Quoth Ulf, sighing: "Forsooth, I did but mean to try the balance of thine axe, Walkyn. And truly it is a mighty weapon and a peerless--one that even my strength cannot break!"
Quoth Walkyn, grim-smiling: "There is in this world no axe like unto it save one that was my brother's--and shall be thine henceforth, Ulf the Strong. Come now, and I will give it unto thee." Then bent they reverently before the Abbess, saluted Beltane and, side by side, strode away together.
"Would all feuds might so end, sweet son," sighed the Abbess, her wistful eyes down-bent upon the fire.
"Would there were more sweet souls abroad to teach men reason!" quoth Beltane.
"Why sit you here, my son, wakeful and alone and the hour so late?"
"For that sleep doth fly my wooing, holy mother."
"Then fain would I share thy vigil awhile."
Forthwith Beltane brought her a stool, rough and rudely fashioned, and while she sat, he lay beside her in the firelight; and thus, despite her hood and wimple, he saw her face was of a calm and noble beauty, smooth and unwrinkled despite the silver hair that peeped forth of her loosened hood. A while they sat thus, nothing speaking, he viewing her, she gazing ever on the fire; at last: "Thou'rt young, messire," she said wistfully, "yet in thy life hath been much of strife, I've heard. Thou hast known much of hardship, my son, and sorrow methinks?"
"So do I live for that fair day when Peace shall come again, noble lady."
"Full oft have I heard tell of thee, my son, strange tales and marvellous. Some do liken thee to a demon joying in slaughter, and some to an archangel bearing the sword of God."
"And how think you, reverend mother?"
"I think of thee as a man, my son. I have heard thee named 'outlaw' and 'lawless ravener,' and some do call thee 'Beltane the Smith.' Now wherefore smith?"
"For that smith was I bred, lady."
"But thou'rt of noble blood, lord Beltane."
"Yet knew I nought of it until I was man grown."
"Thy youth--they tell me--hath been very lonely, my son--and desolate."
"Not desolate, for in my loneliness was the hermit Ambrose who taught me many things and most of all, how to love him. So lived I in the greenwood, happy and content, until on a day this saintly Ambrose told me a woeful tale--so did I know this humble hermit for the noble Duke, my father."
"Thy father! The Duke! A hermit! Told he of--all his sorrows, my son?"
"All, reverend mother, and thereafter bade me beware the falsity of women."