"By all the Saints, but 'twas a mighty throw!" sighed Sir Jocelyn, "though alack! sweet my lord, 'twould almost seem my forester hath something spoiled thy wrestler!"
"And is the roan stallion thine" frowned the Duke, "and to none would I lose him with a fairer grace, for 'twas a good bout as I foretold: yet, by the head of St. Martin! meseemeth yon carrion might have done me better!" So saying, my lord Duke gave his horse the spur and, as he passed the prostrate form of Gefroi, leaned him down and smote the wrestler thrice with the whip he held and so rode on, bidding his followers let him lie.
But Sir Jocelyn paused to look down at Beltane, who was setting his dress in order.
"Sir forester, thou hast a mighty arm," quoth he, "and thy face liketh me well. Here's for thee," and tossing a purse to Beltane's feet, he rode upon his way.
So the gay cavalcade passed 'neath the leafy arches, with the jingle of bridle and stirrup and the sound of jest and laughter, and was presently lost amid the green; only Gefroi the wrestler lay there upon his back and groaned. Then came Beltane and knelt and took his heavy head upon his knee, whereat Gefroi opened his eyes and groaned again.
"Good fellow," said Beltane, "I had not meant to throw thee so heavily--"
"Nay, forester, would it had been a little harder, for a ruined man am I this day."
"How so--have you not life?"
"I would 'twere death. And I bit you--in the arm, I mind me?"
"Aye, 'twas in the arm."
"For that am I heartily sorry, forester. But when a man seeth fame and fortune slipping from him--aye, and his honour, I had nigh forgot that-- fame and fortune and honour, so small a thing as a bite may be forgiven?"
"I forgive thee--full and freely."
"Spoke like an honest forester," said Gefroi, and groaned again. "The favour of a lord is a slippery thing--much like an eel--quick to wriggle away. An hour agone my lord Duke held me in much esteem, while now? And he struck me! On the face, here!" Slowly Gefroi got him upon his feet, and having donned cap and pourpoint, shook his head and sighed; quoth he: "Alack! 'tis a ruined man am I this day! Would I had broken thy neck, or thou, mine--and so, God den to ye, forester!" Then Gefroi the wrestler turned and plodded on his way, walking slow and with drooping head as one who knoweth not whither he goes, or careth. Now, as he watched, Beltane bethought him of the purse and taking it up, ran after Gefroi and thrust it into his hand.