How Giles Made a Merry Song

Now as he stood thus, beholding that mighty flame, Walkyn and Roger paused beside him, and stood to scowl upon the fire with never a word betwixt them.

"How now," cried Giles, "art in the doleful dumps forsooth on so blithe a morn, with two-score pack-horses heavy with booty--and Garthlaxton aflame yonder? Aha, 'tis a rare blaze yon, a fire shall warm the heart of many a sorry wretch, methinks."

"Truly," nodded Roger, "I have seen yon flaming keep hung round with hanged men ere now--and in the dungeons beneath--I have seen--God forgive me, what I have seen! Ha! Burn, accursed walls, burn! Full many shall rejoice in thy ruin, as I do--lorn women and fatherless children--fair women ravished of life and honour!"

"Aye," cried Giles, "and lovely ladies brought to shame! So, Garthlaxton--smoke!"

"And," quoth frowning Walkyn, "I would that Pertolepe's rank carcass smoked with thee!"

"Content you, my gentle Walkyn," nodded the archer, "hell-fire shall have him yet, and groweth ever hotter against the day--content you. So away with melancholy, be blithe and merry as I am and the sweet-voiced throstles yonder--the wanton rogues! Ha! by Saint Giles! See where our youthful, god-like brother rideth, his brow as gloomy as his hair is bright--"

"Ah," muttered Roger, "he grieveth yet for Beda the Jester--and he but a Fool!"

"Yet a man-like fool, methinks!" quoth the archer. "But for our tall brother now, he is changed these latter days: he groweth harsh, methinks, and something ungentle at times." And Giles thoughtfully touched his arm with tentative fingers.