So, having presently made an end of eating, Sir Benedict arose and forthwith donned quilted gambeson, and thereafter his hauberk of bright mail and plain surcoat, and buckling his sword about him, strode into the glade where stood the great grey horse. Now, being mounted, Sir Benedict stayed awhile to look down at Beltane, whiles Beltane looked up at him.
"Messire Beltane," said he, pointing to his scarred cheek, "you look upon my scar, I think?"
Quoth Beltane, flushing hot: "Nay, sir; in truth, not I."
"Why look now, sweet youth, 'tis a scar that likes me well, though 'twas in no battle I took it, yet none the less, I would not be without it. By this I may be known among a thousand. 'Benedict o' the Mark,' some call me, and 'tis, methinks, as fair a name as any. But look now, and mark me this well, Beltane,--should any come to thee within the green, by day or night, and say to thee, 'Benedict o' the Mark bids thee arise and follow,'--then follow, messire, and so, peradventure, thou shalt arise indeed. Dost mark me well, youth?"
"Aye, Sir Benedict."
"Heigho!" sighed Sir Benedict, "thou'rt a fair sized babe to bear within a cloak, and thou hast been baptized in blood ere now--and there be more riddles for thee, boy, and so, until we meet, fare thee well, messire Beltane!"
So saying, Sir Benedict of Bourne smiled his twisted smile and, wheeling his horse, rode away down the glade, his mail glistening in the early light and his lance point winking and twinkling amid the green.