

HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD


In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.

Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.

A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
not.

Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
had need of.

Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
Beltane had said:

"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
called 'Desire of the World.'"

But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:

"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and
passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is
an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin
into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and
honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very
manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought
but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many
died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."

"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"

Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night,
lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and
murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and
broken dreams and ideals.

"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the
whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the
brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life;
the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women
and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all
these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and
sighing, fell asleep.

Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye
quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand
voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous
tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and
man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented
casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their
strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks;
or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist,
poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours,
illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced
that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he
suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree,
near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with
a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal,
he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his
grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush
again:

"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"

"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you
a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"

Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I
now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."

"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his
grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight
with thee."

"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.

"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long
cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil,
in the sunset.

"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee,
good fellow."

"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for
that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?
Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst?
Out upon thee, messire smith!"

"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight
with thee, where would be the reason?"

"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for
such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."

"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly
touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."

"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right
fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my
duty--"

"How thy duty?"

"I am so commanded."

"By whom?"

"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me
this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black
usurper's heel, all the sins of hell are loose, murder and riot, lust
and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and
you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's
amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush
stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried
thy mettle."

Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:

"You speak me riddles, sir."

"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now
mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous ass, a slave, a
nincompoop, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit
at thee!"

Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his
brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned
him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning
wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this
strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and
twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.

"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good
beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A
mighty arm, a noble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the
breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted
and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang
nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the
blade and gave its massy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:

"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you
shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore
it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck
deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might
oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and
mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and
undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er
behold its equal!"

So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance
of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple
cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this
word:

RESURGAM.

"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now
what it doth signify."

And Beltane answered:

"'I shall arise!'"

"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look
you, and the motto of a great and noble house, and, by the Rood, I
think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and
taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and
wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny
me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."

Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and
the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and
thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and
so they engaged.

And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought
together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the
stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile,
mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
loud, taunting him on this wise:

"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
boy!"

Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
he but laughed again, saying:

"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.

But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
bent earthwards and spake no word.

Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
with kindly, approving eyes.

"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
and spake:

"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
little better this time, an so God wills."

"Aye, so thou shalt, sweet youth," cried the stranger, clapping him
upon the shoulder, "yet not now, for I must begone, yet shall I
return."

"Then I pray you leave with me the sword till you be come again."

"The sword--ha! doth thy soul cleave unto it so soon, my good, sweet
boy? Leave the sword, quotha? Aye, truly--some day. But for the nonce--
no, no, thy hand is not fitted to bear it yet, nor worthy such a blade,
but some day, belike--who knows? Fare thee well, sweet youth, I come
again to-morrow."

And so the tall, grim stranger turned him about, smiling his wry smile,
and strode away through the green. Then Beltane went back, minded to
finish his painting, but the colours had lost their charm for him,
moreover, the light was failing. Wherefore he put brushes and colours
aside, and, stripping, plunged into the cool, sweet waters of a certain
quiet pool, and so, much heartened and refreshed thereby, went betimes
to bed. But now he thought no more of women and the ways of women, but
rather of this stranger man, of his wry smile and of his wondrous
sword-play; and bethinking him of the great sword, he yearned after
it, as only youth may yearn, and so, sighing, fell asleep. And in his
dreams all night was the rushing thunder of many fierce feet and the
roaring din of bitter fight and conflict.

       *       *       *       *       *

Up to an elbow sprang Beltane to find the sun new risen, filling his
humble chamber with its golden glory, and, in this radiance, upon the
open threshold, the tall, grim figure of the stranger.

