The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped his face again; quoth he: "Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most vicious rogue, monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis!"
"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four saints with as many curses, and all for one small ass!"
The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed: "'Twas a goodly ass, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover 'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--per de 'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times damned and beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to the lowest pit of Acheron--damnatus est, amen! Yet, my son, here--by the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"
Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked voice: "O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and, bowing his head upon his hands, closed his eyes.