"Art less of a dullard than I thought thee," said the stranger, taking
back his cap, "though, mark me boy, 'tis another matter to ride against
a man fully armed and equipped, lance to lance and shield to shield,
than to charge a harmless, ancient leathern cap. Still, art less of a
dullard than I thought thee. But there is the sword, now--with the
sword thou art indeed but a sorry fool! Go fetch the sword and I will
e'en belabor thee again."

So Beltane, lighting down from the horse that reared and plunged no
more, went and fetched the great sword; and when they had laid their
jerkins by (for the sun was hot) they faced each other, foot to foot
and eye to eye. Then once again the long blades whirled and flew and
rang together, and once again the stranger laughed and gibed and struck
my Beltane how and where he would, nor gave him stay or respite till
Beltane's mighty arm grew aweary and his shoulder ached and burned;
then, when he recked not of it, the stranger, with the same cunning
stroke, beat the sword from Beltane's hand, and laughed aloud and
wagged his head, saying:

"Art faint, boy, and scant o' breath already? Methinks we ne'er shall
make of thee a lusty sworder!" But beholding Beltane's flushing cheek
and drooping eye, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go to!" cried he, "art young and all unlearned as yet--heed not my
gibes and quirks, 'tis ever so my custom when steel is ringing, and
mark me, I do think it a good custom, as apt to put a man off his ward
and flurry him in his stroke. Never despair, youth, for I tell thee,
north and south, and east and west my name is known, nor shall you find
in any duchy, kingdom or county, a sworder such as I. For, mark me now!
your knight and man-at-arms, trusting to his armour, doth use his sword